never hurry him. A bighorn will run for miles if he smells or sees
you, but if a goat sees you he'll take his own time, stop and look at
you, and then go off as slowly as he likes. If you get too close to
him, he may stop and stamp his feet, and work his lips at you, and
show he's angry. But he'll never show he is scared. That's why they
are so easy to kill, once you climb up where they are. That ought to
make them easy to photograph, too, Rob. I should say there were ten
chances to get a goat photograph to one of the bighorn."
"Do you suppose there are any around here?" inquired Jesse.
"Plenty of them on old Yellowhead Mountain, right here above us."
"Well, why not have a hunt, then?"
Uncle Dick threw up his hands. "Now, there you go again, always
wanting to stop to fish or hunt! I've told you that we ought to hurry
on through."
"Well, just one day!" argued John.
Uncle Dick sighed. "Well," said he, "we ought to be glad you're not
drowned, John. And I suppose you think we ought to make some sacrifice
on that account? Well, all right. If you promise to be contented with
one day's hunt, and to start out to-morrow morning and keep on the
trail until we strike the Tete Jaune Cache, I'll agree to go with you
to-day. The fact is, I wouldn't mind stretching my own legs a little
bit, for I'm cramped with saddle work. But I warn you it's a stiff
pull up that mountain there."
"Shall we just go to photograph?" asked Rob, "or shall we take the
rifle?"
"As you like, for this is British Columbia here, and I've a license
for each of you to shoot game as needed. But we only want one goat, so
we don't need to take more than one rifle. And it really is hard
climbing."
"Let me take my camera," said Rob, "and you carry the rifle, Uncle
Dick. The others won't need to take anything at all."
"Then we wouldn't have anything to do but just climb," protested John.
His uncle smiled at him. "Come now," said he; "I'll let you do the
shooting if you see a good, fat young goat. For my part, I'd as soon
shoot a poor, sick calf in a barnyard. You and Jesse decide which is
to shoot, and I'll carry the gun until the time comes."
"That's all right," said Moise, who overheard their conversation.
"Those boys was both fine shot, both of him. You let him shoot one
small, leetle goat for Moise, and I'll show you he's good for eat."
"Agreed," said Uncle Dick, "but, mind you, you've only got to-night to
cook him--I fear we might get caught in the high waters if we stopped
here until you boiled it tender!"
They made ready now for their climb, each with a light pair of nailed
boots and heavy stockings. Under their leader's advice they stripped
down to their flannel shirts, but each carried along a canvas jacket,
ready to put on when they reached the upper heights where the wind was
sure to be very cold. Uncle Dick carried John's rifle, and Rob took
his favorite camera, provided with a curtain shutter, and an eye-piece
on top where he could look in and see the game on the ground glass and
thus focus it properly. The weather was very fine, and they started
out in the best of spirits.
They walked steadily up through the heavy pine forest which covered
the foot of the mountain; and then, striking the steeper grade along a
bare ridge, they climbed steadily until, turning about and looking
down, they could see the glorious prospect which lay below them. The
surface of the lake, deep green in color, barely wrinkled now by a
light morning breeze, was visible from end to end, three miles or
more. On the other side of it showed the bold peaks of Fitzwilliam
mountain, back of that yet other peaks were disclosed as they climbed.
In that direction there lay an undiscovered country, and they might
well reflect that few even had looked out across it as they themselves
now were doing from their lofty perch. They knew well enough that the
old traders who passed through here rarely left the trail except for
necessary hunting, but passed on through as rapidly as they might,
this being merely their highway, and not their hunting-grounds.
"What is this, Uncle Dick?" called Rob, after a time, as, turning from
their study of the noble landscape, they resumed their work of
ascending the steep mountainside. Rob pointed to the broken surface of
the ground at his feet.
"What do you mean, Rob?" asked the older hunter.
"It looks as if horses had been here," said Rob, "yesterday, late."
"Yes," said Uncle Dick, smiling, "but not horses, I should say."
"Maybe not," said Rob, doubtfully. "But I thought maybe prospectors
had been in here."
"Only the original prospectors--the ones with white coats and long
whiskers and sharp horns," said Uncle Dick.
"But it looks like a regular trail!"
