“Well,” said Joe, “I don’t like those mountains much; they scare me. I’d like to get back on the prairie where the sun shines warm and you can ride wherever you want to.”
“Oh, come on,” said Jack; “if you get up there, you’ll be where no Piegan has been before. Come along.”
“Come on, Joe,” said Hugh. “You may as well get used to the mountains now as any other time.”
The three tied their horses to pine trees, and took off the bridles so that they could feed. Then Hugh said, “Now, I reckon the best thing for us to do is to try to work our way around this lake and climb up that place where the water is tumbling down. It looks like a bad place, but it’s liable to be a good deal easier than it looks. We don’t know anything about these mountainsides, and if we try to go up them we’re liable to take a whole lot of time, and not get anywhere to-night. Let’s go right around this lake, crawl through the alder brush that grows at its edge, and then try to get up that flume where the water comes down. I think we can do it.”
They started off without delay, and as they reached the rough shingle at the edge of the lake, Hugh pointed to some tracks where the stones and sand were thrown up and said, “That’s what we heard a little while ago.” On the large stones it was impossible to tell just what animal had made the tracks, but before they had gone far they saw where it had come down to the lake to drink, and in the grass and in the bare soil above they found the tracks of a good-sized moose.
The work of making their way over the talus at the lake border and through the willows and alders which grew among the fallen rocks was slow and difficult. The stones were more or less covered with moss and care was needed in stepping, lest a slip should send one of the men sliding down the slope and into the cold waters below.
At last, however, they had passed through the alders and reached the rocky promontory where the going was open, and passing over this, were soon in the open meadow below the precipice, where they took a moment’s breathing spell, then started on, breasting a steep shoulder which gave an easy ascent for a couple of hundred feet to the lowest step of the cliff they wished to climb. Soon they reached the ledge and walked along it until they came to the very bed of the falls, and here began the serious work of the day.
The icy torrent which for ages had been flowing over this precipice had cut for itself a deep channel. On one side or the other of this channel the rock had fallen away so as to furnish here a crevice, there a projecting knob, which gave hand or foothold to the climber. At times, to be sure, they found before them a smooth, naked cliff which could not be climbed, and then search must be made along its face for a place up which they could pass.
They climbed slowly and carefully, often crossing the stream from one side to the other, clinging to little spruce trees that grew in the crevices of the rock, thrusting their fingers into cracks and fitting their feet on some knob or projecting splinter that would give them support. Slowly they worked their way upward, inch by inch, foot by foot.
Often the crossing of the stream was nervous work, for the boulders which lay in it were worn smooth as glass, and the fine mist which rose from the falling waters froze to the rocks, making them very slippery. Sometimes long jumps had to be made from one to another of these rocks, often in places where a slip might cause a bad fall on rough rocks below.
About two-thirds of the way to the top of the precipice they came out on a shelf perhaps a hundred feet wide, which was almost covered by high heaped rocks and gravel—morainal drift brought down by the glacier from above. This was composed of boulders and stones of all sizes, from masses as large as a small house to grains no bigger than a pin’s head.
Here they stopped to rest, and Hugh, with his back against a great rock, smoked a comforting pipe.
Close at hand they could see the beauty of the white, quivering falls rushing down the cliff, often by vertical plunges of a hundred feet or more, or down steep inclines, and in one place they had worn a deep fissure in the slate and shot down with a hissing sound thirty or forty feet back from one who looked in on them from the narrow opening of the crevice. Everywhere there was spray and dampness, and Jack was reminded in some respects of the high mountain torrents which he had seen during his famous canoe trip in British Columbia.
From here the going was much easier. The precipice was no longer vertical, but ascended in a series of huge steps to the level of the glacier.
There they began to see, at the lower border of the ice, vast quantities of drift spread far and wide, and to the right high naked ridges lying parallel to the course of the ice river. The crests of these ridges were sometimes fifty or sixty feet above the surface of the ice which lay against them and from a quarter to a half mile in length. At its lower border, the glacier had melted and had been covered with stones, so that it was hard to say just where the ice ended and the drift which it had carried before it began.
The main body of the glacier lay in the cup-shaped depression already spoken of, but high up on the rock wall behind it and to the left, was another enormous mass of ice looking like a huge snowball thrown against the wall. Its size was very great, but there was no means of estimating it. Hugh thought that the lower ice was two miles across, and nearly a mile deep.
At first the climbers had eyes only for the ice and the mountains which lay in front of them, but presently Joe happened to look behind him down the valley, and there, far, far away, was the yellow prairie shining in the warm sunshine. Joe called the attention of the others to this, saying, “Don’t it look nice down there?”
The climb had taken much less time than had been anticipated, not that the height to which they had ascended had been less than they had thought, but because the way had been very direct and they had wasted little time in resting or loitering.
After their first view, Hugh led the way to a little grassy spot just outside of one of the moraines and, sitting down in a sheltered spot, said, “Let’s sit here and smoke a pipe, and then get up as high as we can and see the whole show; and then we can turn around and go back.” As they sat there they had a fine view of the valley below them.
“Isn’t it a fine thing, Hugh,” said Jack, “to get up here and see just how this glacier is acting? Don’t you remember how Mr. Fannin explained glaciers to us; how simple and easy he made it to understand how they acted? I don’t think I shall ever forget the way he talked about them, and I don’t think I shall ever see one without looking for the things that he explained to us.”
“Yes,” said Hugh, “that’s so, he sure did make things plain, and I don’t wonder that you remember what he said. I was thinking of him when we got up here, but one of the things that seems queerest to me about this ice is that it’s all made of snow. He said it was, and now we can see for ourselves that it is. I was looking as we came along, and you can see places just at the edges of the snow where it seems to be changing to ice. I guess the snow just gets solider and solider, and then gets water soaked and makes real ice.”
“Of course,” said Jack, “that must be it. When I was a small boy I used to make snow forts and defend them with snowballs, and sometimes the fellows would make the snowballs when the weather was warm and the snow was melting, and if it froze that night, they would be just solid ice. To get hit with one of those ice balls was a good deal like getting hit with a stone.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “I expect if no more snow fell up here this piece of ice would just melt away and leave nothing but the hole that it’s laying in—just a sort of a basin in the side of the mountain.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “I guess that’s so. I think that’s what Mr. Fannin told us; that a glacier was a glacier, because it was constantly being added to at its upper end, and the weight of the snow and ice was pushing it along over the mountainside. I take it that a snowbank might be ice at the bottom, perhaps, but that if it doesn’t move it isn’t a glacier.”
“Yes,” said Hugh, “I reckon that’s so. I took notice of another thing,” he went on, “as we were coming along. Did you see how this ice seems to be in layers? Some of ’em are half an inch thick and some of ’em an inch, and there seems to be a thin crust of dirt that separates one layer from another.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “I noticed that, and I was wondering how it could happen, or what it meant.”
“Well, I was figuring on that very thing,” said Hugh, “and it seemed to me that these little layers of dirt must be the dust and dirt blown off the mountainside by the wind after each fall of snow.”
