WRESTLING WITH A MOUNTAIN GOAT
While the rest of the party was engaged in landing supplies, Rivers
ordered Gersup and his assistant, Bulson, to strike inland a short way
in the direction of the volcano, Redoubt Peak, distant about twenty-five
miles, in the expectation of finding a trail near by. It seemed obvious
that there must be a route along the coast, and that it must lie between
the waterside and the foothills of the Chigmit Mountains. Less than an
hour elapsed before the men returned with the news that the trail had
been located, but that it was entirely snowed under. The dogs
accordingly were hitched to the three sleds, one of the outside dogs
leading, and the topographer going ahead on snowshoes to point out the
trail.
Roger had always had the idea that "mushing" or driving a dog team,
consisted of sitting in state on the sled and cracking a conspicuously
long whip at the dogs, but he speedily found out his mistake. Instead of
sitting on the sled he had to walk behind it, and in a great many
instances to help the dogs by shoving it along. Instead of being able to
take things easy and let the teams do the work, the boy learned that the
"musher" had to labor far harder and more continuously than the dogs
themselves.
[Illustration: A GRIM AND ICY BARRIER.
Alaskan glacier, causing an obstacle to travel, almost inaccessible, yet
crossed at last.
_Photograph by U.S.G.S._]
They had not traveled far when Gersup called from in front:
"There's the trail!" and pointed ahead to the right.
Roger looked eagerly in the direction pointed out, expecting to see a
fairly well-beaten road, over which the succeeding day they could travel
with comfort, but look as he might he could see no signs of a trail. The
chief's grunt of satisfaction, however, was evidence enough to the boy
that the trail really was there, and as he did not want to expose his
ignorance by asking any unnecessary question, he kept his wonderings to
himself.
Having got fairly started on the trail, however, the boy found travel
easier, yet he was glad when the word was given for a halt, near some
heavy timber, affording the materials for a fire. The tents were quickly
pitched, wood gathered for a roaring blaze, the animals fed and the
sleeping bags laid out, and in a surprisingly short time the party was
gathered around a savory supper prepared by the cook while the rest of
the men were pitching camp.
The party carried a light-weight, sheet-iron stove, which was a great
convenience inside the tent, but, of course, the food for the dogs was
cooked on an outside fire. With slight occasional changes, the food
given was rice with a little bacon, and usually dried salmon besides.
Roger noted that they were fed but once a day, and could not help
thinking how hardly used the petted dogs of civilization would consider
themselves if they were to be subjected to such treatment.
Roger slept soundly, despite his new surroundings, and the night seemed
all too brief for him when he was roused by the cook. Being February,
the days were short, and though it was nearly seven o'clock when the
camp was wakened it was almost full dark. But few minutes were allowed
before George shouted, "Breakfast," and Roger fell to with the rest of
the men, feeling as though he could eat the entire provision of the
party at one meal. After breakfast, Rivers told the boy that he would be
expected, at the breaking up of camp in the mornings, to help Harry,
the Indian, in the harnessing and getting ready of the dogs, as most of
the other men were more expert at loading a sled.
It sounded easy enough, but Roger soon discovered that it was far from
being a snap. To harness a dog, or even a dozen, was not such a
difficult matter, but to hitch them to the sled and to make them stay
where they were after they were hitched, that was another question. The
"huskies" seemed to take malicious joy in trying to get their harness
tangled, and there was always the possibility of a scrap to be warded
off. So it came about that the boy usually had his hands full in the
morning, and was not sorry when the day's pulling was begun and the dogs
settled down to their work.
The country over which they were traveling, moreover, was ideal for dog
work. The land was flat from the waterside up to the sudden rise of the
hills, which were lofty and rugged, 10,000 to 15,000 feet in height,
snow-capped and glacier-bearing. Little though Roger knew as a
geologist, yet he was keen enough to see that this wide channel must be
the delta of a large river, and he was glad to get an affirmative
response to his suggestion that in the summer time this might be a good
agricultural country.
