IN THE MOUNTAINS
Early next morning Carlito was waiting for them at an appointed place
with an Indian pack pony. By seven o'clock all the party had assembled,
including Fly, who had succeeded in begging off from work. Each of the
boys had a stock of provisions, a coat as a preparation for the cold of
higher altitudes, fishing tackle, lines and rods, all of which Carlito
strapped on the back and sides of the pony. Each of the boys and Hawke
wore a cartridge belt and carried a stout stick to aid in climbing. Herb
had a brand new service revolver. Fred, Jerry and Hawke carried guns,
Carl carried a bow and arrow, while the others brought rifles. Fred had
a camera and Jerry a field glass.
After an hour's tramp they reached the mountains. Lower down the slopes
the ascent was easy. Patches had been worn by the feet of many
travelers, here and there stepping stones had been roughly cut, no
telling how many generations ago, and other rude steps had been formed
by piling comparatively symmetrical stones upon each other. There were
numbers of deserted cliff dwellings along the ledges, tucked in under
overhanging rocks, and, higher up, perched in perilous spots over deep
ravines and rushing torrents. The largest part of the snow had melted by
this time, and the mountain streams were swollen to their utmost.
Farther down, their descent was not so remarkable, but before the day
was over, the party stood awestruck on the side of many a rocky cliff
and looked below at foaming, seething waters, dashing down the rocky
ways.
They had not gone far when they came across a group of Indians, of which
Tommy was one, squatting on the ground, gambling. There were two squaws
in the group, and they, like the men, were smoking. They were playing
the stave game, Carl explained, and sat, with stolid faces, throwing
their sticks in turn. Occasionally they would allow themselves a grunt
of approval or displeasure, as their luck prompted.
"How's it going?" Carlito asked Tommy, in Mexican.
The Indian shook his head in reply, while one of the others grinned.
After watching them awhile, Carlito, followed by the others, started on.
This was practically Fred's first mountain journey, and he was very much
worked up over the event. The cliff dwellings interested him
exceedingly, and he wanted to explore them all, no matter how dangerous
their approach. He had the eastern boy's desire for relics and kodak
pictures, and in a short while his pockets were half filled with stones
and other things picked up along the way.
"Gee, I wish we could get into that one," he said, pointing to a
particularly lofty cliff dwelling, separated from them by a somewhat
narrow, but deep ravine, and almost hidden by a great projecting rock
and overgrown poplars. But when he worked nearer to the edge, and saw
the rushing water below, and the sharp, jagged rocks that lined the
ravine, he was dissuaded from the idea and satisfied himself by taking a
picture of it.
"A little farther up there's a dandy place to fish," said Carl. "The
water runs easy for quite a ways, and there's lots of trout waiting to
be caught."
"Head for that," commanded Fly, scrambling over a cactus bush which he
had not noticed. "Ow, wow!" he yelled, as some of the sharp thorns
grazed his palm.
"Bring down one of those turkeys," said Jerry to Dunk, as a flock of
wild turkeys flew over their heads.
None of the boys claimed to be expert marksmen, but they soon found that
Hawke deserved that distinction. He succeeded in bringing down one of
the flock Jerry had referred to, though it was flying at a good height.
It was nothing more than the boys naturally expected; in fact, they
would have been disappointed if he had not proved himself excellent in
everything.
"There's just nothin' he can't do," Dunk had said, and in this all the
boys heartily agreed.
"Don't shoot too much before dinner," warned Carl, as though he feared
they might clean out all the game. "We don't want to do much of that
till afternoon. Too heavy to carry."
"Oh, I guess we won't have much of a load," responded Fred, who had made
three unsuccessful attempts.
"I guess I don't know how to handle this new gun," was Herb's excuse,
when he failed to bag his game.
By ten o'clock they had reached the point in the river which Carl
advised was good fishing territory.
"We'll fish till noon," announced Tender Gray, "and then cook 'em."
"Yum, yum," came from several of the boys, who knew what a camp-baked
mountain trout was. "I'm hungry already," said Fly.
"Where's your line, Carl?" asked Fred, when all but the Indian had sat
down and cast their bait.
"I never use one." The Indian was standing with his bow and arrow,
looking intently into the water.
"Just watch him," whispered Jerry.
After that there was little talking. Perhaps there was a little unspoken
competition among the boys for the first catch. Now and then a trout
came up for air, but for a while they seemed to be running the gauntlet
of lines successfully.
Dunk's line caught on some floating weed, which he pulled out with a
"shucks" of disappointment.
Finally there was a whirr and a splash, and Carl's arrow flashed into
the water. When he dragged it to shore with his bow there was a fine big
trout attached to it, speared through the head.
Fred and Hawke watched him with interest, but none of the others paid
much attention. They had frequently seen him catch fish in this way.
"Hullo, there, Windy, what's dragging your line?" yelled Dunk.
Fred had been so busy watching Carl that he hadn't noticed his shaking
line.
"More weed," said Dunk good-humoredly. But Fred fooled him by landing a
fine trout.
Contrary to the expectations of most of the boys, Hawke did not make any
particular mark as a fisherman. He caught but one fish, and that smaller
than the others.
"Guess my luck is going against me," he said, and the boys were very
ready to believe it ill fortune instead of lack of ability.
