This gate marked the Southern boundary of the ranch, ten miles from the railroad station. We reached the top of a hill and looked up a long valley, where the creek wound its way, fringed by great cottonwood trees, until its source was lost behind three prominent buttes, purple in the haze of the late afternoon. Beyond the buttes stood Pike’s Peak, snow-capped and alone, guardian of the valley, the whole length of which it commanded. Through some peculiarity of position all the other peaks of the Rockies remained invisible, while this one mountain rose in majestic isolation from the plain.
Tex stopped the horses for a moment, and without a word pointed with the whip toward a clump of cottonwoods in the distance.
“The ranch?” I asked.
He nodded.
In the beautiful valley it stood, the white fences, corrals and outbuildings gleaming in the sun. Nestled among the trees, planted so densely that only a suggestion of its white walls showed between them, was the house—our first home!
As we drove up to the gate, a short man, with a thick beard, bustled out to meet us.
“Well, here you are! Got here all right. Sorry I couldn’t meet you. Come right in. You must be tired settin’.” And before we quite realized that we had arrived, we were ushered into the house through the back door.
As a matter of fact, there was no front door. Two outside doors opened into the kitchen, one on either side, and since the kitchen was in truth the “living-room,” what need of a front door?
A placid-faced, elderly woman greeted us, and after a few moments conducted us up a crooked stairway to a room under the eaves.
Owen left hastily “to look around outside,” and I followed as quickly as possible for I knew that if I looked around inside for any length of time, I should start back to the railroad station on foot.