THE MYSTERIOUS THIRTY-SIX
For nearly a week, the little party struggled with the most difficult
portion of the trail. At Pleasant Camp they had reached an elevation of
about five hundred feet above the sea, but the rise had been so gradual
through the forty-five miles of river valleys that it had hardly been
noticed. From that point, however, it was all mountain work, and they
had to ascend three thousand feet more in about fifteen miles, to gain
the summit of the Chilkat Pass and the high interior plateau. The trail
often led uphill only to lead provokingly down again on the other
side, so that the gain was thrown away, and had to be earned all over
again. Then, too, the snowdrifts increased the roughness of the path.
It was out of the question to move full loads under such conditions,
and half-loads were taken forward a few miles and cached one day, and
the remainder brought up the next. Some of the slopes were so steep
that even the ice-creepers barely gave the sled-pullers a foothold, and
often the sheer weight of the loads dragged them back again and again.
[Illustration: A CURIOUS PHENOMENON BESIDE THE TRAIL]
Under this terrible strain their feet grew sore, and the frequent
dipping of the gee-poles, as the sleds dove into the hollows, gave them
cruelly lame backs. To make matters worse, the tugging on the ropes,
coupled with the usual dampness of their mittens, caused the skin of
their fingers to crack deeply and painfully at the joints. Many times
the sleds overturned, or jammed against stumps and roots. Altogether it
was a severe and thorough training for the boys in patience, endurance,
and perseverance.
"What will become of Mrs. Shirley's party here, I wonder," said Roly,
after a hard day's work.
"If they are wise," replied Uncle Will, "they'll stop at Pleasant Camp.
The two young men can make a dash in for claims when the lame one has
recovered, but those ladies can never stand this kind of work."
David declared that never before had he appreciated the picture in his
room at home, of Napoleon's soldiers dragging cannon over the Alps.
He was quite sure he would groan with genuine sympathy when he saw it
again. In the mean time, in spite of all discomforts, he was daily
securing beautiful and interesting views of mountains and valleys, of
camps and the sledding, and of all the unique phases of his outdoor
life.
At one point, he photographed a curious phenomenon beside the trail.
The stump of a tree bore upon its top a great skull-shaped mass of
snow, while underneath on every side the flakes had been packed
against the bark by the wind, the whole forming a colossal figure of a
human head and neck, which appeared as if carved in purest marble.
Now and then they observed traces of the company ahead. Sometimes it
was a broken gee-pole, again a deserted camping-ground or fireplace,
and frequently bits of rope, empty cracker boxes and tins, or a freshly
"blazed" or notched tree to indicate the trail. But the Thirty-six
themselves were as elusive as if they all wore seven-league boots, and
the Bradfords never caught sight of them during these days, no matter
how hard they worked.
In the forest through which they were travelling, spruce gum of fine
quality could be picked from many of the trees, and the boys found it
useful as a preventive of thirst in a country where open springs were
far between. Often, too, they carried beef tablets in their pockets,
and these served to alleviate hunger as well as thirst,--for so severe
was the work, and so stimulating to the appetite the mountain air, that
they were fairly faint between meals.
Once, while on the march, they were startled by a deep rumbling, which
seemed to come from the bowels of the earth. Uncle Will said that this
was the sound of an avalanche on the high mountains across the Klaheena
valley.
Porcupines were so numerous as to be obtainable as often as needed, but
Roly one day discovered a new kind of game. He espied a large dark bird
sitting on a low branch of a spruce near the trail, and called Uncle
Will's attention to it.
"Ah!" exclaimed the latter, "that's a spruce partridge, and very good
eating. Is your revolver loaded, Charles?"
The guns were packed in their cases on the sleds, but Mr. Bradford's
revolver was loaded and ready. He took careful aim at the partridge and
fired. The bird, not thirty feet away, merely cocked its head to one
side, and calmly eyed the discomfited marksman.
"Missed," said Mr. Bradford. "Suppose you try a shot, Roly. I've been
out of practice too long."
"Yes," said Roly, "let me try. But why didn't the partridge fly away?
They're awfully 'scary' at home."
"This is not the ruffed grouse, or partridge, of New England,"
explained his father, "but a different species. It is often called
the 'fool hen,' because it is so stupid. You might fire a dozen times
without inducing it to fly, and you can go up quite close to it if you
wish. It's more sportsmanlike, though, to give the bird a chance."
Roly accordingly stood where he was, fired, and missed. Uncle Will then
brought down the bird with his revolver, and later, David and Roly
plucked and dressed it, with some assistance from Long Peter, and
cooked it for their supper.
David awoke, one morning, to find his younger brother observing him
with a curious expression in his eyes, the cause of which he was at a
loss to discover.
"What in the world is the matter with your face, Dave?" said Roly, as
soon as he saw that his tent-mate was awake.
"Matter with my face?" repeated David, sleepily. "Why, nothing. What
makes you think so?"
