94 
SOUTH PARK TRIP. 
“ ship of the plains ” — as Coloradoans used to call 
their large covered wagons — freighted and pro- 
visioned, moved from their door, to carry them 
on this excursion. 
In the vehicle, above the other baggage, lay 
the bedding and a gun ; on the former, Mrs. Max- 
well’s sister, unused to such early hours, lay 
down and was soon asleep. Mr. S. M 
and Mrs. Maxwell — Mr. Maxwell was already in 
Denver, where they expected to meet him — occu- 
pied the seat in front, which commanded a view 
of all they were passing. 
The day promised to be a warm one. They 
had hardly crossed the Boulder creek before the 
sun was pouring a flood of heated light down 
through an atmosphere that seemed never to 
have known a film of haze or held the vestige 
of a cloud. 
Slowly they climbed to the first plateau stretch- 
ing southward from the steep bank overlooking 
the stream. From that point, away toward the 
east, its silver thread can be traced for miles, 
flashing in and out between groves and cultivated 
farms. Then a single isolated pile of rocks, 
rising abruptly two hundred and fifty feet from 
the valley, intervenes and shuts it from sight. 
As though to compensate for its absence from 
the landscape, a little beyond and to the south 
of the butte (so the rocky point is called), two 
