we three women ride in the buckboard, so I seated myself on a roll of
bedding in the back part. At first none of us talked; we just absorbed
the wonderful green-gold beauty of the morning. The sky was clear
blue, with a few fleecy clouds drifting lazily past. The mountains on
one side were crested; great crags and piles of rock crowned them as
far as we could see; timber grew only about halfway up. The trunks of
the quaking aspens shone silvery in the early sunlight, and their
leaves were shimmering gold. And the stately pines kept whispering and
murmuring; it almost seemed as if they were chiding the quaking aspens
for being frivolous. On the other side of the road lay the river,
bordered by willows and grassy flats. There were many small lakes, and
the ducks and geese were noisily enjoying themselves among the rushes
and water-grasses. Beyond the river rose the forest-covered mountains,
hill upon hill.
Elizabeth dressed with especial care that morning, and very pretty she
looked in her neat shepherd's plaid suit and natty little white canvas
hat. Very soon she said, "I hope neither of you will misunderstand me
when I tell you that if my hopes are realized I will not ride with you
much longer. I never saw such a country as the West,--it is so big
and so beautiful,--and I never saw such people. You are just like your
country; you have fed me, cared for me, and befriended me, a stranger,
and never asked me a word."
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy said, "Tut, tut, 'tis nothing at all we've done.
'Tis a comfort you've been, hasn't she, Mrs. Stewart?"
I could heartily agree; and Elizabeth went on, "The way I have been
received and the way we all treated Mrs. Holt will be the greatest
help to me in becoming what I hope to become, a real Westerner. I
might have lived a long time in the West and not have understood many
things if I had not fallen into your hands. Years ago, before I was
through school, I was to have been married; but I lost my mother just
then and was left the care of my paralytic father. If I had married
then, I should have had to take father from his familiar surroundings,
because Wallace came West in the forestry service. I felt that it
wouldn't be right. Poor father couldn't speak, but his eyes told me
how grateful he was to stay. We had our little home and father had
his pension, and I was able to get a small school near us. I could
take care of father and teach also. We were very comfortably situated,
and in time became really happy. Although I seldom heard from Wallace,
his letters were well worth waiting for, and I knew he was doing well.
"Eighteen months ago father died,--gently went to sleep. I waited six
months and then wrote to Wallace, but received no reply. I have
written him three times and have had no word. I could bear it no
longer and have come to see what has become of him. If he is dead, may
I stay on with one of you and perhaps get a school? I want to live
here always."
"But, darlint," said Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, "supposin' it's married your
man is?"
"Wallace may have changed his mind about me, but he would not marry
without telling me. If he is alive he is honorable."
Then I asked, "Why didn't you ask about him at Pinedale or any of
these places we have passed? If he is stationed in the Bridges reserve
they would be sure to know of him at any of these little places."
"I just didn't have the courage to. I should never have told you what
I have, only I think I owe it to you, and it was easier because of the
Holts. I am so glad we met them."
So we drove along, talking together; we each assured the girl of our
entire willingness to have her as a member of the family. After a
while I got on to the wagon with Mr. Stewart and told him Elizabeth's
story so that he could inquire about the man. Soon we came to the
crossing on Green River. Just beyond the ford we could see the
game-warden's cabin, with the stars and stripes fluttering gayly in
the fresh morning breeze. We drove into the roaring, dashing water,
and we held our breath until we emerged on the other side.
Mr. Sorenson is a very capable and conscientious game-warden and
a very genial gentleman. He rode down to meet us, to inspect our
license and to tell us about our privileges and our duties as good
woodsmen. He also issues licenses in case hunters have neglected to
secure them before coming. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy had refused to get a
license when we did. She said she was not going to hunt; she told us
we could give her a small piece of "ilk" and that would do; so we were
rather surprised when she purchased two licenses, one a special, which
would entitle her to a bull elk. As we were starting Mr. Stewart asked
the game-warden, "Can you tell me if Wallace White is still stationed
here?" "Oh, yes," Mr. Sorenson said, "Wallace's place is only a few
miles up the river and can be plainly seen from the road."
We drove on. Happiness had taken a new clutch upon my heart. I looked
back, expecting to see Elizabeth all smiles, but if you will believe
me the foolish girl was sobbing as if her heart was broken. Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy drew her head down upon her shoulder and was trying to
quiet her. The road along there was _very_ rough. Staying on the
wagon occupied all my attention for a while. Several miles were passed
when we came in sight of a beautiful cabin, half hidden in a grove of
pines beyond the river. Mr. Stewart said we might as well "noon" as
soon as we came to a good place, and then he would ride across and see
Mr. White.
