“The time is coming, and very soon at that, I guess, Dick, when we must expect a great change in our going.”
Roger made this remark some two weeks after their adventure with the rascally Dacotahs, who had been misled by the false words of Andrew Waller. All this while the whites had been steadfastly pushing farther and farther up the narrowing Missouri, until navigation had become very difficult.
“Yes, I know what you mean by that,” remarked Dick. “Every day now we are having more and more trouble with the batteaux. They get aground so often that much valuable time is wasted in freeing them.”
“It looks as if we might be nearly at the headwaters of the Missouri, the river is getting so shallow,” Roger observed.
“That is probably partly due to the time of year,” explained Dick. “We are well along in August, you must remember, and the snow doesn’t melt as easily up in the mountain canyons now as it did earlier in the season. Besides, we have had little heavy rain, if you stop to think.”
“What do you expect Captain Lewis will do, Dick?”
“I heard him saying only to-day, when they were working at the boat which stuck on the shoal, that it looked as though the limit had been reached. You understand what that means, of course, Roger?”
“I believe I do,” was the reply. “From what I’ve picked up here and there it appears to be the plan to leave part of the expedition in camp somewhere along the upper reaches of the Missouri until next year, while the rest make a dash for the Coast on the horses.”
“It was fixed,” continued Dick, “that Captain Clark should lead the party headed for the sea; but I have heard since that Captain Lewis has changed his mind. He doesn’t feel like being cheated out of that glorious sight after all he has passed through.”
“And who can blame him?” burst out the impetuous Roger. “I only hope they let us keep along with them. We have a horse apiece, you know, and could easily hold our own when it came to hunting for game.”
“Captain Lewis promised that we should set eyes on the sea if any one in the party did, and he is a man of his word, you know.”
“I should never get over the disappointment,” declared Roger, “if anything prevented us from keeping on to the end. We have made great sacrifices in order to be in the company. Besides, I am fairly burning to set eyes on some of the many wonders we expect to meet with in crossing the big mountains of rock. The Indians have kept telling us about strange animals to be encountered there.”
“Those mountains,” Dick went on to say, “are the home of the terrible brown bear which Captain Lewis has called the grizzly. We know how they can fight, because we had an experience in a cave with one that we’re not likely ever to forget.”[5]
“Yes,” added Roger, “and according to the Indians’ way of doing, we’re entitled to wear those dreadful claws around our necks, after slaying the monster at close quarters. Whenever you run across an Indian with the claws of a grizzly bear worn as a necklace you can count on it that he’s proved his right to the name of warrior.
“Then we’ve also heard of a beast living among the crags of these mountains that has immense curved horns, upon which he alights after throwing himself from some lofty height. That may be only a fairy story, but I’d like to see for myself if there’s any truth in it.
“As for me, Dick, I’ve already made up my mind that I’ll shoot one of those queer beasts, and get a sample of the curved horns, if ever the chance comes my way. Just yesterday I was thinking of the wonderful tracks we saw when we were having that adventure with the Dacotahs, and hoping that some of these fine days we might come upon the animal that made them.”
“I have tried my best, Roger, to learn what the beast looks like, and the nearest any Indian has been able to tell is that once in a while a monster of the deer tribe is seen in these regions. None of the trappers in our party have an idea what it can be, save Batiste, who declares he has shot just such a great beast up in Canada.”
“Then he must mean a moose!” exclaimed Roger, looking intensely interested. “Come to think of it now, I don’t see why a moose might not wander over here. They live only in cold countries, I am told, but in the winter it must be bitter enough up here to please any one.”
Just as the boys had said, when talking matters over between themselves, the river had become so shallow that it was folly to try to push the heavy batteaux any further up the current.
Accordingly, a permanent camp was to be established on the river bank, where a part of the men would be left in as comfortable circumstances as the conditions permitted. Here they were to stay until they were rejoined the following summer by the returning explorers, after they had been to the Coast.
Those who were to be left behind were to establish relations and make friends with the neighboring Indian tribes, serve them as physicians, and do what hunting was necessary.
Of course the scene in the camp that night was an unusual one. The men who were to accompany the two captains had been advised of their good fortune, and, while they showed signs of pleasure, at the same time they knew that the final stages of the big journey would be filled with peril, so, in one way, they really envied those who could stay behind in comfort and peace.
There was an air of half-suppressed excitement throughout the camp as the men conferred together, exchanged some of their possessions, and in numerous ways made ready for the parting that was coming so soon.
Captain Lewis did not have many preparations to make, for all along he and his able ally had seen that everything was kept at the highest notch of efficiency.
