mountain pass is rarely what it is supposed to be. Take the Tennessee
Pass, for instance, down in Colorado; you'll see a wide meadow with a
dull creek running through it, something like this. The deep gorges
and canyons are lower down in the mountains, not on top of them. What
you see before you is the old Yellowhead Pass, and we are now almost
at the highest point. The grade rises very little from here to the
actual summit."
"Well," said John, "I never thought I'd be in a place like this in all
my life. It seems a long way off from everywhere."
"It comes near being the wilderness," said his uncle. "Far north of us
is the Peace River Pass, which you made last year. Just the other way
is the Athabasca Pass. Yonder, south of us, is Mount Geikie, between
us and the Athabasca. Over west is Mount Fitzwilliam, and across the
lake from him is Yellowhead Mountain; that's the one the early traders
through here used to call Mount Bingley. And on every side of us there
is all kinds of country where, so far as any one knows, no white man's
foot has ever trod. Northwest of the pass and north of here we don't
pretend to map the country, and not one mountain in ten has got its
name yet. In short, we are in the wilderness here about as much as
you're apt to be in many a long day's journey, no matter where you
go."
"And yet right out in there it looks like a farm meadow," said Jesse,
pointing to the green flats broken with willows and poplar mottes here
and there.
"Beaver out there one time, no doubt," said Uncle Dick, "and maybe
even now; but sometime there will be farms in here. At least, this is
the top of the mountains and the lowest pass in all the Rockies. I'll
show you the actual summit when we come to it."
They sat for some time looking about them and allowing their horses to
graze. All at once Rob broke the silence. "I'm going to be an
engineer sometime," said he. "I believe I'd like to do locating work
in wild countries like this."
"As for me," said John, "I believe I'd rather stay in the office and
make maps and things."
"And I'm going to be a merchant," said Jesse, "and I'll ship things
over your road when you get it built."
"That reminds me," said Uncle Dick, "you young men have not brought up
your own map of the country we have crossed over. You are only using
the maps that you could make or buy ready-made. Now, John, suppose you
be official map-maker for the party and take your notes from day to
day."
"Pshaw! What do I know about making a map?" said John.
"Well, you can do as well as an Indian; and let me tell you an Indian
can make a pretty good map with nothing but a stick and a smooth place
in the sand."
"How could I tell how far it was from one place to another?" inquired
the newly elected map-maker.
"We can't tell so very well, as we are now traveling. Of course, when
engineers go out in a party they measure every mile by a chain, and
know just how far they have come. The old trappers used to allow three
or four miles an hour for their pack-horses in a country like this.
Sometimes an engineer carries what is called a pedometer in his
pocket, which tells him how far he has walked. Maybe you did not know
that instrument was invented by Thomas Jefferson over a hundred years
ago? Suppose you allow twenty or twenty-five miles a day, at most, for
our travel. Now you have your compass, and, though you don't try to
put in every little bend in the trail or in the valley, you take the
courses of all the long valleys and the general directions from one
peak to another. Thus between your compass and your pack-train you
will have to do the best you can with your map, because we have no
scientific instruments to help us."
"All right," said John. "I'll make my notes the best I can, and every
night we'll try to bring up the map. It'll be fine to have when we get
back home to show our folks, won't it?"
"Well, I'll help you all I can," said Uncle Dick. "You remember the
two big streams that run into the Miette back of us, where we made the
fourth ford of the Miette? Well, that is just about eight miles from
the Athabasca River. If we had not lost so much time with the horses
bogging down we ought to have been in here yesterday instead of
to-day, for now we are at Deer Creek, and that is only fourteen miles
in a straight line from the Athabasca. This prairie between the forks
of Deer Creek is called Dominion Prairie. The valley is soft and
marshy for a couple of miles beyond the Dominion Prairie, as you can
see from the way the trail runs over the edges of the ridges. The
grade is a little bit steeper for three miles west of Dominion
Prairie. The width of the marsh or meadow in here is about half a mile
to a mile. At the last crossing of the Miette, three miles west of
Dominion Prairie, the Miette is just a little stream with many
branches. Now note very well the last one of these branches. That
points out the true summit of Yellowhead Pass. Perhaps this very
summer, if there is high water, some of the drainage water will run
west from this marsh into the Fraser River, while some of it will run
east into the Miette and the Athabasca."
