MAKING READY FOR THE TRIP
A little later, when Jack came into the storeroom, he found three pack saddles and three blankets with various other pieces of the riggings strewn upon the floor. Lying by each saddle was its lash rope and cinch, its sling rope and the hackamore for the animal. A pile of saddle blankets rested in one corner of the room, from which those required for the trip would be selected. Hugh was rummaging in the storeroom, and presently came out carrying a piece of canvas and a small sack, from which he took a palm, a large sail needle with a crooked point, a piece of beeswax, and a ball of heavy thread. These he put on the floor, and then taking up the piece of canvas he cut from its side a long strip about fifteen inches wide.
"What are you going to do, Hugh?" said Jack.
"Well," said Hugh, "we're liable to have considerable climbing to do in the mountains, and while probably we won't have to make any long drives nor climb any very steep hills, yet we may want to do both. If we have anything of that sort to do, we want to keep the backs of our horses in good order. If our animals are carrying any loads these will have a tendency to slip off backward when the horse is going up hill, or to slip off forward when coming down hill. I believe we'll save ourselves and animals both, if we rig up breast bands, and breechings, too, on these saddles. Of course, one of them has a crupper already, but that does not amount to much. I believe we'd better do what I've said, and then we're pretty sure that the loads, if they are properly lashed, will stay put, and won't be giving us everlasting trouble."
"How many packs do you intend to take, Hugh?"
"Why," said Hugh, "I should think three will be a plenty; one to carry our beds, war sacks, and tent; one to carry our mess outfit and grub; and one to carry our fur, if we get any. The third horse will go light for part of the way, and then later we can use him to save the others. Of course, we could get along with two animals, but not so well, if we're going to bring anything back with us; and, of course, there's always a probability of that, though, on the other hand, we may not get anything at all."
"Well," said Jack, "three packs aren't much to bother with, and we ought to be able to travel fast with them."
"No," said Hugh, "three won't be much trouble, and we can get a good start every morning, if we want to."
While they had been talking, Hugh had set a saddle upright on the floor and had run a rope in front of it about where the animal's breast would come, and then brought the rope back to the side of the saddle; measuring the canvas by this, he cut off three strips, and then doubling them over he took the palm and sail needle and with waxed thread stitched the two edges together so that he had a double thickness of canvas, six or eight inches wide and long enough to reach from one side of the saddle to the other, around the animal's breast. Similar bands were cut and sewed for breeching, and then Hugh pointed out to Jack where one difficulty lies in using such aids to travel. "You have got to have the breast band so low that it will press on the breast and not on the throat, otherwise you stop your animal's wind—choke him. Again, if you have it too low, and if it isn't held up by anything from above, it's likely to drop down to the animal's knees. Probably the best way for us to do is to run a string through one edge of the band, bring it up, and pass it over the horse's neck and down through the edge on the other side. There's less danger, of course, of the breeching slipping down, because it will catch on the animal's hocks. Still, I think I'll try and see if I can find a couple of cruppers for these other saddles, and then we can tie the supports for the breeching to the crupper band, midway of where it runs back from the saddle. Really, to make good breeching we ought to have it so that it can be shortened up or lengthened out, and so that it will fit any animal that the saddle is put on. I don't see how we can get along without straps and buckles, but as we haven't got any, we'll just put on a couple of snaps, two or three inches apart. I'll go ahead and sew the breeching and the breast straps on one side, anyhow, and after we get up the animals, we can fit them."
"By the way, Hugh," said Jack, "how much grub will we want to take with us? I told Mrs. Carter that we would be gone for a couple of months; was that right?"
"Yes," said Hugh, "we'll be gone a couple of months, anyhow, I should think, maybe more, but, of course, we expect to live mostly on what we kill. We'll need coffee, sugar, bacon, and flour, and baking powder, but it seems to me that it's not worth while for us to take much of that sort of thing from here. If we're going to stop in Laramie City, we can buy all that stuff there right on the railroad, and in that case, we only need to take from here a fifty-pound sack of flour, a little bacon, and a little coffee and sugar. Maybe Mrs. Carter would bake us bread enough to last us for a few days, and that would save us wrestling with frying-pan bread for a while. I reckon she would do it, if you asked her."
"All right," replied Jack, "I'll ask her, and I bet she'll do it, too. She has always been mighty nice to me."
"Yes," said Hugh, "she's a mighty nice woman."
For a little while Hugh sat silent, busy with his work of sewing up the bands of canvas and attaching them to the saddles on the off side. Presently he said, "Look here, son, it 'pears to me you're not doing much work."
"No," said Jack, "that's so, but I don't know enough to make those breast bands and breeching to help you, do I?"
"No," said Hugh, "I had better do this part of the business myself, but don't you see these riggings have got to be fitted to the animals? Now, why don't you go out and saddle up and bring in the horse bunch, and then we'll pick out the animals we need for the trip."
"All right," said Jack, "I'll go," and he started for the door.
"And while you're about it," said Hugh, "stop up at the house and tell Mrs. Carter that we shan't want much grub. It may save her lifting down a lot of heavy flour sacks, and that's no work for a woman, anyhow."
"Good!" said Jack, and he ran up to the house and explained to Mrs. Carter what Hugh had said.
A little later he was in the saddle, and spurring Pawnee over the hills north of the ranch, looked for the horse bunch. He knew about where they would be found at this time of the day, and at this season of the year, and before long he rode over a hill and saw them scattered out before him over a level hay meadow on which the grass was just beginning to be green. In a few moments he had rounded them up and started them toward the corral, but without hurrying them, for in the bunch there were a number of little colts that were rather shaky on their spindly, crooked legs, and he did not want to hurry them. In fact, as they trotted along toward the ranch, he let several of the old mares and colts drop out by the way, trying only to keep the young horses headed for the ranch. Presently the bunch trotted over the last hill and down to the gate of the corral, and stopped. Jack rode around to one side, got off and dropped his reins, let down the bars, and then remounting rode behind the horses and drove them in. Then he hitched Pawnee to the fence, and went into the storeroom to report to Hugh.
