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THE
YOUNG ALASKANS
IN THE ROCKIES
BY
EMERSON HOUGH
ILLUSTRATED
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MCMXIII
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY HARPER & BROTHERS
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER, 1913
[Illustration: A TRAPPER'S SHACK, STANDING AT THE EDGE OF THE
BEAUTIFUL MOUNTAIN LAKE WHICH LAY GREEN AND MIRROR-LIKE, SURROUNDED ON
ALL SIDES BY GREAT MOUNTAIN WALLS]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. ROB, JOHN, AND JESSE IN CAMP 9
II. AT THE FIRESIDE 18
III. HITTING THE TRAIL 28
IV. WESTWARD HO 48
V. HIGHER THAN THE ROCKIES 54
VI. THE ATHABASCA AT LAST 63
VII. CROSSING THE ATHABASCA 68
VII. IN HIGH ALTITUDES 78
IX. THE HEART OF THE MOUNTAINS 85
X. RAINBOW LAKE 91
XI. THE PASS 102
XII. THE WILDERNESS 116
XIII. AFTER THE WHITE GOATS 126
XIV. DOWN THE FRASER 144
XV. THE GREAT MOUNTAIN 156
XVI. AT THE TETE JAUNE CACHE 162
XVII. LEO THE GRIZZLY-HUNTER 172
XVIII. SOUTHWARD BOUND 180
XIX. ON THE CANOE RIVER 186
XX. CARIBOU IN CAMP 192
XXI. THE FIRST BEAR CAMP 198
XXII. THE YOUNG GRIZZLY-HUNTERS 215
XXIII. ONWARD BOUND 241
XXIV. THE BOAT ENCAMPMENT 247
XXV. HISTORY ON THE GROUND 263
XXVI. DOWN THE COLUMBIA 276
XXVII. ON THE RAPIDS 283
XXVIII. IN SIGHT OF SAFETY 295
XXIX. STORIES OF THE COLUMBIA 303
XXX. THE END OF THE TRAIL 315
ILLUSTRATIONS
A TRAPPER'S SHACK, STANDING AT THE EDGE OF THE
BEAUTIFUL MOUNTAIN LAKE WHICH LAY GREEN
AND MIRROR-LIKE, SURROUNDED ON ALL SIDES
BY GREAT MOUNTAIN WALLS _Frontispiece_
ROB'S GOAT _Facing p._ 138
APPROACHING THE GRAND CANYON ON THE FRASER
RIVER " 146
TOWERING ABOVE ALL AND DWARFING ALL RIVALRY
THERE STOOD BEFORE THEM ONE GREAT, NOBLE
WHITE-TOPPED PEAK--MT. ROBSON " 158
THE BIG BEND OF THE COLUMBIA RIVER " 248
THE COLUMBIA RIVER, ABOVE THE BOAT ENCAMPMENT " 252
ON THE COLUMBIA RIVER " 300
REVELSTOKE CANYON " 320
YOUNG ALASKANS IN THE ROCKIES
I
ROB, JOHN, AND JESSE IN CAMP
"Well, here we are, fellows," said Jesse Wilcox, as he threw down an
armful of wood at the side of the camp-fire. "For my part, I believe
this is going to be about the best trip we ever had."
"That's what I was telling Rob to-day," said John Hardy, setting down
a pail of water near by. "But I hope I won't have to carry water up a
bank a hundred feet high every night."
"We are not as far north this time as we were last summer," said
Jesse, "but the country looks something the same."
"Yes," replied John, "but last year we were going east and farther
away from home every day. Now we're going west to the Rockies and
across them, getting closer to home all the time."
Rob McIntyre, the oldest of our friends who had made so many trips
together in the wilderness, sat silent, as was often his custom,
smiling out of his frank blue eyes at his companions.
"What do you think about it, Rob?" asked Jesse.
"I agree with you, Jess," replied Rob. "I've always wanted to get into
this part of the Rocky Mountains. The Yellowhead Pass, over yonder, is
the place I've always wanted to see. It's an old pass across the
Rockies, but no one seems to know much about it."
"Besides," went on Jesse, "we ought to get plenty of game and good
fishing."
"Surely we will, for this is a country that no one visits, although we
are now on the trail of the old fur-traders who came here often enough
more than a hundred years ago. On the high ridges in here you can see
the old trail cut down a foot deep. And it was made in part by the
feet of men, more than a hundred years ago."
"Besides," added John, "we can see where the engineers have gone ahead
of us."
"Yes," said Rob, "they've pretty much followed the trail of the old
fur-traders."
"Didn't they come by water a good way up here?" asked John.
Rob answered by pulling out of his pocket a long piece of heavy paper,
a map which they three had worked over many days, laying out for
themselves in advance the best they knew how the route which they were
to follow and the distances between the main points of interest. "Now,
look here," said he, "and you'll see that for once we are at a place
where the old voyageurs had to leave their boats and take to the land.
We're going to cross the Rockies at the head of the Athabasca River,
but you see it runs away northeast from its source at first, at least
one hundred miles north of Edmonton. That used to be called Fort
Augustus in the old days, and the voyageurs went all the way up there
from Montreal by canoe. Sometimes they followed the Saskatchewan from
there. That brought them into the Rockies away south of here. They
went over the Kootenai Plains there, and over the Howse Pass, which
you know is between here and Banff."
"I know," said Jesse, eagerly. "Uncle Dick told us they used to go
down the Blaeberry Creek to the Columbia River."
