less than forty miles away as the crow
flies. As the trip would have to be made over rather difficult trails it
was decided to go on horseback, the camp paraphernalia being loaded on
pack animals in charge of McVey, who somewhat eagerly volunteered his
services.

The trail led through a very rugged country alive with big game and
Brevoort was in the seventh heaven of a hunter's delight. For three days
the cavalcade slowly wended its way through scenery unequaled anywhere
on earth, and every minute was fraught with enjoyment. On the afternoon
of the third day, when they finally reached the rough claim-cabin
nestling in the giant spruces on the edge of a little sun-kissed park,
their delight was unbounded.

Artistic in nature, Douglass had selected a most charming spot for his
habitation. The little park, sloping to the westward, was knee-deep
with grass, studded with the belated blooms of the high altitudes. Down
one side purled a little brook, fed from a beautiful waterfall in easy
view from the cabin door. To the south lay the snow-capped purple
reaches of the Taylor Range over which they had just come, and to the
east, behind the cabin, towered the majestic grandeur of the
continent-dividing Rockies, the "Backbone of the World" in the poetical
phraseology of the Ute Indians. From the cabin door one looked over an
immense vista of mountain, plain, valley and river too exquisite for
description by words.

Having come leisurely and comfortably, all were in the proper frame of
mind and body for its enjoyment, and the scrupulously clean cabin came
in for its share of deserved encomiums. It was immediately given over
for the personal use of the ladies, who were delighted with the cozy
bunks and foot-deep mattresses of aromatic spruce needles. The men, as
much from preference as from necessity, spread their blankets under the
open sky.

The sportsman's instinct was strong in Brevoort, so he and Douglass went
out with their rifles, returning in less than an hour with a splendid
buck deer and a dozen grouse. The little stream had also yielded up to
Carter, who was an expert fly-fisherman, some two-score delicious trout,
and the resulting meal was one fit for the gods. All cowboys are from
necessity good cooks, and the fluffy, golden brown biscuits and fragrant
coffee of Red's making were unexceptionable.

Despite the chill of the evening they sat around a roaring camp-fire
until long after the moon rose, regaled by the q