A TALK ABOUT BEAVER
"Well, now, Hugh," asked Jack, "what can you tell me about beaver trapping?"
"Why, son," said Hugh, "I can tell you whole lot about beaver trapping. There is a great big book to be written yet about beaver and how to trap them, and when that book is written there will be enough left out of it to make another book."
"I've always heard," said Jack, "that beaver was about the smartest animal there was, and the one most difficult to trap, but, of course, I don't know anything about it. I have seen a few dams and the tops of a few houses up north, but you can't learn much about beaver by looking at his work."
"No," said Hugh, "not much, and before you can learn anything about trapping beaver, you've got to know something about the nature of the beast."
"Well, that's the very thing I want you to tell me about," replied Jack. "I want to find out all that I can about the beaver, before I see any. In the first place, suppose you tell me how big they are."
"Well," said Hugh, "they are the biggest gnawing animal we have in this country. A full grown beaver will weigh from forty to sixty pounds; perhaps big ones will average as heavy as a half sack of flour."
"My," said Jack, "that's bigger than I supposed they were. I have always heard of the beaver as a little animal. It seems to me that it's a big one."
"Yes," said Hugh, "it's quite a sizable animal, and if you've got a half dozen to pack to your camp on your back you'll think they are pretty good sized animals before you get them all in."
"Well, where do they live?" said Jack.
"I reckon," replied Hugh, "that they live all over this country of North America, from Texas north as far as there are any trees. You know that the food of the beaver is the bark of certain trees, and, of course, they can't live anywhere except where these trees grow, but I have heard of them 'way down in Texas, and I know that the Northern Indians away up toward the limit of trees trap beaver a plenty, so that I expect they are found over the whole country. I have heard your uncle say that there were some beaver in Europe, but over there I reckon they have been about cleaned out. Too many people killing 'em, I reckon."
"Well," said Jack, "I guess they are found all over North America, north of the United States, anyhow; because I know that the coat of arms of Canada has the beaver on it."
"Yes, I reckon the beaver was the reason that Canada was settled, and in fact the beaver was what led men into all this western country. In the early days, soon after Lewis and Clark went across the continent, the fur traders began to push their way into this western country, north and south, and beaver was what they were after. You see in those days it was a mighty valuable fur, worth a good deal more than it's ever been since.
"Just as soon as the white men came into the country and found the Indians wearing robes made of beaver, and clothing trimmed with beaver and other fur, they began to trade for the robes, and to tell the Indians that if they'd bring them in beaver skins they'd give them knives and needles and beads, and later, rum, and, of course, that set the Indians to killing beaver as fast as they could.
"But, as I say, it wasn't until after Lewis and Clark got across the continent that trapping began down in the United States. Along in the 30's, though, white men began to get up fur companies and to hire the best trappers that they could get, and they pushed out in all directions, up the Arkansas, up the Platte, and up the Missouri River, setting their traps in every valley and cleaning out the beaver as fast as they could. Then they got into the mountains, and there they found more beaver and better fur, and there, too, is where they began to run across Indians to bother them. The Blackfeet were the worst. They used to steal our horses and take our traps, and now and then a scalp, when they could, and they made us a great deal of trouble. The prices for fur were good until in the 40's, just before I got out into the country. Then they fell, and for the next twelve or fifteen years every old trapper that you met was growling about the fact that beaver weren't worth anything any more.
"Your uncle tells me that there has been a whole lot of books written about those early trapping days, but I have never seen any of them. Of course, then it was all wild country and lots of things were happening, and a man had to keep his eyes open pretty wide. As I have told you, the Indian wars did not begin until long after that, and most of the trouble that we had with the Indians was with parties of wild young men, who had started off to war, and were anxious to get glory, and to go back to their villages and brag about what they had done. The fights were with these little parties and not with the tribes. But, at the same time, a bullet or an arrow from one of these little parties would kill a man just as dead as if he had been fighting with a tribe."
"That's all mighty interesting, Hugh," said Jack. "It seems to me that you never get through telling me interesting things about this country in the old times. I wish that I knew how to write, so that I could put it all down, and some day write a big book about your adventures."
"Well," said Hugh, "I'm mighty glad you can't do that. I reckon if I were to see you taking all these notes down in a notebook I wouldn't talk so much as I do."
"Well," said Jack, "if I knew how to write, you bet I'd write such a book. I sort of wonder that Uncle George has never done that. He spends a great deal of his time writing in winter, when he is back in New York."
"Well," Hugh went on, "let's go ahead about the beaver. You know that they build dams across streams to hold back the water, and that they build houses in the ponds that they make. Have you ever looked carefully at these dams?"
"No, I don't believe I have," Jack replied; "people have pointed them out to me, and they've shown me places along the streams where trees and brush had been cut down, and have said to me, 'that's beaver work,' and I have seen piles of sticks in the water and have been told that those were houses, but I never had any idea how any of this work was done."
"They build their dams across streams," said Hugh, "and hold back the water and often spread it over quite a wide space of the valley, and in this water they build their houses. I have always supposed that the ponds were made as a protection for the animals. You see, they are big and slow. They can't run away from anything that wants to kill them, and so the only means they have of getting away from their enemies is to dive down into the water and swim under it. Then their enemies, whether they are humans or animals, can't follow them. Of course, I have no more idea than you how the beaver got the idea of protecting themselves in this way, but I believe it is for protection they make these ponds, and for nothing else. You'll see that their houses are built out in pretty deep water, and when they are scared from shore they go out and get into their houses, and if somebody tries to pull down the houses where they live, then they can swim to the shore and hide there, with their noses just above water."
"Well," said Jack, "that's news to me. I always accepted the fact that they built dams to hold the water back, but I never had any idea why they did it."
"No," said Hugh, "I reckon not. I never heard anybody that did know why, but I am just giving you my idea. You'll hear a whole lot of stories about the wonderful things that beaver do, and in many of these stories there is not a grain of truth, but they do wonderful things enough as it is. You don't have to lie about them to make them out mighty smart animals."
