The boys need not have been uneasy about water, for as they advanced to
the main range every ravine was the bed of a foaming torrent, and there
were no more dry camps. The trail crossed the streams by bridges of
curious construction. Sometimes the bridge spanned a gorge high above
the stream, and sometimes it was thrown across from banks that were
near the water.
To build the bridges logs were projected a few feet from one side,
being held in place by an abutment of rocks which was built about them
and in which they were bedded. Above those logs were laid other longer
ones which projected a few feet farther, and were lashed to the lower
ones by leather thongs, secured at the inner end by the rock abutment.
That was repeated until from each side extended a span so far out that
finally the intervening space could be covered by a length of poles.
Then a hand-rail was placed along each side, and the result was a rude
but stable and safe suspension bridge.
The bridges were a never-failing source of interest and wonder to the
boys. Each one that they crossed seemed quite as remarkable as the
first one had appeared, and they always stopped to look in admiration.
Days afterward, in Batum, when they were describing their mountain
journey to an English-speaking Russian, they were told that in all
the mountain region the building of bridges was so difficult that the
destruction of one was punished by death.
Raymond shot another rabbit, which eked out their scanty stock of bread
and cheese for a couple of days. Then, as the food was almost gone,
they decided they must stop at the first village they came to. That
they found situated high on a mountain-side. Though they had sighted
the houses early in the afternoon, the climb up to them was so steep
and so long that night was closing in when they arrived.
That village, like the one from which they had escaped, was built in
terraces on a mountain slope, but it was much steeper, even, than the
first village. The road went up in front of the lower tier of houses,
where were standing several men, who, apparently, had been watching the
boys’ approach.
Sidney selected the most important-looking of the group and tendered
him their passport, with an inquiry for accommodation for the night.
The man received the paper, examined it curiously, and then passed it
on to another near him. It went around the circle, and was the subject
of an animated conversation, coming back in the end to Sidney, with,
however, no intelligible comment.
“Can you tell us where we will find supper and lodging?” Sidney asked.
The man who had received the paper looked mystified and replied in
a tongue that sounded to the boys different from anything they had
previously heard: as indeed it was, for in the mountainous part of
Daghestan nearly every village has its own dialect, there being about
twenty different languages spoken in that area.
“It’s no use to talk to them, Sid,” said Raymond; “they won’t
understand a word you say.”
“I know they won’t, but I can’t just stand and stare at them. It’s
much easier to say something, even if they don’t understand.”
“We’ll have to use pantomine, the way Ramon used to with the
Tarahumaras. Let’s see what I can do.” And Raymond made the motion of
putting something into his mouth, at the same time working his jaws
vigorously.
The man laughed, as did all the others. The number present had been
increased by many who were curious to see the strangers, and laughter
and joking remarks extended through the crowd.
Raymond’s face grew very red. “They are easily amused,” he said
sarcastically, “but I’ll bet they understood what I meant.”
It was apparent that they did understand, for the man who had been
addressed beckoned to the boys to follow him, and proceeded to a
near-by house. As they were about to enter, something over the door
caught Raymond’s eye, and he stopped and stared incredulously.
“Goodness! Sid, look over the door!” he exclaimed.
On the lintel were tacked the bony skeletons of two human hands.
“That looks pretty gruesome,” said Sidney; “I wonder what it means.”
“I suppose it’s a pleasant reminder of some nice feud. We’d better not
show too much interest in it; they might not like that.”
The room that they entered had a floor that was earth mixed with
chopped straw packed down hard and smooth. It was quite dark, being
lighted only by the door and two small portholes of windows that had
neither sash nor glass. Supper, which consisted of a kettle of stewed
mutton, was just ready, and was placed on the floor in the center of
the room. The family gathered about the kettle, each person provided
with a sharp stick with which he fished out fragments of meat. They
also dipped pieces of black bread in the broth, and soaked them before
they were eaten. The boys were given sticks and helped themselves as
the others did, finding the stew extremely savory.
When supper was finished there was the sound of a fife outside, and the
family all got up and went out, followed by the boys. They found a
large gathering of people, with torches placed around on the buildings
for light. The fife was playing shrilly, and as a drum began to mark
time, a man stepped out into a space that had been left in the center.
Then a woman from another side joined him and they danced in a stately
fashion. The fife and the drum vied with each other in the noise they
made, and frequently, as the couple danced, there was a fusillade of
pistol shots, fired by the spectators.
Presently, when those dancers had become weary, they retired and their
places were taken by others, who danced in the same fashion, to the
same accompaniment of pistol shots added to the music of the fife and
drum. Besides the circle of people surrounding the dancers, many others
were perched on the flat-topped roofs of the near-by houses.
It was well into the night before the dancing ceased and the people
scattered to their homes. The boys went with their host, who indicated
some rugs on the floor where they might spread their beds. The rugs
were fine, silky, and delightfully soft.
“Gee! Sid,”--and Raymond stooped to examine the beautiful rug before
placing his blankets on it,--“if mother was here I’ll bet that rug
would go with her when she left, if she had to carry it herself.”
“She’d just go wild over them, Ray. They’re finer than anything she’s
got.”
“Heck! Sid, why can’t we buy one to take home to her?”
“I’m afraid it would be pretty heavy to pack, with the load we’ve
already got,” said Sidney doubtfully. “I’d just love to do it, though,
it would please her so.”
“We haven’t got much of a load, Sid, and these rugs are not heavy,
they’re so fine and thin. And one would be as good as another blanket.
We ought to have more bedding, anyway, as we go higher up.”
“Well, we’ll see in the morning if we can strike a bargain with that
fellow. I’ve got to get to sleep now, I’m dead tired. I’m glad we don’t
have a dance every night.”
