Mr. Dide, His Vacation in Colorado

"Miss Jennie is a cousin, I believe, of the Deacon, as you call him."

"But about the other lady, Mr. Dide?"

"Aw, – Miss Gwace! – she is a vewy chawming young lady, as you say."

"You have known her some time?"

"Aw – y-a-s."

Mr. Dide retired within himself, and I concluded, if I would learn anything, I must come to the point without indirection.

"She seems to be alone here; how does that happen?"

"Most extwaawdinawy – she is a vewy independent young lady and went away fwom home because of some misapwehension with her welatives. They pwoposed that she mahwy a gentleman who was distasteful to her and she declined."

"I admire her for declining such an alliance."

"So do I, you know – by Jove – I do! My impwession is that if the gentleman had known he was distasteful, he would have withdwawn himself – I know he would."

"You know the gentleman, then?"

"Aw, y-a-s. But it was too bad, you know, that she should be compelled to abandon her home. I have twied to pwevail on her to weconsidah and weturn, but she won't, you know. I have it fwom a weliable fwiend that she wan out of money heah last wintah, and became a waitah, watha than communicate with her welatives. She is a bwave young lady; I wegwet she deemed it necessawy to do so."

"What was her objection to the gentleman, Mr. Dide?"

"She said to her fathah that he was a simpleton, – the gentleman, I mean. She was wight, no doubt, but she is a vewy extwaawdinawy young lady, you know; she's a student of Dawwin and Huxley and those fellows, and the gentleman – aw – he is – aw – only a gentleman, you know, with no taste in that direction."

"Indeed, Mr. Dide, I believe you – he is a gentleman."

"Thanks. I – I know him and he would not have sanctioned it – weally – he would have ceased his attentions at once. It is a vewy unhappy situation – he was not advised until she had put her wesolution into effect. She is a vewy amiable young lady, but she has too much pwide to seek a wecconciliation with her pawents. I endeavahed to pwesent the mattah to her in the stwongest light, but she would not be moved."

"She seemed to be very favorably impressed with the Deacon, Mr. Dide," I ventured to insinuate.

"Aw, y-a-s, you are wight; the Deacon is, I think, a vewy estimable gentleman."

"But suppose he should not be serious, Mr. Dide – the Deacon is a stranger to you, and he might be trifling."

"Twifling! impossible! I cannot think so of him."

"Ah! Deacon! Deacon!" I thought, "you called this gentleman, contemptuously, 'a dude' – how do you compare with him?" and confessed to myself that the verdict was not in favor of my friend. I had no question of the Deacon's integrity. I was looking only for one of the elements that go to make up a gentleman, and found that Mr. Dide was better endowed with unselfishness.

The Major and Joshua coming in, the subject between Mr. Dide and myself was dropped. That night when my friend and I were covered with our blankets, looking out at the bright lamps and ready to be wooed into unconsciousness by the river's melody, he said to me:

"I have changed my mind concerning our new friend. I thought he would be a bore, at least, but I have discovered him to be a gentleman."

"So have I." But I did not deem it necessary to explain to him why I had reached the same conclusion.

CHAPTER IX.

SUCCESS AND – SUCCESS

Breaking camp, we went down the river as far as Still Water. I left our old quarters with a feeling of regret, thinking that when I came again I should find them occupied; it was like giving up to strangers a home where life has been sweet. No one may question the stranger's right nor his good taste, but it is not a pleasant reflection that in due course one will be crowded out or will drop from his place, and the world will move round at the same old rate, as if one had never encumbered the earth; the thought tends to induce humility.

"It's like stickin' your finger in a pail of water, then pullin' it out and lookin' for the hole," said Joshua, as I expressed my regrets.

"I have heard that comparison before, Mr. Miles."

"So have I, Major. Mebbe I'll strike somethin' yet that you ain't heard."

The retort called a smile to the Major's face as he turned away.

