A couple of miles this side of camp the slope of the mountain grew easier and scattered trees began to clothe its side. They crossed a long, low point of timber and from here there was a gentle descent toward camp, through a dry open forest. They were almost within sight of camp when Jack heard a sound, stopped, and raised his gun, and then a stick cracked in the timber not far off. Jack threw his gun to his shoulder and fired, and in a moment the timber before them seemed filled with animals, which disappeared almost at once, and the noise of their footsteps and of the sticks which they broke in their flight, grew fainter and fainter.
The boys had glimpses of elk running in all directions, but had no chance to shoot again.
“Well,” said Jack, “I don’t know very certainly what I shot at, but I think it was a young bull elk. Let’s go over and see if we can find anything.”
Stepping briskly forward, the boys were soon near the point where the animal had stood at which Jack fired. After looking about for a moment or two, Joe said, “You hit him;” and pointed to a dark spot on a weathered tree trunk, which Jack could see was blood.
The boys circled about, looking carefully at the ground, the trunks of the trees, and the leaves of the low-growing plants, and presently Jack saw that Joe had found the trail, which he was following, slowly at first, because the sign was hard to see, and then more rapidly.
Jack walked after him and together they followed the trail which led down toward the camp. The sign was, at first, slight, but after they had gone some distance they could see a good deal of blood on the ground on both sides of the tracks, and from this Joe declared that the animal was hit in the lungs and would not go far. He was right; a hundred yards further on the graceful form of a young bull elk was stretched on the ground. It was a yearling, of course with its horns in the velvet and as yet quite soft.
The boys dressed the animal and then, walking down to the camp, caught and saddled a pack horse and, bringing it up into the timber, quartered the elk, packed it on the horse and returned to camp, where they unloaded their meat at the foot of a tree and, getting a couple of sling ropes, managed with some labor to haul the quarters into the branches well above the ground.
“Now,” said Joe, “when White Bull comes in we’ll see what he says and, if he thinks best, we’ll cut out and dry a lot of that elk meat, and take it along with us. We can’t be sure at this time of the year, that we’re going to kill something every day.”
All through the afternoon they lounged about the fire, and the sun was still two or three hours high when Jack, who for some time had been watching the mountainsides to the north, saw Hugh coming down the slope a long way off toward the camp.
“Hurrah, Joe!” said Jack, “there’s Hugh. Pretty soon we’ll find out what he’s seen and tell him what we have done.”
A little later Hugh reached the camp and, after putting his rifle inside the tent, said, “Well, boys, I see you’ve got some fresh meat, and I’m mighty glad of it. I’ve had quite a walk and am feeling pretty wolfish. Let’s get supper and then, after we’ve eaten, we’ll have a whole lot of time to talk.”
“WELL, son,” said Hugh, as the two pulled on their shoes in the gray light of the next morning, “I slept mighty well last night and I reckon your conscience didn’t trouble you much, did it?”
“No,” said Jack, “I didn’t know what was going on two minutes after I rolled my blanket about me.”
“It’s mighty dark this morning,” said Hugh. “Either we got up early, or else there’s a big fog;” and when they put their heads out of the tent, sure enough, the mountains were covered with mist and a few flakes of snow were falling.
“Well,” said Hugh, “it’s no time to climb the mountains to-day, unless the weather clears, and it seems to me that it’s mighty cold. Maybe we’re going to get snowed in here.”
“That wouldn’t be very nice,” said Jack. “I hope we won’t have a big snowstorm.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “you boys go out and look after the horses. We’ve got to keep our eyes on them; it would be pretty bad to be left afoot and, if it does snow, the horses will be wanting to get down to the prairie again.”
The boys went and did as they were told, and changed the two horses that were picketed to fresh grass, saw that the others were all near at hand, and then returned to the fire.
Meanwhile, the snow began to fall more and more thickly and, after breakfast, Hugh said, “Now, boys, I believe we’re going to have a real snowstorm. Let’s get these ropes, blankets and saddles covered up as well as we can, and then we’ll go down to the point where we came out of the timber and build some sort of a fence there, so as to keep the horses from going back to the prairie. We’ll have to picket them all to-day and they’re not likely to pull up their pins, but we’ll make it as hard for them to get away as we can.”
The riding saddles and pack riggings were soon piled under a tree, where they would be protected from the snow and covered with blankets and mantas, and then Hugh began to cut and sharpen a number of pins, while the boys collected lash ropes and lariats enough to tie all the horses. After the animals had been securely picketed, the three men went down to the end of the valley and, after Hugh had cut some tall, but slender, dead pine and spruce trees, the boys dragged them out of the timber and made a fence, which sufficiently barricaded the trail and one or two open places, where the horses might have gone into the forest.
By this time the light snow was two or three inches deep and, when they returned to camp, they found that all the horses were busily at work pawing away the snow, in order to get at the grass beneath it.
“There,” said Hugh, “I guess they’re all right, and this thing is just a flurry. As soon as the sun comes out again, this snow will all melt.”
Joe went into the tent, and covering himself with his blankets, went to sleep, but Jack wanted to be doing something, yet there was not much that he could do, unless he went out to hunt, and, as all the foliage was covered with snow, he could not hunt without also getting wet.
Now and then he would walk out and look at the horses, which could not be seen from the camp. They were all standing with their tails to the storm, each with a crest of wet snow on his mane, a patch on the upper hairs of his tail and, most of them, with a line of white running down the backbone. They looked quite as miserable as Jack felt.
On one of Jack’s returns to the fire, Hugh looked up and said smilingly, “You’re getting pretty tired of doing nothing, son?”
“Yes,” said Jack, “it’s pretty slow business, I confess. I’ve been trying to think if there was anything that I could do and I can’t think of anything, unless I go over and take down some of that meat and cut it up for drying.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “that’s certainly not a bad idea. What do you say if we go over there and get a quarter and work on it under a tree where the snow doesn’t fall thick?”
“I’d like to, Hugh,” said Jack. “Of course, nothing would dry to-day and maybe not to-morrow, but if we could have two or three days of bright weather we could get it so it would keep.”
“We sure could,” said Hugh; “and even if we don’t have bright weather, we can rig up some kind of a scaffold and half dry and half smoke it with the fire. Come on, I’ll go with you and we’ll get down a piece of meat and go to work on it.”
It was but a short distance to where the meat hung, and, before long, one of the hind quarters of the elk was on the ground. Hugh stopped in front of it and said, “Now, son, take hold of it and, when I get up, raise it, and we’ll pack it into camp.”
The load was too heavy for an ordinary man to carry a great distance, but this did not seem to trouble Hugh. He threw down the ham under a spreading pine tree, that stood not far from the tent, and then Jack and he removed the skin, and began the work of cutting the flesh into thin flakes, which they piled up on the flesh side of the hide that had been taken off the elk. They worked at this for some hours and before supper time had cut out all the meat of the elk.
“Now, son,” said Hugh, “go and get me a sling-rope and we’ll hoist this meat off the ground. If we leave it here, likely some animal will come around to-night and want to carry it off.”