Just as we rounded the hill a horseman came toward us. A splendid
fellow he was, manly strength and grace showing in every line. The
road was narrow against the hillside and he had to ride quite close,
so I saw his handsome face plainly. As soon as he saw Elizabeth he
sprang from his saddle and said, "'Liz'beth, 'Liz'beth, what you doin'
here?"
She held her hands to him and said, "Oh, just riding with friends."
Then to Mrs. O'Shaughnessy she said, "_This_ is my Wallace."
Mr. Stewart is the queerest man: instead of letting me enjoy the
tableau, he solemnly drove on, saying he would not want any one
gawking at him if he were the happy man. Anyway, he couldn't urge
Chub fast enough to prevent my seeing and hearing what I've told you.
Besides that, I saw that Elizabeth's hat was on awry, her hair in
disorder, and her eyes red. It was disappointing after she had been so
careful to look nicely.
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy came trotting along and we stopped for dinner. We
had just got the coffee boiling when the lovers came up, Elizabeth in
the saddle, "learning to ride," and he walking beside her holding her
hand. How happy they were! The rest of us were mighty near as foolish
as they. They were going to start immediately after dinner, on
horseback, for the county seat, to be married. After we had eaten,
Elizabeth selected a few things from her trunk, and Mr. Stewart and
Mr. White drove the buckboard across the river to leave the trunk in
its new home. While they were gone we helped Elizabeth to dress. All
the while Mrs. O'Shaughnessy was admonishing her to name her first
"girul" Mary Ellen; "or," she said, "if yer first girul happens to be
a b'y, it's Sheridan ye'll be callin' him, which was me name before I
was married to me man, God rest his soul."
Dear Elizabeth, she was glad to get away, I suspect! She and her
Wallace made a fine couple as they rode away in the golden September
afternoon. I believe she is _one_ happy bride that the sun shone on,
if the omen has failed _everywhere_ else.
Well, we felt powerfully reduced in numbers, but about three o'clock
that afternoon we came upon Mr. Struble and Mr. Haynes waiting beside
the road for us. They had come to pilot us into camp, for there would
be no road soon.
Such a way as we came over! Such jolting and sliding! I begged to get
off and walk; but as the whole way was carpeted by strawberry vines
and there were late berries to tempt me to loiter, I had to stay on
the wagon. I had no idea a wagon could be got across such places.
Mr. Struble drove for Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, and I could hear her
imploring all the saints to preserve us from instant death. I kept
shutting my eyes, trying not to see the terrifying places, and opening
them again to see the beauty spread everywhere, until Mr. Stewart
said, "It must make you nervous to ride over mountain roads. Don't bat
your eyes so fast and you'll see more." So then I stiffened my back
and kept my eyes open, and I _did_ see more.
It had been decided to go as far as we could with the wagons and then
set camp; from there the hunters would ride horseback as far up as
they could and then climb. It was almost sundown when we reached camp.
All the hunters were in, and such a yowling as they set up! "Look
who's here! See who's come!" they yelled. They went to work setting up
tents and unloading wagons with a hearty good-will.
We are camped just on the edge of the pines. Back of us rises a big
pine-clad mountain; our tents are set under some big trees, on a
small plateau, and right below us is a valley in which grass grows
knee high and little streams come from every way. Trout scurry up
stream whenever we go near. We call the valley Paradise Valley because
it is the horses' paradise. And as in the early morning we can often
see clouds rolling along the valley, we call our camp Cloudcrest. We
have a beautiful place: it is well sheltered; there is plenty of wood,
water, and feed; and, looking eastward down the valley, snow-covered,
crag-topped mountains delight the eye.
The air is so bracing that we all feel equal to _anything_. Mr.
Struble has already killed a fine "spike" elk for camp eating. We
camped in a bunch, and we have camp stoves so that in case of rain or
snow we can stay indoors. Just now we have a huge camp fire around
which we sit in the evening, telling stories, singing, and eating nuts
of the piñon pine. Then too the whole country is filled with those
tiny little strawberries. We have to gather all day to get as much as
we can eat, but they are delicious. Yesterday we had pie made of wild
currants; there are a powerful lot of them here. There is also a
little blueberry that the men say is the Rocky Mountain huckleberry.