The camp for a day on the Still Water gave the Major an opportunity to shoot a few ducks, and the variety of our larder was thus added to. I found my way through the willows and reached a clear place on the bank. The pool thus exposed to me presented an abundance of fish, the water being perfectly clear and glassy on the surface. I cast into it and the inhabitants started in every direction away from the lure. It was a good place to practice delicacy, and I soon concluded that delicacy was not among my talents. Now and then I would deliver the fly in a way that caused no commotion; the trout would not look at it, and as I drew it across the water, they would come up gently and take something within a few feet of it, then settle back, leaving a little ripple on the surface to widen. I changed flies several times, but the result was still the same: neither variety nor size seemed of any avail, yet the trout were feeding. I put a shot on the leader, threw above, and drawing the fly down, allowed it to sink and moved it slowly among them. One fellow came forward a little and looked at it, and I became satisfied that I saw him turn up his nose in disgust. That a human being of ordinary intelligence, as he presumed me to be, should put such an abominable species of diet as a bedraggled coachman on his dining-table, was beyond laughing at or praying for, – words were too feeble to express his scorn – he could only turn up his nose and move away. The verdict was as clear to me as the water.

A grasshopper might decoy one of those fellows to destruction, but there could be no credit in that to me, as an angler. It would be assuming the rôle of a Borgia and not taking an adversary with all his faculties alert – it would be secret poisoning and not the clean rapier glittering in the sunlight backed by a heart willing to take equal chances. I scorned the grasshopper in this emergency, as the beautiful denizen of the crystal scorned my ragged servitor.

Close to the bank I saw a white-fish moving slowly up stream, nosing the small rocks as if he might be in search of a tid-bit to tickle a fastidious palate. His small scales were distinct, and with the sun's rays playing upon them he was the perfection of beauty in color. His dainty mouth was fairly visible, turned up to me, and his gill-covers glistened like polished silver. I took the shot from the leader and dropped the fly upon the surface about a yard in front of him, barely moving it. The water was about four feet deep and he was near the bottom. When he caught sight of the fraud, it seemed to me that I saw his eyes suddenly distend; the iris became animated and shone within a flexible circle of pale gold, as he sculled quickly to the surface and closed upon the hook. At the critical moment I gave the fatal motion of the wrist and the trim quarry was fast. The instant he felt the sting he darted, like a flash of light through a clear topaz, for the bottom and centre of the pool. His flight was a strong, steady pull, always below the surface. I would draw him up, but the moment his nostrils tasted the air, he would strive for the depths. Believing him too heavy to lift out, and the bank being too high and abrupt for me to get down to him, I permitted him to fight until he was too feeble to prevent my holding his head clear from the water. In this condition, and when I deemed a violent struggle among the possibilities merely, I drew him toward the bank, kneeled, and taking the leader in my left hand as low as I could reach, I swung him upon the grass; he came straight, without the slightest movement until he touched the ground, otherwise he would have been free. I could not but notice how firm his body felt, as I grasped him to take out the hook; there was no yielding whatever to the pressure of my hand; he might have been absolutely as solid as a stone. Then I thought of those who take it upon themselves to talk flippantly of these pieces of perfection in their way, and felt a sympathy for the grumblers in their weakness.

I placed the fish in the shade of the willows and lengthened the line again; I felt encouraged by my success and thought I might secure a trout. They had returned to their several stations, after a short respite from the recent commotion, but all that I could see, scattered as I threw them the fly, save one; he seemed indifferent and remained at his post. I cast in his vicinity several times; he finally seemed inclined to move, and I coaxed him, as I thought, though perhaps I may have incited him to anger and a determination to drive my monstrosity away. Whether rage, sudden hunger or curiosity impelled him was a matter of indifference to me; suffice it to say that he abruptly darted up and took the hitherto scouted mystery, and I fastened it directly through his tongue. My movement and his own impetus brought him clear of the water; he went back with a plunge, was up again in a few moments, shaking himself in a very paroxysm of rage and terror. Half a dozen times he rushed hither and yon, but at all times he felt the spring of the splendid toy in my hand. If he moved to the opposite shore, it checked his career and responded to his every motion, as he circled back. A straight shoot directly up stream, or down, the bamboo arched over him like the wand of fate. He would pause at times as if by contemplation he might solve the occult cause of his restraint, and thus devise an avenue of escape, but his destiny was determined. A few more struggles and he surrendered. He could not release himself; I could not free him, or I verily believe I should have bowed deferentially and requested him to retain his sword.

Even when he was so far exhausted that I could draw him toward me without resistance, I dared not attempt to lift him out as I had his predecessor. I called the Major and he came to me, held on by the willows, and slipping down the bank seized and threw the gallant champion upon the sod. It seemed like indignity to him to have him thus handled, and I told the Major so. He should have been lifted out with the net and received with a delicacy commensurate with his greatness.

