bushes, which rose above green moss and tufts of grasses. In places
the swamp looked as though it would hold up either a man or a horse.
None the less, the boys could see where long ago an attempt had been
made to corduroy the bog. Some of the poles and logs, broken in the
middle, stuck up out of the mud. A black seam, filled with broken bits
of poles, trampled moss and bushes, and oozing mud, showed the
direction of the trail, as well as proved how deceptive the surface of
an unbroken muskeg can be.
"Now, Jesse," said Uncle Dick, "you and John take your guns and go
across on foot on one side of the trail. It will probably hold you if
you keep moving and step on the tufts and the bushes. The rest of us
will have to do the best we can with the horses."
"Why can't the horses go out there, too?" demanded Jesse. "It looks
all right."
"There are times," said Uncle Dick, "when I wish all horses had been
born with webbed feet. The hoof of a horse seems made purposely to cut
through a muskeg, and the leg of a horse is just long enough to tangle
him up in one. None the less, here is the muskeg, and here we are with
our horses, and we must get across. We'll not go dry into camp this
day, nor clean, either."
The two younger boys were able to get across without any very serious
mishaps, and presently they stood, a hundred yards or more away,
waiting to see what was going to happen. The horses all stood looking
at them as though understanding that they were on the farther side of
the troublesome country.
"Get in, Danny," said Uncle Dick, and slapped his riding-pony on the
hip. The plucky little horse walked up to the edge of the soft ground,
pawing at it and sniffing and snorting in dislike. Uncle Dick slapped
him on the hip once more, and in Danny plunged, wallowing ahead
belly-deep in the black slime, slipping and stumbling over the broken
bits of poles, and at times obliged to cease, gallant as were his
struggles. Of course the saddle was entirely covered with mud. None
the less, in some way Danny managed to get across and stood on the
farther side, a very much frightened and disgusted horse.
"She's a bad one, Moise," said Uncle Dick, thoughtfully. "I don't know
how they'll make it with the loads, but we've got to try. Come on,
Rob, let's drive them in."
It took a great deal of shouting and whipping to get the poor brutes
to take to this treacherous morass, but one after the other they were
driven in, until at length the whole dozen of the pack-train were
distributed, half-submerged, over the hundred yards of the mucky
trail. Uncle Dick, not stopping to think of his clothes, followed
Moise in; and Rob, pluckily as either of the others, also took to the
mud. Thigh-deep, plunging along as best they could, in the churned up
mass, they worked along the animals, exhorting or encouraging them the
best they could. It was piteously hard for all concerned, and for a
long time it seemed doubtful if they would get the whole train across.
Sometimes a horse, exhausted by its struggles, would lie over on its
side, and the three of them would have to tug at him to get him
started again.
The last horse in the train was the unhappy claybank. Within a few
yards of the farther side this horse bagged down, helpless, and fell
over on its side, its pack down in the mud, and after plunging
viciously for a time lay flat, with its head out, so that Rob had to
cut some brush to put under it.
"Broken leg, I'm afraid," said Uncle Dick. "It's that rotten corduroy
down in the mud there. What shall we do, Moise, cut off the packs
and--but I hate to shoot a horse."
"S'pose you'll wait some minute," said Moise, after a time, coming up
plastered with mud from head to foot. "Those horse, she'll want for
rest a little while."
"Feel down along his hind leg if you can, Moise," said Uncle Dick;
"that's the one that seems helpless."
Moise obediently kneeled in the mud and reached his arm along down the
cayuse's legs.
"Those legs, she always there," said he, arising. "Maybe those horse,
she'll just fool us." Then he began to exhort the helpless animal.
"_Advance donc, sacre cochon diable cheval! En avant la--whoop!_"
Moise continued his shouts, and, to the surprise of all, the disabled
horse began to flounder once more; and as they all lifted at his pack
and pushed him forward he gave a series of plunges and finally reached
firm ground.
"So," said Moise, calmly, "thass all right. She was French horse,
thass all--you'll been spoke English on him, and he wasn't understood
it."
Uncle Dick, grimed as he was from head to foot, could not help
laughing at Moise's explanation. Then they all stood and laughed at
one another, for they, as well as the saddles and packs, were black
with muck.
