The rock house built for George Harris was more like a mansion than a coal camp house.
It had several bedrooms for guests. It had a very big veranda across the front of the house, and from that vantage point you could see the whole town of Mt. Harris and most of the Victor-American cam.
I've always heard a picture was worth a thousand words; by golly this picture showing the rock house is worth a world of words for someone such as me who's interested in Mt. Harris.
Well when we were on our way back through Hayden, after visiting the library, I naturally had to stop and let Cobb know of our fruitful day. Cobb was as disappointed as me that I hadn't found any information on the Hayden area mines, but he was thrilled clean through to his Irish bones when I showed him the pictures, because they were ones he had never had the opportunity to see before also.
Well now, after Cobb and I got through discussing the pictures, Cobb started crawling down my neck; I mean he crawled so far down my neck that you would have thought that we were both wearing the same darned shirt.
It seems a recent story I had written in the paper that mentioned Muddy Creek, I stated that Muddy Creek ran down off the mountain and headed straight for the Atlantic Ocean. Well now, Cobb had been in collaboration with another great friend and acquaintance of his and mine.
A fellow who is known throughout the area as George Temple. To his close friends and acquaintances, he's known as the "Pig Farmer."
George comes by that name owing to the fact that at one time he was the largest hog rancher in the whole darned area. George knows his stuff when it comes to makin' bacon: he's also really good at hamming-it-up.
Gosh, it didn't take Cobb and George, and probably at least half the people who read the story in the paper very long to figure out that I myself was wetter than the water in Muddy Creek. Muddy Creek comes down off the mountain headed east all right; but it never makes it to the Atlantic Ocean because the darn Colorado River gets in its way. I guess by the time Muddy Creek gets to the Colorado River it decides, it really doesn't want to go to the Atlantic anyhow and joins the Colorado on its westward journey to the Gulf of Mexico on the Pacific Ocean.
On the eastern slope of Rabbit Ears, Grizzly Creek runs on the north side of U.S. Highway 40 and not very far to the south Muddy Creek is running in the same direction.
Grizzly Creek turns to the north and eventually runs into the Platte River and then heads on toward the Atlantic. As much as it would like to, Muddy Creek just cannot make it over the darned Continental Divide to drain off into the Atlantic.
Now I didn't argue with Cobb one bit when he pointed this out to me. And darned if I didn't know it all along, but it took him jarring things up in my mind to make me realize I had gotten Muddy Creek on the wrong darned side of the Continental Divide.
I told Cobb it didn't bother me one bit when people found where I made mistakes in my stories. Heck, making mistakes just comes naturally and when someone finds a mistake, it lets me know that people are really reading my stories.