BY PYE POD.
Who dared touch the wild bear's skin
Ye slumbered on while life was in? --_Scott._
How fast a man can run when he knows he's got to win a race! There
was one time in my life when "can't" was an obsolete word in my
vocabulary. It was when that silvertip granted Coonskin's chief
desire in the field of adventure.
"Shoot him! Shoot him!" cried the angler, as he fairly flew past
me, headed for the first cabin.
But I had neither time nor gun to shoot; when I heard bruin at my
heels I switched off to the left and ran three times around the
second cabin before I realized the bear had taken a stronger fancy
to my comrade. It seems he had chased Coonskin around the cabin
several times, until the man dived in the door and head first out
of the window. Bruin followed in, but remained. He smelled the
fragrant peaches.
Coonskin, however, under the impression that bruin was still after
him, ran twice around the cabin before he climbed a tree.
Meanwhile, I, having climbed a tree close to the cabin, descended
to the cabin roof. I knew silvertips couldn't climb trees, so I
felt safe. The sudden shuffle of my feet on the gravel-covered
roof disturbed the peace of the present incumbent, and out he
came, rose on his haunches and looked about to see what was up. I
was immovable. Back into the cabin went brother Bruin, and began
to break up things, generally.
Then followed a few moments of dreadful silence. Not a sound
issued from Coonskin's tree; he was probably trying to recover his
breath and reason. Night soon fell upon us; it gets dark early in
the canyons, and the mercury falls fast. I was chilly, for I
shivered frightfully. The blankets and guns were on the ground
just outside the cabin.
"Let's flip a coin to see which of us goes down for a gun,"
suggested Coonskin from his tree. But I did not take him
seriously.
"Don't you wish you had taken the fish-line off your rod?" he
added; "you could fish up a blanket and keep from freezing."
"By jingo!" I exclaimed, "I have my line, and I'll try it."
At once I fashioned a fish-pole out of a pine bough, and after
much patience secured the only blanket within reach. Then winding
it around myself, I lay as snug as possible, but couldn't go to
sleep. That was the longest night I ever experienced. How long we
should be kept off the earth, was an unpleasant speculation. Once
I called to Coonskin not to go to sleep and tumble out of the
tree, but he answered that he was so stuck up with pitch he
couldn't fall.
Our hopes were low, when, suddenly, about seven o'clock, from the
canyon below appeared a man in the rough garb of a mountaineer,
with a rifle across his shoulder and a hunting knife in his belt.
As he was about to pass I hailed him.
The hunter stopped, looked my way, approached to within a few feet
of the cabin, and said a cheery "Good morning." I responded in a
mood still more cheery.
"What you doin' up there--smoking? Had breakfast, I reckon."
"No, haven't cooked yet this morning," I returned.
"Glad t' hear that--haven' et yet myself. Got 'nough to go round?"
he asked, shifting a cud of tobacco from one side to the other.
"Don't know about that," I said. "You'll have to ask the
boss--he's inside."
As the rugged looking huntsman approached the cabin door, I held
my breath, but I rose to my feet when I actually saw the hunter's
hat rise on his uplifted hair as he looked into the cabin door.
With the quickness and coolness that come to one habituated to
solitary life in the wilds, he put his Sharp's rifle to his
shoulder, aimed and fired. There was a second report, followed by
a tremendous thud, and the sound of something within struggling
for life and vengeance. The hunter had no sooner fired than he
dodged, and stood ready for a second charge; but that was not
needed.
"Come down," he said to me with a grim smile. "I'm boss here now."
I slid off the roof, and Coonskin, to the man's surprise, appeared
from his lofty perch; then we introduced ourselves. While I
thanked the hunter for his kind offices and welcomed him to
breakfast, Coonskin began to prepare the meal. Our guest explained
that he was a bee-hunter.
"When the bear meets the bee-hunter searchin' for a bee tree,
brother Bruin says, 'Ahem! Excuse me, but I'm workin' this 'ere
side of the trail, you just take t'other side.' Then the
bee-hunter says: 'Pardon, my friend, Mr. Bear, but I'm workin'
both sides of this particular trail, just throw up your paws.'"
The bee-hunter chuckled over the practical joke played on him,
and said as it came from a tenderfoot he'd take it in good part;
but if it had been a backwoodsman that played such a game he'd
settle with the bear and the man in the same fashion. His words
and manner startled me.
The bee-hunter rose from the log and drawing his knife, dropped on
his knee, and began to skin the bear as if he thought he owned it.
"You needn't bother about skinning it for us," I said, "we're
quite satisfied that you killed it."
The man eyed me. "This bear belongs to me, if ye want to know," he
said.
"How is it your bear?" Coonskin asked, when he came to announce
breakfast. "You shot it, but in our cabin."
"That don't make no difference, and I don't intend arguing the
question," came the positive retort; "I say he's mine--who says he
hain't?"
I suddenly felt a bee in my bonnet. "The 'ayes' have it," I said.
That stopped the debate, but I could see blood in Coonskin's eye
when he ushered us to breakfast. Before we had finished, my nervy
valet asked our guest if he played poker. "Ya-a-as, some," the
hunter drawled. "If there's money in it, I'll jine ye in a game."
