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Updated: May 13, 2025
"I reckon you better saddle up and take a look over the Flattops, Dunc. The way I figure it Lee's posse must be somewhere over there. Swing around toward the Elkhorns and get back to report by to-morrow evening, say." Boone looked at him in an ugly manner. "Nothin' doing, MacQueen." "What's that?" "I'm no greaser, my friend. Orders don't go with me." "They don't, eh?
He knew the others would side against him and that if it came to a showdown they would snuff out his life as a man does the flame of a candle. The rage died out of his eyes and gave place to a look of cunning. "It's your say-so, Black. But there will be a day when it ain't. Don't forget that." "And in the meantime you'll ride the Flattops when I give the word?" Boone nodded sulkily.
The Flattops, in western Colorado, are not necessarily low or smooth, though flat. The San Juan Mountains are extremely rough and rugged. The Sangre de Christo Range is at once rarely beautiful and forbidding. The Never-summer and Rabbit Ear ranges invite exploration, and the great Continental Divide has no peers. Every mountain offers its peculiar attractions and difficulties.
The view in the direction from which we had come was splendid, and led the eye to the distant sweeping ranges, dark and dim along the horizon. The Flattops were flat enough, but not very wide at this pass, and we were soon going down again into a green gulf of spruce, with ragged peaks lifting beyond. Here again I got the suggestion of limitless space.
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