THE RETREAT
It was noon the next day before the various chores about camp were done.
The dishes and some small packages of food that had been left in the
tent were badly mixed up and a number of packages torn open and their
contents ruined. Hugh, fortunately, had put most of the coffee in one of
the caches in the trees, but that which had been left in the tent had
been scattered and trodden into the ground, so that only two or three
cupfuls of the berries could be picked up and used.
“I tell you, Hugh,” said Jack, “it was mighty lucky that you put that
food in the trees. If it hadn’t been for that I expect we should have
had to go back to the Agency to get more grub.”
“Yes,” replied Hugh, “I reckon we would, but I knew there were bears
around here, and you never can tell just what a bear will do when it
comes to a camp. Sometimes they are so shy that they will run away as
soon as they smell the camp, at others they will prowl around it for a
day without touching anything, or again, maybe they’ll go right into the
tent and destroy everything that is there. I remember, one time down in
Colorado, a bear came into camp while we were out prospecting and tore
up and scattered around everything that we had; he even tore our
blankets to pieces. We had to start into the settlements at once for a
new outfit. Of course, we followed up the bear and killed him, but that
wasn’t much satisfaction.
“We are mighty lucky that some of these horses did not break their
necks, or get away and get lost in this brush. Of course, the chances
are we could have trailed them and found them, but on the other hand if
a snow had come before we did find them, we might have lost them for
good. They’d have been likely to get tied up in the brush with their
ropes and to have starved to death.”
“Yes,” said Joe, “we came out of it mighty lucky, but I never expect to
understand how that bear wrapped herself up in that tent so that she
couldn’t move.”
“No,” said Hugh, “that’s a mighty curious performance, and the queer
part of it is that the tent is just as good as ever it was, except for
the bullet holes and the blood on it. She didn’t tear it a mite, and
that, of course, shows that somehow she must have got wrapped up in it
just as the tent fell. If she’d had a chance to use her arms at all she
would have torn the canvas to ribbons and we would never have got her.
“Well,” he continued, “it’s too late to start out prospecting now, and I
reckon I’ll stay in camp the rest of the day and maybe clean the blood
off this tent and generally get things in shape. What do you boys mean
to do?”
“Why,” said Jack, “I don’t know. I believe I’d like to go up around this
lake and follow up the valley until I come to that wall of rock at the
head. I expect that must be the divide, isn’t it?”
“I reckon so,” said Hugh. “I believe if we get up on top of this next
ridge ahead of us, we’ll see the waters running the other way and down
into Flat Head Lake and so on into the Columbia and the Pacific Ocean.”
The boys started and proceeded up the valley. Close to the margin of the
lake was a thick growth of alders, but these extended only a few yards
back, and between them and the sharp slope of the mountain there was a
level space thickly covered with huge rock fragments, among which they
picked their way without much difficulty.
The day was bright and still, but the air so keen that the mosquitoes
and flies were not troublesome.
Part way up the lake, Jack, who had been watching something on a great
rock which rose above the water’s surface, reached out his hand and
motioned to Joe not to move, and then, taking out his glasses, looked at
the moving object, which proved to be two tiny harlequin ducks busily
engaged in dressing their feathers.
The boys approached them slowly and carefully, stopping whenever the
ducks ceased the operations to look about them, and then going on when
the birds were busy, and at last they had come to within thirty or forty
yards of them, and through the glasses could see them almost as plainly
as if they had been within arm’s length.
They were beautiful birds and their curiously variegated colors stood
out plainly. The deep rich blue of the body, spotted here and there with
white and rich brown and black, and their trim smooth appearance made
them very pretty objects. During one of Jack’s inspections, Joe, whose
eyes were wandering about up the valley and over the mountainside,
touched Jack’s arm, and said, “I think I see a goat.”
“Where?” asked Jack, without moving.
“Look up the valley down close to the grass on that red cliff. There’s
something white lying against it. I thought I saw it move just now.”
Jack turned his glasses in the direction in which Joe pointed, and after
a little search, discovered a goat lying in what looked like a sort of
cave in the rock. “Sure enough,” he said, “it’s a goat, Joe, but how can
we get at it? It will surely see us before we can reach any cover.”
“Yes,” said Joe, “pretty sure to see us, of course; nothing to hide
behind at all.”
“I don’t see how to get at it, except to crawl up to the edge of the
hill and there maybe we’ll find rocks to get behind. Let’s try it
anyway,” said Jack.