“I really do believe,” said Roger, as he and his chum sat watching the many sights of the camp that evening, “that Captain Lewis has planned for every little thing that could happen; and whoever is left in charge here will know what he is to do from day to day, just as if he got his orders fresh from headquarters.”
“That is partly the result of having a man like Captain Clark along,” explained Dick. “He believes in method, and carries his ideas out as a military man should. Captain Lewis could not have found a better companion for his venture than he did.”
“It is settled that we are to go along with them, of course?” fretted Roger, who knew perfectly well that this matter had been arranged, but wanted to hear his comrade say so.
“We have the word of the commander for it, and that ought to be enough, Roger.”
One whole day they spent in the camp by the river so that nothing should be neglected. Then, on the following morning, bright and early the good-bys were said, and the little party, mounted on the horses, set out to plunge still deeper into the unknown wilderness toward the glittering prize that tempted them—the sun-kissed sea that lay far away over mountains and across burning deserts.
It was only natural that every one should be more or less affected over the parting. None of them could tell what the future held. Surrounded by a trackless wilderness, many hundreds of miles from a single white man’s village, and with treacherous savages to deal with, the chances of their ever coming together again seemed very remote.
During that day both the boys were inclined to be unusually quiet and thoughtful. Indeed, for that matter, every one of the riders seemed to have lost his ordinary spirits, although, of course, this feeling of depression would soon wear away, and by degrees the men would learn to face the situation bravely.
It was evident to every one that the party was now approaching the foothills of those great mountains of which so much had been heard. Captain Lewis knew that, in order to cross them with as little hard work as possible, they must head for a pass of which they had been told by some of the Indians. Unless they could find this, their efforts would be in vain, and they must turn back, defeated in their daring plans.
Three days after leaving their comrades the advancing party came to a good camping ground early in the afternoon, and, as the horses were really in need of a rest, it was concluded to stop here for the night.
This was an opportunity the two boys had been waiting for, and they had little difficulty in getting permission from the commander to indulge themselves in a short hunt.
The camp was in need of fresh meat, though not desperately so; and if only a deer could be taken it would afford them a few good meals. Captain Lewis, knowing Roger’s headstrong ways, took particular pains to caution them before they set out.
“See that you take no unnecessary chances, my boys,” was what he had said. “We would be very sorry, indeed, to have to bear your parents bad news when next we see St. Louis. But I feel that, so long as Dick is along, you will be careful. And, if you can bring the carcass of a young deer back with you, so much the better.”
It was a fine afternoon in late summer. There did not seem to be any sign of stormy weather in prospect, from which fact the boys felt sure they would not be compelled to look for a hollow tree as before.
First of all they were wise enough to take their bearings, for they certainly did not want to lose themselves in the vast wilderness, since they could no longer depend on finding their friends by simply hunting for the river.
Then the next thing was to hunt up into the wind. This was, of course, done so that if they were approaching some keen-nosed game the animal might not scent their presence, and depart before they could get a chance to fire a single shot.
It was a wild section of country. They could see, beyond, the mighty barrier of mountains that stood between them and their goal. The woods were composed of scrub trees, with openings here and there; though in most sections, east of the chain of mountains, prairie land existed.
From where they looked up to the dizzy heights, the sides of the mountains seemed bleak and rocky. They had been told, however, that on the western slope vegetation grew plentifully, as the winds from the ocean brought much rain, though little of this crossed the divide.
The boys pursued their hunt for nearly an hour without coming upon any game, although they saw plenty of signs of it, and were always counting on making a discovery. Versed in forest lore, they knew how to creep along without making any sound likely to give warning of their approach.
All conversation had been tabooed long since, for even Roger knew that an incautious word might spoil their plans, and give the unseen deer notice of their presence in the vicinity.
It was while they were thus moving along that Dick suddenly thrust out a hand and drew his companion to a standstill. Roger turned his head quickly, as though he did not comprehend what this meant, only to see Dick’s finger pressed on his lips to indicate silence.
At the same moment Roger himself caught the low thud of hoofs. Some animal was certainly approaching them, and the singular “clicking” that accompanied each thud told them the beast must have cloven hoofs like those of a deer.
A few seconds passed during which the strange sounds grew louder, and then, as the bushes parted, the two boys gazed upon a sight such as had never before greeted their astonished eyes.
Seen for the first time in all their experience as hunters of big game, the animal that stood there facing the two boys was remarkable enough to arouse their interest to fever pitch.
