FROM NEW YORK TO HEAVEN. 



MYRA EMMONS. 



If you can take but one Western trip 

 in your life let it be through the Yellow- 

 stone National Park." 



Thus Louise, who had just returned 

 from an extended tour of the West ; so 

 Gertrude and I, who had been undecided 

 where to spend a precious month, 3e.t mer- 

 rily forth to do the great Park, unattend- 

 ed by gallant knight, unguided by mascu- 

 line wisdom. 



Our first pause was at St. Paul, where 

 we stopped to offer greetings to Mr. Chas. 

 S. Fee, of the Northern Pacific, whose 

 road is the only one leading direct to the 

 Park, and to Mr. F. I. Whitney, of the 

 Great Northern, who cheerfully promised 

 to forgive us for not traveling over his 

 line if we would agree to make amends 

 in future. 



Our young minds were unhampered by 

 any knowledge of geography. Gertrude 

 had but one guiding passion in visiting 

 the West, a fixed determination to see 

 Pike's Peak. In vain her friends ex- 

 plained that she would not pass within a 

 thousand miles of it. She had heard of 

 the clear atmosphere of the West, and she 

 met all their arguments with an uncon- 

 vinced and injured gaze. Coquina finally 

 appeased her by telling her that if she 

 would keep quiet when crossing the Mis- 

 souri river she might hear Pike's Peak ; 

 and I forgave Coquina, first because I was 

 going away for a long vacation, where I 

 could recuperate, and secondly, because 

 his suggestion offered a hope that I should 

 have at least one period of quiet on the 

 journey. 



West of the Twin Cities the prairie lies 

 like a beautiful wanton, laughing up at 

 her sun lover, her golden hair tossed 

 back in the wind, the velvety gauze of her 

 garments streaming close about her in 

 greens and grays, yellows, browns and 

 burnt reds of rapture. Who can find that 

 ride across the prairie tedious has no soul 

 for color. To eyes that see, It is a riot of 

 joy and glory. 



The Western cowboy is an old story, 

 and we were prepared to accept him as a 

 matter of course, rather than a novelty, 

 but his first appearance was picturesque. 

 When the broken and jagged tumult of the 

 badlands began to greet our eyes we kept 

 watch for Medora in the hope that a pre- 

 monition of the joy of seeing us might 

 bring Howard Eaton to the train. What 

 to us were the semi-historic ranches of 

 President Roosevelt and the Marquis di 

 Mores compared with a visit from that 

 genial spirit of the badlands ! As the train 

 drew into the station 3 flying horsemen. 



in full cowboy regalia, appeared from no- 

 where, dashed madly across our line of 

 vision ; and with joyous whoops wheeled 

 up in front of our car, all unconscious, oh 

 masculine subtlety ! of our entranced gaze. 

 What a group they made against the back- 

 ground of red buttes cutting a ragged line 

 across the sky! 



''Those are some of Mr. Eaton's cow- 

 boys," said the porter. 



"Perhaps they would take your card to 

 Mr. Eaton," suggested Gertrude. 



A more helpless and pathetic picture than 

 a cowboy with a lady's visiting card in his 

 hand it is impossible to imagine. Subdued, 

 quelled and dejected, he first tried sticking 

 it in his hat. Then, apparently fearing 

 that might be disrespectful he essayed his 

 belt. That seemed equally hopeless, and 

 not knowing enough about his attire to 

 make suggestions, we saved him further 

 embarrassment by returning to our car. 

 We eventually decided he solved the prob- 

 lem by putting the card down his boot. 

 When the train started all recovered 

 their spirits, and gave us a farewell exhi- 

 bition of horsemanship West Point can 

 never hope to touch. 



Two days and a night took us to 

 Livingston, where a stop of 20 minutes 

 gave us a chance to take a much needed 

 walk up and down the platform. At the 

 imperious "All aboard," we sprang up 

 the steps of the nearest car and walked 

 with light and airy tread through the train 

 toward our sleeper in the rear. A porter 

 looked at us curiously. 



"Weren't you ladies going to the 

 Park?" he asked with something more than 

 friendlv interest in his tone. 



"Yes'." 



"Well, this train goes to Portland. Your 

 car for Cinnabar was switched off here," 

 he explained kindly, as the "North Coast 

 Limited" sped joyously onward. The 



shriek that rang through that train .night 

 have stopped a bigger engine than the one 

 which was rapidly bearing us away from 

 our baggage and our rightful destination. 



"Yes, yes, they'll stop it," sa ,- d the por- 

 ter soothingly, meantime regarding us with 

 watchful eyes, that we should not hurl 

 ourselves from the overland flier. Fancy 

 the Empire State Express having a heart 

 for feminine distress ! But the long, heavy 

 train of the Northern Pacific was gallantly 

 brought to a standstill, and chances were 

 taken on making up the time. We were 

 helped off and for the first time in our 

 lives we walked the ties. Walked? Rather 

 ran, with an occasional flying leap, which 

 T particularly recommend as a novel bant- 



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