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FOREST AND STREAM. 

[AUG. 10, 1907: 

de fotografia” in Panama-city one evening, my 
glance fell upon a most natural-looking picture 
of an old jaguar, standing in just such a jungle 
as I had despatched mine in the day before. 
While I examined the print by the dull light 
of a flickering candle the photographer told me 
that brother, at great had 
taken the photograph down in Ecuador and sent 
his personal risk, 
it to him by mail. It was the only one he had, 
but it the sefior wished it very much, “entonces, 
cinco pesos.” I produced the five silver dollars 
readily enough; it would be worth more than 
that just to have something to reproach my 
faithless camera with. 
His 
little photogra yher gravely, as he slipped the 
brother was a very brave man, said the 
precious .print into an envelope. “What courage 

It must take for a man to face a terrible wild 
animal for nothing more than a simple photo- 
graph.” 
‘“Tiene razon, sefior,’ I replied, and went 
away with a, very kindly feeling toward the ap- 
preciative fellow. 
The kindly feeling lasted just long enough for 
me to hurry down to my hotel, rush up to my 
room, switch on the electric light and take a 
good look at my purchase. that 
it was nothing more or less than a picture of 
Then I saw 
somebody’s* pet jaguar which had been cut out 
and pasted on a view of the bosky depths of a 
stretch of tropical jungle and then re-photo- 
graphed. Evidently the nature-faker, -jike the 
constitution, “follows the flag.” 

The Log of a Prairie Schooner. 
WirTH noisy whip and the sound of a sheet- 
Iron camp stove banging against the tailboard 
= * ’ 
our “schooner” 
sailed out of Denver one day 
in July, 1903, bound for Troublesome andthe 
Grand. 
A ratty-looking ‘buckskin pony, tough as 
strung wire, and a big raw-boned old sorrel 
horse, tough as the pony in staying qualities 
and tougher in looks, were the power which 
drove the schooner on her course through fair 
weather and foul, carrying on her deck two 
_men and.two women out for a good time. An- 
other wagon chancing to start the 
same day, 
crowded with seven people, including three 
children, we agreed to join forces so long as it 
was mutually agreeable and in case of dissatis- 
faction on either side, each 
wagon to go its 
Own way. 
Both wagons were loaded to the bows 
grub, tents, feed and guns. 
Passing out of the city we traveled several miles 
through a belt of irrigated truck farms and dur- 
ing the remainder of the day across a 
with 
bedding, horse 
rolling 
prairie country dotted with prosperous looking 
ranches. In the afternoon, following the road 
along the foothills, we turned west through the 
little town of Mt. Vernon, which is made up of 
One store with postofice combined and four or 
five log houses snuggled in between the hills as 
if afraid of being seen. We were now in Mt. 
Vernon cafion among the foothills. 
About four miles long, with a small stream 
running through it, one side rising abruptly and 
crowded thick with and delicate 
shrubbery, the other side sloping away in bare, 
small trees 
rocky’ hills; the cation finally widens out and is 
lost among the ridges. At tle upper end we 
made our camp for the night, pegging our horses 
in the short, sweet grass. After supper as it 

grew dark, we pulled together a pile of logs 
and brush and soon had a roaring fire, round 
which we gathered, and as one story followéd 
another the half-hours slipped away and it was 
time to turn in. 
Breakfast over, we broke camp, and were on 
the road at eight-thirty. This was one of the 
hardest day’s drive in the entire trip, being con- 
and down hill, with steep 
After passing a few ranches, we came 
to the thick forests; the road winding along the 
mountain side where you look down and off at 
many small valleys surrounded with pine-clad 
hills and watered by rushing little streams. 
many 
stantly up 
grades. 
Just before night we came to Floyd's Hill, one 
of the most dangerous pieces of road in Colo- 
rado. As we stopped at the top to overhaul our 
brake and look to the harness, a man came by 
in a two-wheeled cart, driving a big black horse 
with a burro trotting alongside, fastened to the 
shaft with a'rope. As he pulled out to get round 
us the burro jumped suddenly in front of the 
horse and fell head-first between his legs. Down 
came the horse with a crash and up went the 
man toward heaven like Elijah in the chariot of 
hre. 
untimely end, and descending with nice pre- 