"Exactly; and there was a way they could go near the Wood River to the
Columbia River. For instance, here on the map is a place near the head
of the Big Bend of the Columbia. That's the old Boat Encampment, of
which the old histories tell so much."
"You don't suppose we'll ever get there?" said John, doubtfully. "It
looks a long ways off from here."
"Of course we will," said Rob, firmly. "When we've pushed up to the
head of the Athabasca River and gone over the Yellowhead Pass it will
all be downhill. We'll go fast when we hit the rivers running south.
And we'll come in but a little way from the Boat Encampment, which was
a rendezvous for all the old traders who crossed by the Saskatchewan
trail below us. But, you see, we'll be taking a new way; and I agree
with Jess that it will be about the best trip we ever had."
"Those old fur-traders were great fellows to travel, weren't they?"
said Jesse, looking curiously at the deep-worn, ancient trail which
ran close by their camp.
"Yes," said Rob, "they weren't afraid of anything. When they got to
Fort Augustus they had three choices of routes west over the Rockies.
They could go away north to the Peace River--old Sir Alexander
McKenzie's trail, which we followed last summer; or they could go up
the Saskatchewan the way David Thompson used to go to the Columbia
River; or they could strike west by cart or pack-horse from Fort
Augustus and cross this rolling country until they struck the
Athabasca, and then follow up that to the Yellowhead Pass. I shouldn't
wonder if old Jasper Hawse was one of the first trail-makers in here.
But, as I was saying, those who came this route had to leave their
boats at Edmonton. Here at Wolf Creek we are about one hundred and
thirty miles west of there. For a long while they used to have a good
wagon trail as far as Saint Anne, and, as you know, it has been pretty
much like a road all the way out here."
"I like the narrow trail best," said John; "one made by feet and not
wheels."
"Yes," went on Rob, "perhaps that's why we're so anxious to get on
with this trip. The water does not leave any mark when you travel on
it, but here is the trail of the old traders worn deep into the soil.
A fellow can almost see them walking or riding along here, with their
long rifles and their buckskin clothes."
"That's what I like about these trips Uncle Dick lays out sometimes,"
said Jesse. "A fellow sort of has to read about the country and the
men who found it first."
"Yes," John assented, "reading about these old places makes you begin
to see that there is quite a world besides the part of the world where
we were born. It seems as though these old fellows in the past weren't
making these trails just for themselves."
"Pshaw! I'll bet they just wanted furs, that was all," ventured Jesse.
"But, anyhow, they found the paths, all right."
"The Indians found the paths ahead of the traders," said Rob. "I fancy
the white men did not have such hard times learning which way to go.
The Indians must have worked backward and forward across almost every
pass in the mountains before the white men came. It makes me feel
kind of strange to be here, just where the great-grandfathers of
white people used to travel, and then to think that before their
grandfathers were born this country was all old to the red men, who
held it long before the white men came."
"Well," said John, who was of a practical turn of mind, "it's starting
in pretty well. We've got some whitefish left that we caught at Lake
Waubamun, and the grouse which we killed this afternoon will make up a
good supper. I s'pose if we were the first to cross over we might have
got antelope in here, or, anyhow, deer."
"I'm glad Uncle Dick is going along," said Jesse. "He went over with
the first engineer party, so he knows about all the bad places. We
certainly had muskeg enough yesterday and the day before. If it's any
worse ahead than it is behind it's going to be pretty tough."
"Look yonder, fellows!" said Rob, suddenly rising and pointing to the
westward.
They followed his gesture and for a moment stood silent with him.
"It's the Rockies!" said they, almost in unison.
The clouds had now broken away late in the afternoon, and for the
first time they could see across the wide expanse of forest lands
which stretched unbroken to the northward and westward, the low white
line of the great backbone of the continent--the Rockies, land of
mystery and adventure for bold souls since history began in this part
of our continent. The boys stood silent for quite a while, absorbed in
the vision of the distant hills and the thoughts which the sight
awakened in their hearts.
"I'd like to take the trail again to-night," said Rob, as though to
himself. "I can hardly wait."
"They're fine little old hills, aren't they?" said John. "I wish we
could go farther toward them, every day. I want to get over to where
the water starts west."
"Yes," added Jesse, "and see where old Yellowhead himself made his
camp a hundred years ago."
"Well, Jess," said John, "you can go as Yellowhead, Junior, maybe,
because your hair is sort of red, anyway. But I wonder where Uncle
Dick and Moise have got to; they ought to be in by now, with the extra
horses from the village."
"Trust Moise to be in on time for supper," said Rob. "Come on and
let's get the rest of the wood for to-night."
They turned now toward the tasks of the camp, work with which they
were familiar, Jesse carrying some more wood, and John, whose turn it
was to bring in the water, starting once more down the steep slope to
the little creek which lay below them. Rob, who had completed his
portion of the camp labor, still stood silent, apparently forgetful of
all about him, staring steadily at the low broken line of white which
marked the summit of the Rockies and the head of the great Athabasca
River which lay on beyond to the westward.
II
AT THE FIRESIDE
"Well, well, young men!" broke out a hearty voice, not long after our
young friends had completed their evening's work and were seated near
the fire. "How are you getting on? Are the mosquitoes pretty bad?"
"Hello, Uncle Dick!" answered John. "We thought it was about time for
you to be coming up."
"And about mosquitoes," answered Jesse, brushing at his face, "I
should say they were pretty bad for early spring."
