← catalogue

Jack in the Rockies: A Boy's Adventures with a Pack Train

by George Bird Grinnell · English · Gutenberg #44671 · 415,529 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jack in the Rockies: A Boy's Adventures with a Pack Train
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Jack in the Rockies: A Boy's Adventures with a Pack Train

Author: George Bird Grinnell

Illustrator: Edwin Willard Deming


        
Release date: January 15, 2014 [eBook #44671]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44671

Credits: Produced by David Edwards, Mary Akers and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
        file was produced from images generously made available
        by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JACK IN THE ROCKIES: A BOY'S ADVENTURES WITH A PACK TRAIN ***

Transcriber's note:
    Spelling and punctuation inconsistencies been harmonized.
    Obvious printer errors have been repaired. Italic text has been
    marked with _underscores_. Please see the end of this book for
    further notes.




JACK IN THE ROCKIES




_By the same Author_


    JACK THE YOUNG COWBOY
    JACK THE YOUNG TRAPPER
    JACK THE YOUNG CANOEMAN
    JACK THE YOUNG EXPLORER
    JACK IN THE ROCKIES
    JACK AMONG THE INDIANS
    JACK THE YOUNG RANCHMAN
    PAWNEE HERO STORIES AND FOLK TALES
    BLACKFOOT LODGE TALES
    THE STORY OF THE INDIAN
    THE INDIANS OF TO-DAY
    THE PUNISHMENT OF THE STINGY
    AMERICAN DUCK SHOOTING
    AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING
    TRAILS OF THE PATHFINDERS



  [Illustration: "THROWING HIS GUN TO HIS SHOULDER HE FIRED
  AT THE ANIMAL." _Page 221_]




    JACK
    IN THE ROCKIES

    OR
    A BOY'S ADVENTURES WITH A PACK TRAIN

    BY
    GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL

    _Author of_ "_Jack the Young Ranchman_," "_Jack Among the Indians_,"
    "_Pawnee Hero Stories_," "_Blackfoot Lodge Tales_,"
    "_The Story of the Indian_," "_The Indian
    of To-Day_," _Etc._

    _Illustrated by_
    EDWIN WILLARD DEMING


  [Illustration]




    NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS




    Copyright, 1904,
    BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY


    _All rights reserved_

    _Thirteenth Printing_


    _Printed in the United States of America_




CONTENTS


    CHAPTER                                 PAGE

        I THE INDIANS OF FORT BERTHOLD             9

       II THE BATTLE OF THE MUSSELSHELL           27

      III THE START FOR THE BLACKFOOT CAMP        43

       IV OLD FRIENDS AND NEW                     56

        V BUFFALO HUNTING WITH THE BLACKFEET      73

       VI AMID WONDERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE
        PARK                                      86

      VII GEYSERS AND HOT SPRINGS                 97

     VIII ACROSS THE CONTINENTAL DIVIDE          109

       IX AN ELK HUNT UNDER THE TETONS           122

        X TRAILING BLACK-TAILS                   137

       XI TRACKS IN THE SNOW                     147

      XII WHAT WILL BECOME OF THE ELK?           160

     XIII A PACK HORSE IN DANGER                 172

      XIV A BIGHORN                              180

       XV A CHARGING GRIZZLY                     189

      XVI SOMETHING ABOUT BEARS                  194

     XVII THE STORY OF A MAN KILLER              202

    XVIII JACK'S FIRST MOOSE                     216

      XIX WATCHING A BEAR BAIT                   228

       XX A PUZZLING TRAIL                       240

      XXI HUGH GOES "ON DISCOVERY"               248

     XXII STEALING FROM HORSE THIEVES            257

    XXIII "DIED WITH HIS BOOTS ON"               266




ILLUSTRATIONS


    "THROWING HIS GUN TO HIS SHOULDER
        HE FIRED AT THE ANIMAL"       _Frontispiece_

    "HE REACHED FAR FORWARD, AND GRASPED THE
        LONG HAIR ON THE BUFFALO'S HUMP"          82

    "ALMOST BELOW THEM, FEEDING, WERE TWO
        GOOD SIZED RAMS"                         183

    "'HANDS UP'! HUGH CALLED"                    268




FOREWORD


At the time Jack Danvers journeyed through the Yellowstone National
Park, that wonderful country was little known. Since then it has
become famous, and people from all parts of the globe go to visit
it. There is no more delightful summer excursion possible than a
trip to the National Park where--if one can take a pack train and
journey away from the beaten roads and trails--it is still possible
to see elk and deer and many other wild animals, almost in their
old time abundance.

In the spring of 1903 President Roosevelt did just this, and on his
return wrote a most interesting article about what he saw, telling
of the abundance of the elk, the familiarity of the deer, the
shyness of the antelope and the tameness of the mountain sheep.

American boys and girls are happy in having in their own country so
lovely and so marvelous a region.




Jack in the Rockies




CHAPTER I

THE INDIANS OF FORT BERTHOLD


With noisy puffings the steamboat was slowly pushing her way
up the river. On either side the flat bottom, in some places
overgrown with high willow brush, in others, bearing a growth of
tall and sturdy cottonwoods, ran back a long way to the yellow
bluffs beyond. The bluffs were rounded and several hundred feet in
height, rising imperceptibly until they seemed to meet the blue
of the sky, so that the boat appeared to be moving at the bottom
of a wide trough. Hour after hour she pushed on, meeting nothing,
seeing nothing alive, except now and then a pair of great gray
geese, followed by their yellow goslings; or sometimes on the shore
a half-concealed red object, which moved quickly out of sight, and
which observers knew to be a deer.

On the boat were two of our old friends. From the far East had
come Jack Danvers, traveling day after day until he had reached
Bismarck, Dakota, where he found awaiting him Hugh Johnson, as
grave, as white-haired, and as cheery as ever. At Bismarck they
had taken the up-river steamer, "Josephine," and the boat had
sailed early on the morning of July 5th.

Hugh and Jack were on their way back up to the Piegan country. They
had separated at Bismarck the previous autumn, and while Hugh kept
on down the river, to take a west-bound train, which should carry
him back to Mr. Sturgis' ranch in Wyoming, Jack had gone East, to
spend the winter in New York. He had had a year of hard work at
school, for his experience of the previous winter had taught him
that it paid well to work in school, and to make the most of his
opportunities there. This made his parents more willing to have him
go away to this healthful life, and he found that if he did his
best he enjoyed all the better the wild, free life of the prairie
and the mountains, which he now hoped would be his during a part,
at least, of every year.

His summer with the Piegans had taught him many things known to
few boys in the East, and given him many pleasures to which they
are strangers; and the more he saw of this prairie life the more
he enjoyed it, and the more he hoped to have more and more of it.
Sometimes, when he awoke early in the morning, or at night, after
he had gone to bed, as he lay between sleeping and waking, he used
to go over in his mind the scenes that he had visited, and the
stirring adventures in which he had taken part, and these memories,
with the hope of others like them, gave him a pleasure that he
would not have parted with for anything.

Often when he was in New York, walking through narrow city
streets, looking up at high buildings, hearing the roar and rattle
of the passing traffic, and watching the people hurry to and fro,
each one absorbed in his own business, it was hard to realize that
away off somewhere, only a few days' journey distant, there was a
land where there was no limit to the view, where each human being
seemed absolutely free, and where it was possible to travel for
days and days without seeing a single person. Always interwoven
with his dreams and his imaginings about this distant country was
the memory of the friend Hugh, to whom he was so deeply attached.
It hardly seemed to him possible to go anywhere in the West, except
in company with Hugh, and until he had joined him, it never seemed
as if his journey had begun, or was really going to be made.

All through the day the boat went on, turning and twisting, and
at different times facing all points of the compass. Sometimes
the sun would be shining on the port side of the boat, a little
later on the starboard side, then it would be ahead, and again
behind. Hugh and Jack spent their time chatting on the upper deck
of the boat, Hugh smoking vigorously, to keep off the mosquitoes,
while Jack, the edges of his handkerchief under his hat and tucked
inside his coat collar, to leeward of Hugh, took advantage of the
constant stream of smoke that poured from his pipe. They had much
to tell each other of the winter that had passed, and much to say
of the trip on which they were now starting. Fort Benton was their
destination, and until they reached there, and saw their friend
Joe, the Blackfoot Indian who was to meet them with the horses,
they were uncertain what they should do.

There were not a few passengers on the boat. Some of them were
carefully dressed persons, wearing long frock coats, white shirts,
and a modest amount of jewelry, residents of the thriving towns
of Helena or Virginia City, Montana; others were army officers,
on their way to posts in the Northwest, or now starting out on
some exploring expedition; while others still were persons of
whose occupation and destination it was hard to judge from their
appearance.

Among them was a middle-aged man who Jack thought, from his
conversation, had long been a resident of the plains, and who told
Jack something about a trade that he had long practised--that of
wolfing.

"Why, young fellow," he said, "it is only a few years ago since
there was good money in wolfin', but I had to quit it down in the
southern country for wolves got too scarce when the buffalo got
killed off. Wherever there was buffalo there was plenty of wolves,
for the wolves made their livin' off the herds, just like the
Indians; and when I say wolves I mean big wolves, coyotes, foxes,
and swifts.

"In the autumn, as soon as the fur began to get good, I used to
start out and find a herd of buffalo, and after shootin' two or
three of them, I'd skin them down, and rip them up, and put from
one to three bottles of strychnine in each carcass. After the blood
that lay in the ribs had been poisoned good, I'd smear that over
the meat on the outside. Generally I'd try to kill my buffalo
close to where I was goin' to camp, and after I had put out my
baits I went to camp and slept until near day. Then, before I could
see, I'd get up, cook my breakfast, hitch up, if I had a team,
and go round to all my baits. Likely, around each one I'd find my
half dozen to fifteen wolves, and sometimes it would take me two
or three days to skin them. Likely enough, if the weather turned
right cold, I got a good many more wolves than I could skin, and
had to stack them up, and wait till I got time. It was mighty hard
work now, and don't you forget it. Then, too, there was always a
chance that Indians might come along and make trouble for me. You
take a man out on the prairie, ten years ago, and even the friendly
Indians were likely to scare him a whole lot, or take his hides,
even if they didn't take away his gun and his horses. As for the
hostiles, if they got too close to a man it was all up with him.
But I never had no trouble with them, except once, and then I was
camped in the dug-out, with plenty of provisions, and there was
only three of the Indians. I saw them comin', and suspected who
they were, and managed to get my horses into the dug-out with me
and stood 'em off. They scared me bad though.

"I should think so," said Jack.

The man stopped talking to fill his pipe and after he had lighted
it puffed thoughtfully. Then he continued: "There's another way
I've wolfed it, and that is by draggin' a bait over quite a scope
of country, and droppin' pieces of poisoned meat along the trail.
I used to do that when I couldn't find animals to kill for bait.
This worked pretty well for awhile but it's no good any more down
in that country."

"I've seen coyotes killed by putting poisoned tallow in auger
holes, bored in chunks of wood," said Jack.

"Yes," said the man, "that's good sometimes, and they stay there
lickin' and lickin' up the bait until they die right there. You
don't have to look over much country to find your wolves."

"What kind of meat did you use when you were dragging the bait?"
asked Jack.

"Most any kind would do," replied the wolfer; "sometimes it would
be a piece of buffalo meat, sometimes a shoulder of a deer, but
the best bait of all is a beaver carcass; there's lots of grease
and lots of smell to that, and the wolves and coyotes are sure to
follow it. This draggin' a trail is good too, because the wolves,
when they go along and snap up the poisoned bait, don't go off, but
keep right on followin' the trail, and you find them there, maybe
quite a long way from where they pick the bait.

"Where are you goin', young fellow; you and that old man I see you
talking with?"

"We're going up to Benton," said Jack, "and I don't know where
we're going from there. I expect we'll meet a friend there, with
our horses, and then we're going to make a trip, off maybe on the
prairies, and maybe into the mountains; we can't tell yet."

"Sho," said the man, "you're sure goin' to have a good time. I've
got to get a job when I get to Benton; somethin' that'll keep me
until it comes time for fur to get good."

The next morning when Jack and Hugh left their stateroom a heavy
fog hung low over the river and the boat was not moving, but was
tied up to the bank, for it was so thick that there was danger of
running aground on the frequent sand-bars, and as the river was
now falling, the captain was unwilling to take the chance of such
delay. On the lower deck was a dug-out canoe, the property of a
temporary passenger, who was going only to Fort Berthold, and,
after breakfast, Jack suggested to Hugh that they should borrow
this canoe and go off a little way up the river, taking their guns,
and seeing whether they could kill anything. Hugh said this could
not be done, explaining that it would be easy enough to get lost,
which would be bad for them, and very irritating to the captain,
who might feel it necessary to wait for them; and besides this,
the fog might lift at any moment, when the boat would move onward
much faster than they could paddle. As it happened, the fog lifted
almost immediately, and the boat set forward; and a little before
noon the village of the Rees, Gros Ventres and Mandans, high up on
the bluff above the river, was seen; and soon after the boat tied
up, and all hands went ashore.

The bluff rose steeply from the river, and up and down its face
were steep trails, worn by the feet of women passing up and down
as they carried water and the driftwood which they gathered, up to
the village. On the top of the bluff stood the bee-hive shaped gray
houses, which Hugh told Jack were much like those occupied by the
Pawnees.

They began to climb the bluff toward the village, and Jack asked
Hugh about the Indians who lived here.

"In old times," said Hugh, "these Indians were scattered out up and
down the river. The Gros Ventres lived furthest up, between here
and Buford, and the Rees and Mandans lived further down the stream.
A long time ago,--back maybe more than a hundred years,--the Rees
and the Mandans all lived together, away down below here; but then
they had some sort of a quarrel among themselves, and the Mandans
moved on up the stream, and for a long time camped near the mouth
of the Knife River. For a while after that there was some fighting
between the Rees and Mandans, but after a time they made peace,
and gradually the tribes came together again; and now for a long
time they've all lived together in this village of Berthold. In old
times each of these villages was a big one, but since the white
men came among them, and brought smallpox, and liquor, and all the
other things that the white men bring, they are dying off fast, and
I don't believe that now there is more than eight or nine hundred
of these Indians all together. You know these Rees here are kind
of kin to the Pawnees; they speak near the same language, so that
I can talk with 'em, and they call the Pawnees their relations. I
think they used to be a part of the Skidi band. Nobody knows just
when they separated from the Pawnees, but it must have been a good
while ago."

Hugh paused, and Jack asked: "Does any one know how they came to
separate, Hugh? Is there any tradition about it?"

"Yes," said Hugh, "there is. The old story is that all the Pawnees
were out hunting, and the Sioux got around some of 'em, and cut
'em off from the rest and kept fighting 'em, and driving 'em, and
fighting and driving, until they got 'em away up on the Missouri
River, so far from their friends that they had to winter there.
Then, along back, maybe about 1830, soon after the beginning of the
fur trade on the upper river, the Rees fought the white folks, and
were generally hostile. After that they went back and joined the
Pawnees, but they couldn't get along well with the Pawnees, and
quarreled with them, and finally the Pawnees drove 'em off. So they
came on back up the river. It was after that that they joined the
Mandans, and they've lived together ever since."

By this time they had reached the top of the bluff, and were now
close to the houses, on whose curious domed roofs many people were
sitting,--women busy with their work, young men wrapped in their
robes, and looking off into the distance, and little girls playing
with their dolls or their puppies. The ground in the village all
about the houses was worn bare by the passage of many feet; Indians
were going to and fro, women carrying water and wood, men naked, or
wrapped in their summer sheets, little boys chasing each other, or,
with their ropes trying to snare the dogs, which were usually too
cunning for them.

Jack was greatly interested in the houses, and wished to look
into one, and to this Hugh said there would be no objection. The
entrance of each house was by a long passage-way, closed above,
and at the sides, and passing through this, they found themselves
at the door. Jack expected to go into a room that was dark; but
this was not so. Above the center of the large room was a wide
open space, which answered both for chimney and for window. About
the fireplace, which was under the smoke hole, at the corners of a
square, stood four stout posts, reaching up to and supporting the
rafters of the roof. The floor of the house was swept clean, and
all around the walls were raised platforms, serving for beds, and
separated by screens of straight willow sticks strung on sinew,
from the adjacent bed on either side. In front of some of the beds
similar screens hung down like curtains so that the bed could
be cut off from the observation of those in the house. Over the
fireplace hung a pot, and two pleasant-faced women were sitting
near it, sewing moccasins. They looked up pleasantly, as the
strangers stood in the doorway, and Hugh spoke a few words to them,
to which they made some answer. Then the strangers withdrew.

Keeping on through the village, they walked out on the higher
prairie, toward the tribal burying-ground, but not such a
burying-ground as Jack was accustomed to see. Here were placed the
dead, wrapped up in bundles, on platforms raised on four poles,
eight or ten feet above the ground. Evidently no attention was paid
to them after burial, for many of the poles which supported the
platforms had rotted and fallen down, and, in the older part of
the graveyard the ground was strewn with pieces of old robes and
clothing, and with white bones.

Hugh told Jack that farther away, and down on lower ground, where
the soil was moist, the Rees, Mandans, and Gros Ventres had farms,
where they raised corn, beans, pumpkins, and squashes, and that in
old times they used to raise tobacco.

It was now time to return to the boat, for the wait was to be only
a short one, and on their way back he told of something that had
happened not many years before in the Mandan village.

"The people were hungry," said Hugh, "and there was no food in
camp. They sent young men off in all directions to look for
buffalo, but none could be found. As the people grew hungrier and
hungrier the White Cow Society made up their minds that they would
give a dance, and try to bring the buffalo. They did this, and
danced for a long time; but no buffalo were found, and there were
no signs that any were coming. Still the people of the White Cow
Society danced, and still the other people watched them, and prayed
that they might bring the buffalo. One day, after they'd danced
for ten days, suddenly a big noise was heard in the village, and
when the people rushed out of the lodges to see what was happening,
there, among the lodges, was a big buffalo bull, charging about
right close to the lodge in which the White Cow Society were
dancing. All the dogs in the village seemed to be about him,
barking at his head, and biting at his heels, and he was trying
only to get away, and paying no attention to the Indians that were
all about him.

"Then everybody was glad, for all could see that the Master of Life
had sent this bull, to answer their prayers; and all believed that
he had come ahead of the main herd, which would soon follow him.
Before he had got out of the village, the bull was shot. The White
Cow Society came out of their lodge, and danced around the village,
and while they were doin' this, one of the scouts came in, and
reported that a big band of cows was not far off. Then everybody
was glad, and all wondered at the strong medicine of the White Cow
Society. The next day the men went out and made a surround, and
killed plenty of cows, and brought in the meat, and there came a
terrible storm, and when the storm cleared off the whole prairie,
beyond the ridge near Knife River, was black with buffalo. Now
there was plenty in the camp, and every one was happy. The men went
out and brought in fat meat, and it was dried, and no more that
winter was there any suffering for food."

"That's a good story, Hugh," said Jack, "but do you suppose the
dancing of the White Cow Society really brought the buffalo?"

"I couldn't tell you, son. The Indians believed it did, but I don't
suppose any white folks would. But I've seen so many queer things
follow these medicine performances that I don't know what to think
about them, myself."

By this time they had reached the shore, and looking around, as
they passed over the gang-plank to the deck, they saw the captain
and purser coming down the trail just behind them. The deck hands
were already beginning to cast off the fasts, and a moment later
the whistle sounded, the boat's nose turned out into the river, and
the steady thump, thump of the paddle-wheel began again. On the
bank stood the three or four white men belonging to the agency,
and up and down the bottom, and clustered in little groups on the
bluffs, were Indians, dressed in buckskin, or in bright-colored
cloth, who stood motionless, watching the steamer as she slowly
moved away.

"That's a mighty interesting place, Hugh; and I want to get you to
tell me all about it. Who are the Gros Ventres, and who are the
Mandans? You've told me about the Rees, but I want to know about
the others."

