BONNY COMMANDS THE SITUATION
Our lads had barely time to do up the tents and blankets they had used
for bedding into compact bundles before M. Filbert arrived, with his
servant Francois, and a carriage full of packages, including a bundle of
iron-shod alpenstocks. He was clad in what appeared to Bonny and the
idlers about the station a very curious costume, though to Alaric, who
had often seen its like in Switzerland, it did not seem at all out of
the way. It consisted of a coat and knee-breeches of dark green
velveteen, a waistcoat of scarlet cloth, stout yarn stockings patterned
in green and scarlet and folded over at the knees, the heaviest of laced
walking-boots with hob-nailed soles, and a soft Tyrolese hat, in which
was stuck a jaunty cock's feather.
He was full of excited bustle, and the moment he caught sight of Alaric
began to shower questions and directions upon him with bewildering
rapidity. At length, thanks to Alaric's clear head and Bonny's practical
common-sense, confusion was reduced to order, and everything was got on
board the train that was to carry the expedition to Yelm Prairie, a
station about twenty miles south of Tacoma, from which the real start
was to be made.
The arrival at Yelm Prairie produced an excitement equal to that of a
circus, and our friends had hardly alighted from the train before they
were surrounded by a clamorous throng of would-be guides, packers,
teamsters, owners of saddle-animals or pack-ponies, and a score of
others, who were loud in declaring that without their services the
expedition would surely come to grief.
In vain did the bewildered Frenchman storm and rave, and stamp his feet
and gesticulate. Not one word that he said could be understood by the
crowd, who, in their efforts to attract his attention, only shouted the
louder and pressed about him more closely. Finally the poor man, turning
to Alaric and saying, "Do what you will. Everything I leave to you,"
clapped his hands to his ears, broke through the uproarious throng, and
started on a run for the open prairie.
"He leaves everything to us," said Alaric, who was almost as bewildered
by the clamor and novelty of the situation as was M. Filbert himself.
"Good enough!" cried Bonny. "Now we will be able to do something. I take
it that on this cruise you are first mate and I am second. So if you'll
just give the word to go ahead, I'll settle the business in a hurry."
"I only wish you would," returned Alaric, "for it looks as though we
were going to be mobbed."
Armed with this authority, Bonny sprang on a packing-case that lifted
him well above his surroundings, and shouted: "Fellow-citizens!"
Instantly there came a hush of curious expectancy.
"I reckon all you men are looking for a job?"
"That's about the size of it," answered several voices.
"Very well; I'll give you one that'll prove just about the biggest
contract ever let out in Yelm Prairie. It is to shut your mouths and
keep quiet."
Here the speaker was greeted by angry murmurs and cries of "None of yer
chaff, young feller!" "What are you giving us?" and the like.
Nothing daunted, Bonny continued: "I'm not fooling. I'm in dead earnest.
What we are after is quiet, and the prince out there, whom you have
scared away with your racket, is so bound to have it that he's willing
to pay handsomely for it. He's got the money, too, and don't you forget
it. He wants to hire several guides and packers, also a lot of
saddle-horses and ponies, but a noisy, loud-talking chap he can't abide,
and won't have round. He has left the whole business to my partner here
and me to settle, seeing that we are his interpreters, and we are going
to do it the way he pays us to do it and wants it done. So, according to
the rule we've laid down in all our travellings and mountain-climbings
up to date, the man who speaks last will be hired first, and the fellow
who makes the most noise won't be given any show at all. Sabe? As an
example, we want a team to take our dunnage to the river, and I'm going
to give the job to that fellow sitting in the wagon, who hasn't so far
spoken a word."
"Good reason why! He's deaf and dumb!" shouted a voice.
"All the better," replied Bonny, in no wise abashed. "That's the kind we
want. There are two more chaps who haven't said anything that I've
heard, and I'm going to give them the job of pitching camp for us. I
mean those two Siwash at the end of the platform."
"They are quiet because they can't speak any English," remonstrated some
of those who stood near by.
"We don't mind that, though we are French," replied Bonny, cheerfully.
"You see, the prince looked out for such things when he engaged us
interpreters, and now we are ready to talk to every man in his own
language, including Chinook and United States. Now the only other thing
I've got to say is that we won't be ready to consider any further
business proposals until two o'clock this afternoon, and anybody coming
to our camp before that time will lose his chance. After that we shall
be glad to see you all, and the fellows that make the least talk will
stand the best show of getting a job."
The effect of this bold proposition was surprising. Instead of exciting
wrath and causing hostile demonstrations, as Alaric feared, its quieting
influence was magical. Times were hard in Yelm Prairie, and a well-paid
trip up the mountain, or the chance to obtain a dollar a day for the
hire of a pony, was not to be despised.