“Well, Hugh,” said Jack, “that seems a natural explanation. We all know how the wind is always blowing up here, and we all know that old snow is always dusty. I guess you’re right.”
By this time Hugh’s pipe was smoked out, and he rose to his feet and said, “Come on, we’ve got to stretch our legs some more and see if we can go up to the ridge. There looks to be a low place up ahead of us, and maybe if we can get up there we can see over the range. Look out for yourselves when you are walking over this smooth ice. If a man slips on one of these steep places, he’s liable to go a long way before stopping.”
The caution was a wise one, and for some distance they walked along carefully, keeping either on the moraine or on the very edge of the ice, or choosing a path where the snow was old and hard and gave a firm footing.
At one point, however, Joe tried to make a short cut by climbing over some old snow which was quite steep. Before he had gone very far the others saw him begin to dig his feet into the hard snow as if uncertain of his footing, then he slipped, recovered himself, stood for an instant as if doubtful whether to go backward or forward, took another step and then his feet flew out from under him and he began to slide down the slope. It looked very funny to see him flying over the snow, but Hugh did not laugh, for he feared that possibly the boy might go on until he brought up against rough rocks below. Luckily nothing of this kind happened, and after going about a hundred yards at a high rate of speed, Joe ran into some soft snow and his momentum was checked. He stopped, rose to his feet, and making his way cautiously back to the edge of the rocks, took the safe but longer road that his companions had followed.
Hugh and Jack waited until he had come up, and then Hugh, shaking his head, said to him, “That wasn’t very smart, Joe. You’d better not try any more experiments of that kind; it’s dangerous. A man may slip any time on one of these smooth icy slopes, and if he does he never can tell where he’ll stop. You might have slid down there and brought up against the rocks, and broken some bones or killed yourself, and then we’d have had a hard time packing you down this hill and taking you into the agency. Then, besides that, sometimes these big pieces of ice are all cracked and full of holes, and if anyone should slip into one of those he might go down to the bottom and get killed by the fall on the rocks below, or if he stuck somewhere half way down he’d freeze to death before he could be hauled out. One thing we’ll have to do after this when we’re climbing in bad places; that is, to bring along a couple of sling ropes and tie ourselves together. It isn’t likely that all three of us will slip and fall at the same time, and if only one slips, the other two can haul him out.”
“That’s a mighty good idea,” said Jack; “I was scared when I saw Joe sliding down that ice. I remember reading about people climbing the mountains in Switzerland where they carry ice axes. They’re sort of like adzes, with long straight handles and a spike in the end of the handle, and are used for cutting steps in the ice or hard snow. The people who are climbing tie themselves together with ropes and go mighty slowly and carefully, so that there is no danger of more than one man slipping at the same time. They go along one by one, and when one man is moving—I mean, of course, in bad places—the others all stand still and fasten their axes in the ice or hang on to the rope, so that if he does slip, there’s no trouble about catching him. I remember reading that most of the accidents happen where people have so much confidence in themselves that they are not willing to be roped together, and some man makes a blunder and falls and the others just have to stand and look at him.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “if we’re going to do much climbing around here, we ought to fix ourselves out in some such way as that. I tell you I’m too old myself to try any of these experiments.
“Come on, now,” he continued, as he turned and started up the ridge, “let’s get up here to a sheltered place and then we can sit down and eat a bite. I put some bread and bacon in my pocket this morning when we started, and we may as well eat and smoke a pipe before we go on.”
CHAPTER XVII
A FAT BIGHORN
IN a sheltered spot at the foot of a great morainal ridge the three climbers sat down and ate their lunch. The air was warm and the sun bright, but every now and then a drift of breeze came down to them which felt cool, for they had been working hard and their garments were damp with perspiration. Hugh smoked his pipe, and then presently they rose and started to clamber further up the glacier. Presently they came upon the tracks of some large animals, either sheep or goats, which had passed over the moraine not long before. The surface of the ground was so hard that they could not be sure what these animals were, but looking over the snow-covered ice before them, they could see the tracks passing up over it, and at last turning up toward the peaks behind a rocky point which ran out from the mountainside. Hugh followed the tracks as far as the snow, and when they reached its unbroken surface they could see that the tracks were fresh, and before long Hugh turned to Jack and said, “They’re sheep. A couple of good rams, I guess.”
After they had come quite near the rocky point behind which the tracks led, Joe, who was a little to one side, suddenly stopped, and called out: “Look at that ram.” From where they stood, neither Hugh nor Jack could see any living thing, but Jack stepped over toward Joe, and as he did so there came into his view a splendid bighorn, outlined against the snow so that every detail of his form could be seen.
The animal’s head was up, and he gazed in curiosity rather than alarm at the three strange creatures that he saw below him.
Jack had loaded his rifle at Joe’s exclamation and now asked, “How far off is he, Hugh?”
“About two hundred yards, I reckon,” said Hugh. “Draw a coarse sight and shoot at his neck.”
The animal was standing half quartering toward them in such a position that his head and neck were in line with his shoulders, and a ball through the shoulder would pierce either heart or lungs. Jack did not raise his sights, but following Hugh’s suggestion fired at the animal’s neck, just below the throat, so as to allow for any drop of the ball. For an instant the smoke hung, and when Jack could see through it, the animal had disappeared.
“Did anyone see where the ball struck?” asked Jack.
“Not I,” said Hugh.
“I didn’t either,” said Joe, “but I thought he turned in an awkward kind of a way, as though he were hurt.”
“I have an idea I heard the ball strike,” said Hugh.
“Well,” said Jack, “let’s go up there anyhow. He was certainly a nice ram, and I’d like to get him.”
They hurried up the slope, Hugh and Joe ahead, while Jack toiled behind. Presently they heard a cheerful shout from Hugh, “Come on, son, there’s blood on the snow, and lots of it.”
“Jack did not raise his sights, but following Hugh’s
suggestion fired at the animal’s neck.”—Page 230
Sure enough, when Jack got up to where the slope was less steep he could see, even at a distance, the pure white mantle of snow splashed with great dark blotches.
The trail seemed likely to be a plain one, and the men hurried along over the snow, up the hill. Presently they could see that the ram was staggering, for his tracks no longer went directly ahead, but wavered from side to side. Then they passed on to the rocks and could not see the trail so easily, but farther ahead came to another snow bank where there was a broad smear of blood, showing apparently that the animal had fallen on its side and slipped along over the snow.
Hugh and Joe ran round a point of dwarfed spruces, but Jack, in his eagerness to cut off a corner, attempted to go through the little trees, and found himself in drifted snow up to his waist and his legs held by the branches of the spruces. For a moment or two he could hear the clatter of the others running over the rocks, and a word or two of their talk, but by the time he had got out on to the rocks, his companions were far ahead of him. As they saw him coming, however, they sat down to wait for him.
He followed the blood trail, and when he came up he, too, sat down.
