A SNOWSHOE RACE.
"I tell you what," said Ben, one day when the boys were off on their
skees, "if we only had a sled, what fun we'd have down these hills!"
"Well, what's the matter with making one?" answered John, the
ever-ready. "It would be great; this crust is smooth as glass; we'd just
fly."
At once they turned in their tracks and sped for home to carry out their
plan.
"I'll beat you in," said Ben.
"I'll bet you won't."
They started off evenly at the top of a slope. A few long,
half-stepping, half-sliding strokes gave them impetus enough to slide.
Both crouched now in order to lessen the wind resistance and to avoid
the chance of losing their balance. They were very evenly matched; for
while John was the stronger, his brother was light and not so apt to
break through the crust. Down they rushed with ever-increasing speed,
the particles of snow rising like spray before them. The swishing,
crunching noise grew into a hum as they sped faster and faster. At first
Ben forged ahead--he had got a better start--then John's weight began to
tell and he gained inch by inch. Ben crouched down still lower, making
his body in a compact little ball, but in spite of all he could do his
brother gained on him. Now he was even, now a little ahead, and now only
his back could be seen by the younger. The end of his scarf was standing
out behind him like a painted stick. The distance gradually increased
until perhaps twenty yards of glistening snow lay between them. Ben was
watching intently for any slight grade of which he might take advantage.
All at once he noticed that John had disappeared.
Almost at the same moment he too began to drop. The racers had been
watching each other so closely that neither had noticed that they were
approaching the edge of a great drift. John had sailed over first and
landed right side up some eight feet below, but so solidly that he broke
through the crust and stopped short, falling forward on his face. The
instant of warning that Ben had, had put him on his guard: he landed
lightly and sped on, hardly checked.
"You will beat me, eh!" he shouted derisively to his discomfited
brother, as he shot past.
John scrambled up and started again, but the incline was now very short,
and by the time he reached the level Ben was far in advance and going
well. It was a long, stern chase. However, the older boy's strength and
weight were great advantages now, and within half a mile the two were on
even terms again. For a time they raced side by side, arms swinging in
unison, legs going like piston rods. Their feet were kept absolutely
straight, and so the long skates ran exactly parallel, for if either
foot should be turned in or out ever so lightly, one skate would cross
the other and the skater would be tangled up so quickly that he would
not know what was the matter.
The brothers were now sliding along side by side, each straining every
nerve to pass the other; breath came in short puffs and showed on the
frosty air like the exhaust steam of a locomotive; perspiration began to
appear, and the effort they were putting forth was evidenced in the
strained look on their faces.
Faster and faster they went, skimming along the level like a pair of
swallows. They were going too fast to be careful of their steps, and Ben
turned his right foot a little in. Instantly the skates crossed in
front, tripped him, and down he went head foremost into the snow. His
left skee slipped off, flew towards John, caught between his legs, and
threw him over backwards. For a moment there was the utmost confusion.
The boys were stretched out, heads almost buried in the snow, feet
kicking wildly, and the long skees beating the air like flails. Finally
these were kicked off, and the crestfallen racers managed to get right
side up. After much floundering they got their skees on again and
continued their journey, this time at a more deliberate pace. They
disputed all the way home as to which was the faster, and finally agreed
that the momentous question could only be settled satisfactorily by
another match.
When they reached camp, a couple of boards, a saw, a hatchet, and some
nails were secured. They sawed and chopped out the sides, nailed on a
couple of cross pieces for the seat and a diagonal strip to brace the
whole thing. This much was easy, but both were at a loss to find
anything for runners until Ben remembered that strips of flat steel had
been used on some of the canned meat boxes. These were stripped off,
hammered flat, and nailed at each end to the sides of what really began
to look like a conventional sled; the seat board was fastened on and
holes were bored for the leading rope.
The boys looked at their handiwork with no little pride and pronounced
it as fine a cutter as the eastern variety. To be sure it was not
beautiful to look at, and did not bear any highly nourished name like
"Flyaway" or "P. D. Q.," but it did not lack decoration altogether, for
on one side was branded "Use Higgins' Soap," while the other
commemorated "Ruby Brand Tomatoes."
In spite of its roughness and clumsiness it was possessed of good speed
and strength enough to withstand all the ill-usage the boys gave it.
When the snow was soft they used broad runners made of barrel staves,
which they made fast to each side, and thus turned their sled into a
toboggan.
If John and Ben wanted anything; they had to make it or earn enough to
buy it--money was not so plentiful that it could be spent on toys and
mere amusements, and so they frequently had to devise ways of getting
the things they longed for. John had made up his mind that he must have
a saddle, bridle, spurs, and quirt (a short, flexible, braided whip) of
his own; and when he found that none of these things would be given him,
he determined to earn enough money to buy them. Ben, too, had set his
heart on owning a repeating rifle (a style of arm that was rather rare
in those days) and so the brothers agreed to work together at trapping,
mining, or turning a penny in any way that offered. The sum total was
to be divided in the spring, when each would buy the long-desired
articles.