The grouse are feeding on them. Altogether this is one of the most
delightful places imaginable. The men are not very anxious to begin
hunting. A little delay means cooler weather for the meat. It is cool
up here, but going back across the desert it will be warm for a while
yet. Still, when they see elk every day it is a great temptation to
try a shot.
One of the students told me Professor Glenholdt was here to get the
tip-end bone of the tail of a brontosaurus. I don't know what that is,
but if it is a fossil he won't get it, for the soil is too deep. The
students are jolly, likable fellows, but they can talk of nothing but
strata and formation. I heard one of them say he would be glad when
some one killed a bear, as he had heard they were fine eating, having
strata of fat alternating with strata of lean. Mr. Haynes is a quiet
fellow, just interested in hunting. Mr. Struble is the big man of the
party; he is tall and strong and we find him very pleasant company.
Then there is Dr. Teschall; he is a quiet fellow with an unexpected
smile. He is so reserved that I felt that he was kind of out of place
among the rest until I caught his cordial smile. He is so slight that
I don't see how he will stand the hard climbing, not to mention
carrying the heavy gun. They are using the largest caliber sporting
guns,--murderous-looking things. That is, all except Mr. Harkrudder,
the picture man. He looks to be about forty years old, but whoops and
laughs like he was about ten.
I don't need to tell you of the "good mon," do I? He is just the kind,
quiet good mon that he has always been since I have known him. A young
lady from a neighboring camp came over and said she had called to see
our _tout ensemble_. Well, I've given you it, they, us, or we.
We didn't need a guide, as Mr. Haynes and Mr. Struble are old-timers.
We were to have had a cook, but when we reached Pinedale, where we
were to have picked him up, he told Mr. Haynes he was "too tam seek
in de bel," so we had to come without him; but that is really no
inconvenience, since we are all very good cooks and are all willing
to help. I don't think I shall be able to tell you of any great
exploits I make with the gun. I fired one that Mr. Stewart carries,
and it almost kicked my shoulder off. I am mystified about Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy's license. I know she would not shoot one of those big
guns for a dozen elk; besides that, she is very tender-hearted and
will never harm anything herself, although she likes to join our
hunts.
I think you must be tired of this letter, so I am going to say
good-night, my friend.
E. R. S.
VII
THE HUNT
CAMP CLOUDCREST,
October 6, 1914.
DEAR MRS. CONEY,--
It seems so odd to be writing you and getting no answers. Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy just now asked me what I have against you that I write
you so much. I haven't one thing. I told her I owed you more love than
I could ever pay in a lifetime, and she said writing such _long_
letters is a mighty poor way to show it. I have been neglecting you
shamefully, I think. One of the main reasons I came on this hunt was
to take the trip for _you_, and to tell you things that you would most
enjoy. So I will spend this snowy day in writing to you.
On the night of September 30, there was the most awful thunderstorm
I ever witnessed,--flash after flash of the most blinding lightning,
followed by deafening peals of thunder; and as it echoed from mountain
to mountain the uproar was terrifying. I have always loved a storm;
the beat of hail and rain, and the roar of wind always appeal to me;
but there was neither wind nor rain,--just flash and roar. Before the
echo died away among the hills another booming report would seem to
shiver the atmosphere and set all our tinware jangling. We are camped
so near the great pines that I will confess I was powerfully afraid.
Had the lightning struck one of the big pines there would not have
been one of us left. I could hear Mrs. O'Shaughnessy murmuring her
prayers when there was a lull. We had gone to bed, but I couldn't
remain there; so I sat on the wagon-seat with Jerrine beside me.
Something struck the guy ropes of the tent, and I was so frightened
I was too weak to cry out. I thought the big tree must have fallen.
In the lulls of the storm I could hear the men's voices, high and
excited. They, too, were up. It seemed to me that the storm lasted
for hours; but at last it moved off up the valley, the flashes grew to
be a mere glimmer, and the thunder mere rumbling. The pines began to
moan, and soon a little breeze whistled by. So we lay down again. Next
morning the horses could not be found; the storm had frightened them,
and they had tried to go home. The men had to find them, and as it
took most of the day, we had to put off our hunt.
We were up and about next morning in the first faint gray light. While
the men fed grain to the horses and saddled them, we prepared a hasty
breakfast. We were off before it was more than light enough for us to
see the trail.
