were yellow with gold; but by some mischance the prize always slipped
out of his grasp, and left him poor in all but hope. And in truth so
fascinating becomes the occupation that men who in other respects seem
cool and phlegmatic will desert an almost assured success to join the
horde rushing toward some unexplored district, impelled by the
ever-flying rumors of untold wealth just brought to light. The golden
goal this season is the great Gunnison Country; and soon trains of
_burros_, packed with pick and shovel, tent and provisions, will be
climbing the Range.

Pueblo has likewise its business-men, its men of to-day, who manage its
banks, who buy and sell and get gain as they might do in any
well-ordered city, though, truth to tell, there are very few of them who
do not sooner or later catch the prevailing infection--a part of whose
assets is not represented by some "prospect" away up in the mountains or
frisking about the Plains in herds of cattle and sheep. But perhaps the
most curiously-original character in all the town is Judge Allen A.
Bradford, of whose wonderful memory the following good story is told:
Years ago he, with a party of officers, was at the house of Colonel
Boone, down the river. While engaged in playing "pitch-trump," of which
the judge was very fond--and in fact the only game of cards with which
he was acquainted--a messenger rushed in announcing that a lady had
fallen from her horse and was doubtless much injured. The players left
their cards and ran to render assistance, and the game thus broken up
was not resumed. Some two years later the same parties found themselves
together again, and "pitch-trump" was proposed. To the astonishment of
all, the judge informed them how the score stood when they had so
hurriedly left the game, and with the utmost gravity insisted that it be
continued from that point!