Chapter V

OVER THE HEIGHTS AND INTO THE DEEPS OF WONDERLAND.

Having satisfied our curiosity and embalmed the views of Shoshone Falls, as here presented, our party of photographers and historiographer returned to Colorado over the same route that we had come, but at Grand Junction we proceeded southward over the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad to Gunnison, Ouray and Tulleride. At Grand Junction, Grand River divides, the southern branch of which is called Gunnison River, and takes its rise in the Sagauche and Elk ranges; and it was along the valley of this south branch that our route lay. It is characteristic of Colorado rivers that all of them flow through large fissures, and a majority have cleft the mountains into mighty chasms, thus producing the matchless scenery which has helped so much to make the State famous. It fortunately happens that the most picturesque places in the west are either directly upon the lines or in the near vicinity of railroads, for necessity has compelled their construction along the river valleys, since there are few other passes in the mountains, and no other routes so feasible.

The scenery along the south branch of Grand River is very similar to that which we have described on the main stream, and leaving Grand Junction we almost immediately entered the Unaweep Cañon, thence in succession Puniweep and Escalante. The road leaves the valley of the main stream at Delta, and follows a smaller branch (Cedar River) a distance of fifty or sixty miles, until Cimarron is reached, below the southern terminus of the Mesa Verde. In this interval, and running along the north side of the Mesa Verde—Green Plateau—is the Grand Cañon of the Gunnison, a cleft in the earth that is magnificently imposing, possessing as it does many of the characteristics of Grand River, though the walls are of limestone and hence not so precipitous, as being more easily eroded than granite, the base of the walls are cut until in many places they shelve far over the stream, while at frequent intervals the river is broken by cascades and waterfalls, those of Chippeta being particularly beautiful.

Black Cañon, which begins near the town of Cimarron, is another wild gorge, through which the river glides with stately and uninterrupted majesty, a deep crystalline stream, until it passes Currecanti Needle, when the smooth flow is interrupted by bowlders which convert it into a rapid. Currecanti Needle is an object which excites the almost reverent wonder of every beholder. It is a symmetrical cone of red basalt, resting its feet in the Gunnison River and shooting up to an amazing height, its summit terminating in a spire that pierces the clouds, while its body is as variegated with bright colors as was Joseph’s coat. On each side of the stream the bluffs reach up 2,000 feet, but the needle soars very much more loftily, a great sachem among the stone giants that stand in colossal files along the river. Near Sapinero, which is at the eastern end of the cañon, the walls draw so near together that the light of day is almost entirely excluded, but at places where the sun is admitted they sparkle with dazzling lustre, caused by reflections from the mica of which they are largely composed.

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EAGLE ROCK, SHOSHONE FALLS.—The photograph on page 111 gives us a fine
front view of Shoshone Falls, while on this page we see them from
the side and just above the final plunge. The principal attraction
in this picture is Eagle Rock, which occupies a prominent position
in the foreground. On the top of the rock there is an eagle’s nest,
from which many a young brood has taken its flight, for from all the
indications the nest has been in existence for centuries. It is a
fitting place for the fearless bird of freedom to rear its young,
safe from the raids of wild animals and on the very brink of the
dashing and roaring waters. Nothing but an eagle would dare approach
such a place.
]

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From Gunnison the road follows Tomachi Creek eastward, passing over a country devoid of particular interest, except as views are afforded of high mountains in the Fossil Ridge, Sagauche and Sangre de Cristo ranges far away, until the ascent of Marshall’s Pass is begun. The road now rises rapidly until it crosses the Rocky Mountains, at an elevation of 11,000 feet. But the ascent is indirect, in a serpentine course close to the cone of Mount Ouray, which penetrates the depths of heaven, to a height of 14,000 feet; so lofty that the sun shines brightly upon its snow-covered summit, while the earth below is wrapped in the sable garments of deepest night. Round and round, but in an ascending circle, the laboring train makes its toilsome way, until we see the tracks below us looking like a succession of terraces. At the apex we run through a long tunnel of snow-sheds, through openings in which a view may be had of the extinct crater of Ouray, while a hundred miles away towards the south, and across a wide expanse of plain, the frosted ridge of Sangre de Cristo is clearly visible through the tenuous air. The ride over this great mountain is one of the most delightful and picturesque in all the world, and leaves an impression which is as charming and fadeless as the memory of a boy’s first triumph. After passing down the mountain side, a short run brings us to Poncha Junction, at the entrance of the Valley of the Arkansas, and a few miles further Salida is reached, a splendid little town that is begirt with mountains, but reposes like a jewel in a green sea of amazing fertility and beauty. As we rush eastward down this lovely valley, some wondrous sights are viewable from our car. On the right the Arkansas River bowls along close by the track, while far beyond the horizon is belted with the Sangre de Cristo range. On our left our eyes are gladdened with the sight of three bristling peaks, known as Harvard, Princeton and Yale, which rise above their more humble brothers in the Park range. The scene now undergoes a quick change, for the valley becomes rapidly narrowed by the mountains drawing together, as if to bar our passage; but as their seared sides and snowy crests become more distinct by a closer approach, the scenery increases in interest until soon it develops into positive grandeur. At Parkdale we observe that the sloping sides of the mountains are becoming more abrupt and rocky, until five miles beyond, the gigantic, the marvelous and the terror-inspiring Royal Gorge bursts full upon our amazed and startled senses. The colossal peak has been cut in twain; sliced by the persistent waters of the Arkansas, that with remorseless jaws have eaten through the heart of the giant mountain that lay down in its way; and there the great gash breaks before us, into which the ravening river rushes, with a growling voice and imperious dash, as reckless as a bandit, and impetuous as a fiery youth. Pines and aspens struggle up the mountain sides, but where the waters have split a way there is nothing save vertical walls of stone that soar up, up, so high that it wearies the sight to travel to their summits. There are seams and depressions in their awful cliffs, and projections and cavities that show imprints of the teeth of frost, and away up on these eagles have found resting places, and built their eyries where only the storm-god can reach them. Distance, as expressed in feet on paper, conveys scarcely an idea of mountain height or cañon depth, for the awesome presence is lacking. But the height of the walls of the Royal Gorge, or, as it is sometimes called, the Grand Cañon of the Arkansas, is 3,000 feet, or more than half a mile, while the chasm is only fifty feet wide where the river rushes through, and but seventy feet at the summit. Three Eiffel towers, set upon top of each other, would hardly reach the crown of these tremendous cliffs, around the crests of which flying eagles look like flies lazily swimming in a haze of distance. In order to avoid cutting a road-bed through the base of the perpendicular cliffs, which come very close together, an iron bridge has been thrown around the defile and suspended by anchoring its sides in the granite walls, so that it has no pillared supports, for none are needed. Upon this suspended bridge, which runs parallel with and over the stream, every passenger train stops for the space of several minutes to give opportunity for an inspection of the Royal Gorge, which is most appalling and wonderful at this point.