"Yes," replied Jack, "I have heard of some of these wonderful things. I think some of the books say that the beaver can cut down a tree so that it will fall exactly where they want it to lie, just as a lumber-man in the woods will fell a tree where he wants it to lie. They say that when the beaver want to build a new dam they look along the stream until they find a place where there is a tree of just the right length, and then they fell it across the stream for a foundation for their dam."
"Yes," said Hugh, "I have heard that story, too, but I don't believe it. Beaver will cut down trees, and mighty big ones, too, but I don't believe that they can cut down a tree so that it will fall in a particular direction, and if it does fall in a direction to be useful to them, that's just nothing but accident. What they cut trees down for is for the food that they know is growing on the tree. They want to get at the tender bark of the branches for their food, and that's what they cut the trees for. All the same, it's mighty wonderful sometimes to see what big trees they will cut down, and how smart they are about cutting them. They will gnaw a deep gouge below and then gnaw another cut eight or ten inches above, and pull the chip out; a chip just about as big as an axman would cut out with an ax. They are smart about that, but they haven't any idea which way the tree is going to fall."
"Well," said Jack, "that seems natural enough, and besides that, I should think that even if beaver did know how to fell the tree to lie in a particular direction, they could not always do it with these crooked old cottonwood trees that grow along the streams."
"Yes," said Hugh, "some of them are so crooked and grow so slantwise that no axman could fell them the way he wanted."
"I have seen it stated in books, too," Jack went on, "that they always fell a tree just long enough to reach across the stream, and no longer. I never could see how that could be, because it would be impossible for beaver to measure the height of a tree."
"Oh," said Hugh, "that's all nonsense; they don't do anything like that. There is one thing which they do, though, that people don't give them credit for, or at least I have never heard anybody speak about it; they'll build a dam across a creek and raise the water, and make a big wide pond. Maybe the water flows over the top of the dam pretty freely for its whole length. Such a pond will be lived in for a good many years. During all those years the rain and the melting snow, and all the water that falls, carries down from the hills soil and dead leaves and sticks and a whole lot of trash, and after a time the pond fills up and gets too shallow for the beaver to use it. Then maybe they'll raise the dam for its whole length, and make the pond bigger, and then after years of time this larger pond will partly fill up and grow shallow. After a time the beaver will, perhaps, leave the pond, and go somewhere else to build another. Then, after a few years the dam will rot out and break down, the pond will go dry, the water will get back to its old channel, and grass and willows and other brush will grow up over the old bottom of the pond, and there you've got a big wide flat—what we call a beaver meadow. All along streams all over this western country there are big strips of flat land that have been made just in this way by the beaver."
"I have never thought of that before, Hugh, and I never heard anybody speak of it. The time may come when people will farm on these big flats, never knowing how they were made."
"Yes, that's a fact," said Hugh, "and already there are lots of places down toward the prairie where folks have started ranches on land of just that sort.
"Let me tell you another thing that beaver are smart about. Sometimes they will make a pond in a particular valley, quite a distance from any place where their food grows. Often there are no willows, and the quaking aspen grows only along the foothills, maybe quite a little distance from the edge of their pond. Sometimes they will dig out a ditch or canal all the way from the edge of the pond up close to where the aspen grows. Of course, the water from the pond fills up these ditches, and the beaver will follow them up close to the aspens, cut down their feed there, and cutting the trees and brush into convenient lengths, carry them to the ditches, dump them in and then take and swim with them back to their houses, or the places where they store their food. This always seemed to me pretty smart, because, while it must be a lot of work for them to dig the ditch, it's a tremendous saving of labor for them to be able to float these sticks to where they want them."
"That seems to me mighty intelligent, Hugh, and I should think, too, that they might have another motive in digging these ditches. If they had to travel two or three hundred yards on dry land, wouldn't there be a good deal of danger of their getting caught away out from the water and killed?"
"Lots of danger," said Hugh, "and I wouldn't be a bit surprised if they made these ditches more for their safety than to save themselves work. They are mighty industrious animals, the beaver. You know, if we see a man that is hard at work all the time, we say he works like a beaver. They are busy animals, and they keep at it all the time."
"What animals are there, Hugh, that kill the beaver? I suppose man is the worst enemy it's got, but there must be a lot of others, such as wolves and, perhaps, bears."
"Yes," said Hugh, "a beaver has lots of enemies. As I have said to you, it's heavy and slow; it can't run away nor climb a tree, and it has no special means of defending itself. A beaver's got a good set of teeth, but while he can give one or two pretty strong bites, that would not help him much in a scrap with any animal near his own size.
"A bear, of course, would kill a beaver every time if he could get hold of him; so would a big wolf. A single coyote might not be able to, but two or three coyotes could get away with him in short order.
"Didn't you ever, back East, see a dog get between a woodchuck and his hole? You know the woodchuck will sit up and chatter his teeth, and perhaps he will bite the dog once when the dog runs in, but that's the end of the woodchuck. The beaver has got longer teeth, and can bite a little harder and deeper, but he is not built for fighting, and what's more, he never means to fight if he can help it.
"The wolverine sometimes lies around beaver ponds and maybe once in a while catches one, but wolverines are pretty scarce, and I don't think they get many. I believe that the animal that gets more beaver than any other is the lynx. They are small, to be sure, but they are mighty quick, and they have got those long claws, and they can jump on a beaver and cut him up pretty badly before he can get hold of them. I have often seen places where beaver had been killed, and I know it was done by lynxes; that is, by bob-cats, and also by the big gray lynxes. One time, a good many years ago, I saw a lynx waiting to catch a beaver. As it happened, he didn't get him, but he tried hard enough.
