beneath the blossoming clover at my feet, would have
wished for his last couch a more perfect solitude and isolation from the
wearisome world's busy sound than even the immortal Burke.

The grassy mound, over which there was no stone to record the name
of its occupant, covered the remains of the last of his class, a type
vanished forever, for the border is a thing of the past; and upon the
gentle breeze of that delightful morning, like the droning of bees in
a full flowered orchard, was wafted to my ears the hum of Kansas City's
civilization, only three or four miles distant, in all of which I
was sure there was nothing that would have been congenial to the old
frontiersman.

At one time early in the '60's, while the engineers of the proposed
Union Pacific Railway were temporarily in Denver, then an insignificant
mushroom-hamlet, they became somewhat confused as to the most
practicable point in the range over which to run their line. After
debating the question, they determined, upon a suggestion from some of
the old settlers, to send for Jim Bridger, who was then visiting in St.
Louis. A pass, via the overland stage, was enclosed in a letter to him,
and he was urged to start for Denver at once, though nothing of the
business for which his presence was required was told him in the text.

In about two weeks the old man arrived, and the next morning, after he
had rested, asked why he had been sent for from such a distance.

The engineers then began to explain their dilemma. The old mountaineer
waited patiently until they had finished, when, with a look of disgust
on his withered countenance, he demanded a large piece of paper,
remarking at the same time,--

"I could a told you fellers all that in St. Louis, and saved you the
expense of bringing me out here."

He was handed a sheet of manilla paper, used for drawing the details of
bridge plans. The veteran pathfinder spread it on the ground before him,
took a dead coal from the ashes of the fire, drew a rough outline map,
and pointing to a certain peak just visible on the serrated horizon,
said,--

"There's where you fellers can cross with your road, and nowhere else,
without more diggin' an' cuttin' than you think of."

That crude map is preserved, I have been told, in the archives of the
great corporation, and its line crosses the main spurs of the Rocky
Mountains, just where Bridger said it could with the least work.

The resemblance of old John Smith, another