LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS
For several days after Roly's arrival at Klukshu Lake all efforts to
catch fish were unavailing. The weather was now warm and dry, and the
thick, smoky atmosphere indicated an extensive forest fire at no great
distance. The salmon had not appeared, and there was no sign of brook
trout in this part of the Klukshu River, consequently the energies of
the campers were directed toward the lake. A raft was built, by the aid
of which lines were set in deep water near the outlet, the hooks baited
with raw bacon,--but not a fish was caught.
A small party of Canadian mounted police--fine, stalwart
fellows--appeared at this time on their way to Five Finger Rapids,
and the hearts of the exiled fishermen were rejoiced. Their arrival
meant that horses could now come in from the coast, and Reitz and
Johnson began to look eagerly for the first instalment of supplies for
the Thirty-six. Several prospectors with small pack trains followed
the police, and invariably camped on a dry meadow at the foot of the
lake. The tinkle of the bell of the leading horse sometimes floated
up to the knoll where the tents of Roly and his companions stood, and
conjured up memories of pastures far away. Had the prospectors only
known it and cared to take the trouble, they would have found far
better pasturage on the hillsides above the timber line, where the
grasses grew tall and luxuriant.
A happy thought on the part of Roly was the means of solving the
fishing problem. Bacon was evidently worthless as bait, there was not
an angle-worm in the country so far as he knew, and grasshoppers were
seldom seen; but he had noticed shoals of young fish like minnows in
the outlet, and thought that if they could be caught they would make
excellent bait. The others thought so too, and Reitz contrived an
ingenious scoop-net out of a willow branch and some mosquito netting,
which proved very effective.
Roly's week would be up on the following day. It was agreed that in the
morning a supreme effort should be made by the three, and as Moran's
Camp lay directly in his path, Roly volunteered to carry the fish if
they should be successful.
At an early hour he rolled his tent and blankets into a pack and set
off with his friends, who had provided a luncheon and a plentiful
supply of minnows. The main trail followed the east shore, but there
was another along the western which connected about half-way up the
lake with the new trail to Shorty Creek. At the junction of the two
was the tree upon which the directions had been written.
The party passed this tree and continued along the lake, their
objective point being a certain rocky shore where they hoped to find
deep water. Having reached this spot, they lost no time in cutting
slender poles of poplar and attaching the lines. Floats, or bobs, were
made from bits of wood, and the baited hook was allowed to sink ten or
twelve feet.
It was some time before the finny inhabitants of the depths discovered
the tempting morsels thrown out to them, but at last Roly's float began
to tremble in a way that could not be attributed to the wavelets, and
the next instant down it went under the clear water. Now was the time
to strike, and the boy raised his pole with a quick firm jerk.
The fish was securely hooked, and proved both strong and gamy; but as
soon as it tired, it was drawn gradually toward the shore and up near
the surface of the water. It was a four-pound lake trout and a beauty.
Roly landed the prize with the assistance of his friends, and stowed it
safely away in the shade of the rocks in an empty flour sack.
At the very next nibble, however, fortune turned against him. The fish
broke the line and carried away his only hook; and as his companions
had but one hook apiece, he was forced to abandon the sport. Before
the fish stopped biting, the two men had caught four trout, all of
about the same size.
Having lunched, and dressed the fish, the three agreed about two
o'clock that Roly ought to start, especially as the first thunder-storm
of the season was growling and threatening in the mountains to the
east. With fish, tent, and blankets, and David's camera, which he had
carried upon this excursion, he had a load of about thirty pounds,
which Reitz carried for him as far as the guide-tree.
The inscription on the tree was written in pencil on a space freed from
bark, and stated that by holding a course two points north of west for
a mile a clear trail would be found.
"Have you a compass, Roly?" asked Johnson.
"Yes."
"Well, then, strike off here and keep the direction carefully, and you
won't have any trouble. There's a stretch of burnt and fallen timber
where the trail has been wiped out, but beyond that it's a plain path."
"And remember to keep the trout you caught," added Reitz, as he said
good-by.
Roly started off in good spirits. He had his uncle's revolver with him,
but there was little reason to apprehend danger from wild beasts. If
he let them alone, they would be pretty certain to return the favor.
As to finding the way, he knew the general direction in which the
Kah Sha gorge lay, for he could occasionally catch a glimpse of the
Dasar-dee-ash Mountains eight miles to the northwest. Nearer, not more
than two miles away, loomed the familiar Conical Mountain, and to the
right of it another summit, the two forming the northernmost elevations
of an extensive mountain system running far back toward Dalton's Post.
From the directions on the tree the boy conceived the idea that his
route lay between Conical Mountain and its right-hand neighbor, in a
narrow pass which he could see very distinctly. So, without depending
longer on the compass, he fixed his course at once toward this gap,
struggling through a new growth of bushes and stepping over or crawling
under the fallen trees as best he could. A fresh breeze along the lake
had kept away the mosquitoes while he had been on the rocks; but here
it was more sheltered, and the little pests, attracted by the smell of
the fish, swarmed about him and nearly drove him frantic, for he was
still without a head-net and gloves.