"Well, I'm glad to be in for the day," remarked the tall, lean-looking
man they all called Uncle Dick--the friend to whom they owed so many
pleasant and adventurous journeys in out-of-the-way parts of the
country. He was dressed as the men of the engineers usually were in
the rough preliminary survey work. He wore a wide white hat, flannel
shirt, loose woolen clothing, and high laced boots. His face was
burned brown with the suns of many lands, but his blue eyes twinkled
with a kindly light, which explained why all of these boys were so
fond of him.
"Where's Moise?" asked Rob, after a time, assisting Uncle Dick at
unsaddling his riding-pony.
"Just back on the trail a way," replied the older member of the party.
"Stuck in the mud. Considerable muskeg in here, believe me."
Presently they could hear the voice of Moise, the remaining member of
their party, who was to go along as cook and assistant with the
pack-train. He was singing in a high voice some odd Indian tune, whose
words may have been French; for Moise Richard, as all our readers will
remember who followed the fortunes of our young adventurers in their
trip along the Peace River, was a French half-breed, and a man good
either with boats or horses.
"Hello, Moise!" cried the three companions, as he came into view,
driving ahead of him the remainder of the pack-train. They pronounced
his name as he did, "Mo-ees".
"Hello, young mans," exclaimed Moise, smiling as usual as he slipped
out of his saddle. "How was you all, hein? I'll bet you was glad to
see old Moise. You got hongree, what?"
"Certainly we are," replied John for all three. "We always are."
"That's the truth," laughed Uncle Dick. "Lucky we've got a couple of
pack-horses apiece, and lucky the engineers have got some supplies
cached over there in the Rockies."
"Well, some of those new horse, she was fool horse," said Moise.
"She'll want to go back on his home, or run off on the bush. She's
like any fool pack-horse, and don't want to do what he knows is right
worth a cent, him."
"Well, never mind," said Uncle Dick, carelessly. "I imagine our train
will be like all pack-trains, better when they get settled down to
work. It's always a lot of trouble until they get straightened around
and shaken down to the work."
"I'll goin' to put some bell on those old gray mare Betsy," said
Moise. "Maybe those fool horse will follow him, Betsy. All the time
six height hour, I've chase those fool horse where she'll break out
and eat grass. They make more trouble for Moise than all his eleven,
ten children up on Peace River."
"I don't believe your children are troubling you very much now,
Moise," said Uncle Dick.
"No, my hooman, she'll know how to herd those childrens," said Moise,
calmly. "S'pose those baby start out for eat grass, she'll told him,
no, not do that, and he'll learn pretty soon. Now if a little baby can
learn, why can't a three-year-old horse with white eye--I'm going to
talk to that fool yellow horse, me, before long."
"Well," said Uncle Dick, "we'll get all the packs off now and finish
the camp."
"Whoa, there!" called out Moise to the offending claybank cayuse which
had caused him most of his trouble that afternoon. "Hol' still now, or
Moise, she'll stick his foot in your eye."
But Uncle Dick only laughed at the threatening Moise, knowing that in
his heart he was kindly. Indeed, he smoothed down the warm back of the
cayuse with a gentle hand when he took off the pack. Soon all the
packs were in a row on the ground, not far from the fire, each with a
cover thrown over the saddle. Our three young companions helped put
hobbles on the fore-legs of the horses, and soon all the horse band,
twelve in number, were hopping away from the camp in search of grass
and water. They found the latter in a little slough a short distance
back on the trail, and did not attempt the steep descent to Wolf
Creek.
The three young friends assisted in unpacking the animal which carried
their tent and blankets. They had lashed on the cow-saddles of their
own riding-horses the little war-bags or kit-bags of soft leather in
which each boy carried his own toilet articles and little things for
personal use. Their rifles and rods they also slung on their
riding-saddles. Now, with the skill of long training, they put up
their own tent, and spread down their own blanket beds, on the edge of
which they placed their guns and rods, making pillows out of their
folded sweaters. Soon they were helping Moise with his cooking at the
fire and enjoying as usual their evening conversation with that
cheerful friend.
It did not take Moise, old-timer as he was, very long to get his
bannocks and tea ready, and to fry the whitefish and grouse which the
boys now brought to him.
Uncle Dick looked at his watch after a time. "Forty minutes," said he.
"For what?" demanded Jesse.
"Well, it took us forty minutes to get off the packs and hobble the
horses and get supper ready. That's too long--we ought to have it all
done and supper over in that time. We'll have to do better than this
when we get fully on the trail."
"What's the use in being in such a hurry?" demanded John, who was
watching the frying-pan very closely.
"It's always a good thing to get the camp work done quickly mornings
and evenings," replied the leader of the party. "We've got a long trip
ahead, and I'd like to average twenty-five miles a day for a while, if
I could. Maybe we'll have to content ourselves with fifteen miles a
good many days. The best way is to get an early start and make a long
drive, and an early camp. Then get your packs off as early as you can,
and let your horses rest--that's always good doctrine."
"Well, one thing," said Jesse, "I hope the mosquitoes won't be any
worse than they are now."
"Well," Uncle Dick replied, "when we get higher up the nights will get
cool earlier, but we'll have mosquitoes all the way across, that's
pretty sure. But you fellows mustn't mind a thing like that. We've all
got our mosquito bars and tents, and very good ones too."
"No good for fight mosquito," said Moise, grinning. "He's too many."
"Oh, go on, Moise, they don't hurt you when they bite you," said John.
"Nor will they hurt you so badly after a time," Uncle Dick said to
him. "You get used to it--at least, to some extent. But there is
something in what Moise has told you--don't fight mosquitoes too hard,
so that you get excited and nervous over it. Don't slap hard enough to
kill a dog--just brush them off easy. Take your trouble as easy as you
can on trail--that's good advice. This isn't feather-bed work,
exactly; but then I don't call you boys tenderfeet, exactly, either.