As spring drew near, Mr. Worth decided to move along and open another
mine to the westward, the first one being now in good working order.
Again the family packed up their household goods, abandoned the dug-out
that had sheltered them during the long winter months, and started off
on a pilgrimage. The spring was well advanced and the verdure of the
prairie was in its prime. Wild flowers were plentiful and the air was
filled with the melody of the song birds, that of the meadow lark being
sweetest and most sustained. Robins, thrushes, plover, and curlews--all
did their share to make spring beautiful.
Many prairie-dog villages were passed. The queer little beasts sat on
the mounds of earth beside the holes that served for homes, their
curiosity drawing them out. The travellers took snap shots at them, but
they were as quick as lightning and never stayed above ground long
enough to allow of careful aim.
John's industry had made him the proud possessor of a new saddle, whose
creaking was music in his ears, and even old Baldy seemed to be pleased
with his finery, for he pranced around like a two-year-old and arched
his neck in a way that seemed to say, "I'm about the finest thing a-top
of this earth." Ben had achieved his aim also, and was the owner of a
brand-new repeating Spencer rifle, the result of the sale of the
winter's catch.
As the train went further westward the trail grew more and more
indistinct, and it became the duty of the boys to go ahead and trace it
out. Later, when even the barely discernible wheel tracks had
disappeared, it was necessary for them to pick out the best route and
also to find the camp sites.
This duty was a delightful one, for new country was continually opening
before them, and adventures of all kinds might offer at any moment.
"Ain't those antelopes over there by that little hill?" said John one
day, pointing to one side.
"That's right," answered Ben. "What's the matter with chasing them?" He
spoke with the authority of the hunter. Possessing the rifle, no
opportunity to exploit it was ever allowed to slip; nor, if the truth be
told, was John slow in calling attention to his saddle, spurs, and
fringed leather chaps.
"All right," said John. "We've never been on an antelope hunt alone."
The boys went off at right angles from the direction they had been
taking and rode down a shallow ravine or coulie in order to keep out of
sight of the game. They rode slowly along till they reached the end of
the depression; here they dismounted and each tied the forelegs of his
horse with the rope he carried on his saddle-horn: they were not going
to travel afoot again if they could help it. It was now necessary to
cross the open prairie in plain view of the animals they sought.
Advantage was taken of a well-known characteristic of antelopes--their
curiosity. John pulled the handkerchief from his neck and began to wave
it slowly to and fro over his head as he walked. Ben followed in his
brother's tracks, making himself as inconspicuous as possible and
fingering the lock of his repeater to be sure that it was in good
working order.
The boys drew nearer and nearer, and the flagging was kept up
persistently; but it did not seem to have any effect, for the animals
were all looking the other way. Still they drew nearer; their eyes were
fixed on their quarry, the rifle held ready, every nerve tense, each
heart beating furiously with excitement.
[Illustration: ROPING AN UNBROKEN HORSE.]
Then it was seen that the antelopes were attracted by the white tops of
the wagons, which were moving slowly along over the plain. The wagon
train was "flagging" them. Now if the hunters could get within range
before the spell of curiosity had been satisfied, all would be well.
The boys moved cautiously along till they came to a sunken "buffalo
wallow," a muddy place frequented by the bison for the sake of the
moisture. This afforded the shelter that was needed. Attracted by the
flapping canvas wagon-tops, the unsuspecting animals drew slowly near
the hiding place.
"Oh! if they would only come just a little closer," said Ben under his
breath, "I'd have them sure."
Once they stopped and sniffed the air, but just as Ben was about to
chance a long-distance shot, they moved on again.
"Now, Ben!" said John, excitedly.
For an instant the stock of the rifle rested closely against the boy's
cheek--then the shot rang out. Almost simultaneously the biggest of the
herd leaped into the air, then fell flat to the ground. The others stood
still, bewildered.
"Good! Now for another one," whispered John. Again the rifle was raised
and again its deadly crack sounded forth. Another antelope bounded up,
ran frantically a few yards, and dropped. At this the rest of the herd
made off like the wind, and in a few minutes were mere specks on the
horizon.
"Well, I must say," said Ben, exultingly, "I thought once that I would
rather have your saddle and outfit, but now--" he slapped the stock of
his rifle affectionately--"I wouldn't swap if you gave me Baldy to
boot."
"Baldy to boot, eh? Why, I wouldn't swap that horse for a whole stack of
rifles." And John moved off in indignation to get the horses, while Ben
went over to the spot where the game lay.
The carcasses were packed on Ben's horse, both boys mounting Baldy. They
were welcomed heartily at the camp, for fresh meat was at a premium, and
any change of diet was an event of prime importance.
"That gun of yours must be chained lightning," said Ted. "I didn't
suppose you could hit the side of a hill at fifty yards."
Many days of travelling followed over country that had apparently never
been covered by a wagon before.
