TRACKING MOUNTAIN GOATS IN AN AIRSHIP
As soon as Jake knew that Mr. Mackworth planned to have a day’s fishing
at Josephine Falls he declined to cook Frank and Phil’s fish in a
“balsam bake.”
“I’ll put that over right at the Falls,” he insisted, “while the spots
are on the fish.”
The boys were up early to see the camp. There were four sleeping
tents, each with a second top which extended out at one end to make a
shaded entrance. Beneath this, the thick canvas floor of the tent also
extended to afford a lounging place outside the tent. Light netting,
weighted to keep it from blowing about, enclosed this entrance for
protection against mosquitoes although, so far, the valley breeze had
kept these away.
There were cots in each tent, except the one occupied by Jake, Hosmer
and Skinner. Mr. Mackworth was alone in his tent but, allowing for the
amount of extra equipment stored therein, he had less space than the
others. And, as soon as it was agreed that the party was to remain in
camp for a few days, it was surprising how many articles of comfort and
convenience he produced from his trunks and bags.
“Two things I insist on in camp,” Mr. Mackworth explained. “I’m willing
to eat out of the skillet, so long as the food is right; I’ll drink out
of my hat, if necessary, and I can sleep on the ground; but I want a
place to wash my face and a comfortable chair.”
The outfit included plenty of big, collapsible, canvas chairs with
backs and in each tent there was a washbasin, water bucket, a rack for
towels, wash rags, comb and brush and a mirror. Another idea of Mr.
Mackworth’s was a provision tent, insect proof, in which he insisted
that cooking utensils and dishes be stored between meals.
Jake Green had already improvised benches to hold his pans and plates,
and when breakfast was announced it was only necessary to draw the
chairs nearer the savory cook fire. Jake served all with ease and
despatch. On this particular morning the skilled colored boy had
coffee, bacon, scrambled eggs and fried trout.
“Jake,” exclaimed Lord Pelton, “that trout is a king’s dish. It’s even
better than the fish you served the night we started.”
“I had to sauté ’em,” Jake said deprecatingly. “They’re too big to fry
in oil.”
“Never any other way for me,” exclaimed Captain Ludington as he
conveyed a piece of the smoking fish to his mouth.
“But these eggs,” commented Lord Pelton, “they――”
“Eggs? I hadn’t anything to do with ’em,” exclaimed Jake. “Can’t anyone
scramble eggs for Mr. Mackworth but himself. Talk to him about the
eggs.”
“It’s so simple,” laughed their host, “that even Jake won’t do it.”
“What’s the secret?” asked Captain Ludington giving attention to the
golden dish.
“No secret. All you have to do is to take ’em off before they’re
cooked. In cookin’ eggs, you _don’t_. And then you ought to have real
black pepper for seasoning; not white dust. Beat the whites and the
yolks separately, just cover the bottom of the skillet with butter and
keep turning the eggs from the edge of the pan to the center with a
fork. When they are hot, take ’em off and they’ll finish cookin’ in
their own heat and you won’t have ’em hard and dry.”
Before the party broke camp the Englishmen insisted they were in a
fair way to get the gout and Captain Ludington had a notebook full of
directions how to prepare Mr. Mackworth’s famous spaghetti; his “camp
chicken;” coffee; steamed, sautéd, fried and baked trout and the sauce
for each.
“It’s a case of hindsight bein’ better than lookin’ ahead,” said Phil
at breakfast when Hosmer described the trail to Josephine Falls. As
there seemed no good landing place there for the _Loon_ it was decided
that Sam Skinner should stay in camp that day; and about nine o’clock
the rest of the party set out for a day’s fishing at the Falls. Hosmer
directed a pack horse to be loaded with Jake’s luncheon outfit and
the horsemen, at last on their way for real sport, were as lively as
schoolboys.
When the first hill had been crossed and “Grizzly” picked up what he
called a “road” through the tall lodge-pole pines in the next valley,
even Mr. Mackworth laughed.
“Anything is a ‘road’ that you can keep goin’ on and where you don’t
have to stop to cut down timber,” explained “Grizzly.”
They did the former and while the others could not even make out a
trail, their guide went ahead without delay. Coming out of the woods at
last, the Hog Back rose before them.
“Where’s your road now?” exclaimed Phil. “I didn’t see any last night.”
“You don’t need a road in the open,” replied “Grizzly” contemptuously.
“It’s all road.”
Hosmer began a swift ascent of the almost mountainous slopes. Stopping
now and then to examine the rough ground ahead; turning and twisting
forward on new tacks; in less than twenty minutes the party came out on
the crest of the hill.
“There she is,” called out Frank, “the scene of our disaster.”
Apparently it was the last valley before the high ground beyond it
broke into the foothills of the real mountains. It lay green and
rolling, gay with flowers and spring-time verdure.
“Why wouldn’t that make a good ranch?” asked Captain Ludington. “I can
almost see the cattle and sheep gorging themselves. And over there on
the bank of the river would be just the place for a big home and barns.
Why there are thousands of acres here going to waste.”
“Come back in five years,” replied Mr. Mackworth soberly, “and you’ll
probably see just what you describe. What you see here, you can find in
thousands of places in this part of the world.”
“Could anyone come here?” broke in Phil, recalling his long days in the
factory and his eighteen dollars a week.
“My boy,” said Mr. Mackworth, “Canada is begging people to come.”
