Peak and Prairie

Part 1

Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

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By ANNA FULLER

A Literary Courtship: Under the Auspices of Pike's Peak. 28th thousand. 16 deg. $1.25

A Venetian June. Illustrated. 15th thousand. 16 deg. $1.25

Peak and Prairie: From a Colorado Sketch-Book. Illustrated. 7th thousand. 16 deg. New Edition. 12 deg. $1.50

Pratt Portraits: Sketched in a New England Suburb. Illustrated, 12th thousand. 12 deg. $1.50

One of the Pilgrims. A Bank Story. 6th thousand. 12 deg. $1.25

Katherine Day. 8th thousand. 12 deg. $1.50

A Bookful of Girls. 4th thousand. Illustrated. 12 deg. $1.50

Later Pratt Portraits. Illustrated $1.50 net

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PEAK AND PRAIRIE

From a Colorado Sketch Book

By ANNA FULLER

Author of "A Literary Courtship" "Pratt Portraits," Etc.

Illustrated by Emma G. Moore

New York and London G. P. Putnam's Sons

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Copyright, 1894 BY ANNA FULLER

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

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TO ONE TO WHOM I OWE COLORADO AND MUCH BESIDES THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED

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PREFACE.

The sketches of Colorado life which make up this volume are little more than hints and suggestions caught from time to time by a single observer in a comparatively narrow field of observation. Narrow as the field is, however, it offers a somewhat unusual diversity of scene; for that most charming of health resorts known in these pages as Springtown, is the chance centre of many varying interests. In its immediate vicinity exists the life of the prairie ranch on the one hand and that of the mining-camp on the other; while dominating all as it were--town, prairie, and mountain fastness--rises the great Peak which has now for so many years been the goal of pilgrimage to men and women from the Eastern States in pursuit of health, of fortune, or of the free, open-air life of the prairie. If, from acquaintance with these fictitious characters set in a very real environment, the reader be led to form some slight impression of the stirring little drama which is going forward to-day in that pleasant Land of Promise, he will have incidentally endorsed the claim of these disconnected sketches to be regarded as a single picture.

May, 1894.

Part 2

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

PREFACE v I.--A PILGRIM IN THE FAR WEST 1 II.--BRIAN BORU 36 III.--JAKE STANWOOD'S GAL 60 IV.--AT THE KEITH RANCH 101 V.--THE RUMPETY CASE 123 VI.--THE LAME GULCH PROFESSOR 151 VII.--THE BOSS OF THE WHEEL 187 VIII.--MR. FETHERBEE'S ADVENTURE 217 IX.--AN AMATEUR GAMBLE 240 X.--A ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHIPWRECK 266 XI.--A STROKE IN THE GAME 301 XII.--THE BLIZZARD PICNIC 335 XIII.--A GOLDEN VISTA 369

Note.--Of the thirteen sketches included in this volume six have previously appeared in periodicals, as follows:

A Pilgrim in the Far West in Harper's Weekly; Brian Boru in Worthington's Magazine; Jake Stanwood's Gal and At the Keith Ranch in The Century Magazine; The Rumpety Case in Lippincott's Magazine; and An Amateur Gamble in Scribner's Magazine. They were, however, all prepared with reference to their final use as a consecutive series.

A. F.

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ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

"The Peak was Superb that Morning, Big and Strong and Glittering with Snow" Frontispiece

"A Handful of Cottonwood Trees Clustered about the House" 24

"The Vast Sea of the Prairie" 46

"Between his Cabin Door and 'The Range' Stretched Twenty Miles of Arid Prairie" 60

The Keith Ranch 104

"A Half-Hearted Stream Known as 'The Creek'" 122

"The Great Dome of Snow Towered in All its Grandeur" 142

"A Town of Rude Frame Huts had Sprung up in the Hollow below" 156

"On the Edge of a Dead Forest" 212

"It's a Kind of Double Back-Action Slant we've Got to Tackle this Time" 228

Pine Bluff 258

"They Looked out at the Peak" 289

"The Brook, Which Came Dashing Down From The Canon, Still Rioting on Its Way" 324

"The Ranch Gate, Which Had Swung Half To On Its Hinges" 360

"The Wild and Beautiful Gorge" 378

A Golden Vista 388

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PEAK AND PRAIRIE

Part 3

A PILGRIM IN THE FAR WEST.