During this long journey the boys came to know the men of the party very
well. They were apt to be sharply divided into good and bad, for in
those rough times people showed their real characters without reserve.
Charley Green still continued with the company, and he was the boys'
greatest friend; but Tom Malloy, who joined the expedition just before
it started out for the new camp, soon got into John's good graces. He
was a man of varied talents: a gambler and saloon keeper when times were
good; a miner, cow-puncher, or hunter when his money ran out. Rough,
quick-tempered, and as ready with his fists as with his "gun," he was
nevertheless possessed of a great heart and a loyalty to his friends
that nothing could shake. Like many of his race he loved a fight and
delighted to have a lively "argument" with a man. John's boldness and
aggressiveness pleased him greatly, and he looked the boy over,
enumerating his good points over to himself: his broad chest, sturdy
legs and arms, his clear eyes and fearless look all showed to Malloy's
experienced eye that he would make a first-rate boxer.
"I'll show that youngster how to put up his hands sure," he said to
himself.
It was a tiresome journey, long and monotonous, but enlivened now and
then by a hunt or an excursion. The train was to go by way of the Hart
River road, and it seemed to the younger members of the expedition as if
it would never be reached. But find it at last they did, a few wagon
ruts not very clear nor strongly marked.
The boys' task was now much easier, for the way was marked plainly
before them and it was comparatively smooth travelling. Many wide
excursions were made on either side of the trail, and many hunting
expeditions were indulged in. Ben became a very good shot, and the
constant supply of fresh meat gave evidence of his skill.
After many days' journey the "Bad Lands" were reached. That desolate
country, scarred and pitted, was void of vegetation except on the
bottoms and near the infrequent water courses. Here the wagon road
disappeared altogether, and the pioneers found it necessary in many
cases practically to build one, to level some places and make inclines
down steep banks at others. Often all the teams had to be hitched to one
wagon in order to drag it up a sharp ascent or through a miry place.
In many spots the ground was very treacherous, especially at the edge of
a cut. The soil was loose, pliable stuff, liable to give way under the
weight of a horse. Badger and gopher holes added to the danger by
undermining the banks in unexpected places.
One morning John was sent out on Baldy (his constant companion and
faithful friend) to pick out, if possible, an easier way. Boy and horse
started out on a smart trot, each having full confidence in the
other--as was necessary, for almost as much depended on the sagacity of
the steed in the matter of picking a way on dangerous ground as in the
intelligence of the rider. It was a task of considerable responsibility
that was put on John's shoulders; the route was difficult enough to
puzzle a professional civil engineer. Baldy was left to find his own way
while his rider looked ahead to choose a road that could be travelled by
the wagons. From time to time it became necessary to go down the almost
perpendicular side of a coulie, when the horse would hunch his
hind-legs, keeping his forelegs stiff and stretched out to their fullest
extent. Then he would fairly slide down on his tail.
John had found a place that he thought suitable for the night's camp,
had traced out a way by which it might be reached, and had turned his
pony back towards the wagons.
He thought to himself, as they slid down one bank and scrambled up the
other, that it would be a bad place to be thrown. The surface was
pitted with half-concealed badger holes, and in the bottoms were many
spots where a horse might easily be mired. Baldy, however, knew his
business and carried his rider over awkward places safely. John was
congratulating himself on the successful conclusion of his errand when
he came to the bank of what was in the early spring a roaring torrent,
but which now lacked even a trickle of water. To the edge of this cut
Baldy approached cautiously. John, anxious to get back to the wagons and
report, urged him on. With a shake of his head that seemed to say:
"Well, you are the boss, so here goes; but I don't like the looks of
it," the pony went forward, gathering his hind legs under him to make
his usual slide--when the ground beneath him gave way. Horse and rider
went rolling down the slope, but as John felt himself falling he
loosened his foot from the stirrup and leaped off, just in time. Boy and
steed arrived at the bottom about the same time, but separately. John's
mouth, eyes, nose, and ears were full of dirt and dried grass; in fact,
he always declared that he ate his proverbial peck of dirt then, all at
once; but he soon discovered that, barring a few bruises and a badly
hurt pride, he was all right. As soon as he got the dust out of his eyes
and realized that the earth had not risen, out of special spite against
him, he looked for his horse, and was much relieved to find that his
four-footed partner had received nothing more than a bad shaking up.
Baldy's attitude, however, was anything but dignified. His feet were
waving in air, his head was buried in the loose soil, his body was so
covered with mother earth that he seemed like some strange freak of
nature. As the boy got up, the horse looked at him, he thought,
reproachfully and seemed to say: "I told you so."
[Illustration: "CROW HAT'S FACING THIS WAY." (_Page 117._)]
[Illustration: THE INDIAN CAMP. (_Page 116._)]
"Yes, old chap," replied John aloud, "you do know a thing or two, and
I'll trust you more next time."
John never told of his mistake and tumble, but explained the dusty
appearance of himself and horse by reference to the well-known
characteristic of the "Bad Lands," its stifling alkali dust.