As they stood resting for a few moments they heard the rumble of heavy wheels, a wheezing and puffing, a shrill whistle, a cloud of black smoke, a shower of cinders, and the evening express passed upward into the cool, dark shadows, carrying its load of human necessities into the heart of the Rockies.

It was six o’clock when the last one in the party reached the rickety wooden stairs that made the last ascent of a hundred feet to the Dome possible.  Ham and Willis had been on top for some minutes, and were sitting on a huge boulder just at the foot of a lodge-pole that had been erected on the very summit for a flagstaff.  Certainly it was a sight to be remembered for many a day—­a marvelous wonderland, stretching out in every direction.  The detail of plants, trees, and winding trails was swallowed up, and only the vastness of the valleys and canyons could be seen, with here and there a silver ribbon of a stream.  Far up in the blue vault two great eagles soared and circled.  Here and there the last golden rays of sunlight fell on the distant ridges and lighted up the tree tops with a beautiful iridescence.

“What a sight!” exclaimed Willis.  “Now, where is Cookstove Mountain, for I am especially interested in it.  O yes, I see it.  It’s that great granite cliff that is so flat on the top.  Wouldn’t it be grand if we could build a cabin near St. Peter’s Dome, so sometimes in the evening we could climb up here to sit and watch the stars come out?  I want to be in the mountains and camp in them and hike in them.  I am beginning to understand their charm more and more.  I know now what it is that Old Ben has, and Daddy Wright, and the little old lady we saw this afternoon, that I have not.  It is a big optimism, a love for everything that lives and is a part of the Great Creation.”

“I don’t know of anything that will take the selfishness and conceit out of a fellow like a few hours spent on a mountain top,” said Mr. Allen.

“It makes a fellow right down glad he’s alive,” remarked Ham.  “I always get more out of a view like this than I do out of the best sermon I ever heard.”

“I wish we could camp right here,” exclaimed Chuck; “but we can’t, and we had better be getting down before dark.”

Just at the base of the Dome a little stream trickled over the rocks and down into the canyon.  They followed it back from the railroad and soon had a cheery fire burning and a comfortable camp made for the night.  It was in a little meadow just at the edge of a grove of small aspens, and at one side of the tiny stream lay a great round boulder that had evidently rolled down from the summit of the Dome at some previous date.  Beds were arranged in a row along the side of it, and a pile of dead sticks placed in a convenient position for the night’s fire.  The evening breezes were already beginning to play hide-and-seek in the valley, and the leaves on the trees were clapping their innumerable hands in applause at the brightly-burning fire.  The sparks flew upward and the shadows danced in and out of the illuminated circle like so many happy fairies.