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MOUTH OF GRAND RIVER CAÑON.—In this photograph we see the beginning of
the magnificent scenery of Grand River Cañon in Colorado and Utah.
It is the doorway or portal to a series of the most splendid views
to be found anywhere in the world. No one can realize the true
grandeur of this western scenery without beholding it, and the next
best thing to seeing it in reality is its reflected image in this
series of matchless photographs, taken specially for this work. The
camera is a mirror in which the objects are reflected true to
nature, and this reflection is caught by the rays of the sun and
printed indelibly and beautifully upon the pages of the book.
]

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The eastern end of the gorge is at Cañon City, and after leaving this place the valley widens rapidly and spreads out into an arid plain that joins the prairies of Kansas. The change from a weirdly wild and savagely astounding cañon, to the pale landscape of a verdureless desert, is very sudden, and there is no variation in the passionless monotony of alkaline plain that lies between the mountain and Pueblo, a distance of forty miles. The Arkansas loses much of its volume and activity in struggling through the parched lands, becoming a listless stream, and murky with sediment that is gathered from its fast-washing banks.

We had to double upon our route very often in order to reach the numerous points of interest and charming scenery which is accessible by railroad, but in many cases much time was saved by dividing our party, though we refrain from wearying the reader with the uninteresting particulars of these movements. In the present instance, however, two of our photographers, with the camera car, proceeded southwest from Pueblo, over the Denver & Rio Grande R. R., to Wagon-Wheel Gap, while the others of our party returned, by way of the same route we had just traversed, to Montrose, thence to Ouray, and from that terminus, by stage, to Ironton, a distance of seven miles. From this latter point they followed the sweep of the same road, called the Rainbow route, around to Alamoso, where a junction was made with the two photographers on their return journey from Wagon-Wheel Gap.

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THE TRAIL ALONG THE BREAST OF SAN JUAN MOUNTAIN.—It appeared to many
impossible to connect the towns Ouray and Silverton by stage road,
on account of the tumultuous mountains, riven by mighty chasms, and
scarred by eroding streams, that lay between; but skill, patience
and great expenditure of money accomplished what was undertaken with
misgivings. A roadway was blasted and carved along the rocky breast
of the peaks; chasms were bridged, rents were filled, and our
photograph shows a portion of the result, a wildly picturesque stage
road, over which it is a delightful experience to travel.
]

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The journey south from Montrose is along Uncompaghre River—every little stream is called a river in the far west—which, like many other streams we have described, has worn a deep bed, in which it is now confined by high walls of polychromatic colors, very beautiful to see. From the occasional rises over which the road passes, very lovely views are to be had of Horse-Fly Peak on the west, and the rather gentle elevation of Tongue Mesa on the east. At Dallas the scenery becomes much more rugged, and thence to Ouray, and Silverton, which is twenty miles from Ironton, the landscape is tumultuous; for nature is here in strange derangement, not to say chaotic dismemberment. It appeared an impossible feat to connect Ouray and Ironton by a stage-road, so tempestuously craggy is the interval, rent as it is by mighty chasm and spurred by amazing peaks of stones piled up into vast pyramids of confusion. But engineering skill dominated even here, and not only was a wagon-road cut through this chain of obstacles, but a narrow-gauge railroad was successfully constructed between Ironton and Silverton.

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MOUNT ABRAM.—The hoary head of Mount Abram rises high above its
Titanic, yet less lofty, brothers that compose the mountainous
battalion of the San Juan Range, in Southern California. This sky-
assailing peak lies near the splendid toll-road between Ouray and
Silverton, and attains an elevation of 14,235 feet; high enough to
receive the first assault of every storm; where the cold is so great
that the apex is perpetually wrapped in a thick mantle of snow. A
part of the toll-road is shown in the photograph, creeping around
the steep slope, where a false step might result in a plunge over a
precipice hundreds of feet high.
]

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The approach to Ouray is by a way impressively magnificent, through rifts in castellated walls that are rich with the primary colors, and lofty enough to bathe their crests in the clouds. There goes the river, like a belated business man trying to overtake time, roaring, fretting, panting, with hardly enough space between the escarpments to admit its passage. Along, and over and around this mad-dashing stream the road winds, up and down, in and out, until the points of the compass lose their bearings, and swing around in distraction.

Ouray lies at peace with the world, in a basin whose sides are like a giant’s punch-bowl, only that the confinement is by a succession of mountain ranges piling up behind each other until the highest attain an altitude of 14,235 feet, and hold perpetual carnival with the snow- storm. That little basin seems to be the paint-pot of the Titans, and the mountains their mixing-boards. Letting our sight travel slowly up the soaring slopes, every step of the way is one of beauty. Clothed with a luxurious growth of yellow aspen, the brown of oak, the deep green of spruce, and the silver sheen of mountain pine, the picture needs only a frame to make it perfect. And there above is the thing desired; for where the timber line ends, the flaming colors of red, orange, purple, gray and brown stone begins, rising ever higher until they fade away behind the mists that gather about the peaks.