cision ‘he alighted squarely on top of a prickly 
cactus. . Yelling like an Apache Indian and 
frantically clutching that part of his anatomy 
affected, he danced the highland fling while we 
rushed to his assistance. We finally succeeded 
in disentangling the braying, kicking burro and 
the badly scared horse. 
Floyd’s Hill is a mile long and very steep, 
the road in many places being blasted out of 
solid rock. We reached the bottom safely, the 
ladies walking all the way down for fear the 
wagon might tip over. We were now in Clear 
Creek cafion, the rugged sides of which are 
punctured with prospect Driving on 
about two miles, we came to a spot where the 
canon widens out slightly, giving a small space 
beside the road. 
holes. 
Here we made our camp under 
the shadow of the great rocks. 
On July 11 we were on the road at eight- 
thirty following «Clear Creek canon, which 
through this part of the country is neither grand 
nor beautiful, but, in spite of all, well worth 
seeing; just rocks and rocks, a little grass and 
a few scrub pines and bushes. 
About passed through Idaho 
Springs, and covering a few more miles, stopped 
for lunch on the banks of the creek, where there 
was a little grass for the horses to feed on 
after eating their Still following the 
creek, we passed through Dumont and Lawson, 
small mining towns built close to the creek. In 
eleven we 
Oats. 
the afternoon there came up suddenly a heavy 
rain which later on turned to hail and snow and 
lasted till nearly night. It turned so cold that 
we were glad to get out overcoats and wraps. 
Our wagon tops protected us from the rain and 
we drove along, at night reaching Empire Sta- 
tion, the last railroad point on our route. A 
mile up the road is the little town of Empire 
which was located before the railroad. came 
through. Freight for Middle 
Park is taken 
from the cars at Empire Station and hauled over 
the pass in wagons with four to eight horses. 
One of the leaders always has a bell fastened to 
his harness to warn teams coming from the op- 
posite direction to stop at the nearest passing 
place, all mountain roads being single: track. 
A few miles beyond Empire we made our 
But unlike Elijah, his flight came to an 

camp at the foot of Berthoud Pass, it being the 
only camping place until you get to the top. 
Five or six outfits caniped at this spot for the 
night; some coming down and some going up. 
We were like men lying on their backs in the 
bottom of a boat who can see nothing but the 
sides of the boat and an arch of sky overhead; 
the cafon walls rose abruptly-on either side 
with the sky arched blue and cold across the top. 
We could scarcely hear each other talk for 
the noise of the creek that pounds down over 
the rocks, roaring and grinding like some great 
Titan dredging out the bed of the cafion. It 
was a cold night and we were glad enough to 
sit round a big camp-fire wearing our overcoats 
to keep warm. We slept under two comforts 
and some blankets, to say nothing of such odds 
and ends as overcoats, dress skirts, a stray bath- 
robe and a-red tablecloth, and then nearly froze, 
In the morning we awoke early to find ice in 
the wash basin, horses nickering for their oats 
and everybody calling for breakfast. Flapjacks 
eaten and wagons packed, we took the road 
again, the sun by this time streaming down with 
grateful warmth. From the camp-ground the 
road climbs constantly higher, a short, sharp 
grade, a small level and then another almost 
perpendicular ascent. Our horses scrambling 
upward a few rods at a time, we struggled to- 
ward the summit. As we crawled along the 
edge of the mountain we could look down thou- 
sands of feet over the rugged, pine-grown sides 
to the bottom, where the river looked like a little . 
brook glinting along among the bushes. And 
the old mountain lifted her snow- 
crowned head in majesty and pride, her mighty 
above us 
subjects round her posted like sentinels to guard 
the sacred beauty of the valley at her feet. 
We came to the top of the pass about three 
in the afternoon; where, as soon as the horses 
were taken out, we were glad enough to throw 
ourselves down to rest. We were highly en- 
tertained until night watching the variety of out- 
fits passing over from both sides. Up would 
come a big fine team with a rollicking family 
party having the best kind of a time. They 
would give the horses a few minutes to blow, 
then plunge down the other side, leaving a trail 
of laughter and screams behind them. After 
silence had settled over us once more we could 
hear far down the road a, great shouting and 
bellowing, yells, screeching, whistling, and the 
Finally there hove in sight a 
bunch of half-grown boys dancing round six or 
eight fat burros hitched to a covered spring. 
wagon. They dragged it slowly to the top and the 
burros looked round at us and seemed to gently 
wink, as much as to say, “Those boys think 
they’re great, but they can’t hurry us much.” 
Following this outfit came four prospectors, 
crack of whips. 
each with one saddle horse and one packhorse. 
They were headed for the Hahn’s Peak country. 
Several other loads came up during the after- 
noon, and it was like watching the figures in a 
play, with the flat top of the pass for a stage on 
which the figures moved, then disappeared, with 
the pine and rocks for a background. 
After breakfast we climbed Mt. Olive, on the 
eastern side of the pass and about 14,000 feet 
high. It was a sharp climb, but the view from 
the top more than repaid us for the effort. An 
immense bank of snow several hundred feet long 
lay in the glare of the sun, but the air is so cool 
at this altitude that the snow melts very slowly. 
After descending we amused. ourselves in 




