One evening last week a file of cars climbed craggy Virginia Canyon 50 mi. west of Denver, rolled suddenly into the narrow street of an ancient mining town, wedged in a gulch a mile and a half above sea level. Above the main street the houses of Central City hang on the gulch walls like loose bark. Oldtime shops, dance halls, faro games, were going full blast, full of light & noise. Beaver-hatted men and bustled women strolled past. Lantern-faced miners smiled from their doorways. No Rip Van Winkle apparition in the...
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