Now go and finish the beds up for the night before it gets too dark."
Jesse crawled into the back part of the tent and fished out three
specially made nets, each of cheese-cloth sewed to a long strip of
canvas perhaps six feet long and two and one-half feet wide. At each
corner of this canvas a cord was sewed, so that it could be tied to a
tent-pole, or to a safety-pin stuck in the top of the tent. Then the
sides, which were long and full, could be tucked in at the edges of
the bed, so that no mosquitoes could get in. Each boy had his own net
for his own bed, so that, if he was careful in getting in under the
net, he would be pretty sure of sleeping free from the mosquitoes, no
matter how bad they were. Uncle Dick had a similar net for his own
little shelter-tent. As for Moise, he had a head-net and a ragged
piece of bar which he did not use half the time, thinking it rather
beneath him to pay too much attention to the small nuisances.
"You'll better go to bed pretty soon, young mans," said Moise,
speaking to his young friends after they had finished their supper.
"If those fly bite me, he'll got sick of eating so much smoke, him.
But those fly, he like to bite little boy." And he laughed heartily,
as he saw the young companions continually brushing at their faces.
Uncle Dick drew apart from the camp at the time and went out to the
edge of the bank, looking down at the water far below.
"You can bet that's a steep climb," commented John--"two hundred feet,
I should think. And I don't see how we'll get the horses down there in
the morning."
"At least one hundred and fifty feet," assented his uncle. "But I
reckon we can get across it somehow, if the engineers can get a
railroad and trains of cars over it--and that's what they're going to
do next year. But, as I have told you, never worry until the time
comes when you're on the trail. The troubles'll come along fast
enough, perhaps, without our hurrying them up any. Take things
easy--that's what gets engineers and horses and railroads across the
Rockies."
"How long before we get to the Rockies, Uncle Dick?" inquired John,
pointing to the west, where the clouds had now hidden the distant
range from view.
"All in due time, all in due time, my son," replied the engineer,
smiling down at him. "A good deal depends on how quickly we can make
and break camp, and how many miles we can get done each day through
muskeg and bush and over all sorts of trails and fords. For instance,
if we lost half our horses in Wolf Creek here to-morrow, we might have
to make quite a wait. But don't worry--just turn in before the
mosquitoes get you."
III
HITTING THE TRAIL
"Look on the tent, fellows!" exclaimed Jesse, the first thing next
morning, just as dawn was beginning to break. "It's almost solid
mosquitoes!"
"About a million," said John, sitting up in his blankets. "All of them
with cold feet, waiting for the sun to come up."
They were looking at the top of the tent, where in the folds of the
netting a great cloud of mosquitoes had gathered in the effort to get
through the cheese-cloth.
"Did any bite you in the night, Jesse?" asked Rob, from his bed.
"No, but I could hear them sing a good deal until I went to sleep."
"Well, come ahead; let's roll out," said Rob. "All those mosquitoes
will come to life when it gets warm."
They kicked off the blankets, slipped into their clothing, and soon
were out in the cool morning air. The spring night had been a dewy
one, and all the shrubs and grasses were very wet.
"Hello there, young mans!" they heard a voice exclaim, and saw Moise's
head thrust out from beneath his shelter. "You'll got up pretty early,
no?"
"Well, we've got to be moving early," said Rob. "Anyway, we beat Uncle
Dick up this morning."
"That's right," called out the voice of Uncle Dick, from his tent,
"but the quicker we get started the quicker we'll get over Wolf Creek.
Now you boys go over there where you hear the gray mare's bell and see
if you can round up all the pack-train. You'll learn before long that
half the campaign of a pack-train trip is hunting horses in the
morning. But they'll stick close where the pea-vine is thick as it is
here."
Our three young Alaskans were used to wet grass in the morning, and
after the first plunge, which wet them to the skin, they did not
mind the dew-covered herbage. Soon, shouting and running, they
were rounding up the hobbled pack-horses, which, with the usual
difficulty, they finally succeeded in driving up close to the camp,
where by this time Moise had his fire going. The wilder of the horses
they tied to trees near by, but some of the older ones stood unhitched
with heads drooping in the chill morning air, as though unhappy, but
resigned to their fate. Moise, as usual, rewarded old gray Betsy, the
bell-mare, with a lump of sugar as she passed by. The others, with the
strange instinct of pack-horses to follow a leader, grouped themselves
near to the old white mare. The boys put the blankets over the backs
of some of the horses while waiting for Moise to finish his breakfast.
"Grub pile!" sung out Moise, after a while; and soon, in the damp
morning air, with white mist hanging over the low land about them,
they were eating their morning meal.
"Tea for breakfast," said Rob, smiling. "Well, I suppose it's all
right up here, but in our country we mostly have coffee."
"We'd have it here if we could get it good," said Uncle Dick; "but,
you see, we're a good ways from home, and coffee doesn't keep as well
as tea on the trail, besides being much bulkier."
"Now," said Jesse, his mouth full of bacon, "as soon as I get done
breakfast I'm going to try that diamond hitch all over again. Moise
says the one I did yesterday slipped on him."
"That's happened to many a good packer," said Uncle Dick. "Sometimes a
pack gets snagged in the bush, or all sorts of other things may happen
to it. They tell me that a mule will look at two trees and not try to
go between them if it sees the pack won't squeeze through, but with
some of these northern cayuses I think they try to see how many times
they can crowd through between trees and scrape off their packs. But
finish your breakfast, young men, and eat plenty, because we're going
to have a long trip to-day."