They started, Joe in the lead, and crept slowly toward the edge of the
valley, but before they had reached it the goat slowly rose to its feet,
and immediately the two boys sank to the ground and waited, without
moving. The goat did not seem to be alarmed. It took a long look down
the valley and then looked up at the mountainside opposite. Then it
turned and very slowly walked away from the cave by which it had been
lying, and, turning, began to ascend what looked to the boys like an
absolutely perpendicular cliff. The animal did not hurry, but walked
along in deliberate fashion, sometimes stopping and lowering its head,
as if to take a bite of grass, and again, turning and looking back over
the way it had come or out over the valley. Still its advance was
steady, and presently it walked behind a projection of rock and was not
seen again.
“Well,” said Jack, “did you ever see anything like that? That beast just
walked right straight up the face of that cliff as a fly would walk up
the wall of a room.”
“It’s queer,” answered Joe; “I could hardly believe that I saw what I
saw. Those goats must have powerful medicine to be able to do things
like that.”
“It sure looks so,” replied Jack, “but I tell you what I want to do.
Let’s notice just where that goat was lying and where it went, and let’s
go over there and see if the rock is right up and down, as it looks. I’d
like to see whether a man could go up where that goat went.”
“Yes,” said Joe, “so would I.”
Rising, the boys walked over to the place and had no great difficulty in
scrambling up to where the goat had been lying. The tracks which they
saw before they got there told them that during the night the goat had
been down in the valley feeding, and had gone up to this cave to rest,
in the heat of the day. The goat’s bed had been stamped out among the
shale where a trickle of water came down from the slate above, and this
accounted for a dark patch on the goat’s side that both boys had
noticed. It had been lying in the mud.
Then they followed where the goat had gone after leaving its bed. A
shelf of rock about a foot wide led along the face of the precipice for
thirty or forty yards and was evidently a much-used goat trail. It was
pretty narrow for the boys, but by going very gingerly, holding
themselves as close as possible to the rocks, they got to the point
where the animals had turned off up the hill. Here the water had worn a
little course by following a crack in the shale, and there was a ravine,
if it could be called that, a foot or two deep and as wide at the top.
Moreover, the face of the precipice, instead of being vertical, leaned
back a little from the valley. In the ravine and on both sides of it the
rocks were much worn by the passage of animals, and to both the boys it
seemed clear that this was the regular trail followed by the goats.
“What do you think, Jack?” said Joe. “Could a man climb up there?”
“Well, I tell you what,” said Jack. “If you will hold my gun I’m going
to try. I believe anybody can climb up there, but, of course, he
wouldn’t want to do it with much of a load on his back.”
“I’ll take the guns,” said Joe, “but don’t you climb too far, and look
out that you don’t slip and fall. A man might bump himself pretty badly
rolling down here, and it’s quite a drop down to the rocks below.”
“All right,” said Jack, “I’ll look out.”
He gave Joe the gun and started to climb. It was slow work, for in many
places the rock was very smooth, and in others, where there was a little
knob or protuberance on which to rest hand or foot, it was rotten and
broke under his weight. On the whole, however, the going was easier than
he had thought, and he went thirty or forty yards to a point where the
climbing became easy, and then determined to return. Going back was
harder than coming up, for he could not see where to put his feet and
was obliged to feel around blindly for footholds. Sometimes, when he
had found one and tested it by resting his weight on it, it broke and
gave him a little start, but, on the whole, he had little difficulty in
getting down to Joe, and together they retraced their steps to the
valley.
“Well,” said Joe, “I reckon you had quite a time finding places for your
fingers. You cut ’em up considerably.”
Then for the first time Jack looked at his hands and found that, in half
a dozen places, his fingers were lacerated by the sharp slate fragments
to which he had clung.
The boys went on up the valley and, presently, found themselves under
the tremendous wall of its head. There was no water falling over here
now, but it was evident that in times past there had been a great rush
of water at the very head of the valley, for the ground was strewn with
water-worn pebbles and fine gravel, among which grew grass and other
vegetation. The valley here was rather larger than at the lake below,
and there was a wide, level amphitheater, walled in on three sides by
the great cliff and by mountainsides that were almost as steep as the
cliff.
Sitting down here, the boys studied the sides of the mountains with the
glasses and soon made out a number of goats lying in the shade or
feeding. In one group there were fifteen and, on the side of the tall
mountain to the north, they counted forty-two white spots, most of which
they felt sure were goats, though some of the spots showed no motion.