Hugh's job seemed to be over, though one end of each band of the breeching and the breast straps was still free from the saddle.
"Well," said Jack, "you've worked pretty fast, Hugh, haven't you? I have the horses all in now, and if you'll come out and pick the ones you want, I'll catch them and tie them up, and we'll let the others go again."
Hugh rose to his feet and went up to the corral, carrying with him the three hackamores that belonged to the saddles they had selected. He looked over the bunch very thoughtfully, and then said to Jack, "Catch that bay with the bald face and the white hind feet."
Jack stepped into the corral and threw his rope, but the bald-faced bay dropped his head and crowded in among the other horses so the rope slid off. Coiling the rope again, Jack stepped forward to the bunch, and as the horses started to run around the corral he made a quick throw and caught the bay, and led it over to where Hugh stood. Then he put the hackamore on it and took it out to the gate and tied it to the fence.
"Now catch the big dun," said Hugh, and in a few minutes Jack had him, and the hackamore was put on him.
"Now," said Hugh, "take that heavy-set, iron-gray colt. He's only three, and don't know nothing, but he's gentle enough and it's time he learned. We'll let him be the third of the pack animals, and when he comes back he will be a good pack horse.
"Now let the others out," said Hugh, after Jack had brought over the iron gray. "We'll put these horses in the hay corral to-night, and then when morning comes we'll know where they are; but first we've got to fit these saddles to them. Let's go down and bring up the blankets and the saddles and see how they go."
One after the other the pack saddles were cinched on the horses, each one having a good roll of blankets under it.
"These confounded horses are so fat now," said Hugh, "it's a hard matter to make the saddles stick on them anyway. It's a good deal like trying to cinch up a barrel; but they'll lose flesh after they've been on the road a little while, and luckily there's no load for them to carry just now. I'm putting on more blankets than I would if these horses were a little thinner. I hate to put too many blankets under a saddle. It's just as bad as not putting enough, and mighty likely to make a horse's back sore."
"Now," said Hugh, after the saddles were all in place, "let's measure these bands, and then we'll mark them with a pencil and this afternoon or to-night I'll fix them up so that they'll be in shape to put on to-morrow morning."
The work did not take long. The breast and breeching bands were brought around against each animal's breast and hips, and the place where they should be attached on the near side was marked with a pencil. After this was done, the saddles were taken off, the horses, with their hackamore shanks tied up, were turned into the hay corral, and Hugh and Jack went back to the storeroom.
While Hugh continued his work on the saddles, Jack sat cross-legged on the floor watching him and asking many questions.
"Are you going to take a tent with you, Hugh?" said Jack.
"Yes, sir," said Hugh. "I can get along all right without a tent, when I know it ain't going to rain or snow, but when I know it's going to rain I am powerful partial to some kind of shelter. Of course, if we had a small lodge, and we were sure we could get lodge poles wherever we went, I'd prefer a lodge, but as we can't have just what we want, I'm going to have a tent. Your uncle has got the nicest kind of an A tent with jointed poles, and I expect he'll be willing to let us have it. At least, I'm going to ask him for it. I don't reckon it will be in use at all this summer. You must understand that up in the mountains, and especially at this season of the year, we're likely to have lots of rain, and maybe some snow, and certainly plenty of thunder storms. Now, of course, you can get along all right when it's wet, and you can cook in the rain and eat in the rain and eat wet grub, too, if you have to, but I've always found that a man was just a little bit better off and more comfortable if he kept dry, and I've found, too, that it doesn't take much more work to keep dry than it does to keep wet. These jointed poles are the greatest things out. When they are taken apart they are about three or four feet long; there are only six pieces. They lash first class, and make a good top pack. They give you a chance, too, to put up a tent wherever you are, and into the tent you can bring all the things you want to keep dry. 'Most always you can arrange things so that you can do your cooking under some sort of cover, and even if you do get a little damp you can dry off in front of the fire, go to bed dry, and sleep dry at night. Your saddles, your ropes, and your blankets all are kept dry, and that helps you a whole lot in getting away in good shape and season in the morning. It only takes a few minutes to put up a tent, but those few minutes and the extra work will be more than paid for some night When perhaps it snows hard, and you know that if your things were lying out in the weather it might take you half a day or all day to go around and dig them out of the snow, or in fact you might have to wait until the snow melted before you could find them again."
"Well, Hugh, it seems to me it's a pretty good idea to take a tent, especially if we're likely to strike such weather as you tell of."
"We're likely to, of course," said Hugh; "but that doesn't mean that we will. I've seen it perfectly fair up there in them mountains day after day and week after week, but then, again, I've seen it rain and snow for weeks at a time. Yes, we'd better take a tent by all means, unless it is going to be in the way."
Hugh had finished his work on the pack saddles long before supper time, and the two went up to see what grub Mrs. Carter had laid out, carrying with them two rawhide panniers, which were to hang one on either side of a pack saddle, and in them they packed the grub and carried them back to the storeroom.
The load was a light one, and Jack did not stagger under his share of it.
After supper that night, Mr. Sturgis talked with Hugh and Jack and told them that he agreed with them that they had better start as soon as they could, and be gone as long as they liked.