"I happened to be riding down William's Fork, and had to pass through a point of timber, and just before I got out to the pond, on the other side, I stopped my horse for a minute to look around and see what I could see. There was a big beaver dam just below me, on the river, and I knew of it, for I had often passed there. I could see nothing, and was just going to start on again, when, as I happened to look over across the creek just opposite me, I saw something move. For a minute I could not tell what it was, and then I saw lying among the sage brush a big bob-cat, whose color matched the ground and the weeds about him so well that it was hard for me to make out his shape. At one end of him, however, there was something black that kept moving regularly in little jerks, and, of course, I knew that this was his tail, and that he was watching something in the stream and getting ready to jump on it. I looked at the stream carefully, and for a moment could not see anything, and then, just below the bob-cat, I made out something swimming in the water, close under the bank, but to save my life I could not tell whether it was a duck, or a muskrat, or what. When this thing, whatever it was, had got nearly to the bob-cat, which kept crouching flatter and flatter all the time, the thing suddenly dived and hit the water a tremendous rap with its tail, and then, of course, I knew that it was a beaver that had been swimming up stream, and that the bob-cat had seen it, and was waiting for it to get within reach, and then was going to jump on it. Of course, bob-cats don't like the water very well, but all the same, they will go into it for food."
"What did the bob-cat do when the beaver dived, Hugh?" asked Jack.
"Oh, after a minute or two," said Hugh, "he seemed to realize that the game was up, and he then got up and walked away into the sage brush. I have often wished that the beaver had come on a little further so that I could have seen the end of the thing, and seen whether beaver or bob-cat would have come out ahead. You see, the beaver must have been swimming in pretty deep water, and, of course, if he had had sense enough to grab the bob-cat and hold on to him, no doubt he could have drowned him, but I don't reckon the beaver would have had sense enough for that; he would have just tried to get away, and I guess he would have succeeded."
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "it is interesting to hear of these animals, but as you say, it's pretty hard work to really learn anything about them by reading or hearing people talk. The real way is to see the animals themselves, and I hope we will do that before very long."
"Yes, son, we ought to. In fact, by to-morrow afternoon we ought to get to where there used to be a great big beaver meadow. I don't know, of course, whether we will find any beaver there now or not, but it's a good place to go and look for them. I have seen the time when it was full of beaver, and if we could find it as full now as it was then, we ought to be able to load up a pack horse with fur."
"My!" said Jack; "don't I wish we could. That would be fine."
"Put some more wood on the fire, son," said Hugh, "and I'll smoke my pipe, and then we'll go to bed."
Jack rose from his comfortable seat, and going over to where some cottonwood branches had been dragged together, brought two or three good-sized logs, and raking the fire together, threw them on. The dry wood blazed up with a cheerful flame that almost reached the branches of the pine tree beneath which their tent was pitched, and Hugh, after filling his pipe and lighting it by means of a twig thrust into the fire, sat back and declared that this was solid comfort.
"It's a bully good camping place, isn't it?" said Jack.
"First class," was the reply, "and we are going to have good weather and good country to camp and travel in all summer, except when we have thunderstorms. Of course, we have got to expect that, for there is lots of thunder and lightning in these mountains. We will get wet once in a while, but that's no great harm."
"No, indeed," said Jack, "getting wet is a part of the play."
"Tell me, Hugh," he added after a pause, "what other fur may we expect to see here?"
"Why, son," said Hugh, "there is mighty little that will be good now, except bears. As I told you at the ranch, any bears that we can kill before the first of July will be good prime skins, but right after that they begin to get sunburned and rusty, and begin to shed off, and then, the first thing we know, they are not worth skinning for about three months. Along in October they begin to get a pretty good coat again, though it is not so very long."
"Well," persisted Jack, "there is fur in the mountains here, I suppose."
"Lord, yes," said Hugh. "There are a few otter, lots of mink, and a few marten high up in the hills; once in a while a wolverine, and once in a while a fisher; but none of this fur, except the otter, will be good in summer, and otters are so scarce that they are not worth bothering with."
"I should not have supposed there would be any otter here, because the streams are so small."
"There are not very many," said Hugh, "but yet more than you think. You see there are worlds of fish in many of these mountain streams, and where there are fish you are pretty sure to find otter. In some of the lakes high up in the mountains I have seen lots of otters, but as I say, there aren't enough to try to trap."
"What is the fisher, Hugh?" asked Jack. "I have heard of that animal, but I don't very well know what it is. Is that the same creature that the books speak of as the black cat?"
"I reckon it is," replied Hugh. "I have heard some trappers call them by that name. Really, it always seemed to me like a big marten, and why people called it fisher, I don't know. I never saw one near water, and I don't believe they catch fish. They are great things to climb round in the trees, and they are quicker in them than any squirrel you ever saw. I have seen them chasing martens and I believe that they eat them. I know they eat porcupines, for though I never saw one kill a porcupine, I have seen them with porcupine quills in their faces and in their forelegs, but bless you, the quills didn't seem to bother them a mite. You take a dog or a cat that had as many quills in it as I have seen in some fishers, and it would be all swelled up and not able to see out of its eyes, nor to walk; but I have seen fishers stuck full of quills and I never saw one swelled up or apparently hurt at all. They don't seem to get inflamed by the quills the way a dog or a cat does."
"I suppose, Hugh, there is no great chance of our being able to shoot any of these animals while we are hunting?"
"No," replied Hugh, "I don't think there is. Of course, you never can tell what you might run across when you are going through the timber or up over the rocks on the mountains, but as a rule these animals will see, or hear, or smell you before you know they are around, and they'll just slip out of sight, and either get away as fast as they can, or else watch you to see what you are going to do. I remember that the only wolverine I have killed in a good many years was one that I saw traveling along over the rocks when I was up above timber-line one time waiting to try to kill a sheep. He just walked up within easy shot, and, of course, I killed him. A mighty pretty looking animal he was, too, with his smooth coat all shining in the sun and blowing in the breeze.
"But, look here, son, if you and I are going to get off in any sort of season to-morrow morning we'd better turn in now. Suppose you go down to the creek and get a bucket of water, and I'll go out and look around through the horses, and then we'll make down our beds."
"All right," said Jack, and he did as requested, and a little later the camp was peacefully sleeping, as the fire died down.
THE WATER FOWLS' SUMMER HOME
It was still dark when Jack awoke next morning, but when he struck a match and looked at his watch he saw that daylight was not far off, and rising and putting on his clothes he started to light the fire.
Hugh, having heard him, arose, and before long breakfast was well under way. Then Jack went out to where the horses were picketed and set free all but one, and this one he changed to fresh grass, so that the horses might start with full bellies. The sun had not yet risen when breakfast was over, and Jack had brought in and saddled all the horses. They made an early start, for the day's journey was to be a long one.
