"This road follows the old trail that the goldseekers took in forty-nine,"
he said. "We're comin' soon to a place, Apache Pass, where the Apaches used
to ambush the wagon-trains, It's somewheres along here."
Presently the train wound into a narrow yellow ravine, the walls of which
grew higher and higher.
"Them Apaches was the worst redskins ever in the West. They used to hide on
top of this pass an' shoot down on the wagon-trains."
Later in the day he drew my attention to a mountain standing all by itself.
It was shaped like a cone, green with trees almost to the summit, and
ending in a bare stone peak that had a flat top.
"Starvation Peak," he said. "That name's three hundred years old, dates
back to the time the Spaniards owned this land. There's a story about it
that's likely true enough. Some Spaniards were attacked by Indians an'
climbed to the peak, expectin' to be better able to defend themselves up
there. The Indians camped below the peak an' starved the Spaniards. Stuck
there till they starved to death! That's where it got its name."
"Those times you tell of must have been great," I said, regretfully. "I'd
like to have been here then. But isn't the country all settled now? Aren't
the Indians dead? There's no more fighting?"
"It's not like it used to be, but there's still warm places in the West.
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