"You will be pretty close to the settlements all the time, I take it," he said to Hugh, "and if either of you feel like it, I should like to have a letter from you from time to time, telling me how you're getting along and what you are doing. Of course, I don't want to have you feel obliged to carry on a correspondence with me, but whenever you do get within reach of a postoffice let me hear from you that you are all right. I know you are both pretty well able to take care of yourselves, and I shan't do any worrying about you, but I have a curiosity to know what fur you find, and generally what you see down there in those high mountains. I have never been down there myself, and if I had the time I should like to go with you. I hear that there is some great fishing in those streams. To-morrow morning I will get out my trout rod and reel and some flies, and you had better take the outfit with you. You should be able to carry it so that it won't break, and very likely there will be a good many times when you can catch some fish. You won't suffer for things to eat, because there is plenty of game in those mountains down there. You will have a good time, and maybe you will catch beaver enough to make a coat apiece. Do you expect to see any Indians, Hugh?" he asked.
"Why, yes, Mr. Sturgis, I reckon we will see some Utes, but they are all quiet now, since they killed their agent and had a fight with Thornburgh's command. I always had an idea that the truth of that business never came out, and that the Utes had a good deal more to stand than any of us know about, before they broke out the way they did. I lived down on the edge of their country once, for several years, and knew most of the Uinta Utes, and they were always good and kind people, and brave, too. You know they were always at war with the Pawnees, Sioux, and Cheyennes, and in fact with pretty much all the Plains people, and they generally managed to hold up their end pretty well, too."
"Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "when can you get ready to start?"
"Why, I reckon we can get off soon after day to-morrow morning, if you think best," said Hugh.
"By all means," said Mr. Sturgis. "You haven't wasted any time, have you? Got everything ready?"
"Yes," said Hugh, "everything. I was thinking that maybe we would not take much grub along with us; not more than enough to last for six or eight days, and then we could buy the supplies for the main trip at Laramie, if you think best."
"That's a very good idea, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "and you had better do it. I will give you an order on the store at Laramie for whatever you want, and you can travel light until you get there; then you will have to load up heavy, but there is a good road down into the Park, I hear, and perhaps you can cache a part of your supplies down there, after you get there."
"I guess that's a good idea," said Hugh. "Maybe we'll do it."
"Well," said Hugh, after a pause, "if it's all settled we start to-morrow morning, I reckon I'll say good-night and go to bed."
Jack and his uncle sat a while longer in front of the fire talking, and then they went to bed.
THE START FOR NORTH PARK
It was just gray dawn next morning when Jack awoke and tumbled out of bed. As he passed the corral on his way down to the bunk house, he saw Hugh moving about among the horses, and entering, found that the pack animals were all saddled.
"Hello, son!" said Hugh, "I'm glad to see you stirring. We want to get our loads out, so that as soon as we've eaten breakfast we can pack up and go. You better roll up that bed of yours and bring it down here and put it with mine over there against the fence, and then we want to bring down the grub and the mess kit, and make up our packs."
For a little time both were busy journeying to and fro between the house and the corral, carrying down loads of food, the small mess kit packed in a soap box, the ax, the hatchet, the Dutch oven, packages of ammunition, and their guns. Hugh showed Jack how to lash together the six pieces which made up the two uprights and the ridge pole of their small tent, and then with a number of pieces of canvas and some lengths of rope, Hugh began to make up the packs for the pack animals.
"While I'm working at this, son," he said, "do you go up and put the saddles on the riding horses. Don't cinch them up, but just draw the latigos tight enough to hold the saddles in place, and have the bridles handy; and, by the way, you'd better get that coil of half-inch rope that's in the storeroom. We'll take all that along, for we may need picket ropes before we get back. Ropes are something that are awful easy lost on a trip."
Jack got the rope, which he threw down with the other things over which Hugh was working, and then went up and saddled Pawnee and Hugh's black. He watered both horses, and then tied them in their stalls and left them munching their hay.
When he returned to the corral, Hugh had apparently finished his work, but while they had three pack horses, there were only two loads piled up. Jack looked about for a third, and Hugh noticing this, said, "You see, son, we've got so little to pack that we may as well put it all on two horses and let the third one go without a load. You see, when we buy our grub at Laramie, we can stick a good part of it on him, and put more on the other horses as well. As it is now, neither of the loaded horses will have had more than half what he ought to carry."
The call to breakfast came about this time, and after the meal was over all hands went down to the corral and stood around while Hugh and Jack packed their horses. A few moments later they had mounted, turned their pack train loose, and after shaking hands all around and saying good-by to Mr. Sturgis, they started down the valley. For some miles the ride was a familiar one to Jack, for he had passed over it a number of times on his hunting trips and on his way to the Powell ranch. He had nothing special to do except to keep the pack animals close up to Hugh and to prevent them from turning off and trying to return to the ranch. This they kept doing for the first few miles, and at last Jack quite lost patience with them and began to ride fast after them, chasing them back at a gallop so that at times they ran ahead of Hugh. After he had been doing this some little time, Hugh stopped and motioned to him to come up to him. When Jack had done so, Hugh said, "If I were you, son, I'd be more quiet with the horses. The more you run them, the harder they'll be to manage, and you're liable to wear out the horse you're riding if you keep charging up and down in this way. You can always handle a horse easier if you do it quietly than if you lose your temper. You know we've talked about that two or three times before, and I've told you that your way of getting mad at a horse did not go."
Jack felt quite penitent when Hugh spoke to him in this way, and answered: "I know you are right, Hugh; I do get mad at these miserable horses. They seem to have no sense at all, and keep trying to turn around and go back."