"Then how far have we come up the Miette all together, Uncle Dick?"
inquired John, his pencil in his mouth.
"Only about seventeen miles, but they have been rather hard ones. We
have climbed about four hundred feet all together in total elevation,
but a great deal more than that if we count all the little ridges we
have crossed over. Now do you think you can get your directions from
your compass and make your map from these figures?"
"I'll try my best," said John.
"Well, come ahead," said Uncle Dick. "It isn't far from here to the
place we call the top of the hill."
Surely enough, after a little more scrambling progress they pulled up
beside a little square stump, or post, to which Uncle Dick pointed
silently.
"I helped set that," said he, "and, believe me, it meant some work.
Well, do you see the figures on it? Three, seven, two, o--that's how
high we are above the level of the sea, and this is the lowest of all
the mountain passes. It is a little over three thousand five hundred
miles between the Atlantic and the Pacific on this railway line, and
this is the highest point on the whole line. Believe me, my young
friends, you are at rather an interesting place right here--so
interesting that if you don't mind we'll forget the short day's travel
for the last few days and make our day's camp right here."
Nothing loath, the entire party assisted in hunting out a suitable
camping-spot not far from the actual summit where grass and water were
to be found and a fairly good place for the tents.
John was much excited with his first attempt at map-making; and all
the boys, impressed by the interesting nature of the place in which
they were encamped, plied the leader of the party with many questions.
"I was thinking," said Rob, "that the Yellowhead Pass was one of the
earliest ones found, but 1826 is not so very early, is it?"
"Not so very," said Uncle Dick. "I told you how this pass came to be
discovered. Well, as a matter of fact, none of these routes across the
mountains were so useful after the big fur companies had established
posts on the Pacific coast. This pass was used more than the Peace
River Pass. The traders used to bring a good deal of buckskin through
here, and sometimes this was called the Leather Pass.
"Now you boys are going down the Columbia River on the latter part of
your journey. You heard Swift say he came up the Columbia. Well, that
was part of the old highway between the two oceans. In 1814 a canoe
brigade started up the Columbia from the Pacific coast. Gabriel
Franchere was along, and he made a journal about the trip. So we know
that as early as May 16 in 1814 they had got to the Athabasca River.
He mentions the Roche Miette, which we dodged by fording the river,
and he himself forded in order to escape climbing it. He speaks of the
Rocky Mountain House, but that was the same as Jasper House. You must
remember, however, he did not cross here, but went down the Athabasca
south of that big mountain you see over yonder, Mt. Geikie.
"Sir George Simpson and a party of traders came up the Columbia in
1826, but they also crossed the Athabasca Pass. They named a little
lake in there the Committee's Punch Bowl, and it has that name to this
day. They stopped at Henry House, and at Jasper House, lower down at
Brule Lake. The first record of which I know of a crossing made here
where we are was by George McDougall in 1827. He mentions the Tete
Jaune Cache as being 'freshly discovered.' I presume it was found a
year before.
"A great many men crossed the Athabasca Pass, but not so many took the
Yellowhead route. Even as late as 1839 the traders preferred the
Athabasca Pass to this one. Father de Smet took that route in 1846. I
shouldn't wonder if the mountain called Pyramid Mountain was the one
originally called De Smet Mountain.
"There was an artist by the name of Paul Kane that crossed west by the
Athabasca Pass in 1846. In those days the Yellowhead Pass was little
used. It came into most prominence after the Cariboo Diggings
discoveries of gold. Parties came out going east as early as 1860 from
the gold-mines. About that time Sir James Hector was examining all
this country, and he named a lot of it, too. More than a hundred and
fifty miners went west through this pass in '62 bound for the Cariboo
Diggings. They didn't stop to name anything, you may be sure, for
they were in a hurry to get to the gold; but in 1863 Viscount Milton
and Dr. Cheadle went across here and wrote a book about it which is
very useful even yet. They named a lot of mountains. I don't know who
named that wonderful peak Mount Robson, but it was named after Premier
Robson of British Columbia in 1865.
"Nobody knows much about this country, for the early travelers did not
make many maps or journals. But about 1872 they began to explore this
country with a view to railway explorations, and from that time on it
has been better known and more visited, although really very few
persons have ever been right where we are sitting now."