[Illustration: "_Through thickets, tangled roots and fallen
trees._"]
What could Coonskin have in mind, to challenge this rough
mountaineer to a game of cards? He had often boasted of his skill
at poker. Now he cleared the table and brought forth the cards he
had carried way from Iowa, and motioning the bee-hunter to a seat,
the two cut for the deal. From my seat, beside Coonskin, I
discovered a little round mirror hanging on the wall behind the
hunter opposite; it was the one my valet had purchased in Denver.
Where he sat he could see the hunter's hand reflected in the
glass. I felt if he were detected in this underhand game it
would go ill with both of us; so put both revolvers in my belt,
and kept mum. That was an interesting game.
"Lend me some change," said Coonskin. I threw him my bag of
silver. Then he added: "Pod, you count out the matches here for
chips and act as banker." So I was drawn into the game. The first
few hands were very ordinary, and caused no excitement. But
finally the bee-hunter, arched his eyebrows; I knew he must have a
fine hand or a bluff, in store for his tenderfoot opponent. He bet
heavily, but Coonskin raised the ante every time. Suddenly what
had been in Coonskin's mind all the time was revealed. "Lend me
fifty dollars," said he to me, and to the bee-hunter added: "I'll
lay this roll of bills against the bear skin, and call you."
"I'll go ye," said the bee-hunter. When both men lay down their
hands, I had taken down the mirror and hid it in my pocket.
"Beaten by four jacks! I be d----d!" the outraged mountaineer
exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table and regarding his four
ten-spots with grim disfavor. Coonskin grinned from ear to ear as
he swept in the money. Said he, "Mac A'Rony, Cheese, Damfino and
Skates--I swear by them every time. Whenever I get that hand I'm
billed to win."
"So yer travelin' on them jacks," remarked the defeated partner.
"No, not exactly," Coonskin returned as he rose from his seat.
"The jacks I'm traveling with are out doors; these are their
tin-types."
The bee-hunter looked chagrined enough, but he took the thing as a
matter of course, apparently never dreaming that he had been
actually buncoed by a boy tenderfoot. Presently he rose, and
shouldering his rifle, made his departure without thanking us for
our hospitality. I hoped sincerely he would find his bee tree, and
harvest a rich reward. I told Coonskin he was a brick. He accepted
his winnings modestly, and fell to finishing the task of skinning
the bear. It was a fine skin. After salting it, and wrapping it in
gunnysacks, I packed our luggage while Coonskin saddled the
donkeys.
Shortly after noon we reached the road that was already familiar
to us, and five hours later arrived in Florisant.
It was sundown when we went into camp. I had lost three days, but
I had been fully compensated by the pleasures of angling and
bear-hunting.
Next day we were off for Leadville in good season. My animals
seemed to be in fine traveling form; by sunset we arrived in South
Park. It was Saturday. There we enjoyed the hospitality of a
deserted, floorless cabin, where, sheltered from the wind, we
could eat without swallowing an inordinate amount of sand. Close
by was a fine spring, so we resolved to remain until Sunday
afternoon. We were awakened at dawn by a bevy of magpies perched
on the tent; Coonskin was so annoyed that he crept to the door and
shot the chief disturber, in spite of the bad luck promised him by
a popular legend.
South Park is one of three great preserves in Colorado. There once
roamed buffalo, deer, elk, antelope and wolves, while on the
mountains bordering the valley were quantities of mountain sheep.
A few deer, sheep and bear are said to be still found in that
section. Coyotes are heard nightly, and the evening we trailed out
of the Park a traveler with a prairie schooner said he had seen
two gray wolves.
Our afternoon trip through the Park was a painful one. Mosquitoes
attacked us from every quarter, and it was mosquito netting,
pennyroyal and kerosene alone that saved our lives. When we
consider that Mosquito Pass, the highest pass of the Rockies,
13,700 feet, was named after a mosquito we may derive some idea of
the size of the insect.
It was late in the night, when, after brief stops at two sheep
ranches run by Mexicans, and another at a small settlement, we
entered the canyon. It required two days of hard climbing to cross
Western Pass. The snow-capped peaks of the range looked grand and
beautiful, and the noisy streams in the canyons leading from the
summit on both sides were stocked with trout.
The morning we trailed out of the canyon into the Arkansas Valley
was clear and lovely. After traveling some distance up the valley,
the smoke of the Leadville smelters burst into view, and a mile
beyond the city itself could be seen nestling against the towering
mountains.
This famous mining camp gave us royal welcome. The report in the
papers that Pye Pod would lecture that evening drew an enthusiastic
throng, applauding and crowding closely about the donkeys, all
eager for the chromos that Coonskin sold while I talked.
Next morning we crossed the valley and pitched camp on the banks
of Twin Lake, two lovely sheets of water at the mouth of the
canyon leading to Independence Pass.
This pass is one of the loftiest of the Continental Divide--that
snowy range from which the rivers of Western America flow east or
west through undisputed domains. Trailing up, the ascent gradually
became very precipitous and the trail a severe trial. Over this
pass, climbed the overland stages and freighting wagons with their
four and eight-horse teams. It was, in ante-railroad days, a
popular route, and the now deserted cabins of Independence once
composed a lively mining camp. Although the trail was kept in good
order, yet wagons and teams frequently toppled over the narrow
trail, and mules, horses and passengers met their death on the
rocks below.