"I told you, young men," said Uncle Dick, "that we wouldn't make a
clean camp to-night. You see now why we have covers on the packs,
don't you, and why we roll everything in canvas? Well, anyhow, we're
across that one, and I hope there's nothing any worse ahead, although
you never can tell."
The pack-horses seemed to have very short memories of their troubles,
for when the line of march was again resumed they went on peacefully
enough, even the claybank bringing up the rear as though nothing had
happened to him.
It was a stiff climb which confronted them now, on the eastern slope
of the big Athabasca divide; but as they rose the terrors of the trail
were in some part compensated by the splendid views of the country
which now were disclosed as they passed into this or that opening
along the jack-pine ridge. A wide panorama lay off to the east, the
country from which they had come; and at last, when finally they had
arrived at the top of the divide, they could see the barren slopes of
the Rockies, now apparently so close as to be within a half-day's
travel. It was a savage and desolate scene which lay about them, the
more gloomy because of the wide areas of dead and half-burned timber
which stretched for miles beyond. Weary and travel-stained as the
young travelers were, a feeling of depression came upon them, seeing
which Uncle Dick did his best to cheer them up.
"Never mind," said he; "that much is behind us at least. We're nearly
a thousand feet above the McLeod River here, and it's over thirteen
hundred feet down to the Athabasca yonder. There's bad going between
here and there, although the valley itself isn't so bad. So I tell you
what I think we'll do--we'll make an early camp, and Moise and I will
go off to the south of the main trail and see if we can't work over
the heads of some of the creeks. It may be rougher country, but it
ought not to be quite so soft."
They were glad enough to follow this counsel, and when at last they
came to a little open glade with running water they pulled up and
began the unpleasant work of removing the muddy packs.
"I've got mud in my hair and my eyes and my mouth yet," said Rob,
laughing.
"And my stirrups are full, and my rifle scabbard and everything else,"
added Jesse.
"Well, I don't call this any fun," said John; "I don't like to be
dirty."
"Nonsense!" said Rob. "It'll all wash off. And once we are clean and
have a cup of tea, we'll be just as good as new."
VI
THE ATHABASCA AT LAST
"Well, what luck did you have, Uncle Dick?" inquired Jesse, the next
morning, when, a little later than usual, they were once more ready to
take the trail.
"Do you mean what luck I had in finding a new trail? Well, none too
good, but better, I think, than the one on ahead. Anyway, we'll try
it. If we can make the mouth of Hardisty Creek, we can't complain.
Besides, talking of adventures, you can't think of anything that has
more chance in it than finding a new trail down the Athabasca side of
this divide--no telling how many muskegs or hills or creeks we may run
into."
Uncle Dick, however, proved to be a very practical wilderness guide,
for he now led the party considerably to the south of the old trail
into country broken and covered with down timber, but with little or
none of bad muskeg in it. By noon they were well down toward the
water-grade of the Athabasca itself, and at night, after a long, hard
day's work, they made their encampment at a point which to the eye
seemed almost within touch of the Rocky Mountains themselves. They
counted on much better going in the flat valley of the Athabasca than
they had had in crossing the country back of them, broken as it had
been with many little waterways and by the deep, troughlike valleys of
the bolder streams making northward into the Athabasca.
By this time their camp work seemed less like a picnic and more like
routine work, but on the other hand they were settling down to it in
steady and businesslike fashion, so that it did not take them long
either to make or to break camp. Nor did their weary bodies leave them
time to enjoy the splendid mountain view which now lay about them.
On the next day, leaving the big peak of Mount Hardisty behind them,
they made a swift climb up the valley of a little creek called Prairie
Creek, the beaten trail leaving the main valley and heading off
parallel to the big shallows of the Athabasca, known as Brule Lake.
Now the great shoulders of the Rockies seemed to come close about
them. They were following the general course of the Athabasca valley
southward to the point where it breaks out through its gate of the
hills. Folding Mountain now rose to the left of them, and when finally
they pitched their camp on the next night in a little glade near its
foot they felt the pleasing assurance that at last they were getting
to the Rockies themselves. Their leader pointed out to them that they
were now within the original lines of the great Dominion reserve known
as Jasper Park, five thousand square miles in extent, and reaching
from the place where they were to the summit of the Rockies
themselves, and to the eastern edge of the province of British
Columbia.