After they had finished breakfast Rob led up the big roan Billy, which
always went next to the gray lead-mare with the mare, and on which
they usually packed their blankets and small tent. Billy stood quite
calmly, but with his head and ears depressed, as though feeling very
sad.
"Ready with those blanket packs now, boys," called Uncle Dick; and
soon they had them alongside, each bed rolled in its canvas covering.
"Now up with the saddle, Rob."
Rob threw the sawbuck pack-saddle on top of the padded blanket.
"Cinch tight--that's half in packing, to have the saddle firm."
And, following Uncle Dick's instruction, Rob made the cinch as tight
as he could.
"Now get on the off side," said Uncle Dick; "and Jesse, you watch us,
how we work. You can all help if you want to.
"Are your sling-ropes all ready, Rob?" he inquired next. "Of course,
you see, the sling-ropes simply act like baskets on each side the
pack-saddle. They only support, and don't make fast.
"Now then, up with your side packs into your sling-ropes--so--that's
all right. Then the top pack on over the saddle, fitting well between
the two side packs. Shake them all down so to fit tight together. Now
throw the canvas cover over the top, and see that nothing is where it
will get busted when you cinch up.
"There, now, that's all right as far as it goes. Next we come to the
one part of packing more important than anything else. It is the
hitch which holds everything together. We're going to throw the
diamond hitch now. Without that, folks couldn't have settled this
western country or built railroads over the Rockies, maybe."
"Who first invented the diamond hitch, Uncle Dick?" queried Rob.
"Nobody knows, but it's Spanish, that's sure, and not Canadian. It got
up this far north on both sides of the Rockies, brought by miners and
packers of all colors and nationalities. Originally it came from
Mexico, and it came there from Spain, and perhaps it came to Spain
from northern Africa--who knows?--along with the cow-horse itself."
"But they don't always throw it the same way."
"No, there are several different throws of the diamond hitch, all of
them good. The one I'll show you was showed me by an old _cargador_ in
California. Now watch carefully how it is done, for it is easier to
see it than to tell about it.
"Now, here we have the long rope which makes the hitch. Some packers
throw the loose end out over the back of the horse. We'll just let it
point the other way--leave it tied to the horse's neck if you want.
"At the other end of the rope is our cinch-band, and the cinch-hook at
the other end of the band or girth. It's made out of wood or horn
sometimes. Now, Rob, I am going to pass the belly-band under the
horse. Catch the hook when it comes through. Are you all right now?"
"Yes, I've got it," answered Rob.
"Very well--you're the off-side packer, for it takes two to pack a
horse. Now watch closely, all of you, at what comes next. You see Rob
has the hook in his hand and I have the rest of the rope in my hand.
Now I double the rope and throw it over the top of the pack to Rob,
and he hooks the bight of the doubled rope over the cinch-hook. Got
that all right now?"
"Yes, sir," said Rob, "I've got it hooked. That's easy so far."
"Well, now it isn't going to be quite so easy. I've known lots of
intelligent men who never could get this thing straight in their heads
at all. Now watch how I pull this doubled rope toward me across the
top of the pack. The long end, on the left, is free, and I tighten
the right-hand leg of the rope. Now, you see I pass the left-hand leg
under the right-hand in another long loop, or bight--this way, see.
Now I can enlarge that loop by pulling some of the free end of the
rope through, can't I? I leave it all loose, because we don't pull
things up until we get the whole hitch thrown and set.
"Now I pull my big loose loop out toward the rear of the pack on my
side. And I just twist the loop over, side for side, until you see it
bind or twist in the middle on top the pack. That's the important
thing. Now I run the right-hand side of my loop on the right-hand
lower corner of my side pack. Then I carry it under the bottom of the
side pack and around the lower corner in front. I just tighten it up a
little, as I do this.
"Now, Rob, it's your turn. You take hold of the free end of the rope
which I have tossed over to you. It runs from the twist on top of the
pack to your left-hand lower corner, and under your side pack and up
to me around your right-hand lower corner.
"Now you might say that your diamond is laid, and that you are ready
to cinch up. The ropes will bind first where they cross on top, and
tighten all the way back to the end of the cinch-hook on the off side.
When everything is made fast, the last end of the rope--which, by the
way, we will have to untie from our horse's neck--comes over, finishes
the diamond hitch, and is made fast at my cinch-ring on the near side.
We begin at the cinch-hook and finish at the cinch-ring, on the other
side.
"Now then, we begin to cinch. I begin when you call 'cinch!' That
means that you have put your foot into old Billy and pulled the first
leg of the rope up right in the cinch-hook. I gather up your slack and
I tighten it all the way around the corners of my pack and back over
the top. It is now up to you to cinch again, with your foot in the
pack, as I did here just a little. That tightens all the slack clear
to your corners. Now when your rope comes back to me for the last
tightening I haul it hard as I can and tie off at my cinch-ring. I use
a knot which I can jerk loose easily if I want to tighten or loosen
the pack on the trail. So, there you are, all set." And Uncle Dick
slapped old Billy on the hip as he stood groaning in great pretense of
suffering, at which old Billy walked forward a few steps and stood
still, awaiting the next victim in the train.
"That's tight as a drum," said Jesse, pushing at the loaded packs.
"Humph, you mean that old Billy's tight as a drum," said Uncle Dick.
"An old pack-horse will groan as though you were killing him, and will
blow up like a horned toad. Then maybe a half-hour later on the trail
all his ropes will be as loose as if he had lost a year's growth.