"Well, son," said Hugh, "I don't know as I can tell you very much
about them, but I'll try. The Gros Ventres are close relations
to the Crows; in fact, many people call them the River Crows, to
distinguish them from the real Crows, that live up close to the
mountains, on the head of the Yellowstone. Those fellows are called
the Mountain Crows, and there's a good many more of them than
there are of these. These people, I suppose, got their name, Gros
Ventres, from the French, and I never heard why it was given to
'em. I never could see that they were any fatter, or had any bigger
bellies, than other Indians, and I never found out any reason for
the name. They don't call themselves by any such name as that;
their name for themselves is _Hi d[)a]t sa_, and that's said to
mean, willows. Anyhow, they used to be called Willow Indians; so I
have been told.

"In old times, they say that there were three tribes of them, but
the other tribes have been lost, or forgotten, and now they're all
together--all one bunch of Indians. There's one thing you want
to remember, that there are two different outfits of Indians,
both called Gros Ventres; one of them, these people here, whom we
know as the Gros Ventres of the Village, or Gros Ventres of the
Missouri; the others are the Gros Ventres of the Prairie, whose
country is east of the Blackfoot country, and who used to be
friendly with the Blackfeet, and then fought them for a long time,
and now are friendly again. Those Gros Ventres of the Prairie are
no kin at all to these people, but are a part of the Arapahoes,
from whom, according to the old story, they split off a long, long
time ago. They talk the Arapahoe language, and call the Arapahoes
their own people, and still visit them back and forth. Nowadays
they have an agency along with the Assinaboines, further west, at
Fort Belknap, over on Milk River. Ninety-nine men out of every
hundred get these Arapahoes and these River Crows mixed up, just
for the reason that the French called them both Gros Ventres. Don't
you ever do that, because when a man makes that mistake it shows
that he don't know nothing about Indians. Try to remember that,
will you?"

"Of course I will, Hugh. I don't want to make any mistakes,
especially now since I have been out and seen something of real
Indians. People back East, and especially all the fellows at
school, think that I know everything about Indians now. They're all
the time asking me questions about them, who they are, and where
they live, and I should hate to make any mistakes in my answers.
Now tell me, who are the Mandans?"

"I don't know as much about the Mandans as I do about the Gros
Ventres of the Village," said Hugh, "and yet I've heard a lot about
them. They're a kind of queer people; lots of 'em used to have
yellow hair and gray eyes, and lots of 'em now have gray-haired
children, same as you have seen among the Blackfeet. I got hold of
a book once with lots of pictures of Indians in it; mighty good
pictures, too, they were. 'T was written by a man named Catlin, who
came up the river, painting pictures of Indians, a long time ago;
maybe fifty years. He said he thought the Mandans were Welshmen,
and told some story about some foreign prince that brought a
colony of Welshmen over here, and Catlin thought that maybe the
Mandans were descended from that colony. Anyhow they've lived by
themselves, so the story goes, for a great many years; but I've
heard the old men say that long, long ago the tribe came from
away back East somewhere. They followed down a big river that ran
from east to west, likely it may have been the Ohio River, until
they came to the Mississippi, and then they struck off northwest,
and camped on the Missouri, and they have been traveling up the
Missouri, a little way at a time, for an almighty sight o' years.

"This book of Catlin's that I tell you about has got a whole lot
o' stuff about the Mandans, and it is mighty good readin'. You
had better get hold of it sometime when you get back East; it'll
tell you more about 'em than I can. The Mandans have always been
farmers, and raised good crops of corn, and that and their buffalo
give them a pretty good living. But now the buffalo are getting
scarce, and when they give out the Mandans will have to live on
straight corn, I am afraid. There's one thing about the Mandans
that's worth rememberin', they make the best pots of any people
that I know of on the plains. I expect that in old times maybe the
Pawnees made just as good pots, but since the white folks began to
bring brass and copper kettles into the country the Pawnees have
forgotten how to make pots; but the Mandans still keep it up, and
make some pots, big and little----"

"Oh, Hugh!" called Jack at this moment, "Look at the buffalo!" and
he pointed toward the high bluffs on the south side of the river,
and there were three dark spots, running as hard as they could up
the hill.

"Sure enough," said Hugh, "there's the first buffalo we've seen.
Don't they look like three rats scuttling off over the hills, as
fast as they can go. Before long, now, we ought to see plenty of
'em along the river; though we ain't likely to see many buffalo
before we get above Buford."

The boat pushed slowly up the river's muddy current, and Hugh and
Jack continued to talk about the Indian village on the hill.

"A mighty queer thing happened once at that village, son," said
Hugh. "You've heard, maybe, that in some tribes of Indians they
have sort of prophets, or men that foretell things that are going
to happen. I have seen a little of that sort of thing myself,
that I never could explain. Besides that, they've got some way of
learning news that we don't understand anything about. Of course it
may not be as quick as railroads and telegraphs, but its quick.
Let me tell you something that happened there at Berthold, some
years ago, and the man that it happened to lives in the upper
country now, and you may likely run across him some time when you
are up there. He is a Dutchman, and his name is Joe Butch.

"Along in 1868, Joe was working at Berthold, for a trader there,
and the trader got into some sort of a quarrel about a horse with
old White Cow, chief of the Mandans, and I guess old White Cow was
pretty sassy, and maybe he threatened to do something, and Joe
killed him. Well, as soon as he had killed the old man, Joe he
knew that that wasn't no place for him, because the Mandans would
be pretty sure to kill him; so he hops onto his horse, and rides
as hard as he could for Buford, that's eighty miles up the river,
next place we stop at. When he got to Buford he found there a big
camp of Assinaboines, and they were having a big dance, because
the chief of the Mandans, their enemies, had just been killed.
Now, how do you suppose those Assinaboines knew that White Cow had
been killed? Joe didn't waste no time getting onto his horse, and
he rode as hard as he could to Buford; and its a sure thing that
nobody got there before him with the news. I never understood how
they found that out, and I never expect to."

"That seems a wonderful thing, Hugh," said Jack. "I don't see how
they could have found it out if nobody told them, and if there were
no telegraphs."

"Well, it's sure there were no telegraphs," said Hugh, "and I don't
see how anybody could have told them. Joe killed the man, and
started on his ride right off, and had a good horse. That's one of
the things that always beat me."

The hours passed swiftly by for Jack and Hugh, as they watched
the river banks on either side. The boat had met a flood of water
just above Berthold, which, if it made progress against the strong
current more slow, nevertheless saved time by deepening the water,
so that they did not run aground on sand-bars. Several times during
the morning, antelope were seen feeding in the bottom, lifting
their heads to gaze at the boat, as it puffed and snorted along,
but not being enough alarmed to take to flight. After supper that
night, as they sat on the deck about sundown, Hugh, watching the
banks, pointed out no less than three distant spots on the wide
bottom, which he told Jack were bears digging roots. They were a
long way off, yet with his glasses Jack was able to make out their
forms, and to recognize them as bears.




CHAPTER II

THE BATTLE OF THE MUSSELSHELL


Early next morning the boat stopped at Fort Buford, above the mouth
of the Yellowstone River.

The wait was to be only a short one, and no one left the boat. Jack
was interested in looking from the upper deck at the post, where
there were a number of soldiers, and it looked like a busy place.
Away to the left was seen the broad current of the Yellowstone
coming down between timbered banks. As the two friends sat on the
upper deck and looked off toward the shore, Hugh, in response to
some question by Jack, said:

"Yes, in old fur-trading days this used to be a mighty interesting
place. Just above here was one of the great trading posts of old
times, and pretty much all the tribes of the northern prairie used
to come here to get their ammunition, and whatever other stuff they
could buy. Old man Culbertson was here for a long time, and lots
of people from back east and from foreign parts used to come up
the river as far as this. Sometimes they used to have great fights
out here on this flat, when two hostile tribes would come in to
trade and would get here at the same time. I've heard great stories
about the way the Indians used to fight here among themselves
almost under the walls of the post; and, then, again, sometimes
the Indians used to crawl up as near to the fort as they could,
and try to run off the horse herd, which would be feeding right
out in front of the post. Sometimes they'd get 'em; sometimes they
wouldn't, but would get one of the herders. On the whole, however,
the place wasn't often attacked, because the Indians couldn't
afford to quarrel with the people who furnished them with their
goods. When 'twas Fort Union, 'twas a mighty lively place."

"Why Hugh," said Jack, "do you mean to tell me that this is old
Fort Union?"

"Sure," said Hugh.

"Why," said Jack, "I've read lots about Fort Union. Don't you know
that in 1843 Audubon, the naturalist, and a party of his friends,
came up here to find out a lot about the Western birds and animals?
I've read a lot of Audubon, and he speaks constantly of Fort Union,
and about the things he used to see here, and the buffalo hunting,
and about Mr. Culbertson. Dear me! dear me! when I was reading
about it I never thought that I would see Fort Union."

"Well," said Hugh, "this is the place; and if this man Audubon was
out here in 1843, that, I think, was just the year before they
had the big smallpox here. Men that were here at the time tell me
that there were two or three big camps of Indians here, and that
they got the smallpox in the fall, just before the ground froze,
and the Indians died off like wolves about a poisoned carcass; and
the ground was hard, and they could not dig graves for them, and
they just stacked up the bodies outside of the fort, in rows, like
so much cord-wood, and had to wait till the ground melted in the
spring before they could bury 'em. There must have been a pile of
Indians died."

"Well, what did they do for smallpox, Hugh? How did they cure
themselves?"

"Why, they didn't know anything about curing themselves, son. When
a man got smallpox, or got sick, he just went into a sweat-lodge,
and took a sweat, and came out and plunged into the river to cool
off, and the ice was running, and some of 'em never came up again,
and some of those that did come up were so weak from the shock that
they could not get to the shore, and just drowned. If we get to the
Blackfoot camp this summer, you ask old man Chouquette about it. He
was here then; he'll tell you about it, just the same as he told
me."

While Hugh had been talking, the boat had cast off and had once
more started up the river.

It was afternoon, and Hugh was dozing in his chair, tilted up
against the cabin, while Jack as usual was watching the river
banks, when suddenly from behind a little hill that formed the end
of a hog back, which extended well out into the bottom, he saw a
herd of seventy or eighty buffalo, come running as hard as they
could across the bottom, and plunge into the river just above the
boat. The great animals ran as if frightened, and seemed to regard
nothing but the danger behind them. As the boat went along, and
the buffalo swam to cross the stream, they came nearer and nearer
together, and at last it was evident that the buffalo would pass
very close to the boat. They swam rapidly, and with them were
many little calves, swimming on the down stream side of their
mothers, and going swiftly and easily. Jack shouted to Hugh, who,
with him, watched the buffalo, and in a very few minutes the boat
was actually in the midst of the herd. The animals did not attempt
to turn about, but swam steadily after their leaders, and some of
them actually swam against the boat, and, only then seeming to
understand their danger, turned about and, grunting, snorting, and
bellowing, climbed up on each other in tremendous fright. As they
came to the boat Jack at first had started to get his rifle, but
Hugh called him back, and they both descended to the lower deck,
where, with the other passengers, and the deck hands, they were
actually within arms length of the buffalos. The mate, forming a
noose with a rope, threw it over the head of a two-year-old, and
half a dozen of the roustabouts, pulling on the rope, lifted the
animal's head up on the deck, when the mate killed it, and it was
presently hauled aboard and butchered. As they returned to the
upper deck, having watched the buffalo, after the boat had passed,
swim to the other bank and climb out of the water, and then stop
and look at the boat, Jack said to Hugh, "Well, I saw a lot of
buffalo last year, but it sort of excites one to see them again as
close as those were."

"Yes," said Hugh, "that's so; but there was no use in your getting
your gun, as you started to. I don't want you to act like all the
rest of these pilgrims that come up the river, and to be shooting
at everything you see that's alive. There'd have been no more fun
in shooting one of those buffalo in the water there, than there'd
be in shooting a cow on the range. Of course, if a man's hungry,
it's well enough for him to butcher; but if he just wants meat,
and there's somebody else to do the butchering, he might just as
well let him do it. I always used to like to hunt, and I do still,
but it's no fun for me to kill a calf in a pen, or to chop off a
chicken's head.

"That's so, Hugh," said Jack; "it would have been no more to shoot
one of those buffalos in the water than it was for the mate to kill
that two-year-old."

"That's so," said Hugh; "it would have been just the same thing,
and you don't envy him the work he did, I expect."

"No indeed," said Jack, "not much."

"Now, if you want to fire a few shots," said Hugh, "if you want
a little practice with your gun, get it out the next time we get
close to the bank, and shoot at a knot in some cottonwood tree. I
can watch with the glasses and see where you hit, and you can get
some practice with your rifle, but won't show up a tenderfoot."

The sun was low that evening when they reached Wolf Point, the
agency for the Assinaboine Indians, and it seemed as if all
the Indians there must have clustered about the landing-place
to welcome the boat; men, clad in fringed buckskin shirts and
leggings, and with eagle feathers in their hair; bright-shawled
women, carrying babies on their backs; small boys, naked, save
for a pair of leggings and a breech-clout; and little girls, some
wearing handsome buckskin dresses, trimmed with elk-teeth, and
clinging to their mothers' skirts, made up the assemblage. Most
interesting to Jack were the many travois, each one drawn by a
dog. Some of these were very wolf-like in appearance; others might
have been big watch dogs taken from the front door yard of some
eastern farm house. All seemed well-trained and patient; and when,
a little later, some of them started off for the agency buildings,
dragging loads that had been piled on the travois, they bent
sturdily to their work, and dug their feet into the ground.

"There's something, son," said Hugh, "that we are not going to see
much longer. The dog travois has seen its best days, and before
long dogs won't be used any more for that work. Why, I hear that
even up in the North, dogs are not used in winter for hauling half
as much as they used to be; and down here, the first thing you
know, all these Indians will be having wagons, and driving them
'round over the prairie. Why, do you know, it ain't so very long
ago since these Assinaboines had hardly any horses. They didn't
want 'em; they said horses were only a nuisance and a bother to
'em, and their dogs were better. Horses had to be looked after;
driven in and caught up whenever they were to be used, and then
they had to be watched to keep people from stealing them; but dogs,
instead of running away when you wanted to catch them, would come
running toward you; they never ran off nor were stolen. Nowadays,
though, the Assinaboines have got quite a good many horses, and I
expect to live long enough to see the time when dog travois will be
a regular curiosity."

"Who are the Assinaboines, Hugh," said Jack. "What tribe are they
related to?"

"They're Sioux," said Hugh, "and talk the Sioux language. Of course
it's a little different from that talked by the Ogallalas and the
down river Sioux; but still they can all understand each other, and
they call themselves Lacotah, which of course you know is the name
that all the Sioux have for themselves."

"And yet," he continued, "they have been at war with the Sioux and
with the Sioux' friends for a good many years. I reckon there ain't
any one that rightly knows when the Assinaboines split off from
the main stock; it must have been a long time ago. But you talk
with the Assinaboines, and they'll tell you--just as most of the
other Sioux'll tell you--about a time long ago, in the lives of
their fore-fathers, when their people lived at the edge of the salt
water. I expect maybe that means that they migrated a long way,
either from the East or from the West, very far back."

"My!" said Jack, "if we could only know about all these things that
happened, and what the history of each tribe was, wouldn't it be
interesting?"

"It sure would," said Hugh.

"Well, Hugh," continued Jack, "what does Assinaboine mean? Has it
any real meaning, like some of these other names of Indian tribes
that you tell me about?"

"Yes," said Hugh, "it has a meaning, and I reckon it's a Cree word.
_Ass[)i]ne_ means stone in Cree, _poit_ means cooked, or cooking,
and the Assinaboines are called stone-cookers, or stone-roasters,
I suppose because they used to do their cooking with hot stones.
But of course that don't mean much, because pretty nearly all the
Indians that I know of used to boil their meat with hot rocks,
except those that made pots and kettles for themselves out of clay.
Nobody knows, I reckon, when the Pawnees and Mandans first learned
how to make pots. I expect that was a long time ago, too. But most
of these Indians used to boil meat in a kettle made of hide, or the
paunch of a buffalo, filled with water. Then they'd heat stones in
the fire, and put them in the water, taking them out as they got
cool and putting in others, until the water boiled and the food was
cooked."

"But," said Jack, "I should think when they cooked the hide or
paunch it would break, and let the water spill out."

"No," said Hugh. "It would of course, if you kept cooking long
enough; but one of these kettles would only last to cook a single
meal; you couldn't use it a second time, but it was all right for
one cooking. I have seen a hide kettle used, and eaten from it."

Jack sat thinking, for awhile, and then he turned to Hugh and said:

"I tell you, Hugh, if all you know about Indians, and about this
Western country were put in a book, it would make an awful big one,
wouldn't it?"

"Well, I don't know, son," said Hugh, "maybe it might; but a man
has got to learn the life he's lived; if he doesn't, he won't
amount to nothing. I expect if all that you know about the East was
put in a book it would make quite a sizable one."

"Oh," said Jack, "that's nothing. The things I know don't amount to
anything, and everybody else knows them a good deal better than I
do."

"Well, I tell you," said Hugh, "the things that are new and strange
to you seem kind o' wonderful, but they don't seem wonderful to
me; but I remember one time you were telling me something about
catching fish down at the place called Great South Bay, and talking
about seeing the vessels sailing on the ocean, and to me that
seemed mighty wonderful."

By this time the boat had left the landing-place, and the light was
growing dim. They turned and looked back, and there across the wide
bottom was moving toward the Post, a long string of people, men and
women and children and dog travois, so that it looked almost like
a moving camp. Hugh and Jack sat for a while longer on the deck
talking, and then, as the mosquitoes got bad, they turned in.

The next afternoon the boat reached Fort Peck, then one of the
most important Indian agencies on the Missouri River. It stood
on a narrow bench, a few log buildings surrounded by a stockade,
and back of it the bluffs rose sharply, and were dotted with
the scaffolds of the dead. It seemed to Jack that there must be
hundreds and hundreds, if not thousands, of these graves in sight.
From the poles of some of them long streamers were blown out in the
wind, which Hugh told him were offerings tied to the poles of the
scaffolds by mourning relatives. But few living Indians were seen
here, and there were only three or four white men seen about the
trading post. They did not leave the boat, which soon pushed on
again.

"The Indians about here have been awful mean," said Hugh; "Lots of
things were brought in here that the Sioux took from the Custer
battlefield. Somebody told me that Custer's gold watch was brought
in here by an Indian, who wanted to know how much it was worth:
but so many questions were asked him about it that he just put the
watch in his sack and lit out, and has not been seen here since."

As the boat passed the mouth of the Musselshell early next morning
Hugh pointed shoreward, and said:

"Do you see that place over there where that creek comes in, son?"

"Why, of course I see it, Hugh," said Jack, "and the timber that
runs along it. What creek is it?"

"You ought to know," said Hugh, with a laugh; "you got scared in it
a whole lot last summer."

"Why, Hugh, is that the Musselshell?" said Jack.

"That's what it is," said Hugh; "and seeing the mouth of the river,
and them sticks there on the flat, reminds me of the big fight
that took place there some years back. I wonder if you ever heard
about it. I meant to tell you last summer, but somehow it slipped
my mind. It was there that Liver-Eating Johnson got his name. They
used to say that he cut out the liver of an Indian that got killed
in that fight and ate it. Of course he never did, but they tell the
story about him, and I rather think he was kind o' proud about it
after a little while, and liked the name.

"I think it was in 1869 that the fight took place, along in the
spring.

"You know the steamboats always have trouble in coming up to
Benton in the low water; and along about 1866, after the mines got
paying, and when the fur trade was good, some men at Helena formed
a company to make a road and start a freight line down to some
point on the river that the boats could always get to. These men
didn't know much about the river, and they chose the mouth of the
Musselshell for the point where their road, which began at Helena,
should end.