“Have you seen anything of him?” he asked.
“No,” said Hugh, “but he’s going down hill, bleeding, as you see, and falling down every little while. We’ll find him before long.”
“All right,” said Jack, “he’s our meat, I guess. If he keeps on bleeding like this he can’t go very far. We can’t go down there after him and then come back here, and I want to go up and look if we can’t see across the range. How do you feel, Hugh, do you want to go down and get the sheep, or shall we leave him there and all go up and look over the range and then go back?”
“Why,” said Hugh, “I’d better go down and butcher him, and you and Joe can go up to the top of the rocks here and see what you can see on the other side. It isn’t far. That low place, just above where the sheep stood when you shot, is the point to make for, and I reckon you can see all you want to from there. Then you come back, and come down to me. We’ve got quite a job to get that sheep into camp to-night. The fact is, I don’t believe we can do it. It’s too large for the three of us to carry down in one trip.”
Jack and Joe went back in the direction that Hugh had suggested, and keeping well up the hill, soon found themselves close to a little saddle, where one of the side arms of the glacier started. It was an easy matter to climb up here and presently they stood on the crest of the Continental Divide, looking over a broad valley in which nothing was to be seen except rocks and stunted pine trees, and dimly through the thick, hazy atmosphere a distant lake and some high, snow-covered mountain crests.
“Do you know anything about this country, Joe?” asked Jack.
“No,” said Joe, “not much. I reckon that big lake we see over there may be Lake McDonald, but I don’t know these mountains, nor this country close to us.”
“Well,” said Jack, “I reckon Hugh will know something about it when we tell him what we’ve seen. Now let us go back on the ice, and then get down to him. It looks as if we were going to have bad weather.”
The sky had become overcast, and the wind began to moan among the peaks. It looked like a snowstorm.
They walked down the glacier, keeping as nearly as possible on its comb, for they did not wish to slip, as Joe had done in the morning.
After they had looked down the valley of Swift Current into the flat at the foot of lower St. Mary’s Lake and taken a last look over the glacier, they turned aside and, working out to the rocks, began to make their way down to Hugh.
At a little distance the side of the mountain looked absolutely vertical, and it did not seem possible that man, nor even sheep, could have passed along it, but as they went on they found no difficulty in making their way, and recognized one of the deceptions of these grand and mysterious hills. Joe, when they first started down, had been not a little alarmed, and said, “I’m afraid we never will see White Bull again. He could not have gone down such a place as this; he must have fallen and been killed.”
“Nonsense,” said Jack, “of course he went down all right, and we are going to follow him down. You’ll see it won’t be bad as we go on.”
Before long they came to the blood trail of the sheep, and following that kept on their way until they saw Hugh standing by a fire in a little valley below them.
“Hurrah!” said Jack, “Hugh is cooking meat. I’m mighty glad, for I feel hungry.”
When they had worked their way down to within a few hundred yards of him, zigzagging this way and that over the steep ledges, Hugh saw them and waved his hand, and presently when they got down within speaking distance, he called out, “Well, son, you killed the best piece of meat in the mountains.”
“Good,” said Jack, “I hope you have put some of it on the fire.”
“That’s what the fire is there for,” said Hugh. “Come on down.”
The boys at length reached a point about fifty feet above Hugh, and then had to go off to one side to find a way down the cliff. When they had come near the fire, however, Hugh showed them the ram lying at the edge of the snow bank from which he had drawn him.
“You see,” said Hugh, “when I got almost up to him, he was lying on the rocks right at the top of this cliff with his head down and pretty nearly dead; but when I got quite close to him he heard me walking and got on his feet again and just walked over the cliff and fell into this snow bank down here. When I got to him he was dead. Nice ram, isn’t he?”
Indeed, he was a beauty; perhaps six or seven years old, with horns that were not very large, but perfectly symmetrical and unbroken. His coat was thick, smooth and glossy, dark brown and with a white rump patch. Short of limb, strong of back, sturdy and stout, plump and round as a bull elk in early September, he made a picture such as even the successful hunter does not see every day.
It was evident to all that the whole animal could not be taken in that night, and that another trip must be made to bring in the meat. The best that could be done would be to carry down the head, which Jack wanted to save, and a couple of light loads of the meat, and then the next day they could return and bring in the rest. However, they sat down for a little while and feasted on some of the delicious ribs cut from the animal. Then, taking the head and the two shoulders, they set out for camp. Hugh was inclined to think that by keeping along the mountain, he might reach camp by a route considerably easier than that which they had taken in coming up, though, of course, it would be much longer. He also declared that he thought it possible that they might be able to pick out a trail by which they could bring up a pack horse to carry down the rest of the meat.
As soon as they had finished eating they started down along the mountainside, keeping on the ledges where the walking was good, and descending by easy steps from one ledge to another. They had gone but a short distance when they passed a ravine in which lay a long snow bank hollow beneath. Into this snow cave Hugh went to look for a drink of water and presently called to the boys, telling them to come in to him.
They found themselves in a most beautiful ice grotto. The snow bank was an old one and the rushing waters of spring had tunneled under it, while it melted from above, so that a heavy roof of blue ice stretched across the ravine from side to side. The grotto was eight or ten feet from floor to roof, thirty feet wide and perhaps a hundred long. A drift of snow which had blown in from an opening at its upper end, lay in the bottom of the ravine. The roof seemed not very thick and admitted the light freely. It was a beautiful sky blue and reminded Jack vaguely of some blue grotto in Italy of which he had read and had often heard his mother talk.
The sun was getting lower and lower as the three hurried along the mountain. In most places it was easy going, and in the snow banks, which they were constantly crossing, fresh tracks of goats were seen, but the travelers paid no attention to these and kept on their way as fast as possible.
Long before they had reached the level of the valley the sun had set, but there was light enough for them to go a little way down the stream and then cross on a log-jam which brought them to the other side of the stream. Here they mounted their horses, and in a short time were standing by their tent.
Presently, when the coffee-pot was bubbling and some fat sheep meat sputtering in the pan, when the horses had been looked after and the day’s labor was over, it was pleasant to talk of the wonderful things that they had seen since sunrise.
The next morning the boys saddled a pack horse, and crossing the little stream which pours out of the lake, Hugh, Jack and Joe climbed the mountainside, dragging the pack animal behind them.
After they had once got through the thick brush it was not difficult to lead the horse along the ledges, almost to the sheep’s carcass. They did at last come to a place where the horse could not get up, and though by taking half a day’s time they could probably have found a way to take him to the meat, it seemed simpler and shorter to leave him where he was and to carry the meat to him.
“Now,” said Hugh, as they were eating their luncheon, “we’ve got a little idea of this fork of the stream, what do you say to turning around now and going back to the head of St. Mary’s River, where we came from? I believe that by this time the snow has melted some and we will find feed for the horses, so that we can stop there for a while, and do a little hunting and maybe climb the mountains that you’ve been talking about. What do you say?”
“What do you say, Joe?” asked Jack.
