After making a hearty breakfast on Rocky Mountain kid, salmon, and sea
biscuits, we began our return journey down the creek in a drizzling
rain. Our burdens were increased by the weight of the three goat skins,
and the walking was rendered still more precarious than before by the
logs, grass, soil, pine needles, and everything else having become so
thoroughly watersoaked. If we had had hard climbing up the steep pitches
on our outbound cruise, we had it still harder now. We could not stick
in our toe nails as well now as before, and even if we stuck in our
heels going down a hill, they would not stay stuck any better than a
second-hand postage-stamp. I remembered one hill, or canyon wall, that in
the ascent made us a great deal of hard work, and much perturbation of
spirit, because it was steep, rocky, and had very few bushes on it that
we could use as derricks by which to raise ourselves. I dreaded the
descent of this hill, now that the rocks were wet, but we made it
safely. Not so, however, the next one we attempted; it was not so rocky
as the other, and had a goodly bed of blue clay, with a shallow covering
of vegetable mold for a surface, with a little grass and a few weeds.
It was very steep, I think about what an architect would call a
three-quarter pitch, but we essayed it boldly and fearlessly. Seymour
was in the lead, his faithful partisan, John, followed, and I
constituted the tail end of the procession. We had just got well over
the brow, when the end of a dry hemlock stick caught in the mansard roof
of my left foot; the other end was fast in the ground, and, though I
tried to free myself, both ends stuck; the stick played a lone hand, but
it raised me clear out in spite of my struggles. I uttered a mournful
groan as I saw myself going, but was as helpless as a tenderfoot on a
bucking cayuse. My foot was lifted till my heel punched the small of my
back, and my other foot slid out from under me; I spread out like a step
ladder, and clawed the air for succor, but there was not a bush or
branch within reach. I think I went ten feet before I touched the earth
again, and then I landed head first among John's legs. He sat down on
the back of my neck like a trip-hammer, and we both assaulted Seymour in
the rear with such violence as to knock him clear out. For a few seconds
we were the worst mixed up community that ever lived, I reckon. Arms,
legs, guns, hats, packs, and human forms were mingled in one writhing,
squirming, surging mass, and groans, shouts, and imprecations, in
English, Chinook, and Scowlitz, rent the air. Every hand was grabbing
for something to stop its owner, but there were no friendly stoppers
within reach; if one caught a weed, or a stunted juniper, it faded away
from his herculean grasp like dry grass before a prairie fire. I seemed
to have the highest initial velocity of any member of the expedition,
and, though in the rear at the start, I was a full length ahead at the
finish. We finally all brought up in a confused mass at the foot of the
hill, and it took some time for each man to extricate himself from the
pile, and reclaim his property from the wreck. Strange as it may seem,
however, but little damage was done. There was a skinned nose, a bruised
knee or two, a sprained wrist, and everybody was painted with mud. All
were, however, able to travel, and after that, when going down steep
hills, the Siwashes kept looking back to see if I were coming.
[Illustration: TRYING TO GET UP.]
We performed several dangerous feats that day and the next, walking
along smooth, barkless logs, that lay across some of the deep gorges; in
places we were thirty feet or more above the ground, or rather rocks,
where a slip would have resulted in instant death. My hair frequently
stood on end, what little I have left, but John and Seymour always went
safely across and I could not afford to be outdone in courage by these
miserable, fish-eating Siwashes, so I followed wherever they led. We
read that the wicked stand on slippery places, but I can see these
wicked people, and go them about ten better, for I have stood, and even
walked, on many of these wet logs, and they are about the all-firedest
slipperyest things extant, and yet I have not fallen off. I fell only
that once, when I got my foot in the trap, and that would have downed a
wooden man. Just before going into camp that night, John shot a grouse,
but we were all too tired and hungry to cook it then, and made our meal
on cold kid, fish, and biscuits. After supper, however, John dressed
the bird and laid it aside for breakfast, saying we would each have a
piece of it then. The rain ceased falling at dark, and the stars came
out, which greatly revived our drooping spirits. We gathered large
quantities of dry wood and bark, so we were able to keep a good fire all
night. I drew from a half-rotten log, a flat, slab-like piece of pine,
which at first I failed to recognize. John saw it and said:
[Illustration: TRYING TO GET DOWN.]
"Good. Dat's beech."
"Beech," I said. "Why, there's no beech in this country."
"No, beech wood, make good fire, good kindle, good what you call him?
Good torch."
"Oh," I said, "pitch pine, eh?"
"Yas, beech pine." And this was as near as he could get to pitch.
About two o'clock in the morning, it commenced to rain heavily again,
and the poor Indians were soon in a pitable condition, with their
blankets and clothing wet through. They sat up the remainder of the
night, feeding the fire to keep it alive and themselves warm, for they
had neither canvas or rubber coats, or any other kind of waterproof
clothing. They put up some of the longer pieces of the bark we had
gathered for fuel, and made a passable shelter, but it was so small, and
leaked so badly, that it was far from comfortable. I pitied the poor
fellows, but had nothing I could give or even share with them for
shelter. I got up at five o'clock, and we commenced preparations for
breakfast. I told John he had better cook the grouse, but he shook his
head, and said sadly:
"Seymo, he spile de grouse."
"How did he do that?" I inquired.
"He say put him on stick by fire to cook in de night. Then he go to
sleep and stick burn off. Grouse fall in de fire and burn."
"That's too thin," I said. "Seymour cooked that grouse and ate it while
you and I were asleep."
Seymour glared at me, but had not the courage to resent or deny the
charge. An Indian does not let sleep interfere with his appetite; he
eats whatever there is first, and then sleeps. I divided the last of the
bacon and biscuits equally between us, and with a remnant of cold
broiled salmon, we eked out a scant breakfast on which to begin a day's
work. John was clawing some white greasy substance from a tin can with
his fingers, and spreading it on his biscuits with the same tools. He
passed the can to me, and said:
"Have butta?"
"No, thanks," I answered; "I seldom eat butter in camp."
"I like him all time," he replied; "I never git widout butta for brade
at home." This by way of informing me that he knew what good living was,
and practiced it at home. It rained heavily all day, and our tramp
through the jungle was most dreary and disagreeable.
"The day was dark, and cold, and dreary;
It rained, and the wind was never weary."
[Illustration: _EN FAMILLE_]
About three o'clock in the afternoon, we sat down to rest on the bank of
the creek. We had been there but a few minutes, when a good sized black
bear came shambling along up the bank of the creek, looking for salmon.
The Indians saw him when a hundred yards or more away, and flattened
themselves out on the ground to await his nearer approach. I raised my
rifle to my shoulder, but they both motioned me to wait, that he was yet
too far away. I disregarded their injunction, however, and promptly
landed an express bullet in the bear's breast. He reared, uttered a
smothered groan, turned, made one jump, and fell dead. Now arose the
question of saving his skin; it was late, and we were yet three miles
from the Indian village; to skin the bear then meant to camp there for
the night, and as the rain still came down in a steady, heavy sheet, I
at once decided that I would not stay out there another night for the
best bear skin in the country. Seymour and John held a short
consultation, and then John said they would come back and get the skin
next day, and take it in lieu of the money I owed them for their
services. We struck a bargain in about a minute, and hurried on,
arriving at the village just as it grew dark. My rubber coat and high
rubber boots had kept me comparatively dry, but the poor Indians were
wet to the skin.