"The climate in summer here," said Gersup, whom Roger had asked the
question, "is nothing short of heavenly, but you could hardly call it
thickly settled as yet."
"But it will be some day? Do you suppose?"
"Most assuredly," answered the topographer. "There are thousands upon
thousands of acres of land here, which would return immense crops, and
all along up the river. All that is needed is a market for the produce."
"But how about moving it?" asked the boy.
"The Sushitna River is navigable for a hundred miles to steamers of
light draught, and to barges. You'll see this all in farm like the Red
River Valley some of these days."
The thermometer staying about ten degrees below zero made the thought of
waving crops a strange one, but this very low temperature was the best
of all possible advantages to the party, as it was good for dog
traveling. Cold enough to keep the trails in excellent shape, it was not
too cold for traveling in comfort. Two days sufficed to bring the party
to the point of land jutting out in the sea that makes Cook Inlet a
double bay, but at this point, which is known as North Foreland, a
sudden drop in temperature, coupled with a gale of wind, delayed
progress, so that in all six days had elapsed from the time of landing
until they pulled into Tyonok. This is one of the oldest mainland
settlements of southwestern Alaska, having been used as the mainland
port of the former Russian capital, Kodiak, on Kodiak Island.
[Illustration: A GENERAL VIEW OF TYONOK.
The most northerly harbor in Cook Inlet, usually reached by seagoing
vessels. Prospectors' tents along the beach.
_Photograph by U.S.G.S._]
One day was spent at Tyonok purchasing and packing larger supplies of
dog feed, of which only enough for a couple of weeks' journey had been
taken from Seldovia. Dog-feed is the one article that can always be
procured from the natives, but as there was no assurance that the Survey
party would meet any natives up the river at that time of year, Rivers
decided to complete his supply before he started. Despite the importance
of Tyonok as a trading post, almost ranking as a prominent seaport,
Roger found it to consist of about forty-five rude log shanties, only
one, the general store, being more than one story in height. In summer,
so the lad was informed, hundreds of tents are erected along the shore,
but the winter population, for such an important point, is ridiculously
small.
On March 1st, leaving Tyonok behind, the party proceeded along the
western bank of the Sushitna River. The trail, which had been
comparatively visible as far as Tyonok, now was problematic, sometimes
the sleds were on it, sometimes not, but little difference could be
observed. Rivers did not follow the winding of the stream, but as far as
possible kept a straight course, though frequently diverted by
impassable bits of brush. Over the Beluga marshes, which a month hence
could not be crossed, the party skimmed readily, a firm crust having
formed on the snow and the dogs being in good condition. Successive
camps were made at the mouth of the Sushitna, at Alexander, and at
Sushitna Station, the latter a post of the Alaskan Commercial Company
for trading with the natives, and the next day at Kroto. This was the
last settlement seen during the first part of the trip; and for many
weeks, March 6th was the last date that Roger saw any human being except
the members of his party.
Faint as the trail had been, it had been sufficient to point out to the
men where conditions were favorable, or at least possible, but after
leaving Kroto the signs disappeared entirely. For a couple of hundred
yards, perhaps, there might be smooth going, then the party would be
brought to an abrupt halt by a belt of forest, through which perhaps a
way would have to be made, or around which a detour would be necessary,
consuming a great deal of time.
Generally it was possible to make some distance on the river ice, though
that was extremely rough and bad traveling, and days would be spent in
passing from one form of progress to another, much labor being expended,
but the party going forward all the time. What made it seem the harder
to Roger was that it was still cold enough to require heavy clothing
while going ahead on the trail, yet being so warmly clad rendered the
labor at difficult places very fatiguing, and if he perspired, the cold
wind afterward chilled him to the bone.
It was speedily evident that the rapid march of the first few days was
no true index of the time to be consumed on the trip, for while the
distance from Kroto to the mouth of the Chulitna, the great tributary of
the river up which they were proceeding, was the same as from Kroto to
Tyonok, it took the party exactly three times as long. It was not until
March 25th that the Chulitna was crossed and the journey up the higher
portion of the river begun.