“Well, Hugh, I don’t believe I can climb the tree,” said Jack; for the trunk was very large and without branches for twenty-five or thirty feet above his head.
“No,” said Hugh, “I don’t believe you can and, what’s more, we haven’t got any sling-rope that will reach from the ground to that lowest branch and back again. We’ll tie it up to that little tree that stands close to the tent. Of course, it won’t be safe there, but I reckon anything can’t get at it without our hearing it.”
He made a bundle of the meat, lashing it with a sling-rope.
“There,” he said, “that’s all right for the present, and we’ll put it up here in this spruce tree. Nothing can knock it down without its hitting the tent and waking us, but if we should want to dry it to-morrow, someone will have to stop here and look after it, if the others go off on the mountains. Now let’s have supper.”
Hugh and Jack washed their hands in the snow, built up the fire, and presently commenced to cook supper. After things were going well, Jack called out, “Get up, Joe, you’ve been asleep all day, while other people have been working. Supper is nearly ready.”
Joe grunted sleepily in response and, presently, his black shock of hair was seen poking out of the tent door.
“I must have been asleep,” he said.
“Asleep?” said Jack “I should say so. It’s five or six hours since you turned in and here Hugh and I have been working all that time to support you.”
Joe was not wide enough awake to appreciate Jack’s joke, but after he had walked a little way from the fire and given his face and hands a good scrubbing with snow, he brightened up a good deal and seemed to watch the progress of the meal with interest.
“I tell you what,” said Hugh, as they were eating, “let’s turn back the flaps of the tent and build a small fire right close in front of it. Of course, we’ll have to watch it pretty carefully and put it out when we want to go to bed, but it will seem a heap more comfortable than to be standing about the fire out here.”
“Good,” said Jack, “let’s do it. If you’ll wash the dishes I’ll cut some small wood and we’ll get something as near like a lodge as we can.”
When the fire was built and when the three were sitting on their soft blankets under the shelter of the tent, it seemed very comfortable.
“There,” said Hugh, “this is lots better than standing out there, boys, ain’t it?”
“Yes,” said Joe, “it is.”
“Bully,” said Jack. “We couldn’t be more comfortable than this, unless we had a lodge, and this is plenty good enough.”
“Yes,” said Hugh, “I would like to have brought a small lodge, but then I knew we were coming into a stormy country and very likely often would have to camp high up where we couldn’t get lodge poles, and so I thought it was better to bring this little tent with the folding poles. Of course, sleeping out on the prairie in this weather one doesn’t need a tent, but in the mountains here, where you’re likely to have ten rain or snow storms in a day, it’s good to keep your blankets dry.”
While he was speaking, Hugh was cutting tobacco, and when he had a pipeful, after grinding it up between his palms, he filled the bowl of the pipe and reaching out took a brand from the fire and lighting his pipe sat there in great comfort, drawing in deep breaths of the fragrant smoke.
“Well,” he remarked, when his pipe was going well, “I never would advise a young man to begin to smoke, but I don’t know of anything in this world that has given me more comfort than tobacco, and that is one thing that the world has got to thank the Indians for.”
“Well, pretty nearly everybody smokes,” said Jack, “and I’ve often thought that maybe I’d like to, especially when I see you sitting there as you do now, Hugh. You seem to take such solid comfort in your pipe.”
“Yes,” assented Hugh, “I do; but then, suppose I’d never learned to smoke; don’t you suppose I’d be just as comfortable as I am now? A man don’t miss the things that he’s never enjoyed.”
“No, of course not,” replied Jack.
For a long time the three sat there, gazing at the little fire that flickered before them, Joe occasionally reaching over and carefully laying on it a stick of wood so that it constantly burned bright and warm.
At length Jack spoke up again and said, “Hugh, where were you in 1876, when the Custer massacre took place?”
“I was up camping with the Piegans, not far from the Sweet Grass Hills. I had been trading the year before with the Piegans, and instead of going into Benton and lying around there during the summer, I just stayed out in camp with the people. But look here, son,” he went on, “don’t make the mistake that pilgrims do and call that the Custer massacre; call it if you like the Custer fight or the Custer battle. It wasn’t what I understand a massacre to be; it was just a fair up-and-down fight, and the white men got licked and all of them got killed off. The white men went into that fight with their eyes wide open and knew what they were doing. They just tackled a job that was too big for them, that’s all. Now, you might call the Baker fight that I was telling you about a few days ago a massacre, because it was a surprise and because the troops attacked the camp, and killed off mostly women and children and old men. That’s my idea of a massacre, but the Custer fight was just a fight, and nothing else.”
“That’s so, Hugh,” said Jack, “I oughtn’t to have called it a massacre, but that’s what a good many people do call it, you know.”
“I know they do,” said Hugh, “but it’s a wrong name to give it, at least according to my idea.”
“Did you ever know General Custer?” asked Jack.
“Yes,” said Hugh, “I knew him some. I worked for him part of one summer out from Lincoln; I was one of the scouts on the Yellowstone expedition in ’73 and again in ’74, when he made his trip to the Black Hills.”
“What sort of a man was he?” asked Jack.
“Well,” said Hugh, “he was a nice man. Of course, I never knew him, except in what you may call a business way, to take orders from him and to report. He was always right pleasant, and his wife was an awful nice lady. He was a good soldier, General Custer was, and a great hunter. He was just crazy to be hunting all the time. He treated his men well, too; worked them awful hard, breaking camp early in the morning and sometimes marching away into the night, but they thought a heap of him. I remember one time, going into the Black Hills, two of the men were caught stealing canned goods out of one of the wagons. We camped early the afternoon they were caught, and he had them each ride a cannon from the time we went into camp until after dark. Then he had ’em cut loose and brought to his tent, and he gave them a good talking to, and a day or two afterward he appointed one of them, an old soldier and a pretty good man, too, his orderly. The other man he gave permission to go hunting the next day. He was pretty savage with his men when they did wrong, but after he’d punished a man, he always did something to him to make him feel that he did not hold the offense up against him. That made the men have confidence in him, and it made a good many of them careful about how they did anything wrong.
“I haven’t told you, have I,” he went on, “that Jackson, Billy Jackson, you know, was along with that outfit in 1874.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “I think you told me that.”
“I didn’t know him then,” said Hugh. “He was just a schoolboy. We had quite a bunch of schoolboys along. They were called scouts, and maybe they thought they were scouts, but, of course, they were just boys out of the Indian schools without experience, and not knowing anything. They were mostly Santee Sioux.”
“Well,” said Jack, “but Billy is a Piegan, isn’t he?”
“Yes, a Piegan,” replied Hugh, “a grandson of old Hugh Monroe’s and on his mother’s side a grandson of a great chief that died before my time with the tribe, a man called Lone Walker. They said he was a great man. An awful big man, brave and rich. He had nineteen wives, and old man Monroe has told me that when he first came with the tribe—that must be nearly seventy-five years ago—Lone Walker had two grizzly bears that he used to keep tied up, one on either side of the door of his lodge. The old man said that the first time he ever went into the lodge, both bears got up and growled and started to attack him. He said he was scared pretty near to death, but Lone Walker spoke to them and they became quiet and went and lay down again. Old man Monroe lived in Lone Walker’s lodge for two or three years after that and, of course, the bears got used to him right away and never bothered him; in fact, I believe it wasn’t very long after that before the bears ran away and were never seen again.”