As we proceed on the way to Silverton the road inclines through forests whose autumn tints keep the eye dancing with admiration, and having descended two thousand feet, the mouth of Bear Creek is reached, where it rolls along a terrible cataract, known as Bear Creek Cascade. A little further on, we dash out upon a bridge which spans a dizzy height, for, there below us, the raging creek plunges over a precipice 275 feet high, and is dashed into vapor upon the rocks. It is a startling sight to behold the surging waters, and watch the mad plunge that falls into a caldron as angry as ever witches stretched hands about.

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MOUNT OURAY, COLORADO.—Mount Ouray, like Pike’s Peak, holds the
honorable distinction of lifting its head so high as to be always
covered with a sheet of snow. Its peak is more than 14,000 feet
above the level of the sea, and there it rests in lofty grandeur,
looking down like a white-robed priest upon the little valleys
nestling at its feet. It is a beautiful sight to stand at the foot
of this mountain and watch a railroad train dashing back and forth,
here and there, and zigzagging hither and yonder with no apparent
purpose, but always climbing higher and higher, until it goes out of
sight behind a ridge or through a tunnel, sending back a white flake
of steam as it whistles good-bye. When you go to Colorado don’t fail
to visit Ouray.
]

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Thence onward we pursue our exciting ride, with mountains on either side, by the Needles, Sultan Peak, silver cascades, until soon we reach the Valley of the Animas, and are presently hurled into the wildly weird and awfully sublime Animas Cañon. A very suggestive name was given by the early Spaniards to this stream: Rio de los Animas, signifying the _river of lost souls_, for nothing could be more gruesomely somber. The cañon proper is about fifteen miles long, and lies between Rockwood and Durango, and is a cleavage that separates the San Juan and San Miguel ranges. The walls are perpendicular, and the passage so narrow that the sunlight can hardly get through. The railroad runs along the breast of the solid rock walls, on a ledge or balcony that had to be cut in the sheer escarpment, 1,500 feet above the river, but the top of the frowning enclosure is still 500 feet higher. Sitting at the car window, the traveler looks down into what appears to be an almost bottomless gulch, and sees the beating waters swirling in pools, and tossing in a terrific tumult that fills the cañon with deafening roar. While the river here is a succession of cataracts, there are waterfalls on either side, leaping down from bordering cliffs and joining hands with the impetuous river.

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WEST SIDE OF MARSHALL PASS.—The summit of Marshall Pass has an
altitude of 10,852 feet. From this point a magnificent view can be
had of the Sangre de Cristo range extending to the southeast. The
pass itself is a scenic and scientific wonder; grades of 211 feet to
the mile are frequent, and the ascent and descent are made by a
series of the most remarkable curves. The streams from the summit
flow eastward into the Atlantic and westward into the Pacific. The
tracks are so winding that passengers on ascending trains frequently
become puzzled, and imagine that they are moving in a circle without
a definite purpose, but when the train reaches the top and dashes
over the divide, the object of its devious course is revealed, and a
feeling of exhilaration succeeds that of doubt and uncertainty as it
darts down the opposite side with the swiftness of an eagle.
]

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A few miles from Los Pinos Cañon and Toltec Gorge is the bustling town of Durango, which is the supply depot for the San Juan mining district. This place received a great impetus by the reported discovery of rich placer gold mines in southeastern Utah, in November of 1892, and at this time its future appears to be very promising. The region is altogether one of extraordinary interest alike for the miner, tourist and relic- hunter, for thirty miles west of the town are the picturesque ruins of very ancient cliff-dwellers, who, in the early centuries, excavated deep recesses in the perpendicular walls along the Rio Mancos, and there made their homes. Evidently they were of the same race, and no doubt were contemporary with those who fled from the Spanish persecutors and took refuge in artificial caves in the Grand Cañon of the Colorado.

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ROYAL GORGE, CAÑON OF THE ARKANSAS RIVER.—Mighty cleavage, wondrous
chasm, tremendous gash, is that marvelous rent in the Park Range
known as Royal Gorge, through which the Arkansas has cut its way,
leaving precipitous walls 3000 feet high, upon the upper breasts of
which eagles make their secure eyries. This amazing fissure is less
than 100 feet wide at the top, and so narrow at the base that to
avoid tunneling the engineers of the Denver and Rio Grande Railway
built a hanging bridge, with fastenings in the walls, for a roadway
through this awful pass, under which the confined river flows with
dreadful roar. A view of this astounding cañon is one of terrific
grandeur, of sublime mightiness, of inspiring yet awesome wonder.
]

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Southwest of these now vacant cave dwellings, in the northeast corner of Arizona, is a short branch of the San Juan River, known as the Rio de Chelly, which runs through a cañon celebrated in the history of Indian warfare as presenting the most serious obstacles encountered by expeditions under Colonel Sumner and General Canby. The region, and particularly De Chelly Cañon, was the stronghold of the Navajoe Indians, who rendered the defile almost impregnable. Time and again efforts were made by large bodies of troops to force a passage, but as often they were driven back by the Indians hurling stones down the thousand feet of perpendicular height. The rear was likewise protected by remarkable ruggedness of the approach, and an army sent against them was thus held at bay by the Indians for several months. Kit Carson was finally given a commission as colonel and sent against the defiant marauders with a force of five hundred men. Understanding all the difficulties of the situation, he so disposed his army as to hold the Indians within their lines of refuge, and choosing winter as the best time for action, laid a siege that effectually cut off all communication. Aid from the outside being thus prevented, and all supplies shut off, the Navajoes were presently reduced to such straits that after three desperate but futile efforts to escape, the entire band surrendered.

After passing through Animas Cañon, on the eastern journey, the scenery continues impressively beautiful, for several pellucid streams are crossed at points where they have cut deep furrows in the earth, and eaten their way through opposing mountains. At Ignacio we met with the first considerable number of Indians seen thus far during our trip. This place is the headquarters of the Southern Utes’ reservation, and was named after their chief. Twenty miles beyond we cross the Rio Piedra and enter the valley of the San Juan, which is followed for nearly sixty miles, and until Navajo is reached, where another small band of miserable-looking Indians have their quarters, and besiege incoming passenger trains with importunities that travelers almost invariably generously respond to. Now we are running along the borders of New Mexico, a line of demarkation indicated by the San Juan range that lies north of us, while southward stretches away the undulating and arid plains. At Amargo we are met by another band of Indians, whose sullen countenances and bedraggled appearance plainly show them to be Apaches, whose numbers, however, are now so reduced that the murderous raids which made the tribe celebrated in the early annals of the far west, are not likely to be repeated again.

