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Show 102 TALES OF THE COLORADO PIONEERS. What changes the whirligig of time brings around! Twenty-five years ago John Gregory fought his way through this gorge in a blinding snow storm. He was searching for gold, and finally found it. Twenty yoke of oxen were required to haul a small boiler over the precipitous declivities of the toll road that was opened later, where now we glide in luxurious coaches. Steam, science and stock companies have taken the place of pick, pan and shovel. When Mr. D. M. Richards was peddling books, papers and periodicals to the miners in these cloud-capped regions, Gregory, who was in great demand among the inexperienced prospectors, and was often paid two hundred dollars per day for his services, inquired of him how much he made a day ? " Two dollars," was the prompt reply. "Pshaw," said the opulent Gregory, ' I make more than that every time I open and shut my mouth.'" Richards afterwards owned a large book store in Denver, and became widely known as a publisher. Gregory died some years ago, a poor man. The shrill whistle of the little engine announced Black Hawk, and dispelled my reveries. We are just one mile from Central, but the train must travel nearly four to overcome the intervening grade. We move forward awhile, then back, and change places, in a dance on the giddy slopes overlooking the gulch, where private residences, stores, saloons, quartz mills, and reduction works are crowded in, helter skelter, as if dropped from the clouds. And way down deep "in the earth beneath,'' hundreds of men are toiling in the mines. We could step from the car into the notable Bobtail lode, which derived |