We were very high up in the Rocky Mountains. All around us was snow,
and the view of the blue mountains, the tops of which were quite white,
looked beautiful in the distance. There were some Indians on horseback
drawn up in file as the train went by. They had all their war-paint on,
were covered with picturesque blankets, and their feather head-dresses
reached over their horses' backs; they had buckskin leggings covered
with beads, which made them look very picturesque. They looked stolidly
and indifferently at us while we stared at them admiringly from the car
windows. The prairie-dogs looked like squirrels "sitting up so cute,"
as Miss C. said, "dodging in and out of their holes."

At one of the stations a whole band of Indians climbed into the train
with guttural war-whoops and invaded the baggage-car. We thought we
were being "held up," but they behaved themselves very well. The
thought of Buffalo Bill, to say nothing of Mr. Holmes of Texas with his
pistols, reassured us; and the only difference that the presence of the
Indians made to us was that we avoided the baggage-car for our midday
meal.

At another station a quantity of loafers, mostly Indians, smelling
dreadfully of whisky, surrounded us and begged for money. Among them an
old Indian woman who looked like the witch of Endor (they said she was
over a hundred years old) stretched out a long, bony, orang-outang arm,
and when we gave her a few cents the old thing actually grinned with
joy. It was painful to see this creature with the accumulated look of
greed on her withered old brown face.

Our baggage-master always kept his hat on, slouched at a tremendous
angle. We wondered how it could keep on unless it was pinned to his