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Many persons have read of mountain trails, but comparatively few have seen them or realized the dangers that attend a passage over them. The splendid photograph of the trail over San Juan Mountains, on this page, will therefore be a subject of interest to all. This is a picture of the real thing, as it exists in nature.

Crevice Cañon, near Ouray, Colo., the companion picture, is another of nature’s wonders that will arouse the curiosity of every reader. It seems impossible that so small a stream could have carved its way through such an obstacle, but it has left the marks of its power in the granite walls of the opposing mountain.

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We cross the Conejos range at Cumbres, at an elevation of 10,000 feet, and after traversing a lower range of the San Juan we again strike the Los Pinos River, and, taking a turn around Prospect Peak, come in view of Toltec Gorge, one of the most fearfully grand cañons in the world. The mountain is pierced by a tunnel near its summit, which is approached by a balcony trestle, on which the east-bound train stops several minutes to permit the passengers to gaze into the dreadful depths of the chasm over which they hang. For it must be understood that the road-bed is built here upon a trestle that has all its fastenings in the perpendicular walls, and without any support beneath, so that to one looking from the car window the train appears to be suspended in mid- air, 1,000 feet above the rolling waters below.

The gorge is 1,200 feet deep, and besides being narrow, the walls are perpendicular, so that daylight tarries but a short while in its profound recesses. As we pass the Toltec Gorge, Phantom Curve is approached, and from the grandeur and awesomeness with which the great abyss impressed us, our interest is quickened and spell-bound by objects that at once excite wonder and curious amazement. We are suddenly introduced to forms more strange than monstrous, more remarkable for their incongruity than significant for their grandeur. The chisels of nature’s sculptors, frost, water, storms, ice and decay have wrought many astounding things in stone, which rival in grotesque eccentricity the queer figures that render famous the Garden of the Gods. Passing this parade-ground of nature’s idols, we strike the Big Horn Curve, and twist like a contortionist in making a devious descent, that winds and winds until at last we reach the feet of the Sangre de Cristo range, at Antonito. Thence our direction was due north, over a level country, until we reached Alamosa, where, as per arrangement, we met the others of our party on their return from Wagon-Wheel Gap. Here we received reports of the trip from Pueblo, and tarried a while to write up our journals, pack our negatives, and prepare for the journey that by a long sweep was to take us to the lands of the Pacific.

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All over the central and western portion of Colorado we find a succession of beautiful and magnificent scenery, mountains, waterfalls, cañons, landscapes of surpassing loveliness, and everything to charm the eye and please the most diversified taste. The region about Ouray is one of the most picturesque in the entire State. The mines are among the richest in Colorado; and the hot springs, added to its other attractions, make this locality a famous resort. A good idea of the grandeur of the scenery is conveyed in the photograph of the stage road from Ouray to Silverton, which occurs on this page.

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The trip southward from Pueblo possesses comparatively little interest until Cuchara Junction is reached, where one branch of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad starts directly west, while the other continues south to Trinidad, and there forms a junction with the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad.

At Cuchara the scenery changes from waste plains to a tumultuary landscape similar to sections which we have just described. The road follows the valley of Cuchara for a distance of twenty miles, and then begins a rapid ascent towards Veta Pass, which is, in some respects, more wonderful than even Marshall Pass. In one place the grade is 216 feet to the mile, so steep that two locomotives are required to haul even light trains, and so serpentine that to passengers the cars appear to be moving in a circle. When the summit is reached, an altitude of 9,400 feet above sea level has been gained, and there is a panorama presented that it seems almost sacrilegious to attempt to describe. Away to the south rises up, like monsters plucking stars from the sky, the Spanish Peaks, whose frosted heads are often hidden by clouds that gather about them; towards the west, dim with distance, is seen the commanding form of Sierra Blanca, whose crown is the very heavens; and northward, La Veta Mountain, stupendous and sublime, stands like a grizzly sentinel, surveying the lesser wonders of nature and protecting them against the fierce storms that beat the bronzed breasts of the Rockies. Muleshoe Curve, over which we made the approach up Dump Mountain, is plainly visible, as are the numerous tracks that gridiron the slopes, and the waterfalls that play hide and seek along the mountain sides. Looking down we see the fast-receding banks and almost perpendicular cliffs, and the giant bowlders that have been hurled from the summit into the abyssmal depths a mile below, gathered into dams to impede the flow of waters. The view towards the east is unbroken, and there, spreading out like the lap of bounty, we watch the green prairie running away from the mountain base to meet the horizon.

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CITY OF OURAY, AND OURAY MOUNTAINS, COL.—If one should search the
world over he could hardly find a more picturesque location for a
city than this. It is a perfect picture, with framework of snow-
covered mountains, and the music of dashing streams and laughing
waterfalls. The city of Ouray has a population of about 3000, and
was an active business centre previous to the depressing times in
mining interests. It is still a resort for health seekers and
tourists, and must always remain so on account of the excellent
medicinal properties of its hot springs and the splendor and beauty
of its surrounding scenery. The city nestles in a cozy valley at the
foot of the mountain, down the sides of which races the little
stream that breaks into such a splendid waterfall near the base, as
seen in the background of the photograph.
]

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Crossing La Veta’s lofty pass, the descent is rapid and tortuous, until a level is reached in the San Luis Park, which is abloom with the glories of cultivated fields, and animate with grazing herds. This great park, that covers an area equal to the State of Connecticut, was, in the early years of the world’s life, a vast inland sea, though its elevation is now more than 7,000 feet. The earth has absorbed nearly all its waters, though San Luis Lake still lies near its center, shining like a sheet of silver, and is fed by thirty mountain streams. All around this lake, whose length is sixty miles, is a waving savanna of luxuriant grasses, which form the frame of as pretty a picture as the eye of man ever wandered over.