“Why,” said Joe, “I’m ready to go ‘most anywhere or do ‘most anything. I think I like the country at the head of the lake, where the bear tore down the tent, better than I do here.”
“Well, Hugh,” said Jack, “that’s the way I feel. Of course, it is nice here and interesting, and we could spend a lot of time and see a great many things; but it seems to me that the country at the head of St. Mary’s River is bigger and more interesting than this.”
“All right,” said Hugh, “let’s go if you say so, and if we’re going, why not pack up and roll now. We ought to be able to get down nearly to the mouth of Swift Current before dark. Maybe we can even camp in the big flat of the St. Mary’s River. If you boys want to start, round up your horses and I’ll be making up the packs, and we’ll move mighty quick.”
By the time the horses had been brought in and saddled, Hugh had his packs made up, and it took but a few minutes to lash the loads, and soon the train was moving off down the valley.
As they crossed the snowslide, Jack turned aside and looked back toward the great mountain behind them and wondered again at the mighty mass of ice that lay in its lap. It hardly seemed to him possible that he had been up walking on that ice, and on those rocks that now seemed so far away and so difficult of access.
He had but little time, however, to think about this, and, turning his horse, hurried on after the others, who were just entering the timber.
They had gone but a little way, when Hugh stopped his horse, and all the others came to a standstill. He called back to Jack, “Son, have you got a piece of string in your pocket?”
“Yes,” said Jack, fishing it out, “I have, but it’s only about three feet long.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “get off your horse and come up here.”
When Jack reached Hugh’s side, Hugh pointed to the ground a few feet from him, and there, standing close together, were three beautiful Franklin grouse, while on a little spruce tree, two or three feet above the others, sat a fourth bird.
“Now, son,” said Hugh, “I reckon you’ve heard me talk about the way these fool hens are gentle, and how you can kill them with a rock or sometimes with a club, or can even slip a noose over the head of one, as he sits on a branch in front of you. Do you want to try and catch one?”
“Why, yes, Hugh,” said Jack, “I’d like to do that. I don’t want to kill one particularly, because we’ve got what meat we need, but I’d like to catch one.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “you can, and if you get it in your hands quickly enough, you can take off the string and let it go. There’s a straight dead branch over there. Just make a noose of your string, and then tie the string to the end of that branch, leaving about a foot hanging down from the branch, and try it.”
Jack arranged his snare, tying it to the end of a straight branch about six feet long, and then advanced very slowly toward the grouse.
They paid no attention to him until he was within three or four yards, and then one of those on the ground appeared to notice him and stretched out its neck to look at him. Jack stood still and in a few seconds the bird seemed satisfied and resumed its huddled-up position. Then Jack went on, very slowly, and when he had come within six or seven feet of the bird he held his stick before him and tried to pass the noose over the bird’s head. This was not easy to do, and two or three times the noose struck the side of the bird’s head without passing over it, yet the grouse merely moved to one side to avoid the string. Presently, in making this movement, the bird itself passed its head through the noose, and Jack, lowering the point of the stick, pulled it toward him, drew the bird off the branch, and brought it flapping furiously to his feet. He at once seized it and, loosening the noose, took it from the bird’s head. Then he smoothed the bird’s feathers and in a moment or two it seemed to lose all fear.
“Isn’t it a beautiful bird, Hugh?” he said, as he held it up for Hugh’s inspection.
“Yes,” said Hugh, “they certainly are right pretty little birds. It’s a pity they don’t know better how to take care of themselves, for everything that runs across them can kill them.”
“Well,” said Jack, “I’m glad I caught this little fellow, but I’m mighty glad I didn’t kill him, and now I’m going to turn him loose.”
He walked over to the other birds and put the grouse that he held gently on the ground and then stood up. The grouse raised itself to its full height and stretched up its neck, looking at him with an air of great curiosity. Then, seemingly satisfied, it lowered its head and with very deliberate steps walked over toward its fellows, while Jack remounted his horse, and the three travelers started on.
An hour later they were in the main valley of Swift Current and marching at a good gait down the trail.
Quite a long time before sunset they crossed Boulder Creek, and a little later came out on the wide flat below the lower lake. Over by the river were some white lodges and a bunch of horses feeding, and Hugh said, “I believe our friends, the Kootenays, are still camped here. Let’s go over and camp with them. I’d rather be right among them than at a little distance. The dogs and children won’t trouble us so much in the camp as they would if we were close to it.”
They found in the camp all their acquaintances of a week or two before. Evidently the hunting had been good, for there were scaffolds covered with drying meat, and many hides pegged upon the ground.
While the white men were making camp, some of their acquaintances came up and spoke to them, and a little later old Back In Sight, the chief, paid them a call, and on Hugh’s invitation sat down and ate with them.
The Indians said they were soon going north and west to their own country. The hunting had been good, and they had killed many beaver. Now the fur was no longer at its best and they did not wish to trap any more this season.
Just before dusk something occurred that immensely interested Jack. A man clad in a blanket and a battered felt hat walked through the camp haranguing the people, who gathered in the middle of the small space within the lodges. Standing in the middle of the group, this man repeated what were evidently prayers. Then to Jack’s intense astonishment he crossed himself; rang a little bell, offered up another prayer and crossed himself again, while all the people followed his example. This went on for some little time until, finally, at the end of one prayer, followed by the tinkle of the bell, the people dispersed.
“Say, Hugh,” said Jack, “I wish you’d ask that Indian that you can talk to what this means. It looks to me like some sort of a church service.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “I wouldn’t be surprised a mite. You know lots of these Indians, especially on the west side of the mountains and to the north, believe in the Catholic religion, and I wouldn’t be surprised if these people do, or think they do. As a matter of fact, I believe they worship the sun, but maybe they think they’re Christians. Wait until I talk a little bit with this man that speaks some Chinook and Piegan.”
Hugh had quite a long talk with the Kootenay, then turned to Jack and said, “Now, son, that’s a mighty queer thing that we’ve seen. This man says that what we saw them doing was worshiping, and that this worship was taught their fathers by a Black Robe a good many years ago. Their fathers taught them how to worship in this way, but they themselves don’t know exactly what it means; all they know is that they are praying to the Black Robe’s God. This Black Robe taught their fathers to say these prayers, to ring this bell and make these motions, touching themselves on four places on their bodies. They try to do this just as their fathers taught them.”
Jack clapped his hands in astonishment. “That is certainly a most extraordinary thing; a real case of survival. I guess if I tell people back East about this they will laugh at me, and say I’m crazy.”
“I reckon, son, if you tell them all the things you have seen out in this country that if they don’t call you crazy they’ll at least call you a liar.”
“That is sure so, Hugh,” said Jack. “I’ve seen people turn their heads away and laugh when I was telling them some common enough story about things out here. You see they don’t understand anything about it, and so when they hear anything that is outside of the range of their own experiences they think I’m lying to them; but this holding Mass in a Kootenay Indian camp beats me. It’s hard to believe that I’ve seen it.”