"Now, I suppose if they'd raked the whole river with a fine-tooth
comb they couldn't have found a poorer place for a town, nor a
poorer country to travel through, than this one they pitched on.
The place chosen for the town was that little neck of land between
the Musselshell and the Missouri. The soil is a bad-land clay,
which in summer is an alkali desert, and in spring is a regular
bog, in which a saddle-blanket would mire down. Then, all along
the Musselshell was a favorite camping and hunting ground for the
Indians, and in those days Indians were bad. Well, they made up
their company, and started their town. There weren't many settlers,
but a few people, mostly hunters and wood-choppers, stopped there;
and of course, wherever there were a few people gathered together,
there was sure to be a store and a few saloons.

"I think it was along in 1868 that a man came down there with a
fine train of mules. Likely he expected to get some freighting to
do when the boats came up the river. The stock was turned out, and
some men were on guard, when a party of Sioux charged in among
them, killed two of the men, and ran off every hoof of stock. The
thing was done in a minute; and before the men could get out of
their houses and tents the stock was gone, and the Indians along
with it: all except one young fellow, who, just to show what he
could do, charged back and rode through the crowd, making fun of
them as he went along. So far as anybody knew, not one Indian got
hit.

"It was not very long after that that the Sioux came down and
charged into the Crow camp, and ran off eight hundred head of
horses. Of course that made a big excitement. The Crows jumped on
their horses an pursued and they had quite a fight, and some of the
Indians got killed.

"During the Spring of 1869, the Indians used to attack the town
every few days; a Crow squaw that was living there got shot through
the body, and a white woman was wounded, knocked down, and scalped,
but I reckon she's living yet. Anybody that went out any distance
from the town was sure to be shot at and chased. It was a time for
a man to travel 'round with his gun loaded, and in his hand all the
time. The Indians didn't do much of anything, but they kept the
people scared up everlastingly. It got to be so, finally, that the
Indians would charge down near the town, and then swing off and run
away, and pretty much all the men would run out and run after them,
shooting as long as the Indians were in sight.

"One morning there were a couple of Crow women out a little way
from town, gathering sage brush for wood, and the Indians opened
fire on them. The white men all rushed out and after the Indians,
who numbered sixteen. They ran on foot over toward the Musselshell,
and then up the bottom, not going very fast, and the white men
were gaining on them, and thinking that now they would force
them to a regular fight; when suddenly, from a ravine on the
Musselshell, a shot was fired, which killed a man named Leader.

"That stopped the whites right off, and they turned to run; and if
the Indians had charged 'em then, I expect they'd have got every
last one of 'em. But Henry McDonald saw what would happen if they
ran, and, bringing down his rifle, swore he'd shoot the first man
who went faster than a walk.

"They could see now that there was quite a body of Indians in the
ravine on the bank of the Musselshell, but they couldn't tell how
many. There was some little shooting between the two parties. Most
of the whites moved back to the settlement; but there were half
a dozen men who did not retreat; but getting under cover, within
thirty or forty yards of the Indians, held them there. They kept
shooting, back and forth, and presently a man named Greenwood got
shot through the lungs, and had to be carried back. The other men
stood their ground, and the Indians, knowing that they had to do
with good shots, did not dare to show their heads.

"After two or three hours of this sort of thing, it began to rain,
a mighty lucky thing for the white men. They were all armed with
Henry rifles, or needle-guns, while the Indians, for the most part,
had bows and arrows, with some flintlock guns. They had stripped
themselves for war, and had no clothing with which they could
cover their gun-locks and bow-strings to keep them from getting
wet. After a little of this, the white men began to see that
the Indians were practically disarmed, and began to think about
charging them; but when they raised up to look, they saw that there
was a big party of men there, and that the only way to get them,
except in a hand to hand fight, was for some of the party to cross
the Musselshell, and get to a point where they could shoot into the
ravine, thus driving the Indians out and placing them between two
fires. Three men started to do this.

"When the Indians saw what the white men were trying to do, they
ran down to the mouth of the ravine and tried to shoot at them;
but their strings were wet, and the arrows had no force and hardly
reached the men, and very few of their guns would go off. The
three men got across the river, and went down to a point opposite
the ravine, and began to shoot at the Indians; but by this time
all the men in the settlement had collected together, about eight
hundred yards behind the Indians, and seeing these three men on
the other side of the stream took them for Indians and began to
shoot at them; so that the three white men who had crossed had to
get away and re-cross the Musselshell. By this time half a dozen
other men got around on the lower side of the Indians, and then
again three men crossed the river and commenced to shoot up the
ravine. This was too much for the Indians: they jumped out of
their hole and started to get away, and everybody was shooting at
them as hard as they could. The fire from the body of men near the
town still continued, and obliged the men who were doing the real
fighting to keep more or less under cover. The Indians broke for
the Musselshell, crossing it where they could, and most of them got
away; but thirteen were killed, and it was said that a good many
more died on the way to camp, and only one of the ninety and more
who were in the fight escaped without a wound. The next day after
that, the white men found the place where the Indians had stripped
for the fight and left their things, and there over a hundred robes
and two war bonnets and a whole lot of other stuff were found. Most
of it was sold, and the money given to Greenwood, who was wounded.
Jim Wells and Henry McDonald, I heard, each got a war bonnet.

"The freight road was given up, and pretty much everybody left the
place,--except some traders who stopped there a little longer. Then
Carroll was started, up near the Little Rockies, and in a very much
better place, and that was the end of Musselshell City. It was at
this same place that Johnson claimed to have made for himself a
razor strap from a strip of skin that he cut from an Indian's back:
but Johnson was always a good man to tell stories, and you never
could be quite sure when he was telling the truth and when he was
joking.

"A few years ago there used to be lots of talk about that fight,
and the people called it one of the biggest lickings that the
Indians ever got in this part of the country."

Pushing along up the river, the boat passed beyond the Musselshell,
and then up by Carroll, and the Little Rocky Mountain, and the
Bearspaw,--and at last one day, about noon, Fort Benton came in
sight.

For the last two hundred miles they had seen a good deal of
game. Buffalo were almost always in sight on the bluffs, or in
the bottom; elk, frightened by the approach of the steamer, tore
through the willow points; deer, both black-tail and white-tail,
were often seen, and on several occasions mountain sheep were
viewed--once in the bottom and at other times on the high bad-land
bluffs. One of the herds was a large one, which Hugh said must
contain seventy-five or a hundred animals.

As Benton was approached, Jack began to feel more and more excited.
Here he hoped to meet Joe, who had been warned some months before
by Mr. Sturgis that Hugh and Jack would be at Benton early in July:
and Joe would have with him the horses, a lodge, and all their
camp equipage; so that, if nothing interfered to prevent, the next
morning they could start out on their trip.




CHAPTER III

FOR THE BLACKFOOT CAMP


As the boat slowly drew near the wharf, Hugh and Jack, from the
upper deck, recognized first the old adobe fort and then, one after
another, the different buildings of the town. The arrival of the
steamer was always a great event in Benton, and pretty much all
the inhabitants of the town were seen making their way toward the
water's edge. The throng was made up of whites and Indians, with an
occasional Chinaman: for already Chinamen had begun to come into
the country. At first the two watchers from the steamboat could
recognize no faces, but, as the boat drew nearer and nearer, Hugh
suddenly let his hand fall on Jack's shoulder and said, "There's
Baptiste, and I believe that's Joe standing near him."

"Oh, where are they, Hugh? I can't see either of them:" and then a
moment later, after Hugh had told him where the two stood, he saw
them; and springing up on the rail, and holding to a stanchion, he
waved his hat, and shouted out to Joe, who had already recognized
him and made joyous gestures in response.

A little later, the four were cordially shaking hands on the shore:
and presently, when the crowd of passengers had left the boat, the
two old men and the boys went on board again and, mounting to the
upper deck, talked together. Jack's first question to Joe was as to
the whereabouts of the camp.

"Down east of the Judith Mountains somewhere, I expect," said Joe
in reply. "They went down there to kill buffalo; there's lots
of buffalo over on the Judith, or between the Judith and the
Musselshell. I guess they'll be there all summer, and before I left
the camp I heard that they would make the medicine lodge somewhere
out in that country."

"What about the hostiles, Joe?" said Jack. "Have they seen any
Sioux lately?"

"No," said Joe, "but I've heard that there are a few passing back
and forth, between the lower country and Sitting Bull's camp, over
across the line."

"Like enough," said Hugh, "like enough. We've got to look out for
those fellows; but they won't do nothing more than try to steal our
horses."

Hugh had been talking quietly with Baptiste La Jeunesse, who told
him what had been happening in Benton during the winter. This was
not much: there was talk that a railroad was going to be built into
the country, one that might even pass through Fort Benton itself,
and this would make the town big and important, so people said--and
Fort Benton would once more become what it had been in the early
days of the fur trade, a populous and thriving place.

"And how have you been getting on yourself, Bat?" said Hugh.

"Oh, I've done well. I always have everything that I want, since
you people came in here last summer and gave me the gold. Every
month I go to the bank, and they give me the pay for the money
that you lent them for me, and so I live well. It doesn't make any
difference to me whether I've work to do or not, yet always it is
pleasant to be doing something, and so I keep on working. Also,
there are some people in the town who are poor, just as I used to
be; and now that I have money I can help them to live, just as your
boy has helped me."

"Well, Bat, it makes me feel good that you are doing well, and I
think that you will continue to do well from this on."

"And what are you going to do this season, Hugh?" said Baptiste.
"Where are you going, and what are you going to do--hunting or
trapping, or what?"

"Well, Bat," said Hugh, "I am traveling 'round again with this boy
of mine. His uncle and his father and mother want him to spend the
summers out here, and get strong and hearty, and they've told me to
travel with him, and teach him about the way of living out here;
the same lesson that you and I learned when we were young; only he
will learn it in a better and easier way than we did. He's a good
boy: I like him better all the time. I should feel bad if anything
happened to him."

"Yes, Hugh, I think he's a good boy," said Baptiste. "Both of those
boys are good. I like the Indian well. He came in here many days
ago, and came to me; and since he got here, he and I have lived
together. I like him."

Hugh now turned to the two boys, who were busily talking, and
said; "Now, boys, if we're going to get off to-night we've got to
make a start right soon. I expect Joe has got all our stuff ready,
except the grub, and if you and he will hurry up and get the horses
together and get them saddled, I'll go and buy the grub, and put
it in the wagon, and come down here and get our guns and beds, and
we'll pack up and move out of town four or five miles and camp."

Both the boys jumped to their feet, and Jack said; "Hurray! that's
what I want to do; I want to get out on the prairie once more, and
I don't want to see a town again until I have to."

Jack and Joe started at once, and ran races with each other up the
street, to see which should get first to the stable. Joe beat the
white boy, who found that his winter's confinement, and his lack
of exercise in the big city had made him short of wind; so that at
last he got out of breath, and stopped running. When they reached
the stable, Joe took his rope and went out into the corral, and
caught a handsome little buckskin pony, and, saddling it, rode
out to get the animals which were pasturing on the bluffs above
the town. He was gone some little time, and then, Jack, who was
watching for him, saw the familiar sight of loose horses running
along the bluff, and then turning and rushing down its steep sides,
followed by a cloud of dust; and then Joe, with whoops and yells,
and quick turnings and twistings of his horse, drove them up to
the bars, through which they crowded, and then stood quiet in the
corral.

Jack thought that he would try his old scheme of calling Pawnee,
and whistled sharply. The good horse threw up his head, and looked
about, and then seeming to recognize Jack, walked over to him, and
arched his neck over his shoulder in the old-fashioned way. Jack
was very much touched, and put his arms around the horse's head,
and leaned his head against his neck, thrilled with affection for
the animal that he had ridden so many miles. Presently they got
out the ropes, and tied up the horses, and one by one they were
saddled. They were all fat and in good condition, and some of them
objected quite strongly to being saddled. The dun bucked when the
flank cinch tightened on him, just as he had bucked the first time
Jack ever saw him packed, and so did the star-faced bay. The others
grunted and squealed and kicked a little, but on the whole took the
saddling very well.

Not long after they had finished saddling up they heard a cheery
call from the front of the stable, and, rushing out, Jack saw the
wagon, piled up with food and beds, and Hugh and Baptiste, sitting
in it. It took some little time to make up the packs, but by late
afternoon this was done, the horses packed, and after shaking
hands with Baptiste, the little train, with Hugh in the lead, Jack
driving three pack horses, and Joe bringing up the rear, driving
two more, filed out of the town and climbed the hills toward the
upper prairie.

That afternoon they traveled until the sun went down, and then
coming on a little coulee, through which water trickled, they
camped. They were careful to picket all their horses; and after
this was done, while Joe and Jack brought armfuls of willow brush
from up and down the creek, Hugh cooked supper.

The next day they kept on. Now they were well away from the
settlements, and game began to be seen. Only antelope, it is true,
but of them there were plenty. Jack had a fair shot at a buck, at
about a hundred and twenty-five yards, but failed to kill him--to
his great mortification.

"Ha!" said Hugh, "you've got to learn how to shoot again; you shot
too high, and missed him slick and clean. I remember the first shot
you fired last year, when you first came out; you shot high then,
just as you did now. When we get to camp to-night, you and Joe had
better go out and shoot three or four times at a mark. You have got
to learn your gun over again, and Joe of course has got to learn
his for the first time." Jack had brought out from New York a gun
for Joe, carefully selected from the stock of one of the largest
rifle manufacturers in the world, and as yet Joe had not fired a
shot out of it; but he seemed never to tire of looking at it, and
putting it up to his shoulder, and sighting at various objects.
That night they camped on a great swiftly rushing stream, near some
high hills, or low mountains; and while he was cooking supper Hugh
sent them off to try their guns. With the axe they shaved off the
outer bark from a thick cottonwood tree, and making a black mark on
the brown surface, each fired five shots at it. Jack's first two
shots were high, but the next three were clustered within the size
of a silver dollar, all about the mark. Joe did not shoot quite so
steadily, two of his shots being above, and two below, and one a
little off to one side. When they returned to camp and Hugh asked
them about their shooting, they told him, and he advised them to
fire a few more shots after supper, and, if necessary, a few in the
morning.

"There's nothing, I hate worse than to hear a gun fired about
camp," he said, "but guns are no use to people unless they
understand them, and you boys must get used to your guns. It won't
take you more than a very few shots to do this, and you certainly
must do it."

The next morning they started on again. No signs had yet been seen
of the Indians, but this day they saw a few buffalo, old bulls,
mostly off to the north of them. In the afternoon they passed by
the Moccasin Mountains, and camped on a little stream flowing into
the Judith River. After they had unpacked their animals and made
camp, Hugh said to Jack, "Son, have you ever been here before? Do
you see anything that you recognize?"

"Why, no Hugh," said Jack, "I don't think I do;" and standing up
he took a long look about him, up and down the valley, and at the
hills on either side. Suddenly his face brightened, and he said,
"Why yes I do, too. I know where we are. This is just where we
came through last year, the second day after I got caught in the
quicksands in the Musselshell."

"That's so," said Hugh, "this is just where we came. I wondered if
you'd recognize it. You ought to do so, and I'm glad you do.

"Right over a few miles east of us is what we used to call old
Camp Lewis. There used to be a trading store there, and a camp
of soldiers, and a few men got killed there, mostly soldiers. I
remember coming through here not many years ago, the afternoon
after some soldiers got killed on the bank of the creek, right
close to the camp. There was a camp of Crows there then--about
three hundred lodges. The Sioux came down, and ran off some
government horses, and killed three recruits that were fishing here
in the creek, and the Crows took after 'em, and had quite a fight,
and Long Horse, the Crow chief got killed. They got seven of the
Sioux, I think. They had quite a time here in the camp then. I
remember Yellowstone Kelly was here, and three or four other men; I
think the Sioux set them all afoot."

The next morning while Hugh was getting breakfast he said to Jack:
"Son, why don't you kill some meat? You are going through a country
where game is fairly plenty; anyway, antelope are, and there's a
few buffalo; and besides that, here are some mountains right close
to you, where there's surely lots of sheep. You boys had better
make up your minds to do something to-day; if you don't I'll have
to start out and hunt, to kill meat for the camp."

"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "I certainly would rather hunt than
drive pack horses; and if you want me to I'll go off to-day and
follow along a little closer to the hills, and see if I can't kill
something."

"Do so," said Hugh, "and then if you kill anything you can easily
overtake us. We will be traveling slow, and your horse is good and
fat and can catch us wherever we are. All the same, keep your eye
open for Indians, and don't let any strangers come up too close to
you. I'd rather have you two boys go off together, but I've got to
keep Joe with me, to drive these pack horses. You'd better throw
the saddle on your horse and start right off, and maybe you'll
catch us before we've gone very far."

No sooner said than done. Jack saddled up, and having asked Hugh
the direction in which the party would move, rode away to the left,
toward the low foot-hills of the mountains. He had gone only a mile
or two when, passing over the shoulder of the foot-hills, he found
himself coming down into a narrow valley, in which pretty little
meadows were interspersed with clumps of cottonwoods and willows.
Three or four antelope were feeding in the valley not far off, but
there was no cover under which they could be approached, so he
rode straight along. As he drew near, the antelope ceased feeding
and raised their heads, and then, before he was within easy rifle
shot, trotted off to the other side of the valley, and stood on
the hillside watching him. After looking back for a few moments,
they started, in single file, and slowly walked up the hill. They
were by no means frightened, and it seemed likely that by taking a
little time, after they had passed on out of sight, he might get a
shot at them; but the brush above him on the stream seemed likely
to hold a deer, and he turned his horse that way and rode quietly
forward up the stream, among the groups of bushes. He had not
gone very far when from a clump of willows at his right a big doe
sprang into view, and moved slowly off by those high, long bounds
which make the white-tail, in motion, one of the most graceful of
animals. Jack's impulse was to jump off his horse and shoot at
her, but he saw that, if he did this, he would be so low down that
she could hardly be seen over the tops of the willows. He checked
Pawnee, cocked his gun, and rising a little in his stirrups, and
gripping the horse with his thighs, aimed carefully at the back of
the doe's head, just as she was rising in one of her leaps, and
pulled the trigger.

Almost at the report, her long tail fell flat to her body, and
she began to run much faster. He knew he had hit her, and before
she had gone fifty yards, and while she was crossing an open bit
of meadow, she fell. Jack rode up to her, and on turning her over
found that he had made a good shot. A ball had entered her back,
just to the right of the spine, and had pierced both lungs and
heart.

Turning her over, to get her ready to put on the horse, he was
glad to see that she was a barren doe, one that had not produced
a fawn that spring, and so would be fat and good eating. She was
pretty big, however, and Jack was a little uncertain just how he
was going to get her on his horse. Of course by cutting her up it
could easily have been done, for then the quarters would not be
too heavy for him to handle. At first he thought that he would
take in the whole animal, but considering the time that this
might take, and the fact that he had to ride a long way before
overtaking his companions, he determined to do things in the easier
way. He skinned the deer, therefore, cut off the shoulders and
hams, and tied them on his horse, and then taking out sirloins and
tenderloins, and some of the fat, wrapped this up in the skin, and
put that on behind the saddle. Now he had a fairly compact load,
which could be easily carried, and would not be a great additional
weight for his horse; while on the ground were left all the bones
of the deer, except those of the legs. This method of butchering he
had learned from the Indians the summer before.

All this had taken some little time, and when Jack looked at the
sun he saw that the morning was half gone. Hugh had told him that
they would follow the trail around the point of the mountains, and
would then strike the Carroll Road, and bend back toward the river
again. This meant that if he could cross the point of the mountains
he would save several miles travel, and this he determined to do.

Before starting, he tightened up his cinches carefully, for he knew
that the pieces of meat tied on his saddle would give it more or
less side motion, and he did not want it to chafe Pawnee's back.
Then he climbed into the saddle and started. By this time the sun
was pouring down hot upon him, and there was no breeze. From the
high ridges that he crossed from time to time he had a wide view
of the prairie, and of the distant mountains, the Little Belts
and Snowies, which rose from the plain a long way to the south.
Here and there on the prairie were black dots, which he knew were
buffalo, and other white ones, much nearer, which were antelope.
Occasionally, as he rode along, a great sage grouse would rise from
the ground near his horse's feet, or a jack-rabbit would start up,
and after running fifteen or twenty yards, would stop, sit up,
raise its enormous ears, look at him for a moment, and then settle
back on all fours, and flatten itself on the ground, so that if he
took his eye off it for a moment he could not find it again. It
seemed to him then, as it had so often seemed before, a wonderful
thing to see how absolutely this wild creature, like so many
others, could disappear from sight even while one was looking at it.

