Bert Wilson in the Rockies | Page 8

glorious dash that has made
his name immortal, going down as he had lived with his face to the foe.
To these ardent young patriots the place was holy ground, and their
pulses leaped and their hearts swelled as Melton pointed out the
features of the field and narrated some of the incidents of that awful,
but magnificent, fight. It was with intense reluctance that, warned by
the gathering shadows, they tore themselves away.
"Can't wait any longer now," said Melton as they retraced their steps to
the place where the horses were browsing; "but some day soon we'll

come down here early and spend the whole day. It won't be any too
long to get a clear idea of the fight and all that led up to it."
The mustangs, refreshed by the rest, and feeling too that they were on
the last stretch of their journey, needed no urging, and Melton gave
them their head.
"Must be pretty near your place now, I suppose," said Tom.
"Well, yes," answered Melton, with a twinkle in his eyes; "been
traveling on my lands for the last eight miles. House not more than five
miles ahead."
The boys gasped. It was something new to them to hear one speak as
carelessly of miles as a farmer back East would speak of acres. Now
they were getting some idea of what was meant when one spoke of the
"boundless West."
"Got to have room to stretch my arms without hitting anything," went
on Melton. "Of course, I don't use much of it for farming. Just raise
enough to take care of the table and the stock. But for grazing there
ain't any better pasture for cattle in the whole State of Montana."
"Then all the cattle we've seen grazing by thousands for the last few
miles belong to you?" asked Dick, as soon as he had recovered from his
surprise.
"Sure thing," returned their host, "and they're only a few of them. It
would take a cowboy the better part of a day to start at one end of the
ranch and circle around it. And there's plenty of ranches in the State
bigger than mine."
Now the going was steadily uphill and the horses subsided to a walk.
They were in the foothills of the Rockies. In the gathering dusk they
could see ahead of them the mighty peaks in the background rising to a
height of many thousand feet. Higher and higher they went, until they
were as much as six hundred feet above sea level. If they had had no
other proof they would have found it in the increasing rarity of the air

and the slightly greater difficulty in breathing.
"You'll soon get used to that," said Melton. "After a day or two you
won't notice any difference. I could of course have built on a lower
level, and in some ways that would have been an advantage. But when I
settled here I made up my mind that I wanted air that was washed clean
by the mountain breezes, and I planted my stakes according."
Soon they reached a broad, level plateau, and, a little way off, could see
the lights coming from a low-lying group of buildings. Several dogs
came rushing down with barks of welcome, and a couple of men
lounging near one of the corrals removed the bars of a huge gate, from
which the path led up to the largest of the buildings. It was a rambling
structure only two stories in height, but covering a vast extent of
ground and suggestive of homely comfort and hospitality. A broad
veranda extended along three sides of the house, and in front a
well-kept flower garden bordered the path that led to the door.
As they approached, heralded by the noisy greeting of the dogs, the
door was thrown wide open and Mrs. Melton appeared in the flood of
light that streamed from within.
She was a pleasant-faced, motherly-looking woman, and she welcomed
the boys with open arms. There was no mistaking the warmth and
sincerity of her greeting. They felt at home at once and in a few
minutes were chatting and laughing as easily as though they had known
her for years. Perhaps the memory of her own two boys, dead long
since, but who would have been just about the age of the newcomers
had they lived, added to the hearty cordiality with which she took them
under her wing.
"We oughtn't to need any introduction at all," she beamed, "because Mr.
Melton has done nothing but talk about you ever since he came back
from that last trip to Mexico. I wouldn't dare to tell you all he said, for
fear of making you conceited. I really think the last trip he made