“But, Hugh, were they tame bears?” asked Jack.
“I don’t rightly know,” responded Hugh. “They were tame to the man that owned them, I expect, and they say that during the day when the camp was moving, the bears used to travel with it, walking along with the dogs. They didn’t bother anybody or anything and nothing bothered them; but, finally, I believe, they ran off, and although Lone Walker looked for them he could not find them.”
“Well,” said Jack, “those seem to me like queer pets for a man to have, but after all I don’t know that they are any queerer than poor old Swift Foot that I used to have.”
“No,” said Hugh, “any tame wild animal may seem strange to a person who never has seen a tame one before, but any wild animal can be tamed, and if he’s taken young enough he won’t have any fear of man. The trouble is, though, to make him stay tame. He’s naturally shy, and while he may be all right when his owner’s around, if he gets among strange people, the natural fear that he’s inherited from his ancestors will come back to him, and he’ll run.”
“That’s what happened to poor old Swift Foot, I am afraid,” said Jack.
“What Swift Foot?” said Joe. “I never heard about that.”
“Why, haven’t I ever told you about him, Joe?” said Jack. “Four or five years ago, the first year I was in the West, we dug out a den of wolves and kept the puppies, and some of them became very tame. I took one back East with me and had him two or three years. He was just like a dog with me and felt at home with all the other people in the house, but I never dared let him loose on the streets, for fear he would get lost. In the country, when I went there, I’d turn him loose and he would run—Great Scott! you never saw anything so wild to run as he was. Then, when I’d bring him back to the city again I’d have to keep him chained and give him what little exercise I could on a chain. Of course, he grew awfully fat, and I think if I’d had him much longer he’d have gotten cross, too; but finally, one unlucky day, I took him out walking, and over near Third Avenue, a crowded street where there is a great deal of noise and the elevated railroad trains are running all the time, something frightened him and he dodged behind me and gave a pull on the chain, and it pulled loose from his collar, and before I could grab him he got frightened and ran. He ran like a deer, dodging among the trucks and horses and cars, and though I called and whistled he never stopped, and I never saw him again. Father advertised, and we tried our best to hear something of him, but it was no use.”
“I don’t wonder he got scared,” said Joe. “I guess I’d be scared a whole lot with so many people round me, and no place to get away.”
“You’re right,” said Hugh, “so would I. It must be something terrible in those big cities.”
“Well,” said Jack, “it is terrible the way the people crowd about. Of course, those who live there are used to it and don’t pay any attention, but people that haven’t been used to hearing the noises and seeing the crowds, could easily enough get scared.”
A little later Hugh rose to his feet and stepped out of the tent, saying as he did so, “Boys, I believe we’re going to have a nice day to-morrow. It’s stopped snowing, all the stars are out and the moon is just rising. It feels mighty warm, too. Likely enough to-morrow the sun will come out hot and take off the heft of this snow. Then we can get round a bit and can dry this meat.”
“Well,” said Jack, “I’d like to be able to dry our meat. Of course, there’s no trouble killing meat here, but one doesn’t want to kill a big animal for a single meal.”
“No,” said Hugh, “you’re right about that. Meat is plenty here, but that’s no reason why we should waste it. Now, let’s put this fire out and cover it up with snow, so that there’ll be no danger of the tent’s catching fire, and then we’ll go to bed. What do you say?”
At once the boys were on their feet, pulling the fire to pieces and extinguishing the burning brands, by throwing them into the snow, and then bringing a few double handfuls of snow they threw them on to the ashes of the fire, and with much smoke and steam the last sparks were extinguished. A little later the regular breathing of the three men in the tent showed that all were asleep.
It must have been in the middle of the night or perhaps toward morning, when Jack was half awakened by hearing a noise, something like scratching, which he did not recognize, but a moment later he was thoroughly aroused by hearing a loud thump on the ground just outside the tent and then the sound of something galloping. His first thought was that one of the horses had come up close to the tent and knocked something down, but almost at once he recognized that this could not have been the cause of the sound, because the footfalls were not heavy enough to have been made by a horse. Rising on his elbow, he looked about. It was quite light in the tent, for a brilliant moon was shining, and he could plainly see Hugh get up, walk to the door and look out.
“What is it, Hugh?” asked Jack.
For a moment Hugh did not answer, and then said, “Why, something has carried off that bundle of meat. No, he hasn’t either. Here’s the meat lying in the snow and there is the thing that knocked it down over there under the pine tree, where we were cutting up the elk. I can see it plain in the snow, but I can’t make out what it is. It’s some animal, because it’s moving.”
By this time Jack was on his feet and had his head out of the tent door. He could plainly see some not very large animal crouched in the snow and could hear faintly the scratching, tearing sound of an animal gnawing a bone, and at once said, “Why, Hugh, whatever it is, he’s gnawing on the bones of that elk we left over there.”
“So he is,” said Hugh. “Let’s see what it is,” and, reaching down, he took his rifle and, stepping outside of the tent door, fired at the creature. It paid no attention whatever, but went on eating. Then Hugh fired another shot and then another, and after the fourth shot, the animal sprang into the air and, turning about, bounded off into the shadow and was not seen again. Hugh picked up the bundle of elk meat and put it in among the branches of the tree, and then he and Jack went back into the tent.
“What was it, Hugh?” asked Jack.
“Well,” said Hugh, “I don’t know. It was either a mountain lion or a lynx or a bob-cat, but whatever it was, it wasn’t a bit afraid.”
“No,” said Jack, “I could see that. We ought to be glad that it didn’t come into the tent with us.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “we’ll know what it is in the morning, when it gets light.”
For the remainder of the night their rest was undisturbed. They rose early, and while breakfast was being cooked Hugh walked over to where the animal had been, and after looking about, came back and told the boys that the disturber of their rest had not been a mountain lion.
“I wish after we get breakfast you would show me how you know that, Hugh,” said Jack.
“I will,” said Hugh, “but I can tell you now. The place where it was lying is too small for a mountain lion. There is no mark anywhere on the snow of a long tail, such as a lion would have, and then out there I picked up this,” and he took from his pocket a little tuft of hair, gray, mixed with reddish. “Do you recognize that fur?” he said, as Jack took it in his hand and looked at it.
“No,” said Jack, “I don’t. But then you know I don’t know many of the mountain animals.”
“No,” said Hugh, “you don’t, and I don’t think Joe does, either. But unless I’m mightily mistaken that came from a lynx, one of those big animals like a bob-cat, only a good deal bigger, and gray instead of red. They’ve got black tips to their ears and a kind of whiskers around their necks, and they look awful fierce and savage, but it’s all looks. Though they seem to be so big, a man can kill one with a stick and not a very big stick, either.”
“Well,” said Jack, “let’s go over there as soon as we’ve eaten.”