"It is a regular trail, but if you will look closer you'll see the
hoof marks. Horses do not have split toes, my boy. In fact, I have no
doubt this is the regular stairway of the goat family that lives on
this mountain. Like enough they've been down in here to get some
different sort of grass or water. They've evidently been using this
path quite a while."
"How high do you suppose they are now?" inquired John.
"Who can tell? A mile or two, or three, or five, for all I know. It
will take us two or three hours to get up to the rim-rock, at least,
and I've usually noticed that goats don't stop much short of the
rim-rock when they start to go up a hill. The sign is fresh, however,
made late last night or very early this morning; I think with you,
Rob, that it was yesterday."
"How many are there?" inquired Jesse, bending over the broad trail.
"Hard to tell, for they've used this trail more than once. A dozen or
more, I should say. Well, all we can do is to follow after them and
thank them for showing us a good path."
They climbed on up all the more eagerly now, and when they reached
more open country where the sun shone fairly on them they soon were
dripping with perspiration. But, young as were these hunters from
Alaska, they were not inexperienced in mountain-climbing. They knew
that the way to get up a mountain is to keep on slowly and steadily,
not hurrying, and never resting very long at a time. Thus they
advanced for three-quarters of an hour, until they could see still
farther out over the country below them. Now they could see that the
game had sometimes wandered about feeding, and the trail itself
divided and grew fainter.
Uncle Dick pointed out all these things quietly and suggested that
they would better be on the lookout. They advanced now more carefully,
and whenever they came to the edge of an open reach or topped some
shoulder of the slope they paused and examined the country ahead very
carefully. At last, when they had reached an altitude where the trees
were much smaller and more scattering, Uncle Dick stopped and took his
field-glasses from the case. He lay for some time, resting the glasses
on a big rock, sweeping all the country ahead of him with the glasses.
At last they saw him stop and gaze steadily at one spot for quite a
while.
"See anything?" asked Jesse, eagerly.
Uncle Dick did not reply at once, but after a time handed Jesse the
glasses. "Look over there," said he, "about half a mile, right at the
foot of that rock wall. You'll see something that looks like a flock
of snowballs, rather large ones."
Jesse tried the glasses for a time, and at last caught the spot
pointed out to him. "I see," said he, in a whisper. "Goats! Lots of
them." They showed so plainly in the glasses, in fact, that he spoke
carefully, as though he feared to frighten them.
"Oh, look at them!" said he, after a while. "The young ones are
playing like little sheep, jumping and butting around and having a
regular frolic."
"Any big ones?" asked Rob, quickly.
"I should say so; five or six, all sizes. And they look white as big
pillows. There's one that looks as though he had on white pants, and
his long white beard makes him look like an old man. He's looking
right down the mountain. You can see them plain against that black
rock."
"Just like a goat," said Uncle Dick. "They never try to hide
themselves. And even when there's snow on the mountains they'll leave
it and go lie on a black rock where everybody can see them. Well, come
on, and we'll see what sort of a stalk we can make on them."
They went on much more cautiously now, under Dick's guidance, keeping
under cover in the low trees and working to one side and upward in the
general direction of their game. It was hard work, and all the boys
were panting when at last their leader called a halt.
"We'll wait here," said he, in a low tone of voice. He now unslung the
rifle from his back and handed it to John. "You and Rob go on now,"
said he. "Don't shoot until Rob is done with his picture-making. And
when you do shoot, don't kill an old billy, for we couldn't keep the
head. Kill one of the young goats--I think there are two or three
yearlings there. I wouldn't shoot either of those two pairs of kids.
They're too little even for Moise, I think."
"Where are you going, Uncle Dick?" asked Rob.
"Jesse and I are going to stop right here under cover, and Jesse shall
have the sport of watching your hunt through the field-glasses--almost
as good fun as going along himself. Go on now, and don't lose any
time."
The two older boys now advanced carefully up the slope, using the
cover of the trees as far as they could. They appeared in the open for
a little time, only to disappear beyond a series of rocks which
projected from the slope above them.
"I don't see where they've gone," said Jesse, who was steadily
watching through the glasses.
"Give them time," said Uncle Dick. "You must remember that Rob has to
get pretty close in order to make the photograph. I'm sure they're
within rifle-range now."
"Oh, there they are!" whispered Jesse, a little later. "I see them
now. They're up above the goats, and crawling right down toward them.
