, however rich, is for the time
being poor. The Indians have taken to the "war path," and are burning
ranches and killing cattle. There is a regular "scare" among the
settlers, and wagon loads of fugitives are arriving in Colorado
Springs. The Indians say, "The white man has killed the buffalo and
left them to rot on the plains. We will be revenged." Evans had
reached Longmount, and will be here tonight.

October 10.

"Wait for the wagon" still! We had a hurricane of wind and hail last
night; it was eleven before I could go to my cabin, and I only reached
it with the help of two men. The moon was not up, and the sky overhead
was black with clouds, when suddenly Long's Peak, which had been
invisible, gleamed above the dark mountains, all glistening with
new-fallen snow, on which the moon, as yet uprisen here, was shining.
The evening before, after sunset, I saw another novel effect. My lake
turned a brilliant orange in the twilight, and in its still mirror the
mountains were reflected a deep rich blue. It is a world of wonders.
To-day we had a great storm with flurries of fine snow; and when the
clouds rolled up at noon, the Snowy Range and all the higher mountains
were pure white. I have been hard at work all day to drown my
anxieties, which are heightened by a rumor that Evans has gone
buffalo-hunting on the Platte!

This evening, quite unexpectedly, Evans arrived with a heavy mail in a
box. I sorted it, but there was nothing for me and Evans said he was
afraid that he had left my letters, which were separate from the
others, behind at Denver, but he had written from Longmount for them.
A few hours later they were found in a box of groceries!

All the hilarity of the house has returned with Evans, and he has
brought a kindred spirit with him, a young man who plays and sings
splendidly, has an inexhaustible repertoire, and produces sonatas,
funeral marches, anthems, reels, strathspeys, and all else, out of his
wonderful memory. Never, surely was a chamber organ compelled to such
service. A little cask of suspicious appearance was smuggled into the
cabin from the wagon, and heightens the hilarity a little, I fear. No
churlishness could resist Evans's unutterable jollity or the contagion
of his hearty laugh. He claps people on the back, shouts at them, will
do anything for them, and makes a perpetual breeze. "My kingdom for a
horse!" He has not got one for me, and a shadow crossed his face when
I s