"You don't look a bit natural," said Roly.
"Oh, come!" muttered David. "What are you talking about? I'm all right,
I tell you;" and he gazed drowsily up at the canvas above him, through
which the morning light filtered.
"Oh! you are, are you?" said Roly. "Well, I advise you to look in a
mirror before you go outside, that's all."
But David neglected the warning. His appearance, when he crawled
forth from the tent, was the signal for a loud burst of laughter from
Long Peter, who was making the fire, and this, more than anything
else, convinced the boy that something was really wrong. He retreated
into the tent and consulted a small pocket looking-glass, whereby he
discovered that his countenance was as black as the ace of spades.
"April Fool!" shouted the irrepressible Roly, with great glee, and
dived head-first out of the tent to escape a flying shoe. "My dear
brother, permit me to inform you that this is the First of April." This
last explanatory speech was delivered with telling effect from a safe
distance.
[Illustration: THE CAMP OF THE MYSTERIOUS THIRTY-SIX]
David was at first much vexed, but having washed his face, he joined at
last in the laugh against himself.
Taking the idea from the blackened faces of the Indian women, Roly had
carefully gone over his sleeping brother's face with soot from the
bottom of a kettle. The youngster confessed, however, that, owing to
anxiety lest David should awaken first, his fun had cost him half his
night's sleep. It brought upon him, too, some words of counsel from his
father, who reminded him that practical joking often provoked serious
ill-feeling, and it was only owing to David's good sense that it had
not done so in the present instance.
That day's march was a short one. Early in the afternoon they saw a
thin blue column of smoke rising through the trees ahead, and a few
minutes later, to their unbounded delight, they entered the camp of
the Mysterious Thirty-six, whose tents were scattered through the
grove wherever the snow was level, or a tree or bank afforded shelter.
Such members of the company as they saw greeted them pleasantly, and
congratulated Uncle Will on making so rapid a journey. They could
far better afford to be distanced by the small Bradford party than
the Bradfords by them, and showed no trace of ill-humor. Uncle Will
declared, however, as the Bradfords were pitching their camp in the
edge of the timber, that it was too early to crow yet.
"What place is this?" asked Roly, as he fetched a kettleful of water
from the one open spot in a brook everywhere else buried deep under the
snow.
Uncle Will hung the kettle over the fire and answered, "Rainy Hollow."
"Ah!" exclaimed the boy, with sudden recollection, "this is where you
wrote your letter."
"Yes," said his uncle, "and the place was well named. It storms here
most of the time, consequently the crossing of the summit is usually
difficult and often quite dangerous. We are close to the summit now,
and this is the last of the timber."
"And how far is it across the summit?"
"About twenty miles to the timber on the other side."
After supper the boys paid a visit to the large camp, having a desire
to see how the Mysterious Thirty-six looked and lived. As they entered
the camp the familiar "Muck-muck" was shouted from the entrance of a
large cooking-tent by a jolly, red-faced man, whose general appearance,
together with a big spoon which he waved dramatically above a kettle
of beans, indicated that he was the cook. The call was taken up in
various directions, and repeated to the farthest tents, and presently
white men and Indians appeared from every side and took their places
indiscriminately in a line before the tent. Each carried an aluminum
plate and cup, with knife, fork, and spoon. As fast as they were
served, the men either seated themselves on logs and boxes, or stood
in groups, eating their beans, bacon, and biscuits, and drinking their
hot tea with great relish. The boys saw several sly young Indians
finish their rations almost at a gulp, lick their plates clean, and
immediately re-enter the line, by which trick they received a double
portion, the cook being evidently unable to distinguish them from
new-comers.
When all had been served, a white man approached the tent and asked,
"Do we get a second helping to-night, Jack? I'm as hungry as I was
before. Appetite's just getting whetted."
"No, Si, my boy, there's nothing left. Only one round,--that's the
orders to-night."
"H-m," said Si. "I'll bet those Indians didn't go hungry, though. I saw
one of 'em go back into the line."
"Well," said the cook, "the Cap'n will have to see to it, then. I can't
watch 'em all."
"I suppose not," said Si. "It's a shame, though." He looked around
to satisfy himself that the leader was not within hearing. "I'd have
pitched that Indian into a snowbank if it wasn't directly against
orders. The Cap'n says we're to have no rows with the redskins, or
they'll leave us, so we've got to be sweet an' nice to the rascals. By
the way, Jack, has anybody spoken for that kettle?"
"You're first on that," replied the cook, handing out one of the bean
kettles, in the bottom of which clung some half-burned scrapings. "Get
all the satisfaction you can out of it, old man."
"Trust me for that," said Si, calling to a friend to come and share his
prize.
Several others came up to ask for a second helping, but they were
disappointed,--all except the one who followed Si. He received the
other bean kettle.