As we proceed westward from La Veta Pass, the landscape becomes somewhat tame, though when we reach Fort Garland the grandest view is obtainable of Sierra Blanca Mountain, whose peak is at an elevation of 14,500 feet, the second highest in America. We cross San Luis Park, and having again reached Alamosa, continue on towards Wagon-Wheel Gap, by way of the picturesque valley of the Rio Grande del Norte. Though while en route we pass through no wonderful cañons, the way is full of interest and beautiful scenery. The river, in places, spreads out into a noiseless and sluggish stream, while again it is contracted by narrow walls into cascades and roaring waterfalls of exceeding magnificence. Especially is this true when we draw near to Wagon-Wheel Gap, where the walls are not only narrow, but rise into palisades of great height and beauty, and at one place, for the distance of half a mile, there are cliffs that soar skyward and lean towards the river, making a rocky canopy above the roadway that hugs the rushing stream.

We are now in the famous Creede mining region, where, besides silver to lure the avaricious seeker of riches, there is much to excite the admiration of the tourist and lover of nature. La Gorita Mountains lie towards the north in vast banks of haze, and the southern horizon is broken by the San Juan range. Here, also, is a region of surprising springs, where boiling-hot and ice-cold waters gush out of neighboring hills, and in places actually strike hands to neutralize each other. Creede, which is ten miles from Wagon-Wheel Gap, is a typical mining camp, full of excitement and all the concomitants of a new and rich discovery, though it is rapidly acquiring civilized ways. Willow Gulch is the scene of greatest activity, and there is now to be obtained, for a fair equivalent, everything from bad fighting whiskey to a spring bed, though the latter is still a scarce luxury, particularly in the immediate vicinity of Willow Gulch.

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ANIMAS CAÑON.—Animas Cañon is on the Silverton branch of the Denver
and Rio Grande Railway, just beyond the station of Rockwood and
about 470 miles from Denver. The gorge is formed by the breaking
through the mountains of the Rio de las Animas Perdidas, or River of
Lost Souls, as it is appropriately termed in musical Spanish. The
railroad tracks are laid along a shelf cut in the solid rock wall of
the cañon, 500 feet below the top of the mountain and 1000 above its
foot. The grandeur of the scene may be inferred from this
description. It requires a steady nerve or long practice in
traveling over such places to enable one to look down this frightful
precipice from the car windows, and it is no unusual thing to
observe timid tourists hugging the inner side of the coaches as they
dash by this dangerous spot.
]

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After our meeting and short stay at Alamosa, our party again divided, two of our photographers going south from that point, over the New Mexico extension of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, to Santa Fe, while the other proceeded east to Cuchara Junction, thence south to Trinidad, and from that place he went by way of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad, to Santa Fe, where our party again united.

The route directly south from Alamosa is across a well-watered country, but there is nothing of particular interest in the way of scenery until the town of Barranca is reached, where the road strikes the Rio Grande. Out of a level plain the train now dashes into deep gorges, and winds along the banks of a stream that is justly celebrated for the wild and rugged pageantry of mountains which it pierces. Comanche Cañon bursts into view, a glorious revelation of chaos, whose cliffs of marl and basaltic rock have tried in vain to arrest the energy and daunt the skill of civil engineers. As a consequence, their sides are rent and bored into cuts and tunnels, until the mountains of stone are made to acknowledge man’s sovereignty.

Fifteen miles south of Barranca is Espanola, a quaint old Spanish town, whose chief interest, however, lies in the fact that it is the nearest railroad point to some of the most interesting pueblos and cliff ruins that are to be found in New Mexico. The Indian adobes in this vicinity, which claim the largest attention of the anthropologist, are those of San Juan, Santa Clara and San Idelfonso, all situated within three or four miles of Espanola. At Santa Clara are also the ruins of cliff dwellings, relics of the habitations of a race that exists no longer, save in uncertain traditions.

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THROUGH THE BLACK CAÑON OF GUNNISON RIVER.—A deep and majestic gorge
is Black Cañon, a vast rift in the mountain range where a mad river
goes cantering through, here mild flowing where the cañon spreads,
there tumultuous and impetuous where the great bluffs push their
rugged feet against the stream and narrow the channel. Black Cañon
is so called because at places the walls run up vertically and
almost touch their heads, so nearly excluding the sunlight that the
gorge is quite dark even at noonday, inexpressibly sombre when the
sky is overcast, and weirdly awful when storms break, or night
shrouds it with a pall. Photographs cannot be satisfactorily made of
the dark places in the cañon, and the view herewith accordingly
pictures the end near Cimmaron Station.
]

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The little knowledge that we have respecting these ancient people is derived from the investigations of the late James Stevenson, chief of the Hayden Survey, who explored the cliff and cave dwellings of Arizona and New Mexico. His labors were rewarded also by the discovery of two perfect skeletons, in the Cañon de Chelly, which proved to be those of prehistoric inhabitants. He also, by patient study, obtained a very thorough knowledge of the religious mythology of the Zunis, and secured a complete collection of their fetich-gods, besides familiarizing himself with the manners and beliefs of the Navajoes and Moquis. We hold him in remembrance for his pioneer as well as scientific services. It was Stevenson that made the first survey of Yellowstone Park, who traced the Columbia and Snake Rivers to their sources, and who was the first white man to climb the Great Tetons, in Wyoming, and reach the Indians’ sacred altar, which has been kept inviolate for centuries.

The six ancient pueblos, which are still inhabited by Indians, were discovered by the Spaniards only forty-eight years after Columbus first landed on San Salvador, and they are thus entitled to rank among the earliest discoveries of this character ever made. In the neighboring cliffs are numerous cave dwellings equally prehistoric in their origin, but which Mr. Stevenson explored with the most valuable results, enabling him to determine the habits and peculiarities of these archaic people. On the west side of the road, and bounded by Caliente Creek, is the black Mesa, a curious elevation that might once have been an island in the ocean that covered this region when the world was young. Towards the east, and in bold view, is the Taos range, which merges into the Culebra range further north, and thence into the Sangre de Cristo. Between the railroad and the Taos Mountain, lies the town of Taos, in a beautiful valley, watered by branches of the Rio Grande. It is a quaint old place, composed chiefly of two great adobe buildings five stories high, surrounded by prosperous ranches and crumbling pueblos, and is celebrated as having been the home of Kit Carson, and the place where his body reposes. His grave is marked by an imposing monument erected to his memory, as a mark of gratitude for his intrepid services, by citizens of New Mexico. The place is accordingly something of a shrine, but is not much visited, because it is about twenty-five miles from the railroad, except on the 30th of September of each year, when it is the scene of a great festival, at which thousands of people gather. A more beautiful and fertile spot, however, is not to be found anywhere in the west.

