THE START.
Although Hugh called Jack very early next morning, it already was
daylight and the sun was just rising. Jack saddled Pawnee, rode out into
the pasture and drove in the horses, and before breakfast they had cut
out their pack animals and saddled them, and left them standing in the
corral. The night before, Hugh had laid out their provisions, which were
of the simplest kind; a sack of flour, some corn meal, oat meal, bacon,
coffee, sugar and salt, were all they took. Their mess-kit consisted of
two frying pans, a coffee pot, a small water bucket, a tin pan, a bake
oven, tin plates and cups, and knives, spoons and forks. They took
along, also, a dozen good butcher knives, a new axe and a small hatchet.
Besides this, there was a coil of rope, from which lariats and lash
ropes could be cut, in case of need.
Immediately after breakfast, Jack helped Hugh make up the loads,
although really there was not much that he could do, except to look on
and learn. They were to put the bedding and the mess outfit on one
horse, the provisions on another, and the trade goods were to be carried
by the two others.
Hugh said, "I wanted to get an early start this morning, if we could,
because I expect likely the first day out we'll have some trouble with
the horses. You see, they're fat and fresh, haven't been doing nothing
all winter, and they won't want to travel away from home; so it's likely
we won't go very far, and we'll have a long day. Now, you run down to
the corral, son, and bring up the dun; we'll load him with some of this
trade stuff and see how he does. Maybe you'd better let Jo pack on the
off side this morning, 'cause we want to make these loads stay, if we
can. You'll have plenty of chances to pack before we get back again, and
I expect by the time we ride in here in the fall you'll be a regular old
government packer."
Jack went down to the corral and got the horse. He could not help
feeling a little disappointed that he was not to help put on the loads.
He felt as if, from this morning until the time of their return, he
would like to take an equal share in all the work that was to be done;
still, he could see that what Hugh said was wise, and that it was
important to have the packs well put on this morning, when the horses
were all fresh; so he led the dun up to the bunk-house, and stood back
and watched the packing, trying to follow each operation. While he did
this, he realised that his memory of the few lessons in packing that he
had had the fall before was not very fresh, and this quite reconciled
him to seeing Jo handle the ropes.
The dun laid back his ears, and rolled his eyes, and humped up his back
a little, as the saddle cinches were tightened, but stood quiet while
the packs were put in place, and the manta thrown over them. He jumped a
little as the lash rope touched his hips, when Hugh was preparing to
throw it, but when the first pull was made by Jo, in tightening the
lash cinch he bowed his back, put down his head, and made as if he would
buck. Rube had him by the hackamore, however, and the men on either side
clung to the ropes, and at last he was quieted until all the pulls had
been made and the lash rope was fastened. But soon as Rube let go the
hackamore, and he had taken a step or two and felt the swaying load on
his back, he put down his head and began to buck in good earnest. Round
and round he went, taking high jumps, and throwing his heels so far into
the air that it seemed as if he must turn a somersault every time he
struck the ground. Sometimes the load almost overbalanced, and he
staggered, but the ropes held tight, and at last, tired of the hard
work, he stood still. One of the men walked up to him and led him back
to the bunk-house door, when the ropes were again tightened a little,
and he was once more set free.
By this time Jack had gone down and brought up the black horse, on which
a load was put, but he stood quiet. The provisions were put on the paint
horse, which also was quiet; but the rattling of the dishes in their
wooden box set the bay horse to bucking, though he did not keep it up
long.
"There," said Hugh, when the bay had been caught again, and his load
inspected, "I expect that's about as good as we can make it. Now then,
son, it's time for you and me to saddle up, and then we can roll."
Jack brought Pawnee up to the house, and Hugh soon rode up on old Baldy.
Mr. Sturgis, Mrs. Carter, and Rube and Jo all stood there to watch the
travellers start. Hugh tied a lariat to the hackamore of the bay horse,
and, after shaking hands with every one, started off down the valley;
while Jack, somewhat moved at the parting, shook hands very earnestly
with all, and then, riding out on the hillside, drove the three pack
horses after Hugh. Once or twice he turned about in his saddle and took
off his hat and waved it to the little group standing together by the
bunk-house, who waved their hands or their handkerchiefs in response.