In the morning, when the boys had eaten and wished to depart, Sidney
took a piece of bread, and opening their knapsacks, showed that they
contained no food, at the same time holding the bread up inquiringly.
Their host understood at once that they wished to buy food, and brought
two or three loaves of black bread. Then Sidney held four rubles out on
his open hand, motioning toward their beds to indicate that he wished
to include that accommodation as well as the food. The man took two
rubles from the four, and bowed in assent.
There still remained the rug which the boys wished to buy, and Sidney
picked up the finer of the two pieces of carpet and held it up, saying,
“How much?”
The man considered for a few moments, and held a short consultation
with his wife, after which he extended his hands with the fingers all
open.
“He means ten rubles, Sid,” said Raymond. “That’s dirt cheap.”
“It certainly is, and I guess we’d better take it.” Whereupon Sidney
nodded in affirmation and took out his purse for the money. “I hope
I’ve got enough here without going down under my clothes.”
“If you haven’t, I have a few rubles in my purse.”
“Yes, I have exactly ten rubles. When we’re out on the trail, Ray, you
must remind me to take some more money from my secret stock.”
“Now I’ll take your cloak, Sid,” said Raymond, “and carry it with my
cloak and blanket. Then you take the rug with your blanket, and that
will be about even. Gee! won’t mother be pleased with that rug! And you
certainly are a peach, Sid, with sign language.”
“I feel silly as can be when I try to talk without saying anything. I
wish we were in Mexico, or some other place where we could use Spanish.”
When the boys started out they were obliged to drop down to the
bottom of the cañon again to pick up the trail. Then began the really
difficult part of their mountain journey. For several days they climbed
steep slopes by endless zigzags, or trod the edges of dizzy precipices.
The cañons were deep, dark, and narrow, and occurred one right after
another, with no intervening level ground. The boys were always either
straining forward to toil up a precipitous ascent, or holding back to
keep from pitching down another. And always when they opened their bed
under some sheltering rock they were at a higher elevation than on
the previous night. That meant, as a general thing, that each camp was
colder than the preceding one.
The camps soon became very cold indeed, and the boys were obliged each
night to seek a spot that was protected from the biting winds that
raced and surged from the crests above. As soon as the sun was gone,
the cold air descended from the summits to take the place of the layers
that rose from the rocks which had been warmed during the day.
The lower portions of the range had been destitute of trees, but
between that section and the heights that were above the timber line
was a zone where a little timber grew. When the boys reached that belt
they also ran into clouds and drizzling mists.
One day the weather had been threatening and damp, but not actually
raining. Toward night, however, the clouds thickened and descended in
genuine rain. The boys saw that they would soon be soaked through,
their beds as well as their clothes. That would mean a night of misery,
so they hunted for a spot that was sheltered from the storm. Fortune
smiled on them, for almost immediately Sidney, who had gone a little to
one side of the trail to examine a ledge of rocks for possible shelter,
called out to his brother,--
“Here’s a dandy place, Ray.”
In the face of the ledge was a narrow fissure which was just wide
enough, with some squeezing, to admit the boys. Once inside, however,
the opening proved to be a good-sized cave. The ceiling was high enough
for the boys to stand upright, and there was plenty of room for them
to spread their beds comfortably. Moreover, it was absolutely dry, and
there was a thick coating of fine soil on the floor which would make a
soft bed.
“This is swell, Sid,” exclaimed Raymond, when they were inside.
“Jiminy! it’s good to be out of the rain. Just see how it’s coming down
now.”
“Yes,” replied Sidney, “it’s raining so hard that we shan’t be able to
get any wood for a fire.”
“Oh, well, it’s warm in here, and we have nothing to cook anyway.
I think there’s a little meat left, and there’s always that horrid
bread.”
Raymond had succeeded in keeping them supplied with small game. The day
before he had shot two fine grouse, and there was still some of that
meat. The boys ate their cold supper and spread their beds before it
became dark, then sat in the gloom talking. Night fell rapidly, and
with the heavy downpour of rain it soon became very dark. The boys were
just about to roll up in their blankets for the night when they heard
strange noises outside. There was a low, muttered grumbling, mingled
with a strange whimpering.
The boys sat breathless, listening intently. At first they thought it
must be some large animal, though they had seen no animals larger than
rabbits. In a moment, however, the voice whimpered complainingly, and
the boys thought it was surely a person in distress. The storm was
turning colder, and the rain and sleet were coming down in such volumes
that any one caught in it, perhaps insufficiently clothed, would suffer
greatly.
Raymond was about to step to the opening and call out that there was
shelter near, when the whimpering ceased and the growling began
again, in a heavier, gruffer tone than at first. It was plain that it
could not be a human being that made such noises, and it seemed to the
frightened boys that it must be a very large animal.
“What can it be, Sid?” whispered Raymond.
“I don’t know, unless it’s a wolf. We’ve read of the terrible Russian
wolves.”
“The animal that’s growling like that is bigger than a wolf,” declared
Raymond.
“Then I hope it’s so big that it can’t squeeze in here.”
The growling and muttering continued, and steadily drew nearer. The
boys sat shivering. The cave had grown much colder, they thought, and
their teeth chattered. Suddenly the noises ceased and there was a
dreadful silence. The rain was still pouring outside, with a steady
roar on the rocks, but the boys did not notice that, and it seemed to
them that all sounds had stopped.
Silently the two sat in suspense, wondering what would happen, whether
they would suddenly be conscious of an animal in the cave with them.
Then they reflected that the entrance was so small that no large
animal could pass through, at least not quickly.
They were gazing intently toward the opening, though the darkness was
so dense that not even its outline could be distinguished. As they sat,
rigid, they realized with a shock that they were looking at two small
balls of fire which must be just outside the opening. The fiery globes
remained stationary, and colder shivers ran along the boys’ spines.