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LAKE SAN CHRISTOVAL IN THE LAP OF OURAY MOUNTAINS, COL.—This lake is a
basin of pellucid water formed by the drainage of the surrounding
mountains. It is transparent as crystal, and being well filled with
mountain trout and other species of game fish, is a favorite resort
for lovers of the piscatorial sport. The tourist will find it one of
the chief attractions of this delightful region, rich in scenic
wonders and charming landscapes.
]

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Comanche Cañon is entered just above Embudo, by way of which the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad enters the Rio Grande Valley. The gorge is so rugged that it was necessary to make a great many deep cuts in the walls of marl and basalt, so that the way through the cañon is more picturesque by reason of the engineer’s work than nature designed it.

Nearly midway between the pueblo ruins just mentioned and the city of Santa Fe, along the Rio Grande, is the Cañon Diabolo, a chasm that is not strikingly deep, but sufficiently weird to justify the Satanic appellation. High up in the walls, particularly near Espanola, are relics of a vanished race, in the form of excavations which once served as habitations, though evidently they were difficult of access. The appearance of these rock perforations are very similar to those on the Rio Mancos, and in the cañon cliffs of the Colorado; so nearly identical, in fact, that Stevenson expresses the belief that they were made by members of the same race, who took refuge in these caves when driven from their pueblos. At Santa Fe, a short stop was made to await the photographer who had passed around by Trinidad. The trip which he had made was in every respect as interesting as that which we had taken over the direct southern route. Upon passing beyond the Sangre de Cristo range eastward, the scenery grows tamely monotonous for a time, for the landscape is tiresomely level. But before reaching Trinidad, another agreeably surprising change occurs, as the Raton range breaks into view, and presents a kaleidoscopic variety of beautiful scenes. Trinidad lies at the foot of this range, and though it may not be described as a city of great architectural magnificence, certain it is that few places can boast of greater interest to the tourist. It was, long ago, the most important point on the old Santa Fe trail, and its ancient adobe houses were objects of endearment to the hearts of freighters, because they offered both refuge and refreshment after the perils of a dangerous journey. Though a great change has taken place since the railroad reached the town, it is still a typical Mexican city, which even the electric light cannot convert. Passing over the border into New Mexico, the scenery is varied and pleasing, but never grand. Instead of an arid region, however, the country is diversified, for all of the northeastern region is abundantly watered by creeks flowing towards the southeast, with occasional rivers, like the Canadian, Cimarron and Pecos, intersecting the railroad. On both sides of the road there are numerous knolls, called mesas, and craters long since burned out. The ascent of Raton Pass, sometimes called the “Devil’s Way,” affords many exquisite views, of which the Spanish Peaks, one hundred miles to the north, are chief, for the atmosphere is so clear and rare that they appear as distinct as though the distance were scarcely one-fourth so great. Upon gaining an altitude of 7,700 feet, the road enters a tunnel on the Raton Crest, and after a half-mile run emerges on the New Mexico side, where the sunlight appears to be intensified and the warmth of perpetual summer holds sway. The next considerable town reached after leaving Trinidad is Las Vegas, which reposes on a branch of the Pecos, the center of a great many sheep ranches, and it is wool that gives it chief importance. Six miles north of the place is Las Vegas Hot Springs, a sanitarium of much note, located in a region of considerable beauty. They are at the mouth of a small cañon which leads up to the Spanish Range, and thence joins the Rocky Mountains; the waters range in temperature from boiling hot to almost freezing cold.

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TOLTEC GORGE OF THE LOS PINOS, COL.—This is one of the most inspiring
views in all Colorado. It is on the Silverton branch of the Denver
and Rio Grande Railway, 309 miles from Denver City. The road
traverses the verge of the great chasm, the bottom of which is 1500
feet below. The photograph was taken at the bottom of the cañon, and
away up near the top may be seen a passing train, which at so great
a height looks like a child’s toy. A little mountain stream meanders
through the chasm, gently murmuring and singing as it makes its way
over the rocks, but when the snows melt and the rains fall it
becomes a mad, roaring, rushing torrent, tearing the sides of the
mountain and tossing great boulders about as if they were made of
straw.
]

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At a station called Lamy, there is a branch of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad, leading north eighteen miles, to the ancient and interesting city of Santa Fe, celebrated in American history as being the second oldest town in the United States. The place contains much to entertain searchers after relics of the past, and here we find the links that bind the old Spanish invaders with the civilization of to-day. Settled by Catholics, it still retains the characteristics impressed upon it by the Franciscan fathers, and remains true to the faith in which it was first baptized. It is the seat of the archiepiscopal diocese, and the Cathedral of San Francisco is the largest church edifice in the territory, as well as the oldest, the original part, which still remains, having been built as early as 1622.