"From where we are," said Uncle Dick, that night, "it is seven or
eight miles to the Athabasca River at the end of Brule Lake. Once more
we are at a place where we have the choice of two evils."
"I know," said Rob, once more pulling out his map; "you mean we'll
have to go over the Roche Miette--that big hill on ahead there."
"Yes, if we keep this side the Athabasca we will," said Uncle Dick.
"The Roche Miette is a historic landmark on this trail of the
fur-traders, and I never heard that any of them ever loved it, either.
There's no way of getting between it and the Athabasca, and the trail
over it certainly is bad enough. There are places where a pack-horse
might slip off, and if so it would go many a hundred feet before it
stopped."
"What would we do if that sort of thing happened?" demanded John.
"Well," said Uncle Dick, "we'd do precisely what other fellows have
done when that happened to them. But it hasn't happened yet, and maybe
won't at all."
"It's over a thousand feet high," said Rob, standing and looking at
the face of the big cliff ahead of them.
"Yes, and that means a thousand feet down on the other side, too.
Worse than that, it means fording the Rocky River on beyond, and she's
a wild one. Then you've got to ford the Maligne, as well as a lot of
little creeks. After that you've got to ford the Athabasca--because
we've got to get across the Athabasca in order to go up the Miette
River to the Yellowhead Pass."
The boys stood silent, looking at one another, none too happy at these
hardships and dangers which confronted them.
"Don't look so glum," said Uncle Dick. "I've been over this trail
three times each way, and the old traders used to cross here dozens of
times each way and thought nothing of it. You must learn to be like
soldiers, and be contented if you have a good supper and a good place
to sleep. Besides, I've got a plan that I'll tell you about in the
morning."
VII
CROSSING THE ATHABASCA
The boys felt a little more cheerful the next morning after they had
had their breakfast, and Rob finally asked the noncommittal leader of
their party what he had meant the night before when he mentioned his
plan for avoiding the Roche Miette.
"Well, some of us may get wet again," said Uncle Dick; "but if we can
make it through, we can save a little time and a little risk, I
think."
"I know," said Rob; "you mean to ford the Athabasca--or swim it."
Uncle Dick nodded. "The horses will have to swim, but I hope we will
not. For that matter, we might have to swim the Rocky River, on ahead.
Of course, the higher up the Athabasca we go the less water there is
in it, but down in this country she spreads out on gravel-bars and
sand-flats. If we can make it across here, it'll be a good thing, the
way I figure it."
"The streams are not as high now as they will be a month from now,"
said Rob. "It's cold up in the hills yet, and the snow isn't melting.
This country's just like Alaska in that way."
"That's the way I figure," said Uncle Dick. "I know the regular trail
is on this side the Athabasca, but at the same time they do sometimes
ford it down below here. We'll go have a look, anyhow."
Accordingly, they started out from their camp near Folding Mountain,
not in the direction of Roche Miette, but departing from the trail
nearly at right angles. They pulled up at last on the shores of the
rushing, muddy Athabasca. Here they found a single cabin, and near it
a solitary and silent Indian. What was better, and what caused Uncle
Dick's face to lighten perceptibly, was a rough home-made bateau of
boards which lay fastened at the shore.
"How deep?" asked Uncle Dick, pointing to the swirling waters, here
several hundred yards in width.
The Indian grinned and made signs, motioning with his hand at his
knees, at his waist, and far above his head.
"Swimming it, eh?" said Uncle Dick. "Well, that means swimming the
horses across. Also it means freighting the packs. Off with the loads,
then, boys, and let's get busy."
The Indian and Uncle Dick now examined the boat and found that it
would ferry something like five hundred pounds besides two men acting
as oarsmen. As they had something like three-quarters of a ton in the
pack-loads, this meant several trips in the boat.
Meantime Moise, singing and laughing as usual, proceeded to build a
fire and to make a little midday camp, for he knew they would tarry
here for some time.
"We'll wouldn't took all the grub over right way first thing," said
he. "Better eat plenty first."
"All right, Moise," said John; "I'm hungry right now, and I'll eat any
time you say. But I think we'd better wait until we see how they come
out with the boat."