For the first hour or two of the march it was interesting to Jack to watch the antelope that were seen on both sides of the trail, and to see how differently those acted that had the sun on their backs from those that had the sun shining in their faces. Sometimes there were antelope on both sides of the trail, and when those that were looking away from the sun started to run, then those that were looking toward the sun started also. But if the little pack train approached antelope with the sun on its back, so that the antelope were looking toward the sun, the timid animals, unable to distinguish what these moving objects were, would let them come up very close without showing any alarm. Jack had often seen the same thing happen with other animals, so it was not new to him, but, nevertheless, it was interesting, and he spoke of it to Hugh.
"Yes," said Hugh, "that is interesting, and, of course, brings up the old question of how useful their different senses are to wild animals. Some people say that a deer has bad eyes; that he can't see well, and, of course, we all of us know that all game depends on its powers of scent for warning that its enemies are about. Most game can hear well enough, and can distinguish between the ordinary sounds of the timber or the mountains and those made by a man going through the timber or rattling the rocks. The people that say that game can't see are mistaken, I think. They don't go quite deep enough into the matter. What I believe is, that many wild animals don't notice a man and so don't take him for an enemy, if he keeps absolutely still. An animal's eye is quick to catch any motion, but a man standing still may be taken for a stump, or a rock, or a bump of earth. The deer's eye does not stop to look carefully at stumps and rocks and bumps of earth, but if one of these things moves, then the eye stops and studies it, and is likely to find out what it is."
"Of course that is so, Hugh," said Jack, "but I never thought of it before. I remember, though, that when I went duck shooting on Great South Bay with my uncle, and was sitting in the blind, he always warned me never to make a sudden motion, but that if I wanted to lower my head to get it out of sight behind the blind, I should do so with a slow, gradual motion."
"Of course," said Hugh, "but if you stop and think a minute you will know that that is just exactly what you do now when you are hunting in this country. If you raise your head up so that it shows over a ridge, and see an antelope feeding there, you don't duck down to get out of sight; you lower your head very slowly. If you made a quick motion the antelope would see you out of the corner of his eye, and would run away without waiting to ask any questions. If you lower your head gradually, he does not see the slow motion, and you can have a chance to crawl up to him."
"That's so," assented Jack; "I must be pretty stupid not to be able to think of these things."
"Well," replied Hugh, "of course you have to think, and boys don't always stop to do that. Men, after they have lived a good many years find that they have to do it. But this is what I wanted to say about the power of game to recognize danger from man; a deer knows that there is danger only from living things, and he knows also that only living things move, so that if he sees anything make a sudden motion he knows that he must be on the lookout."
All day they traveled on through a broad valley, and toward night camped at the foot of a high, bare hog-back running north and south, one of the foothills or spurs of the main range to the north. There was a good spring where they camped, and quite a wide stretch of level prairie, in which were half a dozen large alkali lakes, and on these lakes were great numbers of water fowl. Some of them were so large that Jack thought they must be geese, and getting his field glasses out of the packs he looked at them and found that they really were geese.
"How is it, Hugh," he said, "that geese are found here as late in the season as this? Here it's nearly the first of June, and it seems to me all geese ought to have passed north to their breeding grounds before this."
"I'll allow," answered Hugh, "that the geese ought to be on their breeding grounds by this time, but why do you say they ought to be up north?"
"Why", said Jack, "I thought all geese went north into Canada to breed, except a few that breed in northern Montana, right close to the Canada line."
"Well," said Hugh, "there's where you are mistaken. The geese breed right here in these mountains, and quite a way south of here, too. Then you know yourself, you've seen them breeding on the Missouri River, although that is pretty well north, of course."
"Yes," said Jack, "I've seen them up north, but I didn't suppose that any of them stayed as far south as this."
"That's a mistake," said Hugh. "In old times they used to breed on the prairies as far south as Kansas, and maybe still further south. Many a time I have seen them breeding in Nebraska and in northern Kansas, and from that away north as far as I've been. Swans, too, used to breed in the same country. The reason they don't breed there any more is because the white people have come in and killed them at all times of the year, and so they go on to a country further away from where the white people are."
"Well, live and learn," said Jack. "I got my knowledge about that from the books, but I guess the books don't know everything?"
"Well," said Hugh, "I guess the books know just as much as the men knew that wrote them, and I suppose there's a lot about this western country that they don't all know yet."
"Say, Hugh," said Jack, "after we've had supper I'm going over to these lakes to try to see what birds there are on them. Do you mind coming along?"
"No," said Hugh, "I'll go with you, but first we've got to get supper and got to get up wood enough for to-night and to-morrow morning. I'll rustle the supper if you'll pack in the wood."
"Done," said Jack; and for the next fifteen or twenty minutes he was busy dragging in aspen and cottonwood sticks of which, before very long, he had a good pile.
After supper Hugh said to Jack, "Son, to-morrow we'll have to kill something, for there's only enough meat left for a couple of meals. I don't like to eat meat that is just fresh killed, but if to-morrow you'll kill a deer or a good fat antelope, we will carry it a day and then it will be just about right to eat."
They washed up the dishes before they started, and then walked over to the lakes, the sun being only about an hour high. The lakes were shallow, and their shores, sloping up very gradually from the water's edge, were all of soft, yellow mud, so that it was not possible to get close to the water without sinking deep in the mire.
The abundance and variety of birds seen was very striking. White gulls flew slowly over the water, and beautiful avocets, striking objects from the contrasting black and white of their plumage, waded along near the shore. Flocks of tiny shore birds tripped lightly over the soft mud of the banks, and brown and black long-billed curlews stalked over the grassy prairie. Many of these birds were evidently breeding, and displayed great anxiety when the visitors approached their nests. The curlews especially were demonstrative, and flew about close above the men's heads, uttering loud, shrill cries.
On a little knoll near one of the lakes, Hugh and Jack sat down and adjusted the glasses to study the birds that were floating on the water.
Geese and ducks of several species were there, and Jack could detect also grebes and coots, and the curious little shore birds known as phalaropes, which swam about in the water with a curious nodding motion of the head that reminded Jack of the rails.