“It does seem mighty queer, that’s so, son,” replied Hugh, “but we all know what great fellows the Indians are for hanging on to anything that they ever get hold of. They are a great people for old customs, and accept and stick to what their old people have told them. Of course, in these days they are changing all the time. The young fellows around the agencies are becoming civilized in spite of themselves, but take these old fellows that live out in the camps, the old buffalo hunters, and others of that sort, and they haven’t changed much, and they never will change much either. They’ll die old buffalo hunters.”
Early the next morning the little party left their Indian friends and started up the lake. By ten o’clock they had crossed the inlet and were on their way along the upper lake. The packs, well put on in the morning and constantly watched, gave them no trouble and there were no delays. Not long after noon they passed their previous camp just below the Point of Rocks, and climbing that steep ridge, kept on their way along the mountainside.
They traveled until after sunset and at last camped in a little park in the narrow valley, and by noon the next day had reached the old camp at the little lake where they had killed the bears.
Here the aspect of the mountains was greatly changed. Much of the snow had melted, the grass was well started, and the landscape looked more like summer.
CHAPTER XVIII
AMONG THE ICEFIELDS
THE next morning they rose late, for the previous day had been long and hard. At breakfast Hugh said, “Now, to-day, let’s picket the pack horses and ride up on the mountains prospecting, and see whether we can camp over there where that big snow bank lay when we were here last. I have an idea that we’ll find most of the snow gone and that we’ll have dry ground to camp on and some little feed near by for the horses.”
Soon after breakfast they made ready to start.
“They say lightning don’t strike twice in the same place,” remarked Hugh, “but then it might, so I’m going to hang up all our stuff in one of these trees, where it will be out of the reach of the bears. If they get to mixing up our things once or twice more, we won’t have anything to eat, and we’ll have to go back to the Agency for grub. They’d like mighty well, I reckon, to get at this sheep meat, and if they could ever get hold of that sheep head of yours, son, they’d carry it off in the brush, and you never would find it.”
Some little time was spent in making up the bundles and in putting them in places of safety in the trees. Then they saddled the horses, and climbing the steep game trail that led to the valley above, found themselves once more on the high bench on the mountainside. Here on the flat rocks there were still great expanses of snow, but it was melting fast, and clear torrents of water ran toward the river in the valley below.
Among the rocks was the same wealth of wild flowers that they had seen when they were here before, but the flowers were much more advanced and many of the blossoms had withered and seemed now to be forming seed-pods.
They had not gone far when an old mother ptarmigan hopped up in front of them and performed the familiar ruse of fluttering along the ground with hanging wings, as if wounded. They looked carefully for the chicks, which they knew must be near at hand, but could not see them. No doubt they were lying immediately under their eyes hidden in crevices of the rock, looking just like the little stones that were scattered everywhere.
Across the valley the green timber was now showing black above the paler grass which carpeted the soil, and Joe said, “I reckon we can camp over there all right, White Bull.”
“Yes,” said Hugh, “it looks so, doesn’t it? Anyhow, we’ll go over and see. You can’t always tell so far off as this.”
They crossed the stream at its head among the great rounded boulders that had been carried down by the ice, and the roar of the fall coming over the precipice almost deafened them. When they had left it a little behind, Jack asked Hugh, “Where do you suppose all that water comes from?”
“Why,” said Hugh, “I reckon it comes from an awful lot of snow and ice that lies on the mountainside up above there. I wouldn’t be a mite surprised if up there we were to find a glacier two or three times as big as the one where you killed the sheep. There’s an awful lot of room back between this place where the water falls over and the tops of the mountains. We’ll get there in the course of a day or two, if we find a good camping place, as I think we will.”
Hugh’s prediction as to the possibility of camping here was right. The snow was gone, the ground had dried off, and the grass had started thick and green.
Hugh seemed well pleased and selected a place for the camp, declaring that the best thing they could do would be to go right back, pack up and move here.
“It’s true,” he said, “there isn’t feed enough just now to keep the horses, but we can turn them loose over across the creek, where there is good feed, and can bring them in here and tie them up nights, if we want to. I don’t believe that they’ll go off, even if we leave them over there, though it’s rather far from camp, and of course something might scare them and give us some trouble to hunt them up.”
When they reached camp they put the packs on their animals and returning, pitched their tent in a pretty little grove of stunted spruces, close to the edge of a tiny rivulet, where wood was plentiful and there was some grass.
From here they could look out on a dozen splendid mountain peaks, some of them covered with perpetual snow, and with great fields of white snow on the sides of others that seemed to indicate glaciers flowing down their slopes.
Early next morning the three set out to explore this alpine valley, or rather, the mountains which surround it. Opposite them, to the west, rose the huge mountain along whose sides they had now passed several times. To the south of it was a saddle, beyond which again rose a rocky ridge, rising toward a point that was hidden from view by the high cliff to the south, over which came the great water fall that fed the large stream which was the main river. Opposite this saddle, and so to the east of the camp, was a valley in which grew some pine timber, and which seemed to rise by a gentle ascent to very high rocky peaks that were bare of snow.
“Which way shall we go, Hugh?” said Jack. “We have a lot of country to travel over, though of course we don’t know how far we can go in any direction.”
“No,” said Hugh, “we’ve got to learn that for ourselves. Now the horses are a little tired; they’ve been traveling pretty steadily for two or three days now, what do you say to leaving them to feed here and crossing over the creek and walking up that snow slope to yon saddle, and seeing what there is on the other side of it? I reckon that here we’re about as close to the Divide as we can get, and I guess likely that if we can reach that crest of rock that lies above the snow and look over it, we’ll be seeing waters that flow into the Flat Head Lake, and so into the Pacific Ocean. If we can get up on to that ridge, we may be able to see what it is that lies off to the south of us here, which is toward the Cut Bank Pass.”
“I’d like to do that,” said Jack. “How do you feel about it, Joe?”
“Well,” answered Joe, “I’d like to see it, only I don’t want to go sliding round, the way I did the other day. I tell you I was scared that time. I couldn’t hold myself back, and I didn’t know what was going to happen to me.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “I was scared, too. It would be pretty bad luck if one of us got hurt and had to be nursed up here in the mountains, or packed in to the Agency to find a doctor.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “you boys have got to be careful wherever you go, and you must think about what your carelessness might cost other people.
“Now, if we go up over that snow, we’ve got to try to fix ourselves out for it. We’d better each one of us take a kind of walking stick to hold on with, and a rope, so that if we get in any place where the going is right bad we can tie ourselves together, and go mighty careful, one at a time, the way Jack was telling us the other day that those mountain-climbing fellows do in Europe. I’ll take the ax and go over into this small timber across the creek, and cut some sticks for us to use.”
The boys went with Hugh, and in a few minutes returned with three long slender poles, from which, with ax and knife, all the branches and roughness were soon trimmed. Hugh pointed the larger ends of the poles and then told the boys to thrust them into the fire so that they might become charred and hardened. In that way they would last and be effective much longer. Then Hugh took a couple of sling-ropes off the pack saddles, and coiling them up, put one over his right shoulder and under his left arm, and gave the other to Joe, who carried it the same way.
