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PLUCK ON THE LONG TRAIL
Or
Boy Scouts in the Rockies
by
EDWIN L. SABIN
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THE BOY SCOUT SERIES
BOY SCOUTS IN THE MAINE WOODS
By James Otis. Illustrated by Charles Copeland.
ALONG THE MOHAWK TRAIL; OR, BOY SCOUTS ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN
By Percy K. Fitzhugh. Illustrated by Remington Schuyler.
PLUCK ON THE LONG TRAIL; OR, BOY SCOUTS IN THE ROCKIES
By Edwin L. Sabin. Illustrated by Clarence Rowe.
Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.25 postpaid.
A series of wholesome, realistic, entertaining stories for boys by
writers who have a thorough knowledge of Boy Scouts and of real scouting
in the sections of the country in which the scenes of their books are
laid.
THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
NEW YORK
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: See page 123. "'YOU GIT!' HE ORDERED."]
PLUCK ON THE LONG TRAIL
Or
Boy Scouts in the Rockies
by
EDWIN L. SABIN
Author of "Bar B Boys," "Range and Trail,"
"Circle K," Etc.
Illustrated by Clarence H. Rowe
It's honor Flag and Country dear, and hold them in the van;
It's keep your lungs and conscience clean, your body spick and span;
It's "shoulders squared" and "be prepared," and always "play the man";
Shouting the Boy Scouts forev-er!
New York
Thomas Y. Crowell Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1912, by
Thomas Y. Crowell Company
TO SCOUTS
Scouts in America have a high honor to maintain, for the American scout
has always been the best in the world. He is noted as being keen, quick,
cautious, and brave. He teaches himself, and he is willing to be taught
by others. He is known and respected. Even in the recent war in South
Africa between Great Britain and the Boers, it was Major Frederick
Russell Burnham, an American, once a boy in Iowa, who was the English
Chief of Scouts. Major Burnham is said to be the greatest modern scout.
The information in this book is based upon thoroughly American
scoutcraft as practiced by Indians, trappers, and soldiers of the
old-time West, and by mountaineers, plainsmen, and woodsmen of to-day.
As the true-hearted scout should readily acknowledge favor and help, so
I will say that for the diagram of the squaw hitch and of the diamond
hitch I am indebted to an article by Mr. Stewart Edward White in
_Outing_ of 1907, and one by Mr. I. J. Bush in _Recreation_ of 1911; for
the "medicine song" and several of the star legends, to that Blackfeet
epic, "The Old North Trail," by Walter McClintock; for medical and
surgical hints, to Dr. Charles Moody's "Backwoods Surgery and Medicine"
and to the American Red Cross "First Aid" text-book; for some of the
lore, to personal experiences; and for much of it, to various old army,
hunting, and explorer scout-books, long out of print, written when good
scouting meant not only daily food, travel, and shelter, but daily life
itself.
E. L. S.
BOOK KIT
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Long Trail 1
II. The Night Attack 11
III. The Big Trout 21
IV. The Beaver Man 31
V. Two Recruits 39
VI. A Disastrous Doze 54
VII. Held by the Enemy 69
VIII. A New Use for a Camera 85
IX. Jim Bridger on the Trail 98
X. The Red Fox Patrol 111
XI. The Man at the Dug-out 121
XII. Foiling the Fire 133
XIII. Orders from the President 146
XIV. The Capture of the Beaver Man 161
XV. General Ashley Drops Out 179
XVI. A Burro in Bed 185
XVII. Van Sant's Last Cartridge 199
XVIII. Fitz the Bad Hand's Good Throw 215
XIX. Major Henry says "Ouch" 230
XX. A Forty-mile Ride 244
XXI. The Last Dash 258
SCOUT NOTES
1. On Old-Time Scouts 277
2. On Taking a Message to Garcia 278
3. On Socks and Feet 279
4. On the Tarpaulin Bed-Sheet 279
5. On the Diamond Hitch 279
6. On the Indian Bow and Arrow 282
7. On the Lariat or Rope 282
8. On Neatness and the War-bag 283
9. On Tea 283
10. On the Medicine Kit 283
11. On the Straight-foot Walk 284
12. On Sign Language 284
13. On Sign for Bird Flying 286
14. On Making the Tarp Bed 286
15. On the Reflector Oven--and a Shovel 287
16. On a Whistle Code 287
17. On Brushing Teeth and Hair 287
18. On Snagging Fish 287
19. On Drying Boots 288
20. On Records and Maps 288
21. On Right or Left Footedness 288
22. On Weather Warnings 289
23. On Watching Teeth 290
24. On Lightning 290
25. On Bedding Place 290
26. On Cooking 290
27. On the Tarp Shelter Tent 291
28. On Guns 291
29. On Treating Pack-Animals 292
30. On the Scout Camp Place 292
31. On Camp-Law Protection 292
32. On Division of Guard Duty 292
33. On Trailing 292
34. On Marking the Trail 293
35. On Respecting the Enemy 293
36. On the Parole 293
37. On the Sign for Escape 294
38. On Tying a Prisoner 294
40. On Making a Fire 296
41. On the Clock of the Heavens 296
42. On Stars 298
43. On Sunday 300
44. On Smoke Signals 300
45. On Surgical Supplies 301
46. On Antiseptics 302
47. On Climbing Trees 303
48. On Wigwags and Other Motion Signaling 303
49. On Sprains 308
50. On Caches 309
51. On Use of Medicines 310
52. On Forest Fires 311
53. On Fire Fighting 312
54. On Deep Wounds 313
55. On the Squaw Hitch 314
56. On Picketing and Hobbling 315
57. On Respecting Nature 316
58. On Dislocations 316
59. On Litters for Wounded 317
60. On Jerked Meat 318
61. On Dressing Pelts 319
62. On Aluminum 320
63. On "Levez!" 320
64. On Appendicitis 320
65. On the Nose of Horse and Mule 321
66. On Being a Scout 321
[Transcriber's note: Note 39 was not referenced in this table.]