As he rode over a high ridge, he saw on the hillside before him,
two white-rumped animals, that for a moment he thought were
antelope; but a second glance showed him that they were not, and,
to his very great astonishment, he recognized them as mountain
sheep--a ewe and her young one--which had been feeding on the
prairie, just where he would have expected an antelope to be. He
threw himself off his horse and, cocking his gun, jerked it to
his shoulder and then paused, and lowering it again, stepped back
and put his foot in the stirrup. As he mounted, the ewe, which
had been looking at him, started to run, passing hardly more than
fifty yards in front of him, closely followed by the lamb. A little
further on, she stopped again and gazed, and Jack sat there and
returned her look. The sight of the sheep had been almost too much
for him, and he had come near shooting her,--but before he pressed
the trigger he realized that if he shot her he should have to shoot
the lamb, and he could not conveniently carry either, and the old
ewe would be thin in flesh and hardly worth taking with him. The
temptation had been strong, but as he sat there and looked at the
graceful animal, which stood and stamped, while the lamb, close
beside her, imitated her motions, he realized that it was a good
thing to let them go.

It seemed to him a mysterious thing, though, that these sheep
should be down here on the prairie, and a long way from the rocky
peaks, where he supposed they always lived. He made up his mind
that he would ask Hugh about this when he got into camp and get him
to explain it.

At last he had crossed the point of the mountains and began to
descend. Stretching out toward the northeast he could see a dim
thin line, which, although it was interrupted at times--and
sometimes for long distances--he thought must be the Carroll Road.
Then off a long way to the east was a line of dark--the timber
along a stream's course--which he supposed was where they would
camp to-night.

He had almost reached the level prairie, when suddenly he became
aware of two horsemen galloping toward him from behind. He watched
them as they drew nearer, and at last could make out that they were
Indians; and by this is meant that he saw that they had no hats on.
More than that, he could see, he thought, that one of them had red
leggings.




CHAPTER IV

OLD FRIENDS AND NEW


Of course there were no known hostiles in the country, but at the
same time he recalled Hugh's advice, not to let any Indians come
too close to him. These men were galloping along and would soon
overtake him; and if, by any chance they should happen to be Sioux,
from Sitting Bull's camp, or worthless Indians of any tribe that
he did not know, they might take his horse and gun, even if they
did nothing worse. He decided then that he would find out who they
were, and drawing up his horse on a little rise of ground, he
dismounted and stood behind it, facing them with his rifle barrel
resting in the saddle. The Indians were now only three or four
hundred yards off, but when Jack did this they at once halted, and
turning toward each other, seemed to consult. Then, one of them,
raising his hands high in the air, held his gun above his head, and
after handing it over to his companion, struck his horse with his
quirt and galloped toward Jack, while the other man remained where
he was.

The swift little pony was soon within easy rifle shot, and as its
rider drew nearer and nearer, Jack seemed to recognize something
familiar in the look of the man, yet he could hardly tell what it
was; but when he was within speaking distance the man called out;
"Why, don't you know me, Master Jack? I'm Hezekiah;" and instantly
Jack recognized his negro friend of the Blackfoot camp. He called
back to him; "Hello, Hezekiah! come on; I didn't know who you
were." And Hezekiah, turning about, waved to his companion, who
started toward them.

Jack and Hezekiah shook hands, and Hezekiah said; "You done mighty
well to stop us, Master Jack; you're making a good prairie man all
right, and I'm glad to see it. Plenty Indians traveling through
this country, back and forth, that would be willing to kill you for
your horse and gun; and it ain't far off to the line, and they'd
skip across and go to Sitting Bull's camp, and nobody'd ever know
who done it. It's just like what all the Piegans said last year,
after the Medicine Lodge, that you was sure goin' to make a good
warrior."

"Well Hezekiah," said Jack, "I don't know as I'd have stopped you
if Hugh hadn't spoken to me about that only this morning. He said
that there were Sioux traveling back and forth, and that I had
better not let any Indians come up close to me until I knew who
they were. That's the reason I stopped you." At this moment the
other Indian rode up, and handing his gun to Hezekiah, shook hands
cordially with Jack. It was Bull Calf, one of his companions on
the trip to the Grassy Lakes, where Jack had shot the Assinaboine
who was trying to steal horses from the camp; a young man of good
family whom he knew very well, and with whom he had been on several
hunting excursions.

"Where's the camp Hezekiah?" asked Jack. "Hugh and Joe have gone
on ahead with the pack train, and I stopped behind to kill a deer.
We're looking for your camp, and going to stay a little while with
you, and then we're going off south into the mountains."

"The camp isn't far off Master Jack," said Hezekiah. "I expect it's
right over there on Muddy Creek; somewhere in that timber. Some
days ago they left Carroll, and are moving south now after buffalo;
but Bull Calf, here, and me, we came 'round by the mountains here,
to see if we couldn't kill some sheep. I want to get a couple of
shirts made, and my woman says she'd rather make 'em of sheep than
of antelope.

"I expect we'll strike the camp this afternoon somewhere and maybe
we'd better be starting right along now." They mounted, and rode
on over the prairie. Jack had many questions to ask about what had
happened in the Piegan camp during the winter, for though Joe had
told him much, there were still plenty of matters to be discussed.
Hezekiah and Bull Calf wanted to ride fast, but Jack did not feel
like doing so with his load, so he put the two shoulders of the
deer on Bull Calf's horse, and tied down what he carried so that
it would not shake, and they went on at a good pace. An hour or
two of brisk riding brought them close to the stream; but before
they reached it they saw the trail where the camp had passed. There
were tracks of a great band of horses, and many scratches left by
travois poles; and in the trail there were a number of fresher
horse tracks, which showed where Hugh and Joe and the pack animals
had passed along after the camp.

Jack had a feeling as if he were almost home. It seemed funny to
him to think how eager he was to meet all the brown-skinned friends
that he had left so many months before, and how much pleasure he
felt in having come across these two on the prairie. Two hours
before sundown they began to see horses dotted over the hills ahead
of them; and a little later they rode out into a broad open space
in the river bottom, where stood a circle of white lodges, which
they knew was the Piegan camp.

"Where do you suppose Hugh will camp, Hezekiah?" said Jack, as
he ran his eye over the lodges, each one of which looked like
every other lodge. It was evident that he could tell nothing by
looking at the lodges, and he must look for the horses; and just as
Hezekiah replied, he thought he saw old Baldy tied in front of a
lodge on the opposite side of the circle.

"Why, I reckon he'll camp with Joe's people, Master Jack," said
Hezekiah. "That's the Fat Roasters, you know, and they're over
there across the circle. I reckon that's the old man now, drivin'
pins for the lodge."

"Yes, that's it, Hezekiah," said Jack: "I see him now. I'll ride
over there and get rid of my meat, and sometime to-night or
to-morrow I hope to come to your lodge."

"Please do, Master Jack, and we'll be mighty glad to see you. I
want to have you see the childern, too; they've grown a heap since
you was here last."

As Jack stopped in front of the lodge, Hugh looked up from his task
and said, "Well, you've got here all right, son. Killed somethin'
too, I reckon."

"Yes," said Jack, "I killed a barren doe, and I reckon we've got
meat enough to keep us going for a few days. I gave the shoulders
to Bull Calf and Hezekiah, whom I met out here on the prairie, but
I've got the hams here. Shall I turn Pawnee loose, or shall I tie
him up here by old Baldy?"

"Better tie him up here," said Hugh. "I want to make arrangements
with some young fellow to herd our horses; Joe's gone off now to
try to do that. We've got the lodge up, and now pretty quick we'll
have a fire and cook supper."

The news of the arrival of the strangers had already spread through
the camp, and that night Hugh and Jack and Joe were invited to
feasts at several lodges. They saw many of their friends: old John
Monroe, Little Plume, Last Bull, and of course Fox Eye, and many
others. Old Iron Shirt came around to their lodge, and shook hands
cordially with Jack, from whom he accepted a plug of tobacco and
a red silk handkerchief. It was late before the festivities were
over, and when they turned into their blankets they were soon
asleep.

While they were at breakfast next morning, Jack told Hugh about the
sheep that he had seen on the prairie the day before, and how he
had been about to kill the old ewe, and then had thought it better
not to do so.

"You did just right, son," said Hugh; "I've said to you a good many
times never to kill anything that you don't want, and can't use,
and I believe that's the way to do. You were right not to kill the
old ewe also because she wouldn't have been good for anything;
she'd have been poor from suckling her lamb, and you'd have just
killed her without getting any good out of it. Besides that, the
lamb would have starved to death if you hadn't killed it, and if
you had killed it it would'nt have been no good. No, you did right;
you used good sense, and I like men, or boys either, to use sense."

"Well, Hugh, I'm glad I didn't shoot. Of course, maybe I wouldn't
have killed the ewe anyhow, but I'd have tried. But what I wanted
to ask you about was what those sheep were doing down there on the
prairie. I supposed that sheep only lived on high mountains, or
else in the very roughest kind of bad-lands. They're called Rocky
Mountain sheep; that ought to mean that they live in the Rocky
Mountains."

"Well now, son, you're like a good many people that think that
sheep ain't found anywhere except in the mountains, but that's a
big mistake. In old times sheep were found on the prairie just
about as much as they were found in the mountains. I expect they
were always in the mountains, and in old times they were always
on the prairie too. It has got so now that they're pretty scarce
on the prairie, because so many people traveling around all the
time shoot at them; but in old times it was no uncommon sight to
see sheep feeding right in among the buffalo, and we often used
to see them all mixed up with the antelope, on the flat prairie.
Of course, sheep always like to be somewhere within reach of the
buttes or mountains, or rough bad-lands, that they can run to if
they get scared, but as for them not being on the prairie, the
way some people think, that's all a mistake. Up here in Montana,
and in Dakota and Nebraska and Wyoming, I have seen them on the
prairie, a long way from any hills. Why, I've even seen them out in
the sand-hills, up not very far from the head of the Dismal River,
and south of the Loup, but I suppose they came from up the Platte,
where there are bad-lands and buttes, like Scott's Bluffs and
Chimney Rock. But if ever people tell you that sheep are found only
among the rocks, don't you believe them. I know you won't after
to-day, because you saw them on the prairie yourself."

"Yes, Hugh, that's so; but just as you say, they started to run
back to the rocks when they were scared."

"Why son, there's no better sheep country in America to-day, I
believe, than within a day's ride of here. You take the Missouri
River bad-lands, and the Little Rockies, the Judith Mountains, the
Little Belts, the Moccasins, and the Bear's Paw; they're all good
sheep countries, and always have been ever since I've been in the
country; and I reckon if you ask any of the old Indians they'll
tell you just the same thing. Why, years and years ago, before the
Indians got bad, there was no place where there were more mountain
sheep than right along the Yellowstone, where the bluffs don't run
more than a couple of hundred feet high, and there's a flat bottom
below them, and just rolling prairie above."

"Well, I didn't know this at all, Hugh," said Jack, "and yesterday
when I saw those animals on that little ridge, I could not believe
that they were sheep. I thought I must be mistaken, that they must
be queer colored antelope, but then of course I saw the sheep horns
and I knew that I wasn't mistaken."

"There's lots to learn about sheep yet, son; and you and I are not
the only people that don't know much about them. The fact is, I
don't believe anybody knows much about them.

"I expect there's more than one kind of sheep in the country, too.
I have heard about a white sheep that they find away up north; and
then a great many years ago, once when I went up north to Peace
River, I killed a sheep that was pretty nearly black, and had black
horns. I never saw but one little bunch of them, and killed one out
of it, a yearling ewe; she was not like any other animal I ever saw
before."

Not long after breakfast Hugh and Jack started out to make a round
of the camp, and to call upon their friends. As they were passing a
nice new lodge, a tall, slender, straight young man came out from
it, and after hesitating a moment as he looked at them, walked up
to Hugh, and extending his hand, said, "How d'ye do, Mr. Johnson. I
guess you don't know me, but I've heard of you pretty near all my
life. I'm Billy Jackson, a son of old Thomas Jackson, whom you may
have known a long way back, and the nephew of John Monroe."

"Why yes, sure," said Hugh, "I've heard of you, and I used to know
your mother right well. I'm glad to see you. Ain't you the young
man that was with General Custer in the Black Hills, and afterwards
scouted for Miles, down on the Yellowstone? or was it your brother?
I think you're the man."

"Yes, I'm the man" said Jackson. "Bob scouted for Miles, too, and
we both did a good deal of riding down there during the last of the
wars, and now I've come up here to live in the Piegan camp."

"I'm glad to see you," said Hugh. "Let me make you acquainted with
Jack Danvers; he and I've traveled together now for two or three
years, and we spent last summer here in Piegan camp."

Jack and Billy Jackson shook hands together, and they parted; but
Hugh asked Jackson to come round and eat with them that night,
which the young man said he would do. He was a handsome fellow,
lean and active; and after they had left him Hugh said to Jack,
"Take notice of that young man, and if you've occasion to go on the
prairie with him, do as he says. I've heard of him; he's a good
man, brave, and knows the prairie well, and, at the same time, he
has good sense, and isn't likely to get himself or his friends into
any trouble."

At Little Plume's lodge they were made very welcome. His wife
had apparently thought that they would come around that day, and
as soon as they sat down in the lodge, food was set before them:
boiled buffalo heart and back fat, and berry pemmican, with stewed
service-berries, made a tempting feast, and Jack ate heartily of it.

Little Plume told them that the next day the camp would move south,
and they hoped that before they got to the Musselshell, or if not,
soon after crossing it, they would find buffalo. Hereabouts near
the Missouri, there were but few, chiefly bulls. Further south,
between the Musselshell and the Yellowstone, scouts had reported
great numbers of buffalo. That evening, Last Bull, Iron Shirt,
and Fox Eye, Jackson and Little Plume, all came to the lodge, and
they had a feast; and after all had eaten, there was much general
conversation, but no formal speeches. Much of the conversation was
in the Piegan tongue, which Jack as yet could hardly understand,
but Jackson talked much to him in English, and told some
entertaining stories. Among them was one of an adventure that he
had had a year or two before, only a short distance from where they
were now, and which had in it something of humor, and a little of
danger. Jackson said:

"In the fall of 1879, Paul Sandusky, Jo Hamilton and I built our
winter quarters on Flat Willow Creek, about twenty miles east of
the Snowy Mountains. The country was then still infested with
roving war parties from the different tribes, some coming from
Sitting Bull's camp on the Big Bend of Milk River.

"As we intended to do some trading with the friendly tribes,
especially the Crows and Blackfeet, we built commodious quarters,
consisting of two buildings facing each other and about forty feet
apart, and containing altogether five rooms. Joining on to the
'Fort'--as we called it--we constructed a high stockade corral for
the horses.

"Game of all kinds was very plenty, and bands of elk and antelope
could be seen almost daily within a mile or so of our place. Glad
to have company, we gave free quarters to all hunters and trappers
who cared to stop with us, and by March 1 we numbered eleven men,
including our cook, 'Nigger Andy.'

"A few hundred yards below our fort a little creek, which we named
Beaver Castor, joined the Flat Willow. For some miles above its
mouth it flowed through a deep cut in the prairie, bordered with
sage brush and willows. At its junction with the Flat Willow, in
the V formed by the two creeks, was quite a high butte. It sloped
up very gently from the Flat Willow side, but was almost a cut bank
on the Beaver Castor side.

"This butte was our watch tower. From its summit we could see miles
and miles of the surrounding country.

"One morning in March most of the men went out antelope hunting,
leaving four of us in camp--Jo Healy, laid up with rheumatism;
Harry Morgan, the herder; the cook and myself. About ten o'clock
this morning I concluded to take a hunt, and before catching up a
horse I climbed the butte to see if I could spy a band of elk or
antelope near by. As soon as I reached the summit I saw some moving
forms on the prairie not far off, near Beaver Castor, and adjusting
my glass, I found that they were a large war party of Indians
afoot. They also saw me, for I saw several of them stop and level
their telescope at me. I took pains to let them know I was not an
Indian, for I strutted about with long strides and faced them with
arms akimbo. Finally, as they came close, I backed down from the
summit, very slowly, and placing a buffalo chip on top of a bush,
so as to make them think I was still watching them, I dashed for
the fort.

"I found that the horse-herder had caught up an animal and gone
out hunting; so grabbing a lariat I ran out to drive in the band,
which was grazing nearly a mile from the house. I went down as
fast as I could run, but found that I couldn't get within roping
distance of a single animal. They had been in the corral all night
as usual, and in spite of my efforts they kept straggling and
feeding along, and every minute I expected the war party to swoop
down on me. However, I finally got them home and into the corral,
and, my clothing wet with perspiration, I sat down to get my wind.

"In the meantime Andy had not been idle. He had placed all our
spare arms and ammunition by the loopholes, had dragged Healy,
bed and all, to a place of vantage, where he could shoot without
hurting his rheumatic legs, and had then gone on preparing our
dinner. So we waited and watched, expecting every minute to be
attacked. But no Indians came. We had our dinner, and as the
afternoon passed the boys kept straggling in by ones and twos,
until by five all were home. None of them had seen any Indians.

"Finally I proposed that two or three of us get our horses and make
a reconnoissance.

"'We don't want no horses,' said Sagebrush Charlie, 'just you and
me go up on the butte and take a look from there.'

"I didn't like the proposition, for I surmised that the war party
were concealed in the brush on Beaver Castor, probably near the
butte. But on the other hand I didn't care to be bluffed, so I went
with him.

"As we neared the top of the butte we proceeded very cautiously,
moving only a step at a time. Only a few yards more and we would
have reached the summit, when we saw that an Indian on the
opposite side of the butte was looking at us. We could see nothing
of him but his head, and of course he could see only our heads.
Thus we stood facing each other for what to me seemed a long
time. 'Shall we shoot?' asked Sagebrush. 'No,' I replied. 'If we
advance to shoot he will have the best of it, and if he advances
we will have the edge on him.' So we continued to stare at him.
After a while I saw that the Indian was beginning to back down
out of sight, so I did the same. I made only a step and he had
disappeared, but I kept backing away, watching the top of the
butte, with rifle cocked ready to shoot in an instant. When half
way down I turned to run and saw Sagebrush just disappearing around
the corner of the fort. Until then I had supposed that he was at
my side. So calling him some names I fairly flew down the hill,
expecting every minute to have a shower of bullets about my ears.
But I too reached the fort without any sign from the enemy.

"When I got inside I found the boys joking Sagebrush about leaving
me, and seeing that he was ashamed of himself I said nothing to
him, although I was quite angry.

"As soon as it was dark we put on a double guard, and kept
ourselves in readiness for an attack. Late in the evening we
concluded that the Indians would make a daylight raid on us, so we
arranged about guard duty and slept by turns. However, we heard
nothing of our dusky friends, and at six o'clock the cook called
breakfast as usual. The horses had now been in the corral nearly
twenty-four hours and were very hungry, so four of us saddled up
and went out to make a big circle and find out if our friends had
left us. We went down Flat Willow a mile or more, then swung up
onto the prairie, crossed Beaver Castor and headed home, but could
see no Indian signs. Finally we went up on top of the butte, where
Sagebrush and I had seen the Indian the night before. There in the
loose shale we found his tracks, and saw that after backing down
a little ways he had, like us, turned and run by mighty leaps to
the bottom. There we found a great number of tracks and a lot of
moccasins, some meat, etc., and following the trail we found that
the Indians had crossed Beaver Castor and gone up on the prairie,
where in the thick dry grass we lost all traces of them, and
concluding that they had left we went home and turned the horses
out to feed, with a herder and one other man to herd them.

