"Well, as we sat there watching the eagle, the sun came up. There never was such a sunrise before, I don't believe. There was a layer of fluffy, fuzzy clouds, stretched out over the city as far as we could see. Then the sun came slowly up—a great crimson ball of fire, the long, yellow rays lighting up that sea of clouds and the pale-blue sky above, until the scene looked like a great, boiling pot of gold. Then, far above us, that immense black bird, wings still outstretched, just winging itself round and round in great, even circles. I've seen many a choice bit of mountain scenery, and many a sunrise and sunset, but never one just like that. It isn't at all strange to me why the savages were nature worshipers. How could they help it?
"As we sat watching the ever-changing panorama of colored clouds, there came to our ears, faintly but surely, that same sad call of the night before. The great eagle paused a moment in his circling—then my heart came into my mouth, for as we watched he folded his great wings, tipped his head forward, and began to drop. I held my breath. Down, down he came. I thought he must surely be dashed to pieces on the rocks below. He was falling directly toward the great dead spruce, and it seemed that nothing could save him from being torn to pieces. As suddenly as he had begun to drop he spread his mighty black wings and swooped down to the very tree we thought must be his death. He perched for a second on a dead limb, then flew into a Douglas spruce, emerging in a second with something in his talons. As he began to rise again, in long, spiral flights, we heard the cry of distress from the unfortunate bird in his claws. It was the same cry that we had heard in the night."
"What was the light in the night? Did you ever find out?" ventured Phil.
"O yes, I forgot to tell you. It was Daddy Wright on horseback, swinging a lantern. He had been to the city, and was returning home. He passed Ben and his friend and nearly frightened them to death. He was singing as he came up the road, and was keeping time to his song with the lighted lantern."
"Twenty-five minutes to reach Dad's! Come, you fellows—loosen up your joints. The climb up the gulch to the Park is a real one, and there isn't a place in the canyon to camp," called Mr. Allen, as he started forward at a more rapid gait.
When they reached the farthest point of the big Horseshoe Bend, they stopped to rest a moment before starting up the last long incline to Daddy Wright's.
"Isn't it really wonderful when you think of the obstacles men have overcome just to accomplish their desired ends?" asked Mr. Allen as he stood gazing out over the mountains. "Men have risked their very lives just for the privilege of climbing into these old hills to look for gold. Many were the narrow escapes from death by starvation or wild beasts that these hills could tell of if they could speak. Did you ever stop to think that if it hadn't been for the gold that God hid away here in this Continental Divide, that perhaps the men in the old Eastern colonies would never have crossed over and taken possession of the wonderful Westland. It was the gold that was hidden under the snow and ice of Alaska that beckoned men northward. This has always been true. The prospectors of the Nation have always been its best explorers—certainly they were its real frontiersmen. They led and civilization followed. Think of the thousands of people who endured hardships of which we can not even imagine just to follow westward that trail, blazed by such sturdy old men as Dad Wright and others like him. I've heard Dad tell many a time of that caravan of forty-niners, all their earthly possessions packed in one of those old prairie schooners, drawn by slow, patient oxen. I've heard him tell of the time gold was discovered in Cripple Creek. Cripple Creek was just a part of the great wilderness, and was only accessible by a series of uncertain trails. Yes, gold is a precious metal, to be sure; but it is magical, too, for no sooner is it discovered than a wave of industry is created. Upon a bleak and barren spot a city is built in a week—a miracle of human energy. The Midland Railroad kept great gangs of men working day and night, in order to connect that great gold field with the outer world. Before long there was a tremendous demand for a common wagon road 'to civilization,' as they put it; and this very road that we are walking on came into being—an outlet, if you please—for some of that wonderful, teeming, bubbling life and industry created by the mere discovery of gold.
"Soon this very road became the most important highway in the State. Great wagon loads of food and tools went up, and bags of precious ore came back. Stores were opened, schools were built, churches erected, and homes founded. Civilization had found another desolate mountain wilderness, and with her magic wand added it to her ever-widening domain—all because some one had discovered gold.
"Then came the first stage-coach. Daddy has often told me all about it. A great, cumbersome affair, rolling and pitching on its leathers as it came lunging and bumping along the rough, stony, mountain road. The driver was seated high above the dashboard, nearly buried in boxes, bags, and bundles, while the baggage till behind resembled a railroad truck piled high with every kind and description of trunks. As it came to a sudden stop in front of the little postoffice, its great, swinging side-doors opened and the passengers scrambled out, each one handing the jovial and loquacious driver a five-dollar note.
"Soon it took four stages to satisfy the demand, one going each way night and morning. It was at this stage of the game that Daddy built the famous Road House. Here the horses were relayed, and here the passengers stepped out to stretch their cramped limbs or, perhaps, to drink at Dad's spring. Sometimes, on stormy nights, both stages, the one going up and the one coming down, would be tied up for the night at Dad's. Then such times as there would be in that old log house! Prospectors from every gold camp on earth, promoters and mining brokers, surveyors and engineers, old-timers and tenderfeet—all brought together by one single impulse—the craze for gold.