But each day's travel now brought the mountains closer upon them, and
the banks of the river narrowed. The flat plain of the lower valley was
disappearing and the mountains sloped nearer the water's edge. On the
farther shore the Talkeetna range, isolated from all other mountains,
rose almost sheer from the water, while on the shore the party traveled,
though beyond the Chulitna, the great Alaskan range towered up into the
clouds, Mt. McKinley, the highest peak in the United States, rearing his
20,300 feet, snow-capped and glacier-bearing, statuesque above all lower
eminences.
Rivers, however, silent and determined, wasted no time or energy, but
pushed on relentlessly every minute of the daylight, and often in dawn
and dusk, while the light was yet dim. With this persistence it was but
April 10th when a halt was called at a little cabin, built at the mouth
of Indian Creek, and which had been used by a former Survey party, who
had ascended the Sushitna and Indian Creek in the summer by canoes. It
had taken that party over three months, while Rivers had been less than
half that time.
[Illustration: FAREWELL TO CIVILIZATION.
One of the dog teams leaving Kroto for the Sushitna River Trail.
_Photograph by U.S.G.S._]
From there the route taken branched off along Indian Creek, which could
only be called a mode of passage by courtesy. They could not travel
along the banks for timber, and rock came to the water's edge, and as
the creek bed was a succession of boulders and rapids, half the time the
sleds had to be lifted and practically carried over obstructions, in
order that perhaps for twenty or thirty feet there might be a spot of
good going. Three days it took them to cover the twelve miles, and April
13th found the party at the entrance of the Chulitna Pass, 3,000 feet
above sea level.
Here, of course, it was practically blind going, but despite the hard
trip the dogs were in fairly good condition and with Bulson's muscle and
Harry's knowledge of the multifold peculiarities of the "husky," they
managed to worry through the pass in four days, reaching the little
cache and log hut at the mouth of the Jack River, which was their
objective point. So far they had been able to go with dogs, and no
further, whereupon the work of unpacking the sleds was begun, the two
canoes duly inspected and found uninjured, the supplies redistributed,
and the two Indians who had been picked up at Sushitna Station to take
back the dogs, were promptly sent back upon the downward trail before
the river should break up and make dog-travel impossible. Of course, as
it was pointed out, rapid time could be made with an empty sled, and the
drivers need rarely walk.
During all this time the whole energies of the party had been given
entirely to making headway, and no time had been spent either in
topographical or geological work, but the urgency had borne fruit.
Rivers told Roger that he had allowed two months and a half for the
journey to their present place, and they were ten days ahead of the
schedule.
"And what is to be done now, Mr. Rivers?" asked the boy.
"Wait till the ice breaks, Doughty," replied the geologist, "and in the
meantime some little investigation of the range may not be amiss."
The third day after they had made their semi-permanent camp Rivers took
the boy with him on a geological trip back to Caribou Pass, the most
practicable opening in the entire Alaskan Range. He spent some time in
explaining to the boy the general configuration of the range, and taught
him a good deal about the glacial conditions of the region. Happening to
observe a curious immense boulder in the pass, in the form of a rock
almost flat on the top, about twenty feet square and nearly as many
high, it occurred to Rivers that he might discern distinct striated
lines of glaciation if he could get up there on the rock to see. The
boulder was somewhat difficult to climb, but by getting on Roger's
shoulders, the geologist was able to reach a point where he could get a
grip of the rock.
But, just as he worked himself over the edge of the boulder, what was
his amazement to see a mountain goat, evidently descending from the
cliff above, land with a clatter of hoofs on the rock not ten feet away
from him. Rivers promptly scrambled to his feet, and the goat,
apparently thinking himself cornered and facing boldly an unknown
danger, rushed at him with lowered horns. A quick sideways jump was all
that saved the geologist, and the goat nearly went headlong over the
edge with his rush.