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Carter, as the figures grew smaller and smaller, as
they rode down the valley, "it does seem a shame to let a baby like that
go off into the Indian country. I'll bet his ma don't know what risks
he's taking."
"Pshaw," said Jo, "I tell you that boy's as good as a man; I'd rather
have him for a partner than a heap o' men I know; and the old man's as
good as two men, any day in the week. You bet they'll have an awful good
time, and won't see no trouble. I just wish't I was goin' with 'em."
"No," said Mr. Sturgis, "I don't think they'll have any trouble; Jack's
a level-headed fellow, with a good deal more discretion than most boys
of his age. There's a bare chance of course that they may meet some
hostile Indians, but they're well mounted, and I don't think they'll
have trouble."
For the first two or three miles after their start the horses went on
very well, but about the middle of the morning, those that Jack was
driving began to give him a little trouble. They were now getting into a
country away from their usual range, and began to try to turn about and
go home, and for the next half hour Jack was pretty busily employed
turning back one after another that fell out of line and tried to
retrace its steps. At length Hugh halted and dismounted, and motioning
Jack to drive the pack horses by him, they sat down, and while Hugh
smoked, had a little talk.
"Are they bothering you much?" asked Hugh.
"Yes," said Jack, "they keep trying to go back all the time; and that
Dun is the worst of the bunch; he just won't go on."
"Well, we'll have to try to shove him along as far as Powell's place,
and when they get a little tired, toward afternoon, likely they'll go
better. I wouldn't be surprised though if it wouldn't be a good idea for
us to borrow a horse from Powell, for you to ride during the day. I
don't want you to run Pawnee down, chasing horses; I want to bring him
into the Piegan camp fat, because I expect you'll do all your buffalo
running on him. He's fat and strong now, and you don't weigh much, but
still its pretty hard work running here and there, trying to keep a
bunch of horses together, even if there's only three or four of 'em."
"Yes," said Jack, "I want to keep Pawnee in good shape, but I think that
after the horses get used to their loads, and get used to travelling
together, they'll go better, won't they?"
"I expect they will, and we needn't make up our minds about getting any
horse until we get to Powell's. Maybe to-morrow we'll get Charlie to
ride out with us for two or three hours, and help drive them horses. I
expect if we can get 'em started right to-morrow, they'll go along
pretty good."
After fifteen or twenty minutes they mounted and started on again. The
horses had been feeding busily all this time, and now when they were
driven along after the lead horse, they went more quietly, and made less
trouble. Still, the day seemed a long one to Jack. They passed plenty of
antelope on the prairie, but he had no time to think of them; he felt
obliged to watch the horses constantly, and to keep them as close behind
Hugh as he could. The prairie was full of pleasant sights and sounds,
but there was no chance for him to enjoy them.
He felt very glad when, late in the afternoon, the low buildings of the
Powell place came in sight. Half an hour later they were near enough to
see the men working about the house, and then to see two figures in
skirts come to the door and look out at them, and then at last to hear
the delighted whoop of Charlie and the cheery greeting of Mr. Powell, as
they came forward to shake hands with them. The horses were quickly
unpacked and put in the pasture, the loads put under cover, and then all
the family gathered around Jack and Hugh to hear the news from the
neighbouring ranch.
"So you're really going to make that trip you talked about, are you,
Jack?" said Charlie. "I tell you I'd give all my old boots if I were
going along."
"So would I mine, Charlie," Jack replied. "I'll bet we could have a good
time together. It's a great chance. You see, we're going up into the
buffalo country, and we're going to be with the Indians, and see what
they do and how they live. There ain't many fellows have a chance like
this, and I wish you could be one of 'em."
