You 'll be in Ohadi in no time." Fairchild obeyed the instructions, and in the baggage room rechecked his trunk to follow him, lightening his traveling bag at the same time until it carried only necessities.

A luncheon, then the street car.
Three quarters of an hour later, he began the five-mile trudge up the broad, smooth, carefully groomed automobile highway which masters Mount Lookout.

A rumbling sound behind him, then as he stepped to one side, a grimy truck driver leaned out to shout as he passed: "Want a lift?
Hop on! Can't stop--too much grade." A running leap, and Fairchild seated himself on the tailboard of the truck, swinging his legs and looking out over the fading plains as the truck roared and clattered upward along the twisting mountain road.
Higher, higher, while the truck labored along the grade, and while the buildings in Golden below shrank smaller and smaller.

The reservoir lake in the center of the town, a broad expanse of water only a short time before, began to take on the appearance of some great, blue-white diamond glistening in the sun.

Gradually a stream outlined itself in living topography upon a map which seemed as large as the world itself.
Denver, fifteen miles away, came into view, its streets showing like seams in a well-sewn garment, the sun, even at this distance, striking a sheen from the golden dome of the capitol building.