Now there's old Rob, he's trying to get to the edge of the rocks; I
can see he's got his camera all ready. He'll be on top of them,
almost, if he gets there."
"Good boy, Rob!" said Uncle Dick, approvingly. "He has made a good
stalk of it."
Jesse, still gazing through the glasses, now saw his two friends
slowly advancing, clinging like flies to the steep rock's face, but
all the time getting closer to their game. The goats seemed not to
suspect an enemy, but lay or stood about in perfect unconcern. They
did not have any sentinel posted, as the mountain sheep often will,
but seemed to feel perfectly secure from all intrusion.
[Illustration: ROB'S GOAT]
At last Jesse saw Rob stand up straight and walk forward rapidly with
his camera in front of him. The goats now heard or scented him, for
at once they all stood up and turned toward him, facing him silent and
motionless.
"They don't know what he is!" exclaimed Jesse. "They're just looking
at him. No, there goes a big one right up toward him."
"In that case," said Uncle Dick, "Rob will get his picture, sure." An
easy prophecy, for, as a matter of fact, Rob secured several very good
pictures of the old goat and the others, as he stood rapidly working
his camera, almost in the face of the fearless old billy which
advanced toward him so pugnaciously.
But now Jesse saw the band of goats apparently take alarm at
something. They turned and began to disperse, some of them climbing
slowly up the apparently perpendicular rock face.
"They'll run right into John!" exclaimed Jesse. "There he is--there,
he's shot! Got him, too!"
They heard the faint sound of the report of the rifle come down from
above, and could see the fall of the goat as he slipped and rolled
among the rocks.
"Well done," said Uncle Dick. "They've both done their work well,
Jesse, and I am pretty sure we'll have both goat pictures and goat
steaks, all we want. I'm glad John did not get crazy and shoot a lot
of those poor creatures."
"Come on," said Jesse, "let's run up to where they are."
In due time they climbed up to where Rob and Jesse were sitting by the
side of the dead goat. The boys waved their hats to one another as
Jesse approached, smiling and panting.
"I saw it all," said Jesse, "right in the field-glasses, close up.
That's fine, isn't it?"
Rob and John both began to talk at once, while Uncle Dick stood
smilingly looking down at the dead goat.
"I could have killed two or three big ones," said John. "What heads
they had, too!"
"What could we have done with them?" asked his uncle. "No, you did
quite right in killing this yearling--it's all we want. And I think
Rob had the hardest task of any of us; it's easier to shoot a goat
with a rifle than with a camera."
"Well," said Rob, "it was just the way you said--they didn't seem
afraid at all. I've got one picture, square front end, of that old
fellow, and I don't think he was twenty feet away from me. He seemed
to think the camera was something that was going to hurt him, and he
showed fight."
"Now," said Uncle Dick, "the next thing is to get our meat down the
mountain."
Rolling up his sleeves, he now prepared to skin out such meat as he
wanted from the dead goat. He cut off the head and neck, and cut off
the legs at the knee-joints. Then he skinned back only the fore
quarters, leaving the hide still attached to the hind quarters and the
saddle. Using his belt, he folded the skin over the saddle, and then,
tying the sleeves of his coat so that it covered his shoulders, he
hoisted the saddle astride of his neck.
"I don't fancy this smell very much," said he, "but I guess it will be
the easiest way to get our meat down the mountain. Come on now, boys,
every fellow for himself, and be careful not to get a fall."
It was hard and sometimes rather slow work scrambling down the steep
face of the mountain, especially high up where the rocks were bare.
But after a time they came to the small green trees, and then to the
tall pines under whose shade the ground was softer and gave them a
better footing. It did not take them so long to come down as it had to
ascend, but they were all tired when late that afternoon they arrived
at their camp on the little promontory.
Moise was overjoyed at their success, and was all for cooking some of
the meat at once; but Uncle Dick checked him.
"No," said he, "it's too fresh yet. Skin it out, Moise, and hang it up
overnight, at least. You may set a little of it to stew all night at
the fire, if you like. Soak some more of it overnight in salt and
water--and then I think you'd better throw away all the kettles that
you've used with this goat meat. It may be all right, but I'm afraid
it's going to be a long time before I learn to like goat. If this were
a mountain sheep, now, I could eat all that saddle myself."
