The Chalice Of Courage: A Romance of ColoradoBrady, Cyrus Townsend
General
The Chalice Of Courage: A Romance of Colorado
Brady, Cyrus Townsend
Colorado -- Fiction; Love stories; Western stories
For two days since leaving the wagon, the Maitland party with its long
train of burros heavily packed, its horsemen and the steady plodders on
foot, had advanced into unexplored and almost inaccessible retreats of
the mountains--into the primitive indeed! In this delightful spot they
had pitched their tents and the permanent camp had been made. Wood was
abundant, the water at hand was as cold as ice, as clear as crystal and
as soft as milk. There was pasturage for the horses and burros on the
other side of the mountain brook. The whole place was a little
amphitheater which humanity occupied perhaps the first time since
creation.
Unpacking the burros, setting up the tents, making the camp, building
the fire had used up the late remainder of the day which was theirs when
they had arrived. Opportunity would come to-morrow to explore the
country, to climb the range, to try the stream that tumbled down a
succession of waterfalls to the right of the camp and roared and rushed
merrily around its feet until, swelled by the volume of the brook, it
lost itself in tree-clad depths far beneath. To-night rest after labor,
to-morrow play after rest.
The evening meal was over. Enid could not help thinking with what scorn
and contempt her father would have regarded the menu, how his gorge
would have risen--hers too for that matter!--had it been placed before
him on the old colonial mahogany of the dining-room in Philadelphia. But
up there in the wilds she had eaten the coarse homely fare with the zest
and relish of the most seasoned ranger of the hills. Anxious to be of
service, she had burned her hands and smoked her hair and scorched her
face by usurping the functions of the young ranchman who had been
brought along as cook, and had actually fried the bacon herself! Imagine
a goddess with a frying pan! The black thick coffee and the condensed
milk, drunk from the graniteware cup, had a more delicious aroma and a
more delightful taste than the finest Mocha and Java in the daintiest
porcelain of France. _Optimum condimentum._ The girl was frankly,
ravenously hungry, the air, the altitude, the exertion, the excitement
made her able to eat anything and enjoy it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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