lp when it's as
light as day?" I demanded hotly.

"I'm lost," he said meekly.

"Lost!" I yelled.

He nodded shamefacedly.

"Went fishing and couldn't find my camp again," he confessed.

I recalled the tent beside the road, I'd seen from Cabin Rock. It was
the only camp, on the only road in the vicinity.

"Why in thunder didn't you follow the road?"

"Didn't know which way to go," he defended.

"There's the Peak!" I gibed, pointing upward; "plain as day. Your camp
is straight east of it--didn't you know that?"

He winced, but did not answer.

"Couldn't you see the Peak?" I insisted. "You couldn't help but
recognize it."

"Yes," he admitted. "I saw the Peak, but I thought it was in the wrong
place."

CHAPTER TWELVE

DREAMERS OF GOLDEN DREAMS

What with my hunting, trapping, exploring, cabin-building and guiding,
my boyish dreams of striking it rich and sending home trainloads of
glittering nuggets to my parents, who had been frustrated by illness in
their trek across the plains to the golden mountains of Colorado, began
to fade into the background. I was engrossed in getting acquainted
with my wild neighbors, in learning their habits and customs, and in
trying to photograph them in their natural habitat. Moreover there was
no rich gold ore in the vicinity of my cabin. Though I was greatly
disappointed in this fact at the time, I have since become reconciled
to it. After seeing the naked, desolate, scarred-up country around
Central City, Cripple Creek, Ouray and other mining localities, I am
thankful that no such madness will ever tempt men to despoil the
beauties of the region around Estes Park.

But if there was no paying gold in the vicinity, there were plenty of
prospectors. The slopes above the Parson's ranch were "gophered" all
over by them. There were miles of outcrop showing and all bore traces
of gold. Every summer some wanderer came probing among the countless
holes sure he'd find riches where others had failed. The most
persistent one was called "Old Mac" who returned repeatedly. Late one
fall he took up his quarters in a log cabin belonging to a mining
company. The cabin stood near Long's Peak trail, at an altitude of
about ten thousand feet. There they had cached some left-over
supplies. Old Mac, forever dreaming, stumbled on to the cache and
decided to take up his residence there.

Through October and November I saw Old Mac frequently as he pottered
about the mine