Tawny of hue, and possessing an enormous muzzle, together with towering horns, the giant moose filled Roger with a sense of exaltation. The hunter instinct within the boy set his heart to beating like a trip-hammer, and his fingers involuntarily gripped his gun, his first instinct being to make use of the weapon.
The moose evidently did not suspect their presence nearby. So far as appearances went, the big, awkward animal was showing no signs of alarm.
Roger hastily threw his rifle up to his shoulder, and, without bothering to take exact aim, pulled the trigger. He never really knew why he did not drop the beast as he expected to do. It might be because this weapon did not compare with his own, which had been carried off by the treacherous Andrew Waller at the time the two boys were prisoners of the Dacotahs.
Dick, however, believed that the moose bull must have made an involuntary movement just about that time. Roger’s hasty action, or the glint of the sun on the gun barrel, would be enough to bring such a thing about.
The one important fact was that, instead of killing his intended quarry on the spot, Roger had the chagrin of seeing the animal stumble and fall, to scramble immediately to his feet again, and make a vicious plunge forward in their direction.
Dick of course knew that it was his duty to get in the fatal shot. He thrust his rifle forward, and had it not been for an unfortunate movement on the part of his companion his bullet would have finished the monster.
In jumping back, however, Roger happened to knock against the leveled rifle just as his chum pressed the trigger. The result was a wasted bullet, and, with both their weapons empty and useless, a serious outlook faced the two young hunters.
“Jump to one side!” shouted Dick, realizing that the enraged moose was charging them, with lowered head, and threatening horns.
Both boys threw themselves back, and in this manner successfully avoided the passing danger.
They knew that a wounded stag is often a peril from which even veteran hunters shrink; and it stood to reason that this enormous animal, feeling the pain of his injury, would not run away in a hurry after having made one unsuccessful charge.
Both boys glanced hastily around, seeking a tree behind which to ward off an attack. Dick was fortunate enough to find one close at hand, but Roger met with his usual ill luck to start with.
The moose, as though sensing which one of his enemies had given him that burning injury, took after Roger, and the boy, hearing the trampling of his hoofs as he came rushing on, became a little confused.
“Run, Roger, run faster!” shrilled Dick, who began to fear for the safety of his cousin.
There were surely grounds for his alarm, for, just at that moment, Roger caught his foot in some trailing vine and plunged forward. With wonderful adroitness, however, the border boy managed to regain his feet, and face the oncoming moose bull.
It was too late for him to continue his flight, and there did not seem to be even time enough for the boy to scramble out of harm’s way. Dick’s heart burned within him with fear. He would have given everything he possessed in the wide world if just then his gun were only loaded and primed, ready for use.
Roger, however, saw that there was immediate need for action, and he took a strange way of meeting the occasion. Dick, staring at the scene, saw his chum suddenly leap toward the oncoming moose bull. He actually flung himself upon that great, lowered head, falling between the towering horns, and hastened to clasp his arms about the animal’s thick neck.
This act plainly greatly astonished the beast, and he stood stock still for a brief interval.
Dick’s one fear was that the moose should set off at a lumbering pace through the woods, and bring up against some tree with such force as to break the sprawling legs of the clinging boy. He himself was trying in a confused fashion to get a charge of powder down the barrel of his gun, instinct telling him that, once he managed to reload the weapon, the game would be in his hands.
Now the moose was trying to dislodge Roger by tossing up his head. Each time he made the effort Dick held his breath in suspense, for the boy’s hold was precarious, and might give way at any moment. It was apparently the intention of the bull to shake him loose in this way, and, after the boy dropped back to the ground, to trample him underfoot before he could recover sufficiently to get out of the way.
Sometimes strange things happen in cases like this. The moose must have put an additional amount of energy into one of his tosses, for Dick suddenly saw Roger’s form rising several yards in the air, and crash amidst the leaves of the tree under which this performance was taking place.
The moose waited for the fall of his enemy in order to use those cruel hoofs of his in the final attack. But, remarkable to say, Roger did not come down, and Dick suddenly realized that his nimble chum had taken advantage of his lofty flight to lay hold of the branches of the tree, and to cling there as best he could.
Dick felt like giving vent to a shout when he realized that, so far as Roger was concerned, the danger could be considered over. He was now reaching for a patched bullet, and hoped with his ramrod to push it quickly home on the powder, when he would be ready, all but the priming, to make good use of his rifle.
Roger saw what was going on so close by, and commenced kicking with his feet, and letting out a few derisive shouts, aimed at the waiting moose below. He intended to hold the attention of the bulky animal so Dick could have all the time he needed to get the gun loaded.