"After dinner, perhaps two or three o'clock, we saw a person on
foot come down to the creek from the prairie, about half a mile
below the house. I went down to see who it was, and found to my
surprise that it was a lone Indian woman, and as soon as I came
up to her she began to talk to me in a language which I at once
knew to be Nez Percés, but which I could not understand. I replied
to her in Sioux, and found that she understood and could speak a
little of that tongue, and by piecing it out with signs we got
along very well. I told her to go up to the fort with me and get
something to eat, and afterward she could tell us her story. When
we reached the place the boys all crowded around and stared at her,
and asked all sorts of questions, but I told them to wait, and we
would hear what she had to say.

"The woman didn't seem to be at all embarrassed. She sat at the
table and calmly and slowly ate the food the cook set before her,
not heeding the ten or eleven pairs of eyes that were intently
watching her. After she had finished eating I asked her to tell us
where she had come from, where she was going and all about herself,
and I interpreted her tale, sentence by sentence, to the boys. She
said: 'I came from Sitting Bull's camp on Milk River, where some
of my people, Nez Percés, are living with the Sioux. Two years
ago, my son went with some Sioux and Nez Percés to war against the
Crows. They had a big fight on the Yellowstone, and it was supposed
that my son was killed. But not long ago I heard that the Crows
had captured my boy, and that he is still living and in the Crow
camp. Having no relatives and no husband, I made up my mind to go
and live with my son, and started out; this is the twenty-third day
since I left Milk River. I have been starved most of the time and
am very tired.'

"'Hush!' said one of the boys, 'That's too durned thin. I move that
we hang her right now.'

"At this, every one began to talk at once. Some said she was a spy,
others that she was all right.

"Finally I said to her, 'The boys, some of them, think you are not
telling the truth. Yesterday a big war party was here, and they
think you belong to that outfit.'

"'How they lie,' she interposed. 'I haven't seen an Indian since I
left Milk River.'

"'That may be,' I replied, 'you cannot blame the boys for being
a little suspicious. However, they will not harm you. You are as
safe here as you would be among your own people. Just as soon as
this snow goes, one of our men will start for the Yellowstone with
a four-horse team after some provisions, and you can go with him.
From there it is only a short distance to the Crow camp. In the
meantime you can stay with us here and rest up. Throw off your robe
and make yourself at home.'

"'I like what you say,' she replied, 'but I am afraid of all these
men. Let me stay close by you.'

"Wherever I went that afternoon she followed me, and when it came
time to turn in I made her a bed of buffalo robes behind the
counter. Some of the boys spread down in the room and others in the
cook house.

"'I don't like this,' the woman said to me. 'I am afraid to sleep
there; let me make my bed down beside yours.'

"'Don't fear,' I replied, 'no harm will come to you. No one in this
place cares for you or wishes to harm you.'

"'Well, then,' she said, 'if that is so I will step out a minute
and then go to bed.'

"Now the door to this room was fastened from the inside, when we
wished it, by two wooden bars; outside we closed it merely by a
rawhide thong and pin. Some of us were always at home, and when
we all left this room we fastened the door with the thong to keep
the dogs and the cold air out. As the woman started to go out I
went up to the counter and took my six-shooter, intending to
follow her out, but quicker than a flash she darted through the
door, and closed and fastened it with the thong and pin. Of course
all the boys in the room made a rush, and two of us getting our
fingers between the door and the jamb gave a strong jerk, snapped
the fastening and we all ran out. The woman had disappeared in the
darkness, but we could still hear her footsteps as she ran toward
the brush. Suddenly she gave a peculiar kind of a whistle and from
all around in the brush she was answered by the hooting of owls. We
all rushed back into the fort, put out the lights and made ready
for an attack.

"After an hour or so the boys began to talk. 'I knowed,' said one,
'that she was a spy.'

"'Didn't I say to hang her,' exclaimed another. 'You fellers that
thought she was all right are sure soft.'

"We all sat up until long after daylight, and not until eight or
nine o'clock did any one turn in. But we were not attacked, nor did
we see the woman again.

"Several weeks afterward, when Hamilton went to the Yellowstone
after supplies, he learned that this woman had stopped at the
'Circle N' ranch and that they had lost one hundred and forty
horses."




CHAPTER V

BUFFALO HUNTING WITH THE BLACKFEET


Early next morning the camp was in motion, and they travelled south
all day, making a long march. Hugh left the pack horses in charge
of Fox Eye's people, who drove them along with their own, while
he and Jack and Joe joined the flankers, who marched off to one
side, and who killed a few antelope, a few bulls, and hunted out
the stream bottoms that they passed. Each day these hunters killed
just about fresh meat enough to support the camp, which as yet had
plenty of dried meat, so that there was no suffering. That night
Hugh told Jack that the next day they would strike the Musselshell,
and very likely buffalo, but if not, they would cross the river and
move on down toward the Yellowstone, where, on the Dry Fork, or
Porcupine, they would be sure to get what they wanted.

"We can't stop very long with these people, son," he said; "not
if we're going into the mountains, and going to work our way down
through them back to the ranch. Of course we've got lots of time,
but then we don't want to stay up here too long, and be rushed at
the last, so that we'll have to hurry along and make our horses
poor, and keep ourselves tired all the time. We can stop here for
a while and kill buffalo, and then we'll leave the people, and
strike west into the mountains."

The next night they camped on the Musselshell, and word was brought
that about twenty or twenty-five miles to the south buffalo were
plenty. Orders were given that from now on no one should kill
buffalo, and camp was moved a day's march still further south,
to the neighborhood of the herd. The next day a bunch of buffalo
was located in a place suitable for a surround. That night the
old crier, as usual, rode around through the camp, telling all
the people to get in their horses, to tie up their running horses
close, ordering the women to sharpen their knives, and the men to
whet their arrow-points, because the next day they were going to
chase buffalo. The following morning, very early, Jack heard him
shouting through the camp, calling to the people to "Get up! get
up!" It was still black night; the stars shone brilliantly in the
sky, the light of the fire showed through the lodge-skins, and
sparks were rising with the smoke, when Jack went out to saddle up
Pawnee. Hugh had had offers of buffalo runners from several of his
friends. Last Bull had asked him to ride the spotted horse that he
had several times used the year before, while Jackson had pressed
upon him a beautiful buckskin that he declared was the best buffalo
horse in the camp. The excitement which always precedes a buffalo
chase pervaded the camp, and every one seemed to be hurrying in the
performance of whatever task was at hand. It was still long before
daylight when Jack and Hugh, following the men who were starting
out, found at a little distance from the camp the group of hunters
who were being held there by the soldiers.

The sky was just becoming gray in the east when the soldiers
started off, and the hunters followed; and just after the sun had
risen, the halt was made behind a hill which hid the herd from
them. After a little pause, and a few low-voiced directions, horses
were changed, the line spread out, and at first going slowly, rode
up to the crest of the hill, pushed over it, and hurried down
toward the unfrightened buffalo. These were slow to see their
enemies, and the horsemen were close to them before the herd got
started. Jack held back Pawnee until the word came for the charge,
and even after that he still restrained him, not wishing him to run
too hard at first, for the horse was fat, and might lose his wind
if pushed at the start.

He gave no thought to the whereabouts of his friends; Joe and Hugh
would no doubt take care of themselves. Just before he overtook
the last of the bulls, however, he was aware of a man riding close
to him, and turning saw Billy Jackson, riding the little buckskin,
without a saddle, and carrying in his hands a bow and some arrows,
while he had a quiver on his back.

Jack laughed at him, and signed to him that he was armed with good
weapons, and Jackson nodded. A moment later they were mixed up
with the dust of the flying herd, and surrounded by buffalo, and
Jack bent his energies to killing a couple of cows. The bulls were
soon passed, and Pawnee, running free and easily, forged up to
the cows. Two fat ones were running just ahead of him, lumbering
heavily, and with their tongues out, yet getting over the ground
with surprising speed. He drew up alongside of one, and shot it,
and it turned a somersault; then touching Pawnee with his heel, he
was soon riding close to another, which also he killed by a single
shot. Then turning, he rode back to the last cow, and looked at
her. She was quite dead.

The task of butchering seemed rather a heavy one, but he went to
the cow first shot, and, with some trouble split her down the
belly, and then re-mounting, went back to the other cow, which he
treated in the same way. Then he sat down on the ground in the
shade of his horse, and waited.

An hour later the women and girls and children were seen coming
over the hills with their travois, and scattering out to look at
the dead buffalo, over many of which men who had returned were now
working. When Fox Eye's family came along, Jack spoke to the wife,
and made her understand that these two were his buffalo, and with
two of the other women she set about skinning and cutting them up.

That night in the lodge, as they were getting ready for bed, Hugh
said to Jack, "Son, have you ever been through this country before?
Do you see anything that you recognize?"

"Why yes, Hugh, of course, we came through it last year when we
were coming north, but I haven't seen anything to-day that I knew."

"Well," said Hugh, "I'm not very much surprised at that, but right
along here somewhere is where we passed last year, the second or
third day after we crossed the Yellowstone River, coming north.
Now, I ain't never forgot that sheep's head that we left up in the
tree down there. As I told you then, it's a better head than most,
and likely a better one than you'll ever kill again, and I was
thinking that it wouldn't be a bad idea for you and me to ride down
there and get it. We can go in a day, and come back in another, and
we can easily enough carry the head with us, and take it back to
the ranch. What do you say?"

"Why, sure Hugh;" said Jack, "I'd like to do that mighty well. I've
always felt sorry that we lost that sheep head, and felt that I
wanted it to take back east. I never thought of our getting it this
year; in fact I never expected to see it again. I'd like very much
to get it, if you feel like it."

"Well, say we do it. We can start to-morrow or next day; the
Indians'll be here now two or three days at least, killing and
drying meat, and we can easily enough go there, and come back and
catch them before they leave these parts. You and I can go alone,
or we can take Joe; or if you like, we can ask anybody else that we
want to go down there with us. It'll be a nice little trip."

So it was arranged that within a day or two they should start for
the Yellowstone River, to get the sheep's head.

It was the second day after that they finally got away. Joe wanted
to go with them, and when they told Jackson what they intended
doing, he said that he too would like to go. This made a party
of four capable men, to whom no danger could come. They took a
couple of pack horses, to carry their bedding and provisions, but
no shelter, for the weather was bright and dry, and there seemed
no prospect of rain. On their way to the Yellowstone they rode
constantly through buffalo and antelope, tame and unsuspicious, and
just moving aside from the track of the travellers as they passed
along. That night they camped on the little stream just where Jack
had killed the sheep, and reaching camp before sundown, Hugh and
Jack rode up the stream to the tree where the sheep's head had been
placed, took it down and brought it to camp. The ashes of the fire
of the year before, and the bones of the sheep from which they had
cut the meat called up old memories. Even the places where the
lines had been tied for drying the meat were remembered.

Jack was glad enough to get this head again. As Hugh had said, it
was a very fine one. The great horns swung around in more than a
complete curve, and although near the base they were more or less
bruised and battered by the battles the old ram had fought, the
tips of the horns were very nearly perfect. The skin of the head
and neck had been picked by the birds and bleached by the weather,
and Hugh said; "I'm not sure that it will do to use in covering
the skull, son; but even if it is too hard and sunburned to make
anything out of, I'd take it along. If we get another good ram on
the trip you can take his scalp; but if we don't, maybe the man
that puts up your head can make something out of this."

The next morning before starting back, they rode down to the
Yellowstone River, and looked up and down the valley. There were
some buffalo here too, and a few elk; but there was nothing to
keep them, and they turned about and returned to the Piegan camp,
which they reached that night.

For some days longer the camp remained here, killing buffalo and
drying the meat. Then they moved east, one day's journey, to
another little stream, and again hunted from here. By this time
many buffalo had been killed, and many robes made. The parfleches
were full of dried meat and back fat; and now presently the chiefs
began to consult as to whether they should not go north again to
the neighborhood of the mountains, for the women wished to gather
roots and berries for the winter.

One evening when Jack came in from the hunt he saw a great crowd
of people, men, women and children, gathered just outside of
the circle. They seemed to be having a good time, for shouts of
laughter and shrill screams from the women told that something was
happening which amused them all.

Riding up to the edge of the crowd, Jack saw in the midst of it a
little buffalo calf, standing there with its head down and tail in
the air, facing with very determined attitude two or three small
boys who were trying to approach and get hold of it. Every now and
then one of the little fellows would get up his courage and venture
close to the calf's head, when the calf would charge him and the
boy would jump out of the way; but just as Jack came to a place
where he could see, one of the boys went slowly forward toward
the calf, and just as the calf began to charge, one of the boy's
companions gave him a push forward, so that instead of dodging the
calf he met its charge, and was knocked sprawling on the ground.
Then everybody screamed with laughter, and the boy scrambled out of
the way as fast as he could.

At one side of the ring of people, Jackson was standing, evidently
much amused at what was going on. Jack called out to him, "What are
they doing, Billy?"

"Why, I roped this calf to-day and brought him in to try to take
him back to the river, where there are some cows, and raise him,
but some of these small boys got bothering and teasing him, and
I told them if they didn't let him alone I'd turn him loose, and
let him take care of himself, and now it seems to me he's doing it
pretty well; he's knocked a half dozen of 'em out of time already,
and once in a while, if he gets real mad, he charges into the
crowd, and I tell you they scatter."

The fun went on for a little while longer, and then Jackson, after
speaking to the people, put a rope about the calf's neck, and with
the assistance of two young men, dragged it away to his lodge,
where it was picketed to a stake firmly driven into the ground.

That night, Joe said to Jack, "Say, Jack, do you want to see some
fun to-morrow?"

"Of course I do," said Jack. "I always want to be around when
there's any fun going on."

"Well," said Joe, "there's going to be some fun to-morrow; at least
I think there is. Some of the young men have been making fun of
Eagle Ribs; they say that there's something he dare not do; to
jump from his horse to the back of a bull, and ride it. When they
said that, Eagle Ribs said, 'Why do you talk about doing that?
You should talk about something that is really dangerous. I should
not be afraid to jump on a bull's back and ride him; but it's too
easy; I do not care to do little things like that. It would be a
trouble to me, and could not do any one any good.' The others kept
teasing him, and making fun of him, and at last, after they had
bothered him a good deal, Eagle Ribs said, 'It will be a little
trouble to do this, but if you want to see me I will do it. I will
ride a bull; the fastest and strongest that I can choose. Watch me
to-morrow, and see whether I do it or not.' So to-morrow we're all
going together, to see whether Eagle Ribs will ride the bull."

"But isn't there danger that the bull will throw him off, and catch
him and kill him?"

"No," said Joe, "I guess he can stick to it; or, if he can't do
that, why he'll have to be quick on his feet if the bull does throw
him; they can't turn very quickly, you know, and Eagle Ribs, if
he's smart, can get around and keep out of the way of his horns.
Besides that, there'll be a lot of us there, and we can tease the
bull, and get him to chase us, if Eagle Ribs should be in any
danger."

"Well," said Jack, "it's going to be a regular circus, I guess, and
I'll have to be there."

"Yes," said Joe, "you want to be there if you can; and a lot of us
young fellows are going to keep pretty close together, and I think
we'll have a real good time, even if we don't kill any buffalo. The
camp has got about all the meat now it wants, anyhow."

The next morning before the chase began, Jack and Joe found
themselves among a lot of boys about their own age, many of whom
were making fun of and teasing Eagle Ribs. When the chase started
the boys did not ride as usual to try to catch cows, but instead of
that singled out some old bulls that made up the rear of the herd,
and turned them off on to the prairie.

Then they all began to whoop and yell, and call out Eagle Ribs'
name, and say to him, "Now is the time to show us what you can do.
Here is your horse; now ride him." Eagle Ribs was riding a good
horse, and at once accepted the challenge. He pressed the animal
close up to a bull, and when he was so near that his horse's side
almost touched the buffalo's side, he reached far forward, grasped
the long hair on the buffalo's hump, and threw himself from his
horse onto the bull's back. The bull was frightened, and for a few
minutes it ran faster than all the horses; and then forgetting that
it was being chased, and only anxious to get rid of the terrible
burden that it was carrying, it stopped, and began to plunge and
buck, and skip around, and acted as if it were a calf instead of a
huge old bull. Eagle Ribs clung to it with both hands, and with his
legs, but the bull jumped so high, and came down so hard, that two
or three times he was shaken from his seat. The boys all about him
were shouting with laughter, some of them calling out encouraging
words to the bull, and some to the rider.

  [Illustration: "HE REACHED FAR FORWARD, AND GRASPED THE LONG HAIR
  ON THE BUFFALO'S HUMP."--_Page 82._]

The bull seemed very strong, and for a long time did not get tired,
and two or three times Jack feared that the boy would be thrown
from his back. Presently, however, the bull stopped, and stood
with his head down, glaring at the horsemen about him, as if he
wanted to fight. Now the boys began to ask Eagle Ribs why he had
stopped; why he did not ride further; and one of them threw his
quirt to him, telling him that he should use this to make his horse
go better. Others ran their horses close by, in front of the bull,
trying to make him charge. Toward one of these horses he rushed
furiously, and as he did so, Eagle Ribs slipped from his back and
ran away in the opposite direction, and got behind a horse ridden
by one of the boys. Jack rode up to him, and signed to him to get
on behind him, and then they went back to where Eagle Ribs' horse
was feeding, and he mounted him. Meantime, the bull had run on, and
some of the boys had killed him.

The next evening the old crier rode about the camp, shouting out
the orders of the chiefs; telling the people that the next day,
early, the camp would move back to the great river.

On the evening of that day Jack was awakened by a shot in the camp,
and then another, and then a rush of people, followed by a swift
pounding of horses' hoofs on the prairie. He scrambled from his
bed, put on his moccasins, and seizing his gun and cartridge belt,
rushed out-of-doors. Joe was standing in front of the lodge, having
just come out, and Jack asked him what was the matter. "I don't
know sure," said Joe, "only horses have been stolen."

"Well," said Jack, "why don't they go after the thieves?"

"Oh," said Joe, "that would not do; that is too dangerous. Suppose
we were to run out onto the prairie, chasing the thieves, they
could stop behind any sage brush, or the edge of any hill, and
shoot us as we came up to them, before we could see them. We'll
have to wait until to-morrow, until it gets light, and then take
good horses and try to catch them."

The whole camp was now thoroughly awake, and the fires were made
up in every lodge, while people went about visiting each other,
and trying to find out what the extent of the loss had been. It
appeared that only three good horses had been taken; but more would
have been stolen if it had not happened that a man coming back
late from a gambling game, and seeing somebody cutting the rope of
a horse in front of his lodge, had shot at him with a pistol that
he carried. The enemy threw himself on the horse and rode swiftly
away, and at the sound of the shot a half dozen men rushed from
their lodges and fired at the retreating sound.

It was several hours before the camp quieted down again, and before
daylight next morning forty or fifty men on good horses were
prepared to follow the trail, and try to overtake the thieves.
Both Jack and Joe wished to accompany the pursuing party, but Hugh
advised them not to. He said, "If we had come up here to spend the
summer with these people, maybe there'd be no harm in your going
off, but now in the course of a few days we're going to leave them
and go into the mountains, and if you run your horses down, or if
either of you should get hurt, why it might spoil our whole trip
back to the ranch. These Indians ain't likely to overtake those
fellows, and 'twill just be a long hard ride for nothing. We'd
better stop at the camp for two or three days more, and then strike
out for the mountains, just as we intended to, and go on down
there and see that place they used to call Colter's Hell, and then
go on down through it, and back to the ranch." The boys, rather
unwillingly, agreed to do this.

Three days later the Piegan village was once more camped not far
from the Judith Mountains, and all the pursuing warriors had
returned, not having overtaken their enemies. Dire were the threats
that they made against the Crows who had stolen the horses, and a
number of war parties were made up to go south and make reprisals
on that tribe.