An hour of this slow and difficult travel brought him into the growing
forest, and he kept his eyes open for the path. Denser and denser the
woods became until it was hardly possible to force a passage. In a
little swampy glen he found the prints of a bear's great paw on the
moss, but what caused him much more anxiety was the sight, welcome as
it was, of a little brook. Reitz had told him that for nearly five
miles from the guide-tree there was no water on the trail. Yet here was
water! Plainly, then, he had made some error and had lost his way.
Roly was not easily frightened, but the thought of wandering through
that lonely forest longer than was absolutely necessary was anything
but pleasing. To be sure, he would not starve, for he had the fish, but
it was disquieting to be off the trail. He would have liked to sit down
a few minutes to consider the situation, but the mosquitoes would not
let him rest. He could only pause long enough to take a deep draught
from the brook, then on he must go again, and do his reflecting as he
walked.
He now came upon a path fairly well defined, which led, without a
doubt, straight into the pass before him. This was probably the trail
he sought. At any rate, its general direction was assuring, and he
reasoned that it must bring him out on the other side of the mountains
in plain view of the Kah Sha gorge, which he could then reach by
crossing four miles of valley. So he followed the path, which appeared
little used, and presently came to the brow of a high, shelving bank.
The steep side of Conical Mountain, patched with old snow-banks,
towered on his left, while the end mountain of the chain rose to the
right. Before him in the hollow was a level, grassy amphitheatre, on
the farther side of which opened out a narrow passage, also grassy
and treeless. The absolute seclusion of the place made it an admirable
retreat for wild game and, indeed, for robbers, and the imaginative
Roly looked carefully around before he ventured to descend into it.
There was not a living creature to be seen. The path crossed the
circular meadow and followed the narrow pass beyond, and as it was
level, firm, and unobstructed, the boy walked rapidly.
He had proceeded in this way nearly a mile between the slopes of the
two mountains, when he came upon a beautiful lakelet whose placid
waters filled the valley--now somewhat wider--from side to side. In the
shallow water near the shore he could see several small fish basking
just below the surface. As for the trail, it had disappeared, and there
was no trace of it along either side of the water. Indeed, the steep
ridges looked quite impassable, from which he concluded that the path
had been made by Indians or wild game, or both, whose objective point
was the lake. There could be little doubt that he was the first white
person who had penetrated here,--a thought which quite tickled his
fancy, so he photographed the lake in proof of this bit of original
exploration.
He was now obliged to return through the defile, fully convinced that
the new trail passed around the outer mountain. Goaded on by swarms of
mosquitoes and compelled to wave a leafy branch continually across
his heated face, he struck the trail at last, and soon afterward found
a sparkling brook at the foot of a high hill. If this was the water
mentioned by Reitz, he had come only half the direct distance, in spite
of his long, tiresome tramp. He drank, then pressed forward through a
region of bogs and woods, crossed a muddy stream on a log, and set off
across the four miles of valley. Here the walking was good. The gorge
was now plainly in view, and he thought his labors nearly at an end.
Unfortunately, it was the wrong time of day to ford the Kah Sha. It
had been warm for a week, and the water was high again. Besides, the
stream was now swollen with the meltings of the day. Roly could hear an
ominous roar long before he could see the river.
He encountered it first in the woods, where it spread out into so
many channels that each was comparatively shallow. Some of these he
crossed on logs, and others he waded without getting very wet, but when
he came out upon the open stretch of gravel the outlook was far from
encouraging. Compressed into one or two principal channels and filling
its banks to the brim, the river was thundering madly down from the
gorge. Not a log was in sight, and yet the stream must be crossed three
or four times to reach Moran's Camp.
Roly's heart sank as he gazed on the hurrying torrent, but he resolved
to make the attempt. He therefore returned to the edge of the woods and
cut a stout pole with which to try the depth of the water and brace
himself against the current. His rubber boots, if his father had left
them in the willows, were on the other side of the stream, so it was
useless to think of keeping dry.
Carefully selecting a point where the stream ran in two channels, the
boy waded into the first and smaller of the two. The water came to his
knees, but with the assistance of the pole he crossed in safety. On
trying the other, however, he found the volume of water much greater.
The current almost whirled his feet from beneath him at every step. The
icy water surged higher and higher till it was far above his knees,
and now it was wellnigh impossible to hold the pole firmly down to the
bottom. He felt the stones roll against his feet as the flood swept
them along, and, worst of all, the deepest part was not yet passed. The
bed of the stream shelved plainly down. To go on would be folly. It
was nearly as difficult to go back, but he managed to turn slowly and
dizzily and reach the shore he had just left. Tired and wet, he longed
to rest, but even here his insect tormentors had followed.
There was but one thing to do. He must climb the hills on the side of
the gorge and work his way along at a height of three or four hundred
feet until he could scramble down to the camp. It was a rough ascent
through bushes and over fallen timber, and the boy was utterly spent
when at last he caught a glimpse of the little cabin and the white
tents of the Thirty-six far below.
He had been steadily tramping from two o'clock in the afternoon, and it
was now nine in the evening. But he had obstinately clung to the fish
with which he had been intrusted, knowing how welcome they would be to
the dwellers by the river. It is needless to say that Roly was received
with open arms by Moran and his men, who gave him dry clothes and a
hearty supper, and many compliments on his pluck and perseverance. A
place was cleared for his blanket-bed in one of the tents, and nothing
would do next morning but he must share with his friends a delicious
breakfast of fried trout before setting out for Alder Creek.