Moise asked who killed the goat, and when told that it was John he
complimented him very much. For Rob's work with the camera he had less
praise.
"I s'pose she's all right to make picture of goat," said he, "but
s'pose a man he's hongree, he couldn't eat picture, could he?"
Rob only laughed at him. "You wait, Moise," said he. "When I get my
pictures made maybe you'd rather have one of them than another piece
of goat meat."
In spite of Uncle Dick's disgust, Moise that evening broiled himself a
piece of the fresh goat meat at the fire, and ate it with such relish
that the boys asked for a morsel or so of it themselves. To their
surprise, they found the tenderloin not so bad to eat. Thus, with one
excuse or another, they sat around the fire, happy and contented,
until the leader of the party at last drove them all off to bed.
"I like this place," said John, "even if I did come pretty nearly
getting drowned out there in the lake."
And indeed the spot had proved so pleasant in every way that it was
only with a feeling of regret that they broke camp on Yellowhead Lake
and proceeded on their westward journey.
XIV
DOWN THE FRASER
Up to this time on their journey the weather had continued most
favorable, there having been little rain to disturb them either on the
trail or in camp. Now, however, they were on the western slope of the
Rockies and in the moister climate of the Pacific region. When they
left camp on Yellowhead Lake it was in a steady downpour which left
them drenched thoroughly before they had gone a mile.
The trail, moreover, now proved not only uncomfortable, but dangerous,
the rain making the footing so soft that in many cases on steep slopes
they were obliged to dismount and lead their horses up or down.
Indeed, the trail scarcely could be called a trail at all, all trace
of the original traders' paths now being lost. Many persons, mostly
engineers or prospecting adventurers, had passed here, each taking
his own way, and the sum of their selections served only to make bad
very much worse. In the level places the trail was a quagmire, on some
of the steeper slopes simply a zigzag of scrambling hoof tracks.
They kept on, in spite of their discomforts, throughout the forenoon
without pause. It was their purpose to get on the farther side of as
many of these mountain streams as possible. They were now in a bold
mountain country, where numerous small tributaries came down to the
great Fraser which roared and plunged along beside their trail. "The
Bad River," old Sir Alexander Mackenzie called one of the headwaters
of the Fraser, and bad enough it is from its source on down.
They were now near the forks of the two main tributaries of the
Fraser, one roaring torrent coming down from the south. The trail held
to the north bank of the Fraser, following down from the lake along
the rapid but harmless little river which made its outlet. To ford the
Fraser was, of course, impossible. Time and again the young
adventurers paused to look down at the raging torrent, broken into
high, foaming waves by the numerous reefs of rock which ran across it.
Continually the roar of the angry waters came up to them through the
trees. More than ever they realized that they now were on the shores
of one of the wickedest rivers in all the Rockies, as their Uncle Dick
had told them of the Fraser.
They now observed that the trees of the forest through which they
traveled were much larger than they had been. But, splendid as this
forest growth had been, they found that in a large area fire had gone
through it in some previous year, and this burned country--or _brule_,
as Moise called it--made one of the worst obstacles any traveler could
encounter. This hardship was to remain with them almost all the way
down the Fraser to the Tete Jaune Cache, and it added immeasurably to
the trials of pack-train travel.
At last they pulled up alongside of a broad and brawling stream,
turbulent but shallow, a little threatening to one not skilled in
mountain travel, but not dangerous to a party led as was this one, by
a man acquainted with the region.
[Illustration: APPROACHING THE GRAND CANYON ON THE FRASER RIVER]
"Here we are at Grant Creek," said Uncle Dick, as they paused on
the hither side of the stream. "This is one of the many swift
tributaries on the north side of the Fraser, but I am glad we've
got to ford it, and not the Fraser itself. You see, we have to keep
on the north bank all the way down now."
Uncle Dick carefully located his landmarks and examined some stones
and stumps to get some idea of the stage of the water.
"It's all right," said he. "Come on across. Follow me closely now."
Soon they were belly-deep in the tawny flood of the stream, which came
down noisily all about them. The sturdy horses, however, seemed not to
be in the least alarmed, but followed old Danny, Uncle Dick's pony, as
he slowly plodded on across, angling down the stream and never once
losing his footing in the rolling stones of the bottom. The stream was
not over a hundred and twenty feet wide at this point, and the ford
was made with no difficulty at all.