Jack was very much excited at this display of bird life, for he realized that at this season of the year all these birds had either eggs or young, and there were a multitude of birds that he had never seen before, and whose eggs he had never seen nor even heard about.
"Why, Hugh, it seems to me we ought to stop over here a day and see if we can't collect a lot of the eggs of these birds. I think there are some birds here whose eggs have never been described. Just think what a great thing it would be if I could take them back and show them to the ornithologists who have never seen them."
"Sure," said Hugh, "that would be great. How are you going to know when you get an egg back East what bird it belongs to?"
"Why," said Jack, "I suppose I could remember. I guess my memory is good enough for that."
"Maybe it is," said Hugh. "I know mine wouldn't be, especially if I had to do with a lot of eggs of birds that I never had seen before. I should have to tie the egg round the neck of each bird and take both home."
"Well," said Jack, "of course, if you are going to collect the eggs I suppose you ought to collect the parent birds at the same time."
"I suppose," said Hugh, "that you've got your tools for fixing up these eggs to take away with you, cached somewhere in the packs, haven't you, and some sort of a chest to carry these eggs in? I expect if we put a lash rope over them and pull pretty hard it will smash some of the eggs, won't it?"
Jack sat silent for a little while, and then looked at Hugh. "I never saw anybody that could make a fellow feel like such a fool as you can."
"Why," said Hugh, "I don't want you to feel like a fool."
"No," said Jack, "I suppose maybe that is not what you want. I suppose that you want to make me think before I speak."
"Yes," said Hugh, "that's something I would like to do. That would be a bully lesson for you to learn, and I think you are learning it, only maybe not very fast."
"Of course," said Jack, "you know just as well as I do that I haven't any stuffing tools with me, or any tools for blowing eggs, or anything to carry bird skins and eggs in if I had them. Of course, if we were to put such things on the packs they'd get broken and smashed up in forty ways and wouldn't be worth throwing away."
"No," said Hugh, "I don't reckon they would."
"Well," sighed Jack, "it's mighty aggravating to sit here and look at all these birds and think that there must be lots of their eggs all about and I can't get hold of them."
"I'll allow that must be pretty aggravating," said Hugh; "but if you wanted to go off to collect bird skins and eggs why didn't you think of it before you started out from the States, and bring along with you the tools you wanted to use? Suppose I had started from the ranch to trap beaver, and had come down here without any traps, what would you have thought of me?"
"Well," said Jack, "I suppose I'd have thought you were a pretty queer trapper."
"I reckon so," said Hugh, "and I think you're a pretty queer bird collector, as yet. You may become a good one later, though."
It soon grew too dark to distinguish the birds, and the two returned to camp, where they built up a big fire, for the night was chilly. Several times after the fire began to blaze up, they saw an owl fly into the circle of light and pass once or twice about the fire and then out into the darkness again.
"What gets me, Hugh," said Jack, after they had settled themselves comfortably by the fire, and Hugh's pipe was going well; "what gets me, is what has become of all the animals and birds that used to inhabit all this country? Of course, when I first came out here I saw antelope and buffalo in wonderful numbers, and there are lots of them now, but there must have been a time, say a hundred or two hundred years ago, when perhaps there was just as many buffalo and elk and deer in Illinois or Ohio as there were in Wyoming and Montana when I came West. Now, of course, all those animals have disappeared from that country, and in the same way birds have disappeared. There must be places still all over the West here where birds come and breed, just as thickly as they do on these little ponds that we've been looking at to-night. And in old times they may have bred just as thickly in the swamps of Illinois and Ohio as they do here in this valley. What's become of them all?"
Hugh did not answer, but made with his hand the sign for "gone under," meaning dead.
"Yes," Jack went on, "I suppose they are, but is that what is going to happen to all the wild animals and birds in this country? Is the whole of North America going to be swept bare of all the birds and animals that belong to it, and just have nothing in it except sheep and cattle and dogs and things? That's the way it seems to me, but I hope that's not the way it's going to be."
"Well, son, that's one of the things that we have often talked over, but it's a pretty hard thing to prophesy about. There's one thing sure, all big animals are going to be killed off, except those that are found in parks like that Yellowstone Park we came through two years ago. I expect that there, elk and deer and sheep and antelope may be found for a long time. But people are going to come into this western country, thicker and thicker, and, of course, they are not coming here for their health, they're coming here to make money. One man will start a band of cattle, another will have a bunch of sheep, another will farm along the creek; ten to one, mines will be found all over these mountains, and the first thing any of us know the country will be full of people and towns and railroads and factories. Of course, you don't need me to tell you that there can't be any game when the country gets full of people."
"I suppose that's just what will happen, Hugh. I suppose a time will come when there won't be any more buffalo, and maybe when there won't be any elk or even deer. I'm glad that I was born in time to see something of these wild animals."
"Yes," said Hugh, "you are lucky to get to see them, because I believe that they're not going to last many more years. I wouldn't be surprised if twenty or twenty-five years saw them pretty much all wiped out. I expect that I'll be dead before that times comes, but likely you'll be alive all right."
Jack sat thoughtfully staring into the fire as though he were contemplating the death of all game, and of Hugh as well.
Presently Hugh went on: "Now, about the birds, it's a little different. They've got wings, and can fly, and do fly long distances. They don't have to stop in one place, and, of course, away up north there is a whole lot of country yet that the people haven't got into, and I expect a good many of the birds that used to breed in Illinois and Ohio, as you were saying just now, don't stop any longer in that country, but keep on going to the north.
"I've seen Hudson Bay men that came down from that northern country who say that in some of the lakes and big rivers up there the natives at the right time of the year kill a powerful lot of fowl. There must be dead loads of them there, and then when molting season comes and they lose their wing feathers and can't fly, the natives take after them in their canoes and kill them with sticks and spears, and then dry them. I believe that's a regular part of their living up there."
"There must be an awful lot of ducks and geese that breed in that great country up there, Hugh. It's almost the whole width of the continent, is it not? and a thousand or fifteen hundred miles north and south?"