Old as the town is, Santa Fe is the Phœnix that rose from one that was very much more ancient, for the site was, in the ages that are very remote, occupied by an Indian pueblo, the ruins of which are still to be seen in what is known as the “Old Home.” But the most curious and attractive object within the city is the Governor’s Palace, a long, low building erected in 1598, a summary history of which is thus presented by Governor Prince:

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LA VETA PASS, COL.—Over this famous pass the railroad makes its way
into San Luis Valley, and we have here a combination of the wonders
of engineering skill with a grandeur of view unequaled in any other
part of the world. The maximum grade is 237 feet to the mile, and
the altitude at the summit is 9393 feet. Two of the largest
locomotives are required to draw an ordinary train over the steep
grades, and even with these the ascent is labored and tedious. From
the top of the pass a view is obtained of such surpassing grandeur
that no language can picture it.
]

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“Without disparaging the importance of any of the cherished historical localities of the East, it may be truthfully said that this ancient palace surpasses, in historic interest and value, any other place or object in the United States. It antedates the settlement of Jamestown by nine years, and that of Plymouth by twenty-two, and has stood during the 292 years since its erection, not as a cold rock or monument, with no claim upon the interest of humanity except the bare fact of its continued existence, but as the living center of everything of historic importance in the Southwest. Through all that long period, whether under Spanish, Pueblo, Mexican, or American control, it has been the seat of power and authority. Whether the ruler was called viceroy, captain- general, political chief, department commander, or governor, and whether he presided over a kingdom, a province, a department, or a territory, this has been his official residence. From here Oñate started, in 1599, on his adventurous expedition to the Eastern plains; here, seven years later, 800 Indians came from far-off Quivira to ask aid in their war with the Axtaos; from here, in 1618, Vincente de Salivar set forth to the Moqui country, only to be turned back by rumors of the giants to be encountered; and from here Peñalosa and his brilliant troop started, on the 6th of March, 1662, on their marvelous expedition to the Missouri; in one of its strong-rooms the commissary-general of the Inquisition was imprisoned a few years later by the same Peñalosa; within its walls, fortified as for a siege, the bravest of the Spaniards were massed in the revolution of 1680; here, on the 19th of August of that year, was given the order to execute forty-seven Pueblo prisoners, in the plaza which faces the building; here, but a day later, was the sad war-council held which determined on the evacuation of the city; here was the scene of triumph of the Pueblo chieftains as they ordered the destruction of the Spanish archives and the church ornaments in one grand conflagration; here De Vargas, on September 14, 1692, after the eleven hours’ combat of the preceding day, gave thanks to the Virgin Mary, to whose aid he attributed his triumphant capture of the city; here, more than a century later, on March 3, 1807, Lieutenant Pike was brought before Governor Alencaster as an invader of Spanish soil; here, in 1822, the Mexican standard, with its eagle and cactus, was raised in token that New Mexico was no longer a dependency of Spain; from here, on the 6th of August, 1837, Governor Perez started to subdue the insurrection in the north, only to return two days later and to meet his death on the 9th, near Agua Fria; here, on the succeeding day, Jose Gonzales, a Pueblo Indian of Taos, was installed as Governor of New Mexico, soon after to be executed by order of Armijo; here, in the principal reception-room, on August 12, 1846, Captain Cooke, the American envoy, was received by Governor Armijo and sent back with a message of defiance; and here, five days later, General Kearney formally took possession of the city, and slept, after his long and weary march, on the carpeted earthen floor of the palace.”

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WAGON-WHEEL GAP.—Wagon-Wheel Gap is in Rio Grande County, Col., in the
southern part of the State and near the head of the Rio Grande
River. Hot Springs, famous for their curative qualities, are located
here. The scenery is exceedingly picturesque, and the place has
become a favorite resort for health and pleasure seekers. It is said
to be the best place for trout fishing in the West, and this fact
largely increases its popularity with tourists. It is 310 miles
south of Denver, and is reached by the Creede branch of the Denver
and Rio Grande road. The elevation is 8448 feet.
]

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Santa Fe now has many things that belong to the present age: street cars, electric lights, etc., but she is, nevertheless, still a place of adobe houses, before which there is ever a varied commingling of Americans, Mexicans and Indians. She is also the center of archæological interest, for besides the ancient objects which are to be found within her urban limits, there are villages near-by which present all the aspects of the aborigines, practically as they appeared to Cortes and Coronado. These adobe places and their inhabitants are called pueblos, because that is the old Indian name signifying _town_. The pueblos in New Mexico are nineteen in number, and while varying in size, they are very similar in appearance, showing, as they do, no variation of architecture. The houses were built to accommodate from one hundred to several hundred persons, as the Pueblo Indians were communistic in their manner of living. Instead of being one or two-story structures, like the present style of Mexican and the old Spanish adobes, the houses were built one upon another, in a succession of terraces, sometimes five or more in number, the upper stories being accessible only by means of ladders. The most noted of these pueblos are Taos, Laguna, Acoma, Santa Clara, Zuni and Santo Domingo. Albuquerque was also originally an Indian pueblo, built upon a slight elevation of rock, and the place still contains several clusters of square, flat-roofed adobe houses, arranged in terraces, as before described. The walls of these strange dwellings are very thick, and the interior is gained, not through doors, but by entrance-ways cut in the roof, which is reached only by ladders. The Pueblo Indians have been pronounced by many ethnologists to be the oldest race now living on the continent, though many others regard them as being the descendants of the Aztecs, whose ancient kingdom of Cibola extended from Colorado and Utah on the north, to Central America on the south. The capital of this extinct empire is supposed to have been situated in Penal county, Arizona, the ruins of which are traceable along the Gila River, in what is known as the Casas Grandes. Remarkable stories have been told of the relics of this ruined city, enthusiasts often describing them as equal in grandeur to the prostrate columns and mighty archways that speak in imperishable stone of the magnificence of ancient Egyptian cities. The Montezumas were supposed to have held their court in the splendid stone palaces whose relics lie scattered through the Casas Grandes, and whose carvings and hieroglyphics seem to attest the departed glory of a once mighty people. These famous ruins are twelve miles north of Florence, a station on the Southern Pacific, and are in a region of great picturesqueness, which is traversed by a good wagon-road running along the Gila River. The route is through an arid plain, in which the only vegetation is mesquite and cactus, but the parched desert is gracefully confined by a beautiful and opalescent range of mountains, while overhead is a sapphirine sky more brilliant than ever hung over Italy. The river margin is like a blue wave, colored as it is by the tossing heads of wild lilac flowers, which find protection from the beating sun under the waving branches of banks of willows that stoop low to drink from the river. There, under the shadows of the Tucson Mountains and the Sierra Catarina range, are the colossal ruins of the Casas Grandes. The buildings, of which confused heaps are all that now remain, were of irregular style, but of some architectural pretension, for the walls were constructed of concrete, moulded into blocks nearly three feet square. The principal structure, which has long been called Montezuma’s Palace, was about sixty feet long by fifty broad, and stood five stories, or forty feet high. For windows there was a square aperture over each door, wholly insufficient for either light or ventilation, though the ancient Indians were not partial to either, apparently preferring darkness; and living in the closest communal state, they appreciated fresh air like they did the storm and cold, only when it was on the outside.

