It was a delicious repast that was served us by those New England girls. We ate fish till their tails stuck out of our mouths. The bread tasted like angel's food, and the beans were well done, in spite of the fact it required a whole day to cook beans in that altitude.
I smacked my lips and said to myself: "I'll eat heartily now, for it'll be long before I'll get another dinner like this."
On the way to the Springs next day I suggested to Coonskin that we climb the Peak and see the sun rise.
"Why, is sunrise up there any finer than it is down here?" he inquired.
I thought he was making a mental calculation of the number of steps, and labored breaths, and obsolete words the ascent would require.
"Certainly," I said, "the reflections to be seen from that altitude are more beautiful and varied than from the plains."
"They're more beautiful perhaps, but I've been riding a mule over three months now, and my reflections are about as varied as anything could make 'em."
My donkey party reached Colorado Springs in time for dinner.
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