“The roof of the continent, gentlemen.”
“You mean this is the ridge dividing the waters that flow east from the waters that flow west?”
“Yes, sir. The Continental Divide, formed by the Rocky Mountains.”
“Well, it doesn’t look it,” complained young Mr. Duff. “It’s too flat. I expected to see more of a ridge. This is nothing but a long hump. Are we higher than Sherman Summit of the Black Hills?”
“No. Sherman Summit, at 8,250 feet, is the highest point on the proposed line. The main divide, here, is scarcely more than 7,000. That is one beauty of the survey as run by Mr. Browne before his death. We cross the Continental Divide at its lowest point, by an easy grade. South in Colorado we would have to cross at 12,000 feet; and north we would have to cross at 9,000 feet.”
“Speaking of ridge-poles, young man,” Sol put in, “you cast yore eye ’round and you’ll see where the ridge-poles were used. But once in a while the builders of this roof had to make a spot to sit down on.”
And truly, the view from this immense “hump” was superb. Far in north and south and west uplifted the jagged snowy ranges—the real mountains of Colorado, Wyoming and Utah, with this great bare plateau stretching between like a broad trough. Behind, or east, they could look back upon the Laramie Plains, shimmering below.
“Mr. Appleton says that tomorrow morning we’ll sight the Percy Browne basin of the Red Desert,” Mr. Corwith remarked, after supper, in camp.
“How far ahead?”
“As soon as we cross this divide. Then we drop right into it.”