It
was one of those natural parks, four miles long, which lie like
heaven-planted gardens among the Colorado ranges. The richest of grass
clothed it; fine trees grew in clumps and clusters here and there; and the
spaces about the house where fences of barbed wire defended the grass from
the cattle, seemed a carpet of wild-flowers.
Clover exclaimed with delight at the view. The ranges which lapped and
held the high, sheltered upland in embrace opened toward the south, and
revealed a splendid lonely peak, on whose summit a drift of freshly-fallen
snow was lying. The contrast with the verdure and bloom below was
charming.
The cabin--it was little more--stood facing this view, and was backed by a
group of noble red cedars. It was built of logs, long and low, with a rude
porch in front supported on unbarked tree trunks. Two fine collies rushed
to meet them, barking vociferously; and at the sound Clarence hurried to
the door. He met them with great enthusiasm, lifted out Mrs. Hope, then
Clover, and then began shouting for his chum, who was inside.
"Hollo, Geoff! where are you? Hurry up; they've come." Then, as he
appeared, "Ladies and gentleman, my partner!"
Geoffrey Templestowe was a tall, sinewy young Englishman, with ruddy hair
and beard, grave blue eyes, and an unmistakable air of good breeding. He
wore a blue flannel shirt and high boots like Clarence's, yet somehow he
made Clarence look a little rough and undistinguished.
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