Antelope raced with the train and buffalo stood defiantly in the wallows, their lop-ended bodies appearing strangely out of proportion for sustaining the equilibrium necessary for feeding, fighting or flying. Prairie dogs barked their squeaky warnings, and wise looking little top-heavy owls flapped their wings lazily in an attempt to rise, only to fall awkwardly into the next dog village near by, as the train rumbled through the sand-duned desert. But all things have an end. So did the first journey to Denver. Within a week Jack met a mountain guide who told of the deer, the bear, the trout in Middle Park. Within another week he had purchased an Indian pony, saddle, and provisions to last two for seven months, agreeing to follow the guide and trapper in his winter's occupation of securing pelts for market.
It took a month to reach the final spot selected for a cabin on Rock Creek, during which time Jack met many of the brave and weather-beaten, buckskin clad frontiersmen living on the firing line of civilization at the very threshold of savagedom. Men who drove the rude stakes marking pioneer advancement into the soil wrested from its occupants by purchase from a broken down dynasty, claiming discovery, a nation whose bigoted avariciousness blinded its foresight to the end of bartering away its last foothold on the great American continent.
The incidents from Denver to Rock Creek Jack enumerated in an improvised journal, greasy from continued usage in his endeavor to let nothing escape the record.
"First night: Slept on the floor of a grocery store, twenty miles from Denver, a buffalo robe between me and the boards.
"Second night: Slept in the hay in a barn at Georgetown.
"Third day: A. M. Homesick. The trapper not ready to go into Middle Park; must wait four days. All my money left in Denver. Supposed we would have no use for money, as all our worldly provisions and needs would be on the wagon or pack animals, but the provisions are coming by rail and we eat at a restaurant in the mining town where the railway terminates. As my money is gone and no provisions here, I am at a loss to satisfy hunger.
"Third day: P. M. Heard some dogs barking away up on the side of the mountain; asked the butcher if he would buy a wild goat if I killed one. It was goats that made the dogs bark, goats that once were civilized but had strayed away and became wild. Shouldered my rifle and climbed that awful stretch of snow-covered slide rock at the imminent peril of starting an avalanche and destroying the whole town. Killed a goat, a black one. Shot him in the shoulder just where "Swiftfoot, the scout," would have planted a bullet, but the goat would not or did not die, so I shot him again through the neck. Then I plunged my steel into him and saw the life-blood gush all over me and the snow, then I dragged the goat by his horns down the mountain side. There were places so steep that the goat went faster than I did, so it was a case of goat dragging me. Finally landed at the same time the goat did, at the bottom of the long gulch; tied the goat's legs together and hung him across my back on my rifle barrel. Walked unconcernedly past the butcher shop to the restaurant, where I deposited the goat on a box in the back yard. The perilous adventure netted me my meals for four days, three dollars in United States money and one Mexican dollar. I was not homesick again."
Another interesting item in his graphic description of the country so new to him:
"We left Georgetown in early morning to cross the range. From timber line on the eastern slope of the great Atlantico-Pacifico water shed, winding around Gray's Peak, serpentinely descending to the Frazier River through Middle Park to our cabin site on Rock Creek one hundred and fifty miles, is one unbroken cheerless blanket of snow, covering irregular sage brush grown mesas sloping to the river banks, along whose sides grow stretches of heavy, coarse grass suitable for wintering hardy, range-grown stock. Cultivation of any of the land is still an unsolved problem. The residents of this great unregistered section live in log cabins. Neighbors are 'near' who occupy claims within ten miles of each other. The one county, Grand, represents more territory than Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island put together. No section lines mark the maps, no organized arrangement of district or circuit courts interferes with the 'administration' of 'justice' when disputes have to be adjudicated. Generally the one quickest with a gun has the law on his side. The people are willing to share beds and grub with each other and strangers; a feeling akin to insult being awakened if payment be tendered for hospitality even of several days' duration, excepting, of course, regularly established quarters where stage coaches change horses and provision is made for the accommodation of summer tourists. Every man is a blacksmith, carpenter, tinker, tailor, cook, chamberman, physician, nurse, even undertaker and grave digger when occasion demands. The food is the most primitive known in a civilized land—bread, venison or elk meat, occasionally antelope, bear, mountain sheep, always bacon and black coffee, and dried prunes, peaches or apples furnish fruit if the ranchman's ambition fires him sufficiently to stew sauce. Occasionally a ranchman has milch cows, which add butter and cream to the simple fare. Vegetables are a scarce commodity, except for a case or two of canned corn, tomatoes, succotash and baked beans, the latter being a dish utterly impossible of being prepared in high altitudes without the aid of baking soda to soften the bean; even then unless great care is taken the alkali spoils the flavor of this toothsome Boston creation. Buckskin and heavy woolen underclothes form the general run of garments, an outer protecting duck coat and overalls being worn to a large extent. White goods as wearing apparel, table or bed furnishings are seldom found, much less used. Time is reckoned by 'sun ups,' 'snows' and the mail carrier. In event of the latter being a day late or ahead, the fact is recorded, or every one would eventually lose complete track of dates, Sunday likely as not being observed in name in the middle of the week."
Jack kept his record straight for a month and then lost the combination entirely for eighteen days. There were no churches, no schools, and but one voting precinct in the whole of Grand County. Ward primaries had not been established and politics centered in a justice of the peace, sheriff, and county judge, none of whom accumulated wealth from office emoluments.