"Well, now," said Hugh, "I'll tell you. You say they have no sense. Perhaps they don't understand what we're trying to do and where we are trying to go. I'll go over there and sit down and smoke, and while I'm doing that it might be a good idea for you take each one of the horses off by itself and tell it where we are going to, and why we are going, and why he must not go back."
For a moment Jack felt rather silly, and then he burst out laughing and said, "Hugh, you are the queerest chap I ever saw. I never met anybody that could make a fellow see so plainly what a fool he was making of himself. It's pretty silly to get angry at these horses because they don't want to leave their range; how could they be expected to know anything about going in one direction or another? I will try to keep my temper better, and handle the horses with better judgment."
"Do so," said Hugh. "But now, I tell you what we can do. Suppose you lead for a while if you feel like it, and I'll follow and drive the horses. All you've got to do is to keep straight ahead down the valley, and along toward night we'll come to the mouth of the Muddy and camp there."
"No, sir!" said Jack. "You go ahead and lead; there's where you belong, and I'll follow and drive the horses; it will give me a lesson in patience, and that is something that I need. You and the Indians we have hunted with have taught me to be patient in hunting, but I have not learned to be patient with horses."
"All right," said Hugh, "I'll go ahead, or I'll come behind, just whichever you please; but if I'm to go ahead, you drive the horses with good sense."
"I'll try," said Jack, and from that time on the horses, very largely owing to the way in which they were treated, went along much better.
There was little that was interesting on the road for the greater part of the day. On either side of the stream stretched the wide sage plain of silvery green. Beyond this plain, to the right, rose the tall naked hills, almost blood red, while to the left, as far off, was a yellow, chalky bluff. Among the red hills Jack had several times been hunting deer and elk, and just beyond the chalky bluff was Bate's Hole, where Jack had killed his first mule deer.
It was but a little after noon when Hugh stopped his horse, and when Jack had come close to him, said, "Son, there are some antelope over this next hill, and we need fresh meat; why not slip off your horse and go up to the top of the next hill and see if you can find a buck that you can kill."
"All right," said Jack. He jumped from the saddle, threw down the reins and started for the crest of the ridge beyond. As he slowly and carefully advanced, he saw, not far ahead of him, a pair of small horns, which he knew must belong to a yearling buck antelope, and dropping on his knees, he crept forward until close to the ridge; then slowly raising his head, he saw but a short distance from him a fine young buck antelope looking across the valley and standing broadside on. Jack raised his gun and fired, and the antelope fell, while a half dozen others not seen before rushed into view from behind the hill and scampered off into the plain. The one that Jack had shot struggled to his feet and stood with lowered head, facing in the direction in which its comrades had gone. Jack threw his rifle to his shoulder again, intending to shoot once more, but the antelope looked as if it were badly wounded, and he did not think that it could run far. Turning about, he signaled Hugh to come on, saw him ride over to Pawnee, grasp the bridle reins and start towards him. Then Jack slowly walked over the crest and up to the antelope. There was, of course, a possibility that the animal might run, and Jack cocked his rifle and held it at a "ready," but the antelope, shot through the lungs, was breathing heavily and was in no condition to run away. Still, it kept its feet, and Jack was doubtful as to how to handle it. He certainly did not care to go in front of it and take it by the horns, and he did not like to put down his gun and attempt to stab it with his butcher knife. Finally he put down the gun close by the antelope, and stepped up behind it with drawn butcher knife, caught its hind leg and tried to hamstring it. It was not until then that he realized something of the strength of even so small an animal as this. It kicked and struggled, and Jack, while he managed to keep his hold of the leg, was shaken and twisted about in a way that greatly astonished him. He dared not let go, for fear the antelope would run away, but he had no idea as to how long the struggle would last. However, after a minute or two, which seemed to him like a very long time, the antelope's efforts grew weaker, and finally it fell over on its side. By the time Hugh had come up with the horses, Jack had cut the little buck's throat.
"What was the matter?" said Hugh. "You seemed to be having quite an active time down here."
"Active time!" said Jack, "I should say so! I had no idea that an animal as small as this antelope could shake me up as he did. I made a poor shot, for I hit him too high up, and from the way he breathed, I think I just cut the upper part of his lungs. I shall have to practice shooting if I am going to help keep the camp supplied with meat this summer."
"Oh, don't you bother about practicing," Hugh said. "Two or three shots will get you back into your old way again, but that's a regular green-horn trick to shoot too high. It seems to me that mighty few people know how low the life lies in any animal. I keep telling you where to shoot at in an antelope, and you must remember it."
"Of course you do, Hugh," said Jack; "I know that well enough. I try to shoot at that little curl of hair; that's what I aimed at, but you see I drew my sight too coarse."
"Well," said Hugh, "just a little shooting is what you need, and you'll get plenty of that in a very short time now."
Hugh got off his horse, and they began to skin the antelope, which was a very short operation. The hide strips off an antelope very easily, just as the hide strips off a deer. Jack noticed that on his side Hugh kept turning under the edge of the skin, so that the hair side was always next to the ground or else turned well under the edge. Jack, on the other hand, simply laid the hide on his side on the ground, and twisted and pulled it about; sometimes the flesh sides would come together, and some of the antelope hair rubbed off on the body.
Hugh said to him, "You might as well learn to skin an antelope right, son. You know the hair smells quite strong, and if you let the hair touch the meat, the meat gets this smell and tastes of it. Lots of people don't like that taste, and so I always make it a point to keep the hair from touching the skin. You see how I'm working it on my side, always keeping the flesh side to the body."
"I see," said Jack, "and now that you have told me, I see why you do it. Of course I've tasted the flavor of the antelope hide in the meat, and I don't like it a bit, myself. I will remember that after this in skinning. Are there other animals, the meat of which is affected by the touching of the hide?"