The plan worked splendidly, for the stupid animal below kept steady vigil under the limb where all that thrashing was going on. He snorted with rage, and pawed the earth with one of his hoofs, as if giving an earnest example of what he meant to do when the strange enemy dropped to the ground.
There was nothing to hinder Dick from completing his loading, and, as he shook the priming powder into the pan and prepared to fire, he felt sorry only for one thing. This was the fact that Roger could not be the one to bring about the death of the kingly moose, since his heart seemed to have been so set on accomplishing such a valorous deed.
It was more because he must save the life of his chum than through a desire for the death of the monster moose that caused Dick finally to pull trigger, after he had found a chance to aim back of the animal’s foreleg.
The shot was instantly fatal, for those long-barreled rifles of pioneer days were capable of sending a bullet with tremendous force. The big beast fell with a crash, and immediately afterwards a loud hurrah from Roger announced that he gloried in the successful outcome of their adventure.
It was easy enough for the nimble boy to drop from his perch. He limped a little, and had a few minor bruises to show for his close contact with those horns of the bull moose. On the whole, however, Roger considered that he had been very lucky. Dick told him that he felt the same, as they stood beside the fallen monarch of the forest, and noted his powerful frame and muscles.
It was impossible to think of taking those towering horns back with them, since they would have no way of carrying the trophy save on one of their horses; and that was utterly out of the question.
“I feel a little sorry we had to kill the poor beast,” admitted Dick, “much as any hunter might be proud of bringing down such big game. But his flesh is far too tough for food, and we can never dream of taking those horns with us.”
“Well, he looked as if he wanted to fight as soon as he saw us there,” said Roger. “That was one reason I shot as quickly as I did. But, while I had most of the fun, the glory remained for you, Dick.”
“If you call that sort of thing fun, Roger, I don’t admire your taste, that’s all I can say! When I saw him rushing at you with his head lowered I felt a cold chill run up and down my back, for I thought you were gone.”
“I don’t know just what made me fasten to his horns the way I did,” explained Roger, with a broad grin; “but something seemed to tell me that was my only chance, and I guess it was, too.”
“How did you feel when going through the air?” questioned the other, able to smile now at the odd spectacle Roger had presented, although at the time it had seemed a serious thing indeed.
“About as near like flying as I ever expect to know,” admitted Roger. “And, just as soon as I found myself in the midst of the branches of that tree, why something made me take hold and stick there. I seemed to know the old fellow was waiting down below to trample me into bits if I dropped back, and I wasn’t meaning to oblige him if I could help it.”
“We might manage to chop off one of his hoofs with our knives to show when we get back to camp, and prove that we really killed a moose,” suggested Dick.
“That is a good idea,” agreed his cousin; and it did not take them long to carry the plan out. After this they left the spot, and resumed their hunt, Roger having recovered and loaded his rifle.
They were a little afraid lest the sound of the gunshots might have caused any deer happening to be in the vicinity to take the alarm and flee. This would be too bad, after setting their hearts on procuring a supply of fresh meat.
It turned out, however, that the deer did not know the deadly significance of the firing of a gun, for within twenty minutes after leaving the dead bull moose, the boys started a deer, and Roger this time managed to do himself justice when he pulled trigger, for the young stag bounded high in the air to fall in a quivering heap.
There was ample time to cut the game up and make their way back to camp with their prize. Nor did they have the slightest difficulty in gaining the spot where the expedition had planned to spend the coming night, thanks to Dick’s way of keeping his bearings when on a hunt.
These little side excursions were always in great favor with the two boys. In carrying them out they were really killing two birds with one stone; for they not only saw considerable of the country, and met with adventures that pleased their love of action, but at the same time they were able to keep the camp well supplied with fresh meat.
When they got back on this particular afternoon they found that there was an Indian in the camp with whom Captain Lewis was making terms looking to his serving them as guide until the lofty mountain range had been crossed. It was of prime importance that they find that pass, and cross over at the lowest possible level. Once the lower ground on the other side was reached, they could congratulate themselves that the worst was over.
At the ending of the next day they found themselves at the actual foot of the mountains, of which they hoped to commence the ascent with the advent of another morning.
“How terribly big they seem, towering so high above us,” Roger remarked to his cousin, as they stood just outside the camp that evening, looking upward at the lofty heights that shut out the sinking sun.
“We have never seen anything like them before,” admitted Dick, “and I don’t believe there are mountains back in Old Virginia, that our fathers talk about so much, that can hold a candle to these rocky heights.”