"Well," said Charlie, "I know I can't; I've got to stay here and chase
around over this prairie, riding for stock and killing wolves, when I
might be going up there with you. It seems pretty hard, but I don't know
as I ought to complain. I know father needs me, and now we're just
getting a good start in stock, and if I were to go away he'd have to
hire somebody to take my place, and he couldn't afford to do that. You
see, father ain't like your uncle; I expect your uncle's a pretty rich
man, but father ain't got anything except what you see here, and what
stock we've got out on the range; then, besides that," he added, "I
don't believe mother would be willing to have me go; she thinks it's
awful dangerous for you and Hugh to go up there alone. We talked about
that often last winter, and she said she didn't believe your mother'd
ever let you go."
"Well," said Jack, "I don't believe there's much danger, because if
there was, Uncle Will wouldn't have been willing to have me go, and I
know he wanted me to. He said from the start that it would be a mighty
good thing for me; and then, besides that, Hugh knows so much about
Indians; they say that he's smarter even than an Indian about reading
the signs of the prairie, and telling who is about, and what's likely to
happen. Uncle Will said that he never would think of letting me go with
any one except Hugh, for he thinks Hugh can carry a person through all
right anywhere."
"I guess that's so; everybody that I ever heard talk about him in this
country says that he's the smartest mountain man that there is. Why,
last fall, after you went away, old Jim Baker and his brother John
passed through here, and they asked especially after Hugh, and when they
learned that he was working over at your uncle's, they turned off and
went over there, two days' travel out of their road, to see him. Jim
Baker didn't say anything, he never talks at all, but John said that
Hugh was one of the old kind; that there were only a few of them left
now in the mountains, and he wanted to see Hugh, and so did his
brother."
"Well," said Jack, "we're going to make the trip, and I believe we're
going to get through all right, and not have a bit of trouble, and I
wish you were going with us."
"So do I wish it, but I know I ain't, so it's no use crying over it."
Lying about the Powell house Jack saw two of the wolf puppies that he
had helped dig out the summer before. They seemed tame enough, a good
deal like big dogs, but they did not make friends with strangers, as
dogs would have done, but instead, moved off out of the way. With
Charlie and Bess, however, they seemed on very good terms, and very
grateful for any petting or attention. The sight of these great beasts
made Jack think a little sadly of his own wolf, Swiftfoot, far away in
New York.
Bess, too, talked with Jack about the trip that he was making, and
seemed to feel a little uneasy about its possible dangers, while Mrs.
Powell said she thought it a shame that Jack should be allowed to go
away off among the Indians, where she was sure he was going to be
killed.
Hugh laughed at her doleful prophecies, and said, "Why, Mrs. Powell,
there ain't a mite o' danger. I wasn't much older than Jack when I first
came out into this country, and I've been travelling about now for more
than forty years, and nothing's ever happened to me. It seems strange
that a sensible woman like you should have such queer ideas."
The journey formed the principal topic of conversation that evening, but
Hugh and Jack remembered to tell Mr. Powell about the cow that had been
killed as they were riding out two days before, and about the swift
punishment that had fallen on the two wolves. When bedtime came, Hugh
and Jack spread their blankets on the kitchen floor, and were soon
sleeping soundly.
Next morning Hugh asked Mr. Powell if he could spare them a saddle
horse, and if he would let Charlie ride a few miles with them, until
they learned how the animals could travel on this second day. If they
went well, the horse could be sent back by Charlie, but if it was
necessary to keep it, Jack would send back a note, asking his uncle to
furnish Mr. Powell with a horse to take its place through the summer.
This morning the horses took their loads better. The Dun bucked a
little, but not nearly so much as the day before, while the other
horses, as soon as their loads were put on and they were turned loose,
began to feed quite contentedly. Jack and Charlie packed on the off
side, both pulling at the ropes, but Jack arranging them, under
Charlie's direction. When they started, the animals fell into line very
promptly, and walked briskly along close behind the lead horse. They
gave no trouble whatever, and seemed to have made up their minds that
they were going somewhere, and must follow Hugh. So about the middle of
the morning Hugh told Charlie that it was not necessary for him to come
any further, and that they would not need to take along the extra horse.
So they shook hands there, and Charlie rode off back to the ranch at a
gallop, while the pack train started on its journey north. Jack felt now
as if they were really cut off, for he knew that they would probably not
see a white face again until they reached the far-away Missouri River.