We'll have to go over all these packs just before we start down that
bank, or we may lose some of them. That's why we fastened the last end
of the hitch with a loop easy to pull out.
"A good pack-master," said Uncle Dick, "is worth as much as a colonel
in an army. He never has sore-backed horses, because he makes up his
packs well and keeps them tight. A shifting, wabbling pack is bad for
the horse. Why, you can pack almost anything on a horse--they even
took pianos on slings between four pack-horses in some of the mountain
mining-camps in Montana. And what do you suppose was the hardest thing
the old pack-train men had to carry in those days?"
"I don't know," said Rob, curiously. "What was it?"
"Quicksilver. That made more sore backs than anything else. They
carried it in flasks, and the jar or blow of the heavy liquid shifting
from side to side was bad on the horses. Finally they used to nest
these iron flasks in sideboards, which they could lash tight to the
saddles. This kept the sloshing of the quicksilver from hurting the
horses so much. Oh, they had all sorts of curious ways of packing
curious things. But a good pack-train would carry almost anything,
from a cook-stove to a chandelier, and not break either. They used
different hitches, but the one I have showed you is about as simple
and useful as any. Well, drive up the next horse now, Jess."
Thus, one after another, they finished loading up their pack-train;
and, Moise having put his camp outfit and his personal equipment on
the last horse, they stood ready for the trail.
"It'll be pretty bad getting down here," said Uncle Dick, "so I'll go
ahead with old Betsy. All you others had better stay behind and drive
the loose horses down over the bank. Don't let them break back on the
trail. Are you ready? Just watch how I take it, and don't be afraid."
So saying, setting spurs to his saddle-pony and pulling on the lariat
of old Betsy, Uncle Dick disappeared over the edge of the steep bank.
His hardy little animal clapped its feet close together and almost
slid down the long muddy incline. Old Betsy calmly followed, and by
the time the first horse was at the bottom of the deep and narrow
valley the boys with much shouting and urging had started others of
the band down the incline also. Uncle Dick boldly plunged into the
stream, which was not very wide or very deep at that time. By the time
he was struggling up the opposite bank the last of the train, followed
by the young trailers, was making its way down the first slope. One by
one, the horses splashed methodically across the little stream and
began the long and slow ascent up the farther side, a climb of more
than a hundred and fifty feet, which Uncle Dick made easier by two or
three zigzags, turning at points where little trees made it possible.
So at last they all found themselves on the farther side of the steep
Wolf Creek valley.
"Hurrah!" said John, pulling off his cap and waving it about his head
as he rode up. "That was fine, wasn't it? I was a good deal scared
about it, but we got through all right."
"And I call it mighty well done for you young men," said Uncle Dick,
approvingly. "We've got every pack with us, and now we'll see if any
of them need tightening up. We'll not have many crossings worse than
this, I'm thinking. For two or three days we'll be among these steep
valleys, where the rivers have cut regular troughs, mostly north and
south. But I don't think there will be any worse muskeg than we've had
already."
"Well," said Rob, "this wasn't nearly as bad as the Pembina crossing
back yonder."
"No, that was three hundred feet down and a hundred yards of water.
Lucky the water was low, or we'd be there yet. And, you may believe
me, the engineers will have a considerable bridge to build before they
get over that river and a lot of these others. If we were two months
later we'd have to swim a lot of these streams, and that's something I
don't want with a pack-train."
"Well," said John, "when are we going to eat lunch?"
They all laughed at John, who was always anxious about times and
places for eating.
"We don't eat lunch, young man, until we get our breakfast settled,
anyhow," said Uncle Dick.
"And where is the next bad crossing?" inquired Jesse.
"Ten or twelve miles ahead, I suppose," said Uncle Dick. "That's the
McLeod River, and I confess I'll be happy when we get beyond it. The
railway survey runs on this side, but the old trail crosses it and
runs on the north side, and we have to follow the trail."
"Suppose we get to Moose Creek in two or three hour," said Moise.
"Then in about one or two hour we come on the McLeod where we'll ford
it. Then seven or height mile good trail, we'll come on those Big
Eddy. Those was good place for camp to-night, s'pose we'll all get
there and not any of us drowned."
"I don't think any of us'll drown, Moise," said Uncle Dick, quietly;
"we're not going to take any chances unless we have to. Well, if
you're all ready we might push on."
Uncle Dick now once more led the way, followed close by old Betsy,
Billy following her close and next in order. The young claybank horse,
which made Moise so much trouble, now undertook to usurp a place just
back of Betsy instead of falling to the rear of the train where he
belonged. But as he approached meek-looking old Billy, the latter laid
back his ears and kicked violently at the claybank, hitting him in the
shoulder a resounding thwack.
"Aha! you fool horse," said Moise to the offending claybank, "that's
what you'll get for not know your place on the train. S'pose you got
back now where you belong, eh?"
By this time the horses for the most part, however, were learning
their places on the trail, and in a very few days later each horse had
his own place, of which he was very jealous, resenting any attempt to
take it away from him by vicious bites or kicks. How or why
pack-horses regulate their own affairs in this way no one can tell,
but our young friends had occasion to see it proved in their own
travel.
Their trail now led through rather sharply rolling country, covered
with poplar or jack-pine groves, with now and then a bit of soft bog
at the foot of little valleys. At times from little heights of land
they could get a glimpse of the wide flat country extending on either
side, for the most part covered with dark forest growth. Not meeting
any serious trouble with muskegs, they were all pretty well used to
the trail by the time they had crossed Moose Creek.