"Yes," said Hugh, "it's an awful big country, and mighty few people in it. You know, don't you," he went on, "that the food of a number of the Hudson Bay Posts, during certain seasons of the year, is dried or frozen fish, and dried or smoked geese? They kill the geese spring and fall, as they are passing back and forth, and so many of them that they store them up for the winter and summer food."
"My," said Jack, "what a place that would be to go shooting in!"
"Don't fool yourself, son. When you kill game regularly for the food it yields, it stops being fun to hunt and it becomes real work. I know it's so because I've done it."
"To-morrow morning," added Hugh, "unless I miss my guess, you'll see the biggest beaver meadow you ever saw, and we'll get to it toward night. Then beyond, and not far off, is the main range, where we can hunt if we want to, but I don't know as we'll be able to get there. Haven't you noticed something like smoke off to the west? 'Pears to me I have, and it may be that the range is on fire. If it is, that will let us out as far as hunting goes."
"I hope there isn't any fire," said Jack; "I want very much to get up into the mountains."
"Well," said Hugh, as he rose and began to take the straps off his bed and to unroll it, "even if we should not be able to get into the mountains here, we can do it further south. We'll see how the high hills look to-morrow."
In a little while the two were fast asleep, and as the fire died down no sound was heard except the calls of the water fowl from the nearby lake.
A TROUBLESOME GRIZZLY
They had sat up so late the night before that neither Hugh nor Jack was astir very early next morning, and the sun was well above the horizon before they started west toward the high ridge which lay between them and the main snowy range.
The horses were now so accustomed to traveling together that they needed no driving, and Jack and Hugh rode side by side ahead of the packs, though every now and then Jack looked back to see that the animals were coming on well. Occasionally an animal would stop and lag a little, and graze alongside the trail, but usually a shout from Jack would cause it to stop feeding, and it would trot along until it had overtaken the others. Each morning about an hour after starting, when the ropes had stretched a little, the train was halted and the lashings tightened upon all the animals, and after that they needed no attention.
Of course, if a bad stream or a very steep ravine had to be crossed, Jack dropped behind and followed the pack animals, but the packing was so well done that it was very seldom they had to give any attention to the loads.
As they rode along Hugh said to Jack: "If we had a big train or heavy loads, I would go 'round the point of the hog-back, which would make us travel five or six miles further but would be a good deal easier on the horses, but our animals are fat and strong, and lightly loaded, and we may as well make the cut-off and cross the ridge."
The ascent of the hog-back was steep at first, but then became more gradual. Several times during the climb they stopped to let the horses breathe. On the way up, several big buck antelope were seen, each one feeding alone, but as they were all at some little distance from the trail, Jack thought it better to let them alone, on the chance later of getting a shot which would require less time.
They had nearly reached the crest of the ridge when Hugh, waving his hand toward the west, remarked, "I thought so; the range is afire," and Jack could plainly see the smoke rising some ten or fifteen miles distant. A little further on they could see the whole range, and found that everywhere to the south it was on fire, and that the fire seemed to be moving northward. Columns and masses of thick white smoke rose from the mountains in many places, and were rolling steadily along from south to north.
The fire seemed to be chiefly on the lower slopes of the mountains. Above it could be seen the green timber, and above that again gray rocks bare of vegetation, whitened a little further up by occasional patches of snow, and still higher were great fields of snow, pure and shining when touched by the rays of the sun, but seeming gray and soiled where shadowed by clouds or by a column of ascending smoke.
"No use to think of hunting there, is there, Hugh?" asked Jack.
"Not any, son," replied Hugh. "We'll have to strike into the hills somewhere else. But look at that beaver meadow this side of the mountain."
Jack lowered his eyes to the valley, and was astonished at what he saw. There, spreading over miles and miles, north and south, was a great carpet of green, bordered on either side by the gray and yellow prairie, and intersected by a thousand tiny streams that glistened in the sunlight. It looked like a vast carpet of emerald velvet over which had been spread an irregular net of silver cords.
Beautiful it was, but the most astonishing thing about it all was its great size. It seemed to stretch north and south for ten or fifteen miles, and east and west for half as many. The view presented astonishing contrasts in the aspect of the mountains, snow-capped, timber-clad, and fire-swept; and not less in the lower land, with its opposites of arid sage brush prairie, and of watered, verdant meadow.
Jack turned to Hugh: "That's the most wonderful thing I've seen since I've been out West, Hugh. Did you ever see anything like it?"
"Well," said Hugh, "it's sure a pretty sight, but I wouldn't want to say that it was the prettiest thing that I'd ever seen. One sees a whole lot of fine sights out in this country. 'Pears to me I've heard you say a good many times that different things are the most wonderful things you'd ever seen."
"Well," said Jack, "that's so. I never get through wondering at the sights here in the mountains, and I don't suppose it's true that each thing is more wonderful than anything else I've ever seen, but I do keep being surprised at all these beautiful sights."
"Well," said Hugh, "what do you think of stopping off at the first water we come to, and taking off the loads and letting the horses rest while we cook a cup of coffee?"
"That will suit me, Hugh," said Jack, "but I'd like to stop somewhere so I can look at this show that is spread out in front of us."
"We can do that all right," said Hugh, "and I think over in that little ravine just below us we'll find some water. There are some willows down there, and that must mean a spring somewhere near."
They started on, Jack following behind to keep the horses up and to catch them when they got to the stopping place.
Hugh kept on down the slope, and then turning short to the right descended into the ravine. He had got part way down the slope when suddenly his horse threw forward his ears and stopped. Two of the pack horses turned at right angles and began to climb the sides of the ravine. At the same moment, from under a cedar just ahead of Hugh, a bear sprang up and rushed down the ravine. Jack caught a glimpse of the animal, and saw Hugh throw his rifle to his shoulder and fire, but as the black horse was trying to run, Jack was not sure that the shot had told. Jack spurred his own horse up the side of the ravine where the pack horses had gone, and in a moment was high enough to see portions of the ravine down which the bear had run. He wheeled Pawnee so that he could shoot handily, and having loaded his rifle, sat there watching for the bear.