“I know for one I’ll be glad when we’ve crossed the backbone of the ridge, and can see the sun in the late afternoon again,” Roger went on to say. “And after that we have the deserts to cross, if those Indian tales turn out to be true.”
“I feel more anxious about that stage of our journey than I do over the dangers we may encounter in crossing the mountains,” admitted Dick. “They say men and horses die of thirst on those burning sands. I heard Captain Lewis explaining how we would make skin bags in order to carry an extra supply of water with us when we strike the sandy wastes.”
So the talk, as was quite natural, was mostly of the possible terrors of the journey ahead of them. Their imagination was given full swing to picture many of the strange things mentioned by the roving Indians, though in some cases these stories turned out to be untrue.
When men had gazed upon such remarkable wonders as the spouting hot water geysers of the Yellowstone, they could be easily pardoned for believing almost anything they heard. This vast country had never been explored, and it seemed to be a veritable storehouse of strange things. (Note 7.)
The eventful morning came, and seemed to be favorable for beginning the ascent of the trail leading over the mountains by way of the pass. Indian tribes had doubtless made it in crossing from one part of the country to another. Wild animals, such as the vast herds of buffaloes, also had occasion to cross the divide according to the stages of the weather, and their hoofs had helped to make the overland trail.
It was a crisp morning in early September. In that high altitude the air seemed wonderfully refreshing, and every one felt capable of the task that now engaged their attention.
The Indian guide assured them that they need have no apprehensions regarding the passage of the mountains, for he would lead them across as his people had come on many an occasion.
By the time noon came they had mounted far enough to have a splendid view of the plateau over which their journey for the last few days had been made. It was well worth seeing, and many times did the travelers glance backward over that extended vista, with longing thoughts concerning the loved ones who, far away toward the east, awaited word of their homecoming.
Roger had not forgotten what he had heard about those strange sheep of the mountains, with their great curved horns. He was very eager to discover whether the tales the Indians told could be true or not, and many a look did he bend on the crags above them in hope of discovering a herd of the bighorns.
It was about the middle of the afternoon, and in company with Dick he was riding at some little distance ahead of the main company, when Roger actually discovered the object he sought.
“Oh, look, Dick! Tell me! is that one of those sheep of the mountains up there on that little patch of grass? There! you can see him move. He sees us, but believes himself so secure that he doesn’t bother to run away.”
“It must be what you say, Roger, for I can see the horns they told us about, which curve backward from his head. There, another has come around that spur of rock. I think there must be a small flock of them up there.”
“But just look at the horns on that buck, Dick; how I would like to be able to get that pair to carry back with me.”
“I’m afraid you’d find it a hard job to get within shooting distance of them,” Dick observed, “for you can see that they seem to be on a little shelf where that grass grows, and from here I can discover no way of reaching it, except to jump a chasm.”
“Still, there must be some connection above us, Dick, and I’ve got a good notion to try it, if only you’ll take charge of my horse.”
“Well, I can plainly see you will never be happy until you have made your attempt,” Dick told him, “and so I suppose I’ll have to do as you ask. But promise me to be careful where you trust yourself, Roger. Remember, that you are no mountain goat, and that a fall from such a height would mean your finish.”
“Oh! I promise you to be as cautious as though my name were Dick instead of Roger. All I want to find out is whether I can get to a place where my gun will send a bullet fair and square. The moose fell to you, Dick, and I think I ought to have my chance at these wonderful jumpers of the mountains.”
“While you’re gone, Roger, I can stop here and watch what happens. If you do shoot, and frighten the herd, it may be I can see them do some of those wonderful things we’ve heard about, and not half believed. But watch your steps, Roger.”
Eager to discover if there was any way for him to get a shot at the feeding sheep, Roger hastened away. The last Dick saw of him, he was climbing the side of the mountain, stooping over as he went so that he might not be seen by the game he intended to stalk.
For some reason the party had halted below, and did not come along when Dick expected them. This might be fortunate for Roger, since it would keep the sheep from being startled by the appearance of numerous mounted men.
Watching the feeding animals, Dick could now count five in all. The one with the largest horns he imagined to be the patriarch of the flock; and he could easily guess that, if Roger found a chance to shoot, his eyes would fasten upon this prize beast, for the amazing curved horns had evidently fascinated the young hunter.
As time crept past Dick wondered how his cousin was progressing. Surely, by now, he must have been able to get within easy range of the unsuspicious sheep, and could pick out his quarry, if he really meant to shoot. A good deal would depend on whether Roger believed he could retrieve his game in case he shot it. If the poor beast had to lie on the little, grass-covered, slanting plateau Dick did not believe his chum would waste a load, merely for the sake of killing.