CHAPTER VI

AMID WONDERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE PARK


It was toward the middle of August that Hugh and Jack and Joe, with
their little pack train, started southwest, to strike the Carroll
Road, to go to the place once known as Colter's Hell, and now as
the Yellowstone Park. Their animals carried only their provisions,
messkit and bedding, and a skin lodge which Hugh had purchased
from Fox Eye's wife. Their way led them through the beautiful
Gallatin Valley, crossing the surveyed line of the Northern Pacific
railroad, then being built westward, and then over the mountains
to the valley of the Yellowstone, which they followed up to the
cañon. Before they reached the Gallatin Valley they had seen plenty
of buffalo, and had killed one for fresh meat, while in the Valley
there were many antelope. In the Bridger Mountains, by which they
passed, elk and deer were abundant; and one morning in the trail
which they followed were seen the tracks of an enormous bear and
two small cubs.

In the mountain streams which they crossed, trout were abundant,
and they greatly enjoyed the delicious fish which were so easily
caught.

A wagon road had been built through the cañon into the Yellowstone
Park, and here a number of white people were travelling back and
forth, and wagons were hauling material for hotels and other
buildings that were to be put up near the Mammoth Hot Springs. They
reached these one night, and spent the next day wandering about
them, marveling at the floods of hot water which poured over the
many tiny falls, and deposited the lime which had built up the
terraces of what the people there called "the formations." From an
old German, Jack purchased three or four articles: a horse shoe, a
nail, and the twig of a tree which had been suspended in the water
until coated with a beautiful white covering of lime.

The next day they climbed the hill to the right and came into
a level park-like country, which they followed south. It was a
picturesque region, with grand mountains showing on every hand, yet
nearby, a green level meadow, spangled with wild flowers, and a
little further back dotted with clumps of pines and spruces, which
were very beautiful.

At every step there was something new to be seen: new birds,
new animals, and new scenery. The trail led up a fork of the
Gardiner River, and then, crossing over, struck one of the heads
of the Gibbon River, down which they passed, and then suddenly
found themselves in a country of hot springs, which steamed, and
sometimes threw up boiling water to a considerable height. This was
the recently discovered Norris Geyser Basin, and here they camped,
and spent the day walking about among the hot springs, which at
first were very awe-inspiring. In many of them there were old tree
trunks and branches of trees, which, when taken out and examined,
seemed to be partly turned to stone. Fine particles of a flinty
material seemed to have penetrated all the pores of the wood, and
while the branches were not hard, the woody matter in them seemed
gradually to be changing to stone. As they sat eating their supper
that night, Hugh said to Jack, "Well, son, I don't wonder that the
mountain men in old times used to call this Colter's Hell. It is
surely a place where the flames down below seem to be mighty close
to the surface of the earth."

"It makes me afraid," said Joe.

"Well," said Jack, "it does me too a little. This morning I was
afraid pretty nearly every minute that I'd fall through the ground
and get into hot water below."

The next morning they moved camp, and rode over toward the river
intending to look at the Grand cañon, and the wonderful falls of
which they had heard.

Although the Yellowstone Park had been known for more than ten
years, few people had as yet visited it. Nevertheless, they saw
a number of visitors, some travelling with teams, and some with
pack trains, and altogether the Park seemed quite a bustling
place. That night they camped on the head of Alum Creek, and the
next day, leaving their pack horses picketed and hobbled at the
camp, rode over to see the falls. They rode first down toward the
river, passing the Sulphur Mountain, a great barren hill, full of
hot springs and sulphur vents, about which much sulphur had been
deposited. Many fragments of the bright yellow mineral were strewn
on the ground, and at one place Hugh noticed where two or three
grass blades had fallen across one of the vents' and calling the
boys' attention to this, they all dismounted to look at it. About
these blades of grass, and on their slender heads, most delicate
and beautiful crystals of sulphur had collected. These were so
fragile that a little motion made them loose their hold, and drop
from the grass, or else break, so that it was impossible to carry
them away. Near here, at the foot of the hill, was a large spring,
six or eight feet in diameter, and boiling violently. The water
was sometimes thrown up eight or ten feet high, not in jets, but
seemingly by impulses from the center of the pool, so that the
spray was sent outward in all directions.

They then followed down the river for two or three miles. It was a
broad stream, swiftly-rushing yet smooth, and nowhere interrupted
by rocks or rapids until the upper falls were almost reached. Here
were short rough rapids and then the tremendous falls. The great
mass of dark water glided rather than plunged into the depths
below, and just below the crest of the cataract was broken into
white foam, which, further down changed to spray. The falls are
162 feet high, and clouds of white vapor constantly rose from the
water below, and hid the view. Looking down the stream, they had a
glimpse of the wonderful cañon below.

The roar of the falls was so tremendous that conversation was
impossible, and nothing was said; but presently they left the upper
falls and rode on north to the lower one. Here was repeated the
marvelous impression which they got from this tremendous body of
water falling 150 feet sheer to the great basin below, and from
under the mist cloud that hid the foot of the fall came out the
narrow green ribbon of the river, winding and twisting, hardly to
be recognized as a river, dwarfed by distance, and creeping with a
slow oily current. On either side the stream rose the walls of the
cañon, five or six hundred feet to the pine-fringed margin above.

Looking down the stream, Jack saw a cañon a thousand feet deep, and
perhaps twice as wide, extending for miles to the northward. Its
sides were curiously sculptured and carved into fantastic forms. In
one place a vertical cliff supported lofty cones of rock, ranged
side by side upon the same horizontal ledge along its face. Again,
a narrow buttress arose from the river's level in a series of
pinnacles and turrets overtopping one another, until the summit of
the cañon wall was reached. At one place that wall was so nearly
perpendicular that it seemed as though a stone dropped from the
edge of the cliff would fall at once into the water of the river.
In another, the decomposing rock had been eaten away above until
a talus of fallen rock and earth arose in a steep slope half way
to the top. But to Jack's mind the glory of the cañon was in its
color. The walls glowed with a vivid intense radiance which is
not less wonderful than beautiful. Browns and reds and pinks and
yellows, and delicate grays and pure whites had painted these hard
rocks with a wealth of coloring hardly to be described in words.
In the sun the cañon walls shone with brilliancy. When the clouds
passed over the sky they grew duller and softer, but were hardly
less beautiful. Down close to the river were the most vivid greens,
and in the mist which rose from the foot of the fall were seen,
when the sun was shining, all the hues of the rainbow.

The travellers sat long watching this wonderful sight, and then
pushing along the margin of the cañon, below the falls, walked out
on a projecting point of rock, and looked up and down the river.
The more they gazed, the more wonderful it seemed, the harder to
take it all in, and the harder to put into words.

On a pinnacle of rock, rising from the end of the point on which
they had walked, was a great nest, in which the boys noticed two
large and downy young birds. Flying up and down over the river,
sometimes low over the water, again far above the heads of those
who stood on the edge of the cañon, were great hawks--eagles,
Hugh afterward said they were, but Jack recognized them as
fish-hawks--and while they were standing there, one of these great
birds brought a fish to the nest, and tearing it to pieces with its
beak, gave the fragments to its greedy young. Jack noticed, also,
little sparrow-hawks flying about the edge of the cañon, and, far
below at the edge of the river, saw little birds flying from point
to point, which he thought must be dippers.

The whole day was spent here, for no one seemed to wish to return
to the camp; but at last, as the sun swung low, and the pangs
of hunger began to be felt, they returned to their horses, and
mounting them, were soon at camp once more.

The next morning they set out up the river to go to the lake. On
the way they passed two well known places. The Mud Volcano, a huge
hot spring of gray clay, which steamed, and bubbled, and thumped,
and sometimes spouted, throwing up its mud to a great height. Jack
in his mind compared the boiling mud to mush boiling in a kettle,
but as this pool of mud was fifty feet in diameter, the comparison
was not a good one. All about, the trees were splashed with mud,
which had dried on them, showing that at some time, not long
before, there had been an eruption. Nearby, on the hillside, was
a steam spring in a little cavern, which they had heard of as the
Devil's Workshop. From this cavern came constantly great volumes
of steam, while within it were heard hollow bubbling noises, which
sounded like the clang and clash of great pieces of machinery
turning. It was a mysterious place, and neither one of the three
cared to go very close to it. There were boiling springs and
sulphur vents hereabout in great plenty, and the place seemed an
uncanny one.

The way to the lake was attractive: it led through forests,
sometimes of living green, and at others killed by fire.
Occasionally they passed through pretty grassy meadows, and from
them had charming views of the river, which grew wider as they
approached the lake, and seemed to spread out over wide flats.
To the right the mountains rose sharply, forming the "Elephant's
Back," a thousand feet in height.

Presently they came to a broad opening, and saw before them the
lake. At the outlet the grass grew thick and rank, and in the
marshes, pond-holes and sloughs here, they saw many flocks of wild
ducks and geese; and sand-pipers and beach birds fed along the
shore. Some swans were seen, and a few great white pelicans.

Their fresh meat was now exhausted, and for a day or two they had
been living on trout, of which great numbers were caught in the
streams that they had crossed, for fish are abundant everywhere in
the mountains. When they made camp that night, Jack got out his
line, and cutting a pole, went down to the shore to catch some
fish, while Hugh and Joe made the fire.

Jack had hardly thrown his hook in the water when it was seized,
and he dragged a large fish to shore. As he was taking it off the
hook however, he noticed a bunch on its side, and after examining
it for a moment, cut into this bunch with his knife, and drew from
it a long white worm. He got a dozen trout, but all of them seemed
to be afflicted with this parasite, and finally putting up his line
he carried them to the fire, and showed them to Hugh. Both Hugh and
Jack agreed that these fish were not fit to eat, and that night
they supped on dried meat and back-fat.

As they had made camp that night they had noticed, just beyond
them, two white tents, and had seen some horses feeding near the
lake shore. Shortly after their supper, a man walked into the camp,
and after saluting them, sat down by the fire. A little talk showed
that he was a member of the geological survey that worked in the
Park, and he had been attracted to their camp by the fact that
they had an Indian lodge. He was a pleasant man, and seemed quite
willing to talk, and to answer all their questions, and very much
interested in his work. After he and Hugh had talked together for
a while, Jack ventured to ask some questions about the Park, and
especially about the place where they now were. "Won't you tell me,
sir," he said, "what you can about this big lake that we are on.
It looks to me awful big to be up here high in the mountains. Of
course I know it isn't anything like the Great Lakes; still it's
the largest lake I ever saw."

"It is a large lake," said their visitor, "for it contains about
150 square miles of water, and there is probably no lake in North
America of equal size at so great an elevation. You see, we are
about 7700 feet above the level of the sea. Roughly speaking, the
shape of the lake is like that of an open hand which lacks the
first and middle finger; the wrist is the northern end of the lake,
the west arm answers to the outstretched thumb, and the south and
southeast arms to the ring and little finger. If you are going to
travel around it, you will feel that it is a lovely sheet of water.
It is very picturesque, and in fair weather it lies here like a
great sapphire beneath the unclouded sky. But when the storms come
up, and the wind rolls down along the mountain sides, the lake can
get up a great sea, and one would not care to be out on it. But in
fair weather it is very beautiful--to me the loveliest spot in all
the park. And what is more, I never get tired of it; the more I see
it, and the more familiar I become with its scenery, the lovelier
it is. From every promontory and every bay, and from every
hillside above it, one has always a different view, and each view
has a charm that is all its own."

The geologist sat there long with them that night, talking to them
in a most interesting way about the Park and the geysers and the
cañons. He told them that all this country was volcanic in origin,
and that for some reason or other, which he did not know, the heat
still remained close to the surface of the earth; and that this was
the reason that there were so many hot springs and geysers here.

"It's one of the most interesting regions in the world," he said,
"and one of the most beautiful. As yet, people do not appreciate
it. Many people do not even know that it exists; but the time
will come when thousands will gather here each summer, from all
quarters of the world, to see its beauties. Geologically, it is
most interesting, and already geologists from all over the world
are coming to see it, or are making plans to come. I predict that
the time is coming when the Yellowstone Park will be acknowledged
to be the most wonderful place in the world."

As the visitor rose to go, he looked about the lodge and said,
"So this is an Indian lodge, is it? I've often read about them,
but this is the first one I've ever seen. They seem warm and
comfortable, but are they not rather smoky?"

"No," said Hugh, "they're not smoky; but you must remember they're
not made to stand up in; people in the lodge are expected to sit
down, or to lie down. If there's a fire burning, and no wind
blowing, or if the air is damp and heavy, smoke often gathers in
the top of the lodge, and a man standing in it finds about his
head more than he likes. Stoop down a little bit and you will see
that the smoke no longer troubles you." The geologist did as Hugh
advised, and seemed to be greatly interested by the discovery that
it was as he had said; and then bidding them good night, he left
the lodge.




CHAPTER VII

GEYSERS AND HOT SPRINGS


They were afoot before the sun had arisen next morning, and the
outlook over the lake was beautiful. Away to the east and south
were many mountain peaks, the names of which they did not know; but
all grand and majestic, and far away to the south was one larger
than any of the others, and covered with snow. As Jack looked at
them, he saw these snowy crowns take on a glow of pink, and then
grow brighter and brighter, and then could see the sunlight creep
down the sides of the mountains, and finally it was broad day. The
islands in the lake interested him, and he thought them beautiful.

As they passed the geologist's camp, they saw him standing with his
back to the fire, and he called out good morning to them; then,
signing to Hugh to draw near, he said, "Excuse me for asking you,
but I suppose you have been to the Upper and Lower Geyser Basins?"

"Well," said Hugh, "we've been to one geyser basin; that one on the
way to the falls, but that's the only one we've seen."

"Well," said the geologist, "of course you know your own affairs
best, but it seems to me you will make a great mistake if you do
not get to the Upper and Lower Geyser Basins, because it's there
that the most wonderful geysers are to be seen."

"Well," said Hugh, "we're travelling through here to see the
sights, and I'd be mightily obliged to you if you'd tell me what
we'd better do. We are strange to the country, and don't know
anything about it."

"I shall be very glad to help you in any way that I can," said the
geologist, "and you certainly should not miss the geyser basins.
You can follow the trail along the lake here for about twenty
miles, and then turn to your right, at the end of the Thumb, and
strike northwest across through the timber, to the streams running
into the Firehole River, and follow them down, and that will take
you to the Lower Geyser Basin; then from there you must travel
up the Firehole to the Upper Geyser Basin. Then, if you want to,
you can cross over to Shoshone and Lewis Lakes, and go on south,
following Snake River, to Jackson's Lake. From there you can go
wherever you please, but if you choose to follow up Pacific Creek,
and pass through Two Ocean Pass, that will bring you back on the
upper Yellowstone, and then you can come down to the lake again."

"Well," said Hugh, "we want to go south, and to get down on the
streams that run into the Platte. I reckon we might as well go
down to Jackson's Lake the way you say, and then strike across the
country, over into the Wind River drainage, and then over onto the
Platte."

"Yes, I guess that is one very good way to go if you know the way
across the range," said their friend.

"Well," said Hugh, as he started on, "we'll try to find a way, and
anyhow we're mightily obliged to you for telling us about those two
geyser basins, and we'll sure see them before we go south;" and
saying goodbye to their acquaintance, they rode on.

A few miles further along the trail, they came to a natural bridge,
spanning a brook which now carried little water, but showed that
in the spring it was much larger. The stream had burrowed its way
beneath a dike of lava, at right angles to its course, and was
bridged by a nearly perfect arch of rock, about six feet thick
above the keystone. From the top of the bridge on its lower side
to the bed of the stream is about sixty feet, and the bridge is
twenty-five feet long, and the arch fifteen feet in width. The lava
stands in upright layers, from one to four feet in thickness, and
seems to have separated into these thin plates in cooling.

Beyond the bridge, the dim trail which they followed led for the
most part through the pleasant green timber, but at midday they
passed over several hog-backs, from which the timber had long ago
been burned off, most of the tree trunks had rotted away, and only
a few charred fragments of the roots remained on the ground. No
young growth had sprung up to replace the old, and the ground was
bare: not merely bare of timber, but bare even of underbrush, weeds
and grass. Exposed for years to the full force of the weather, the
rains and melting snows had swept away all the rotted pine needles,
twigs and fallen branches which had formed the old forest floor and
soil, leaving only the fine lava sand and gravel, without any soil
to support vegetation. Dry, thirsty and desolate, these hog-backs
resembled the desert, a barren waste in the midst of the green pine
forest.

Hugh turned to Jack and said, "You see, son, what the forest fires
may do in these mountains. When the timber burns off, unless there
are seeds in the soil to spring up at once, the snow, melting
quickly, washes away the soil, and leaves the rock, whether it is
solid or broken up fine like this here, uncovered and without the
power to support anything. Every year the snow melting quickly
washes off a larger tract, and so these little deserts increase in
size. The time is coming, I am afraid, when these mountains will
all be burned over, and then what the ranchmen down on the prairie
are going to do for water for their hay meadows and their crops I
don't know."

"But, Hugh," said Jack, "aren't there laws forbidding people to set
the timber on fire?"

"Yes," said Hugh, "there's plenty of laws, but the trouble is
nobody pays any attention to them."

Toward evening they camped on the shores of the lake, at what Hugh
supposed was the Thumb, and he told the boys that the next day he
was going to start off northwest through the timber, and try to
strike the streams leading down to the Firehole.

Making an early start, they rode up the hill, following a deep
ravine through the cool green timber, over ground covered with
feathery moss, where the hoofs of the animals made no sound as they
struck the ground. Soon the lake was lost to view, and then, on
all sides of them rose the tall straight boles of the pine trees.
There seemed not very much life. A few small birds were seen in
the tops of the trees. Some gray jays gathered near them when they
stopped at midday to eat, and uttered soft mellow whistles, and two
came down very close to Jack and Joe, and picked up little bits of
dried meat that they threw to them.

Soon after they started on, they came to a stream, and following
that down, about three or four o'clock rode into the Lower Geyser
Basin.

Here was a large wet meadow, with green grass, and plenty of
good camping spots; and before long they had the lodge up, and
closing the door, started out to make a tour of the basin. The
many geysers, large and small, and the wonderful hot springs of
surpassing clearness and deep blue color astonished and delighted
Hugh and the boys. Many of the springs were very hot, seeming to
boil from beneath, bubbles of steam following one another to the
surface, and then exploding. One of these large springs, about
twenty-five feet long and more than half as wide, gave a vigorous
display, beginning first to boil at the middle, and then to spout;
at length throwing the water about in all directions, from twenty
to forty feet in height. The margins of all these geysers and hot
springs were beautifully ornamented with yellow gray and pinkish
deposits of stone, which took the form of beads and corals and
sponges, and all the tree trunks and branches seen in and near them
were partly turned to stone. Close to the geysers were what are
called the paint-pots. These are boiling pools of finely divided
clay of various colors. The air seemed to be forced up slowly
through the thick fluid, making little puffs, much like those
that one would see in a kettle of boiling indian meal. Some of
these paint-pots were very large, others small, and they were of
a variety of colors--some red, some white, some yellow, and some
softly gray. The clay was exceedingly smooth to the touch.

The Geyser Basin was long, and contained a great many wonderful
springs and geysers, of which some, like the Grotto, had built up
great craters for themselves, twelve or sixteen feet high.

The Grotto was at the end of the Lower Geyser Basin, and from here
they turned back to go to their camp. Much talk was had during the
evening of the wonderful things that they had seen, and of what
they expected to see in the morning.

An early start brought them to the Upper Geyser Basin not long
after the sun had risen. Not far from the Grotto which they had
seen last night was the Giant, with an enormous crater, from which
great volumes of steam were escaping, and where the water could be
heard boiling below the surface, and occasionally rising in great
jets which splashed over the top. They camped near at hand, and
turning out their horses, proceeded on foot to see Old Faithful,
the Bee-hive, the Giantess, the Grand, and many other large
geysers, besides many hot springs wonderful in color and in the
purity of their waters.

