The ranch to which they were destined lay about one hundred miles south and west of Denver, and after a day's rest they set out therefor. The train took them within eight miles of the place, and at the station they were to take wagon to the end of their journey.
Mildred declared herself better already. The sights were all so new to her, — the rolling, illimitable plains, then the great bleak mountains, standing up like hoary sentinels guarding the land.
“It's magnificent!” she breathed; “this is geography realised! The Rockies!'
“Wait until you get to going over those roads in a wagon-team, though.”
"Don't pour cold water now, papa; let me go on enjoying when I may, so that I shall have something to remember when I may not.”
“Go on, child, and store up numerous memories, for you 'll need them,” said her father, banteringly.
Every turn of the train disclosed new beauties to the girl's wondering eyes. Before her lay the panorama of mountain and cloud. Time and time again she found herself puzzled to tell which was vapour and which was rock. First, the brown foot hills shrouded in a purple haze, and behind them, range after range rising in snow-garmented grandeur.
When they arrived at the station, a young man came forward to meet them.