"Well," said Hugh, "the meat of the tame sheep gets an awful strong taste if the wool is allowed to rub against it, and sometimes I think the meat of the wild sheep gets the same taste; anyhow, it's just as well to keep the hair side of the hide away from the meat of the animal it belongs to. At best the hides of these animals are full of dirt and dust, and there is a common prejudice against making that sort of thing your food. We have to eat a lot of it, of course, but at the same time we don't want to eat any more than we have got to. You take the hide of a deer or an elk or a buffalo, just after you have stripped it off, rub your hand down the outside of it, and see what a lot of dirt you will get on your hand. Of course, the Indians don't think much about a little thing like that, and perhaps the average plainsman don't, but I've noticed a few times how very dirty these hides are, and it seems to me worth while to be as clean as we can with the skinning."
The antelope being lifted off the hide, its body was rested now for a moment on the top of a sage bush, while Hugh went to his saddle and from one of the strings behind it untied a cotton sack. The antelope was quickly quartered and the pieces packed in this sack, which was lashed on the unloaded horse, and they went on.
Camp was made that night some miles above where the Muddy runs into the Medicine Bow River. There was no timber, but the grass was good, and there was plenty of sage brush and some dry willow bushes, so that they had fuel enough to cook their meals. By the time the horses were picketed and the coffee was boiling, it was dark.
The day had been warm and bright, and as the night was clear, they decided that it was not necessary to put up the tent. After supper they sat by the fire, Jack questioning Hugh about the country they were going to.
"You have talked to me a good deal about the Northern countries, but I don't know that you have ever said anything about the Parks of Colorado, and I don't know just what they are. Of course, we will see them before long, but I should like to have some idea of the country before we reach it."
"Well," said Hugh, "I can tell you pretty clearly what these Parks are like. They are just big basins of open country lying between ranges of high mountains. In some places they are fifteen or twenty miles across and twice as long as they are wide, and the mountains on either side are very high—not like the mountains back of the ranch, but running away up above timber line. There are no people in North Park, though I believe within the last two or three years some folks have begun to drive cattle in there for the summer; but in Middle Park and South Park, which are nearer Denver, there are some settlements. In North Park and in Middle Park there is lots of game—in fact, I reckon it's one the greatest game countries there is left now. You will find elk, deer, antelope, sheep, and maybe a few buffalo, but no moose, and no white goats. If you imagine a big plain like the Basin we have just come over, with high mountains all around it, you will have a pretty good idea of North Park.
"There's a wagon road from Laramie into the Park—a good wagon road, but after you pass Pinkham's you won't see any settlers until you get over the divide into Middle Park. The North Platte heads in North Park, and, of course, there are no fish in that. Then you ride over a low divide and strike one of the heads of Grand River, and there, even up in the shallow water in a small brook you can catch lots of trout."
"Why is it, Hugh, that there are no trout in the Platte River?"
"I reckon a thousand people have asked that question,
and nobody has ever been able to answer it, so
far as I know. We all just know that there are no
trout in the stream, but why it is, nobody can tell.
Neither in the Platte River nor in any stream that runs
into it, so far as I know, are there any trout, and it
does seem queer."[1]
FOOTNOTE
[1] In recent years the North Platte River has been stocked with trout.
"Why, yes, Hugh, that does seem queer; but where do the trout come from that are in the other Rocky Mountain streams? I know that they are not the same kind of trout that we have back East. Those have red spots, and these have black ones."
"You just can't prove it by me," said Hugh; "but I've always believed that they came from the other side of the mountain, over the range. How they got over to this side, I do not know, but I reckon that there are ways for fish to move about and get scattered over the country, that maybe you and I don't know anything about. There's one place up north of here where there's a little spring right on the crest of the mountain, from which the water flows both ways. That is to say, it flows down into the Yellowstone on one side and into the Snake River on the other, and so from this same spring water goes to the Atlantic Ocean and to the Pacific Ocean. Now, of course, it might be possible for a trout from the west side of the range to push his way up a western stream until he got into this little spring, and then he might push his way down the stream, which runs east, and where one fish went another might follow; and so that stream might get stocked. It may be that in times past there have been a number of places like that where a fish could climb over the range. Mind, I don't say that is the way that it happened, but it seems to me it might have been that way."
"That's mighty interesting, Hugh," said Jack; "I never heard of that place before. What do they call it?"
"Why," said Hugh, "they have a good name for it, they call it 'Two Ocean Spring.' Long ago I heard of it from mountain men a great many times, and I have been there once or twice. It's in the right high mountains just east of that Yellowstone Park that we came down through two years ago. They call the two little creeks that run out from it, Atlantic Creek and Pacific Creek, and these seem to me to be very good names for them, too. I heard that not very long ago a government outfit crossed over there and made a map of the country."
"Jerusalem!" said Jack; "that's one of the places I'd like to go to."
"Well," said Hugh, "you're likely to see just as pretty places as that in these mountains this summer. The little pool up there, that these two streams run out of, is just like any other little shallow lake on top of a divide, and there isn't any wonderful scenery there. It's a good game country, though not any better, I think, than what we came through when we made that trip with Joe two years ago; but it is a pretty country to travel through; open parks and quaking aspen groves and high peaks of mountains sticking up every little while. Oh, yes, it's a real nice country."
"Well," said Jack, "I would like to go there, but dear me! what a lot of country there is out here, and how much time it would take to visit all of it!"
"That's so," said Hugh, "there's a right smart of country that I have never seen, and I have been out here a pretty considerable time."