Just before they reached Old Faithful, the roar of its discharge
was heard, and its wonderful shaft of water was seen rising, by
two or three rapid leaps finally to a height of over one hundred
feet, with clouds of steam reaching far higher, and drifting off
with the wind. The great column of water maintained its height for
fully five minutes, and then, dropping by degrees, it sank down
and disappeared. All about the crater the naked shell of silica
which surrounds it was flooded with water, so hot that Jack and
Joe, who tested it with their fingers, shook them violently and at
once thrust them into their mouths. The crater of this geyser is
very beautiful. It stands on a little mound and is four or five
feet high, and its lips are rounded into many strange and beautiful
forms, beaded and shining like glistening pearls, while all about
it are little terraced pools of the clearest water, with scalloped
and beaded borders. The margins and floors of these pools are
tinted with most delicate shades, white, buff, brown and gray,
and in many of them are beautiful little pebbles, which are also
opalescent.

Many cruel hands had been at work breaking down these beautiful
borders, to carry them away, and people who had visited the place
had scrawled their names on the smooth pebbles and in the beautiful
flooring of the pools.

Hugh said to Jack, "Well, we come from the Indians, and we belong
in a cow camp; but we ain't low down enough to spoil pretty things
like these, by writing our names on 'em, are we, son?"

"No, Hugh, we're not," said Jack, "and I'm mighty glad of it. I
don't think anybody that had any love for pretty things would want
to spoil them in this way, or take any of this beautiful bordering
away with them. You get these pretty things away from their
surroundings, and they are not pretty any longer. It's like picking
a beautiful flower and carrying it away with you; before you've
got far, it's all faded and gone, and good for nothing except to
throw away."

During the day, which seemed to them all too short, the geysers
were good to them. The Bee-hive played, throwing up a slender shaft
of water to a height of about 200 feet; the Grand Geyser sent up a
stream eighty feet in height; the Castle played, but its exhibition
was not very showy compared with the others that they had seen. But
toward afternoon, the greatest of all the geysers, the Giantess,
gave an exhibition of her power, throwing up a vast quantity of
water, sometimes to a height of one hundred feet. While the geyser
was playing, Jack and Joe brought a large tree stump and threw it
into the basin, and it was instantly whirled to a height of 200
feet, looking at the last like a tiny piece of wood. The wind,
which was blowing, kept the steam and water from going nearly as
high as the stump went. The roar of the geyser was tremendous,
and its force shook the ground all about, so that those who were
looking on were almost afraid.

As they returned to camp that night they saw a party of tourists
moving about among the geysers, and passing near they could see
that they were busy with axes and a pick, cutting away and prying
out the borders of some of the geyser pools. It was an irritating
sight, but they could do nothing, and much of the way back to camp
was devoted to talking of the wickedness of destroying the beauties
of this place, and declaring that the government ought to do
something to protect the wonders of the region from the destruction
which constantly threatened them.

At night, after supper, they sat in the lodge talking about what
they should do to-morrow, and for the following days. Generally,
their idea was to travel in a southeasterly direction, and finally
to bring up at Mr. Sturgis' ranch; but just how they should go was
uncertain. Neither Jack nor Joe had ever before travelled in the
mountains, and they were therefore quite dependent on Hugh for
advice. Jack said, "Of course, Hugh, we want to get back to the
ranch, but then, too, we want to see as much as we can of what
there is in the mountains; but I suppose we'll have to travel
by some trail or some road, because we can't take the horses
everywhere."

"Well, that's so," said Hugh; "we can't go everywhere, but then
again, when you are travelling with a pack train there's mighty
few places where you can't go; you're mighty free and independent
when you're packing. Of course you can't take a pack train up a cut
cliff; but, on the other hand, the rough mountains and down timber
don't cut much figure; you can pretty much always go round, and
keep your general direction. You can go and come about as you want
to."

"Well," said Jack, "of course I never travelled before with a pack
train in the mountains, but I tell you I like it. It's a mighty
pretty sight to see the white packs winding in and out among the
timber, or to see them following one another along a narrow ridge,
or zigzaging up and down a steep hillside, as we've seen them since
we've been here in the Park."

"Yes," said Hugh, "it's a nice way to travel; of course it's a
little slower than a wagon, and it takes you some time to load and
unload; but then again you can often go straight, instead of going
a long way round, and I like it."

"I tell you," said Joe, "I like to watch these horses. I don't know
whether they've ever been in the mountains before, but it seems
to me they're smart. They seem to know a whole lot, and I notice
that when they're going along among the trees, sometimes I see a
horse start to go between two trees, where I think there isn't
room enough for the pack, but generally they get through. Then,
sometimes, going under branches it seems to me that the pack has
got to strike the branches, but the horses generally get under them
without touching. Of course if they follow old Baldy close, there
is always room enough; but now and then that dun horse tries to
cut off a corner, and get in ahead of one of the others, and then
sometimes I think he's bound to get caught. He only did so once,
day before yesterday, and then he went between two trees where
there wasn't room enough; then he pushed and pushed and pushed for
a long time, and I had to run round in front of him and drive him
back, and then he got out."

"Yes," said Hugh, "horses that are used to the mountains, or mules
or burros, get to be mighty smart in going through thick timber,
and if the packs are properly put on, there isn't likely to be much
trouble, unless you strike down timber. Of course, down timber is
bad."

"Well, what is down timber, Hugh?" said Jack. "I've heard of places
in the woods back east where a hurricane goes along and tears up
all the trees in a strip for miles in length. They call that a
wind-fall there. Is that the way down timber is made here?"

"No," said Hugh, "we've plenty of wind here, but it don't often
act that way. Down timber comes like this: say that you have a
rough and rocky mountain side, where the timber stands thick,
most of the trees will be from six to ten inches in diameter, but
they'll all be pretty near of a size. Now, suppose a fire passes
over this, and kills all these trees; likely it doesn't burn them
to amount to anything, but it's hot enough to sort o' cook the
sap, and kill the trees. They'll stand there naked, with the bark
gradually drying up and peeling off them, maybe for twenty, thirty
or forty years; and likely while they're standing there, there'll
be a new growth of young pines springing up among them, and grow to
quite a height. But after a while these dead trees get white and
weathered, and the dead roots that hold them in the ground keep on
rotting and rotting, and at last these roots become so weak that
there's nothing to support the tall trunk that stands there, and
then with every big wind that comes blowing along, some of the
trees get blown over, and fall to the ground. They don't all fall
at once, but some may fall to-day with a south wind, and some may
fall next week with a west wind, and some the week after with a
north wind. In this way they're falling all the time, and in all
sorts of directions, and presently the timber will lie piled up on
the ground there, criss-cross in all directions. Now, if the logs
are not more than a foot or two above the ground, and don't lie
too close together, you can take your train through them, but if
they lie three or four feet high, of course the horses can't step
or jump over them, and you've either got to go winding round among
them, picking out the low places where the animals can get across,
or else you've got to chop your way through, or else you've got to
back out and go round. That's down timber."

"But Hugh," said Jack, "I should think it would be kind of
dangerous to ride through one of those patches of dead timber when
the wind is blowing; they might fall on you."

"Well," said Hugh, "so they might. I've sometimes had to ride
through a patch of that timber when the trees were falling all
about, but I never happened to have one fall on me, nor on any
animal that I was driving. The chances are mighty few that you'll
get hit. I mind one time a big tree fell, with the top about twenty
feet from one of my animals, and threw dirt and splinters all about
him. The horse was scared a whole lot, and ran away; but of course
I got him again."




CHAPTER VIII

ACROSS THE CONTINENTAL DIVIDE


The next morning they made an early start, and following up the
Firehole, turned up a branch coming in from the east, only a
short distance beyond Old Faithful. They purposed to go over to
Shoshone Lake, and camp there, and to do this they must pass over
the Continental Divide, for the Firehole finds its way through the
Madison River, and the Missouri, to the Atlantic Ocean, while the
waters of the Shoshone Lake fall into Snake River, then into the
Columbia, and so at last reach the Pacific.

The way was pleasant, through park-like openings and green timber,
and the distance not great. There was no trail, but they followed
up a narrow grassy valley, whose slopes on either side were clothed
with pines.

At last, when Hugh thought they must be near the Divide, they
found down timber, and began to wind about among the logs. Little
by little, however, matters grew worse, and presently a stick was
encountered over which old Baldy could not step, but on which he
caught his foot and almost fell. Here all hands dismounted, and
getting an ax out of a pack, Hugh and the boys went ahead, and by
lifting some of the larger sticks, and breaking smaller ones, and
a little chopping, a way was soon made by which the horses could
pass along.

Beyond this timber was an open and almost level country, which Hugh
declared was the Divide, and passing along a little further, they
began to go down a gentle hill. Here there were park-like meadows
and low wooded hills on either side. There were a few little
gullies, but no water; and in the dry stream-beds and water-holes
were many tracks of elk, all made in the spring when the ground was
soft. From the summit of this Divide, when snows are melting in
the early summer, little trickles of water pour down the opposite
sides of the mountains, some to the north, to find their way into
the Firehole; others south toward Snake River. Hugh followed the
general direction of one of these water-courses, which constantly
grew larger, and presently turned into one still wider, whose sandy
bottom was dotted with great blocks of black lava. Hugh pointed out
these to the boys, and said to them, "That's the stuff that in old
times many of the Indians used to make their arrow points from. It
must have been a great article of trade, for away up north of the
boundary line I have seen little piles of chips of that black glass
lying on the prairie, where men have been making arrow-heads, and I
know that there wasn't any of the rock within 400 miles."

All along the valley of this dry stream was a beautiful park of
gently rolling country, with timbered knolls and open grassy
intervales. Some of the trees were very large--two or three feet in
diameter.

It was early in the afternoon when they reached Shoshone Lake,
and riding along its smooth, firm beach, camped in a little point
of spruces. The lake was large, and looked as if it should have a
fish in it. Jack got out his rod and put it together, and standing
it against a tree, went back into the open meadow where the horses
were feeding, to catch grasshoppers. He caught half a dozen, and
then, returning, fished faithfully for quite a long distance along
the shore, but without success. Neither could he see anywhere that
fish were rising, and he wondered whether it could be possible that
this beautiful lake, which seemed an ideal home for trout, should
have none in it. Joe, on the other hand, as soon as camp had been
made, had taken his rifle and started out on foot, working along
the edge of the lake and looking for game. He found many old elk
tracks and a very few made by deer, but went quite a long distance
without seeing anything. Then, turning away from the shore of the
lake, and taking the hillside at some distance from it, he began to
work back to the camp. Here there were more deer tracks, but none
that seemed worth while for him to follow, and he began to feel
discouraged. When he had come almost opposite the camp he crossed
a wide dry water-course, going now rather carelessly, though still
making no noise, yet not trying to keep out of sight. As he climbed
the gentle slope, after crossing the little valley, and had almost
reached the top, he stopped, and turned about and looked backward,
and there to his astonishment saw, projecting above a patch of low
willows and weeds, the heads of two fawns. They were staring at him
most innocently, but the camp needed meat, and bringing his rifle
to his shoulder he fired at the neck of one of them, and the little
deer disappeared, while the other turned about and raced away
through the brush.

Going to the place Joe found the fawn quite a small one, though it
had already lost its spotted coat. He dressed it, and then throwing
it on his shoulders walked quickly to the camp. As he came in front
of the lodge, Hugh said to him, "Hello, Joe, what have you got
there, a jack rabbit?"

"Well," said Joe, "it is not much bigger, but it's the only thing
I have seen except another of the same size, and that I could not
shoot at."

That night as the sun went down the wind began to blow a fresh dry
wholesome breeze from the west. The wind raised quite a sea on the
lake, and big waves tumbled up on the beach one after another,
so fast that it was not an easy matter to get a bucket of water
without at the same time getting a wet foot. Jack and Joe walked
along the beach a little way.

"Do you know, Joe," said Jack, "this looks to me just like the
seashore; the wind blows in the same way, and the waves have the
same white-caps, and the surf roars as it pounds on the beach; and
there is the moon on the water. Why it seems to me just like some
nights I have walked on the beach, back east on the Long Island
shore."

"Well," said Joe, "it's not like anything I ever saw before. Up in
our country we don't have sand beaches like this, though we do have
the lake, and the waves and the wind."

The animals were packed early next day, and they followed the
shores of the lake southward. In some places they could see where
elk had passed along recently, and there were tracks of bulls and
cows and calves. In some places, too, along the beach the pines,
which were small yet looked old, were all bent toward the eastward,
and had no branches on the western side. Joe pointed these trees
out to Hugh and said, "Why is it Hugh that these trees seem all
bent one way, and have no branches on the other side; is it the
wind?"

"Yes," said Hugh, "the wind. You'll see that in lots of places,
especially on mountain tops, and along big waters like this, where
the wind blows mostly from the west and northwest, and gets a wide
sweep."

The wind was still blowing hard, and the lake was in a turmoil. The
air was cold, and all hands wore their coats as they rode along.

A day's journey took them by Shoshone Lake and Lewis Lake, and
they camped below it on Lewis Fork. For much of the distance the
trail passed through an attractive open country, full of streams
and springs, and dotted with clumps of thick willow brush; while on
the higher lands were the ever-present pines. To the left was the
lofty ridge of the Red Mountain Range, down which half a hundred
beautiful cascades hurried toward the river. To the right was the
stream, and beyond the steep sides of the Pitchstone Plateau, so
called from the black glossy fragments of the lava rock, of which
the soil is largely made up. It was evident that this would be
a hard trail in the early spring, for it was low and wet, and
animals would have trouble in passing over it at any except the
dry season.

A few miles below the camp they began to look for a ford. The
stream looked deep and difficult, yet it was necessary for them to
cross it, for on the east side the mountains came down close to the
river in a steep and impassable jumble of slide rock. Just above
them they could see a great water-fall, not far below the lake.
It was now getting toward night, and Hugh was a little uncertain
whether to cross this stream, or to camp on this side. However, he
determined to cross, and stopping, had the boys catch up the pack
animals, while he rode into the stream to prospect for a ford. He
kept diagonally down the river, going very slowly, and feeling for
the shoalest places, but at last, reached the opposite bank and
climbed out. Then, turning about, he recrossed, and telling the
boys to keep the horses close to him, he led them into the stream.
The ford was rather deep, the water coming more than half way up
the horses' bodies, so that they all tucked their feet up behind
them on the saddle, and rode along with some anxiety, lest a false
step or a stumble over the great stones which formed the river
bottom should throw down one of the animals, and so wet either a
pack or a rider. However, the crossing was made safely, and then
climbing the steep hill, they kept on through the timber, soon,
however, camping by a little spring, in an opening where there was
food for the animals.

By the time camp was made, the sun had set and it was too late to
hunt. The little deer had all been eaten, and once more they made
their meal on dried meat and back-fat.

The next day they kept on through the green timber, riding over
ridges and at a distance from the stream, though now and then they
had glimpses of its dark hurrying waters. To the right were seen
some little lakes, one of them covered with water-fowl. Across the
trail that they were following--if it could be called a trail--was
some fallen timber, but nothing that delayed them. Jack noticed
that some of the living trees were curiously bent in their growth,
sometimes at right angles to the vertical a foot or two from the
ground, the trunk growing six inches or a foot horizontally, and
then turning once more straight toward the sky, the remainder
of the tree being straight as an arrow. In some cases the bend
was more than this, the tree growing straight up for a foot, and
then turning over, growing down for a few inches or a foot, and
then making another curve, and growing upright once more. Some of
these curves were almost shaped like the letter S, and Jack kept
wondering what caused these bends. As they stopped at midday to
unsaddle and let the horses feed and to eat something themselves,
Jack asked Hugh about the curious way in which these trees grew.

Hugh smiled and said, "I don't much wonder you ask about that, son.
I remember that I used to think about that a good deal, and wonder
how it happened. But it is easy enough to explain if you once get
onto it, and you can easily enough get onto it if you travel around
through the mountains enough.

"You know I told you the other day," he continued, "that when a
country has been burned over, the trees stand for a good many
years, and then they commence to fall in all directions. Likely
enough before they begin to fall, a whole lot of young trees and
sprouts have started from the ground, and are growing among them.
Now, nothing is more likely than that some of these falling trees
may happen to fall upon these young saplings and sprouts. Some of
them they smash down flat, and the sprout dies; but sometimes they
fall so as just to bend a sprout over, or so that a little small
sprout just growing is bound to grow up against the log as the
sprout grows larger. These young trees are springy and bend easily.
Of course the ones that are smashed down and broken off short are
killed; we never hear anything more of them. But likely enough
there are some young and hardy plants caught beneath the tops or
branches of the fallen trees within a foot or two of the ground,
and not much hurt but just held down. Sometimes these little trees
are pressed flat to the ground, and when they are, they usually
die. But if they are only bent over a few inches, or a foot or two
from the ground, they don't always die. Instead of that they keep
on growing, and of course the top of the growing tree keeps on
reaching up all the time toward the light. No matter if it is bent
flat, it tends to turn upward, so that all of it beyond the place
where the dead tree is pressing on it grows straight, just like all
the other trees around it. Then, after a while the dead stick which
is holding the young tree down, rots, and at last disappears. The
injured tree grows larger and larger, and at last gets to be a big
tree; and there is then nothing to show how this big tree should
have grown in such a bent, queer fashion."

"Well now, Hugh, that's mighty interesting," said Jack, "and I
ought to have worked it out for myself, for three or four times
to-day I saw dead trees pressing little green sprouts over to one
side; but I never thought about that being the reason for the bends
in these big trees. The fact is, I never thought of them bending
while the trees were young, but supposed it must be some accident
or disease that had struck the trees after they were big."

"Well," said Hugh, "you see it's all simple enough, if you
understand it."

"Simple!" said Jack, "Why it's simple as rolling off a log; but
you've got to understand the reason."

"Well," said Hugh, "you keep your eyes open as you ride through
the timber, and you'll see the very thing I've been talking about,
happening before your face all the time."

The wind blew fiercely all day long, though when they were in
the timber they hardly felt it, and only the sighing of the
pines and occasionally the crash of some distant tree told of
the force of the gale. They crossed Snake River about noon, and
kept on southward. During a halt at the river all hands went to
the fishing, and caught some splendid trout, which they promptly
cooked and which gave them a delicious meal. A little more fishing
furnished them with enough fish for two or three meals more, and
Jack was hard at work trying to catch a big one that he had seen
rise, when he saw two great shadows on the water, and looking up,
saw only a few yards above him a pair of great sand-hill cranes.
They were not in the least afraid, and flying on a little further,
alighted in the meadow where they fed, walking about in most
dignified fashion until the train started on again, and alarmed
them.

As they went into camp that afternoon at a little spring, Hugh said
to the boys, "Now, look here; if one of you don't go out pretty
soon and kill something, I'll have to do that myself. This camp
needs fresh meat. Dried meat and back-fat is good; fish are good;
but we want either a deer or an elk; or, better still, if you can
find it, a buffalo; but I reckon these bison here in the mountains
are a little too smart for any of us. They're pretty scarce, and
they're pretty watchful."

"Well," said Jack, "which one of us shall go? We can't both go,
because one has got to stay and help drive the animals. I'll toss
up with you, Joe, to see which shall hunt to-morrow morning."

"All right," said Joe, "I'll toss up;" but as no one of them had a
coin, Jack took a fresh chip, and rubbing some black earth on one
side of it, said, "We'll call that black side heads, and the other
tails; and Hugh will throw the chip. You call, Joe." Hugh tossed
the chip into the air, and Joe called heads. But the chip came down
the clean side up, and so Jack was to go hunting next morning.

As soon as the animals were packed, Jack started off, keeping to
the right of the trail and up the hill. He knew, of course, that
at this time of the year the elk were likely to be found high up,
and the deer, too; for the flies and mosquitoes were bad. The
underbrush was thick, and there were many marshy places, and once
this hillside had been covered with a great forest, for it was
strewn with logs. The underbrush seemed higher and thicker than he
had been accustomed to, and he saw many sorts of plants that he
did not remember to have seen before; and at last it struck him
that perhaps as he was now on the western side of the Continental
Divide, the rain-fall might be greater, and that this might make a
difference in the vegetation. Willow and alders, and other brush,
made riding rather difficult, and besides that, the hillsides
grew steeper and steeper, until at last Jack dismounted, and
clambering up on foot, left Pawnee to follow, as he had long ago
been trained to do. Getting up on a high ridge, bald now, though
once forest-grown, for the ground was strewn with great charred and
rotting tree-trunks, long before killed by fire, he followed the
ridge toward higher land, and gradually climbing, at last reached a
commanding height, from which he saw the beautiful Jackson's Lake,
and its lovely surroundings.

