I GET out on a ten minutes stoppage at Deer creek, to enjoy the unequald combination of hill, stone and wood. As we speed again, the yellow granite in the sunshine, with natural spires, minarets, castellated perches far aloftthen long stretches of straight-upright palisades, rhinoceros colorthen gamboge and tinted chromos. Ever the best of my pleasures the cool-fresh Colorado atmosphere, yet sufficiently warm. Signs of mans restless advent and pioneerage, hard as Natures face isdeserted dug-outs by dozens in the side-hillsthe scantling hut, the telegraph-pole, the smoke of some impromptu chimney or outdoor fireat intervals little settlements of log-houses, or parties of surveyors or telegraph builders, with their comfortable tents. Once, a canvas office where you could send a message by electricity anywhere around the world! Yes, pronouncd signs of the man of latest dates, dauntlessly grappling with these grisliest shows of the old kosmos. At several places steam saw-mills, with their piles of logs and boards, and the pipes puffing. Occasionally Platte cañon expanding into a grassy flat of a few acres. At one such place, toward the end, where we stop, and I get out to stretch my legs, as I look skyward, or rather mountain-topward, a huge hawk or eagle (a rare sight here) is idly soaring, balancing along the ether, now sinking low and coming quite near, and then up again in stately-languid circlesthen higher, higher, slanting to the north, and gradually out of sight.