"Well," said Rob, thoughtfully, after a time, "after all, the best way
to learn about a country is to go and see it yourself. You can read
all about it in books, but still it looks different when you come to
see it yourself."
"Wait till I get my map done," said John, "and many a time after this
we'll talk it all over, and we can tell on the map right where we were
all the time."
"Well, you're at the summit now at this camp," said Uncle Dick.
"Yonder to the east is Miette water. Over yonder is the Fraser. It's
downhill from here west, and sometimes downhill rather faster than
you'll like. We've come a couple of hundred miles on our journey to
the summit here, and in a little more than fifty more we'll be at the
Tete Jaune Cache. That's on the Fraser--and a wicked old river she is,
too."
"How's the trail between here and there, Uncle Dick?" asked Jesse,
somewhat anxiously.
"Bad enough, you may depend."
"And don't we get any more fishing?"
Uncle Dick smiled. "Well, I'll tell you," said he; "we'll probably not
have a great many chances for trout as good as we'll have to-morrow.
It's only two or three miles from here to Yellowhead Lake, and I think
we'll find that almost as good a fishing-place as Rainbow Lake was the
other day."
XII
THE WILDERNESS
"It's cold up here, just the same," said Jesse, when he rolled out of
his blanket early on the following morning, "and the woods and
mountains make it dark, too, on ahead there. Somehow the trees don't
look just the same to me, Uncle Dick."
"They're not the same," said Uncle Dick, "and I am glad you are so
observing. From here on the trees'll get bigger and bigger. They
always are, on the Pacific side of the Rocky Mountains. The east side
is far more dry and barren. When you get down into the Columbia valley
or the Fraser country you'll see Douglas firs bigger than you ever
thought a tree could grow."
"Yes, and devil's-club, too," said Rob. "I stepped on one just a
little while ago, and it flew up and hit me on the knee."
Uncle Dick laughed. "You'll see devil's-club aplenty before you get
done with this trip," said he. "In fact, I will say for all this upper
country, it doesn't seem to have been laid out for comfort in
traveling. The lower Rockies, in our country, say in Wyoming and
Colorado, are the best outdoor countries in the world. It's a little
wet and soft up here sometimes, although, fortunately, we've had
rather good weather.
"From now on," he continued, "you'll see a change in the vegetation.
You can still see the fireweed--it seems a universal plant all the way
from the Saskatchewan to the Peace River and west even to this prairie
here. That and the Indian paint--that red flower which you all
remember--is common over all the north country. Then there is a sort
of black birch which grows far up to the north, and we have had our
friends the willows and the poplars quite a while. Now we'll go
downhill into the land of big trees and devil's-club."
"So that's the last of the Yellowhead Pass for this trip," said Rob,
turning back, as within the hour after they had arisen they were in
saddle once more for the west-bound trail.
"Yes," said Uncle Dick, "one of the most mysterious of all the passes.
I often wonder myself just what time it was that old Jasper Hawse
first came through here."
"Was it really named after him, and who was he?" inquired John.
"Some say he was an Iroquois Indian who had red hair--in which case
he must have been part white, I should say. Others say he was a
Swede. Yet others say that 'Tete Jaune,' or 'Yellowhead,' was an old
Indian chief who had gray hair. Now, I've seen a few white-haired
Indians--for instance, old White Calf, down in the Blackfoot
reservation--and their hair seems rather yellow more than pure white
when they are very old. At any rate, whoever the original Tete Jaune
was, we are bound now for his old bivouac on the Fraser, fifty miles
below, the Tete Jaune Cache.
"Every man who wants to do mountain exploring has heard of the Tete
Jaune Cache on the Fraser River. It has been one of the most
inaccessible places in the Rockies. But now it will be easy to get
there in a year or so, and I am sure on this beautiful Yellowhead Lake
just ahead of us somebody will put up a hotel one day or other, and
they will make trails around in these mountains and kill all these
goats and bear."
"How far is it down to the lake?" inquired Jesse, pushing up his
riding-pony alongside the others.
"About half an hour," replied his uncle. "Not too good a trail, and
about a hundred feet drop from the summit down."
Surely enough, they had gone but a little distance over the winding
and difficult blazed route when they came out into an open spot whence
they could see Yellowhead Lake lying before them. It was a lovely
sheet of water about four miles long, with bold mountains rising on
either side.