It was but a few minutes’ walk over meadows, green with new springing grass and bright with wild flowers, to the ledges down which they passed to get to the stream. This was easily crossed by springing from rock to rock, and a little later they were slowly trudging over the old snow upon an icefield.
Just before reaching the snow, Hugh pointed out little brooklets running through the drift and gravel, whose milk-white waters showed that they came from under a glacier.
“You remember, I reckon, son,” he said to Jack, “what Fannin told us about the way the masses of ice and the loose rocks under it ground up the soil and rock over which the ice passed, and made the water milky with this powdered rock. This must be what we see here, and we can be sure, I reckon, that this is a glacier.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “I guess there’s no doubt about that, especially when we see that big moraine off there to the right. That must have been made by the glacier, though it looks as if that had been done a long time ago.”
“That’s what,” said Hugh, “a long time ago. But seeing that moraine there makes me think that maybe it would be a good plan to get on that and walk along as far as it goes. I’ve seen these glaciers sometimes that were all cracked and full of holes, and sometimes the holes were bridged with snow, so that a man might break through the snow and fall into one of them. Let’s get on the moraine and walk along that, and then when we have to walk over the snow, rope ourselves together.”
Edging to the right, they soon came to the steep-sided moraine, and after a little search found a place where they could ascend it and walk along its very sharp crest. It was a place for careful walking, since the crest was a sharp knife-edge and they had to walk with one foot on either side of the ridge, with a drop of fifty or sixty feet below if a misstep were made. Before they had gone very far, Joe, who was bringing up the rear, called, “I don’t like this very much. I am afraid I am going to fall.”
“Nonsense,” said Hugh, “you won’t fall, but if you feel as if you were going to, you better sit down astride of the ridge, take your rope and tie one end of it about your waist and throw the other end to Jack. Then he can tie that about his waist, and I’ll throw my rope back and he can tie himself to that, too.”
Joe stopped and stood there for a moment and then called out, “No, I’m all right now. Go ahead and I’ll follow, but don’t go too fast.”
They went on very deliberately, and presently Hugh reached the end of the moraine and stepped off on to the snow, where a moment later he was joined by Jack and Joe.
“Now,” said Hugh, “let’s put these ropes on, leaving a little slack in our hands. Then if any one of the three sees that one of the others is going to slip or fall, he must stand still and do the best he can to support his partner. Look out, too,” he went on, “about where you’re stepping. Try to follow as nearly as you can just where I go, and I’ll try the snow with my stick, and if I find a soft place we’ll go around it.”
They started up the snow slope, directing their course toward the side of the great mountain, until they had come pretty close to it. Then Hugh turned off to the left, and plodded steadily along, vigorously punching the snow with his pole. Occasionally he stopped to rest and to draw a few deep breaths, and on one of these occasions Hugh said to Jack, “You can see, son, why I don’t want to get close to the mountains here,” and he waved his hand toward the rocks, at the foot of which Jack saw many places where recent snowslides from high up on the mountain had rushed down and thrown great masses of snow and even great pieces of rock far out on the slope which they were ascending.
“As the sun gets higher,” Hugh went on, “and the rocks get warm, this snow loosens its hold on the mountain, and sometimes a very little thing will break the last hold it has, and the whole mass will come rushing down. We don’t want to get close enough under the rocks to have any of that stuff hit us.”
“Well, White Bull,” asked Joe, “why don’t you keep far out from the mountain?”
“It’s like this,” replied Hugh; “you see out there in the middle of the ice the slope is steepest, and there in the middle is where the ice moves fastest. For that reason it’s more likely to be cracked and broken there, and it’s into those crevices that a man might slip and get hurt. We want to dodge those cracks in the ice on the one hand, and the falling snow and rocks on the other, and that is just what I’m trying to do.”
“I tell you, Hugh,” said Jack, admiringly, “you seem to see everything and to think of everything.”
“Oh, no,” replied Hugh, “there’s lots of things that I don’t see and lots of things that I don’t think of, but, of course, a man that’s been a long time in the mountains gets to know some things, and if he’s got any sense he tries to keep himself out of danger.”
For an hour or two more they climbed steadily, always keeping near the rim of the great basin, yet well away from the rocks, and at last they were on snow that was almost level, and well up toward a wall of rock, which sometimes stood up high, or again was broken down and so low that it was but six or eight feet above the level of the snow. Gradually they drew near to this wall, which was bare of snow and from which, therefore, Hugh anticipated no danger, until at last they had come so close to it that it seemed that they might reach it at almost any point.
Hugh kept on to a place where the wall was quite broken down, and then, turning, reached the edge of the snow and stepped across to the rocks, where the others joined him.
Through the opening where they were standing they could see mountains, and, taking two or three steps forward, looked into a black gorge full of snow and ice, from which a narrow valley led away to the southwest. It was the coldest, most desolate place that any of them had ever looked into. Below, a precipice fell away a sheer thousand feet, and then, piled up in the valley, one could not tell how thickly, was the snow, sometimes broken and showing green ice beneath it, and sometimes with an immense peak of rock sticking out through it. There was no life to be seen, and no green thing; only black rocks, white snow and dark ice.
“My,” said Jack, “that’s a terrible place.”
“Yes,” said Hugh, “it would be mighty lonesome for a man who was put down anywhere in there.”
“I don’t like to look at it,” said Joe, “it scares me. I don’t like these mountains. I like the prairie, where it’s warm and where you can see a long way.”
“Do you suppose that anything lives down there, Hugh?” said Jack.
“Well, I don’t know,” was the answer. “I reckon likely the goats go down there in summer to get cool, but how they get up here again if they go down there, I don’t know. Maybe there are some places where a goat or a man could get down, but I can’t see them from here.”
“Well,” said Jack, “I’d hate to go hunting down there, and I don’t believe I’d go if I saw a dozen goats.”
“No,” said Hugh, “I don’t reckon you would. I think it would be better to try to find some easier place to do your hunting. It’s scary looking.”
They spent a long time looking down into this gulf, and the longer they looked the more dark and forbidding it seemed. Hugh said that the waters from the melting snow and ice must run down into some river that entered Flat Head Lake, but what river it was he did not know, for he had never been in the mountains on the other side of the range.
At length, retreating from the edge of the precipice, they went out to the other side of the rocks, and, sitting down, ate the little lunch of fried sheep meat and bread that they had brought in their pockets. Then Hugh smoked his pipe, and presently they started to return to camp.
“How are you going back, Hugh?” asked Jack. “The way we came or some other way?”
“No,” said Hugh, “the way we came is good enough for me. I know I can get back that way, and, if we try some other road, I don’t feel sure that we won’t meet some steep slope or some big crack that will stop us. I took notice as we came up this morning that the snow on the other side of the basin looks mighty steep, and I don’t want to imitate Joe and go sliding around the way he did. Let’s go back the way we came, and then if we want to try some other way, if we ever come here again, we can try it from the bottom, and if we get stopped we can go back to camp.”