It was the middle of the afternoon and they were talking of going back
to camp. Jack was taking a last look with his glasses at the goats on
the mountainside, when, suddenly, Joe’s gun sounded immediately behind
him. Jack dropped his glasses and reached for his gun, asking, “Joe,
what is it?”
“I think it was a skunk bear,” said Joe, “what you call wolverine. It
just came up on top of that rock over there, about a hundred yards off,
and I shot at it. I knew if I moved or spoke to you, it would jump down
and be out of sight in a second.”
“Did you get it?” said Jack.
“I don’t know,” was the reply. “Let’s go up there and see. If I didn’t
hit it, we’ll never see it again. These rocks are full of holes and
hiding places, and if it’s only wounded it will sure get away.”
They hurried up to the rock, which Joe pointed out again as they
approached it, and walking around on the other side saw a great splash
of blood on the stones below and a moment later, behind a small stone,
they found a splendid wolverine, kicking in his last gasp. The ball had
passed through both shoulders, making the fore-legs useless. If it had
not been for that they would, very likely, not have found the animal,
although its wound was mortal. Jack shook hands with Joe and said, “That
was a good shot, Joe, and mighty lucky, too. This is a splendid hide.
I’d have given a good deal for such a chance as that.”
“Well,” said Joe, “I’d have spoken to you if there’d be any chance that
you would have got the shot, but, as I said before, if the beast had
seen me move or heard me speak, he would have dodged out of sight and
you wouldn’t have seen him again.”
“Nonsense,” said Jack, “there’s no reason why you should have given me
the shot. You saw him, and he was yours if you could kill him. It would
have been throwing away the chance, if you had tried to get me to see
him. Of course, he would not have stayed for me to shoot at. Now, what
shall we do; skin him here or take him into camp?”
“Well,” said Joe, “I’d rather skin him here, only I don’t know much
about skinning a wolverine. I don’t know whether it ought to be cased or
split.”
“Neither do I,” said Jack; “but I reckon we’ll be safe if we case it.
Then if it ought to be split we can do that afterward, can’t we?”
“Maybe,” said Joe. “I don’t know. Let’s case it, anyhow, and save
ourselves the trouble of lugging the carcass back.”
The boys’ knives were sharp and the skinning did not take them long. It
was an admirable fur, and as they worked, Jack did not tire of admiring
it.
Soon the job was completed and they started for camp.
Hugh looked at them with some curiosity, as they approached the tent,
and was much interested to see the wolverine’s skin.
“Who killed it?” he asked, finally.
“Joe,” said Jack. “He made a mighty good shot from about a hundred yards
off and broke both shoulders. The animal was just dying when we got up
to it and had gone hardly any distance.”
“You were lucky to kill it, Joe,” said Hugh. “It isn’t often one gets a
chance at one of these fellows, and up here in the mountains--or for the
matter of that anywhere else--if you wound one, that’s the end of it.
You can never find him.”
“We didn’t know how to skin it, White Bull,” said Joe, “and we didn’t
want to pack it into camp, so, finally, we cased it. Ought we to have
split it?”
“Why,” said Hugh, “it don’t make much difference. I’ve seen plenty of
wolverine cased, and plenty stretched flat. In old times they used to
stretch ’em flat, but I never heard they were worth more one way than
another. Nice piece of fur, ain’t it?” he said, as he ran his fingers
through it. “Up here in the high mountains they haven’t begun to shed
yet and he’s just as smooth and glossy as a beaver.”
That night, while they were sitting around the fire after supper, Hugh
said, “Now, boys, I don’t know whether you’ve noticed it, but feed is
getting mighty short here. We’ve only got a few head of horses, but the
grass is only just started and in about one day more they will be
gnawing up its roots on this little flat. We didn’t find any feed up the
valley, though a couple of weeks later, when the snow has melted and the
ground has warmed up, there’ll be grass growing everywhere. We came in
here a little too early. None of us could have known that, because none
of us have ever been up here before. It looks to me as if it was a long
time since anybody had been here; I don’t see any signs of camps, or
horses, or chopping. I think we’ve got to get out of this and do it
pretty quick. If we don’t, our horses will begin to get poor.”
“That’s so, White Bull,” said Joe. “I noticed to-day that the feed was
getting powerful short, and I don’t know where we can go except down the
valley toward the prairie, where the weather is warm and the grass has
started.”
