blemen. He did not
interfere with any man's business and allowed no one to meddle with his
business, and if he professed to be a friend, he was a friend indeed,
one that could be trusted in foul weather as well as fair.

Carson, Bridger, and I remained at Russel's gulch about three weeks, and
we visited many claims and heard the shouts of the successful and the
groans of those who failed, and we all three decided that we had got
enough of mining by looking on without trying our hand at it, so we left
the mining camp and pulled out for Denver, and from Russel's gulch to
the foot of the mountain.

We were never out of sight of teams of every description, and nearly
every person we met asked us how far it was to Russel's gulch.

We were about ten miles on the trail towards Denver when a man asked us
this question, and Jim Bridger answered that if we were anywhere else in
the United States it would be ten miles to Russel's gulch, but by that
trail he reckoned it was about fifty.

The man said, "Doesn't the road get any better?"

Jim said, "I don't call this path a road, but if you do I will tell you
that it gets worse all the way up."

When we reached the foot of the mountains at the crossing at Clear
creek, we found more campers there than when we had left three weeks
before. As we were riding along, Bridger said, "Where, do you suppose
all these people came from?" Kit Carson answered, "Oh, they have come
from all over the east. This excitement has spread like wild fire all
over the country."

Up to this time we had seen but very few families in the crowds of gold
seekers, but when we got to Denver on our return from the mines, we saw
that a great many of the emigrants had their whole families with them,
and it was surprising to see the number of cabins that had been built in
so short a time, and we saw a number of teams hauling logs from the foot
of the mountains to build more cabins, and there had been several little
buildings built and furnished with groceries and dry goods since we had
left there.

The evening we got to Denver we went a little ways up the Platte river
to find a place to camp, and whom should we meet but our old friend Jim
Beckwith. As Carson shook his hand, he said, "Why, Beckwith, I thought
you had more sense than to be caught in a scrape like this."

Beckwith laughed and answered, "Well, Kit, I see I am not the only
durned fool in the country. You seem to be caught in the same scrape
with