“And it wouldn’t cost you anything to get a farm here and have a house
over there by Josephine Falls and its trout; where you could see wild
goats on the hills and elk and moose and bears and deer in the woods
beyond, and where you have a pasture ready made for your cattle?”
“Almost nothing,” replied Mr. Mackworth.
Phil looked at Frank and unseen by the others winked slowly. In boy
language this meant: “Do you hear him? I’m on. I’m goin’ to come here
and own Meadow Grass Valley.”
“Grizzly” Hosmer called on all to dismount, as the east side of the
hill was too steep to descend mounted. Turning their horses loose the
party began sliding and scrambling down the slopes. At ten o’clock,
crossing the corner of Meadow Grass Valley at a smart pace, the
expedition reached the timber hiding Josephine Falls.
Mr. Mackworth’s trout rigging was not purchased in Michel. As rods,
creels, boots, hand nets and fly hooks were unpacked, the little camp
looked like a bargain sale in a sporting goods store. Everyone was
equipped (Phil with his own rod and outfit this time) and in a few
moments, Jake and “Grizzly” Hosmer sat alone in camp. Phil took the
stream above the Falls; Frank went a mile below; Mr. Mackworth and Lord
Pelton were assigned the pools at the foot of the Falls, and Captain
Ludington turned free lance.
All were to be in camp by two o’clock. Phil returned at one without a
fish. Evidently they did not get above the Falls. The others came in
soon after that time. Frank had eight beauties; Mr. Mackworth and Lord
Pelton had caught scores and retained sixteen――all over two pounds. But
Captain Ludington was the prize winner. He had nine fish and two of
them weighed nearly four pounds each. Each fisherman had put back more
fish than he had in his creel.
Jake’s “balsam bake” turned out to be, in reality, “steamed” trout. As
soon as the colored boy saw that the party was catching fish he began
digging rocks out of the bed of the stream. Two dozen of these, each as
big as his head, he heated in a rousing fire. After the trout had been
brought in he dressed them, leaving the heads on. Then he rolled the
hot rocks into a flat foundation, apart from the fire. On this he piled
a foot of the tips of new jack-pine boughs――tender, green fragrant
leaves――and on these he laid the fish yet brilliant with nature’s
coloring. Over these he piled another foot or more of boughs and then
covered the whole with a piece of wet cloth.
The thick white odorous vapor that rolled from the damp pine boughs
was ample forerunner of what was to come. In an hour and fifteen
minutes the steaming oven was uncovered. Each fish lay as it came
from the stream; the gold and pink tints and the “cutthroat” marks
of carmine all as vivid as when the trout were caught. The fish were
perfectly cooked. It did not seem much of an accomplishment but Captain
Ludington’s book on the “Canadian Rockies,” which he wrote later,
devotes an entire chapter to “Trout; Catching and Cooking Them.” And
in his narrative, Jake’s “pine-bough steam” receives enthusiastic
commendation.
Fishing was over for the day and after luncheon, the party made its
way back to camp, reaching the ranch about five o’clock. The next day,
it was agreed, was to be given up to hunting goats along the Hog Back.
There was, therefore, a careful overhauling of the firearms. In the
midst of this Frank approached Mr. Mackworth and said:
“The _Loon_ is working perfectly. I’d like to make a little flight
with you as a passenger. We’ll follow the Hog Back for a few miles and
locate any stray goats loafing about there. It may help you in your
hunt to-morrow.”
“Captain Ludington,” said Mr. Mackworth, “I think this a fine idea.
I order you to go with Frank on a tour of investigation. Make a
sky-view chart of the hill and designate the location of the enemy if
discovered.”
Captain Ludington wrinkled his brows and laughed. He twisted his mouth
as if about to say something, probably a protest; then, to the surprise
of all, he sprang to his feet, clicked his heels together, saluted and
said:
“Very good, sir.”
“Come along, Lord Pelton,” exclaimed Phil. “We’ll all go. Take your
rifle.”
Mr. Mackworth looked at Phil.
“I wouldn’t take a rifle if I were you. Don’t you think that would be
an unfair advantage of the goats? They won’t be looking for an enemy
from the sky. I don’t mind using the airship to get on an equal footing
with the goats; to get on their heights and meet ’em man to goat; but
I wouldn’t shoot them from where they haven’t any cause to expect an
enemy. I think shooting goats from an airship would be ‘pot hunting.’”
“I don’t agree with you,” retorted Phil instantly. “As for only doing
what the goats have a right to be looking for, there’s nothing in that
or we wouldn’t be able to shoot them at all. Goats don’t know anything
about guns. And as for the goats having no reason to be looking for an
enemy above them, their animal enemies are always above or below ’em.
And Sam Skinner says the golden eagle swoops down on them from above
whenever he wants a fresh kid.”
“It’s all a matter of taste,” rejoined Mr. Mackworth, smiling. “Do as
you like.”
“But I _wouldn’t_ shoot to kill unless I could recover the prize,”
added Phil. “And I wouldn’t shoot from the airship to leave an animal
dying on the rocks where I couldn’t get it.”
“We’ll just reconnoiter this evening,” suggested Frank.
“I agree with the young man,” spoke up Captain Ludington. “Most sport
is nothing but the old Anglo-Saxon lust for blood and killing. And,
so long as we hunt, I think the hunter may as well resort to the best
means to conquer his quarry. _I’m_ willing to shoot from the airship.”