They had been fishing about an hour and a half, when a loud call from
Carl attracted their attention. The Indian had been scouring the ground
for evidence of game, and had probably found something.
"Come here, fellows," he shouted, "you've got enough fish for dinner."
They all came running over, and examined a freshly dug hole he had
found.
"Now, Boy Scouts, what's that?" asked Hawke, his eyes twinkling.
Tender Gray studied it seriously for a few minutes, and then announced:
"Looks like a shepherd dog might have done it."
"I don't know much about wild animal prints," said Fred, "but I suppose
it was a bear."
"That's a grizzly's trick," said Carl. "He's been digging a root for his
breakfast."
"A grizzly," gasped Tender Gray.
"Do you think you could get him?" exclaimed Fly.
"If I can find his hole," said Carl.
"But how do you know he is there?" asked Herb.
"We'll follow these prints."
The boys and Hawke walked along beside Carl as he pointed out the
footprints of the grizzly. Then he stopped.
"See this little trail where the dirt has been dragged along?" asked
Carl. "Well, that shows he was dragging something in his mouth, and he's
probably gone home to eat it. The marks are fresh, so it wasn't long
ago."
"Wouldn't it be a prize to have a grizzly!" exclaimed Fred.
"You fellows had better wait here for a few minutes, till I see if I can
find his hole," instructed the Indian. "If I can find that, we're sure
of getting him or of him getting us."
"Suppose he gets after you, Carl. Better fire a signal," said Fly
anxiously.
"He can't fire with his bow and arrow, bone-head," gibed Herb.
"I'll just shout," said Carl. "But I can get around him all right.
"I hope Carl don't kill him before we get a chance," said Fred, when the
Indian was out of sight.
"He won't unless he has to," said Jerry. "He's a mighty square fellow."
"Wouldn't mother have a fit if I should bring back a bear. And the
scouts in Cleveland!" Fred's bright eyes shone with the prospect. In
imagination he had already laid the grizzly low.
Carl finally came back with the news that he had found the cave.
"Now you just follow me--and don't make any noise. I'm going to walk way
around and come up behind the cave--you follow. Keep still."
The Indian started off like a stealthy panther, scarcely moving a leaf
or twig. He leapt with the agility of a cat over rocks that lay in his
path, and was obliged to pause now and then for the rest of the party to
catch up, as they had considerable more difficulty. The low branches
were inclined to swish as they passed, and it was not an easy matter to
avoid crackling dry leaves and twigs underfoot. They fell and scrambled
over rocks, and unlucky Fly got into another bunch of cactus.
Finally they came to an open space, and Carl pointed to a formation of
rock.
"In front of that is a hole," he whispered. "That's where the grizzly
is. Crawl up on top of the rock, over the hole, and get your guns ready.
Aim just as soon as you get a chance at him."
The boys, though they were stout-hearted fellows, followed nervously.
Hawke had trailed and shot grizzlies before, and, though his sporting
blood was aroused, he was willing to stand aside and let the boys try
for the game. All of the other boys, except Fred and Tender, had
previously been close to live grizzlies, but only Carl had actually
trailed one.
The rock was large enough for all to climb upon, squat down and hold
their guns. Not one of the boys was at all afraid, yet the excitement
made their hearts beat fast, and in their eagerness to succeed, they
held their guns with rather unsteady hands.
Carl leaned over the edge of the rock, and deliberately yelled into the
mouth of the cave. There was a low growl as he sprang back, but, after
waiting several minutes, no grizzly appeared.
The Indian boy then took a coat which he had brought along, and dropped
it down in front of the grizzly's hole.
There was another growl, stronger than the first. And then another. It
is difficult to describe the feelings of the boys as they sat there,
almost on top of a real grizzly, and a live one at that. Yet they dared
not speak, and could only sit still, everyone at high tension, until
something, they scarcely dared think what, happened. They felt a measure
of safety, however, with Carl and Hawke along.
Finally the grizzly came out and sat down on the coat, looking around.
Then he raised himself on his haunches, and smelt the air. Just as he
caught sight of the boys, Carl whispered as loudly as he could--
"Now!"
Two guns boomed--Herb's and Fred's. The big animal rolled over with a
furious growl, and lay kicking for a second. Then he regained his feet,
and, his teeth and red gums showing, was about to make a spring at the
party on the rocks. Jerry could not suppress a shriek, and Fly was too
excited to do anything but cling to Dunk. Hawke, however, was quick
enough for the animal. He let him have it just before Carl's arrow
wedged itself in the animal's forehead.
This time the grizzly rolled over for good, and gave very few parting
kicks.
Carl sprang down from his point of vantage, and gave the bear a violent
push with his foot, almost rolling him over on his back.
The blood was flowing freely from the wounds, while the grizzly's open
mouth filled with froth and blood, and his glazed eyes told plainly that
he had dug his last root.
"Is he sure dead?" asked Fly, who with Jerry and Dunk, had remained on
the rock for safety.
"Did you ever see a live grizzly act like that?" returned Herb, poking
the animal in the side to show that he, at least, was not afraid.
At this show of bravery all the boys came nearer.
"Well, let's carry him to camp," ordered Carl, and, under his direction,
the boys found two stout sticks which they run through the bear's feet,
one through the fore and one through the hind feet where Carl had made
slits. When they got him back to their camp they strapped him on the
pony and prepared for dinner.