After breakfast Hugh and Jack took their rifles and went over to the place where the animal had been sitting, and Hugh pointed out the animal’s tracks, which looked very large.
“Now, in this soft snow,” observed Hugh, “I can’t tell, and I don’t believe anybody else can, whether this is a lynx’s track or a mountain lion’s, but if it was a mountain lion’s, every little while as you followed it you’d see some place where the lion’s tail had made a mark in the snow. We don’t find anything of that sort here. Now, what do you say to following up these tracks, and seeing where the critter’s gone?”
“Let’s do it,” said Jack, eagerly.
Quietly and slowly they followed the trail, which was very plain, and found that only about twenty or thirty steps from the place where the animal had been shot at, it had stopped and lain in the snow for some time, and that in this bed was a drop or two of blood. Apparently one of the shots that Hugh fired had grazed the skin somewhere.
“Well, Hugh,” said Jack, “that beast isn’t much frightened and it may be anywhere about here. Let’s go ahead, as carefully and quietly as we can.”
From here the trail led into thick willows, where it wound about, and where, owing to the closeness of the willow stems, it was not easy to go quietly. Every few moments Hugh stopped and looked carefully about, and then went on a little farther. When he had followed the trail for a little more than a hundred yards, the tracks turned sharply to the right, and just as they turned to follow them, Hugh made a motion with his hand and stopped. Jack looked under Hugh’s arm, and there, not twenty yards away, saw the animal. A large spruce tree grew among the willows and at its foot was a little open place. The lynx, for such it was, was lying in the sun at the foot of this tree, and only its hips were visible.
Hugh motioned to Jack to shoot, but before the lad could do so, he was obliged to creep several yards to the left under the low-spreading branches of a willow. At last he got far enough to one side to see the animal’s body almost to the shoulders, and then fired, trying to send his ball as close to the tree as possible. At the report the animal gave a spring, and, falling back, stretched itself out in the snow. When Hugh and Jack went up to it they could see that it was a Canada lynx of the largest size, and as it lay there, its thick legs, and huge paws, armed with long, strong claws, gave it a more ferocious appearance than it was really entitled to.
Those paws were a marvel to Jack on account of their size, and the way in which they were armed, but when he took hold of the animal to lift it, he appreciated what Hugh had told him about its really small size, and realized that a great deal of its bulk was due to its long, loose fur.
Hugh took the lynx by the back of the neck and a few minutes brought them to the camp.
Joe was delighted with their capture, and confessed that he had never before seen an animal like this.
“Now, Hugh,” said Jack, “I want to skin this beast, that is, if you will give me the skin.”
“Sure,” replied Hugh, “I’ll give you my share in the skin. You killed it, and it seems to me it’s yours.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “I killed it, of course, since you gave me the shot, but by hunter’s law the skin belongs to you. Isn’t it true that the first shot that draws blood is entitled to half the meat and the hide?”
“That’s so,” said Hugh, “that’s the old-time law that I used to hear down in Kentucky, before I got big enough to pack a gun. That’s what they always said down there and I reckon that’s been the custom ever since this country was a country. But you can have the hide and all the meat. I’ll give ’em both to you. Keep them always.”
“Well,” said Jack, “I’m mightily obliged to you for the hide, but I don’t feel as if I could rob you of the meat.”
“Well,” replied Hugh, “maybe you don’t know what you’re refusing. I never did happen to eat bob-cat myself, but I’ve eaten mountain lion, and that’s pretty good meat. A little dry maybe, and tastes a little too much like dry roast pork to suit me, but it’s good all the same.”
“Well,” said Jack, “I’ll skin this bob-cat now, I think. How shall I do it, Hugh, split it, or shall I case it?”
“Why,” said Hugh, “if I were you I’d case it. That’s the regular way to skin a bob-cat, and while you’re skinning it, suppose Joe and I go down and see how the horses are and look after our fence. I reckon we don’t want to stay here much longer, but while we do stay we must watch the horses.”
“Well,” said Jack, “that’s for you to say. I’m ready to stay or I’m ready to go. I’d like to have a chance to climb up where you went the other day to look down into Belly River. Maybe I can do that to-day or, at least, this afternoon, if I start as soon as I get through my job of skinning.”
“Yes,” said Hugh, “I reckon you could. Go ahead at it now, and Joe and me will go and look at the horses.”
IT did not take Jack long to skin the lynx, but before he had finished stretching it, Hugh and Joe came back and reported that the horses were all right.
By this time the sun had come out and was shining hot, and the snow melting rapidly. A warm breeze blew down the valley from the westward, and as they watched the mountainsides above them, the boys thought that they could see the dark patches not covered by snow increase in size as they looked at them.
“Well, boys,” said Hugh, “if you want to climb up and look over into Belly River, go ahead and do it, and get back as early as you can. This spot here is mighty pretty, but I reckon we’ve seen about all of it that we want to, and unless you’ve got some special chore that you want to attend to, we might as well pack up and go up one of the other forks. I don’t see any special reason for stopping here. We’ve got what meat we need, and what we want to see is new country.”
“That’s so, Hugh,” said Jack; “we’ll go up to the top of the mountain and then come back and move down to the forks as soon as you like.”
“And look here, son,” said Hugh, “why don’t you go up there alone, and while you are gone, Joe and I will start in to dry this meat we’ve got cut out.”
“All right,” said Jack. “I’ll do that, or if you like, I’ll not go up there, but stay here and fix the meat.”
“No,” said Hugh, “you go on and make your climb, and Joe and I’ll fix the meat, and if you get back in time maybe we can move camp down below this afternoon, or if not we can start the first thing in the morning.”
“All right,” said Jack; and he took up his rifle and started up the mountainside.
It was a long, slow climb. For the first half, the way was over steep open mountainside, dotted here and there with small spruces and cedars, and the soil was now wet with the melting snow, and often slippery. Still he made good time. The side of the mountain was seamed with ravines, and broken here and there by low rock ledges; and two or three times as he went on he found himself within easy shot of little bunches of goats. When Jack saw these, if he could do it without losing time, he crept as close to them as possible, and then showing himself, hurried on. Some of the goats seemed quite shy and ran off, while others looked at him for a long time until he got quite close to them, and then turned and paced slowly off along the hillside.
When he reached the rocks, he found, as Hugh had told him, a break in the wall, cut by falling water, and entering this, began to climb among the steep rocks and ledges, which it often required some care to surmount, but which were not difficult nor at all dangerous.
An hour and a half of climbing of this sort brought him to the crest of the wall, and creeping upon this he hung over and looked down into a wonderfully deep and dark canyon beyond. From the other side of the canyon a great mountain rose sharply, and its summit was covered with a vast snowbank which lay upon a great mass of ice. Evidently, thought Jack, here is a glacier. The mass of ice was apparently moving toward the valley and would break off over this cliff and then fall a thousand feet into the valley below.
It was a wonderfully impressive sight, yet Jack stayed but a little time. He was wet with perspiration, and up here the breeze blew strong and cold. Besides, he thought of his friends in camp, and was anxious to get back to them and help them with their work. So after some minutes’ study of the scene, during which he tried to impress all its features upon his memory, he turned about and slipping off the crest of the rock wall, picked his way down the ravine.