The white-fish weighed one pound and a half, the trout one pound and a quarter. Caught within fifteen minutes of each other, it was a fit time to determine their qualities as warriors. The trout, of course, from the dash and brilliancy of his evolutions, must bear the palm, but the sturdy determination of his neighbor in the pool must have a share of praise. I love them both, with a little more admiration in my heart for the black-spotted denizen.

The time to fish this water when a full creel is desired quickly is when there is a slight breeze, just sufficient force in the summer air to caress the surface into a gentle ripple. I warrant me, then there will be leaping and sport that will be fast and glorious. I had read of a trick, and tried it. I found a cottonwood leaf for my purpose, and wetting it, that the fly might stick to it gently, threw it into the pool. After several trials I succeeded in getting the fly partly upon it with sufficient hold at least to guide the leaf, which I worked down to where the trout seemed more numerous. I gave the fly a gentle flirt and it fell from the novel argosy into the water; it had not floated a foot before it was seized, and I had another fight on my hands, much to the interest and amusement of the Major.

At noon Mr. Dide expressed a preference for our late camp over the present one.

"I cannot heah the wipple of the watah, you know," was his explanation.

"Then, Mr. Dide, we will move on, and make camp below the Still Water, for a few days," said the major, expressing my wishes as well. "I have a weakness for that music, myself," he continued; "as cowering upon the lofty cliff, I trembling court the wondrous depths; with eager eyes I seek the angry rush and the flashing tints of foaming waves. Borne high upon the ambient air, the solemn whispers of troubled souls and the rippling laughter of the blest reach past me, intertwined, to sink again in lamentation. Then, lying prone, my attentive ears drink in the softer sighs of the sweeping crystal, and stills all my pulse to catch the cadence of the liquid rhythm, sweet as the fading notes of some dear vesper hymn, lingering in hushed cathedral aisles."

"Bwavo! bwavo! my deah Majah! you have won my heart!" exclaimed Mr. Dide, clapping his hands, and ecstatic enthusiasm apparently exuding from his entire person. My amazement kept me silent. That the Major should indulge in "that sort of sky-scraping," as Joshua irreverently expressed it, rather weakened my friend in our chef's estimation for the time. The Major received Joshua's strictures in dignified silence, which made the latter think there was more in the Major's poetic escapade than mere words, and, like every other mystery to the average intellect, it became weighty; he requested the Major to write it down, and that is how it found a place here; I purloined the manuscript.

We moved down after the noonday meal and made camp in a secluded spot not a great way from the forks of the river.

That evening, when our fire burned low, Joshua felt in the mood to sing. Having concluded one hymn he struck into another familiar to Mr. Dide. The effusion had a refrain of some sort, and we were all startled by hearing that taken up and repeated by female voices. Not being superstitious, the Major moved out of the light of our own fire and discovered the reflection of another some little distance away. We had, in the vicinity, mortals like ourselves, but fairer, no doubt, and Joshua, with Mr. Dide's help, sent out frequent invitations to the unknown singers, bringing a response until the hour grew late. The episode was not an unpleasant one, and I thought it might pave the way to an acquaintance with our neighbors. In the morning I started on a prospecting tour, and the first individual I met proved, much to my surprise, to be the Deacon, whom I discovered gathering wood with which to cook breakfast.

Where did he come from?

"Why, Trapper's Lake – we came down the river yesterday, with the intention of spending a week on the South Fork, hoping to find you and the Major. I had no notion you two were the singers, or I should have called last night."

"Then you have the ladies with you?"

"Oh, yes, my cousin and her mother, – you saw my cousin at Cascade, – they were the singers you heard answering you."

"The Major and I were not the singers, Deacon."

"No? well, who is camped over there by you?"

"Our cook and Mr. Dide were the singers you heard."

"Mr. Dide – oh, he's with you, is he?" and there came a smile into the Deacon's face, as he repeated the name, that, with his tone, indicated nothing to be apprehended by the speaker from the vicinity or presence of Mr. Dide, and in addition, his air was patronizing. Had I not known the Deacon well, having much faith in his kindness of heart, his manner in speaking of my newer friend would have proved offensive.

"If you are so fortified in your own mind, Deacon, you can afford to speak less cavalierly of Mr. Dide."

