Accidents & Disappointment

We never reached Estes Park.  There is no trail, and horses have never been across.  We started from camp at ten, and spent four hours in searching for the trail.  Chalmers tried gulch after gulch again, his self-assertion giving way a little after each failure; sometimes going east when we should have gone west, always being brought up by a precipice or other impossibility.  At last he went off by himself, and returned rejoicing, saying he had found the trail; and soon, sure enough, we were on a well-defined old trail, evidently made by carcasses which have been dragged along it by hunters.  Vainly I pointed out to him that we were going north-east when we should have gone south-west, and that we were ascending instead of descending.  “Oh, it’s all right, and we shall soon come to water,” he always replied.  For two hours we ascended slowly through a thicket of aspen, the cold continually intensifying; but the trail, which had been growing fainter, died out, and an opening showed the top of Storm Peak not far off and not much above us, though it is 11,000 feet high.  I could not help laughing He had deliberately turned his back on Estes Park.  He then confessed that he was lost, and that he could not find the way back.  His wife sat down on the ground and cried bitterly.  We ate some dry bread, and then I said I had had much experience in traveling, and would take the control of the party, which was agreed to, and we began the long descent.  Soon after his wife was thrown from her horse, and cried bitterly again from fright and mortification.  Soon after that the girth of the mule’s saddle broke, and having no crupper, saddle and addenda went over his head, and the flour was dispersed.  Next the girth of the woman’s saddle broke, and she went over her horse’s head.  Then he began to fumble helplessly at it, railing against England the whole time, while I secured the saddle, and guided the route back to an outlet of the park.  There a fire was built, and we had some bread and bacon; and then a search for water occupied nearly two hours, and resulted in the finding of a mud-hole, trodden and defiled by hundreds of feet of elk, bears, cats, deer, and other beasts, and containing only a few gallons of water as thick as pea-soup, with which we watered our animals and made some strong tea.

The sun wag setting in glory at we started for the four hours’ ride home, and the frost was intense, and made our bruised, grazed limbs ache painfully.  I was sorry for Mrs. Chalmers, who had had several falls, and bore her aches patiently, and had said several times to her husband, with a kind meaning, “I am real sorry for this woman.” I was so tired with the perpetual stumbling of my horse, as well as stiffened with the bitter cold, that I walked for the last hour or two; and Chalmers, as if to cover his failure, indulged in loud, incessant talk, abusing all other religionists, and railing against England in the coarsest American fashion.  Yet, after all, they were not bad souls; and though he failed so grotesquely, he did his incompetent best.  The log-fire in the ruinous cabin was cheery, and I kept it up all night, and watched the stars through the hole in the roof, and thought of Long’s Peak in its glorious solitude, and resolved that, come what might, I would reach Estes park.

I.L.B.