For a little while both sat silently looking into the fire, and listening to the sharp barks and the shrill wailings of a coyote perched on a hill not far from them. The noise made seemed to Jack to be enough for a half dozen animals, and yet he suspected that very likely it was all made by one. At last he spoke to Hugh about it, and said, "How many of those coyotes do you think there are yelling out there, Hugh?"
"Well, I don't know," said Hugh; "there must be at least one; he makes plenty of noise, doesn't he?"
"I should think so," said Jack. "I thought there must be at least half a dozen."
"No, I don't think so," said Hugh; "if there were more than one, you would be apt to distinguish their voices, and there would be barking at different times. Instead of that, if you will listen to this fellow you'll hear him bark and then howl and stop, and then bark again. I reckon he's hungry, and is trying to call up a partner, and to-morrow morning they will go hunting together and try to kill a rabbit or two, or maybe pull down an antelope. They are queer beasts."
"Yes," said Jack, "and mighty cunning, I expect."
"Lord, yes," said Hugh, "they are cunning enough. A fox is a fool to one of those coyotes."
TO LARAMIE AND NORTH PARK
They were up before light next morning, and by the time the sun had risen, the little train had started off southward. Crossing two low divides, they found themselves, before noon, on Rock Creek, and traveled up that without incident until late in the day. Everywhere scattered over the valley and the bluffs, antelope were feeding in good numbers.
About the middle of the afternoon Hugh proposed that they should stop and smoke and let the animals feed for a little while, and they did so. The men lounged in the shade of a clump of bullberry bushes, for the sun was hot. After half an hour's rest, Hugh said, "Well, son, let's gather up these horses and be moving. We want to get beyond Rock Creek Station to-night. I don't think much of camping in or close to a town, and especially not close to Rock Creek. There's where they unload considerable freight for the ranches up north, and there's usually a good big crowd of bull-whackers there, and most of them drunk. Let's get by there before we camp."
They were stepping out to get the horses, when Hugh stretched out his hand and touched Jack, saying, "Hold on a minute, son, what's that coming down the creek?"
Jack looked, and could see far off a flock of birds coming. They were stretched out in a line and seemed to have white bodies with black tips to their wings.
"What are they, Hugh?" he said, as they both crouched on the ground and watched the distant birds.
"I'm not sure," replied Hugh. "There are mighty few birds that are white with black tips to their wings. These might be white geese or white cranes or gulls or pelicans. They can't be gulls, for they don't fly right, and they are not white cranes, I am sure. They are either geese or pelicans, and we'll soon know which."
The birds drew nearer and nearer, and presently Hugh said, "They are not geese, either; they must be pelicans. I hope they'll come over us, for they'll make a fine show, and I reckon they will follow the water."
Very slowly, as it seemed to Jack, the great birds approached. He was astonished at their tremendous spread of wing and at their curious appearance. They flew in single file, nine of them, the bill of each just about so far from the tail of the bird before it. Their necks were crooked so that the back of the head seemed to rest on the body, and Jack could not but think that in this matter they carried themselves just like herons. Their enormous yellow bills shone in the bright sunlight, and the feet stretched out behind were yellow, but seemingly paler than the bills. To Jack two or three of them seemed to have a wash of gold color on the side of the head, but except for that they were pure white all over except the black wing tips. On steady wing they followed the windings of the stream, not more than thirty or forty feet above the water, passed the travelers without noticing them, and then disappeared down the stream.
"My!" exclaimed Jack, as they grew smaller in the distance, "that was a fine sight, Hugh. I never expected to see anything quite like that. I did not know that there were many pelicans in this country, though, of course, there are plenty of them further west, at least that's what the books say."
"Yes," answered Hugh; "there are lots of them out West, especially in Utah and Nevada, so I've heard, but there are a few scattered all over the Western country. Now and then one sees them up in Montana, and sometimes down here, and pretty much everywhere, but it's a long time since I've seen a lot together this way."
"Well," said Jack, "I'm mighty glad they came along just when they did."
A few minutes later the train was in motion, and not long before sunset they passed through the town of Rock Creek. As Hugh had said, much freighting was going on here, and many wagons with white tilts were drawn up side by side, while at a distance on the prairie, herds of stock fed, each watched by a herder. Scattered about near the different groups of wagons, were the camps of the bull-whackers, and a few men were seen, though most of them were presumably in the cook tents eating their suppers. The train had almost passed through the camps, when from between two tents a hundred yards off to one side, Jack saw a little man run out, turn and run down toward another camp, and almost immediately behind him was another much larger man who carried in his hand a good stout club. The little man did not run so fast as the one behind him, and presently the pursuer overtook him and began to beat him with the club. The second or third blow knocked the small man flat to the ground, but he did not remain there, and springing to his feet, he turned and caught the tall man around the neck with his left arm and in a moment the tall man fell to the ground, while the little fellow walked off. It had all happened quickly, and almost by the time Jack had called Hugh's attention to it, the little fellow had quickened his steps and was now running away from the camp. As Hugh and Jack looked back they could see dark stains spreading over the white undershirt that the large man wore, and it was evident that the little fellow had stabbed his antagonist. Almost at once from three or four directions men came running toward the wounded man, and a little later two or three men rushed out from tents, carrying rifles and cartridge belts. Jack had said to Hugh, "Oh, Hugh, that man is wounded; shan't we go over and help him," to which Hugh had replied, "Don't you do it, son; let us get ahead as fast as we can and not mix up with these fellows' quarrels. You can't tell what these half-drunken men will do. They are liable to try to knock one of us off our horse if the notion takes them. The best thing we can do is to put as much ground between them and us as we can. There's one comfort," he added; "if they do shoot at us they can't hit us."