The journey to camp seemed much shorter than the climb, and when Jack strode up to the fire warm and muddy and wet up to the knees, the afternoon had not half gone.
Hugh and Joe had built a large platform of poles supported on four crotched sticks. Under this they had kindled a slow smoky fire, and on the poles rested flakes of elk meat, which were being dried by the sun above and the fire and smoke beneath. A part of the meat had evidently been already partially dried and was hanging in bundles from the branches of one of the trees.
“Well, son,” remarked Hugh, “you’ve got back, have you? Quite a climb, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Jack, “it was quite a climb, but I think it was worth it. That’s a mighty pretty view from the top of that ridge, and I’m glad I saw it. You’re getting on pretty well with your meat, I see.”
“Yes,” said Hugh, “we’ve given it all a little touch of the sun and smoke, and I don’t believe the flies will get at it right away.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Jack. “Wait here and finish with the meat, or go on down and camp at that lake we passed?”
“Why,” said Hugh, “I believe we might as well get up the horses and ride down to the lake. It won’t take us more than a couple of hours, and we can stop there to-morrow and put this meat out again, go up that short fork that lies in the middle, and then the next day poke over and see if we can get up the other fork that lies beyond the lake.”
“All right,” said Jack. “Shall I go out and bring in the horses?”
“Say you do,” said Hugh. “Joe and me’ll pull down the tent and make up the packs, and it’ll take us a mighty short time to get started.”
The snow had disappeared from the valley. The horses were in sight and Jack got around them and brought them in. Joe helped him catch and saddle them, and by the time this was done, the tent was down and Hugh’s packs were mostly made up. The work of packing was speedily finished, and a little later the three were following back their trail of a few days before.
Instead of stopping by the lake, where there was but little feed and not a very good camping place, Hugh went on to their old camp, where the tent was pitched and the scaffold erected and covered with meat. A good breeze was blowing, and Hugh declared that if they stayed here one day more, the meat would be in shape to pack.
By the time the camp was made, the sun was touching the western mountains, and it was too late to do anything that day.
“If we had a little more daylight, son,” said Hugh, “I’d send you out with that fishing rod of yours to catch some trout, but it’s too late for that. Now, I’ll just get supper, and we’ll have a good long night and to-morrow morning we can all go up the middle fork of this creek, and see what there is there.”
The wind fell with the sun, and after supper they sat around the fire, resting. Toward the mountains they could hear the never-ceasing rumble of the falls from the river, and now and then this sound would be drowned by a thunderous roar from the mountains, ending in a long, hissing sound. After the boys had listened to these noises for some time, Joe said to Hugh, “What is this we hear, White Bull? It sounds like the Thunder Bird flapping his wings at first, and then kind of dies off into a smaller noise.”
“Why,” said Hugh, “those are snowslides coming down from the mountains here and there. You see to-day has been pretty warm, and the sun has shone hot and heated up the rocks, and in lots of places the snow has melted so much that it lets go its hold on the steep slopes and rushes down the mountainside. You boys have never been in the mountains at this time of the year, but you’ll find that when the snow is melting in spring, it’s always sliding down the mountains. It’s a mighty dangerous time to be in the high hills, because a man can never tell when one of these snowslides is going to start, and when it does, it gets going so fast there’s no chance for a man to dodge it. Lots of men have been killed by being covered up by such slides, and often they are so big and come so hard that they smash everything that gets in their way.”
“Yes, White Bull, that’s so,” said Joe. “Jack and I saw two places near where we were camped yesterday where the snow had come down and broken off big strong trees, trees bigger around than your body.”
“Yes,” said Hugh. “There are lots of such places in the mountains, and we’re likely to see more of them before we get out. These mountains,” he went on, “are a great place to see what wind and water can do. There’s no place that I know of where the wind can blow so hard; there’s no place where the snow is worse, and there’s no place where the floods are more powerful. Of course, none of those things lasts very long, but any one of them can do a heap of damage in a mighty short time. Down in the high mountains of Colorado I have seen some bad snowslides, and I knew a little fellow down there that used to carry the mail over the range that got caught in a snowslide once. Luckily, he only got caught on the edge of it and it didn’t kill him. It just carried him along a little ways, rolling him over and over, and fetched him out on a point of solid rock that he managed to hang on to, but although he wasn’t in the snow more than a minute or two, he was all bruised up and felt for a good many days afterward as if he’d been beaten with a club.
“Joe Bruce, too,” he continued, “got caught in a snowslide once when he was crossing the mountains, and came pretty near being killed; but he, too, only got caught on the edge and got thrown around some and came out with his life.”
“Well,” said Joe, “I never heard him speak about that.”
“No,” said Hugh, “I reckon not. You know Bruce ain’t no great talker; he ain’t much of a hand to tell about things that have happened to himself. And that reminds me, did I ever tell you about the way Bruce got back a horse that was stolen once from Carroll & Steele, when they ran a trading-post down in Benton in the early days? That’s a pretty good story, but it’s better to hear Joe Bruce tell it than anybody else. Still, maybe I can give you an idea of what happened.”
“That’s bully, Hugh,” said Jack, “I love to hear your stories.”
“I’ve forgotten,” went on Hugh, “what year it was, but it was in the early ’60’s that Matt Carroll and George Steele were running their trading-post in Benton. Both Carroll and Steele had been working for the American Fur Company in years gone by, but now they had formed a partnership, and were trading on their own account. The country was full of buffalo and there was a big trade in robes. Of course the Piegans did all their trading at Benton, and every now and then a party of Bloods and Blackfeet would bring in a lot of robes from the north. These Indians were masters of the whole country then, and they were pretty independent. They were fighting all their enemies and now and then they killed a white man, when they got a good chance. Of course, they were not openly at war, but any Indian who saw a white man that had something that he wanted was liable to kill him if he got a good chance. Now, at this time in one of the Piegan camps close to Benton there was a young fellow named Lone Wolf, who did his trading with Carroll & Steele, and one day George Steele bought a horse from him, a bay pony, that Lone Wolf said was an awful good horse and a good buffalo runner. After Lone Wolf had sold the horse he got sorry that he had done so, and he used to come to the store and sit around looking sullen and sad; his heart was pretty bad.
“Bruce, who was then only a boy, noticed that Lone Wolf was sulky, but he did not know what the matter was. He had charge of the horses, and, of course, fed and watered those that were kept in the barn, a big log-stable with a padlock and chain on the door.
“One morning as he was coming back from watering the horses and drove them into the stable, he saw Lone Wolf sitting on the ground not far off. Bruce followed the horses into the stable, tied them in their stalls and fed them, but before he had finished, someone called to him, and he went out of the barn to find out what was wanted.
“He wasn’t gone more than a few minutes, and when he came back and went into the stable he saw in a moment that the bay horse was missing. He ran to the door and looked out. Lone Wolf was gone, too; up and down the flat and along the bluffs he could see no sign of the Indian nor of the horse, nor was there any dust rising to show where they had gone.