With the first load of supplies in the skiff, Uncle Dick and the
Indian had a good stiff pull of it, for the current of the Athabasca
here is at least six or eight miles an hour. But by heading up stream
they managed to land nearly opposite the place where they had started.
By the time they had returned for the second load all the packs
were off and the horses were ready for the crossing. Uncle Dick
thought that it would be best to cross the horses at once, as any
mountain stream is lower in the early part of the day than it is in
mid-afternoon, when the daily flood of melting snow is at its height.
The boys had often heard of this way of getting a pack-train across a
river too deep to ford, and now they were to see it in actual
practice. The Indian, wading out, showed that there was a shallow hard
bar extending some distance out and offering good footing. He pushed
the boat out some distance from shore and sat there, holding it with
an oar thrust into the sand. Uncle Dick rode his saddle-pony out a
little way, and led the white bell-mare, old Betsy, along behind him,
passing Betsy's rope to the Indian as he sat in the boat. Betsy, as
may be supposed, was a sensible and courageous horse, well used to all
the hardships of mountain work.
It is the way of all pack-horses to be given to sudden frights, but,
still, if they see that another horse has gone ahead they nearly
always will try to follow. All the other horses now stood looking out
at Betsy. As they did so the others of the party made a sort of rope
corral behind them and on each side. All at once Moise and Uncle Dick
began to shout at the horses and crowd them forward toward the water.
Although they plunged and tried to break away, they were afraid of the
rope, and, seeing Betsy standing there, one after another they
splashed out into the shallow water.
Uncle Dick sprang on top of his horse, Danny, once more, and headed
off those which undertook to come back to the bank. Then, once more
riding out to the boat, he sprang off nearly waist-deep into the water
and climbed into the boat, leaving Danny to take his chances with the
others. Both men now bent to the oars. Old Betsy, seeing her rope fast
to the boat for the time, swam toward it so strongly that they were
almost afraid she would try to get into it, so at length Uncle Dick
cut off the rope as short as he could and cast everything loose. By
that time, as good-fortune would have it, all the horses were
swimming, following the white lead-mare, which, seeing the shore on
ahead, and not seeing the shore behind, and, moreover, seeing human
beings in the boat just ahead, struck out sturdily for the other side.
The swift icy current of the Athabasca carried the animals far
down-stream, and this time Uncle Dick did not try to keep the boat
up-stream, but allowed it to drift with the horses, angling down. It
seemed to those left on the hither shore at least half an hour before
a call from the other side announced that the boatmen had reached
shallow water. Of course it was not so long; but, whether long or
short, it certainly was fortunate that the journey had been made so
quickly and so safely. For now, one after another, they could see the
horses splashing and struggling as they found solid footing under
them, so what had lately been a procession of heads and ears became a
line of pack-horses straggling up the bank; and a very cold and
much-frightened train of pack-horses they were, too, as Uncle Dick
could have told his young companions. But what he did was to give a
great shout which announced to them that all was safe.
After that, of course, it was simply a question of freighting over the
remainder of the supplies and the others of the party, and of rounding
up the scattered horses from the grazing-places in the woods. Moise
insisted on having tea before the last trip was made; and by this time
the boys realized that at no time in these operations had they been
left alone with no one older than themselves to care for them in case
of accidents, nor had they been left without supplies close at hand.
"You're a pretty good manager, Uncle Dick," said John, while they sat
on a long log by the fireside before the last trip across the river.
"I'm willing to say that you're a pretty good engineer as well as a
pretty good contractor."
"Nothing venture, nothing have," said Uncle Dick. "You have to use
your head on the trail a little bit, as well as your nerve, however.
We'd have had to swim the Athabasca anyhow, and I'd about as soon swim
a train over a broad, steady river as to try to cross a rough mountain
river with a loaded train, and maybe get a horse swept under a
log-jam. Anyway, we can call the river crossed, and jolly glad I am of
it, too."
"When do we get any fishing?" asked Jesse. "That water looks too muddy
for trout."
"We won't get any fishing for a couple of days yet, probably," said
Uncle Dick. "And as to shooting, you must remember that we are now in
Jasper Park, and if we struck a game warden he would seal all our guns
for us."
"Well," said Rob, "I see there's a lake over here called Fish Lake."
