Deep within the heart of the Rockies a June day was drawing to its

close. Behind a range of snow-crowned peaks the sun was sinking into a

sea of fire which glowed and shimmered along the western horizon and in

whose transfiguring radiance the bold outlines of the mountains,

extending far as the eye could reach in endless ranks, were marvellously

softened; the nearer cliffs and crags were wrapped in a golden glory,

while the hoary peaks against the eastern sky wore tints of rose and

amethyst, and over the whole brooded the silence of the ages.

Less than a score of miles distant a busy city throbbed with ceaseless

life and activity, but these royal monarchs, towering one above another,

their hands joined in mystic fellowship, their heads white with eternal

snows, dwelt in the same unbroken calm in which, with noiseless step,

the centuries had come and gone, leaving their footprints in the granite

rocks.

Amid those vast distances only two signs of human handiwork were

visible. Close clinging to the sides of a rugged mountain a narrow track

of shining steel wound its way upward, marking the pathway of

civilization in its march from sea to sea, while near the summit of a

neighboring peak a quaint cabin of unhewn logs arranged in Gothic

fashion was built into the granite ledge.

On a small plateau before this unique dwelling stood John Britton and

John Darrell, the latter absorbed in the wondrous scene, the other

watching with intense satisfaction the surprise and rapture of his young

companion. They stood thus till the sun dipped out of sight. The

radiance faded, rose and amethyst deepened to purple; the mountains grew

sombre and dun, their rugged outlines standing in bold relief against

the evening sky. A nighthawk, circling above their heads, broke the

silence with his shrill, plaintive cry, and with a sigh of deep content

Darrell turned to his friend.

"What do you think of it?" the latter asked.

"It is unspeakably grand," was the reply, in awed tones.

Beckoning Darrell to follow, Mr. Britton led the way to the cabin, which

he unlocked and entered.

"Welcome to the 'Hermitage!'" he said, smilingly, as Darrell paused on

the threshold with an exclamation of delight.

A huge fireplace, blasted from solid rock, extended nearly across one

side of the room. Over it hung antlers of moose, elk, and deer, while

skins of mountain lion, bear, and wolf covered the floor. A large

writing-table stood in the centre of the room, and beside it a bookcase

filled with the works of some of the world's greatest authors.

Darrell lifted one book after another with the reverential touch of the

true book-lover, while Mr. Britton hastily arranged the belongings of

the room so as to render it as cosey and attractive as possible.




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