Those are the Banks of the Yellow Sea
Where it arose, and whither it rushes
This is the western mystery."
Late in the evening we took the train for Loveland from which place we were to start on a walking trip to Laramie, up in Wyoming.
In Loveland we purchased a pony and a pack-saddle. The pony had never been broken to the saddle, and inasmuch as the art of packing has always to be learned anew when one has not practiced it for several years, both of us were, in some respects, as green as the pony, and naturally somewhat nervous when we started from Loveland. The pony served us well however and at the worst only gave us a name for the Bucking Horse Pass when we crossed the range of the Medicine Bow Mountains from the waters of the Grand River to those of the North Platte.
From Loveland we reached Sprague's Ranch in Estes Park, thirty-five miles away, in two days of easy travel over a good stage road, encountering a snow squall in the high foothills which left us cold and wet at sundown of the first day. In Estes Park we stayed three days, fishing, running up to timber line as preliminary exercise, and writing letters. The writer had spent two previous summers in Estes Park near Sprague's Ranch in company with friends from the University of Kansas.
Camp Acclimatization;
June 21st.
My dear little Friend:—