“Well,” said Jack, “I suppose that’s so, but just think how bad the
flies will be down there.”
“They will,” said Hugh, “surely. But we’ve got to stand them if we’re
going to be in the mountains for the next month. It’s better to be ate
up by flies than to have the horses get poor.”
“Well, Hugh,” said Jack, “isn’t there any place we can go, up here in
the high mountains, where there will be feed? We crossed a big stream a
little lower down. How would it be up on the head of that?”
“I don’t know, son,” said Hugh. “You know just as much about this
country here as I do. It’s new to both of us. If you like, we can take a
day off to-morrow and prospect a little more. If we could get up to the
top of this high mountain on the north side of the valley, we might be
able to see something, but, at a distance, it’s pretty hard to tell
whether ground where there isn’t any snow is covered with grass, or
weeds, or willows. If you feel like it, we all can make a climb
to-morrow, and see if we can get up to the top of this mountain and look
over. If we do, I expect we’ll find on the other side some valleys and
flats, but it’s mighty doubtful if there will be any place where there’s
feed for the animals. I think the best thing we can do is to go on back
and maybe camp on those high ledges we passed over coming up. There’s
some feed there and then we can climb up to the top of Goat Mountain and
see whether from there we can see any country that is without snow.
There must be quite a basin in back of Goat Mountain, where that big
stream that we camped on the other night comes out. It must be a cold
place there with big mountains all around it, but we can take a look
into it, and, anyhow, at our camp the horses will be able to find
something to eat.”
“I guess that is so, White Bull,” said Joe. “That’s the best thing to
do.”
“Well,” said Jack, “I suppose it is. I hate to leave here when there’s
so much new country to be seen, but we can’t stay without feed for the
horses.”
Early next morning the tent was pulled down and, while Hugh cooked the
breakfast, the beds were rolled, the packs made up and the horses
saddled. A little later, while Hugh was washing his dishes and putting
his kitchen together, ready for packing, the boys loaded the beds, tent
and provisions on two of the horses and, as soon as the third was
packed, the train moved off down the valley.
The journey down stream seemed much shorter than the ascent had been.
The big river which came in from the north was passed without
difficulty, and two or three hours later all the snow had been left
behind, and they were traveling in the warm sun, over the grassy ledges
of Goat Mountain. Here, on a level spot, camp was made, several of the
horses staked out in a place where they could not get cast on the
hillside, and Joe and Jack set out to try to reach the crest of the
mountain.
It was a long, hard climb, breasting the steep shale slopes and then
clambering up narrow ravines worn by water falling for ages down the red
cliffs. The boys moved along slowly, for neither was in good condition
for mountain-climbing, yet their progress was steady, for though they
frequently stopped to catch their breath, these pauses were not long. At
last they reached the mountain’s crest and, standing upon it, looked
over into the valley.
A few stunted wind-swept pines crowned the ridge and under them the snow
lay deep, while on the north fall of the ridge, the white slope, dotted
here and there with black pines or broken by projecting rock points,
stretched down into the basin, in which rose the stream on which they
had camped a few nights before.
The basin looked dreary, cold and lifeless. No bare ground was to be
seen, only the snow, now and then broken by the fresh tracks of goats
which seemed to have been crossing the slope.
Jack and Joe followed the crest of the ridge for some distance, and then
turned down the hill toward camp, walking among the scattered, stunted
pines, over the steeply inclined slide rock. Gradually they worked down
the hill, but, at length, Joe made a little sign, at which Jack stopped
and looked in the direction in which Joe was pointing. Sure enough,
there, a long way off, was a white spot lying at the foot of one of the
red cliffs, and the glasses showed it to be a goat.
The boys set out to stalk it, passing very carefully from tree to tree,
until, at length, a point of rock hid the animal from sight. Then they
hurried forward, but when they peered carefully over the last point of
rocks, behind which the goat should have been, they could not see it. It
did not seem possible that they could have frightened it. The wind was
right, and while they had been within sight, the animal had made no
movement.
After a little looking over the ground, they decided that they had
mistaken the place which they were now looking at for the one where the
goat had been, and that the right place must be beyond one of two points
just before them.
On rounding the first of these, they saw no signs of the animal, but on
looking beyond the second, there was the goat, on the little shelf,
where he had first been seen. He was just a fair rifle shot from them,
and Jack drew back, telling Joe to go ahead and take a shot. Jack had
killed a number of goats, but Joe had still his first to shoot at.
