The Pike's Peak Rush — Edwin L. Sabin

Excerpt: ...He was the wheel-barrow man, halted to breathe so as to be able to push his barrow to the next resting place. "Tough sledding," he wheezed, as he sat upon his barrow handles and wiped his brow with a bandanna handkerchief. "Wust yet, but I'm bound to get there." They left the wheel-barrow man behind. At every turn they expected to see the summit beyond, but the climb required over an hour and a half of steady work. Here, on the top, they were high above Table Mountain. "Whew!" gasped Harry. The top was flat, and they drew aside, while they rested. Everybody halted here to rest. It was a fine view. Down below, whence they had come, was the trail, with other outfits zig-zagging up; and farther was the trail along Clear Creek, and farther, the Platte River; and farther, the plains, and Cherry Creek, and Denver and Auraria, all wonderfully sharp in the perfectly transparent air. The people at the foot of the trail and beyond looked like pigmies, and the wagons like toys. Before, the trail stretched across the mountain top and appeared to aim straight into a tremendous wild country of much higher mountains, timbered with evergreens and capped with snow. The gold-seeker companies were again starting on. "Do we reach Gregory gulch today?" inquired Harry, of a returning party. "No, sir; not by a long shot. 'Tisn't any use, anyhow. Every foot of ground is taken up. There are two thousand people in that gulch already, and the same in the other gulches. The Gregory folks have the best claims. Nothing left for us later comers." The trail continued to follow a high ridge, amidst pines and bright flowers and grass; crossed icy cold streams where the ridge dipped; and by night had arrived nowhere in particular. So camp was made, the pleasantest camp of the whole trip from the Big Blue valley, because the air was so fresh and pure, and the water and wood abundant, and the grass so sweet for Jenny. "I reckon we're getting into the Promised Land," hazarded one of...