"We won't stop here," said Uncle Dick. "Get up, Danny," and he urged
his saddle-horse forward. "I want to see about that McLeod crossing."
It was afternoon, and in truth every one was a little tired when at
length they came to the deep valley of the McLeod River, the next
stream to run north into the Athabasca. They found the banks steep,
more than one hundred feet to the narrow valley below; but, thanks to
the earliness of the season, the river itself was not very deep, and
the point of the ford was so well chosen by the old trail-makers that
they got across the river without having to swim and scarcely wetting
the packs. Uncle Dick was exceedingly glad of this, for he knew the
sudden rises which come in all of these streams. "Now," he said,
"we're all right, and it's good going to the Big Eddy--not more than
eight miles, I think."
They found the trail easier here for a time, passing over grassy
glades, where the horses very much wanted to stop to eat, but after a
long and a rather hard day's drive they finally pulled up in the early
evening at the double bend of the McLeod River, known as the Big Eddy.
"Now then, John," said Uncle Dick, as he swung off his saddle at the
camping-place, "you hustle out your fishing-rod and go down there to
the eddy and see if you can get us a trout for supper. The rest of us
will take care of the camp."
"Yes," said Moise, "those bull-trout, she'll got big in that eddy,
him--sometimes we'll caught him seven, height, eleven pound long."
"Well, that'll suit me," said John, "I don't care how big they come."
So saying, he picked up his rod from the saddle of his riding-pony
and, feeling for the reel in his pocket, began to joint and string the
rod as he passed down the bank.
The others had not been working very long at fixing the camp before
they heard a shout from John, far below them. Uncle Dick chuckled.
"Shouldn't wonder if he'd got hold of one of them," said he. "Better
go and see, Rob--you and Jesse." The other boys ran out of cover into
an open place from which they could see John at the side of the deep
eddy where he had begun fishing. Rob gave a big shout. "He's got one,
sure!" He could see John's rod bending strongly, while John himself
was walking up and down, making excited motions, looking back over his
shoulder. The two ran down to him as fast as they could. "What's the
matter, John?" demanded Rob, laughing, as he saw his friend's excited
actions.
"Well, by Jiminy! I've got a whale, near's I can make out," answered
John, excitedly. "I just threw in over in that slack water--baited
with a piece of grouse, you know, not having anything else--and pretty
soon he nailed it. I've been walking him around in there for quite a
while, and can't do anything with him. He seems as big as a salmon up
in Alaska."
"It's partly the current makes him pull so hard," said Rob. "Work him
over here toward this bank in the quiet water, if you can."
"He don't cut up much," said Jesse.
"No," said John, "he just goes down and chugs with his head, like he
wanted to break something. But I've got on a big hook, and we'll
pretty near get this fellow before we're done. I wish I hadn't forgot
my landing-net. But I didn't know there'd be any as big as this one."
"Well, lead him in, John," said Rob, bending down at the water's edge
and waiting for the fish to approach.
John tried several times to comply, but whenever the big fish saw his
captors he would rush off again for deep water. They could see his big
olive-green back, broad as a hand, as the fish broke water close to
them sometimes. At length, after a long and hard fight, John succeeded
in leading the fish close to the shore, where Rob lay waiting. It did
not seem to mind the touch of Rob's fingers as he ran his hand under
it. At length, with a quick clutch, he caught it by the gills and
flung it out on the bank.
"Bull-trout," said he; "they used to call him _Salmo malma_, I think,
down in the States. He'll weigh eight pounds, anyhow. Well, John, you
certainly got supper enough for us all this time."
"Well, that's what they told me to do," said John, proudly, "and I'm
hungry enough to eat him all by himself."
"We'll just clean and wash him down here at the water," said Rob, "so
that he'll be all ready to cook." And for boys as much acquainted with
large fish as these young Alaskans were through their experience with
large trout and salmon in their own country, this was a matter of no
more than a few minutes' work; so soon they were climbing up the bank
with their fish all ready for the pan.
"Well done, you boy!" said Moise, smiling when he saw their success.
"She was good big bull-trout, yes, and she'll fry good in the pork
to-night."
"Yes, young men," said Uncle Dick, "I think you've done very well
to-day. We've got over two bad crossings, made over twenty miles of
hard trail, and caught fish enough for supper, all between sun and
sun. If we do this well every day we'll go through in great style."
IV
WESTWARD HO
It was very early in the morning when the boys heard Uncle Dick
calling from his tent.
"Hello, there, young men! Are you awake?"
"Yes," answered Jesse, but so sleepily that Uncle Dick laughed.
"It's a shame to wake you up so early. How are you?"
"All right, except my knees are a little sore from riding so long
yesterday."
"Well, if you'll all roll out, I'll explain why I'm anxious to make so
early a start."
"Yes, Uncle Dick," grumbled John, rolling over in his blankets; "you
always want to make an early start, and you've always got some
reason."
Uncle Dick laughed and called Moise from his tent. "Well, I'll tell
you," said he. "We've got to make the Leavings to-day."
"The Leavings--what's that?" asked Rob.
"I'll tell you at breakfast," said Uncle Dick. "Now hustle out and get
the horses up."
In half an hour they were all at breakfast, the better for some warm
food and a cup of tea. "Now I'll tell you," said Uncle Dick, "why I'm
in a hurry to-day. If we can make the Leavings by night, we'll have a
good camp-ground with plenty of grass for the horses. Besides, it
gives us a good starting-place for the next day's march."
"But the 'Leavings'--what is that or what are they?" demanded Rob.
