the tales the tall, rawboned Parson told of his early pioneer
days (for he had lived there since the early seventies, and was a
loquacious old fellow), as he and his wife, Jane, and I sat beside the
granite fireplace, when the coals glowed low and the shadows scurried
here and there over the rough logs of the cabin walls. He had been
shot and nearly killed by a bandit, gored by a bull, dragged by a
frightened horse, and bitten by a bear. Upon one lonely excursion far
from any settlement, he had been followed by a huge, stealthy, mountain
lion.

Harrowing as were these tales, the one that made me shiver despite the
radiant pitch knots, was that of his perilous descent of the precipice
on Long's Peak. Time has not changed the character of that face--it is
sheer and smooth and icy now, as then. He was probably the first man
to attempt its descent, and I was always weak and spent when he ended
his story of it, so vividly did he portray its dangers. I sat tense,
digging my nails deep into my palms, living through every squirm and
twist with him, from the moment he slid down from the comparatively
safe "Narrows" to the first niche in the glassy, precipitous wall,
till, after many nearly-the-last experiences, he landed safely at its
foot. That adventure had almost cost him his life, for he had once
missed his foothold, slipped and slid and had hung suspended by one
hand for a long, terrible moment.

Always I sat with eyes glued upon the story-teller, thrilling as he
talked, planning secretly to emulate his example, proving some of his
statements by daily short excursions. However, the Parson was not
always away on trips. Sometimes he guided visitors to the top of the
Peak or worked on the trail to its summit. He chopped wood, worked in
the garden, hunted stray cattle or horses. Frequently he rode off with
his Bible under his arm, for he was a circuit rider, carrying the
gospel into the wilderness. He gave good, if free, advice, officiated
at weddings and funerals, at barn-raisings and log-rollings. He
preached or worked as the notion moved him; lingered in one place or
rode long trails to fulfill his mission. His own ranch was thirty
miles from the railroad, but many of his calls were made on settlers
even more remote.

Gradually I extended the scope of my explorations, frequently spending
the night abroad, carrying a pair of worn and faded blankets and a
little food. A number of times I climbed Long's Peak al