Meantime, shots were sounding out on the flat, and Jack could see the little man running hard for the distant bluff, while behind him two or three men were running or staggering and shooting with pistols and rifles. Before very long, Hugh and Jack had put two or three miles between Rock Creek and themselves, and just after sundown they camped in a pleasant part of the valley where there was good grass and water, but not much wood.
While Hugh was cooking supper, a man came along on horseback and stopped to speak with them.
Hugh asked him if he would not alight and have a cup of coffee, and he accepted.
"Have you men just come from Rock Creek?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said Hugh. "We have just passed through there an hour ago. A lively place, isn't it?"
"Too lively for me," said the stranger; "I've got charge of that bull train, and those drunken bull-whackers will break my heart if I don't get them out from the railroad before very long. Three or four of them got drunk and quit on me the other day, and I've been into Laramie to try and get some more. I've got three that are coming up on the passenger to-night."
"Well," said Hugh, "we saw a couple of them having fun with each other as we came through. There was a big man pounding a little man, and the little man turned and cut the big man, and then pretty much the whole camp turned out and chased the little fellow off over the prairie, and the last we heard they were still shooting at him."
"Yes," said the foreman, "that don't surprise me a bit. That little fellow was Wild Tex, and the big fellow was Donovan. Donovan has always been picking on Tex, and when he gets drunk he is worse than ever. I've been expecting that Tex would kill him, but he's a mighty patient little cuss and hasn't done it yet."
"Well," said Hugh, "he had a good chance to do it to-day, and if Donovan gets well I hope he'll have learned a lesson."
"I hope so," said the foreman, "but I don't think he is one of the kind that learns lessons."
The foreman sat with them until they had finished supper, and then getting up said, "Well, I must be going. I've got to round up my outfit and get them started to-morrow morning, if I can. A mighty good cup of coffee you gave me. So long."
The next night they camped close to Laramie, and early the next day went into the town and purchased their supplies, not forgetting a pair of rubber boots for each. It was only the middle of the morning when the loads were put on and they started south over the open prairie on their way to North Park. Now Jack felt that the trip had really begun.
The ride over the open prairie was delightful. The mountains toward which they were journeying showed many strange shapes and curious colors, and the wagon road which they were following was constantly dipping down steep hills and climbing others. The first few miles showed them many cattle and horses, but no game, but later, as they approached the mountains, a few antelope began to be seen, and there were many well-known western birds of the dry country, which now for two years Jack had not seen.
Towards evening they reached Beaver Creek, a tributary of the Laramie, and after following it up for a few miles, camped for the night. The day had been a long one, and not long after supper both Hugh and Jack turned into their blankets and were soon sound asleep.
Off again at an early hour next morning, they traveled for a long way through the pleasant green timber, where the foot fall of the horses made no sound on the forest floor of dead pine needles, and where no sound was heard except occasionally the call of a gray jay, the rattle of a woodpecker's bill on a dead limb, or the soft whistle of a crossbill in the tree tops.
Jack felt obliged to follow behind Hugh, though he really wanted to ride beside him and talk about the pleasant country through which they were passing. Still it was his business to watch the horses, especially so now during the first day of travel through the timber, where a pack horse, unless watched, might possibly get hung up by a tree and break something or disturb his pack.
It was this morning, after leaving camp on the Beaver, that they came to what is called the Neck of the Park, and passing over the divide, followed down the valley, at first narrow, but gradually becoming wider, which at length lead them to a more open country. They passed Pinkham's Ranch, and then took the right-hand road, which Hugh said led to the mines at Hahn's Peak.
Soon after leaving Pinkham's, they passed a cabin, near which was a small spring, from which bubbled up a constant supply of cool water abundantly charged with what Jack thought might be carbonate of soda. At all events the water was fresh, sparkling, and delicious, and he thought that if it were nearer to a market it might be bottled and sold.
Soon after they left the soda water fountain, they crossed a high steep ridge and then passed down a gentle descent toward the North Platte River. On either side of the trail they were following the mountains were rough, and weathered pillars of granite stood out bare among the ancient cedars on the hillside.
They camped in the beautiful valley of the North Platte on the edge of a splendid level meadow covered with fine grass, on which in the evening and again next morning Jack saw from three to four hundred antelope at a time. There were also ducks, rabbits, sage hens, and blue grouse; abundant food, Jack thought, for any hunters who are satisfied with enough.
That evening Jack wandered away from camp and found in a clump of willows, not more than a quarter of a mile from it, a curious collection of long-eared owls. He could not think what brought so many of them to this place, unless it was for a shelter during the day, which would enable them to get out of the bright glare of the sun, for nowhere else in the neighborhood could shade be found except in this growth of willows. Here, too, in the tops of the willows he noticed a number of domed nests of magpies, and from the calls of the birds that he heard around about, he felt sure that they were occupied.
When he got back to camp, Hugh said to him, "Do you know, son, that last antelope you killed is pretty nearly gone? We ought to have another one, or at all events some meat before long. You might start out to-night, though it's a little late, or we can lay over here to-morrow until noon and you can go out and try to kill something."
"Say we put it off until to-morrow morning, Hugh," said Jack, "and I'll start out early, and see what I can do."
As soon as breakfast was over next morning and it was light, Jack started off along the edge of the valley to look for an antelope. He did not have to look far to see a great many, for the bluffs and river bottom were covered with them, but he walked for some time before he could find any of the animals so placed that they could be approached. However, at length, as he cautiously peeped over a point of the bluff which stretched down toward the river, he saw well beyond it a single buck antelope, and what was more to the purpose, about half way between the antelope and the point of the bluff, a clump of willows which would give him an opportunity to approach it. Luckily, no wind was blowing. He drew back a little and descending the bluff, rounded its point so that the willows concealed him from the buck, and then hurrying along toward the patch of brush, soon found himself within a hundred yards of the antelope. By a careful shot he killed it, and a little later with the hams and saddle on his back he was on his way toward the camp.