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LOS PINOS VALLEY, LOOKING WEST.—This beautiful photograph gives us a
splendid view of cañon, table-land and mountain scenery. It is
rugged and picturesque, with a fringe of distant snow-covered
mountains as a central background. From the high table-lands to the
right, a view of surpassing grandeur and beauty bursts upon the
enraptured vision, repaying the tourist for all his pains in
climbing to the exalted heights. Here the atmosphere is always cool
and invigorating, and the weariness and lassitude of a warmer and
more humid climate are not experienced.
]

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Occasional pieces of copper are found in the Casas Grandes ruins, but no iron, and the cutting instruments of the original occupants were made of obsidian, as were their arrows. Pottery still strews the ground about, but there are no evidences to support the old legends of magnificence with which early travelers invested the so-called palace. But there are plainly to be seen ruins of a great wall that once enclosed the city, on which were sentinel towers rising several feet above the main wall, thus proving that this was not entirely a land of peace, nor do appearances indicate that it was one of plenty. The Apaches, no doubt, harried the less war-like Moqui, who were at last driven southward, and left ruins of similar cities along their gradual retreat from Utah to Mexico. Professor A. L. Heister, the antiquarian, who has made a long and patient investigation of the pueblo ruins in southwest New Mexico, thus writes of his discoveries:

“Within a radius of five miles of St. Joseph, New Mexico, I have discovered several hundred ruins of the habitations of prehistoric man. In these ruins—the walls of which are built of undressed stone and cement—are found the remains of huge cisterns; walls of fortification; queer implements of bone and stone; beautifully designed, carved or painted pottery, together with odd and artistic pictures, characters and symbols cut upon large rocks in cañons near, and with such nicety of taste as serve to strike the beholder with wonder and admiration.

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ADOBE VILLAGE OF PUEBLO INDIANS, NEW MEXICO.—The word pueblo in
Spanish means village, and this term was applied by the early
Spanish explorers to several powerful tribes of Indians whom they
found living in adobe villages like the one so beautifully
photographed on this page. They had evidently occupied such abodes
for centuries before the Spaniards came, and they have not departed
from the custom up to the present time. As the increase of a family
requires more room, additions are made at the top of the house, and
thus we find their homes built in tiers, one above the other, the
upper stories being reached by rude ladders, as shown in the
illustration. The baking oven, seen at the left of the photograph,
is a village institution, and it has been adopted almost universally
by the present rural population of Mexico. The Pueblo Indians are
rapidly disappearing, their entire number being now less than 1000.
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“The ruins are generally found on high ground, and are composed of from two to several hundred rooms, averaging about eight by ten feet, and six to eight feet in height. In some cases the buildings have been two stories high. There has been a side entrance to all of these rooms, but these openings, from some cause, have been carefully walled up.

“These people were larger than those of to-day, some of them being fully eight feet high. I am led to believe their average height was not less than seven feet. They buried their dead in the ground floors of their rooms, with the heads towards the east, and, as a rule, their pottery, trinkets and personal ornaments with them. In excavating these ruins, one is constantly impressed with one paramount wonder—their great age. Huge pine trees, three and four feet in diameter and 100 feet high, flourish upon the walls and in the rooms of these habitations of forgotten man. The infilling of drift and the increase of surface, caused by vegetable growth and decay, is very slow, and has been estimated by some geologists to average about one foot in eighty years. Admitting this to be near the truth, our surprise knows no bounds when, on sinking directly under these giant trees, we pass through from six to ten feet of vegetable mold, then encounter from one to three feet of clean-washed sand and gravel, then a solid earthen floor covered with ashes, charcoal, bones and fragments of broken pottery. Yet still below this are the skeletons of human beings, surrounded by their pottery, weapons and ornaments of stone, bone and copper. My own opinion is that these people were either Aztecs or Toltecs. They were sun-worshipers and well advanced in carving, painting, building, weaving and agriculture. They flourished many centuries in Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico, Mexico, Central and South America, and were exterminated either by famine, flood, disease or volcanic action at least 1,000 years ago.

“In the eastern part of this (Socorro) county are the ruins of an immense city known as the Grande Quivero, covering two by two and one- half miles square. Its walls are, in some places, eight feet thick, forty feet high, and 700 feet long. A great aqueduct carried water to the city, but to-day there is no water within forty miles of this ancient wonder. It stands silent and alone in the sunlight and moonlight, and where once the love, industry and skill of an unknown race made thousands of beautiful and happy homes, the coyote, bat and snake now hold sway. When and by whom it was built was a mystery to the Mexican people more than 300 years ago.”

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THE PUEBLO VILLAGE OF LA GUNA.—This is one of the most important of
the Pueblo settlements in New Mexico. It is situated in the midst of
a rich valley, which, by means of irrigation and rude methods of
cultivation, produces abundant food for the unaspiring inhabitants.
The reader is referred to page 150 of this work for a very full,
graphic and interesting description of the Pueblos and their
customs, together with a history of their probable origin and
descent.
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INNER COURT OF A PUEBLO TOWN, ARIZONA.—In two preceding photographs we
have had very fine general views of Pueblo villages, and in this one
we are shown the interior or court, formed by the surrounding
houses, where much of the domestic work is performed. It is a
dreary, desolate-looking place, but decidedly better than the
average of the homes of savage or uncivilized peoples. The sun-baked
mud houses are certainly preferable to an ordinary Indian wigwam,
and we are sure the baking ovens would produce sweeter and more
wholesome bread than the roving Apaches or Sioux are accustomed to.
In fact, the houses, the ovens, and even the dress of the forlorn-
looking woman indicate the beginnings of civilization.
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