never have crossed over and taken possession of the wonderful
Westland. It was the gold that was hidden under the snow and ice of
Alaska that beckoned men northward. This has always been true. The
prospectors of the Nation have always been its best explorers--certainly
they were its real frontiersmen. They led and civilization followed.
Think of the thousands of people who endured hardships of which we can
not even imagine just to follow westward that trail, blazed by such
sturdy old men as Dad Wright and others like him. I've heard Dad tell
many a time of that caravan of forty-niners, all their earthly
possessions packed in one of those old prairie schooners, drawn by slow,
patient oxen. I've heard him tell of the time gold was discovered in
Cripple Creek. Cripple Creek was just a part of the great wilderness, and
was only accessible by a series of uncertain trails. Yes, gold is a
precious metal, to be sure; but it is magical, too, for no sooner is it
discovered than a wave of industry is created. Upon a bleak and barren
spot a city is built in a week--a miracle of human energy. The Midland
Railroad kept great gangs of men working day and night, in order to
connect that great gold field with the outer world. Before long there was
a tremendous demand for a common wagon road 'to civilization,' as they
put it; and this very road that we are walking on came into being--an
outlet, if you please--for some of that wonderful, teeming, bubbling life
and industry created by the mere discovery of gold.

"Soon this very road became the most important highway in the State.
Great wagon loads of food and tools went up, and bags of precious ore
came back. Stores were opened, schools were built, churches erected,
and homes founded. Civilization had found another desolate mountain
wilderness, and with her magic wand added it to her ever-widening
domain--all because some one had discovered gold.

"Then came the first stage-coach. Daddy has often told me all about it. A
great, cumbersome affair, rolling and pitching on its leathers as it came
lunging and bumping along the rough, stony, mountain road. The driver was
seated high above the dashboard, nearly buried in boxes, bags, and
bundles, while the baggage till behind resembled a railroad truck piled
high with every kind and description of trunks. As it came to a sudden
stop in front of the little postoffice, its great, swinging side-doors
opened and the passengers scrambled out, each on