a magnificent canyon, between precipices so steep and with curves so sharp
that only engineering genius of the most daring order could, it would
seem, have devised a way through. Then, after a pause at the pretty town
of Salida, with the magnificent range of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in
full sight, they began to mount the pass over long loops of rail, which
doubled and re-doubled on themselves again and again on their way to the
summit. The train had been divided; and the first half with its two
engines was seen at times puffing and snorting directly overhead of the
second half on the lower curve.

With each hundred feet of elevation, the view changed and widened. Now it
was of over-lapping hills set with little mesas, like folds of green
velvet flung over the rocks; now of dim-seen valley depths with winding
links of silver rivers; and again of countless mountain peaks sharp-cut
against the sunset sky,--some rosy pink, some shining with snow.

The flowers were a continual marvel. At the top of the pass, eleven
thousand feet and more above the sea, their colors and their abundance
were more profuse and splendid than on the lower levels. There were whole
fields of pentstemons, pink, blue, royal purple, or the rare scarlet
variety, like stems of asparagus strung with rubies. There were masses of
gillias, and of wonderful coreopsis, enormous cream-colored stars with
deep-orange centres, and deep yellow ones with scarlet centres; thickets
of snowy-cupped mentzelia and of wild rose; while here and there a tall
red lily burned like a little lonely flame in the green, or regiments of
convolvuli waved their stately heads.

From below came now and again the tinkle of distant cow-bells. These, and
the plaintive coo of mourning-doves in the branches, and the rush of the
wind, which was like cool flower-scented wine, was all that broke the
stillness of the high places.

"To think I'm so much nearer heaven
Than when I was a boy,"

misquoted Clover, as she sat on the rear platform of the car, with Poppy,
and Thurber Wade.

"Are you sure your head doesn't ache? This elevation plays the mischief
with some people. My mother has taken to her berth with ice on her
temples."

"Headache! No, indeed. This air is too delicious. I feel as though I could
dance all the way from here to the Black Canyon."

"You don't look as if your head ached, or anything," said Mr. Wade,
staring at Clover admiringly. Her cheeks were pin