OUTFITTING
We went to sleep while the train was rushing past the lonely
settler's shacks on the Minnesota Prairies. When we woke we found
ourselves far out upon the great plains of Canada. The morning was
cold and rainy, and there were long lines of snow in the swales of
the limitless sod, which was silent, dun, and still, with a majesty
of arrested motion like a polar ocean. It was like Dakota as I saw it
in 1881. When it was a treeless desolate expanse, swept by owls and
hawks, cut by feet of wild cattle, unmarred and unadorned of man. The
clouds ragged, forbidding, and gloomy swept southward as if with a
duty to perform. No green thing appeared, all was gray and sombre,
and the horizon lines were hid in the cold white mist. Spring was
just coming on.
Our car, which was a tourist sleeper, was filled with goldseekers,
some of them bound for the Stikeen River, some for Skagway. While a
few like myself had set out for Teslin Lake by way of "The Prairie
Route." There were women going to join their husbands at Dawson City,
and young girls on their way to Vancouver and Seattle, and whole
families emigrating to Washington.
By the middle of the forenoon we were pretty well acquainted, and
knowing that two long days were before us, we set ourselves to the
task of passing the time. The women cooked their meals on the range
in the forward part of the car, or attended to the toilets of the
children, quite as regularly as in their own homes; while the men,
having no duties to perform, played cards, or talked endlessly
concerning their prospects in the Northwest, and when weary of this,
joined in singing topical songs.
No one knew his neighbor's name, and, for the most part, no one
cared. All were in mountaineer dress, with rifles, revolvers, and
boxes of cartridges, and the sight of a flock of antelopes developed
in each man a frenzy of desire to have a shot at them. It was a wild
ride, and all day we climbed over low swells, passing little lakes
covered with geese and brant, practically the only living things.
Late in the afternoon we entered upon the Selkirks, where no life
was.
These mountains I had long wished to see, and they were in no sense a
disappointment. Desolate, death-haunted, they pushed their white
domes into the blue sky in savage grandeur. The little snow-covered
towns seemed to cower at their feet like timid animals lost in the
immensity of the forest. All day we rode among these heights, and at
night we went to sleep feeling the chill of their desolate presence.
We reached Ashcroft (which was the beginning of the long trail) at
sunrise. The town lay low on the sand, a spatter of little frame
buildings, mainly saloons and lodging houses, and resembled an
ordinary cow-town in the Western States.
Rivers of dust were flowing in the streets as we debarked from the
train. The land seemed dry as ashes, and the hills which rose near
resembled those of Montana or Colorado. The little hotel swarmed with
the rudest and crudest types of men; not dangerous men, only
thoughtless and profane teamsters and cow-boys, who drank thirstily
and ate like wolves. They spat on the floor while at the table,
leaning on their elbows gracelessly. In the bar-room they drank and
chewed tobacco, and talked in loud voices upon nothing at all.
Down on the flats along the railway a dozen camps of Klondikers were
set exposed to the dust and burning sun. The sidewalks swarmed with
outfitters. Everywhere about us the talk of teamsters and cattle men
went on, concerning regions of which I had never heard. Men spoke of
Hat Creek, the Chilcoten country, Soda Creek, Lake La Hache, and
Lilloat. Chinamen in long boots, much too large for them, came and
went sombrely, buying gold sacks and picks. They were mining quietly
on the upper waters of the Fraser, and were popularly supposed to be
getting rich.
The townspeople were possessed of thrift quite American in quality,
and were making the most of the rush over the trail. "The grass is
improving each day," they said to the goldseekers, who were disposed
to feel that the townsmen were anything but disinterested, especially
the hotel keepers. Among the outfitters of course the chief
beneficiaries were the horse dealers, and every corral swarmed with
mangy little cayuses, thin, hairy, and wild-eyed; while on the
fences, in silent meditation or low-voiced conferences, the intending
purchasers sat in rows like dyspeptic ravens. The wind storm
continued, filling the houses with dust and making life intolerable
in the camps below the town. But the crowds moved to and fro
restlessly on the one wooden sidewalk, outfitting busily. The
costumes were as various as the fancies of the men, but laced boots
and cow-boy hats predominated.
As I talked with some of the more thoughtful and conscientious
citizens, I found them taking a very serious view of our trip into
the interior. "It is a mighty hard and long road," they said, "and a
lot of those fellows who have never tried a trail of this kind will
find it anything but a picnic excursion." They had known a few men
who had been as far as Hazleton, and the tales of rain, flies, and
mosquitoes which these adventurers brought back with them, they
repeated in confidential whispers.
However, I had determined to go, and had prepared myself for every
emergency. I had designed an insect-proof tent, and was provided with
a rubber mattress, a down sleeping-bag, rain-proof clothing, and
stout shoes. I purchased, as did many of the others, two bills of
goods from the Hudson Bay Company, to be delivered at Hazleton on the
Skeena, and at Glenora on the Stikeen. Even with this arrangement it
was necessary to carry every crumb of food, in one case three hundred
and sixty miles, and in the other case four hundred miles. However,
the first two hundred and twenty miles would be in the nature of a
practice march, for the trail ran through a country with occasional
ranches where feed could be obtained. We planned to start with four
horses, taking on others as we needed them. And for one week we
scrutinized the ponies swarming around the corrals, in an attempt to
find two packhorses that would not give out on the trail, or buck
their packs off at the start.
