THE CALLING CANON
There were four wet and weary men in the Siwash canoe that Nasmyth,
who crouched astern, had just shot across the whirling pool with the
back feathering stroke of his paddle which is so difficult to acquire.
Tom from Mattawa, grasping a dripping pole, stood up in the bow.
Gordon and Wheeler, the pulp-mill manager, knelt in the middle of the
boat. Wheeler's hands were blistered from gripping the paddle-haft,
and his knees were raw, where he had pressed them against the bottom
of the craft to obtain a purchase. It was several years since he had
undertaken any severe manual labour, though he was by no means unused
to it, and he was cramped and aching in every limb. He had plied pole
or paddle for eight hours, during which his companions had painfully
propelled the craft a few miles into the canyon. He gasped with relief
when Mattawa ran the bow of the canoe in upon the shingle, and then
rose and stretched himself wearily. The four men stepped ashore.
Curiously they looked about them, for they had had little opportunity
for observation. Those who undertake to pole a canoe up the rapids of
a river on the Pacific slope usually find it advisable to confine
their attention strictly to the business in hand.
Immediately in front of them the river roared and seethed amid giant
boulders, which rose out of a tumultuous rush of foam, but while it
was clearly beyond the power of flesh and blood to drive the canoe up
against the current, a strip of shingle, also strewn with boulders and
broken by ledges of dripping rock, divided the water from the wall of
the canyon. The canyon, a tremendous slope of rock with its dark crest
overhanging them, ran up high above their heads; but they could see
the pines clinging to the hillside which rose from the edge of the
other wall across the river, so steep that it appeared impossible to
find a foothold upon it.
The four men were down in the bottom of a great rift in the hills,
and, though it would be day above for at least two hours, the light
was faint in the hollow and dimmed by drifting mist. It was a spot
from which a man new to that wild country might well have shrunk, and
the roar of water rang through it in tremendous, nerve-taxing
pulsations. Nasmyth and his companions, however, had gone there with
no particular purpose--merely for relaxation--though it had cost them
hours of arduous labour, and the journey had been a more or less
hazardous one. Wheeler, the pulp-mill manager, was waiting for his
machinery, and, Nasmyth had finished the dam. When they planned the
journey for pleasure, Mattawa and Gordon had gone with them ostensibly
on a shooting trip. There are game laws, which set forth when and
where a man may shoot, and how many heads he is entitled to, but it
must be admitted that the Bush-rancher seldom concerns himself greatly
about them. When he fancies a change of diet, he goes out and kills a
deer. Still, though all the party had rifles no one would have cared
very much if they had not come across anything to shoot at.
Now and then a vague unrest comes upon the Bushman, and he sets off
for the wilderness, and stays there while his provisions hold out. He
usually calls it prospecting, but as a rule he comes back with his
garments rent to tatters, and no record of any mineral claim or timber
rights, but once more contentedly he goes on with his task. It may be
a reawakening of forgotten instincts, half-conscious lust of
adventure, or a mere desire for change, that impels him to make the
journey, but it is at least an impulse with which most men who toil
in those forests are well acquainted.
Nasmyth and Mattawa pulled the canoe out, and when they sat down and
lighted their pipes, Wheeler grinned as he drew up his duck trousers
and surveyed his knees, which were raw and bleeding. Then he held up
one of his hands that his comrades might notice the blisters upon it.
He was a little, wiry man with dark eyes, which had a snap in them.
"Well," he observed, "we're here, and I guess any man with sense
enough to prefer whole bones to broken ones would wonder why we are.
It's most twelve years since I used to head off into the Bush this way
in Washington."
Gordon glanced at him with a twinkle in his eyes. "Now," he observed,
"you've hit the reason the first time. When you've done it once,
you'll do it again. You have to. Perhaps it's Nature's protest against
your axiom that man's chief business is dollar-making. Still, I'm
admitting that this is a blamed curious place for Nasmyth to figure on
killing a wapiti in. Say, are you going to sleep here to-night,
Derrick?"
It was very evident that none of the big wapiti--elks, as the Bushman
incorrectly calls them--could have reached that spot, but Nasmyth
laughed.
"I felt I'd like to see the fall--I don't know why," he said. "It's
scarcely another mile, and I've been up almost that far with an Indian
before. There's a ravine with young spruce in it where we could
sleep."
"Then," announced Wheeler resolutely, "we're starting right now. When
I pole a canoe up a place of this kind I want to see where I'm going.
I once went down a big rapid with the canoe-bottom up in front of me
in the dark, and one journey of that kind is quite enough."
They dumped out their camp gear, and took hold of the canoe, a
beautifully modelled, fragile thing, hollowed out of a cedar log, and
for the next half-hour hauled it laboriously over some sixty yards of
boulders and pushed it, walking waist-deep, across rock-strewn pools.