PICTURE SIGNS
"'You git!' he ordered" Frontispiece
OPPOSITE
PAGE
"Bill Duane went through him" 78
"It was our private Elk Patrol code" 178
"Like cave-men or trappers we descended" 214
THE ROLL CALL
THE ELK PATROL OF COLORADO:
First-class Scout Roger Franklin, or General William Ashley.
First-class Scout Tom Scott, or Major Andrew Henry.
First-class Scout Harry Leonard, or Kit Carson.
First-class Scout Chris Anderson, or Thomas Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand.
Second-class Scout "Little" Dick Smith, or Jedediah Smith.
Second-class Scout Charley Brown, or Jim Bridger.
THE RED FOX PATROL OF NEW JERSEY:
First-class Scout Horace Ward.
First-class Scout Edward Van Sant.
FRIENDS AND ENEMIES:
Sally and Apache, the Elk Totem Burros.
Bill Duane and his Town Gang, Who Make the Trail Worse.
Bat and Walt, the Renegade Recruits.
The Beaver Man.
The Game Warden, the Forest Ranger, the Cow-puncher,
the two Ranch Women, the Doctor; Pilot Peak, Creeks,
Valleys, Hills, Timber, and Sage and Meadows; Rain
and Fire and Flood; the Big Trout, the Mother Bear,
the Tame Ptarmigans, etc.
THE LONG TRAIL
Afoot, One Hundred Miles through a Wild Country and over the Medicine
Range. Described by Jim Bridger, with a Few Chapters by Major Henry.
PLUCK ON THE LONG TRAIL
CHAPTER I
THE LONG TRAIL
We are the Elk Patrol, 14th Colorado Troop, Boy Scouts of America. Our
sign is [Illustration] and our colors are dark green and white, like the
pines and the snowy range. Our patrol call is the whistle of an elk,
which is an "Oooooooooooo!" high up in the head, like a locomotive
whistle. We took the Elk brand (that is the same as totem, you
know, only we say "brand," in the West), because elks are the great
trail-makers in the mountains.
About the hardest thing that we have set out to do yet has been to carry
a secret message across the mountains, one hundred miles, from our town
to another town, with our own pack outfit, and finding our own trail,
and do it in fifteen days including Sundays. That is what I want to tell
about, in this book.
There were six of us who went; and just for fun we called ourselves by
trapper or scout names. We were:
First-class Scout Roger Franklin, or General William Ashley. He is our
patrol leader. He is fifteen years old, and red-headed, and his mother
is a widow and keeps a boarding-house.
First-class Scout Tom Scott, or Major Andrew Henry. He is our corporal.
He is sixteen years old, and has snapping black eyes, and his father is
mayor.
First-class Scout Harry Leonard, or Kit Carson. He is thirteen years
old, and before he came into the Scouts we called him "Sliver" because
he's so skinny. His father is a groceryman.
First-class Scout Chris Anderson, or Thomas Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand. He
is fifteen years old, and tow-headed and all freckled, and has only half
a left arm. He got hurt working in the mine. But he's as smart as any of
us. He can use a camera and throw a rope and dress himself, and tie his
shoe-laces and other knots. He's our best trailer. His father is a
miner.
Second-class Scout Richard Smith, or Jedediah Smith. He is only twelve,
and is a "fatty," and his father is postmaster.
Second-class Scout Charley Brown, or Jim Bridger the Blanket Chief.
