For a long distance we follow the
line of the Kansas river, (I like better the old name, Kaw,) a stretch
of very rich, dark soil, famed for its wheat, and call'd the Golden
Belt--then plains and plains, hour after hour--Ellsworth county,
the centre of the State--where I must stop a moment to tell a
characteristic story of early days--scene the very spot where I am
passing--time 1868. In a scrimmage at some public gathering in the
town, A. had shot B. quite badly, but had not kill'd him. The sober
men of Ellsworth conferr'd with one another and decided that A.
deserv'd punishment. As they wished to set a good example and
establish their reputation the reverse of a Lynching town, they open
an informal court and bring both men before them for deliberate trial.
Soon as this trial begins the wounded man is led forward to give his
testimony. Seeing his enemy in durance and unarm'd, B. walks suddenly
up in a fury and shoots A. through the head--shoots him dead. The
court is instantly adjourn'd, and its unanimous members, without a
word of debate, walk the murderer B. out, wounded as he is, and hang
him.
In due time we reach Denver, which city I fall in love with from the
first, and have that feeling confirm'd, the longer I stay there. One
of my pleasantest days was a jaunt, via Platte canon, to Leadville.
AN HOUR ON KENOSHA SUMMIT
Jottings from the Rocky Mountains, mostly pencill'd during a day's
trip over the South Park RR., returning from Leadville, and especially
the hour we were detain'd, (much to my satisfaction,) at Kenosha
summit.
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