ctions she came to tracks, but it was
then so dark she could see nothing, and soon the darkness so increased
that she could not see even her horse's ears, and was lost and
benighted. Hour after hour our heroine--for a lady who crosses the Rocky
Mountains alone may surely claim the title!--rode onward in the darkness
and solitude, the prairie sweeping all around her, and a firmament of
frosty stars glittering overhead. At intervals might be heard the howl
of the prairie wolf, and the occasional lowing of cattle gave her hope
of the neighbourhood of man. But there was nothing but the wild and
lonely plain, and she felt a keen desire to see a light or hear a voice,
the solitude was so oppressive. It was very cold, and a hard frost lay
on the ground. At last, however, she heard the bark of a dog, and then
the too common sound of a man swearing; she saw a light, and in another
minute found herself at a large house eleven miles from Denver, where a
hospitable reception cheered the belated traveller.

* * * * *

Here is another and more startling episode, which occurred during her
journey from Esteo "Park" to Longmount, a ride of 100 miles on a bitter
cold December morning:--

"We all got up before daybreak on Tuesday, and breakfasted at seven....
I took only two pounds of luggage, some raisins, the mail bag, and an
additional blanket under my saddle.... The purple sun rose in front. Had
I known what made it purple I should certainly have gone no farther.
These clouds, the morning mist as I supposed, lifted themselves up
rose-lighted, showing the sun's disc as purple as one of the jars in a
chemist's window, and having permitted this glimpse of their king, came
down again as a dense mist; the wind chopped round, and the mist began
to freeze hard. Soon Birdie and myself were a mass of acicular
crystals; it was a true easterly fog. I galloped on, hoping to get
through it, unable to see a yard before me; but it thickened, and I was
obliged to subside into a jog-trot. As I rode on, about four miles from
the cabin, a human figure, looking gigantic like the spectre of the
Brocken, with long hair white as snow, appeared close to me, and at the
same moment there was the flash of a pistol close to my ear, and I
recognized 'Mountain Jim,' frozen from head to foot, looking a century
old with his snowy hair. It was 'ugly' altogether, certainly a
'desperado's' grim jest, and it was best to accept it as such