That's myself. I'm fourteen, and have brown eyes and big ears, and my
father is a lawyer. When we started I had just been promoted from a
tenderfoot, so I didn't know very much yet. But we're all first-class
Scouts now, and have honors besides.
For Scout work we were paired off like this: Ashley and Carson; Henry
and Smith; Fitzpatrick and Bridger. (See Note 1, in back of book.)
Our trip would have been easier (but it was all right, anyway), if a
notice hadn't got into the newspaper and put other boys up to trying to
stop us. This is what the notice said:
The Elk Patrol of the local Boy Scouts is about to take a message
from Mayor Scott across the range to the mayor of Green Valley.
This message will be sealed and in cipher, and the boys will be
granted fifteen days in which to perform the trip over, about 100
miles, afoot; so they will have to hustle. They must not make use
of any vehicles or animals except their pack-animals, or stop at
ranches except through injury or illness, but must pursue their own
trail and live off the country. The boys who will go are Roger
Franklin, Tom Scott, Dick Smith, Harry Leonard, Chris Anderson, and
Charley Brown.
Of course, this notice gave the whole scheme away, and some of the other
town boys who pretended to make fun of us Scouts because we were trying
to learn Scoutcraft and to use it right planned to cut us off and take
the message away from us. There always are boys mean enough to bother
and interfere, until they get to be Scouts themselves. Then they are
ashamed.
We knew that we were liable to be interfered with, because we heard some
talk, and Bill Duane (he's one of the town fellows; he doesn't do much
of anything except loaf) said to me: "Oh, you'll never get through, kid.
The bears will eat you up. Bears are awful bad in that country."
But this didn't scare _us_. Bears aren't much, if you let them alone. We
knew what he meant, though. And we got an anonymous letter. It came to
General Ashley, and showed a skull and cross-bones, and said:
BEWARE!!! No Boy Scouts allowed on the Medicine
Range! Keep Off!!!
That didn't scare us, either.
When we were ready to start, Mayor Scott called us into his office and
told us that this was to be a real test of how we could be of service in
time of need and of how we could take care of ourselves; and that we
were carrying a message to Garcia, and must get it through, if we could,
but that he put us on our honor as Scouts to do just as we had agreed to
do. (See Note 2.)
Then we saluted him, and he saluted us with a military salute, and we
gave our Scouts' yell, and went.
Our Scouts' yell is:
B. S. A.! B. S. A.!
Elk! Elk! Hoo-ray!!
and a screech all together, like the bugling of an elk.
This is how we marched. The message was done up flat, between cardboard
covered by oiled silk with the Elk totem on it, and was slung by a
buckskin thong from the general's neck, under his shirt, out of sight.
We didn't wear coats, because coats were too hot, and you can't climb
with your arms held by coat-sleeves. We had our coats in the packs, for
emergencies. We wore blue flannel shirts with the Scouts' emblem on the
sleeves, and Scouts' drab service hats, and khaki trousers tucked into
mountain-boots hob-nailed with our private pattern so that we could tell
each other's tracks, and about our necks were red bandanna handkerchiefs
knotted loose, and on our hands were gauntlet gloves. Little Jed Smith,
who is a fatty, wore two pairs of socks, to prevent his feet from
blistering. That is a good scheme. (Note 3.)
General Ashley and Major Henry led; next were our two burros, Sally (who
was a yellow burro with a white spot on her back) and Apache (who was a
black burro and was named for Kit Carson's--the real Kit
Carson's--favorite horse). Behind the burros we came: the two other
first-class Scouts, and then the second-class Scouts, who were Jed
Smith and myself.
We took along two flags: one was the Stars and Stripes and the other was
our Patrol flag--green with a white Elk totem on it. They were fastened
to a jointed staff, the Stars and Stripes on top and the Patrol flag
below; and the butt of the staff was sharpened, to stick into the
ground. The flags flew in camp. We did not have tents. We had three
tarps, which are tarpaulins or cowboy canvas bed-sheets, to sleep in, on
the ground, and some blankets and quilts for over and under, too. (Note
4.) And these and our cooking things and a change of underclothes and
stockings, etc., were packed on the burros with panniers and top-packs
lashed tight with the diamond hitch. (Note 5.)
We decided to pack along one twenty-two caliber rifle, for rabbits when
we needed meat. One gun is enough in a camp of kids. This gun was under
the general's orders (he was our leader, you know), so that there
wouldn't be any promiscuous shooting around in the timber, and somebody
getting hit. It was for business, not monkey-work. We took one of our
bows, the short and thick Indian kind, and some of our two-feathered
arrows, in case that we must get meat without making any noise. (Note
6.) And we had two lariat ropes. (Note 7.) Each pair of Scouts was
allotted a war-bag, to hold their personal duds, and each fellow put in
a little canvas kit containing tooth-brush and powder, comb and brush,
needles and thread, etc. (Note 8.)