The Peak was superb that morning, big and strong, and glittering with snow. Little Mrs. Nancy Tarbell turned, after shutting and locking the door of her cottage, and looked down the street, at the end of which the friendly giant stood out against a clear blue sky. The cottonwood trees on either side of the road were just coming into leaf, and their extended branches framed in her mighty neighbor in a most becoming manner. The water in the irrigating ditch beneath the trees was running merrily. The sound of it brought a wistful look into the cheerful old face. It made Mrs. Nancy think of the gay little brook in the pasture behind the house at home--at home, in far New England.

Surely it must have been a strange wind of destiny that wafted this unadventurous little woman across half a continent to the very foot of the Rocky Mountains--a long and weary journey for the young and vigorous. Yet it was something no stranger than a mother's love for her only child. For "Willie's" sake the widow Tarbell had turned her back upon the dear New England woods and meadows, upon the tidy village where every man and woman was her friend; for his sake she had come to dwell among strangers in a strange and barren land. The old homestead had been sold, and with the meagre proceeds she had paid their way across the prairies, and had bought a little house and a lot of land on the outskirts of Springtown, while Willie looked about him for something to do. But the enemy before whom they had fled followed them to the high pure altitude it loves not, and before poor Willie had found anything to do, he had been "called up higher." This was the phrase the minister used at Willie's funeral, and it had been peculiarly comforting to the bereaved mother. She had known well that her boy needed higher air, for that she had come to live six thousand feet above the level of the New England pastures. But the Lord saw that she, with her poor human wisdom, could not lead him to the needed height, and He had called him up higher yet, where are blessing and healing forever. With this abiding consolation in her heart, Willie's mother could face the shining Peak day after day and month after month with a countenance as brave and cheerful as his own. It was only when she listened to the sound of running waters, or some other voice of the past, that the wistful look came into her face.

Meanwhile it was good life-giving air that she breathed, and good warm sunshine that rested upon her, as she stepped briskly on her way. Her little cottage was no longer on the outskirts of the town. Stately mansions had risen up about her, and a long procession of houses now stretched far up to the northward. The people idly looking forth from the windows of the stately mansions, did not realize how much a part of the landscape the little black figure had become, passing and repassing their doors. A small meek figure it was, with little indication of the bright spirit within. It was her "best dress" of ten years ago that she now "wore common." The folds of the skirt, cut in the fashion of a by-gone day, offered ample accommodation for bustle and steels, and in the absence of these props the gown had a collapsed, inconsequent air. But little Mrs. Nancy had never seen her own back, and she wore the gown with a pleased consciousness of being well dressed. Then there was the thin cashmere shoulder cape, with the long slimpsy fringe, which Willie, in his pride and fondness, had persuaded her to buy, and which had a curiously jaunty and inapt appearance on the narrow shoulders. The close black felt bonnet was rusty and of antiquated shape. And since few ever thought of looking within these prosaic externals to note the delicacy of the soft old cheek, and the sweet innocence of the faded blue eyes beneath the thin gray locks, it is perhaps no wonder that the dwellers in the stately mansions quite overlooked their modest little neighbor.

Mrs. Nancy was expecting to bring back her marketing in the flat twine bag she carried, and she was also thinking of calling at the milliner's and inquiring the cost of having her old black straw bonnet pressed over and retrimmed. She held her purse tightly between her fingers, encased in loose black cotton gloves, as she tried to estimate the sum of such an unwonted outlay. Her means were very, very slender, yet she could not bear that Willie's mother should look too shabby.

And was that all? Who knows but that the spring instinct of renewal and rejuvenation played a part in her resolve quite independent of the perennial thought of Willie? The drama of life does not cease even in the most unobtrusive consciousness. It was going on in little Mrs. Nancy's brain at every step of her morning walk. As the shriek of a locomotive rent the air, a bright smile suddenly crossed her face. Her thoughts had taken a different and more inspiring turn.

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