Adjusting their ropes, they started on the return journey. The heat of the sun had decidedly affected the snow, and it was much softer than when they had come up a few hours before. This made the walking easier, and their progress down the slope was much more rapid, so that the afternoon was only half spent when they found themselves once more in camp.
None of the horses were in sight, and they at once set out to look for them, and after considerable search found them all together not very far from camp, but a little way down the hill, where the grass grew thicker and greener than close to the camp.
“Now, boys,” said Hugh, “I’ll tell you what we’ve got to do. We can’t afford to lose our horses and we can’t expect them to stay close to camp where there’s no grass, so let’s take them over across the creek, and turn them loose on the other side, where the feed is better and they can’t very well get away. If they come back and cross the creek to go down hill, we will hear them, and in the morning if any of them are gone from the place where we turned them loose, we can go down the hill on this side of the creek and catch them before they have gone far.”
Hugh’s advice was acted on, and then returning to the tent they found that it was time for supper.
After supper the question came up as to what they should do to-morrow. After talking for a little while, Hugh said, “Now, son, of course, we want to keep busy and see and do all that we can up here in the mountains, but then we must remember that we’ve got pretty nearly all the time there is. We don’t need to make a labor of our fun and climb these hills every day. If you boys want to do so, you can just as well stay in camp for a day now and then, and kind of rest up. These rocks here are not going to get away, and you don’t have to climb them all to-morrow. If you feel like doing it, we can all stay in camp to-morrow and take things easy, and then start out on our travels the next day.”
“I think maybe that’s a good idea, Hugh,” said Jack. “We’ve been on the go pretty steadily ever since we came out, and maybe it would be a good idea to loaf for a day.”
“I think so, too,” agreed Joe, “and then something else, my eyes hurt me to-night. I think maybe the shine of the sun on the snow is what makes them pain.”
“Yes,” said Hugh; “we did a fool trick this morning. I didn’t think of it until we got well up on the ice, and the sun commenced to get strong. We ought to have blackened our noses before we started out. We’re all of us likely to have sore eyes to-morrow. I don’t think it will last long nor hurt much, but the sun is strong now. You see it’s mid-summer and, of course, the glare from the ice is pretty bad. After this, we must not start out over the snow without fixing up our faces.”
So after a little more talk it was determined that the next day should be spent in and about camp.
The boys were lazy about rising the next morning, and when they got up they saw Hugh sitting by the fire smoking, and noticed that the brilliant sunlight which was cut off from the camp by the great mountain that rose to the east of them, was slowly creeping down the ice field across the valley. It was late.
“Why, Hugh,” said Jack, “I guess I was more tired than I thought. I slept right through, and I had no idea it was as late as this.”
“Yes,” said Hugh, “it’s pretty late. I’ve had breakfast cooked for two or three hours, and I reckon you’ll find everything pretty well dried up when you get to eating; but no matter about that, the grub is ready for you; are you ready for it?”
“I’ll be ready in about five minutes,” said Jack, as he hurried down to the little stream where they had scraped out a pool where the water had collected and which made a very good place for washing their hands and faces. Presently they were all at breakfast and enjoying their food, even if it was dried up.
After Hugh had washed the dishes, he said, “Now, boys, I’m going over to the other side of the creek there to look at the horses and see how they’re getting along, and I’ll be back in two or three hours. Anybody that wants to go with me can, and anybody that wants to stay here can stay.”
“I’ll go,” said Joe, “if you won’t make me climb over that ice.”
“No,” laughed Hugh, “I promise not to take you on to the ice, but I want to see how those horses are making out over there, and if there’s plenty of feed for them. They seemed to be well satisfied this morning.”
“I don’t believe I’ll go,” Jack said. “My eyes hurt me a little, and I think I’ll just sit here in camp, and then if I get tired of doing that I’ll take a little walk up the valley.”
CHAPTER XIX
A FOUR-FOOTED HUNTER
HUGH and Joe started off to look at the horses, while Jack stayed in camp and watched the mountains, and noticed how their shadows grew shorter and shorter as the sunlight crept toward the place where he was sitting.
It was quiet here. Now and then a bird’s note sounded in the trees above him, and once he heard the shrill whistle of a mountain woodchuck and always the dull sound of water falling over the cliff. Despite the quiet, there was yet much that was delightful in his surroundings.
As he sat there doing nothing, the forest, which to the casual traveler seems so silent and so destitute of life, began to give out little sounds and to show movements that Jack hardly expected. Down by the stream a friendly little water ouzel came along feeding, and stopping near the place where Jack sat, perched himself on a dry stick, and sat there for a long time, practicing his thrush-like song. He seemed to be a young bird and, though low, his song was very musical. He tried it over and over again, stopping sometimes when he thought he had made a mistake, and beginning anew with great patience and perseverance. He was a humble bit of life as he perched there, clad in quaker gray and hardly to be distinguished from a stub of the dead branch on which he rested, and Jack could not but admire the little fellow and be delighted by his liquid notes.
On one of the trees hung the shoulders of the sheep, which, shining red against the dark green, attracted the notice of a vagrant company of gray jays, which were flitting from point to point among the pines. Jack had seen many of these amusing rascals, sometimes known as meat hawks or camp robbers, and was always ready to admire their astonishing impudence.
A gray jay has little fear of human beings. He is likely to alight within three feet of one’s face, and to wink at one in daring fashion. He will stand on the legs of a deer which is hanging in a tree while you are skinning it, and from his perch will dart down to the ground after every little bit of meat or fat that drops from the knife. One can entice them almost up to his hand by tossing bits of food to them, making each bit fall a little nearer than the last; yet, notwithstanding all their impudence and apparent tameness, they are watchful and well able to take care of themselves. They scan you suspiciously with keen black eyes, and are always on the alert.
A group of these bold fellows darted down from the tree tops, some of them perching on the meat in the tree, but two or three plunging close to the fire, and alighting with an audacious flirt and spreading of the tail, which made Jack feel that the camp belonged rather to the birds than to him, and that he, if he had any modesty at all, ought to go off and leave them to occupy it.
The jays raised themselves to their full height, as if standing on tiptoe, and looked round, and then seeming perfectly satisfied, hopped about and picked up little pieces of bacon, morsels of fat and crumbs of bread. Some of these they ate at once, some they took up and carried off bodily to a neighboring branch, where, holding the food under one foot, they hammered and tore the piece until it was so divided that they could swallow it.
One of the jays got hold of a bone of the sheep to which some flesh was clinging, and as it was too big to carry off, pecked at it until he got a beak full of the food, and then flew off to eat it, but immediately returned for more.