"Now, young men," said their leader, as they paused, "we'll not take
the liberties with these mountains that some of the earlier travelers
did. We'll call that big mountain on the south side of the lake Mount
Fitzwilliam. On the north side is old Bingley, but I presume we'd just
as well call it Yellowhead Mountain now. Some called it Mount Pelee,
but we'll call it Yellowhead, because it seems too bad the pass and
mountain should not have the same name from the same man--whoever he
was. That's the guardian of the pass from this side, at any rate. It
looks as though it shut up the pass, because, you see, it bends
around the foot of the mountain. I've climbed that mountain in my
time--none too easy a job. In that way you can see the headwaters of
the Fraser River, and glaciers twenty miles south of here. From the
top of Yellowhead you can see Mount Geikie, although we are past it
now."
"When are we going to do our fishing?" inquired John, in his practical
fashion.
"Well, I'll tell you," said his uncle; "if you'll be good and travel
steadily, we'll make camp at the side of this lake and fish this
afternoon."
"Agreed," said John; "go ahead."
They found it not so easy to go ahead as might have been supposed, for
the trail passed through some very rough and troublesome country, made
the worse by burned timber which had blown down. At last, however,
they made their way along the northwest shore and neared the narrows
at the lower end of the lake. Here they found a low peninsula jutting
out into the lake, where there was a little grass and good clean
footing as well as the fine shade of some tall pines.
"Here we are," said the leader of the party; and soon they had
off-saddled and the horses were grazing, while the others prepared
for the bivouac.
"Now, if we had a boat," said Rob, "I believe we would get some trout
in this lake, and good ones, too."
"They're here, all right," said Uncle Dick, "as I can testify, but
boats don't grow in the Rocky Mountains this high up. You'll have to
try it from the shore."
"But could we not make a raft? I see some pretty good cedar timber
lying along here. And I've got some hay-wire in my war-bag--I never
travel without it." Rob was eager.
"And a very good thing it is to have in camp, too. Well, try your raft
if you like, but be careful."
All three of the young Alaskans, more experienced than most boys of
their age in outdoor work, now fell at the task of making themselves a
raft or float. Soon they had half a dozen cedar logs lying side by
side in the shallow water, their limbs trimmed off closely with the
axes. Under Rob's instructions they now lashed two crosspieces on top
of the logs, using the wire to bind them fast to each. So in the
course of half an hour they had quite a substantial raft ready for
use. Securing a couple of long poles to use as push-poles, they set
boldly out into the shallow bay that lay before them. They took only
one rod along, assigning to John the task of doing the angling while
the others endeavored to keep the raft steady.
"This is as far as we can go," said Rob after a while. "Fifteen feet
of water, and my pole won't touch any longer."
"Well, it looks fishy," said John. "Hold on, fellows, and I'll begin
to cast."
He did so, standing as best he could on the uncertain footing under
which the green water, clear as glass, showed the sandy bottom plainly
below them. Ordinarily it would have been impossible to catch trout in
water so clear, but the trout of the Yellowhead Lake at that time were
hungry and unskilled. Therefore John had hardly cast a dozen times
before he saw a great splash and felt a heavy tug at his line. As a
matter of fact, a four-pound rainbow had taken the fly.
"My, he's a whopper!" said John, as he struck, and endeavored to stop
the first rush of the big fish.
But he scarcely finished his last words, for as he stepped back in his
excitement, his foot slipped on the wet bark of one of the logs, and
over he went backward into the deep green water underneath!
It happened so quickly that neither Rob nor Jesse for the moment could
understand it. They could see their companion clearly in the water,
struggling and twisting as he went down, and surrounded on all sides
by a mass of white bubbles, which almost obscured him from view.
"Look out, there!" cried Uncle Dick, from shore, who had seen it all
perfectly. At the same time he cast off his coat and was tugging at
his shoes, making ready to swim out.
But just at that time the head and face of John appeared above the
surface, his face distorted with fright and discomfort. He struck out
boldly for the raft just at the instant when Rob held out to him the
end of the push-pole.
"Catch hold of this, John," said he, quietly.
An instant later the puffing swimmer was at the raft.
"Look out now," said Rob; "don't swamp us. Just lie there till I get
you in."
"It's cold!" exclaimed John; and, indeed, his teeth were chattering
with the cold of the icy mountain water.