So Bonny was allowed to engage the deaf-and-dumb teamster by signs, and
the two Indians by a few words of Chinook, without hinderance. All these
worked with such intelligence and expedition that within an hour one of
the neatest camps ever seen in that section was ready for occupancy
beside the white waters of the glacier-fed Nisqually.
When M. Filbert, who spied it from afar, came in soon afterwards, with
hands and pockets full of floral specimens, he found a comfortably
arranged tent and a bountiful camp dinner awaiting him. At sight of
these things his peace of mind was fully restored, and he congratulated
himself on having secured such skilful interpreters of both his words
and wishes as the lads through whom they had been accomplished.
Promptly at the hour named by Bonny a motley but orderly throng of men,
mules, and ponies presented themselves at the camp, and the whole
afternoon was spent in making a selection of animals and testing the
skill of packers. Both Alaric and Bonny were inexperienced riders, but
neither of them hesitated when invited to mount and try the steeds
offered for their use. A moment later Bonny was sprawling on the
ground, with his pony gazing at him demurely, while Alaric was flying
over the prairie at a speed that quickly carried him out of sight. It
was nearly an hour before he returned, dishevelled and flushed with
excitement, but triumphant, and with his pony cured of his desire for
bolting--at least, for a time.
By nightfall the selections and engagements had been made, and the
expedition was strengthened by the addition of two white men to act as
packers, two Indians who were to serve as guides and hunters, five
saddle-ponies, and as many pack-animals.
That night our lads slept under canvas for the first time, and as they
lay on their blankets discussing the novelty of the situation, Bonny
said:
"I tell you what, Rick, this mountain-climbing is a more serious
business than some folks think. When you first told me what our job was
to be I had a sort of an idea that we could get to the top of old
Rainier easy enough in one day and come back the next. So I couldn't
imagine why Mr. Bear should want to engage us by the month. Now, though,
it begins to look as though we were in for something of a cruise."
"I should say so," laughed Alaric, who had learned a great deal about
mountain-climbing in Switzerland. "It would probably take the best part
of a week to go from here straight to the summit and back again. But we
shall be gone much longer than that, for we are to make a camp somewhere
near the snow-line, and spend a fortnight or so up there collecting
flowers and things."
"Flowers?" said Bonny, inquiringly.
"Yes. M. Filbert is a botanist, you know, and makes a specialty of
mountain flora. But I say, Bonny, what makes you call him 'Mr. Bear'?"
"Because I thought that was his name. I know you call him 'Phil Bear,'
but I never was one to become familiar with a cap'n on short
acquaintance."
"Ho! ho!" Alaric laughed; "that's a good one. Why, Bonny, Filbert is the
surname. F-i-l-b-e-r-t--the same as the nut, you know, only the French
pronounce things differently from what we do."
"I should say they did if that's a specimen, and I'm glad I'm not
expected to talk in any such language. Plain Chinook and every-day North
American are good enough for me. I suppose he would say 'Rainy' for
Rainier?"
"Something very like it. I see you are catching the accent. We'll make a
Frenchman of you yet before this trip is ended."
"Humph!" ejaculated Bonny. "Not if I know it, you won't."
Sunrise of the following morning found the horsemen of the expedition
galloping over the brown sward of the park-like prairie towards the
forest that for hundreds of miles covers the whole western slope of the
Cascade range like a vast green blanket. The road soon entered the
timber and began a gradual ascent, winding among the trunks of stately
firs and gigantic cedars that often shot upward for more than one
hundred feet before a branch broke their column-like regularity.
By noon they were at Indian Henry's, twenty miles on their way, and at
the end of the wagon-road. That night camp was pitched in the dense
timber, and our lads had their first taste of life in the forest. How
snugly they were walled in by those close-crowding tree-trunks, and how
they revelled in the roaring camp-fire, with its leaping flames, showers
of dancing sparks, and perfume of burning cedar! What a delight it was
to lie on their blankets just within its circle of light and warmth,
listening to its crisp cracklings! Mingled with these was the cheery
voice of a tumbling stream that came from the blackness beyond, and the
soft murmurings of night winds among the branches far above them.
Another day's journey through the same grand forest, only broken by the
verdant length of Succotash Valley, and by the rocky beds of many
streams, brought them to Longmire's Springs and the log cabins of the
hardy settler who had given them his name. At this point, though they
had been steadily ascending ever since leaving Yelm Prairie, they were
still less than three thousand feet above the sea, and the real work of
climbing was not yet begun. After an evening spent in listening to
Longmire's thrilling descriptions of the difficulties and dangers
awaiting them, Bonny admitted to Alaric that he had never before
entertained even a small idea of what a mountain really was.