It was about midnight when, with a small lunch in an improvised knapsack and revolvers in our belts, Coonskin and I began the ascent of Pike's Peak, the first attempt to do it having been so summarily defeated. By 1 a. m. we were well up Engleman's Canyon and with the aid of a lantern we surveyed the wild and steep cog track with about the same pleasure one feels in descending a deep mine with a lighted candle. Higher and higher as we rose toward the starlit heavens we found it more difficult to breathe and easier to freeze. At times the grade was so steep that we had to creep on our hands and knees to prevent sliding backward to Manitou. The so-called beautiful Lake Moraine looked disenchantingly black and icy, and the timber line, still far above us, seemed as elusive as a rainbow. We had to stop frequently to rest our knees and to breathe, for air up there was at a premium. Later on we built a fire of railroad ties and ate our lunch.
By four o'clock we overtook others striving to make the climb—men, women and small boys, whose chief aim in life evidently was to climb Pike's Peak. Some of them had started twelve hours before; others had been twenty-four hours climbing seven miles, and from the questions they put to us were doubtless under the impression there was an error in the guide books and that they had already tramped fifty miles from Manitou.
The sunrise effects from the Peak are marvelous, but Uncle Sol appeared to have as hard work in rising mornings as we travelers. The sunrise looked as uncertain as our arrival on the summit. Once, we tarried to speculate on our chances of reaching the opposite side of Manitou in time to witness the event, then resumed tramping and creeping, puffing and blowing and snorting, and venting our wrath on Mr. Pike for discovering the peak, and made the turn to find the sun as tardy as ever, with no apparent inclination to rise.
One old man we overtook told me he had been "nigh on to twenty year" climbing Pike's Peak, and hadn't climbed it yet. That gave me courage. I wouldn't back out. It looked as if there were only one more turn to make, when, about half way around, three shivering maidens sitting on a rock asked me most pathetically if I had seen any kindling wood about. My heart was touched! I replied that I had not, but would try to find some.
I built a fire, and the girls were real nice to me, and insisted that I share their cheese sandwiches.
On arriving at the summit I was just in time to see the most dazzlingly beautiful sunrise to be witnessed on earth.
Arriving on the board walk in front of the Summit House I saw Coonskin thawing in the sun, fast asleep. Inside the house a young man lay on a sofa in a swoon, for want of air. There is a golden opportunity for some enterprising man to transport barrels of air to an airtight building on the Peak, and sell it to patrons for a dollar a pint. A hundred gallons could have been sold that morning—I would have bought fifty myself.
Wandering aimlessly and weakly, as if from that tired feeling, about the house and rocky-looking grounds, were several dozen mountain-climbers, shaking hands with themselves for having seen the sunrise, or examining the crater of the extinct volcano, or discussing the mysterious ingredients of their coffee cups in the only restaurant, which small concoctions cost fifteen cents each. I haven't said what was in the cups; it was supposed to be coffee. I bought a cup, and forgetting that I had drunk it, bought another, and still I didn't make out what it was. Then I purchased another, and after I had finished four cups began to have a suspicion of coffee. It cost me sixty cents.
After resting an hour we started back to Manitou. It was two p. m. before the foot-sore Pod and his lung-sore valet managed to get to their hotel. In less than an hour both became rational, and agreed that the first of them to mention Pike's Peak should instantly be deprived of breath.
To those who boast of their ability to grow fat on beautiful scenery I heartily commend the trail through Ute Pass, Divide, Cripple Creek, South Park, Leadville and Aspen to Glenwood Springs, crossing Western and Independence Passes. First proceeding up Ute Canyon along the banks of the turbulent stream and in the shadow of the towering cliffs, often in view and in hearing of the trains on the Colorado Midland, we passed the summer retreats of Cascade and Green Mountain Falls, at which places the tourists flocked from hotels, cottages and tents to talk with Pod and Mac A'Rony.