Dawn in the mountains--how I wish I could describe it to you! If I
could only make you feel the keen, bracing air, the exhilarating
climb; if I could only paint its beauties, what a picture you should
have! Here the colors are very different from those of the desert. I
suppose the forest makes it so. The shadows are mellow, like the
colors in an old picture--greenish amber light and a blue-gray sky.
Far ahead of us we could see the red rim rock of a mountain above
timber line. The first rays of the sun turned the jagged peaks into
golden points of a crown. In Oklahoma, at that hour of the day, the
woods would be alive with song-birds, even at this season; but here
there are no song-birds, and only the snapping of twigs, as our horses
climbed the frosty trail, broke the silence. We had been cautioned not
to talk, but neither Mrs. O'Shaughnessy nor I wanted to. Afterwards,
when we compared notes, we found that we both had the same thought: we
both felt ashamed to be out to deal death to one of the Maker's
beautiful creatures, and we were planning how we might avoid it.
The sun was well up when we reached the little park where we picketed
our horses. Then came a long, hard climb. It is hard climbing at the
best, and when there is a big gun to carry, it is _very_ hard. Then
too, we had to keep up with the men, and we didn't find that easy to
do. At last we reached the top and sat down on some boulders to rest a
few minutes before we started down to the hunting ground, which lay in
a cuplike valley far below us.
We could hear the roar of the Gros Ventre as it tumbled grumblingly
over its rocky bed. To our right rose mile after mile of red cliffs.
As the last of the quaking asp leaves have fallen, there were no
golden groves. In their places stood silvery patches against the red
background of the cliffs. High overhead a triangle of wild geese
harrowed the blue sky.
I was plumb out of breath, but men who are most gallant elsewhere are
absolutely heartless on a hunt. I was scarcely through panting before
we began to descend. We received instructions as to how we should move
so as to keep out of range of each other's guns; then Mr. Haynes and
myself started one way, and Mr. Struble and Mrs. O'Shaughnessy the
other. We were to meet where the valley terminated in a broad pass. We
felt sure we could get a chance at what elk there might be in the
valley. We were following fresh tracks, and a little of the hunter's
enthusiasm seized me.
We had not followed them far when three cows and a "spike" came
running out of the pines a little ahead of us. Instantly Mr. Haynes's
gun flew to his shoulder and a deafening report jarred our ears. He
ran forward, but I stood still, fascinated by what I saw. Our side of
the valley was bounded by a rim of rock. Over the rim was a sheer wall
of rock for two hundred feet, to where the Gros Ventre was angrily
roaring below; on the other side of the stream rose the red cliffs
with their jagged crags. At the report of the gun two huge blocks of
stone almost as large as a house detached themselves and fell. At the
same instant one of the quaking asp groves began to move slowly. I
couldn't believe my eyes. I shut them a moment, but when I looked the
grove was moving faster. It slid swiftly, and I could plainly hear the
rattle of stones falling against stones, until with a muffled roar the
whole hillside fell into the stream.
Mr. Haynes came running back. "What is the matter? Are you hurt? Why
didn't you shoot?" he asked.
I waved my hand weakly toward where the great mound of tangled
trees and earth blocked the water. "Why," he said, "that is only a
landslide, not an earthquake. You are as white as a ghost. Come on up
here and see my fine elk."
I sat on a log watching him dress his elk. We have found it best not
to remove the skin, but the elk have to be quartered so as to load
them on to a horse. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and Mr. Struble came out of the
woods just then. They had seen a big bunch of elk headed by a splendid
bull, but got no shot, and the elk went out of the pass. They had
heard our shot, and came across to see what luck.
"What iver is the matter with ye?" asked Mrs. O'Shaughnessy. Mr.
Haynes told her. They had heard the noise, but had thought it thunder.
Mr. Haynes told me that if I would "chirk up" he would give me his elk
teeth. Though I don't admire them, they are considered valuable;
however, his elk was a cow, and they don't have as nice teeth as do
bulls.
We had lunch, and the men covered the elk with pine boughs to keep the
camp robbers from pecking it full of holes. Next day the men would
come with the horses and pack it in to camp. We all felt refreshed; so
we started on the trail of those that got away.
For a while walking was easy and we made pretty good time; then we had
a rocky hill to get over. We had to use care when we got into the
timber; there were marshy places which tried us sorely, and windfall
so thick that we could hardly get through. We were obliged to pick our
way carefully to avoid noise, and we were all together, not having
come to a place where it seemed better to separate. We had about
resolved to go to our horses when we heard a volley of shots.
