out his revolver, shot Thomas in the head and William in the stomach. William died at four o'clock on the next morning, Thomas lay for weeks at the gate of death, and brother Samuel, when I left the district, was in gaol. He had already put in his plea.

It was that he acted in self-defence.

5

VOL. I.

CHAPTER V.

IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

To persons who have heard of Denver as the head-quarters of a mixed population of miners and cowboys, the city itself is an agreeable surprise. Its most striking feature is its extreme respectability. Its streets being laid out in broad boulevards, flanked on either side by rows of trees, it is to some extent reminiscent of Wiesbaden or Baden-Baden. But these towns are associated with gambling, dancing, and other frivolities, and it is impossible to connect Denver with anything of the kind. Perhaps Leamington comes nearer to likeness with Denver than most towns, and it is not easy to overrate the respectability of Leamington. It is quite true that only three nights before our arrival a gentleman walking home through these broad and pleasant streets was, as the newspapers have it, "held up". that is to say, he was knocked down. Strange

to say, at this critical moment a policeman happened to come in sight, whereupon the footpad fled. The policeman fortuitously had a loaded revolver in his pocket. This he drew and blazed away through five blocks, hitting nobody, not even the man who had been "held up." This, however, is a mere breaking out of the old Adam, and cannot be held seriously to vary the general tone of respectability that pervades the place.

There is nothing lacking to complete the handsomeness and desirability of Denver. The roads are broad and well made-terribly dusty when the wind blows, but that is not every day. The houses are substantially built and tastefully designed. From one of the mountain ranges that circle Denver with a band of purple and gold is quarried a rare and beautiful building stone, tinted with veins of pink on ground of grey. There is too much reason to fear that if New York had this stone it would, at considerable expense, have it worked so as to present a smooth surface to make it worthy of a place by "the brown stone fronts." Denver leaves the mark of the honest chisel upon its stonework, which is pleasant to look upon accordingly. Most of the principal buildings and residences are built with this stone, the rest being made with red

The ingenuous mind instantly conjures up the moving scene. Here is a small boy in a smockfrock with his trousers generously turned up, and his hands in his pockets. Fresh from the arcadian simplicity of rustic labour, he enters the city, perhaps for the first time, and wonderingly looks around. A gang of loafers observe him, and, peradventure half drunk, begin to pot him. Sixteen shots are fired, and the terrified little fellow, running hither and thither wild with fear, somehow escapes.

That is the picture presented to the ingenuous mind on reading the newspaper despatch. I have seen the reality since, and heard a good deal of his habits and aptitudes. His age varies from sixteen to fortyfive. He is invariably dressed in a white soft wideawake, grey or blue shirt, and rough woollen or canvas trousers, tied in over the ankle. He has a pistol pocket, and when out of the limits of towns where it is forbidden to carry arms ostentatiously displays it. His language is chiefly composed of an endless chain of oaths and imprecations. He does not mean to swear, and is not even aware that he is doing so. People in cities have in their dictatorial way laid down the rule that certain words and phrases shall be

called swearing, and their use must be avoided by all decent people. To the cowboy these interdicted words and phrases are ordinary parts of speech, like our adjectives and adverbs. It is the language he has been brought up in from early childhood, and human speech would be woefully barren if he were not allowed to introduce two oaths in every sentence.

This said in extenuation, it must be admitted that a cowboy's conversation is apt to shock the unaccustomed ear.

Of course there are cowboys and cowboys. All swear terribly, but some honestly and assiduously labour, whilst others, going altogether to the bad, hang on the skirts of society, rob, and, if need be, murder with no more compunction than they would lassoo a straying ox. On the distant and lonely ranches where they have been brought up, human life is held as scarcely of more account than that of oxen. They instinctively regard a stranger as an enemy, and at sight of one their hand closes on their pistol and their finger feels for the trigger.

A story told me by the owner of one of the largest and wealthiest ranches of Texas illustrates with grim simplicity the rules of life by which the cowboy is guided. A little child