The Western Echo / A Description of the Western State and Territories of the United States. As Gathered in a Tour by Wagon

by George W. Romspert

As noon was nearing and the sun shining with unveiled splendor upon the sandy plain, the heat was intense; and seeing a small adobe house in the distance we at once determined to go there, that we might procure some cool, fresh water, and stop for dinner.

The road was smooth and the team fresh, and we glided merrily along and came to the little town of Las Animas just as the sun was tinging with gold the western horizon. There is a government fort here called Fort Lyon; and after conversing awhile with the soldiers we entered the town and at once proceeded to the post-office, expecting letters from our homes and eastern friends. But unfortunately the mail had not yet arrived, and we were compelled to stay the next day for the expected news. As this little town, consisting of about five hundred inhabitants, proved to be quite a lively place, we had no trouble in passing away the time. During the day we conversed with various citizens; and the boys were anxious to hear everything that could be learned about the country and inhabitants. These conversations proved to be very interesting and instructive. We were told that we were in Bent County, and that forty years ago Mr. Bent lived here alone among the little trees upon the river-bank, surrounded by wild beasts and savages. They told us of some of his daring exploits with the Indians, and pointed to the place where once stood his lonely hut, which is now mingled with the dust at the side of his grave. As he was the first white man there the county took his name.

The latter days of Kit Carson were spent here; and his remains are buried near the river-bank, about five miles east of Las Animas. We went to see the spot, and stood at the grave of him who was perhaps more than a peer—in boldness and endurance—of any other who ever reaped his livelihood in a wild, savage land. His little hut has almost returned to dust, and a little mound of debris among the trees tells where the daring hunter lived. His grave is near by, and naught but a rude, rough rock marks the spot where the gallant hero lies.

Here lives John Prowers, one of the wealthiest stock-men in the state. Upon inquiry as to his great financial success, we were informed that he came to Colorado a poor man; that he married the daughter of an Indian chief; that at the birth of his first issue he received a donation of five thousand dollars from his father-in-law, and continues to receive this singular gift whenever a new member is added to his family. Mr. Prowers has at present thirteen children. He says he believes in large families and generous fathers-in-law. I might here remark that two of his children are at present attending college; and it is said that they are apt scholars, and intelligent and promising young ladies, notwithstanding their Indian mother (who is so wretchedly stupid and homely that nothing but the most glittering prospects for a large family at five thousand dollars apiece could induce a man with the least taste to love). It is said that when she and Mr. Prowers were first married, she used to leave his home and be gone among the wild Indians for some weeks at a time before returning.

Well, the day was an interesting one for us, and as the darkness gathered we sought our camp and retired for the night.

The next day the mail arrived and brought the expected news. We at once read our letters; and after some comment as to what our eastern friends would think could they see us in camp, and what they would do under like circumstances, etc., etc., we left Las Animas to take care of itself, and resumed our journey. Nothing deserving of comment occurred during the day. Suffice it to say that our team had a good rest, and we glided along over the plain at a good speed, occupying the time by singing songs and telling stories.

The next day three antelopes appeared at the distance of half a mile, and we aimed our big rifles at them. The distance was so great, however, that it could not be judged by the eye; and before we could get the range by experiment (watching where the balls struck in the sand), the animals dashed away. Will did not try his skill, but said that he had killed antelopes at more than a mile distant in Nebraska.

We were now in sight of the long looked-for mountains; and although yet nearly one hundred miles distant, their beautiful snow-caps shone plainly in the bright sunlight. As this was in the heat of June, and the scorching sun was beating heavily upon us, we felt delighted to see snow, and imagined how cool and splendid it would be to sit upon the mountain-top, and what fun it would be to snow-ball in the month of June.

A few days later and we came into the city of Pueblo. This is a place of about three thousand inhabitants, and situated at the western terminus of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway. We found out that there was to be a good theater at the hall that night; so we made haste to get supper, after which we changed our suits and at once repaired to the scene of action. The play was “Ten Nights in a Bar Room.” I tell you it was a real play, too,—there was no fiction about it,—for the hall was a perfect bar room; and I am sure the actors had been there at least ten nights, and not long absent in the day-time. Well, I had seen so much of this that it was to me an old thing; but to the boys it was rather exciting. This place is situated among the hills and low mountains; and while it is not large, and does not promise to be so, it is very enterprising, and everything is lively. And there are some very good citizens living here. Of course everything is high; though a very good meal can be had for fifty cents. It is a wholesale place for many mining-camps and stock-firms, as well as a supply-camp for the many emigrants who are constantly going into the mountains. In the winter season, when the mines are blocked with snow, many of the miners come down here to board until the season comes round again. They usually have considerable money; and though a great deal of it is gambled away, the hotel men do very well,—for they are the gamblers,—and there are several fine houses here.

To stand upon a high bluff north of town just before sunrise on a clear, bright morning in the summer-season, when the breath of the town is warm, and look out in the distance upon Pike’s Peak, which rears its snow-summit among the little cumuli, looking like the crowned king of the greenhorns with his white mantle upon him, and see the long range extending far to the north and south upon either side, with a trail of snow upon its crest, the beauty of mountain scenery appears in all its perfection. When the wind comes from that direction, the breeze brings with it the mountain breath; and oh, how lovely! Persons taking their first view of the mountains from this place are, without exception, greatly struck with the grandeur, and are anxious to rove among the snow-limbed pines. We were not exceptions, either; and after supplying ourselves with the necessaries, we pushed off toward the beautiful and attractive scenery. We were told before leaving Pueblo that the distance to the peak was sixty-five miles; but before we had completed our first day’s journey we concluded that we were misinformed. The distance appeared very short; and we fully expected that at an early hour the next day we could be ascending the mountain-side. The next morning we arose early, and casting our eyes westward we beheld the towering, silver-tipped mount in such grandeur as to far surpass our first view; and we saw the power and beauty of nature in a single scene. We then for the first time fully realized that to view mountain scenery in its superlative aspect, it must be done from the eastern side, and just before sunrise. We all began to estimate as to how far we had to travel before reaching the object of our attraction. I—though used to the prairie—thought the distance about five miles, Will about ten, while Doc. offered to bet any amount that it was not over three miles, and that he could walk over there in an hour. Soon after we journeyed on, each feeling confident that a few hours’ travel would prove his judgment as to distance. Presently, however, a man came riding by; and each of us being eager to know who had guessed the nearest to the distance, I inquired of the rider, whom we expected would know the distance to a certainty. To our great disappointment and surprise, he responded, “Just forty-five miles.” Certainly this appeared very unreasonable; for nothing was plainer than that the peak was just by our very side; and we could plainly see the little pines and cedars upon its side. We were asked to not believe our own eyes. We found, however, that we were rightly informed. Such is the deception which the inexperienced are often bound to meet in this strange country. This deception arises partly from the immensity of the object, but more especially from the atmosphere, which in this country is very dry and clear; for the less dense the atmosphere, the greater the distance of vision.