OVERBOARD.
Our friends, after parting with the Lewis and Clark expedition, pressed
southward, in search of a milder climate and a more direct route to
their homes. They were traversing a region broken by many streams,
detached mountain spurs and ranges of lofty elevation. Black Butte, as
it is known to-day, in Dawson County, Montana, was left on the left,
after which they rode through the valley of Little Porcupine Creek to
the Yellowstone, which was crossed with considerable difficulty.
Turning more to the east, they passed the rough, precipitous section,
the scene many years afterward of the appalling Custer massacre, and
now an immense Indian reservation, and, entering the present State of
Wyoming, skirted the foothills of the well-known Big Horn range. Here
the scenery was of the grandest character. Had the party not been
accustomed for months to such impressive exhibitions of the majesty of
nature, they could have spent weeks of enjoyment where the like is
found in few parts of the world. They pushed on, however, not making
what might be termed a real halt until they came to the Laramie
Mountains, almost the equal of the former in picturesque beauty.
By this time the unremitting hard work began to tell upon the horses.
Zigzag showed slight lameness, and Jack, the animal ridden by George
Shelton, surely needed rest. Only Whirlwind continued as powerful,
active and fresh as ever. Deerfoot and the boys always walked a number
of miles each day, not only for the sake of the horses, but to gain the
exercise each needed. Deerfoot ran races with Whirlwind, who was
inconsiderate enough to beat him every time. Sometimes they frolicked
like a couple of boys. The Shawanoe delighted to tease the noble
creature, who delighted to have him do so. One habit of the youth was
to pretend he was offended with the stallion. He would turn his back
upon him and repel his advances toward a reconciliation. Whirlwind
would poke his nose first over one shoulder and then the other, rubbing
it against the cheek of Deerfoot. If the latter sulked too long,
Whirlwind would show his impatience by flirting his head against that
of the youth, whirling about, kicking up his heels and galloping off.
No words could have said more plainly:
"I don't care. Pout all you want to. I shan't coax you any more. I
haven't much opinion of you anyway."
And then Deerfoot had to make peace with his offended majesty. But the
stallion never held off long, and George and Victor laughed at the
antics of the couple.
The halt of which I have spoken was made one afternoon, near the
southern end of the Laramie range. No more favorable spot could have
been selected, for the grass was abundant and of the best quality. A
stream of considerable size issued from the mountains and flowing
northeast joined the North Platte, a hundred miles away, and there was
enough timber to yield all the fuel needed. The horses were unsaddled
and unbridled, the pack removed from the back of Zigzag and the three
owners were at liberty to do whatever they chose to pass away the
hours. It was so late that they stayed in camp till morning, when it
was decided to set off on a hunt, Deerfoot going by himself, while the
brothers, as usual, kept company.
There had hardly been a day since parting from Lewis and Clark that our
friends had not seen Indians or signs of them. Sometimes it was the
smoke of their camp fires in the distance, and then they caught sight
of a band of horsemen, who might number three or four or five times as
many warriors. It was the rule of Deerfoot to avoid coming in contact
with these wanderers, so long as he could do so without rousing their
suspicion by his actions. While in a general way the strangers could be
counted upon as friendly, they contained a ratio of lawless if not
desperate characters, who were liable to be tempted by the hope of
plunder. Whirlwind was quite sure to attract envious eyes. Moreover,
the party was now in a region which was visited, more or less, by
trappers and hunters in the employ of fur companies, or who operated
independently. The majority of these men were rough and reckless of the
rights of others. They had little faith in the Golden Rule where
Indians were concerned, and affrays between them and the native
inhabitants were numerous. Many a white man who went into the mountains
never came out again. He fell a victim to his own wrongdoing and
received the fate he had invited so long. Others succeeded in getting
through the lines with their pack animals laden with peltries, to St.
Louis, to return again the following autumn and to face and overcome,
or possibly fail to overcome, the perils they had met so often.
The sun was shining from a clear, balmy sky, for summer had come, when
Deerfoot swept every portion of the visible horizon with the spyglass
without detecting a sign of red men. To the westward towered the
immense Laramie range, while the plains stretched eastward and were
crossed by numerous streams, on whose banks thriving towns and cities
have been built in later days. Less than a hundred miles to the
southeast was the site of the present city of Cheyenne.
Before reaching the scene of this encampment the travelers had twice
come within range of grizzly bears. The first was ignored, but the
second did not choose to be passed by in such cavalier fashion. He
first appeared close to camp, much to the terror of the horses, and
then deliberately proceeded to attack everything in sight. He came
within a hair, too, of killing Zigzag and Prince before he was brought
low by the bullets of all three, Deerfoot burying two in the colossal
carcass.
