The day was just breaking when we arrived at Colorado Springs the next morning, and save for a few early risers, the depot was deserted.

At the depot awaiting our arrival were carriages and saddle horses, which had been telegraphed for from Denver in order that we might enjoy a flying visit to Manitou and the Garden of the Gods before playing the afternoon game.
There was a general scramble at the depot for a choice of steeds, the park wagons, three in number, having been reserved for the use of the ladies and such members of the party whose education in the riding line had been neglected.

I was not as quick as I might have been and had the comfort of Mrs.Anson to look after beside; as a result there fell to my lot a cross-eyed sorrel that had evidently spent the greater part of his life in chasing cattle among the mountains, and that true to his natural proclivities gave me no end of trouble before the morning was over.

The sun was just turning the top of Pike's Peak, some eighteen miles distant, into a nugget of gold, when we left the depot, but so plainly could we see the crevices that seamed its massive sides that it looked not to be more than five miles distant.

To our right rose the peaks of sandstone that form the gateway to the Garden of the Gods, and below us ran the narrow roadway through the valley like a belt of silver.
Manitou, six miles distant, was reached without accident, and here we stopped to have breakfast at the Cliff House, and to drink of the clear waters of the Silver Springs that have become justly famous the world over.