"I'm glad we don't have to figure so closely," said David. "It must be
pretty tough to go to bed hungry after a hard day's work."
"That's what it is!" exclaimed a young man who stood near, and
overheard David's remark. "If they doubled our present rations it
wouldn't be too much, considering the work we have to do in these
mountains. I've had only two really satisfying meals since we left
Pyramid Harbor, and those consisted of porcupine stew."
"Why don't they give you more, then?" asked Roly.
"Oh! I suppose it's because we can't carry much food on these sleds,
and what we have must last until June, when pack trains of horses can
bring us more. Would you boys like to look around the camp?"
"Yes, indeed," answered David.
"Well," said their guide, who, as they learned, came from their own
State, "let's have a look at the fireplace."
This was near the cook-tent, and consisted of a circular hollow at
the foot of a tall spruce. At the bottom of the cavity a bright
fire blazed, and several kettles were hung over it by forked sticks
suspended from a horizontal pole, which was supported at each end at
the proper height by a crotched stake.
"There was quite a hole here when we came," said the young man, "and
we enlarged it with our shovels, and deepened it until we reached the
ground. The heat of the fire has made it still larger. You can get a
good idea of the depth of the snow from this hole, for, as you see, the
head of the man who stands in there by the fire doesn't reach within a
foot of the surface. There's about twice as much snow here as there was
in the valley."
They next visited the dwelling tents, which were exactly like the
diminutive tent of David and Roly, each barely accommodating two men;
but here in some cases four men had joined, and by spreading their two
tents and the two flies over a framework of poles, they secured a sort
of canvas hut which was quite roomy, and sheltered the occupants from
the wind on three sides, while a fire of logs before the open fourth
side made the improvised dwelling comfortable and cheerful, and served
also to dry the moccasins, coats, and blankets which had become damp on
the march.
In the distance they now heard some one calling off a list of names.
Their friend listened intently.
"There," said he, with a woful face, "I'm wanted. I suppose it's my
turn on guard to-night."
"Do you have to stand guard?" asked David, with some surprise. "We
never do. What is there to guard against?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," said the young man, replying to the latter
question. "Perhaps our Indians would meddle with the supplies, or it
may be the rule was made in the interest of the cooks, for the last
guard calls them up in the morning. Then, besides, there are generally
beans to be boiled at night, and the guards do that, and, of course,"
he added with a grimace and a smack of the lips, "we have to sample
those beans to know when they are done. That's the one redeeming
feature of guard duty."
The boys laughed, and declared the guards were not to be blamed under
the circumstances.
"How long is your watch?" asked Roly.
"Two hours. We draw lots for choice of watches. There are so many of
us that the turn doesn't come round to the same man oftener than once
a week, but it is pretty hard then to be pulled out of the blankets in
the middle of the night after a long day's labor. Well, I must leave
you. Good-bye!" and he was off to see about the guard duty.
The boys returned to their camp, passing on the way the large tent of
the Indians, who were singing a weird, monotonous native chant, varied
by the occasional insertion of religious hymns which they had picked up
at Haines' Mission. Uncle Will was telling his brother the information
he had gathered in the neighboring camp.
"They arrived here yesterday," he was saying, "so their leader told me,
and to-day they carried part of their goods forward five miles, where
they cached them. The men returned from that trip just before we came.
To-morrow they plan to take another and longer journey, moving their
remaining supplies ten miles and then returning here. That will be a
good twenty-mile march, and it will use them up so that I think they'll
have to rest one day at least. Their leader, who was willing enough to
talk about his present plans, said that as soon as possible after they
had made the second cache, they would take an early start from here,
and try to reach the timber on the other side the same day. You see
they'll have virtually nothing to carry except tents and blankets until
they reach their first cache, which they will pick up, leaving the
second untouched. In other words, they will travel five miles with very
light loads, and then fifteen with half-loads,--twenty miles in all.
They will return from that advanced camp the next day to their second
cache and take that forward."
"I suppose," said Mr. Bradford, "we shall have to employ the same
tactics to some extent. We can't carry forward our whole outfit in one
march."
"That's true," answered his brother. "I think it would be wise to first
carry half-loads ten miles. If the boys give out before we get back,
we'll draw them. I'm convinced that if we're to beat the big party,
we must do it here, and work as we never worked before. One thing I'm
thankful for,--our loads are lighter than theirs, for you see we've
already taken provisions for myself and Long Peter as far as Klukshu
Lake, and we two are now moving a share of yours. Besides, these
fellows have an unusual amount of clothing and other truck in their
clothing bags, and a great deal of heavy hardware. What did you learn
from their Indians, Peter?"
Long Peter smiled and looked wise. "Injuns say they no go to-morrow.
Big snow come. White men no keep together; some get lost. No wood for
fire. But we go if no wind. Me know t'ail [trail]."
This was a long speech for Long Peter, and it meant much. The morrow
would decide the race.