"Fortified?" he repeated, "how fortified? Don't talk in riddles, old boy."

"You understand, well enough – victory should make you courteous to the conquered."

"Why, my dear sir, I never treated him uncivilly."

"Perhaps not, but you spoke uncivilly of him – you called him a dude, and your manner, just now – "

"Well, is he not a dude?"

"He is every inch a gentleman, Deacon."

"I may not dispute that; but you seem to take great interest in him."

"Not without reason, Deacon. What became of Miss Grace?"

"Miss Grace – why, she's in camp there, with my aunt and cousin." The Deacon's face was wreathed in a smile unmistakable in its import.

"I'm not disposed to be impertinent, Deacon – but are you engaged to Miss Grace?"

"Engaged! why, my dear sir, we were married ten days ago, at Glenwood."

"The d – deuce you were – "

"Fact, my dear old boy – and she's the sweetest – "

"Spare us, Deacon! you seem to have been expeditious."

"Not so, – I have known her for a year, nearly; we were engaged last winter. Cousin Jennie and she were schoolmates east."

"Oh, that's the way of it. Do you know that Mr. Dide will be glad to congratulate you?"

"No, I don't know it – to tell you frankly, he was the cause of her leaving home; perhaps I ought to feel friendly toward him because of that – indirectly he became my benefactor – "

"Wait a moment, Deacon, let me tell you something," and I detailed the conversation I had held with Mr. Dide over the camp-fire. "Now, you see, if he had been aware of her wishes she would have had no excuse for leaving; she did not refuse him directly, and her bear of a father had set his mind in one direction and thought, no doubt, he was taking in the horizon, when he was only in a small hole of his own digging. Mr. Dide explained this to your wife, at Cascade, where they accidentally met, and she has failed to tell it to you. You know now how unselfish he was and is. Could you have relinquished your object with the same degree of nobleness?"

"Not one in a thousand would. But I don't just like the idea of some other man loving my wife better than I do."

"So long as she does not love him in return, you can have no cause of complaint."

"I guess you're right. I'll take in this wood and call on Mr. Dide."

Our friend received the announcement from me very quietly and greeted the Deacon cordially on his arrival. When the latter went away, Mr. Dide sauntered off to the river bearing his rod and umbrella. We saw nothing of him at noon, and later on I concluded to hunt him up. I had not gone far when I discovered him seated on the edge of a pool. He had one trout, thoroughly dried, and was waiting for another rise; the fly had floated down and lodged against a bit of willow that hung to the bank by its roots, while the limbs vibrated with the current. He started when I spoke to him, but looked up cheerfully, saying:

"I am afwaid I shall not make a success at fishing."

"Not if you sit still, Mr. Dide; you should keep moving and the fly must not be allowed to rest a moment."

"Aw – that makes one's ahms ache, you know."

It might have made his heart ache less, perhaps.

"Supper is about ready – won't you come in to camp?"

"Weally, I did not think it was so late – thanks."

In the evening Mr. Dide announced that he should go to Meeker on the following day, and thence he knew not where, definitely.

"You'll go to Glenwood, won't you? I'd like to have you take word to my folks and tell 'em how we're gettin' on," Joshua requested, on Mr. Dide's stating his determination to return to civilization. The gentleman consented in his usual affable way. At the earliest opportunity, I informed Mr. Dide who Joshua's "folks" were.

"Weally! that vewy extwaadinawy old lady! I shall be obliged to wequest him to wite – then I can dwop it in the mail, you know."

And so on the morrow Mr. Dide drifted out of sight.

CHAPTER X.

VAPOR

At the next evening's camp-fire I took down the Deacon's report of his trip:

"The trail from Glenwood Springs to Trapper's Lake is good, and the country through which it runs is always attractive, beautiful, and in places grand. In fact, it is a difficult matter, you know, to go astray of magnificent scenery in these beloved mountains of ours. We made one camp, the ladies being out for pleasure and not in a hurry, and for one day's ride the trip is a little tiresome, especially if you are not accustomed to the saddle. Our camp outfit and provisions made light loads for two pack animals.