"That is somebody bunch-shooting," said Mr. Struble. "They are in
Brewster Lake Park, by the sound. That means that the elk will pass
here in a short time and we may get a shot. The elk will be here long
before the men, since the men have no horses; so let's hurry and get
placed along the only place they can get out. We'll get our limit."
We hastily secreted ourselves along the narrow gorge through which the
elk must pass. We were all on one side, and Mr. Haynes said to me,
"Rest your gun on that rock and aim at the first rib back of the
shoulder. If you shoot haphazard you may cripple an elk and let it get
away to die in misery. So make sure when you fire."
It didn't seem a minute before we heard the beat of their hoofs and a
queer panting noise that I can't describe. First came a beautiful
thing with his head held high; his great antlers seemed to lie half
his length on his back; his eyes were startled, and his shining black
mane seemed to bristle. I heard the report of guns, and he tumbled in
a confused heap. He tried to rise, but others coming leaped over him
and knocked him down. Some more shots, and those behind turned and
went back the way they had come.
Mr. Haynes shouted to me, "Shoot, shoot; why _don't_ you shoot!"
So I fired my Krag, but next I found myself picking myself up and
wondering who had struck me and for what. I was so dizzy I could
scarcely move, but I got down to where the others were excitedly
admiring the two dead elk that they said were the victims of Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy's gun. She was as excited and delighted as if she had
never declared she would not kill anything. "Sure, it's many a meal
they'll make for little hungry mouths," she said. She was rubbing her
shoulder ruefully. "I don't want to fire any more big guns. I thought
old Goliar had hit me a biff with a blackthorn shilaley," she
remarked.
Mr. Haynes turned to me and said, "You are a dandy hunter! you didn't
shoot at all until after the elk were gone, and the way you held your
gun it is a wonder it didn't knock your head off, instead of just
smashing your jaw."
The men worked as fast as they could at the elk, and we helped as much
as we could, but it was dark before we reached camp. Supper was ready,
but I went to bed at once. They all thought it was because I was so
disappointed, but it was because I was so stiff and sore I could
hardly move, and so tired I couldn't sleep. Next morning my jaw and
neck were so swollen that I hated any one to see me, and my head ached
for two days. It has been snowing for a long time, but Clyde says he
will take me hunting when it stops. I don't want to go but reckon I
will have to, because I don't want to come so far and buy a license to
kill an elk and go back empty-handed, and partly to get a rest from
Mr. Murry's everlasting accordion.
Mr. Murry is an old-time acquaintance of Mrs. O'Shaughnessy's. He has
a ranch down on the river somewhere. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy has not seen
him for years,--didn't know he lived up here. He had seen the
game-warden from whom she had procured her license, and so hunted up
our camp. He is an odd-looking individual, with sad eyes and a
drooping mouth which gives his face a most hopeless, reproachful
expression. His nose, however, seems to upset the original plan, for
it is long and thin and bent slightly to one side. His neck is long
and his Adam's apple seems uncertain as to where it belongs. At supper
Jerrine watched it as if fascinated until I sent her from the table
and went out to speak to her about gazing.
"Why, mamma," she said, "I had to look; he has swallowed something
that won't go either up or down, and I'm 'fraid he'll choke."
Although I can't brag about Mr. Murry's appearance, I can about his
taste, for he admires Mrs. O'Shaughnessy. It seems that in years gone
by he has made attempts to marry her.
As he got up from supper the first night he was with us, he said,
"Mary Ellen, I have a real treat and surprise for you. Just wait a few
minutes, an' I'll bet you'll be happy."
We took our accustomed places around the fire, while Mr. Murry hobbled
his cayuse and took an odd-looking bundle from his saddle. He seated
himself and took from the bundle--an accordion! He set it upon his
knee and began pulling and pushing on it. He did what Mr. Struble said
was doling a doleful tune. Every one took it good-naturedly, but he
kept doling the doleful until little by little the circle thinned.
Our tent is as comfortable as can be. Now that it is snowing, we sit
around the stoves, and we should have fine times if Professor
Glenholdt could have a chance to talk; but we have to listen to "Run,
Nigger, Run" and "The Old Gray Hoss Come A-tearin' Out The
Wilderness." I'll sing them to you when I come to Denver.
With much love to you,
ELINORE RUPERT STEWART.
VIII
THE SEVENTH MAN
CLOUDCREST, October 10, 1914.
DEAR MRS. CONEY,--