Once or twice he could see the owner of those massive horns raise his head and sniff the air suspiciously. He even ran a few steps, as though tempted to give the note of alarm that would send them all plunging downward from the exposed point of pasturage; but, on second thought, resisted the temptation.
It may have been sheer pride in his ability to shield his flock from all harm that caused the buck to refrain from flight. Undoubtedly he felt secure upon that plateau, and, even should any peril suddenly threaten, no animal dared follow where he and his family could plunge headlong.
It cost him dearly to indulge in any such proud boast. The two-legged creature that was crawling up the face of the rocks possessed a reach far in excess of any mountain lion or panther that ever tried to make a meal of a tender ewe—that stick he carried could bridge a chasm when it spat out flame and smoke, and carry death in its wake.
Dick was getting impatient for something to happen. If Roger had learned that it was useless for him to try to get a shot, he should be coming back by now, and not taking any chances.
Just then there came the report of a rifle. The echoes were flung back and forth among the spurs of the mountains in a weird manner, but Dick paid no attention to this fact, being too busy watching what took place up on that elevated plateau.
He saw the patriarch of the flock give a leap into the air, and then fall over, roll several times, and finally vanish from sight, possibly falling into some crevice that was not visible to Dick’s eyes.
But an even more remarkable thing was happening than the death of the guardian of the flock. The remainder of the sheep showed symptoms of alarm. A veritable panic seemed to have struck them, as, rushing pell mell down the slope, they, one after another, sprang boldly out into space.
Holding his very breath with awe, Dick saw them strike upon their horns on the rocks below, and, apparently uninjured, continue their headlong flight. Then, after all, the amazing stories they had heard from the Indians were true. Dick felt well repaid for having stood so long, holding the horses and watching.
He believed he had heard Roger’s shrill cry of triumph, though he saw nothing of his chum, look as he might.
When a little time had passed Dick began to grow somewhat anxious. He wondered if any harm could have come to Roger, or was the other trying to get to the fallen sheep that had slipped into a crevice among the rocks?
Finally Dick could stand it no longer. He decided to secure the two horses somewhere and follow the route Roger had taken. Once up above, he ought to be able to get some news of the missing one.
He was soon climbing up the face of the rocky mountain. It was no easy task, and that Roger had accomplished it without alarming the quarry was greatly to his credit. Still, there was no sign of him whom Dick wanted to see.
Dick, with the eye of a born hunter, found it easy to figure out just how Roger had proceeded. He did this by putting himself in the place of the other, and arranging his own plan of campaign.
Now and then he came across signs that told him he was on the right track. Once it was a bruised weed, which Roger must have crushed under his foot; then again it would turn out to be a piece of loose stone that he could see had only recently been cast adrift from its former anchorage.
Little things like this, that might pass unnoticed by any one not a woodsman, were to this pioneer boy as the printed words on a page to one who attends school. They told him the story just as positively as though with his own eyes he saw Roger creeping along over that very spot, taking advantage of this protruding knob to place his foot upon it, and using that stubby bush to draw himself up to some new hold above.
By degrees Dick pushed on. He knew he must be getting very close to where the other had been when he fired the fatal shot, and still he saw no signs of Roger.
When he finally arrived at a place where further progress was impossible, without disclosing himself to the eyes of the sheep, provided they still grazed there on the grassy slope beyond, Dick knew he had reached the spot where his chum must have lain as he took careful aim and pressed the trigger.
Then afterwards he must have pressed on, seeking to reach the bighorn, fallen into the crevice.
Dick crept on.
He was beginning to feel a strange sense of impending evil. He feared that something terrible had happened to Roger, and the possibility of losing the chum whom he loved so well was enough to frighten him.
A minute later he came upon the gun. It had been carefully laid aside, he could see, which, at least, was evidence that up to then Roger had not found himself in any difficulty.
Looking beyond, Dick shuddered, for he had glimpsed what appeared to be a terrible gulf, at the end of the slope down which Roger must have made his way. If he had in some manner lost his footing, and taken that plunge, there was almost a certainty that it was all over with him.
When Dick discovered from the signs that some one had been scrambling wildly over that smooth rock his heart misgave him; and it was with a great fear that he carefully pressed on until he reached the brink of the chasm.
No sooner had Dick gained this point than he gave a whoop. It was a sound that Roger would recognize if he were living, and capable of giving back any sort of reply.