"All right, we'll be in in a minute," said Rob; and he began poling
the raft toward shore as rapidly as he could. They were not out fifty
yards, but it seemed an age before the raft reached shore--or, rather,
reached the outstretched hands of Uncle Dick, who stood shoulder-deep
in the water waiting for them.
"I was afraid of that raft," said he, "but it's lucky it was no worse.
Come here, John."
"It wasn't the fault of the raft, sir," chattered John. "I just got
foolish and slipped off. I'm all right. Where's my fish?"
Surely enough, they turned to the other end of the raft; where they
saw John's rod fast between two logs, where the reel held it firmly.
All the line was run out, but when Jesse reached out and brought in
the rod he felt a surge at the other end which told that the fish was
still on.
"Let me have him," said John. "I'm just going to get even with him if
I can, and take him out of the wet, too."
Much relieved at seeing him so plucky and at finding him now safe, the
others roared with laughter as he stood, wet and shivering, at the
edge of the beach, fighting his big trout for several minutes before
he could get him in. But at last victory rested with the skilful young
angler, and Uncle Dick with a piece of coffee-sacking scooped out the
big rainbow as he came inshore.
"Well, there," said he, "is fish enough for supper. Now, John, go and
strip and wring your clothes and dry out by the fire. I think maybe
that'll be fish enough for a while. We're lucky to get the fish, and
lucky to get you, too, for it's no joke to go overboard in water as
cold as that."
"You can just bet it isn't!" said John, his face now almost blue with
cold, although he was beginning to revive in the warm rays of the sun.
"Just for that, I am going to eat that fish--or as much of him as I
can."
XIII
AFTER THE WHITE GOATS
Moise, although good-natured, none the less was fond enough of good
living, and, moreover, disposed to rest very well content when the
camping conditions were as good as those in which they now found
themselves. He thought that it might be just as well not to be in too
big a hurry.
"Suppose we did get caught on those high water, M'sieu Deek," he said;
"if we only wait some time, she'll run down bime-by. But suppose we'll
don't got nothing to eat but bacon and flour, and go starve to death.
What then?"
"Well, Moise," said Rob, as they sat at the breakfast-table, where the
good voyageur made this remark, "we've got a whole lake full of trout
there waiting for us to go out and catch them--if we didn't fall off
the raft again."
"Never mind about that raft any more, young man," said Uncle Dick. "A
raft is all right if you have nothing else, and if you have to use it,
but it is not compulsory here. We'll just leave the raft business and
try for some trout down here in the creek."
"There'll ain't no trout on those creek," objected Moise. "I'll try
him myself, and not get no bite. Besides, M'sieu Deek, feesh is all
right for woman and dog, but meat she is more better for strong man."
"That's the way I feel about it," said John, his mouth half full of
bacon. "I wouldn't mind a little fresh meat once in a while. But where
are we going to get it?"
"No moose up in here," volunteered Jesse, "and I don't suppose any
caribou either. As for sheep, I suppose there are none this side of
the high peaks east of here, are there, Uncle Dick?"
"Probably not. But we'll find caribou farther west. Besides, there are
any number of white goats in these mountains all around us here. I
suppose you know what they are, although I'm not sure you ever saw
them in Alaska."
"I know them," said Rob. "They're the greatest climbers in the
world--'On top' is their motto always."
"That's why the head of a white goat is always considered a good
trophy among sportsmen; it means that the hunter has had to climb high
for it. They're a sporting proposition, all right, those goats; but
when it comes to eating, that's something different. I boiled goat
meat two days straight once, and it was still like shoe leather."
Uncle Dick shook his head.
"Oh, you'll got old goat--old Guillaume goat," said Moise. "He's too
tough for eat. But s'pose you'll got some small leetle goat; she's
good for eat like anything."
"So I've heard," said Uncle Dick, "but I'm willing to take my chances
with flour and bacon."
"Well, now," said Rob, "if there are goats in here I'd like awfully
well to try to photograph one, at least. They tell me they're so dull
and stupid you can go right up on them."
"I'm not so sure about their being stupid," replied Uncle Dick. "I
think it's more likely that they just are not afraid of anything. A
big billy will kill any dog in the world, and some hunters declare
that they will even fight a grizzly bear. Their little black horns are
sharp as needles, and they can hit a hard blow with that neck of
theirs, backed by a couple of hundred pounds of bone and muscle.