COMING OF THE CHINOOK
After many days the scout came back alone to his ranch, and we rode
together on the open plains to look for missing cattle. We found cows
and calves dying without food or drink, and a young steer that had
fallen through the ice, frozen in the river. We hauled it ashore with
our lariats and, after dragging the carcass back to the cabin, skinned
and butchered it; the way Indians used to cut up buffalo. We took out
the tongue, short-ribs, boss-ribs, shoulders and hams, briskets and
belly-pieces. There was no waste; we used the entrails for eating,
saving the hide for tanning, also the brains and liver; the tissue was
used for sinew.
Then another blizzard came with more snow, intense cold, and a gale
from the north. That night as we sat by the stove, the side of our
bodies towards the fire was warm, the other numb with cold. Whenever we
opened the door, the cold air formed a cloud of steam, which shot along
the floor and made a fall of snow on the threshold. Then the roof began
to crack, and loud reports came from ice in the river. I heard the
booming of a bursting tree, and then of a water-filled hollow. The
scout said:
“Those are signs of more bad weather. My friend Bear Paw, who lives
near the mountains, says it is over forty years since we had a moon
with such bad storms. Before they came, he saw a mysterious ball of
fire hang over the forest. Bear Paw keeps tribal records on buffalo
skins: deaths of chiefs, cold winters, summers of drought and of
plenty.”
It was a dreary time when our oil gave out; I could neither read nor
write. There were only six hours of daylight, with darkness for the
remaining eighteen.
Big gray wolves and packs of coyotes driven by hunger came close to the
ranch. One night I heard them feasting on the carcass of a cow not far
from our cabin. Finally they became so bold we made baits of poisoned
meat and placed them on the hills, dragging the bloody head of the
steer behind our horses to lead them to the baits.
I saw sun dogs in the sky, shining dimly, like great crosses of light
near the sun. Then shadows appeared over the Rocky Mountains, strange
“snow banners,” or cloud-shaped drifts in the sky, stretching out from
the summits of the high peaks, waving and shimmering in the rays of the
sun—a sign that a powerful norther was raging over the mountains. The
light dry snowdust, being driven by the wind up the flanks of the high
peaks, was carried over them and into the sky, each peak having its own
snow banner, all pointing the same way, all gleaming and waving against
the blue sky.
That night a nor’wester came roaring over the plains, with a whirling
wind that sought to lift the roof and terrible gusts, which struck the
walls like a battering-ram, until the cabin swayed and trembled.
The scout sat dejected by the fire. He was filled with gloom; and when
I wakened towards midnight he was still there, with his head bowed. I
heard him pray earnestly and in a low voice to the Sun:
“Father, have pity and help us.
I am praying for my people.
The Indians starve and are cold.
Break up the clouds and shine upon us.
Take what I say and send the Chinook.
Father, the Sun, have pity and help my people.”
At last came a day with signs of better weather. At dawn the sky was
vivid green with clouds of pink and gold; and at midday water was
dripping from the roof and the thick frost melted from the windows.
Then on Kutenai I went forth to hunt, following the tops of the ridges.
I saw tracks of a wolf pack, and the large round footprints of a pair
of Rocky Mountain lions, with marks where their long tails dragged in
the snow. But I had no luck. The traveling was bad; the low places and
gullies were choked with snow, and the plains covered with huge drifts,
following one another like billows of the ocean, with smaller waves on
top. The bright sun was blinding on the white surface snow, and the air
filled with particles of floating ice. My horse’s hoofs rang on the icy
crust; sometimes it bore our weight; at others his feet broke through.
One moment his hind quarters were down, at another he seemed to be
standing on his head. Once he slipped on an ice-covered hill and turned
a complete somersault. I flew over his head and landed safely in a
snowdrift. The only game I saw was a bunch of antelope. But they were
feeding on the bare summit of a ridge with no cover near, and I had no
way of stalking them. After that I turned back because the sun was
getting low.
I remember well how the cabin looked that night, after my trip on the
snowy wastes. Our table was covered with a cloth of bright red; the
steam rising from a bountiful supper of rib-roast; the glow of the
firelight over all, and the glistening of frost-covered windows.
Then the south wind rose and the river was covered with mist. Misty
clouds hung along the horizon, and I saw two rainbows at a distance
from the sun. Banks of heavy clouds settled low over the Rocky
Mountains, with another great bank higher up. In the west the sky
became as black as ink and the color of indigo at the zenith. The wind
went down and there came a strange stillness.
Suddenly, from out of the west I heard a dull roar, like the roll of
distant thunder. “Listen!” cried the scout. “The Chinook! At last!
Good-Old-Man comes from the mountains to run out over the plains.”
I looked towards the Rockies and saw dense clouds of snow swept into
the air by the force of a mighty wind. It passed the foothills and came
swiftly over the plains, like banks of driven fog. Then the gale struck
us carrying masses of melting snow, which covered us from head to foot.
In a few minutes the temperature rose forty degrees.
A Chinook wind occurs on the east side of the Rocky Mountains, whenever
a well-developed cyclonic storm passes over the northern part of the
United States. It blows from the direction of the country occupied by
the Chinook Indians. It is not a wind from the Japanese Current of the
Pacific Ocean, as is commonly believed. It is a “descending wind” that
flows over the Rocky Mountains, following the low pressure on the
eastern side, which draws it down the mountains to the plains. Thus the
wind is compressed and has capacity for holding heat. When the Chinook
blows, precipitation ceases, clouds disappear and the air is dry.
That Chinook blew for three days. It went down in the evening after the
sun, but came again in the morning, melting the snow as if by magic. In
a few hours as much snow had melted as by a gentle thaw of many days.
Our river was a wonderful sight. It became a raging torrent that
whirled and foamed and burst its icy covering. The huge drifts of snow
that filled the valleys and were piled along the river banks looked
yellow and shrunken and lost their graceful curves. The cowhouse and
other sheds were flooded. In the night the air was filled with strange
sounds—the running and dripping of water, the slipping and sliding of
melting snow and ice.
For days we were storm-bound, because of the floods and the force of
that mighty wind. Finally the grass-covered summits of the ridges
appeared—the first time in many weeks. Then we gave cattle and horses
their last feed of hay at the ranch, and drove them forth to pasture on
the hills.