“Bruce went into the store and told Steele, and Steele blew him up for his carelessness. Of course, there was nothing to be done, but Steele told him that he must look out and not lose any more horses.
“It made the boy feel pretty badly to have had the horse taken right under his nose, and to have had an Indian play such a trick on him. Bruce made up his mind that he would try to get the horse back, but he knew that this was going to be quite a job.
“For some time after that Lone Wolf was not seen in Benton. If he wanted anything at the store, he sent in for it by his wife or some other Indian and did not send to Carroll & Steele’s, but to the other trading-store.
“Old Four Bears—the same one that you boys know—used to come into town every day to Carroll & Steele’s and tell Bruce about the good luck that Lone Wolf was having chasing buffalo with his fast horse. Every day or two he’d come in and report that Lone Wolf had killed six buffalo or four buffalo or eight buffalo or eleven, and when Four Bears made these reports, why, he used to laugh over them as if they were the best jokes in the world, but you can imagine that they didn’t seem very funny to Bruce.
“Every day, when he went out to ride a horse, Bruce would go off toward the Piegan camp, and hide in the brush or on top of some hill, and watch the camp with a field glass, so as to find out how they were treating the stolen horse, in the hope that some day he would have a chance to steal it back again. There didn’t seem to be much likelihood that this would happen, because the camp was a big one, and when the horses were sent out they were almost always herded by one or two boys. Besides that, Bruce found that they had tried to change the looks of the pony. His ears were tied back so that he looked crop-eared, and they had painted him with white clay in spots, so that at a distance he looked like a pinto. However, after a while Bruce found out which horse it was and then discovered that he was always necked to another horse.
“After a while, the camp that Lone Wolf lived in moved further away from Benton, so that when Bruce wanted to go to it he had about a thirteen-mile ride to make. It seemed that his chances of getting the horse were growing smaller. However, one afternoon he started out feeling pretty desperate and made his ride and got as close as he could toward the Indian lodges, and commenced to watch again. At length he saw a boy drive the horses to water, and keeping behind some hills and timber he managed to ride within two hundred yards of the place where the horses were drinking, and stopped there, hidden behind some brush. Presently, he saw the boy who was herding them go into a lodge, and in a moment he rushed out, dashed between the horses and the lodges and started the band off toward the prairie. As soon as he got them going he rode through them, roped the bay pony, cut it loose from its mate, and shortening up his lariat and sticking the spurs into his own mount, he started off over the bad land bluffs.
“As he looked back he saw the Indians rushing out of the lodges and looking after him, shading their eyes from the sun. Then they rushed back to get their guns, and the boys brought in the horses.
“It was not long before a string of Indians were riding hot after Bruce. His horse was grain-fed and strong and tough and better able to run for a long time than the Indian ponies, which, of course, had been fed on grass. The captured pony could go fast enough, as he had no load to carry, so Bruce commenced to ride across the roughest country that he could find, down the side of one clay bluff and up the next, following a road that was heartbreaking to a rider. More than that, the sun was about to set, and before long it would be dark.
“For a little while, all the same, the Indians seemed to gain on him, and he did not feel any way sure how matters were coming out. He managed to keep ahead, however, and when it got dark, turned sharp off his course and followed the ravine down to the river, while the Indians kept riding as hard as they could in the direction that he had previously been following, and nobody knows when they stopped.
“Bruce rode down to the river and crossed to an island where he tied the bay horse in the brush with a rope that he had previously left there. Then he went on to the post and went to bed.
“The next morning he went to Steele and asked him what he would give to get the bay pony back again. Steele knew Bruce pretty well, and said to him at once, ‘You’ve got him.’
“‘Well,’ said Bruce, ‘I think I know how I could get him.’
“‘Well,’ said Steele, ‘if I were to get him he’d only be stolen again, and if you’ve got him you can have him.’
“So, presently, Bruce went over to the island and got the horse and brought him back and put him in the stable. He hadn’t much more than tied him and got out of the stable again, when he saw old Four Bears coming. Four Bears had not heard the news, because his band was camped in a different place from that of Lone Wolf, and the old man came up bubbling over with joy and told Bruce how many buffalo Lone Wolf had killed yesterday. He thought this was just as good a joke now as he had the first time he had told a similar story, and Bruce thought it a much better one. However, Bruce after a while remarked, ‘Steele’s got a new black horse in the stable. Don’t you want to come in and see it?’ Four Bears went along and went into the stable and looked at the black horse, and then saw the hips of the horse in the next stall, and stepping forward where he could see the whole of the animal, he recognized it. He hadn’t a word to say, but just clapped his hand over his mouth in surprise and walked out without a word. You can bet that Bruce watched that stable good after that, so that there was no chance for Lone Wolf to steal the horse back again.”
“Well,” exclaimed Jack, “that’s a bully story, but, what became of the horse finally?”
“Well,” said Hugh, “if you’ll hold your horses a little bit I’ll go ahead. The story ain’t half finished yet.”
“I beg your pardon, Hugh,” replied Jack, “I was in a little too much of a hurry.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “Bruce took good care of the horse and whenever he rode him after that kept a bright lookout. Nothing happened, and after a while he got a little careless, and one day, as he was riding along and went around a point of the bluffs he saw, not a hundred yards away, Lone Wolf riding along the trail toward him, with his rifle across his saddle. Bruce had a revolver, but he didn’t dare to reach for it, because he knew that would mean a fight, and at the distance which separated the two men, the rifle would be likely to get him before he could do anything with his pistol. He was afraid to turn and run, for Lone Wolf might paste him in the back, so he kept on, never letting on that he noticed Lone Wolf, or had any feeling about him. He played with his quirt some and finally after twisting it about a little, let his hand fall on the handle of his pistol. All the time he was getting nearer and nearer to the Indian, which gave him a lot of comfort.
“Lone Wolf never said or did anything, and presently Bruce rode up to him, and turning his horse so as to bring him on the side opposite the butt of the rifle, told Lone Wolf that Steele had sent him out to look for him to ask him to come to the post, where he had a present for him, because he wanted to make friends. The Indian looked at the pony and smiled a little and then said he’d go, and the two rode side by side into the fort, talking in a friendly way, but each one of them on the watch, you can bet.
“When they got to the store Lone Wolf was fed and given a lot of tobacco and ammunition, and he made Steele a present of a handsome parfleche, which he had on his saddle.
“Bruce kept the horse, and Lone Wolf and he never had any trouble again. Lone Wolf was killed a few years afterwards by the Crows.
“Well, that’s the end of how Bruce got the horse; and now, if you like, I’ll tell you what finally became of him.
“It was some years afterwards, in the late ’60’s, and the Indians were bad. A good many men had been killed, miners and trappers and freighters; and a lot of horses had been run off. People did not like to go far from the post, and at night they had a guard round the town, fearing that maybe the Indians would attack them. The horses were on short commons; there was mighty little hay in town and the only place folks dared to pasture them was down on the flat where the feed was mighty poor, because that was where the freighters camped and fed their stock. There were a few people whose horses were on ranches at some distance from the post, and as there was nobody traveling back and forth in the country, most of these people thought that their horses were gone and made up their minds to pocket the loss. However, a friend of Matt Carroll’s had a couple of fine driving horses that were running on a ranch about fifteen miles below Benton. This man needed his team.