"This is easy," said Uncle Dick, as they emerged on the western side.
"But three miles ahead we come to the Moose River, and that's apt to
be a different proposition. You can't tell anything about any of these
rivers until you try them. One thing is sure, we can't get any wetter
than we are."
"I've noticed all these streams are highest in the afternoon," said
Rob--"a lot higher, too. We've often mentioned that."
"Yes; that's because the snow melts in the morning and starts the
water down the high slopes. It takes some time for it to get down to
the lower levels. Morning is the best time to ford any of these
mountain rivers, as I have told you."
The trail was none too good on to the Moose River, and they were none
too cheerful as they paused to look over the situation at the bank of
this stream.
"When I crossed here the last time I marked a stump with an ax," said
Uncle Dick. "That was barely below swimming-line. Ah, there it is, I
see--we've got six inches to the good, and that means we can get
across, I think. It's lucky it isn't worse. There are some falls up
this river a little way, and perhaps we could get across the narrows
there, but in any case we would have to get the horses across down
here, and we had better all make it together. Anyhow, I'll go ahead on
Danny and see how it works. Moise, you'll bring up the rear; Rob, you
go next ahead of Moise, and you, John and Jesse, follow just behind
me a little way back. If Danny loses his footing, all of you stop at
once and wait for further orders. Well, here goes."
He spurred his plucky little horse into the roily, turbulent flood,
closely followed by the others as he had instructed. Fortunately, the
pack-train, by this time well broken into the work of the trail, made
no disturbance, but followed along stolidly in the rear of the leader.
Thus, little by little, they edged on across and at last crossed the
dangerous middle part of the river. Here Uncle Dick angled a little
down, following the shallow water indicated by the light ripples. As
the boys saw Danny begin to show more and more above the surface of
the water, until he was walking no deeper than his knees, they swung
their hats and shouted exultantly, for now they were safely to cross
one of the most dangerous rivers on the whole trail.
"Well," said Uncle Dick, as at last they pulled up on the farther
side, "that's done, at any rate. From here it's only a couple of miles
or so to the head of Moose Lake. The trail is fierce along there, but
once beyond that lake we can safely call the worst of our whole
journey past and done with. We can make it in a few hours' steady
work if we have luck."
They pushed on, and after a time paused at a point near the head of
Moose Lake, from which they could see it lying before them, seven
miles or so of slaty gray water, now wrinkled under the downpouring
rain. It was a prospect not in the least cheerful, to be sure.
"The Fraser River runs straight through this lake," said Uncle Dick,
"and, as you see, it is getting more water every mile out of these
hills. This is the only quiet place on the whole Fraser River that I
know of. But we can't get across it, couldn't even if we had boats,
for here are the horses.
"But if we could cross the lake here, and if we could cross the Selwyn
Mountains over there on the other side of it, we would find a little
creek up there which heads up just opposite Price Creek. You see,
Price Creek runs down into the Canoe River, which is the stream we're
going to follow below Tete Jaune Cache. They say the Indians used to
take horses up this little creek and down Price Creek on the other
side. If so, they must have had horses born on the other side of the
Fraser, for I'll warrant they couldn't get them across from the north
side where we are."
"Did any white man ever go over that way?" asked Rob, curiously.
"Not that I know of. I don't know when the Indians went there, but
there's a story that some of them took horses across the Selwyns over
yonder. As for us, we've got to keep on down this valley. We are
twenty miles west from the Yellowhead Pass, and have thirty miles more
to go yet to the Tete Jaune Cache."
"What are these big mountains over on the right?" inquired Rob.
"That's the Rainbow range. We make our way right along their feet. On
beyond the lake for some distance the river is a little more quiet,
then she drops; that's all. There's a strip of water in here twenty
miles or so that no boat could live in at all. There were two
rattle-headed engineers who did try to take a boat down a part of the
Fraser in here, and in some miraculous way they ran maybe ten or
twelve miles of it, part in and part out of the water. Then their boat
smashed on a rock, and they both were drowned. One body was found, the
other was never heard of."
"Well," said John, "we're complaining a good deal about going along on
horses, but I believe I like that better than taking a boat on that
river."