"Yes. The old traders' trail runs between Fish Lake and Brule Lake,
and a great piece of sand it is in there, too--we engineers will have
to put blankets on that country to keep it from blowing away when we
build the railroad through. But we'll miss all that, and to-morrow
we'll stop at Swift's place, on the other side of the river."
"Whose place?" asked John. "I didn't know anybody lived in here."
"It's an odd thing about this country," said Uncle Dick, "but people
do live all over it, and have done so for a hundred years or two,
although it, none the less, is the wilderness. Sometimes you will find
a settler in the wildest part of the mountains. Now, Swift is an old
Yankee that came up here from the States about thirty years ago. He
used to trade and trap, perhaps, and of late years he has made him
quite a farm. Besides that, he has built himself a mill and makes his
own flour. He's quite an ingenious old chap, and one of the features
of the country. We engineers found his fresh vegetables pretty good
last season. For my part, I hope he makes a fortune out of his land if
we locate a town near him. His place isn't so very far from Jasper
House. That was the first settlement in this country--the Hudson's
Bay's post, more than a hundred years ago."
"Is it still standing?" asked Rob.
"Oh no, and hasn't been for years. We can still see a few logs there,
and nothing more. It fell into disuse maybe fifty years ago, and was
abandoned altogether twenty-five years back, and since then burned
down. It's the only post, so far as I know, called after a man's
Christian name. The old posts were called 'houses,' but this one was
built by Jasper Hawse. Hardy old chap, old Jasper, I presume; because,
he made such good fur returns that the rival company, the old
Nor'westers, came in here and built a post, which they called Henry
House, on up the river some miles from Jasper House. But the
Nor'westers couldn't stand the competition, and before long they
abandoned their post, and it has been left so ever since. Lastly came
the engineers, following the traders, who followed the Indians, who
followed the wild-game trails; and behind us will come the railroads.
In two or three years, if you like, you youngsters can come through
here on the train a great deal more easily than you are doing it now.
"But now," concluded Uncle Dick, "we must go across the river and see
how old Betsy is getting along with her family."
They made this final trip with the boat without incident, and Uncle
Dick gave the Indian ten dollars for his help, which seemed to please
that taciturn person very much.
VIII
IN HIGH ALTITUDES
"Well, I want to shoot something," said John, as they stood in their
camp the following morning. "I don't like this park business."
"Nonsense, John," said Rob. "A park is just a place where you raise
wild animals; and if there were no parks, pretty soon there wouldn't
be any wild animals. Besides, it's such a glorious morning, and this
country is so beautiful, that for one I don't much care whether or not
we shoot anything for a day or two."
"Well, I like a free country," said John, loudly.
"So do I, but you can say one thing; when a railroad comes into a
country and it begins to settle up, you can't have free hunting
forever."
"We can have good fishing before long, young gentlemen," said Uncle
Dick. "In fact, I'll show you a lake or two up above here where you
shall have all the fun you want. This used to be a great fur country.
I fancy the Stony Indians killed off a good many of the sheep and
bears on the east side of the Rockies below here, and of course along
the regular trails all game gets to be scarce, but I will show you
goat trails up in these hills which look as though they had been made
by a pack-train. I don't doubt, if one would go thirty or forty miles
from here, he could get into good grizzly country, but you know we put
our grizzly shoots off for the other side of the Rockies, and we all
agreed just to plug on through until we got to the summit."
"How's the country on ahead?" asked John, dubiously.
"Bad enough," said Uncle Dick, "but it might be worse. At least, there
is a lot of ground on this side the river which is solid, and in fact
I wouldn't say there is anything very bad until we get pretty well up
the Miette River where the cross-creeks come down. We may find some
soft going up there, with the snow just beginning to melt, as it is.
But now let's get into saddle and push on."
They soon were under way once more, passing up the wide valley and now
entering deeper and deeper into the arms of the great Rockies
themselves. Not far from their camp they paused for a moment at the
ruins of old Jasper House. It was as Uncle Dick had said. Nothing
remained excepting one cabin, which showed evident marks of being
modern.
"It's too bad," said Rob, "that these old historic houses ever were
allowed to pass away. How nice it would be if we could see them now,
just the way old Jasper Hawse built them. But log cabins don't stand
as well as stone houses, I've noticed."