For a minute or two Roger was in utter ignorance of what had happened,
for being immediately under the rock while the chief was standing on his
shoulders, he had not seen the goat leap down to dispute the supremacy
of position with the unexpected intruder. Not till he heard Rivers call
to him did he know that anything was wrong.
"Doughty," he heard him say, "put a bullet in this infernal brute, will
you?"
The boy ran back to get a perspective view of the top of the boulder,
and by climbing up the cliff a little way saw what had developed. In the
meantime the position of the geologist was precarious in the extreme. A
succession of short rushes he had narrowly escaped by dodging, but he
knew that in a chase of this kind, he could not but lose, and if the
goat should catch him with his horns not only would the injury be
serious enough in itself, but probably he would be thrown from the rock
to fall a distance of twenty feet to the icy and frost-bound ground
below.
Suddenly Rivers saw his opportunity, and as the goat paused to turn at
the end of a futile rush, he seized his horns sideways with a firm
grasp, in such wise that the creature could not get a purchase with
which to butt, and determined to hang on for dear life. He purposed, if
it could be managed, to drive the goat to the edge of the boulder, and
then, by twisting its neck, force it over the edge. It was a doubtful
chance, but the only one he could see.
In the meantime Roger was cudgeling his brain for some means of climbing
the rock, but to no purpose, and he could have bitten his nails in
sheer vexation of spirit at his inability to give any aid, with his
friend in so great peril a few steps away.
The boy watched and waited in the chance of getting a shot at the goat,
but found it difficult to find an opportunity. Once, indeed, he fired,
feeling sure that he could hit the animal's flank, but he was not
certain enough of his prowess with a revolver to risk a shot when he was
just as likely to hit his chief as he was the goat. Once, indeed, the
boy thought Rivers had his foe, for he forced him to the edge of the
boulder and put all his strength into a violent wrench. But a mountain
goat, though not large, is possessed of considerable strength, and in
his effort to free himself almost sent Rivers over the edge.
Then suddenly an idea occurred to the boy, and watching a chance, with a
gentle toss he pitched his revolver up on the rock, hoping that the
chief might be able to find some way of picking it up. A wild and
vigorous scrambling could be heard, and a moment later the boy saw the
couple again perilously near the edge of the rock.
"Thanks for the gun," he heard Rivers sing out, "I'll get hold of it in
a minute."
But evidently the chief did not dare to let go the goat's horns, lest he
should be caught before he had the revolver, and two or three minutes
elapsed before the welcome sound of a shot came to the boy's ears.
Then Roger, looking up, was relieved beyond measure to see Rivers appear
at the edge of the boulder mopping his forehead.
"Guess I'll throw him down," he said. "Of course we can't load ourselves
down with the head, but the cook may want a steak or two," and suiting
the action to the word, he dragged the animal to the side and flung him
over. The boy noted immediately that the bullet had entered behind the
ear and under the roots of the horns, so that the combat had been
settled then and there.
The goat having been disposed of, Rivers made arrangements to come down,
in the same way as he had gone up, by standing on the boy's shoulders,
and both were glad when the chief reached the ground.
"That was nearly as good as a bull-fight," remarked the elder man when
he had descended, "and it's about all the wrestle I want. I wish it had
been Bulson, though; he would have given that pesky animal all the
scrapping he looked for. But that gun of yours came in very handily,
Doughty. I guess we'd have been up there until night if it hadn't been
for that."
"I was wondering," said the boy, "how you were going to pick it up,
after I did throw it to you."
"So was I," replied the chief, "but I knew I had to risk it, so when the
right time came I let go with one hand and reached for the gun with the
other. That old goat was almost too quick for me, though, for he turned
in my grasp and was just gathering his muscles for a butt when I let him
have it right behind the ear."
"It was a nasty encounter, all right," said Roger, shaking his head,
"but you're not hurt in any way, are you, Mr. Rivers?"
"Only in my feelings," was the reply.