The trail was now much more interesting. Some of the emigrants had come out, like the Hee-Haws, over the Smoky Hill Fork Trail, and the others were from the Santa Fe Trail up the Arkansas River, to the south. A trail along the base of the mountains connected this with Smoky Hill Trail. Soon the trail by way of Republican River joined in. The triple travel on Cherry Creek Trail was now so thick that Davy again wondered where all the people were coming from.
The marvellous panorama of the Rockies remained ever in sight before. Nobody tired of gazing at it, wondering which of the peaks, besides Pike’s Peak, were inlaid with gold and if a fellow could live on top of Pike’s Peak or back yonder among those other peaks while getting out his fortune. Some of the emigrants (Left-over included) asserted loudly that they could see the gold shining!
However, the first sight of the Pike’s Peak settlements—Denver and Auraria—began to be watched for the most eagerly. The mountains gradually drew nearer, Pike’s Peak gradually fell behind until on the afternoon of the third day, down the winding, white-topped procession swept a glad cry. Whips were flourished, sun-bonnets were waved, hats were swung; men and women cheered, children shouted, dogs barked.
“The Cherry Creek diggin’s! There they are! There are the gold fields and the pound a day!”
People seemed to forget the bad reports spread by the disgruntled emigrants bound back to the States. Hopes were again high for success and fortune at the end of the long, long trail.
Sure enough, several miles before, in a basin set out from the mountains a short distance, were a collection of wagons and tents and other canvases, and a number of cabins, also, jumbled together on both sides of the creek, apparently, and bounded before by a wooded river. At the edges was a fringe of little camps like those of emigrants stopping by the way.
Evening was nigh; the sun was low over the snowy range; smoke was curling from camp-fire and chimney.
“We won’t make it to-day, fellows,” spoke Captain Hi. “But we’ll pull in the first thing in the morning.”
“Goodness! Look at the people pouring in by the northern trail, too!” exclaimed Mr. Baxter.
For glinting in the last rays of the sun a long wagon train of emigrants, resembling crawling white beads, was heading in from the opposite direction.