Black and cinnamon bears were observed, but no disturbance followed on
the part of men or brutes. Several times the wolves, coyotes and pumas
became so troublesome that a number were killed. Bison were so
plentiful that hardly a day passed without sight of them. In some
instances the droves contained tens of thousands.
George and Victor Shelton soon found themselves climbing among the
foothills. Deerfoot had gone in another direction, the agreement being
that they should return to camp soon after meridian, and not to go far
from headquarters. While none felt misgiving as to danger, all had
learned to be circumspect.
It may be said that the stroll of the boys was as much to gain exercise
as to hunt game, though the latter object was the one avowed by them.
In those days a person did not have to look far for such sport, but it
seemed as if the wild animals scented the danger and kept out of the
way. When noon came the tired boys sat down beside a mountain torrent,
without either having fired his rifle.
"We haven't heard the report of Deerfoot's gun," said George, "and I
don't see that there is any use of hunting further."
"Nor do I. I'm hungry and we shan't be able to get anything to eat this
side of camp. It must be the game noticed that _I_ was with you, and
they have all run to their holes."
"We have one consolation," remarked George, ignoring the last sentence.
"It will be easier getting back to camp, for it's down hill all the
way."
"But we shall have a good deal of climbing to do. I'm ready to say I've
gained enough exercise to last me till to-morrow. I think," added
Victor, rising to his feet and looking at the noisy torrent a few feet
in front, "that we can shorten the distance by crossing that."
"How are we going to do it? We're not likely to find it bridged."
"I'm sure we shall be able to leap across."
The two walked to the edge of the stream, which may be described as a
furious torrent, rushing between the rocks, which were separated by a
dozen feet, the upper margin being one or two feet above the surface of
the stream. Standing on the edge of the small canyon and looking down,
the boys saw that the water was of crystalline clearness and was beaten
in many places into froth and foam, which sparkled with every color of
the rainbow as it shot into the sunlight. The course of the torrent was
so tortuous and the turns so abrupt that clouds of mist curled upward
in places and caused the rocks to drip with moisture. The roar was so
loud that the brothers had to shout to each other.
"We might make a running leap here," said George, "but it isn't worth
while to take the risk."
"There must be narrower portions. Let's look."
Turning to the left, they had to go only a little way when they found a
favorable place. The breadth was no more than seven or eight feet.
While they could not shorten the distance to camp very much, the
advantage was worth striving for.
"No risk in that," remarked Victor, looking at his brother, who nodded
his head to signify he agreed with him.
"I'll jump first," added Victor, walking back several paces to gain the
necessary start. He could have made the leap without this preparation,
but was using only ordinary prudence. George stood to one side and
close to the edge, so as to observe every phase of the performance.
Despite the apparent safety of the attempt, a strange misgiving came
over George, and he turned to his brother to protest, when he saw he
had started on his brief run. He carried his rifle in his right hand,
took a number of short steps, measuring the distance with his eye, so
that the take-off should be exact, and covered the space in a second or
two.
George was watching every movement of the supple limbs, when he uttered
an exclamation of horror. At the very moment Victor was gathering his
muscles for the leap, and when close to the edge, the dripping stone
caused his foot to slip. He fell sideways, let go of his rifle, which
shot over the edge, and desperately struggled to check himself. Had
there been five seconds at command he would have been saved. George,
who made the attempt, could have dashed forward and grasped a foot or
leg. Victor could have stopped, but the rock on which he had fallen
seemed to be covered with plumbago. While frantically clutching and
vainly trying to grasp some obstruction that would overcome his
momentum, he slid over the edge and dropped into the boiling cauldron
below. The accident was begun and finished, as may be said, in the
twinkling of an eye.
Wild with affright, George ran to the edge of the torrent and peered
over. He caught a glimpse of his brother a dozen yards away, spinning
down the torrent. He saw his head for a moment, and then his arms
thrown upward, as he disappeared, blindly but vainly struggling to save
himself. In an instant he was whirled round a bend in the canyon, his
body flung aloft by the resistless force of the torrent, but hurled
hither and thither, as helpless as a log of wood.
Frantic and hardly conscious of what he was doing, George dashed along
the edge of the canyon, which sped faster than he could run. One moment
he was on the point of leaping into the raging waters in the blind
effort to save Victor, but the certainty that that would only add
another victim held him in restraint, and he continued running,
stumbling and praying in agony for Heaven to intercede while it was yet
time.
Suddenly he saw a man standing on the other side of the canyon some rods
below, and staring wonderingly at him. George raised his voice so that
it pierced the uproar like the notes of a trumpet:
"Save him! Save him! He fell into the water!"