We men walked to relieve our animals and arrived at the summit at
sundown. Looking backward, for six or seven miles the view
surpassed in grandeur any scene of the kind I had ever viewed. The
stream appeared to be spun from liquid fleece from the mountain
sides, and tumbled and foamed over the rocks and fallen trees in
its bed until it looked like a strand of wool in a hundred snarls.
While resting, a heavy snow squall descended, and drove us on
across the pass into the western canyon for shelter. This canyon
surpassed in grandeur and size the other. Knowing our sure-footed
steeds would keep the trail much better than we, Coonskin and I
got in the saddle, but more than once I nearly went over Mac's
head.
When we had proceeded only a mile below the summit, the trail
became particularly narrow and rocky. To the right, protruded from
the bank a great boulder, and to the left sloped a deep and sheer
precipice, to which only the roots and stumps of trees could
cling. Here my valet dismounted; I should have done likewise. Mac
considered a moment whether or not to descend further, then made a
sudden dive, shying from the declivity and striking the rock on
our right, and was jarred off his feet, falling with me over the
edge of the trail.
Down and over we rolled toward the yawning gulf some forty feet
before we caught on a stump and stopped. That was a dreadful
moment for me. For a time I lay still, not daring to excite Mac.
Carefully I extricated myself from my perilous position, and held
my donkey's head down till Coonskin got the ropes from Damfino's
pack and came to my relief. In time the other three donkeys pulled
Mac A'Rony up on to the trail.
We pitched camp and Sunday morning continued down the trail, which
soon presented difficulties still more discouraging. The numerous
springs had necessitated corduroy roads often hundreds of feet in
extent. But these had been so long in general disuse that the logs
had rotted away in places.
Frequently Coonskin and I dismounted and repaired the corduroy
breaches, with fallen trees, thereby losing much time. By dark my
outfit had made but three miles. In the darkness of evening we
came to the empty cabins of old Independence, whose single
inhabitant called to us from his doorway as we passed.
At last we arrived at an old-time stage-house. It was now
temporarily tenanted by fishermen from Aspen, who asked us to
spend the night with them. I accepted; soon my animals were
feeding on the fresh grass bordering a spring nearby, and Coonskin
and I seated at the hot repast our hosts had quickly provided.
The house was large, with a high roof and a dirt floor. A great
fire blazed in the center, lending comfort to the cozy quarters.
The anglers had spread their blankets in one end of the shack, and
we pitched our tent in the other and soon fell to sleep, while the
fishermen likely continued to swap "lies" till a late hour. The
last remarks I heard almost made me cry.
"I don't think it would do for me to go to hell, pa," said the lad
of the party.
"Why?" queried the sire.
"Oh," said the boy, "the light would hurt my eyes so, I couldn't
sleep."
Getting an early morning start, we trailed down and out of the
long canyon into Roaring Fork Valley, and at four o'clock arrived
in Aspen, a famous silver camp of early days. A crowd soon
gathered, and I had no sooner announced a street lecture for that
evening than the news began to spread all over town. Here supplies
must be bought, some business transacted under my advertising
contract, and Mac shod. For the first time that jackass kicked the
blacksmith. When I reprimanded him, he claimed the man had pounded
a nail in his hoof almost to the knee, and added, for the smith's
benefit, "Shoe an ass with ass's shoes, but set them with horse
sense." Which I thought sound philosophy.
At the appointed hour and place for my lecture the street was
choked with an eager audience. Coonskin had been instructed to
have the donkey there, saddled and packed, by eight sharp. They
failed to appear. So impetuous and enthusiastic were the crowding,
cheering citizens that I mounted a block and began to talk.
Suddenly, I was interrupted by a shout, "The donkeys are
coming," and at once the crowd became so hilarious that I had
to cease speaking till my outfit arrived. "Mac A'Rony!--Mac
A'Rony!--Damfino!--Cheese!" echoed and re-echoed, as a number of boys
ran to meet the donks. It occurred to me that Coonskin might soon have
his hands full, so I hastened to his side. But, ere I arrived my
handsome Colt's revolver was stolen from its holster, buckled to
Mac's saddle horn. As Coonskin was riding Cheese and trailing the
others he could not guard against the theft, but I blamed him for
not heeding my instructions always to leave the guns at my
headquarters. It was the only article lost by theft on my
journey. The four marshals on duty hoped to recover the revolver,
and forward it to me, but I never received it.
When I had finished my lecture, Judge S---- passed his hat and
handed me a liberal collection. And as my outfit trailed out of
town toward Roaring Fork, a young man wheeled up with us and gave
me a silver nugget scarf pin. In Aspen, as in Leadville, I
disposed of many photos.
It was a fine evening. I was promised a smooth trail through to
Glenwood Springs. We were to travel ten miles that night, and
hence would need to sleep late next day. So I advised Coonskin to
set the alarm clock, just purchased, for ten a. m.