six o'clock
Directly in front of them rose the crag-tipped cap of St. Peter 's Dome . On one hand was the old wagon road , that first pathway of mountain civilization , winding down the canyon in long , graceful curves until it was lost in the distant haze , while on the other hand ran the steel rails of more modern civilization . As they stood resting for a few moments they heard the rumble of heavy wheels , a wheezing and puffing , a shrill whistle , a cloud of black smoke , a shower of cinders , and the evening express passed upward into the cool , dark shadows , carrying its load of human necessities into the heart of the Rockies . It was six o'clock when the last one in the party reached the rickety wooden stairs that made the last ascent of a hundred feet to the Dome possible . Ham and Willis had been on top for some minutes , and were sitting on a huge boulder just at the foot of a lodge-pole that had been erected on the very summit for a flagstaff . Certainly it was a sight to be remembered for many a day -- a marvelous wonderland , stretching out in every direction . The detail of plants , trees , and winding trails was swallowed up , and only the vastness of the valleys and canyons could be seen , with here and there a silver ribbon of a stream .