“Two or three times Carroll had tried to get men to go for the horses, but nobody was willing to make the ride. At last it occurred to Carroll that Bruce might go, and he offered him fifty dollars to ride down and bring up the animals. With a good horse, it would take him only two hours to go down and perhaps three more to return, so that by making an early start, he could get back to the post in time for dinner. Bruce never was afraid of much of anything, and he had a good deal of confidence in his luck, and fifty dollars to him looked like a lot of money; so he agreed to go.
“That evening, feeling pretty good about the money that he was going to earn, Bruce started out for a good time in the barrooms and dance-houses of the town, but about the middle of the night, when he started to go home, he remembered that he was on patrol duty for the morning watch, so instead of going to bed he simply slept a little in a chair by the barroom stove until called to go on patrol.
“After breakfast, Bruce saddled up the bay pony that he had got from Lone Wolf and started.
“He was pretty stupid and dull from lack of sleep, and rode much more slowly than he intended to. When he reached the bottom of a steep ravine, down which his horse went slowly and carefully, he was suddenly grabbed by a dozen hands, pulled out of the saddle, his gun taken from him, his horse captured, and a half dozen Indians were standing about him, one of whom had a butcher knife at his throat. He thought they intended to kill him right there, but an old man who was with them stopped the young men, and said that the captive must be taken before the chiefs. Accordingly they stripped off all his clothing, except his drawers, undershirt and moccasins, and then took him up to where a group of warriors were gathered on the bluff.
“The old man who had saved his life was present and seemed to be watching him. It was a war party that had got him. There were no women, no travois, no pack ponies, and the men, wrapped in blankets and robes, carried nothing but their arms.
“Of course, you know that Bruce talks half a dozen languages—Sioux, Mandan, Blackfoot, some Crow and two or three more.
“As they were approaching the group, the old man told him that they were going to question him and that he must answer them truthfully.
“‘If you do this you will be protected. You and I have slept in the same lodge and have eaten together, but you must answer the questions. The hearts of these young men are bad, and they want horses and scalps.’
When they had got to the chiefs, who were sitting about on the ground, Bruce was asked how many men were at the post, how they were armed, whether they were on the watch for enemies, how many horses there were, and where they were herded.
These questions had to be answered, and answered as truthfully as possible, and when it was proposed to kill Bruce and take his scalp first, for luck, his old friend objected. At last they decided to take Bruce down to the river and send him across, because when he was on the other side, it would be impossible for him to give the alarm. So they tied his hands to the tail of a horse ridden by one man, while another rode behind—to keep him from pulling back, I reckon—and they started for the river.
“His moccasins did him little good now and his underclothing tore at every bush they passed. The horses galloped at an ordinary rate and Bruce had to keep up, for if he had fallen he would have been dragged and kicked to death.
“It took but a little time to reach the river, but it seemed a long time to Bruce, whose feet and legs were cut, and his back and shoulders creased with blows from the quirts.
“When they got to the river, his hands were loosened and the Indians dismounted, took the covers off their guns and signed Bruce to jump in. He jumped and swam under water just as far as he possibly could hold his breath.
“The current was swift, and when he came up he was a long way below the Indians, but he took only one breath and dived again, keeping on until at last he reached a shallow place and dragged himself out on the north side of the river, where he sat down to get back his breath and think what he could do.
“Before this he had no time to think. The prospect had been so black for him that he had been looking only to see what would happen the next minute. He was now in bad shape, bruised and bleeding and half frozen to death, and he just broke down and cried like a little child.
“At last he climbed the bank and found himself at an old cabin, long abandoned. Here, looking aimlessly about, he happened to find an old Colt’s revolver, which had been lost or thrown away. It was now entirely useless, and, besides, even if it had been in good order he had no ammunition.
“He took this up, however, and started back toward the post, going in low places and traveling out of sight, like an Indian.
“It was well along in the afternoon when he heard on the wind, that was blowing hard, faint sounds of yelling and shooting. The noise sounded as if it came from the post, but he was not going to take any risks, so he hid himself until after sunset. It was bitter cold by that time, and he was obliged to start on or freeze to death.
“He now traveled at a better speed, and quite early in the evening rounded a lofty bluff and kept along on top of it. Presently on the rising wind he heard the sound of voices, but he could not tell whether they were those of the whites or Indians. He lay flat on the ground and waited, and as the sounds came nearer, presently he could distinguish the forms of men against the sky.
“BRUCE HAD TO KEEP UP, FOR IF HE HAD FALLEN HE WOULD HAVE BEEN DRAGGED AND KICKED TO DEATH.”—Page 211
“BRUCE HAD TO KEEP UP, FOR IF HE HAD FALLEN HE WOULD HAVE
BEEN DRAGGED AND KICKED TO DEATH.”—Page 211
“They stopped not very far away and talked, and he thought then that they were the Indians, and had almost made up his mind to drop over the bluff and take his chances of being killed by the fall, when a sudden whiff of wind brought him some words in English, and he knew that the men were from the post.
“The gale made it useless for him to try to call to them, but he felt that he must do something, for at any time they might see his white clothing and shoot at him. He gave a shout, calling, ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,’ and holding both his hands above his head, ran forward and found himself in the midst of a party that had been sent out to look for him. A raid on the town had captured a few horses and had cost the life of a white man, while two of the Indians had been killed, but among the horses lost was Lone Wolf’s bay pony, which, so far as I know, was never heard of again.”
“That certainly is a bully story, Hugh,” said Jack.
“Yes,” said Joe, “that story is good. I have heard the people talk about it sometimes, but I never heard it all, as White Bull has told it to us to-night. I like it.
“Those Indians were Gros Ventres,” he went on, “and at that time they were still enemies of my people, but soon after peace was made.”
EARLY the next morning, while they were eating breakfast, Hugh said, “Now, boys, let’s saddle and ride up this middle fork. I don’t think it goes far, and I reckon we’ll not see much up there. We can come back and maybe pack up and get to the head of the other fork to-night. You boys go out right after breakfast and picket the pack horses and bring in the saddle animals, while I’m washing up the dishes and rigging up a scare over this meat, to keep off the birds.”
When the boys got in with the saddle horses, after tying the pack horses so that they could not follow, they found that Hugh had put up a pole which slanted over the meat on the scaffold, and to that pole he had tied a cross-stick from which a long strip of cloth was waving merrily in the breeze.
“There,” said Hugh, “as long as this wind blows, no bird or animal will bother that meat. Now let’s start along.”
They rode fast up the valley of the middle fork, for in most places it was fairly open; sometimes in pretty park-like meadows, where the tall white-crowned flower stems of the soap grass waved in the wind, sometimes in broad flat meadows of wet ground, which looked suspiciously like beaver meadows, and sometimes in scattering pine timber growing from low mounds. As they advanced, the valley grew narrower, and on both sides the mountains rose high and steep, but here and there on the heights above they could see the edges of snow fields, and when they reached the head of the valley they found themselves under a tall precipice, over which flowed two great water-falls, which had their sources in the snow banks far above. It was a cold, gray place, grim and grand, but not picturesque nor beautiful, and soon all three were glad to turn about and gallop down the valley toward the sunlight, which was flooding the lower country.