Then they went back for their wet tent, axes, rifles, blankets, and a
bag of flour, and when they had reloaded the canoe, they took up the
poles again. It was the hardest kind of work, and demanded strength
and skill, for a very small blunder would have meant wreck upon some
froth-lapped boulder, or an upset into the fierce white rush of the
river, but at length they reached a deep whirling pool, round which
long smears of white froth swung in wild gyrations. The smooth rock
rose out of the pool without even a cranny one could slip a hand into,
and the river fell tumultuously over a ledge into the head of it. The
water swept out of a veil of thin white mist, and the great rift rang
with a bewildering din. One felt that the vast primeval forces were
omnipotent there. As the men looked about them with the spray on their
wet faces and the white mist streaming by, Mattawa, who stood up
forward, dropped suddenly into the bottom of the canoe.
"In poles," he said. "Paddle! Get a move on her!" Nasmyth, who felt
his pole dip into empty water, flung it in and grabbed his paddle, for
the craft shot forward suddenly with the swing of the eddy towards the
fall. He did not know whether the stream would sweep them under it,
but he was not desirous of affording it the opportunity. For perhaps a
minute they exerted themselves furiously, gasping as they strained
aching arms and backs, and meanwhile, in spite of them, beneath the
towering fall of rock, the canoe slid on toward the fall. It also drew
a little nearer to the middle of the pool, where there was a curious
bevelled hollow, round which the white foam spun. It seemed to Nasmyth
that the stream went bodily down.
"Paddle," said Mattawa hoarsely. "Heave her clear of it."
They drove furiously between the white-streaked shoot of the fall and
that horribly suggestive whirling; then, as they went back towards the
outrush from the pool, they made another desperate, gasping effort.
For several moments it seemed that they must be swept back again, and
then they gained a little, and, with a few more strokes, reached the
edge of the rapid. They let the canoe drive down the rapid while the
boulders flashed by them, for there was the same desire in all of
them, and that was to get as far as possible away from that horrible
pool. At last Mattawa, standing up forward, poled the canoe in where a
deep ravine rent the dark rock's side, and the party went ashore, wet
and gasping. Wheeler looked back up the gorge and solemnly shook his
head.
"If you want to see any more of it, you've got to do it alone. I've
had enough," he declared. "A man who runs a pulp-mill has no use for
paddling under that kind of fall. I'm not going back again."
Mattawa and Gordon set the tent up in the hollow of the ravine, while
Wheeler hewed off spruce branches with which to make the beds; but
Nasmyth did nothing to assist any of them. Thinking hard, he sat on a
boulder, with his unlighted pipe in his hand. The throbbing roar of
water rang about him; and it was then that the great project crept
into his mind. It was rapidly growing dark in the bottom of the great
rift, but he could still see the dim white flashing of the fall and
the vast wall of rock and rugged hillside that ran up in shadowy
grandeur, high above his head, and as he gazed at it all he felt his
heart throb fast. He was conscious of a curious thrill as he watched
and listened to that clash of stupendous forces. The river had spent
countless ages cutting out that channel, hurling down mighty boulders
and stream-driven shingle upon the living rock; but it was, it seemed
to him, within man's power to alter it in a few arduous months. He
sat very still, astonished at the daring of his own conception, until
Wheeler strolled up to him.
"How much does the river drop at the fall?" he asked.
"About eight feet in the fall itself," answered Wheeler. "Seems to me
it falls much more in the rush above. Still, I can't say I noticed it
particularly--I had something else to think about."
"It's a short rapid," remarked Nasmyth reflectively. "There is, no
doubt, a great deal of the hardest kind of rock under it, which is, in
one or two respects, unfortunate. I suppose you don't know very much
about geology?"
"I don't," confessed the pulp-miller. "Machines are my specialty."
"Well," said Nasmyth, "I'm afraid I don't either, and I believe one or
two of these canyons have puzzled wiser folks than I. You see, the
general notion is that the rivers made them, but it doesn't seem quite
reasonable to imagine a river tilting at a solid range and splitting
it through the middle. In fact, it seems to me that some of the canyons
were there already, and the rivers just ran into them. One or two
Indians have come down from the valley close to the fall, and they
told me the river was quite deep there. The rock just holds it up at
the fall. It's a natural dam--a dyke, I think they call it."
"I don't quite understand what all this is leading to," observed
Wheeler.
Nasmyth laughed, though there was, as his companion noticed, a curious
look in his eyes. "I'll try to make it clearer when we get into the
valley. We're going there to-morrow."
It was almost dark now, and they went back together to the little fire
that burned redly among the spruces in the ravine. There Mattawa and
Gordon had a simple supper ready. The others stretched themselves
out, rolled in their blankets, soon after they had eaten, but Nasmyth
lay propped up on one elbow, wide awake, listening to the roar of
water until well into the night. The stream drowned the faint rustling
of the spruces in a great dominant note, and he set his lips as he
recognized its depth of tone and volume. He had once more determined
to pit all his strength of mind and body against the river. Still, he
went to sleep at last, and awakening some time after it was dawn on
the heights above, roused his comrades. When breakfast was over he
started with them up the ravine to cross the range.