Suddenly it appeared, and he could see it while it ran twenty-five or thirty yards along the ravine. It was a hundred and fifty yards off, but he threw his rifle to his shoulder, and aiming high and well ahead of the bear, fired. The animal turned a somersault at the shot, and then regained its footing and disappeared.
Hugh, meantime, had galloped on down the ravine, and a moment of two later his rifle spoke again.
Jack was strongly tempted to ride down and see what had happened, but feeling that it was now too late to do anything, and that the bear had either been killed or had escaped, he rode round the pack horses and drove them on down the ravine, following Hugh's course. Presently he came to a place where some willows grew at the side of a patch of green grass, and there out of the bottom of the bluff bubbled a spring of clear water. Jack tasted it and found it sweet and good, and then caught up the pack horses and tied them to the willows.
A few moments later Hugh galloped back, dismounted, and said: "Well, let's take the packs off here," and in a few moments the horses were relieved from their loads, and were turned loose on the green grass, with their hackamores dragging.
Jack saw that Hugh had blood on his hands, but forebore to ask any questions. He felt sure that presently Hugh would tell what had happened.
"Now, son," said Hugh, "we've got quite a job on our hands skinning that bear. It's a good-sized fellow, and you know that skinning a bear is a good deal of a job."
"Where is he?" said Jack.
"About a half mile down that little valley, right in the open. He's got a fine hide and we want to save it. It ought to mean eight or ten dollars to us. Suppose we go right down there and take his jacket off, and then come back and eat and pack up and go on. That's going to cut off your looking at the scenery, but we can't afford to waste that bear's hide."
"No," said Jack, "you're dead right, of course. Let's go and do it now. We can look at scenery 'most any time, but we don't get bears every day. How was he hit, Hugh?" Jack went on. "There were only three shots fired."
"I guess they all hit him," said Hugh. "My horse was hopping round so when I fired the first shot that I expected I'd miss him clean, but I don't think I did. I shot him too far back and too high up. When the ball hit him he fell and bit himself, and then got up and kept on. I started after him, but just then he disappeared round a point, and when I got up to it he was away ahead of me. Then you shot and you hit him, because he fell again and then got up and went on again, but he was hard hit then and going slowly, and before long I got up to him and killed him. The hide is in good order, and we are pretty lucky to get it."
The two mounted and rode down the valley, presently reaching the bear, which, as Hugh said, was a big one with a beautiful long coat of shining brown. The long claws of the fore-feet showed that he was a grizzly and a very large and handsome specimen.
The next hour and a half was spent in skinning the bear, and long before this operation was finished, Hugh and Jack were tired and more or less covered with grease.
"This will be good practice, son, if we get any beaver," said Hugh. "You see, in skinning a beaver you've got to work just as you do on this bear. You can't do any stripping; every inch of hide you take off has got to be cut free from the fat that lies under it, and as you see, that's a mighty long, slow business."
"I should say it was," said Jack, "and a mighty greasy business, too. It seems to me as if I was all covered with oil, and I am, up to my elbows, and my face, too. Seems to me my face never itched before as it does now, and when I rub it with my greasy hands of course my face gets all grease, too."
"Yes," said Hugh, "it's a very different thing skinning a bear or beaver, from skinning a deer or a buffalo, but this is just a part of the game, son, and this hide will pay us good wages for the trouble we've been to."
"There," Hugh went on, as he made a last cut, "that hide is free on this side down to the middle of the back. How are you getting on on your side?"
"I've got a lot more to do," said Jack.
"All right," said Hugh, and he came around to Jack's side and began to help him, and presently it seemed as if the hide were free throughout.
"Now," said Hugh, "I tried to lift and drag that bear just after he was dead, and I couldn't stir it, and I don't believe you and I can do any better now; let's try."
They took hold of the bear's hind-legs and tried to lift and pull the carcass off the hide, but it was too heavy for them to move.
"Well," said Hugh, "get your rope off Pawnee and we'll see what a horse can do."
When Jack had brought his lariat, it was knotted about the hind-legs of the bear, and then after tightening the cinches of his saddle, Jack mounted, took a double turn of the rope around his saddle horn, and then slowly started Pawnee up the valley while Hugh took hold of the bear's hide to keep it in place. The carcass began to slide off the hide, and Hugh with his knife made two or three last cuts, which freed the hide from the carcass, and presently the hide lay there spread out flesh side up. After the rope had been untied from the carcass, the two went over the hide with their knives scraping away all the fat that they could get off, and presently Hugh declared that it was in shape to be spread and dried.
"We're likely to have some trouble getting this on a pack, because, of course, no horse likes to pack a bear hide, but I guess we can do it all right. Instead of taking it back to where we left the horses, let's spread it out here and bring one of the animals down here and load it on him."
"All right," said Jack, "and now let's get back to camp. I feel like having a wash."
Returning to the horses it took some little time with water, mud, and sand—for, of course, the soap was in the pack and they did not want to open it—to cleanse themselves of the grease from the bear. The smell of the beast they could not get rid of, and this gave them some trouble when they were catching and loading their animals, for the horses snorted and jumped and pulled back when they caught the scent of either of the two. However, at last they had their lunch, and then loaded their horses, and went down to the bear skin.
As Hugh had said, the matter of loading it was not easily performed. It was first lashed up into a secure package, to be put on as a top pack, and then the lightest loaded of the horses was brought up to it. The horse did not like it a bit, but at length by blindfolding him with a coat tied about his head, he stood quietly enough for Hugh to place the load on his back, but Jack was obliged to hold the rope, for the horse, notwithstanding his blindfolding, kept stepping about and was very uneasy.
Hugh managed to tie the skin on so that it would stay, and then Jack, going around to the off side, helped to put on the lash rope firmly. When they took off the coat, however, and the horse saw what was on his back, he bucked fiercely all over the meadow, and would have stampeded the other horses when he passed near them if it had not been that Hugh and Jack, both mounted, had a firm hold on their ropes.
At last the horse became tired of bucking, but its fears were not quieted, for every little while it would look back at its pack and snort and rush here and there, much afraid of the load it was carrying.
"That bear skin is going to make us a lot of trouble, son," said Hugh, "and the sooner we get it dried so that some of the smell will be gone out of it, the better it will be for us. Let's go on now to the edge of that beaver meadow and camp there. We'll have to spend a day or two drying this hide and getting the horses used to it."
