THE SPANISH PEAKS--EVENING ON THE PLAINS
Between Pueblo and Bent's fort, southward, in a clear afternoon
sun-spell I catch exceptionally good glimpses of the Spanish peaks.
We are in southeastern Colorado--pass immense herds of cattle as our
first-class locomotive rushes us along--two or three times crossing
the Arkansas, which we follow many miles, and of which river I get
fine views, sometimes for quite a distance, its stony, upright, not
very high, palisade banks, and then its muddy flats. We pass Fort
Lyon--lots of adobie houses--limitless pasturage, appropriately
fleck'd with those herds of cattle--in due time the declining sun in
the west--a sky of limpid pearl over all--and so evening on the great
plains. A calm, pensive, boundless landscape--the perpendicular rocks
of the north Arkansas, hued in twilight--a thin line of violet on
the southwestern horizon--the palpable coolness and slight aroma--a
belated cow-boy with some unruly member of his herd--an emigrant wagon
toiling yet a little further, the horses slow and tired--two men,
apparently father and son, jogging along on foot--and around all the
indescribable _chiaroscuro_ and sentiment, (profounder than anything
at sea,) athwart these endless wilds.
AMERICA'S CHARACTERISTIC LANDSCAPE
Speaking generally as to the capacity and sure future destiny of that
plain and prairie area (larger than any European kingdom) it is the
inexhaustible land of wheat, maize, wool, flax, coal, iron, beef and
pork, butter and cheese, apples and grapes--land of ten million virgin
farms--to the eye at present wild and unproductive--yet experts say
that upon it when irrigated may easily be grown enough wheat to feed
the world.
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