For provisions we had flour, salt, sugar, bacon, dried apples, dried
potatoes, rice, coffee (a little), tea, chocolate, baking-powder,
condensed milk, canned butter, and half a dozen cans of beans, for short
order. (Note 9.) Canned stuff is heavy, though, and mean to pack. We
didn't fool with raw beans, in bulk. They use much space, and at 10,000
and 12,000 feet they take too long to soak and cook.
We depended on catching trout, and on getting rabbits or squirrels to
tide us over; and we were allowed to stock up at ranches, if we should
pass any. That was legitimate. Even the old trappers traded for meat
from the Indians.
We had our first-aid outfits--one for each pair of us. I carried Chris's
and mine. We were supplied with camp remedies, too. (Note 10.) Doctor
Wallace of our town, who was our Patrol surgeon, had picked them out for
us.
General Ashley and Major Henry set the pace. The trail out of town was
good, and walking fast and straight-footed (Note 11) we trailed by the
old stage road four miles, until we came to Grizzly Gulch. Here we
turned off, by a prospectors' trail, up Grizzly. The old stage road
didn't go to Green Valley. Away off to the northwest, now, was the
Medicine Range that we must cross, to get at Green Valley on the other
side. It is a high, rough range, 13,000 and 14,000 feet, and has snow on
it all the year. In the middle was Pilot Peak, where we expected to
strike a pass.
The prospect trail was fair, and we hustled. We didn't stop to eat much,
at noon; that would have taken our wind. The going was up grade and you
can't climb fast on a full stomach. We had a long march ahead of us, for
old Pilot Peak looked far and blue.
Now and then the general let us stop, to puff for a moment; and the
packs had to be tightened after Sally's and Apache's stomachs had gone
down with exercise. We followed the trail single file, and about two
o'clock, by the sun, we reached the head of the gulch and came out on
top of the mesa there.
We were hot and kind of tired (especially little Jed Smith, our
"fatty"); but we were not softies and this was no place to halt long. We
must cross and get under cover again. If anybody was spying on us we
could be seen too easy, up here. When you're pursuing, you keep to the
high ground, so as to see; but when you're pursued you keep to the low
ground, so as not to be seen. That was the trappers' way.
I'll tell you what we did. There are two ways to throw pursuers off the
scent. We might have done as the Indians used to do. They would
separate, after a raid, and would spread out in a big fan-shape, every
one making a trail of his own, so that the soldiers would not know which
to follow; and after a long while they would come together again at some
point which they had agreed on. But we weren't ready to do this. It took
time, and we did not have any meeting-spot, exactly. So we left as big a
trail as we could, to make any town gang think that we were not
suspicious. That would throw them off their guard.
Single file we traveled across the mesa, and at the other side we dipped
into a little draw. Here we found Ute Creek, which we had planned to
follow up to its headwaters in the Medicine Range. A creek makes a good
guide. A cow-trail ran beside it.
"First-class Scout Fitzpatrick (that was Chris) and Second-class Scout
Bridger (that was I) drop out and watch the trail," commanded General
Ashley (that was Patrol Leader Roger Franklin). "Report at Bob Cat
Springs. We'll camp there for the night."
Chris and I knew what to do. We gave a big leap aside, to a flat rock,
and the other Scouts continued right along; and because they were single
file the trail didn't show any difference. I don't suppose that the town
gang would have noticed, anyway; but you must never despise the enemy.
From the flat rock Fitzpatrick and I stepped lightly, so as not to leave
much mark, on some dried grass, and made off up the side of the draw,
among the bushes. These grew as high as our shoulders, and formed a fine
ambuscade. We climbed far enough so that we could see both sides of the
draw and the trail in between; and by crawling we picked a good spot and
sat down.
We knew that we must keep still, and not talk. We kept so still that
field-mice played over our feet, and a bee lit on Fitzpatrick. He didn't
brush it off.
We could talk sign language; that makes no sound. Of course, Fitz could
talk with only one hand. He made the signs to watch down the trail, and
to listen; and I replied with men on horseback and be vigilant as a
wolf. (Note 12.)
It wasn't bad, sitting here in the sunshine, amidst the brush. The draw
was very peaceful and smelled of sage. A magpie flew over, his black and
white tail sticking out behind him; and he saw us and yelled. Magpies
are awful sharp, that way. They're a good sign to watch. Everything
tells something to a Scout, when he's an expert.
Sitting there, warm and comfortable, a fellow felt like going to sleep;
but Fitzpatrick was all eyes and ears, and I tried to be the same, as a
Scout should.