April 07, 1880

A PATHETIC TALE OF MINING LIFE “.Away up on the main range the Sierra Madre of the Rocky Mountains, twelve thousand feet above the sea rests a little mining camp of some
twenty or twenty-five rough log cabins. Right on the edge of timber line! Tall,spruce pines below j bare, jagged rocks above. North, south, east and west huge peaks tower in their massive grandeur and rear their stony heads to the rising and setting sun, and seem like grim sentinels keeping watch
over the little basin in which are the cabins, collectively known as Mineral
City. The mountain sides are seamed and ribbed with the rich silver veins of San Juan, and scores of cuts, shafts and tunnels echo daily to the clang of drill and sledge as the hardy miners delve after the metallic treasures of these great storehouses. Near the blacksmith shop, where the not unmelodious ring of drills and picks being sharpened is heard all the day and far Into the night, a little cabin stands unobtrusively upon its rocky foundtion. There is an air of neatness about its hipped roof of nicely split ” shakes “and its carefully hewn door that speaks well for the patience, taste and skill of
its builder. In fact, the cabin is pointed as a line specimen of frontier architecture.
The solitary owner and occupant of this little building was known throughout the camp as ” the Hermit.”

A sad story to be continued.