It was not yet noon when they reached the camp, and Hugh said they would just stop for dinner and then move on.
The boys loosened the cinches of the saddle horses, tied them up, brought in the pack horses and saddled them, and took down the tent and packed up the meat, which by this time was quite dry. An hour later, Hugh mounted his horse and they again set out up the trail.
Jack did not clearly see how they were going to get into the valley of the other fork, as the way appeared blocked by the lake on their left, which seemed to run to the very bases of the mountains which lay on three sides of it. However, he followed Hugh and asked no questions.
Joe, however, said, “How do you suppose we’re going to get into that valley, Jack? Are we going to swim this lake?”
“You can’t prove it by me,” said Jack. “But I reckon Hugh will find a way.”
“That’s so,” said Joe, “White Bull knows how to travel in the mountains. I guess we’ll get there.”
Hugh followed the trail that they had now passed over several times, until he had reached the head of the lake, and then turning off into the forest to the left, began to pick his way toward the mountains that lay west of the lake. Before long they came to the stream along which they had traveled in the morning. It was wide, but not deep, and the bottom was hard. There was much pine timber and a good deal of marshy land through which they passed slowly and with some difficulty, but at length they came to higher ground where progress was better.
As they went on they could see sometimes through the trees the water of the lake on the left; while to the right the mountainside rose above them.
After a mile or two of this travel they came to more marshy meadow ground and then entered a belt of forest, and passing through this, found themselves in a wide willow-grown park, which evidently had once been the bed of a shallow lake.
Mountains rose on either side, and to the left they could hear the murmur of the stream. This stream they crossed and following it up, before long found themselves on the border of another long, narrow lake, hemmed in on both sides by mountains. The timber on this side grew thickly, and Hugh, instead of trying to go through it, kept out a little way in the lake, riding just beyond the overhanging branches of the trees and in water which was from six inches to a foot deep. The bottom was hard gravel—good going.
The country was absolutely wild and undisturbed, and Jack expected every moment to see or hear game in the timber. He kept looking and listening for this so intently that he neglected the bare sides of the mountains across the lake, until Joe, who was just before him, driving the pack horses that followed Hugh, turned and making a sign to attract his attention, pointed to the mountainside. Then Jack saw, lying down on the face of the cliff, far above the water and really at a great distance from him, a monstrous white goat. He was greatly impressed by the beast, which, as it lay there with its head lowered, its long beard nearly reaching to the ground, the hump on its back and its low hind quarters, reminded him very much of a buffalo.
By the time the travelers had reached the head of the lake the sun had disappeared and long shadows were creeping up the sides of the mountain to the east of them.
Hugh stopped his horse, looked about a little, and said, “Now, boys, I don’t know what there is beyond here, and it’s getting late in the day. I reckon we may as well stop and camp here and then to-morrow morning look out a trail up above. We’re not greatly rushed for time, and if we travel in the dark we’re liable to run into some mud hole, or find a lot of fallen timber, and perhaps get in trouble that will take us some little time to get out of. Let’s camp here and do our exploring to-morrow. We’ll have to pitch the tent in the timber and I reckon the horses can get along in this little park at the head of the lake. There isn’t very much for them to eat, and so we’ll have to tie them up. Suppose we unload here, and I’ll begin to get supper while you boys make some pins and picket the horses, and put up the tent.”
They did as he said, and when darkness fell the white tent gleamed among the green timber, and a fire—perhaps the first ever kindled on the borders of this lake—cast its cheerful gleam over the water.
Camp was astir very early the next morning, for this was to be a day of real exploration; a trip up to the head of the narrow valley and then perhaps a climb up the mountains beyond, for Hugh had said that the main Divide was probably near at hand.
During the talk of the evening before, he had expressed the belief that they could go only a little farther with horses, and that when they reached the head of the valley the animals must be left behind, and the mountains, stern and forbidding, the snow-covered peaks which had been in sight ever since they had entered the valley, must be climbed afoot.
While breakfast was being cooked, Joe and Jack changed the pack horses to fresh grass, and brought in and saddled the three riding animals. A little later all three mounted, and Hugh taking the lead, they plunged into the forest to try to find a trail to the foot of the mountains.
It was not easy riding. The timber was thick and stood close together. Hugh made his way down to the stream in the hope that it would be possible to ride up its bed and so avoid the obstacles in the forest, but though they entered the creek, they were soon obliged to leave it, for it was blocked by masses of drift timber, over which the horses could not pass. They had traveled a little more than half a mile up the valley, when they came to the edge of a snowslide, the path of an enormous avalanche, which many years before had rushed down the mountainside, making a path through the forest several hundred yards in width.
From this open space a fine view was had of the mountains, and of a great glacier that lay at the head of the valley—an enormous mass of ice a mile or two wide and a half mile deep, lying in a great cup in the mountainside. The glacier was covered for the most part with new fallen snow, but here and there broken surfaces showed blue or green in the light of the morning sun.
While the others looked at the ice, Joe borrowed the field glasses and began to sweep the mountains for goats, and presently found one, and then another, until at last he had made out no less than eleven of the animals. Then after a time they went on and entered the forest on the upper side of the snowslide, where the going was open and dry, and a little farther on crossed a large stream coming out of a side canyon. Not far beyond that the timber grew thinner, and presently they rode out into a little grassy park.
Just as they passed out of the timber they heard a noise of stones rattling in front of them, and a moment later the plunge of a heavy body into water, and then the cracking of branches, growing fainter and fainter.
“Ho,” said Hugh to Jack, “I reckon we started a moose or an elk here, and he’s going up the mountain.”
They rode forward and in a very few moments reached the gravelly borders of a lake which was hemmed in on three sides by mountains. Just opposite them and seen against the great dark precipice, which partly hid the glacier from their view, fell a white line of foam, the melting water of the great ice mass which supplied the lake. At the head of the lake was a narrow fringe of willows and then an open meadow of small extent, broken on one side by a low, rocky, pine-grown knoll. Behind the little meadow rose a thousand feet of black precipice, and above this was the glacier. Behind the glacier stood a jagged wall of rock, but on either side to the right and the left rose abruptly high mountains, which seemed to terminate in knife edges of naked rock. The scene was perhaps the grandest and most beautiful that Jack had ever beheld near at hand. It made him feel solemn, while Hugh’s look at these tremendous heights was full of respect and admiration.
“Son,” said Hugh, “those mountains there seem to threaten one, rather than to ask him to come on. It’s a job to get up there, and I don’t feel sure that we can do it in one day. If we go, we’ve got to start right away, and we’d better leave our animals here and take it afoot from this on.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “we can’t get the horses any further; and we may as well picket them here.”
Joe asked, “You are going to try to climb up there?”
“Why, yes, Joe,” replied Jack. “I want to get on to that ice up there if I can, and maybe look over on to the other side of the mountains.”