Dick’s heart seemed to cease beating for the moment, such was the agony of suspense that gripped his whole being. Then, when he caught a return whoop, he knew his chum was at least alive.
“Where are you, Roger?” he called, unable to see anything of the boy, although a little way down the sheer slope he caught sight of the dead sheep, just where it had fallen, after slipping over the edge of the opposite grassy plateau.
“Down below here, making my way to the game,” came the reassuring answer.
“Are you badly hurt?” demanded Dick.
“Nothing that counts for much; and I’m bound to get my sheep, now I’m in the hole. You can’t really blame me, Dick.”
“Never mind about that now,” the one above told him; “but do you know how you are ever going to get up out of that place again?”
“There’s only one way that I can see, Dick—you must go back, and, when the men come along, borrow that rope Jasper Williams always carries with him. Perhaps he will come back with you, and help drag me up—after I’ve saved the horns.”
Knowing how determined Roger could be, once he had set his mind on a thing, Dick did not attempt to argue with him, though he believed the other was taking advantage of his position.
“Now I can see you, Roger, and, by the way you are advancing along the bottom of the crevice, I reckon you must be all right. Yes, I will go back and get the rope. Perhaps some of the men may want to try mutton for their supper to-night, and, if so, they can haul the carcass of your sheep up out of the hole.”
“I’ll try to be ready for you when you come back,” called Roger, waving his hunting-knife toward his chum; for by that time he had reached the spot where his quarry lay, and was evidently in a big hurry to set to work upon the pair of wonderful, massive horns.
Dick went back over the rocky trail until he reached the pass, where he found the two horses just as he had left them. Voices close at hand gave the welcome news that the other members of the exploring party were approaching; and, even as he looked, the foremost came in sight around a bend in the pass.
The men were greatly interested when they learned that Roger had actually shot a specimen of the mountain sheep of which they had heard the Indians talk. There was no lack of willing recruits when Dick once more climbed the bank, and started toward the place where he had left his chum.
Jasper Williams was one of the three men who insisted on accompanying Dick, and of course he carried with him the long, tough rope which had more than once on the journey proved to be worth its weight in silver, as for instance, when it came to hauling the batteaux up some rapids in the river.
When they reached the abrupt slope, down which Roger had managed to slip, one of the men came very near doing the same thing. Only for the timely assistance given by Jasper Williams, they might have had two comrades to haul up from the depths; and the man, being heavier, might not have escaped so luckily as the boy.
Roger had worked fast, and succeeded in cutting loose the curving horns that had given the old ram such a majestic appearance. He insisted on sending these up the first time the rope came down. Then, at the suggestion of Williams, he next attached the carcass of the sheep, which was also safely hauled up.
Last of all Roger himself came up. He had some minor bruises as the result of his fall, but he bravely stood the pain, and was proud of his recent feat.
Great was the wonder and admiration of Captain Lewis and Captain Clark when they set eyes on their first Rocky Mountain sheep. It was extremely doubtful if any white man had, up to that time, ever beheld a specimen of the genus. They could hardly blame Roger for wanting to carry the weighty horns along with him, though doubting the wisdom of such a course.
Dick, after considerable argument, finally convinced his cousin that it would be very foolish to burden his horse after that fashion, when, in crossing those desert lands, they had heard so much about, he would be compelled to carry a supply of water.
“The captain assures me the chances are three to one we will come back by this same pass over the mountains, and why not cache the horns somewhere? Nothing is apt to hurt them, and, once on the way toward the river, it will be easy to carry them with you. Then, when we again get aboard the boats, your troubles will be over.”
Roger was not altogether unreasonable. This sort of logic convinced him that most of the others in the party would consider him foolish if he persisted.
In the end the horns were placed securely in a niche in the rocks where they were not likely to be disturbed by any prowling wild beast. The spot was marked so it could be easily found again; and after this had been done Roger felt relieved.
When they came to cook some of the sheep and test its worth as food no one was wildly enthusiastic over it. In fact they pronounced it tough; though admitting that a young specimen might prove altogether different.
Roger was even instructed to remember this in case he ever had another opportunity to procure fresh mutton; and, having already secured the desired horns, he readily promised to keep the advice in mind.
It happened, however, that another chance at the mountain sheep never came his way. In two more days the expedition had crossed the great divide, and found that, when the sun went down, they could see far away toward a level horizon.