"The first view of the lake coming in from the south side is finer than that from the trail out of Egeria Park. By the latter route you come directly upon the lake from the timber, low down the mountain side, and look directly across. By the way we came you get a fine view of the lake first from a point higher up the mountain, and can look down upon it, along its length, toward the outlet. You have a foreground of the beautiful lake, and through the wide gap at its foot a distant range of hills veiled in the gray mist forms a background, while the lake itself, except at the outlet, is shut in by the high-terraced mountains. These mountains, you will remember, reach down to the very margin of the lake, excepting only at the little meadow on the left of the outlet. The terraces are thickly covered with pines until the last precipice is reached, which runs up above the timber line.

"We remained four days there, fishing from rafts. There are two varieties of trout in the lake, the light and the salmon-colored. The light variety are the fighters, of course, and so abundant that but for the presence of others to help us dispose of them they would spoil on our hands; they are large, too, running uniformly to fourteen inches in length.

"I killed a buck in the little meadow near the outlet. The Deaconess declares that those four days were 'just too lovely.'"

"But about the trail, Deacon, from the lake to the forks here?"

"It is a good trail. Did you ever see an Indian trail that wasn't good? Our red brother, as you call him, is a first-class engineer in that respect; he is the only one who accomplishes his purpose prompted by pure laziness. We took the ridge part of the way, and made a short détour to see the Devil's Causeway, and on that account saw a band of elk; there were fifty in the band at least, because I counted that number, and missed some without doubt. There was indeed a commotion in the camp when I announced the discovery of bear signs, but I succeeded in allaying the fright by persuading them to believe that Cuffy was no more liable to attack us than the deer were. We had splendid fishing in the Pot Hole Valley, and I want you to know that I landed a trout of five pounds and four ounces out of one of those pools, and that's no fish story. The trout run large as they do here in the South Fork. White-fish are plentiful, too; the largest one I caught weighed a scant two pounds, and I know you agree with me as to their excellence on the table. The valley is filling up, though, with settlers; it is not so much in the wilderness as it was a few years ago."

"You are having an unusual wedding tour, Deacon."

"But a very happy one. Just try it, and see for yourself."

"I have been travelling the 'long path' too many years for that, Deacon."

"Well, you'll enjoy it, all the same."

Of course I had to thank the Deacon for the compliment and I promised to "try it."

The next day a few fleecy clouds climbed up over the hills in the west, and in the afternoon we moved further down the river toward Meeker. That evening we put up the fly for the first time, lapped and pegged down the ends. We thought we might have rain before morning, but were disappointed.

The following morning the clouds put in an appearance again; the sky had been absolutely clear during the most of our trip, and the pretty harbingers afforded a relief. From white they gathered into clusters and turned to gray, and the drapery of a darker shade, hanging below, told of the rain. It passed us by, however, and we had a beautiful sunset. The west was clear, while just above a range of hills in the east, veiled with a thin blue mist, was a stratum of pale bronze, its upper line apparently as straight as if run by a level. From this base of miles in length there arose a great mass of clouds, seemingly thousands of feet in height, and white as carded wool. Its northern and southern ends were almost perpendicular, and its summit of great rolling folds was outlined against the delicate blue of the sky. For half an hour there seemed no change; the huge pile stood apparently still, pure and white as newly-fallen snow. Then, as if moved by some gentle and artistic freak of its presiding genius, a rift in a mountain side appeared, reaching from the bronze base to the top, the line was sharply defined in white and gray and the shadow was cast against the background of white to our right. Away at the northerly summit a small bit seemed to break away, or was left; it divided, and in a few moments there were clearly defined a pair of gigantic wings, regular in their contour as those of a bird. In another place a gray tower presented itself with a great arched doorway near its base. Castles would spring into a brief existence, machicolated and loop-holed, to be lost again in some modern cottage with vine-clad porch. Along the upper margin figures would come and go as if the gods and their retinues were all abroad directing a magnificent display. And in one corner, by itself, there was plainly outlined a fleecy hood, into which I caught myself intently gazing, expecting to see the laughing eyes and face of a beautiful child. All this in tones of white and gray. But as the sun sank lower, veils of slanting mist appeared here and there, the apparently solid mass was being broken up, the summit was still white scroll-work, but below, the line of bronze had turned into a crimson shade, within an uneven apex; the lead-colored base of the main body was changing to a purple hue, and all through the mass the rose and amber were being laid in, shifting from moment to moment, until the hues became bewildering in their multitude; then, as the sun went down, the gray tones returned again, such as the artist may sometimes give a hint of but never paints.