nswer, until it seemed as if a troop of lost
souls were vocalizing their misery. I unslung my gun and loosened my
revolvers in their fringed holsters, but Big Pete only shrugged his
shoulders and said,

"Come, let's be moseying. 'Taint nothin' but wolves." A fact of which I
was as well aware of as Pete, but I, tenderfoot that I was, could not
treat howling of wolves with the same unconcern as did my guide.

We soon reached a point where the goat trail turned again up the
mountain and we forsook that ancient path for a diagonal fracture very
similar to the one by which we had ascended, which led down the face of
the precipice "slantendicularwise," Big Pete said, and soon plunged into
the bluish gray sea which filled the valley. We were now enveloped in a
dense fog, which added materially to the dangers of the journey. I had
had so many thrills in the last few moments that my nerves were becoming
dull and failed to vibrate on this occasion, so that descending the
cliff in a fog by a diagonal fracture in the rock became only an
incident of our journey; this trail, however, was wider than the one by
which we ascended.

The Rocky Mountains are full of new sensations and I got a new one when
I discovered that the fog through which we had been traveling was in
reality a cloud, and, all unexpectedly, we emerged into the clear mellow
light below the floating vapor. It was an enchanting scene which met our
eyes; below us stretched a beautiful valley.

For the first time in months I saw a human habitation. The blue smoke
from the chimney ascended slowly in a tall column and then floated
horizontally in stratified layers. There were fields of ripe grain,
orchards, groves, pasture lands and a winding stream fringed with
poplars, which flowed in a tortuous course across the valley. As I
feasted my eyes on the peaceful scene a great longing took possession of
my soul.

Big Pete, too, was lost in thought, conjured up by the scene below us.
He stood leaning on his rifle with his eyes fixed on the enchanting
picture; so full of unconscious dignity was his pose, so immovable stood
the mountain man that he looked like a grand statue done by a master
hand.

But what thoughts were conjured up in the guide's brain by the
unexpected sight of this ranch could not be interpreted from the
expression of his countenance, for that showed no more trace of emotion
than an American Indian at the torture stake, or the marble face of a
Greek god.