It was afternoon before they accomplished the climb, though the height
was not great and a ravine pierced the crest, and they had rent most
of their clothes to tatters when they scrambled down the slope into
the valley. Those pine-shrouded hillsides are strewn with mighty
fallen trees, amid which the tangled underbrush grows tall and rank,
and, where the pines are less thickly spaced, there are usually matted
groves of willows, if the soil is damp. They pitched camp on the edge
of the valley, and Gordon and Nasmyth prepared supper, while Wheeler
cut firewood and Mattawa went out to prospect for the tracks of
feeding deer. The axeman came back to say there were no signs of any
wapiti, though the little Bush deer were evidently about, and it was
decided to try for one that night with the pitlight, a mode of
shooting now and then adopted when the deer are shy.
They ate their supper, and afterwards lay down with their blankets
rolled about them, for it grew very cold as darkness crept up the
valley. Like most of the other valleys, this one was walled in by
steep-sided, pine-shrouded hills; but in this case there were no trees
in the bottom of it, which, while very narrow, appeared several miles
long. It was also nearly level, and the river wound through it in
deep, still bends. There are not many valleys in that country in
which heavy timber fails to grow, and those within reach of a market
have been seized upon; for all ranch produce is in excellent demand,
and the clearing of virgin forest is a singularly arduous task. In
fact, there was only one reason why this strip of natural prairie had
not already been claimed. Most of it was swamp. Nasmyth, who was
quieter than usual, watched the filmy mist creep about it as the soft
darkness rolled down the hillsides.
Gordon rose and hooked a pitlight into his hat. This pitlight
consists simply of a little open miner's-lamp, which has fixed beneath
it a shield cut out of any convenient meat-can. The lamp is filled
with seal oil. Once a man has fastened it upon his head, the light is
cut off from his person, so that he stands invisible, and the little
flame appears unsupported. Deer of any kind are endued with an
inquisitiveness which frequently leads to their destruction, and
when they notice the twinkling light flitting through the air they
approach it to ascertain the reason for such an unusual thing. Then
the rancher shoots, as soon as their shining eyes become visible.
The party divided. Gordon and Nasmyth, who kept near each other, fell
over several rotting trees, and into what appeared to be crumbling
drains. They floundered knee-deep through withered timothy, which is
not a natural grass. For an hour or two nobody saw any deer. Then
Gordon, who was cautiously skirting another drain, closed in on
Nasmyth until he touched his comrade. Nasmyth heard a crackling rustle
among the withered grass. Gordon made a little abrupt movement.
"If we both blaze off, we double the odds on our getting it," he
said.
Nasmyth only just heard him, for his heart was beating with
excitement; but as he stood knee-deep in the grass, with both hands
ready to pitch the heavy rifle up, it seemed to him that Mattawa could
not have been correct when he said that there were only the Bush deer
about. Judging by the noise it was making, the approaching beast, he
thought, must be as big as a wapiti. Then he saw two pale spots of
light, which seemed curiously high above the ground.
"I'm shooting," he said, and in another moment the butt was into his
shoulder.
He felt the jar of it, but, as usual in such cases, he heard no
detonation, though the pale flash from Gordon's rifle was almost in
his eyes. He, however, heard the thud of the heavy bullet, and a
moment or two later, a floundering amidst the grass.
"That can't be a Bush deer!" he cried.
"It sounds 'way more like an elephant," said Gordon, with a gasp.
They ran forward until they stopped a few yards short of something
very big and shadowy that was still struggling in the grass. Gordon
cautiously crept up a little nearer.
"Those aren't deer's horns, anyway," he announced. "Plug it quick. The
blamed thing's getting up."
Nasmyth flung the rifle up to his shoulder, and twice jerked a fresh
cartridge into the chamber, but this time there was silence when the
crash of the heavy Marlin died away among the woods. They crept
forward a little further circumspectly, until Gordon stopped again
with a gasp of consternation.
"Well," he said, "I guess it couldn't be either a Bush deer or a
wapiti."
They were still standing there when their comrades came running up,
and Mattawa, who took down his light, broke into a great hoarse
laugh.
"A steer!" he said, and pointed to a mark on the hide. "One of
Custer's stock. Guess he'll charge you quite a few dollars for killing
it."
Nasmyth smiled somewhat ruefully, for he was by no means burdened
with wealth, but he was, after all, not greatly astonished. Few of the
small ranchers can feed their stock entirely on their little patches
of cleared land, and it is not an unusual thing for most of the herd
to run almost wild in the Bush. Now and then, the cattle acquire a
somewhat perilous fondness for wrecking road-makers' and prospectors'
tents, which explains why a steer occasionally fails to be found and
some little community of axemen is provided with more fresh meat than
can well be consumed.
"I'm afraid it's rather more than likely I'll have to pay a good
price," said Nasmyth. "Do you feel anxious for any more shooting
to-night, Wheeler?"
"No," said the pulp-miller, with a grin, as he surveyed his bemired
clothes. "Guess it's going to prove expensive, and I've had 'most
enough. I don't feel like poling that canoe any farther up-river,
either. What's the matter with camping right where we are until we eat
the steer?"
There was, however, as Mattawa pointed out, a good deal to be done
before they could make their first meal off the beast, and none of
them quite relished the task, especially as they had only an axe and a
couple of moderately long knives. Still, it was done, and when they
carried a portion of the meat out of the swamp, and had gone down to
wash in the icy river, they went wearily back to their tent among the
firs.