For the rest of the day they had much trouble with their horses, for every time the trail crooked around so that the odor of the bear skin was carried to the other horses of the train, there was a scattering, and Jack had to round up the animals and bring them back again.
It was nearly dark when they finally camped at a little spring at the border of the beaver meadow, where a little clump of cottonwood trees gave shelter and wood for the campfire.
Not long before they reached the stopping place, dark clouds had begun to rise over the mountains to the west, and gradually the whole western sky became overcast.
"Looks like we were going to have a rain storm," said Hugh; "and I wish we might, and a good hard one. It would put out the fire on the mountains and cleanse the air of the smoke."
"Yes," replied Jack, "I wish it would rain. I hate to see all that timber burning. It will take a long time for the mountains to become green again."
"Yes," said Hugh, "many and many a year; and sometimes, of course, after the fire has gone over the hills like that they never again are covered with timber. I have seen mountains way down in the south-west that at one time must have been covered with splendid great trees, and then had been burned over and no trees ever grew there again. There are big logs lying on the hillside now that are all that is left of those old forests, but no sign of any new timber springing up anywhere."
"Well, how long ago were those mountains burned over?" asked Jack.
"You can't prove it by me," said Hugh. "I've asked that question a good many times, and I have never found anybody that was old enough to know anything about when the fires took place. It must have been long, long ago."
"But why don't those old logs that you were speaking about, rot and disappear?" asked Jack.
"I'll tell you why," said Hugh. "It's because that country is so dry. I don't believe more than six inches of rain falls there in the year, and nothing ever rots; things just dry up and lie there, getting drier and drier all the time."
"And yet," said Jack, "when we came down through the mountains from the north, we saw lots of country that had been burned, and almost everywhere a lot of new green timber was springing up to take the place of the old burnt tree trunks that were getting ready to fall."
"That's so," replied Hugh; "but I remember that we passed over some places where the forests had been burned, where there was no sign at all of anything growing, no sign of any soil; nothing except the bare gravel or the rock."
"Yes," said Jack, "I remember that, too."
"I reckon it's like this," explained Hugh. "If the fire passes over the country quickly and just burns or kills the standing trees and doesn't heat the soil too much, then the seeds that have been dropped by the trees and are lying hidden in the soil, sprout and new timber grows up, but if the fire catches in the soil of the forest, which you know is made up of the needles and branches and cones of the pine trees, and if that soil is dry enough so that it will burn, then the fire keeps creeping through it, burning it where it's dry enough to burn, or heating it where it's too damp, and so all the seeds that are lying in it are either burned or cooked, and there is nothing left to sprout. Then after that, a few years of rain storms will wash away all the soil, and as there's nothing left on the mountain to furnish seeds, no timber ever grows. I take it, a great deal depends on the condition of the soil at the time the fire goes through. If it's dry, the seeds of the trees are likely to be killed. If it's damp, they're likely to live after the fire has passed and to send up another crop of trees."
"It seems an awful shame, Hugh, that all this timber should be destroyed and all game should be driven out. Of course, the timber has no commercial value now. I suppose it's too far from any market, and there's no way to get it out."
"No," said Hugh, "you couldn't sell it for anything, of course, but the time will come, I expect, when there'll be some use for all this timber. This country is going to fill up with people sometime, and those people will need houselogs, corral poles, and fence-posts; and then besides that, nobody knows what mines may not be found in these mountains; and if mines ever are found and worked, there is going to be a lot of lumber needed to timber them with."
When the camp was reached the western sky looked very threatening, and Hugh said to Jack, "Now, son, let us get these loads off as quick as we can and picket the horses, and then we'll get the tent up. I reckon we are going to be rained on to-night, and we may as well sleep as dry as we can."
It took but a few minutes to throw the loads off the horses, and to picket them, and immediately the little tent was raised and the beds and packs got under cover. By this time it was dark, and over the mountain-tops to the west could be seen lightning flashes, playing far above the red glow of the forest fire.
"Yes," said Hugh, as he looked toward the mountains, "I believe that rain will come pretty near putting that fire out to-night. At all events it will check it."
The storm advanced toward them, and presently the light of the fire grew dimmer as the rain passed over it and advanced toward the valley. Supper had hardly been cooked when the first few drops reached them, and after piling plenty of wood on the fire, they retreated to the tent to eat. It was a hard thunder storm, and before long flashes of lightning were thick all over the sky and the thunder was crashing and rattling above their heads.
"I don't believe we'll get drowned out here to-night," said Hugh, "for this place where we've camped is a few inches higher than anything round about it, but we may find our things pretty damp in the morning, for this hard rain sifts through even good canvas like this," and he pointed to the tent above them.
"There's one thing you want to look out for when you are camping in a dry country, son," he went on; "don't ever camp down in a ravine, no matter how dry it may seem to be. I've known three or four cases where a lot of fellows camped in a nice grassy spot in the middle of a ravine and along during the night there came a cloud-burst somewhere up on the high prairie, and the water came rolling down the ravine and floated all the fellows off. I guided a party of scientific chaps one time that did just that. The ravine was dry when they went to sleep, and they were washed away during the night, and the next morning the ravine was pretty nearly dry again, but they spent two or three days traveling down that gulch, picking up their things that had been carried away by the water and digging them out of the mud and sand. Some of the men might easily enough have got drowned if the storm had lasted a little longer."
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "why did you not tell them not to camp in such a place."
"I did," said Hugh, "but they laughed at me, and thought that because there wasn't any water there then, and hadn't been for a long time, there never would be any. I took my blankets and slept on a little point eight or ten feet above the bottom of the ravine and the water never got to me, but I had to laugh at two or three of the young fellows who waded out close to my bed. Of course, it was dark and they didn't know where they were, nor what had happened. I heard them calling and shouting to each other, and before that I had heard the water coming, so that I knew what was taking place, but I could not do anything to help any of them."
"Well, after that, Hugh, I expect those men had more respect for your advice, didn't they?" said Jack.
"Well," said Hugh, "I don't know but they did."