Jack noticed that the jays that were working at the meat hanging in the trees sometimes clung to it, hanging head down, like titmice, which, indeed, they somewhat resembled. They did not seem very good-natured among themselves, and Jack noticed that if two alighted on the same piece of meat, one of them always retired and waited until the other had satisfied himself and gone off. Once or twice there seemed a possibility of an active quarrel between two of them. One of the two would draw himself up very straight indeed, slightly raise the feathers of his head and give a low flute-like whistle, and when the other saw this attitude and heard the warning he at once flew away.
Jack supposed that the jays would eat what they wanted, and then go away, but this was not the case. After satisfying their appetites, they continued their foraging, carrying off their booty and laying it up in secret storehouses on the branches, or in the little festoons of moss that hung from the trees.
Jack noticed that they seemed to store away quite a little bit of food in their throats, and that when they had all they could carry they went off and deposited it, and came back for more. The gray jays were so persistent and such wholesale robbers that Jack contemplated throwing sticks and stones at them to drive they away, but before he had made up his mind to do this another bird appeared, which at once scattered the jays.
While they were hard at work gathering plunder from the camp a dark shape flashed across the opening, and a moment later a beautiful Steller’s jay alighted in a small tree near the tent, raised his long crest, looked about him for an instant, and then hopping from one branch to another, reached the topmost spray of the tree, where he hung for an instant, swinging backward and forward on a slender twig. Then he darted down and alighted on the meat, and after another glance about him, attacked it with much vigor, sinking his sharp bill into the tender flesh at every stroke. He was a fine fellow, this Rocky Mountain blue jay, beautiful in color and shape, with dark blue wings and tail, a smoky brown body and head and a long crest, with light blue dots on his forehead. He was trim, graceful, alert and quick in all his motions, but he remained about the camp only a little while and then dashed away into the forest.
After the blue jay had gone, and the coast was clear, the gray jays came back again, and so persistently did they assail the meat that Jack finally drove them off, and threw a coat over it to protect it.
The daring and impudent gray jays were not, however, the only birds about the camp. Modest little juncos—birds like the black snow bird of the East—now and then crept out of the forest and made cautious advances to the neighborhood of the fire, where they feasted on the bread crumbs that had been dropped on the ground.
When Jack first saw them they seemed to him the most timid, shrinking little creatures imaginable, and he was astonished later to see two of them almost come to blows over a choice bit of bread that one had found. When another bird approached the dainty which its discoverer was picking to pieces, the owner grimly lowered his head and bristled up his feathers, prepared to defend his rights. The other little bird threw itself into a defensive position as if quite prepared for battle, but the two did not quite come to blows. After eyeing each other for a few seconds one made a little hop to one side and then the other moved off, and presently the ruffled feathers were smoothed down.
Back in the woods, Jack could hear now and then dull tappings and drummings, which told him that the carpenters among the birds were at work, and after a while one of these woodpeckers dashed into camp, and, alighting near the top of an old stub, stood there for a while as if waiting to be admired.
He was a handsome fellow, with a glossy black back, relieved by white shoulder knots and wearing a satiny cap of red. He was also an energetic worker, but liked frequent intervals of rest.
He hammered away on the wood as if his life depended on it, making the chips fly this way and that, but when he secured the grub that his keen ear told him was concealed there and had swallowed it, he would sit still for some moments as if considering its excellent flavor.
A sudden movement of the gray jays, which still loitered about in the hope of being able to steal something more, occasionally alarmed this visitor and caused him to dodge around to the other side of the stub with a little shriek of alarm, but he would at once peer out from behind it and, finding that he had been frightened without cause, went to work again.
Two rather distant cousins of this woodpecker also came into the camp. They were banded three-toed woodpeckers, somewhat more modestly clad in black and white, with yellow silk caps.
Jack noticed that they worked most on the trunks of the higher trees and on the larger limbs, corkscrewing about them and pecking away in modest fashion, as if anxious to escape observation.
One of them crept into a hollow in the bark of a great spruce and stayed there for a long time, and Jack thought that he was taking a nap before starting out for his supper.
For some hours Jack sat there watching the birds and having a delightfully lazy time. Once in a while he looked across the creek to the place where the horses were, and could see two figures, which he knew must be Hugh and Joe. They seemed in no hurry to return to the camp, but had gone beyond the horses and almost to the crest of the hill above the old camp where the bears had been killed.
At length when the birds had all gone off and he felt a little tired of doing nothing, Jack took up his rifle and crossing the tiny stream which lay before the camp, clambered half a mile or more up the mountainside. It was steep, but not bad going.
There was little sign of game, but, presently, on one of the ledges, Jack walked into a little brood of Franklin’s grouse; a mother and half a dozen young ones as big as a quail.
At first the old bird seemed rather uneasy, but not sufficiently alarmed to resort to any of the common tricks for leading an intruder away from her young, and Jack sat down on the ground close to them and watched them for a long time. They did not seem very active birds, nor did they display much energy in searching for food. They seemed to him rather lazy, and at last he rose and, leaving them, went on.
From his high perch he could see far into the distance and could now overlook the great cliff lying south of the camp, which he discovered to be the northern boundary of an immense snow field which ran back a long way to a vast mountain and to the ridges which extended from it on either hand.
“My,” said Jack to himself, “that will be no fool of a climb to cross that ice and get on those ridges. We will have to do that before very long.”
Looking down across the valley he could now see Hugh and Joe returning to camp, and turning about retraced his steps and got to the tent soon after the others.
The next morning Hugh proposed that they should explore still further the valley which lay to the east of the camp, up which they had ridden when they had been here before. There was no special reason for hunting, since they still had plenty of the sheep killed a few days before.
It took some little time to go across the stream and bring in the horses—the pack animals along with the others, since there was no place over where they were feeding where they could be tied up. The long level ledges of rock that formed the floor of the bench gave no opportunity for driving a picket pin down into the soil, and indeed the feed was so scattered that a picketed horse would get nothing to eat.
Jack suggested that they should tie up the pack animals near camp, but Hugh said no, that it would be better to let them follow, and perhaps graze in the little valley up which they were about to go. There was no likelihood that they would get out of this narrow trough, and even if they did not follow the saddle horses, they could be picked up on the return to camp and taken back to their feeding ground.
As the three riders passed among the scattered pines that grew in the valley they were again impressed by the vast height to which the mountains rose on either hand, by the stillness of the place, and by the glimpses they had from time to time of new snowfields and rock pinnacles.
When they had passed the little lake that lay high up in the valley Jack rode down to its edge, and saw there the fresh tracks of mountain sheep and one huge footmark of an immense bear. He got down from his horse and measured the length of this track, which was very large, reaching from the heel-plate of his rifle to the hammer.
Remounting, he followed Hugh and Joe, whose horses were clambering up a steep slope which presently ended in a tumbled mass of rock lying at the foot of a low cliff.
When the travelers reached the rocks they tied their horses to some little spruces and started to breast the steep ascent on foot.
It was a long, hard climb, but in no way dangerous, simply the mounting one after another of low ledges or steep rocky slopes, wearying to the legs and making the climbers puff.