EMERALD MEADOWS. I9I 
snowy peaks ; on all other sides innumerable 
mountain tops — the near ones white and cold, 
the far-away ones purple and dark, melting at the 
east into the distant, cloud-like plains. But the 
necessity of reaching, before nightfall, the ever- 
green depths and bits of emerald meadows that 
lay far, far below, compelled them to hasten on. 
As they approached timber-line they saw 
clouds gathering, and quickening their pace, se- 
lected for a camp the first spot where wood, 
water, and grass in suitable proximity could be 
found. 
Expecting to meet Mr. Maxwell and the 
wagon so soon, they had undertaken the trial of 
this pass with no other baggage than could be 
packed at the back of their saddles. A fly — a 
strip of canvas, twelve by eight feet, which could 
be rolled with their bedding — was their only sub- 
stitute for a tent. With nothing but it for pro- 
tection, what was to be done? To spend the 
night drenched by an icy rain, at an altitude 
where one’s clothes would freeze as soon as wet, 
was a prospect calculated to dismay any one but 
a soldier or a pioneer. 
Much has been written and said of the hard- 
ships of frontier life, and many people are dis- 
posed to regard the pilgrims who landed on Ply- 
mouth Rock, the settlers who first faced the perils 
of our western frontier, and the heroes and hero- 
