ABSTRACT
In the sixties and early seventies many names of cities, prominent now, had a strange sound to the ear. Omaha suggested an Indian tribe, Seattle—perhaps it did not exist, certainly I heard no word of it during a six weeks’ stay on the Columbia in 1873: but before that time I was told about Denver—told a good deal about it—in letters from a most enthusiastic journalist, already settled there. He sent me maps that made the place look like an enormous spider with a multitude of legs, every one of which represented a railroad—projected. Whether there really was one completed 284road that would take a passenger there I do not know. This man’s name was O. J. Goldrick, and his paper the Rocky Mountain Herald. He sent me his photograph, showing a slight, wiry, middle-aged man, wearing a black suit, a black tie, a boiled shirt, a black moustache, and hair as black as only a photograph or a hair dye can make it. https://s3-euw1-ap-pe-df-pch-content-public-p.s3.eu-west-1.amazonaws.com/9780429025105/3d792212-842d-4ee0-8be8-9b84d5b73802/content/pg283_1.jpg"/>