"It's the old traders' name for the place where the trail leaves the
McLeod River and starts west for the Athabasca."
Rob fished his map out of his pocket. "I see," said he. "The river
bends south from here, and I suppose we go up the Sun Dance Creek and
cut across to the other end of the bend--the place they call White Mud
Creek. Then we hang to the McLeod straight on to the Leavings?"
"That's right. It's the best part of twenty-five miles, but it's a
good trail and not much muskeg."
"Well, what is a muskeg, anyhow," asked Jesse, "unless it's just a
mud-hole?"
"That's precisely what it is--just a mud-hole," answered Uncle Dick.
"Under a muskeg there is clay or hardpan which won't let the water
through. So it is always full of mud. Drain the water off a muskeg,
and it soon gets dry. They'll have to do a lot of that work up here
one of these days. But now I've told you why I want to make an early
start this morning; and I want you to help hustle with the packs too.
It's time you're learning about that diamond hitch."
"All right," said Rob, "we'll take half the horses, and you and Moise
take the other half. Mollycoddles are no good on the trail."
"They're no good anywhere. And the way to learn to do a thing is to do
it. Rob, take the off side of the first horse, and let John see if he
can remember how to throw the hitch on the near side."
"I'll tell you what you are, Uncle Dick," said John, leaving the fire
with a piece of bannock still in his hand.
"Well, what then?" smiled Uncle Dick.
"You're not an engineer--you're a contractor! That's what you are."
"It comes to the same thing. You'll have to learn how men work in the
open and get the big things done through doing little things well."
The boys now busied themselves about their first horse. After a while,
with considerable trouble and a little study, Rob turned to Uncle
Dick. "How's that for the cinch, sir?" he asked.
Uncle Dick tried to run his finger under the lash-hook and nodded
approvingly.
"Didn't it hurt him awfully?" asked Jesse. "He groaned as though it
did."
"Don't believe all the groans of a pack-horse in camp," said Uncle
Dick. "Try the girth a half-mile out on trail. But now hurry up with
the next ones. That's right, John, you're throwing the cross loop all
right. That's right--just remember to fix the hitch so it draws every
way--and don't forget to pull it tight."
The boys got on very well with their packing until they came to the
claybank horse which had given Moise so much trouble. This one proved
still rather wild, snorting and jumping about when they tried to put a
blanket and saddle on him.
"What are we going to do with him, Uncle Dick?" asked Rob. "The three
of us can hardly hold him."
"Oh, that's easy. Tie him to a tree and put this blinder over his
eyes." He kicked toward Rob a heavy piece of leather semicircular in
form and with a thong tied at the corners. Rob picked it up, and after
studying it for a moment dropped the blinder over the claybank's face.
To his surprise the horse now stood quite still.
"Well, what do you know about that? He thinks he's blind!" said Rob.
"Never mind what he thinks. Just go ahead and pack him."
Very much to their surprise, the boys found that as long as the
claybank had the blinder over his eyes he stood quite patient and
docile, not making any protest against the saddle or packs, although
when they removed the blinder he snorted and kicked about quite a bit,
testing thoroughly the hitch-rope by which he had been made fast. When
the time came to start, however, he had once more changed his mind,
and took his place meekly at the end of the train.
Meantime Moise had started up all the saddle-ponies, and the boys,
slinging their rifles and other gear to the saddles, all were soon
mounted and on the trail even before the sun was fifteen minutes high.
"Well, that's what I call work," said John. "I don't know but I'd
rather travel in a boat than go this way. You don't have to saddle up
a boat every morning and hustle around to keep from getting tramped
on."
"Ah, but there's nothing like the mountains, fellows," said Rob; "and
a pack-train will take us right into the middle of them."
"Well, the nights are so short away up here north in Canada and Alaska
that a fellow has to go to bed in the daylight and get up in the dark.
If you don't watch out you'll get fooled out of your night's sleep."
"You will if you don't watch Uncle Dick," said Rob, smiling.
"Well, anyhow, you've done several good days' work already. From this
time on we'll have it easier--maybe."
"What do you suppose he means by that?" asked John of Rob.
"I don't know," said Rob, "but we'll find out to-morrow--maybe."
V
HIGHER THAN THE ROCKIES
"How far to-day, sir?" asked Rob of the leader of their party, when,
having left their camp on the bank of the McLeod at the spot known as
the Leavings, they had headed straight west toward the steep divide
which rose before them.
"That all depends on luck," said Uncle Dick. "We've got to climb that
divide and get down off the top of it. By noon we'll be higher than
the Rocky Mountains!"
"That isn't possible, of course."
"I didn't say higher than the highest peak in the Rocky Mountains. But
as a matter of fact on top of the divide between the McLeod and the
Athabasca we are four thousand six hundred and forty feet above
sea-level, and that is nine hundred and seventeen feet higher than the
summit of the Yellowhead Pass where we cross the Rockies."
"It doesn't look like a very easy trail," said Rob.
"No, on the contrary, it is one of the most dismal and desolate parts
of the whole march, with its burned forests and its steep grades.
Besides, some of the worst muskeg in the country is on each side of
this Athabasca divide--it just runs in terraces all up and down both
sides."
"When does the first one come?" asked Rob.
"Just before we get ready for it! But if you don't discover when we
get there I'll let you know. To my notion, this looks considerable
like a muskeg just on ahead of us. Now we'll take a little lesson in
muskeg work. What I want to say to you is, that you must never get
angry and excited, either over muskeg or mosquitoes. Take it easy all
the time."