Remembering all the dismal tales related by the superstitious Indians of sandy wastes where only a sparse vegetation grew, the men began to feel a new anxiety. Just how far away the goal they were seeking still lay not even the astute leader, Captain Lewis, could more than guess. It might be a hundred miles, and perhaps many times that; for they had by this time reached a point where they had nothing to depend on, save the vague stories told by wandering Indians whom they happened to meet.
Some of these, however, mentioned a great body of salty water, the end of which no human eye could reach, as lying far beyond the hot deserts. There were also rivers spoken of, where the great fish swarmed in countless millions, like the stars in the Milky Way overhead, or the sands on the shore of the “Big Water.”
Roger hugged these stories to his heart. He fancied that, once they struck that river of the mighty game fish, he would be in his glory; for, if there was one thing above all others Roger loved to do, it was to fish.
The time finally came when they found themselves on the verge of the desert of which they had heard so much. There could be no such thing done as pass around the sandy waste, and their only course was to head straight into the setting sun.
At the time they had with them an Indian whom Captain Lewis had succored on the way. The fellow had fallen and injured his leg so that he walked with the greatest difficulty, limping badly. He had lost his bow, and being unable to provide himself with food, and far from his home, he stood a good chance of starving to death.
They had fed him and looked after his injuries. The Indian professed to be very grateful for such help, and for several days had clung to the expedition, though able by then to walk fairly well.
He had assured them, through signs mostly, that he could serve them as guide across the hot waste of sand, as he had himself crossed it on many occasions. Captain Lewis considered this a fair return for what he had done. Dick, however, did not altogether like the Indian’s looks. He thought he had a crafty way of watching everything, and that his admiration for some of the horses might lead him to attempting a theft, unless he were diligently watched.
Still, since the captain seemed to trust him, Dick did not think it was his duty to say anything. It might look as though he were inclined to be bold. At the same time, he made up his mind that, whenever it was possible, he would keep an eye on the red man.
That night they filled with water the skin bags they had by degrees provided for the purpose. A spring that gurgled close by the camp gave them an unlimited supply of the necessary fluid; and they were warned by the guide that it would be the last waterhole they would expect to come across for many days.
In the morning the start was made, not without misgivings. No one could say what terrible things lay before them, and the men cast wistful glances back toward that cooling spring, as though they disliked to say good-by to it.
That day was one which served to give them a new experience, for, up to then, few of the explorers had ever known what it was to travel over a sandy waste where the sun beat down with blistering effect, and the air seemed fairly to quiver with the heat.
No living thing had they seen all day long, save perhaps a skulking small animal, which the men at first thought to be a dog, though it must have been a coyote; a few sage hens; and some gophers, that burrowed in holes in the ground, from the entrances of which they timidly watched the horses file slowly past.
In every direction lay cacti of various species and heights, while thorny plants belonging to the same family, and bearing a small pear-like fruit which the Indian told them was edible, lay upon the ground.
They were glad when night came with its refreshing air. The camp was made in the open desert, for there was not a tree of any size in sight. And it seemed to the boys that, when the sun went down that evening, it was several times as large as usual, as well as fiery red. It beckoned them on just as before, since they knew well that somewhere, beyond the desert, the sun must be setting behind the vast ocean which they all aspired to see.
Another like day followed, and all of them began to suffer more or less on account of the heat, and the sand glare, which affected their eyes. On account of this, it was suggested that hereafter they rest during the hottest part of each day, and continue their journey as far into the night as the horses could stand it.
They seemed to be thirsty most of the time, and the horses, too, needed many a refreshing drink in order to continue their labors. More than one uneasy glance was cast toward the supply of the precious fluid. If the skin sacks should spring a leak the wanderers must face a desperate condition, indeed.
So they settled down for the second night upon the open desert. Each day would be very much like another, unless they were unfortunate enough to experience one of those dreaded sand storms they had heard about, the terrors of which they could now easily imagine.
The guide, however, had spoken cheering words in his own tongue, and, by holding up two fingers of his hand, gave them to understand they were by this time half-way across the desert. If they could stand this for two more days there was hope that the worst would be over.
All of them were very tired after that long day’s traveling, and, since no danger could come upon them out on the arid waste, sentries were dispensed with. Dick sat up longer than the rest, thinking he ought to keep an eye on the dusky guide; but the Indian appeared to be soundly sleeping, and weariness finally compelled the boy to succumb.
The morning came and brought with it a very disagreeable surprise. At some time during the night the sorely tempted Indian guide, forgetting his obligations to Captain Lewis, had taken an extra horse they had along and started on the back trail; not only that, but he had also carried off considerable of their supply of water, leaving the adventurers face to face with a terrible calamity.