The Indian boy crept forward and, resting his gun against a rock, took
careful aim and fired. The goat sprang to its feet and, as it rushed
across the narrow shelf where it had been lying, the boys could see its
fore-leg swinging as if it had been broken high up. The animal had been
lying a little quartering toward the gun, and the ball that had broken
its shoulder must have passed through the heart or lungs. The goat ran
to the edge of the shelf, as if to leap off, but the plunge of sixty
feet was too much for it. It turned and ran back toward the crevice down
which it had come and reared against the rocks as if to ascend, but Jack
fired a hasty shot, which struck the rocks in front of it, and made it
run back to the edge of the shelf. Just as it reached the brink its
knees gave way and it pitched forward, whirled over and over, struck a
ledge, bounded out again, and rolled, an inert mass, down the
mountainside and out of sight.
“Hurrah, Joe!” shouted Jack, “you got him, all right.”
“Maybe so,” said Joe, “I don’t want to be too sure, for I have heard
that these animals are hard to kill.”
Without waste of time Joe started down the mountainside after the
animal, springing from rock to rock, almost like a goat or sheep.
“Look out, Joe,” called Jack, “you’ll break your neck.”
But Joe kept on. Where the goat had tumbled into the ravine the rocks
were smeared with blood, and fifty or sixty yards further down, at the
foot of a steep cliff, the animal lay dead.
It took some time to drag the carcass to a place convenient for working
on it and to get it in shape to carry down the mountain. The sun was
getting low, and as they worked the sky became overcast. After they had
partly skinned the goat, Joe wrapped the hide around the shoulders and
put it on his back, while Jack followed with the hams. They traveled as
fast as possible, but it was dusk before they reached the ledge on which
the camp was located.
“Well, boys,” said Hugh, who was sitting by the fire and had supper
ready, “what did you find and what have you got? I heard you shoot a
couple of times.”
“Joe killed a fat nanny-goat,” replied Jack, “and we brought in the meat
and the hide. The hide, of course, doesn’t amount to anything, because
there isn’t much hair on it, but the meat ought to be good.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “we’ll try it. I am no great hand to eat goat meat,
but that sheep that we got down on the lower lake is about all gone and
it’s time we had some fresh meat. What did you see on the other side of
the mountain? Is there any feed there? Any show at all for the stock?”
“No,” replied Jack, “nothing there but snow and rocks. A goat might live
there, but a horse would quickly starve.”
“Well, then,” said Hugh, “there’s nothing left for us to do but to get
down toward the prairie. Maybe we’ve got to go away from the hills to
where the grass is good and the flies won’t bother much, or else, on a
pinch, we can go up Swift Current. There’s likely to be feed all the way
up there until we get into the right high mountains.”
“I’ve heard a lot about Swift Current, Hugh,” said Jack. “What is there
up there?”
“Why,” Hugh answered, “I don’t rightly know. I’ve only been up it a few
miles and hunted in some of the hills there. There’s plenty of game, I
reckon; moose and elk and bear and sheep and goats, and perhaps a few
deer. It’s not a long stream and there’s a good trail up to the falls; a
trail that’s traveled by the Indians every year, for the Kootenays or
Stonies or Bloods generally make a hunting camp there for some weeks in
the fall. There are some beaver there, too, I think, though not as many
as there used to be before the Indians took to trapping them. I expect
we’ll find the flies pretty bad, but we’ll sure find feed for the
horses, and there’s some high mountains that are mighty sightly.”
“Well,” said Jack, “I’d like to go up and look round, since we can’t do
anything at the head of the river until the grass starts, and, if you
and Joe think best, I say Swift Current.”
“Swift Current will suit me,” assented Joe, and Hugh added, “It’s a go.”
Accordingly the next morning the train continued on down the lakes, and
about the middle of the afternoon they camped at the foot of the lower
lake. Just as they were about to ford the river, a man on horseback
appeared on top of a hill behind them. Hugh happened to look back and
saw him signal to call a companion to him by riding in a circle, on the
top of the hill where he could be seen by anyone at a distance.
A little later, the man with his companion rode down to the river,
crossed it and came to their camp. He was a Kootenay Indian, who could
talk some Piegan and some Chinook, and it soon appeared that he was
camped with fifteen lodges of his people under the chief Back In Sight,
not far off on Swift Current Creek.