After the antelope had been skinned and put in the sack, it was loaded on a pack, and they started on again.
The country was open and covered with sage brush, and often from the high bluffs they could see little lakes, which shone like silver in the sun. They camped early.
That evening, after supper, as they sat about the campfire, Jack asked Hugh many questions about trapping.
"Well, son," said Hugh, "trapping is a big subject, and it's pretty hard to learn much about it, except by setting your traps. You'll have a chance to set plenty of traps for beaver, and beaver is what we always used to call the hardest fur to trap."
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "what about trapping wolves? Are they not worth trapping? Are they hard to catch, or is it not much trouble to catch young wolves?"
"Those that are one to two years old are easy caught, but if a wolf has been traveling the prairie for three or four years, he gets to be pretty smart. Wolf skins are worth from four to six dollars apiece, and so, of course, wolves are worth trapping, but in old times we always used to poison them, and that was cheaper and a whole lot less trouble than catching them in traps. Besides that, a wolf is a powerful, strong animal, and he can pack off a trap with him just as if he weren't carrying anything at all. Then, too, on the prairie there is usually nothing to fasten a trap to, and unless you carry a lot of iron picket pins with you, you lose your traps about as fast as you can set them."
"You have told me all about poisoning wolves, Hugh," said Jack, "but you never said anything about trapping, and I don't understand how you fix the bait in a trap. You certainly can't put it on the pan, for you don't want to catch the wolf by the nose, and if you did, he would pull free."
"Of course he would," said Hugh; "you want to catch a wolf by the foot, and to do that you must scatter your bait around the trap so that he will put his foot in it; but after all, in trapping wolves you don't use bait at all. Generally you use a scent, something that a wolf smells and wants to smell more of, and you raise that above the ground a foot or eighteen inches and set your trap so that he will step into it when he tries to get near the scent."
"That's news to me," said Jack; "I supposed that you always set your traps with something to eat."
"No," said Hugh; "very seldom. The beaver medicine that we use is just something to smell of; not to eat at all. But about wolf bait: the worst smelling thing that you can get hold of is about the best bait for wolves. Some people use asafetida or other drugs that they can buy in the shops, but the best thing that I know of is to take a piece of fresh meat, put it with some grease in a wide-mouthed bottle or jug, and let it stand in the heat for a week or two, until it gets to smelling very badly. Then add to it some beaver castor and about a quart of oil or grease, and cork it up tight. Of course, when you set your trap you must be careful not to leave any scent of yourself on it. Some people smoke their traps every time they set them, and if they can, use a fire of green pine boughs, but I don't count much on that. I believe that though smell of fire may kill the human scent, it makes the wolves suspicious. I think the better way is to wear gloves when you set your traps, and to be careful always to keep the traps to the windward of you. Don't let the wind blow from you to the traps. Of course, in setting, you have to dig out a hole in the ground large enough to let the trap set in it, so that the jaws will be just level with the ground. Then sprinkle over the trap a light covering of dust, and after the trap is set take a stick eighteen inches or two feet long, sharpen one end of it, dip the other end in your bottle of scent, and stick the sharpened end in the ground so that the end with the scent on it will pretty nearly overhang the trap.
"You have to fasten your trap, of course. If you don't do that the wolf will carry it away. The best way to fasten it is to bore a hole through the end of a stick three feet long and as big as the calf of your leg, pass the end of a chain through that, and then drive a staple through the ring and into the log. Then if the wolf gets into the trap, he is not held in one place struggling to get out, and twisting the chain, and so likely to break it, but he starts off dragging the stick, which makes a plain trail, catching every now and then in the sage brush and so making him go slowly. It doesn't give him a chance to fight the trap. If you go to your traps every day, you will find that a wolf will not drag the clog very far before you overtake him. Then you probably have to shoot him.
"As I say, there is a lot of work in trapping wolves that way, and I would hate to have to earn my living by doing it. If it should happen that we should get to any place where wolves are plenty we can set two or three traps for them, but I don't want to do that until we have tried beaver trapping, because I am afraid we will lose some of our traps."
"I had no idea, Hugh," said Jack, "that wolves were so cunning and so powerful."
"Yes," said Hugh, "they are strong animals, and when they have grown old they are pretty smart. They are mighty tough, too. Haven't I ever told you about that wolf that Billy Collins killed three or four years ago at the ranch?"
"No," said Jack, "I don't think so."
"Well," said Hugh, "I only speak of it to show how tough a wolf is. Billy had gone out just in the gray dawn of the morning, and just as he shut the door behind him, a big wolf came around the corner of the house. Billy jumped back into the house to get his gun, and the wolf ran off and stopped to look around on the top of that little knoll south of the house. He was about a hundred yards off, and Billy fired and the wolf yelled and fell down, and then started off. Billy and old Shep, the house dog, started after him, and when they got up to where he had stood, they found the ground all covered with blood and a broad blood trail leading off over the hills. Billy started on the trail, expecting to find the wolf over the next hill, but he followed him for two miles before he overtook him, and then the wolf was strong enough to sit up and fight off the dog, and needed another shot to kill him. But when Bill went up to him he found that the bullet had gone almost the whole length of the wolf and had smashed one of its shoulders. I had a friend who was trapping down in South Park and set two or three traps for wolves, and one morning when he found one of them gone, he went back and got two or three hounds that were at the ranch and took after the wolf through the snow, for it was winter. They chased that wolf with the dogs for thirteen hours before they got him, and he came mighty near getting away then."