"Oh, how much greener it is up here!" she exclaimed at last, looking around, her eyes bright with excitement.
He smiled indulgently. "You tourists think you know Colorado when you've crossed it once on the railway. This is the Colorado which you seldom see."
She was in rapture over the glory of color, the waving grasses of smooth hillsides, and the radiant dapple of light and shadow beneath the groves of vivid yellow aspens. The cactus and Spanish dagger, and the ever-present sage bush of the lower levels, had disappeared, crow's-foot and blue-joint grasses swung in the wind. The bright flame of the painted cup and the purple of the asters still lighted up the aisles of the pines in sheltered places.
"There are many more in August," he explained. "The frost has swept them all away."
"Is this our stream?" she asked.
"Yes, we cross it many times."
"How small it is."
"Are you tired?"
"Not at all."
He came close to her to listen to her breathing. "You must not do too much. If you find yourself out of breath stop and ride."