Part 12 (1/2)

”Good gracious!” cried Mrs. Watson, quite pale; ”what an awful place!

Bears and lions! What on earth did you go there for?”

”Oh, purely for pleasure,” replied the doctor, lightly. ”We don't mind such little matters out West. We try to accustom ourselves to wild beasts, and make friends of them.”

”John, don't talk such nonsense,” cried his wife, quite angrily. ”Mrs.

Watson, you mustn't believe a word the doctor says. I've lived in Colorado nine years; and I've never once seen a mountain lion, or a bear either, except the stuffed ones in the shops. Don't let the doctor frighten you.”

But Dr. Hope's wicked work was done. Mrs. Watson, quite unconvinced by these well-meant a.s.surances, sat pale and awe-struck, repeating under her breath,--

”Dreadful! What _will_ Ellen say? Bears and lions! Oh, dear me!”

”Look, look!” cried Clover, who had not listened to a word of this conversation; ”did you ever see anything so lovely?” She referred to what she was looking at,--a small point of pale straw-colored rock some hundreds of feet in height, which a turn in the road had just revealed, soaring above the tops of the trees.

”I don't see that it's lovely at all,” said Mrs. Watson, testily. ”It's unnatural, if that's what you mean. Rocks ought not to be that color.

They never are at the East. It looks to me exactly like an enormous unripe banana standing on end.”

This simile nearly ”finished” the party. ”It's big enough to disagree with all the Sunday-schools in creation at once,” remarked the doctor, between his shouts, while even Clover shook with laughter. Mrs. Watson felt that she had made a hit, and grew complacent again.

”See what your brother picked for me,” cried Poppy, riding alongside, and exhibiting a great sheaf of columbine tied to the pommel of her saddle.

”And how do you like North Cheyenne? Isn't it an exquisite place?”

”Perfectly lovely; I feel as if I must come here every day.”

”Yes, I know; but there are so many other places out here about which you have that feeling.”

”Now we will show you the other Cheyenne Canyon,--the twin of this,” said Dr. Hope; ”but you must prepare your mind to find it entirely different.”

After rather a rough mile or two through woods, they came to a wooden shed, or shanty, at the mouth of a gorge, and here Dr. Hope drew up his horses, and helped them all out.

”Is it much of a walk?” asked Mrs. Watson.

”It is rather long and rather steep,” said Mrs. Hope; ”but it is lovely if you only go a little way in, and you and I will sit down the moment you feel tired, and let the others go forward.”

South Cheyenne Canyon was indeed ”entirely different.” Instead of a green-floored, vine-hung ravine, it is a wild mountain gorge, walled with precipitous cliffs of great height; and its river--every canyon has a river--comes from a source at the top of the gorge in a series of mad leaps, forming seven waterfalls, which plunge into circular basins of rock, worn smooth by the action of the stream. These pools are curiously various in shape, and the color of the water, as it pauses a moment to rest in each before taking its next plunge, is beautiful. Little plank walks are laid along the river-side, and rude staircases for the steepest pitches. Up these the party went, leaving Mrs. Watson and Mrs. Hope far behind,--Poppy with her habit over her arm, Clover stopping every other moment to pick some new flower, Phil shying stones into the rapids as he pa.s.sed,--till the top of the topmost cascade was reached, and looking back they could see the whole wonderful way by which they had climbed, and down which the river made its turbulent rush. Clover gathered a great mat of green scarlet-berried vine like glorified cranberry, which Dr. Hope told her was the famous kinnikinnick, and was just remarking on the cool water-sounds which filled the place, when all of a sudden these sounds seemed to grow angry, the defile of precipices turned a frowning blue, and looking up they saw a great thunder-cloud gathering overhead.

”We must run,” cried Dr. Hope, and down they flew, racing at full speed along the long flights of steps and the plank walks, which echoed to the sound of their flying feet. Far below they could see two fast-moving specks which they guessed to be Mrs. Hope and Mrs. Watson, hurrying to a place of shelter. Nearer and nearer came the storm, louder the growl of the thunder, and great hail-stones pattered on their heads before they gained the cabin; none too soon, for in another moment the cloud broke, and the air was full of a dizzy whirl of sleet and rain.

Others besides themselves had been surprised in the ravine, and every few minutes another and another wet figure would come flying down the path, so that the little refuge was soon full. The storm lasted half an hour, then it scattered as rapidly as it had come, the sun broke out brilliantly, and the drive home would have been delightful if it had not been for the sad fact that Mrs. Watson had left her parasol in the carriage, and it had been wet, and somewhat stained by the india-rubber blanket which had been thrown over it for protection. Her lamentations were pathetic.

”Jane Phillips gave it to me,--she was a Sampson, you know,--and I thought ever so much of it. It was at Hovey's--We were there together, and I admired it; and she said, 'Mrs. Watson, you must let me--' Six dollars was the price of it. That's a good deal for a parasol, you know, unless it's really a nice one; but Hovey's things are always--I had the handle shortened a little just before I came away, too, so that it would go into my trunk; it had to be mended anyhow, so that it seemed a good--Dear, dear! and now it's spoiled! What a pity I left it in the carriage! I shall know better another time, but this climate is so different. It never rains in this way at home. It takes a little while about it, and gives notice; and we say that there's going to be a northeaster, or that it looks like a thunder-storm, and we put on our second-best clothes or we stay at home.

It's a great deal nicer, I think.”

”I am so sorry,” said kind little Mrs. Hope. ”Our storms out here do come up very suddenly. I wish I had noticed that you had left your parasol.

Well, Clover, you've had a chance now to see the doctor's beautiful Colorado hail and thunder to perfection. How do you like them?”

”I like everything in Colorado, I believe,” replied Clover, laughing. ”I won't even except the hail.”