"We do not intend to be bothered with a lot of mean broncos," I said,
and would not permit myself to be deceived. Before many days had
passed, we had acquired the reputation of men who thoroughly knew
what they wanted. At least, it became known that we would not buy
wild cayuses at an exorbitant price.
All the week long we saw men starting out with sore-backed or blind
or weak or mean broncos, and heard many stories of their troubles and
trials. The trail was said to be littered for fifty miles with all
kinds of supplies.
One evening, as I stood on the porch of the hotel, I saw a man riding
a spirited dapple-gray horse up the street. As I watched the splendid
fling of his fore-feet, the proud carriage of his head, the splendid
nostrils, the deep intelligent eyes, I said: "There is my horse! I
wonder if he is for sale."
A bystander remarked, "He's coming to see you, and you can have the
horse if you want it."
The rider drew rein, and I went out to meet him. After looking the
horse all over, with a subtle show of not being in haste, I asked,
"How much will you take for him?"
"Fifty dollars," he replied, and I knew by the tone of his voice that
he would not take less.
I hemmed and hawed a decent interval, examining every limb meanwhile;
finally I said, "Get off your horse."
With a certain sadness the man complied. I placed in his hand a
fifty-dollar bill, and took the horse by the bridle. "What is his
name?"
"I call him Prince."
"He shall be called Prince Ladrone," I said to Burton, as I led the
horse away.
Each moment increased my joy and pride in my dapple-gray gelding. I
could scarcely convince myself of my good fortune, and concluded
there must be something the matter with the horse. I was afraid of
some trick, some meanness, for almost all mountain horses are
"streaky," but I could discover nothing. He was quick on his feet as
a cat, listened to every word that was spoken to him, and obeyed as
instantly and as cheerfully as a dog. He took up his feet at request,
he stood over in the stall at a touch, and took the bit readily (a
severe test). In every way he seemed to be exactly the horse I had
been waiting for. I became quite satisfied of his value the following
morning, when his former owner said to me, in a voice of sadness,
"Now treat him well, won't you?"
"He shall have the best there is," I replied.
My partner, meanwhile, had rustled together three packhorses, which
were guaranteed to be kind and gentle, and so at last we were ready
to make a trial. It was a beautiful day for a start, sunny, silent,
warm, with great floating clouds filling the sky.
We had tried our tent, and it was pronounced a "jim-cracker-jack" by
all who saw it, and exciting almost as much comment among the natives
as my Anderson pack-saddles. Our "truck" was ready on the platform of
the storehouse, and the dealer in horses had agreed to pack the
animals in order to show that they were "as represented." The whole
town turned out to see the fun. The first horse began bucking before
the pack-saddle was fairly on, to the vast amusement of the
bystanders.
"That will do for that beast," I remarked, and he was led away.
"Bring up your other candidate."
The next horse seemed to be gentle enough, but when one of the men
took off his bandanna and began binding it round the pony's head, I
interrupted.
"That'll do," I said; "I know that trick. I don't want a horse whose
eyes have to be blinded. Take him away."
This left us as we were before, with the exception of Ladrone. An
Indian standing near said to Burton, "I have gentle horse, no buck,
all same like dog."
"All right," said partner, with a sigh, "let's see him."
The "dam Siwash" proved to be more reliable than his white detractor.
His horses turned out to be gentle and strong, and we made a bargain
without noise. At last it seemed we might be able to get away.
"To-morrow morning," said I to Burton, "if nothing further
intervenes, we hit the trail a resounding whack."
All around us similar preparations were going on. Half-breeds were
breaking wild ponies, cow-boys were packing, roping, and instructing
the tenderfoot, the stores swarmed with would-be miners fitting out,
while other outfits already supplied were crawling up the distant
hill like loosely articulated canvas-colored worms. Outfits from
Spokane and other southern towns began to drop down into the valley,
and every train from the East brought other prospectors to stand
dazed and wondering before the squalid little camp. Each day, each
hour, increased the general eagerness to get away.
FROM PLAIN TO PEAK
From hot low sands aflame with heat,
From crackling cedars dripping odorous gum,
I ride to set my burning feet
On heights whence Uncompagre's waters hum,
From rock to rock, and run
As white as wool.
My panting horse sniffs on the breeze
The water smell, too faint for me to know;
But I can see afar the trees,
Which tell of grasses where the asters blow,
And columbines and clover bending low
Are honey-full.
I catch the gleam of snow-fields, bright
As burnished shields of tempered steel,
And round each sovereign lonely height
I watch the storm-clouds vault and reel,
Heavy with hail and trailing
Veils of sleet.
"Hurrah, my faithful! soon you shall plunge
Your burning nostril to the bit in snow;
Soon you shall rest where foam-white waters lunge
From cliff to cliff, and you shall know
No more of hunger or the flame of sand
Or windless desert's heat!"