Chapter 1

It was cold today, and I really didn’t want to be here. I’d much rather be down at Lucy’s place, suckin’ on a cold beer. But, money being short, I’d shown up at Marshall’s dude ranch, like he’d asked.

I sat in the chair waiting for Marshall to finish speakin’ to the flatlanders. It looked like there was a full house of folks tonight, all expectin’ to find a piece of the “Old West”. It amuses me to see how dumb people can be. They spend a lot of money to stay at Marshall’s dude outfit and don’t have any idea of what it’s really like out here. Sometimes I wonder if it is worth the fifty dollars I get from Marshall to give this talk about the mountains and area around here. Most people probably don’t listen all that much in the first place.

Marshall’s voice interrupted my thoughts at that moment: “Now folks, I’d like to introduce you to Amos Chipin. He was born and raised in the area, and if anyone knows these mountains, it’s him.”

I got up and ambled over to the microphone where Marshall was standin’.

“Afternoon folks. Like Marshall said, I was raised right here, just down the road apiece, in a place called Poverty Hill.

“I guess I’m here to make sure you all don’t do somethin’ you’d be sorry for later. Those mountains out there look nice and purty, specially this time of year when the aspens are turnin’. But now, don’t let all that purty country fool you. It can be dangerous and more people than you want to know about went out there, one time or another, and didn’t come back.”

“There’s plenty of thin’s can kill a man out there; everything from the weather to bears or pumas. I’m not trying to scare any of you folks. If you use a little common sense and stay out of the backcountry, more’n likely you’ll be just fine. Now, you get a notion to wander into the deep mountains, and you might just find more trouble than you reckoned on.

Now, if’n you want to go back into them hills, you’re gonna need a guide. One that knows where he’s going and more important knows how to get back!”

At this point the crowd broke out in a chuckle, they always did. I waited for them to quiet down a bit, before movin’ on.

“There are five or six guides here in the area that will be more than happy to accommodate a day trip to the mountains; me being one of ‘em. But folks, please don’t go out there alone. If’n you’re interested in finding a guide, you can get a list from the stand in the lobby.

“Now that the warnings are out of the way, let me tell you a little about this area. The big mountain north of here, that’s Hahn’s Peak. The town down the road is named after it.

“A long time ago, this whole area was used by the Ute Indians. They lived and hunted in the mountains in the summer and moved down to the valleys when winter came along. They lived mostly by huntin’ and gatherin’ wild berries and roots. There ain’t any Ute’s left round here anymore, but occasionally you can find an old arrow head lyin’ around.”

I pulled my cowboy hat off my head and got at the itch that was botherin’ me, and then continued.

“Must have been eighteen eighties, or there abouts when gold was found down close to where I live, near Poverty Hill. Matter of fact, my grandfather was one of the first miners to settle here. The gold didn’t last all that long, maybe ten years or so, and then petered out.

“Most of the miners left when the gold did, and for a while there weren’t much up this way. Further down south, towards Steamboat Springs, they got pretty good grazing land along the Yampa River. Timothy hay grows there purty good too. Up here, it takes a bit more to raise cattle so it weren’t until the early nineteen hundreds that a few people started ranchin’ here abouts. Still ain’t all that many to tell the truth. I think the whole area up here has less that five hundred people live here year round, and I think the gummint counts some of ‘em twice.”