I confess reality was retarding my
growth considerably. It looked as though Kit Carson would go unrivaled
by me as a trapper; certainly the shades of Nimrod and Robin Hood had
no cause to be uneasy lest I win their laurels from them, and as for
Buffalo Bill--both the Buffalo and the redskins, whose scalps had
always dangled in fancy from my belt in revenge for their plaguing my
mother on her brave drive with my sick father across those long
unsettled miles, were far beyond my puny vengeance.

The Parson told me that the Utes, a nomadic tribe, had once roamed the
mountains and valleys around Estes, but that it was not generally
believed that they had permanent settlements here. It was thought they
made temporary or seasonal camp when hunting or fishing was at its
height, and that they used the alpine valley as a vast council chamber
when they met to discuss inter-tribal matters. Certain it is, I
puzzled over curious, dim, ghostly circles, or rings, in the valleys,
where neither grass nor any other vegetation had gained root even after
all these years. The old-timers told me these had been made by the
Indians banking dirt around their lodges. A few scattered tepee frames
still stood, here and there, in sheltered groves along the river.
Occasionally I picked up arrowheads--once upon a high-flung ledge I
came upon a score or more. How my imagination soared! Here, no doubt,
an Indian had stood, in eagle-feathered war bonnet and full regalia,
guarding this pass; he had been wounded sore unto death, he fell! His
bones, and all his trappings, the wooden shaft of his arrows, had
disintegrated and disappeared. Only these bits of flint enmeshed in
the clinging tendrils of Indian tobacco, or kinnikinic, were left to
tell the tale of his heroism.

Of course, I didn't give up hunting or trapping or even my hope of
finding a gold mine, altogether. I continued to exercise my
six-shooter, though repeated failures to find my mark made it easy for
me to depend more and more on my camera for "shots." I still inspected
my trapline, with mental resolutions against trailing trap-maddened
coyotes.

My trip over the Divide gave me a keener appreciation of winter upon
the heights. When, from the window of our snug log cabin, I looked up
toward Long's Peak, and saw the clouds of snow dust swirling about its
head, I pictured just what was happening up there far more accurately
than I could ever have done before I had that experience