To the eastward the Red Mountain Ridge, rising above him, cut off
the view, but northeast he could see the valley of Snake River,
broad near at hand, but narrowing further off, until the mountains,
closing in, hid the silver ribbon of the stream's course. To the
west were the splendid gray and white masses of the Teton range,
low and rounded toward the north, with long easy ridges of moderate
steepness, and crowned with great fields of snow. Toward the
southward the mountains became more and more abrupt, until at last
the highest peak of all, Jack knew must be the Grand Teton. From
this pinnacle the ridge gradually sank away again, becoming lower
and lower in the blue and misty distance. Immediately under the
ridge, and south of where Jack stood, was Jackson's Lake. He had
often heard Hugh speak of Jackson's Hole and Jackson's Lake, spots
for many years hardly known to white men, and about which most
marvelous stories were told. Here, men used to say--the miners that
the streams were paved with nuggets of gold, the trappers that the
rivers and forests abounded in fur, the hunters that game was so
abundant and so tame that there was always plenty to eat, and the
camp never starved; and now this wonderful region lay before him.

And yet he knew that within the past few years many people had
passed through this place. He knew that the miners had washed the
sands of the rivers, but found that they did not pay; that trappers
had caught the beaver and the marten, and had soon trapped almost
all of them. Now it was for him to find whether the game was as
plenty as had been said.

At all events, Jackson's Lake with the wide meadows that surrounded
it, and the superb mountains that walled it in on one side, made
this a lovely spot. The lake shone in the sunlight like a sheet
of silver, and was dotted with pine-clad islands. On the west its
waters flowed close beneath the great mountains which rose above
it, but on the other three sides a belt of forest grew close to
the water, and back of this belt, broad meadow lands, with groups
of trees and low rounded clumps of willows, looked almost like a
park. Further to the eastward bare ridges rose higher and higher,
forming the foot-hills of the main range, and still further to the
east and southeast were massive mountains, more distant--and so
seeming lower--than the Teton Range, but which were the Continental
Divide. Jack looked, and looked, and enjoyed this beautiful view;
but after a little he realized that time was passing, and that he
must move on, and do his hunting, and get to camp.

He crossed the ridge, and began to ride down the side of the
mountain toward the south, following the crest of a hog-back, which
would take him down to the valley of the lake by a gentle slope.
Below, and to his left, was a narrow valley, in which stood green
timber, and among the green timber much that was dead and much that
was down.




Chapter IX

AN ELK HUNT UNDER THE TETONS


He was riding along slowly, letting Pawnee make his own way among
the loose rocks and tree-trunks, when he caught sight of an animal
standing with its tail toward him, in a little opening among the
trees. For an instant he thought it was a buckskin horse, and
the idea flashed through his mind that there must be a camp down
there. Almost before the thought had taken form, the animal moved
a little, and he saw that it was an elk. He slipped off his horse
on the side furthest from the animal, and led Pawnee out of sight
behind a clump of pines, and left him there. Then he crept back
to the ridge. In the timber below he soon made out half-a-dozen
elk, and as he watched, he could see quite a large bunch of cows
and calves. He lay there, watching and waiting. The drop down the
hill into the valley was very steep, and he was hoping that the elk
might move into some position where he would not have to go down to
them. They seemed uneasy and suspicious, and presently something
startled them, and they ran a little way, and then stopped, looking
back up the valley. Two big heifers stood almost side by side
facing opposite ways, with their shoulders close together, and
their heads in such position that their necks seemed to cross.
Jack raised his gun and took a careful sight at the necks, just
below the heads, and pulled the trigger. One of the cows dropped
instantly, while the other, standing a moment to look, turned
and ran off. He heard the elk crashing through the timber of the
valley, and then saw them climbing the bald hills on the other
side, stopping every little while to look back, and at last walking
slowly off over the hills.

A convenient side ridge gave Pawnee a good road down to where the
cow had fallen, but she had rolled far down the hill, and finally
had stopped on a little level place. She was quite dead. The animal
was rather large for Jack to handle, but with some trouble he
managed to cut off her hams and sirloins, and tying the two hams
together by the gambrel joints, he balanced them on his saddle, and
then tying the sirloins on behind, set out on foot for camp. There
was much scrambling up steep hillsides, and down others quite as
steep, and some working through the thick underbrush, before he
came out into the open lake valley. Here progress was more rapid.
Jack walked swiftly, and Pawnee followed close behind. After a time
he came on the trail made by the pack train, some hours before,
and hurrying along this, presently saw in the distance what looked
like a house. Before he reached it, however, the trail that he was
following turned sharply to the right, and led down toward the
river, two or three miles below the lake.

As he approached the tall cottonwood timber, which he supposed grew
on the shores of the river, he saw the horses feeding close to it,
and before long the cone of the lodge showed through the leaves,
and a little later he stopped by the fire.

"Good boy," said Hugh. "I'm mighty glad to get that meat. That'll
keep us going for quite a while, and now that we've got fresh meat,
and dried meat and fish, we're bound to live well."

"Animal's in good order, too," he continued, as he began to lift
the meat from the saddle. "I expect you picked out a heifer, didn't
you?"

"Well," said Jack, "I tried to, but I wasn't sure that it wasn't an
old cow until I put a knife into her. The only thing I was sure of
was that she had no calf." "Well," said Hugh, "it's a nice piece of
meat, and I'm mighty glad you got it."

"What's that house that I see up there, Hugh? Nobody lives here
now, does there?"

"No," said Hugh, "I reckon that's some kind of a shelter or stable,
built by hunters or prospectors, for their horses in fly-time.
Flies are pretty bad here now, and I reckon close about this lake
the greenheads must be enough to drive the horses crazy. I noticed
to-day when we were crossing some points of that meadow up above
that they were bad. If it hadn't been for that, I reckon we'd have
camped up there by the lake. It's an awful sightly spot, but there
were too many flies."

Supper was almost ready, and they feasted royally that night on
trout and the fat sirloins of the elk; and after the meal was over,
it was pleasant to sit round the big camp-fire that Jack and Joe
built out in front of the lodge, and watch the blaze, and listen to
the murmur of the river as it hurried over the stones, just beyond
the camp. Every stick tossed on the burning pile sent a great cloud
of sparks soaring upward to disappear among the dark green foliage
of the spruces, which here grew among the taller cottonwoods. The
warmth of the fire was grateful; the willows and cottonwoods and
spruces all about their camp sheltered them from the strong wind
which still blew down the valley; and Jack, as he lay stretched out
on the ground between Joe and Hugh, thought that he never could
have a happier time than that very moment.

"Now, boys," said Hugh, "I don't know how you feel about it, but
it strikes me this is a terrible nice place to stop for a day or
two. This is a good camp, and these mountains right opposite to us
are things I like to look at. What do you say to our stopping here,
say for one day, anyhow; and maybe to-morrow we'll take a little
ride across the river, and get closer to these mountains, and see
something of what they look like. I'd like mighty well to look at
them long enough to kind o' carry a remembrance of them back with
me to the ranch."

"Well," said Jack, "let's do that. There's no reason for our
hurrying; we've got plenty of grub, and I think we'd all like to
stay here for one day, anyhow."

"Now, there's two things we can do," said Hugh. "We ain't made up
our minds how we'll go home; but we can cross the range in a whole
lot of different places. We can either follow down Snake River for
a way, and then work up one of the creeks, and go over and strike
the head of Wind River, and follow that down, or we can go back to
the park, and then cut across, and get down onto Stinking Water,
and then go back on the prairie. My idea is that we'll do better to
keep on south, and try to go straight on our course. We can either
go up Buffalo Fork, and then strike across to the head of the Wind
River, and follow that down; or go down and follow up the Gros
Ventre, and get across some way there. We don't have to make up our
minds to-day; we can settle that to-morrow night. Let's agree that
we'll stop here to-morrow, and then to-morrow night decide what
we'll do."

"All right," said both boys.

When the three friends got up next morning, and went to the
stream to wash, they could see nothing of the great range beneath
which they were camped, for the tall spruce trees which grew on
the opposite bank cut off the view of everything beyond. After
breakfast they saddled up and having picketed two of the pack
horses, set out to cross the river, and to get nearer to the
mountains. The river was wide, and so deep that the water came
almost up to the saddle blankets, but they crossed comfortably
enough, and riding through the open dry timber of the bottom,
before long were approaching the high bluffs which formed the first
terrace above the river. In the bottom were many tracks of deer
and elk, some of the deer tracks quite fresh; and they almost rode
over a huge old porcupine, which waddled awkwardly to one side,
and then stopped among some low rose bushes, with its head between
its forefeet, its quills erect, and its tail thrashing about in a
threatening way. Jack stopped his horse and said to Hugh:

"Hugh, is there anything in that story that porcupines throw their
quills? I've heard lots of people say it is so, and then other
people say it isn't."

Hugh drew his horse up, and turning in his saddle said, "Why no,
son, there's nothing in that; though I've heard plenty of men who
ought to know a heap better say that there was. Take a stick and go
right up close to that fellow, and poke him with it, and then bring
it to me."

Jack picked up a dead branch, and going to the porcupine, poked him
in the sides and back, and when he did this the porcupine thrashed
his tail about more vigorously than ever, and two or three times
struck the stick. Leaving him, Jack went to Hugh, carrying the
stick in his hand, and Hugh said, "Look at the end of that stick
now, and see those quills." The end of the stick was pierced by a
dozen or twenty sharp, strong quills, and Jack, taking hold of one
and trying to pull it out, found that the point was firmly fastened
in the wood, so that it required quite a little effort to pull it
out.

"Now, son," said Hugh, "a porcupine, as you have seen, is slow, and
can't run away. His back and sides and tail are covered with these
quills, which are mighty sharp, and which have little stickers
pointing back toward the root, so that if a quill gets fast in the
flesh, it is a very hard matter to pull it out again. If a quill
gets stuck in an animal's head or foot, it keeps working forward
all the time; it never works backward and comes out; it has to go
through to the other side. Most animals know that it isn't good to
fool with a porcupine. The only way to kill him is to turn him
over on his back, and get at his throat and belly, which are not
covered with quills. When a porcupine sees an animal coming he
holds his body close to the ground, makes his quills stand up all
over him, and thrashes around with his tail, which is pretty well
covered with quills too. His tail is strong, and he can hit a hard
blow with it; and so you see he's pretty well defended. The quills
are not set deep in the skin; they are loose, and they pull out
mighty easy; you see that just by poking the porcupine you got that
stick full of quills. Sometimes when he thrashes hard with his tail
he may hit a piece of wood, or may knock loose some of the quills
on his tail so that they may fly a little distance; but as for
throwing them any distance from his body, or with any force, why he
can't do it.

"I have had dogs that would tackle porcupines, and when they did,
it was a terrible job to pull the quills out of them."

"Well," said Jack, "I'm glad to hear all that I've been told of
dogs tackling porcupines, up in the Adirondacks, but I never saw
one that had been pierced by quills."

"Most dogs," said Hugh, "soon learn never to bother porcupines,
but some seem never to learn, and will go for one every time they
see it. Bears sometimes tackle them, and so do lynx and panthers,
but they say the greatest animal of all to kill a porcupine is a
fisher. I've seen two or three panthers with their jaws full of
quills. I've heard people say that the fisher kills them by turning
them over on their backs and then jumping onto the belly, but I
never saw this done. What I have seen is fishers with lots of
quills in their bodies: some in the legs, some in the belly, and
some in the sides. And the Indians say that these quills don't
bother them at all; that is to say, that a fisher full of quills
don't swell up the way a dog or a panther does. The porcupine is
a pretty stupid beast, but its effect on its neighbors is quite
interesting."

Jack listened with much attention to this lesson in natural
history, and they mounted and rode on again.

Soon they came to a great slough, evidently an old beaver meadow,
and as Hugh drew up his horse and looked at it, he shook his
head:--"Too soft for us to cross, I reckon, we'll have to go round
some other way. There's plenty of sloughs and mud-holes in there
where our horses would go out of sight."

They turned northward, and for the next two hours were occupied
in trying to make their way out to the high prairie. At frequent
intervals they came to what looked like a tongue of hard dry land
extending out to the bluffs, but after following it for a little
distance they found at its end a mud-hole, which obliged them to
turn back and take another road. At length they reached a strip
of hard ground which led them to the bluffs; and just before they
rode up the steep ascent, Hugh's horse started from the ground a
brood of grouse, which scattered in all directions, many of them
alighting on the willows and spruce branches close to them. They
were singularly tame, almost as much so as the fool hens they had
seen farther north, and Jack rode up to within three or four feet
of one, and then reached out his gun to touch it, but before the
muzzle was within a foot of the bird, it flew away.

When they reached the higher prairie they rode off toward the
range, which was now plainly to be seen. There were three principal
peaks, the names of which Hugh gave them. One, he said, was Mount
Moran, a great square-topped mass of granite, with two or three
vast snow or ice banks on its north face. To the south of that were
the three pinnacles of the Tetons, whose slender summits ran far
up into the blue sky. The prairie over which they were now riding
was uneven:--here cut by dry, grassy, ancient water-ways, there
with mounds of great extent rising above the general level. There
was much gravel--some of it very large--which looked as if it might
have been carried down by the water. Long ridges composed wholly
of this gravel ran for long distances out from the foot of the
range, and were now for the most part bare of timber, having been
burned over. On some of them the fire had spared many of the pines,
and young aspen timber grew on their slopes. The terraces of the
river's flood-plain rose one above another, and on the highest of
all, on the west side, were groups of evergreen trees, and now and
then a single pine standing alone in the wide sage-plain. Scattered
about over the prairie were many antelope.

They rode on toward the mountains, trying to get up high enough
so as to look down on Jackson's Lake, which runs in close to the
foot of Mount Moran; but the ridges became higher and higher, more
and more timber grew on them, and cut off the view, so that at
length they gave up the effort and turned off to one side to ride
through the timber. Here were many fresh elk tracks and trails,
some made the night before, and some since daylight; and here,
quite unexpectedly, as they rode over a ridge a little higher than
any that they had yet passed, a fine view was had of the southern
end of Jackson's Lake. It seemed to wind and twist about among its
points and islands, and sent out long and narrow finger-like bays
into the hills in a most curious way. A little further on they saw
from a hilltop another lake, not nearly so large as Jackson's,
but still perhaps two miles long. It was surrounded by dense
forest, and reflected the great peaks which overhung it. Here they
dismounted for a while to look at the range, which was now plainly
seen.

"Big mountains, ain't they, son?" said Hugh, as they sat there
looking up at them.

"Yes, Hugh," said Jack, "they're awful big, and how bare and gray
they are. There seems to be a little timber in small patches, but
except for that, there doesn't seem to be anything growing on them
at all; they are just rocks with snow on top and in the ravines."

"Well," said Hugh, "I expect for the most part that rock is so
steep that the snow can't lie there. Even if the wind don't blow,
just as soon as any weight of snow falls on the rocks it slips off.

"Have you got your glasses with you, son?" he continued, and when
Jack had handed them to him, he looked through them and said: "I
thought so. Do you know, son, that snow up there in those highest
ravines isn't snow at all, it's ice; just like them glaciers that
we have up there in the mountains to the north. Look through the
glasses, and you can see the cracks on the lower border, and you
can see too that it is blue, and not white like snow."

Jack and Joe both looked through the glasses and saw what Hugh
meant, and both were reminded of the masses of ice that they had
seen in the mountains of the north, the year before.

It was pleasant sitting in the warm sun and looking up at this
wonderful scenery, but at last they caught up their horses, and
mounted and rode back to the camp. As they were going along side by
side, down the wide point of a ridge, a great brown deer bounced
out from an aspen thicket on Joe's side and ran down the ravine.
Joe sprang from his horse and raised his gun to shoot, but just as
he did so she sprang into a little gully, so that Joe could see
only her ears as she raced along. She followed the ravine down and
was not seen again.

Hugh and Jack both laughed at Joe, and told him that he should have
stayed on his horse, for from their point of view on horseback, the
doe's body had been in sight for quite time enough to shoot.

When they reached the level bottom, they rode out close to the
river, and keeping along the bank found firm ground all the way to
the camp. There remained still some hours of daylight, and both
boys got out their lines and began to fish, catching a number of
fine and heavy trout. Just as they were about to go to camp with
their catch, a flock of seven wild geese flew up the river, calling
loudly, and after they had passed a little beyond the boys, Joe
began to honk in response, and presently the great birds turned
about and came back, flying directly over the boys, looking down
at them, as if to see who it was that was talking to them. The air
was cool and damp after dark and they sat about the fire in the
lodge. A great horned owl a little way down the river was hooting
regularly, and Joe said, "We're going to have a storm."

"Yes," said Hugh, "I hear him now, and I heard him last night. I
reckon we're going to have change of weather."

"What do you mean, Hugh?" said Jack, "has the owl anything to do
with the weather?"

"Well no, son, I don't know that he has; but some of the Indians
say that if you hear an owl calling it means a storm's coming."

It was raining the next morning when Jack thrust his head from
under his blankets, and as the fire had not been started, and
nobody seemed to be moving, he knew that this day also would be
spent in camp. When he went out of the lodge the ground was covered
with an inch of very wet snow, and the weather seemed to be trying
to make up its mind whether it would rain or no. Big wet flakes
were falling in a mixture of rain and snow, and moisture was
everywhere.

After breakfast, Hugh cut some crotches and poles, and with the
ropes and two of the mantas made a very good shelter, under which
they built an outdoor fire. By this they sat for a long time,
discussing various matters, and then, since the rain had stopped,
Jack went down to the stream and began to fish. He caught a few
fish weighing from three quarters of a pound to a pound, and there
were enough of them to make it interesting. The small ones seemed
to trouble his hook very little, and one or two little ones that he
caught he shook off before getting them to shore. Suddenly, after a
long cast that he had made out toward the middle of the stream, a
huge fish rose to his fly, but in its eagerness, missed and sprang
over the fly showing its full length out of the water. This was
such a fish as Jack had not seen before, and he was very anxious to
get it. He cast again over the same spot, and this time drew in his
line a little more slowly. The great fish rose again, and just at
the right moment Jack struck, and had him fast.

For a moment the fish did nothing, but then came a fight the like
of which Jack had never witnessed. The fish made a strong rush
toward the deepest water of the rapid, and twice on his way there
he sprang into the air, shaking his head savagely to rid himself of
the steel that was biting his jaw. Then he turned about and rushed
back toward the bank, again throwing himself out of the water. Jack
was excited, but was trying to keep cool. Whenever the fish gave
him an opportunity he took in line, and when the fish ran he gave
him as little as possible.

Suddenly the trout started down the river at great speed, so fast
that Jack was afraid to check him, and started racing after him,
running over the slippery stones of the beach, and through the
pools of water left by the river. Presently the fish stopped, and
refused to move, and Jack recovered all the line that he could, and
then began to try to move the fish. Now it began to give a series
of tugging jerks on the line, as if it were bending itself from
side to side in the water; then it began to throw itself over and
over, as if trying to twist the line; and then it would rush off,
as if striving to break it. As the splendid fish grew tired, Jack
worked it nearer and nearer to the beach; but he had no net and
of course could not lift it from the water. After looking about a
little he found a place where the beach was shelving, and laying
down his rod, he drew the fish out by the leader and soon had it
safely in his hand. It was a handsome fish, deep and thick, and yet
graceful in all its lines, and it seemed to Jack as big as a North
River shad. As soon as it was killed, Jack took his rod and started
back to the camp for he wished to show them there the biggest trout
that he had ever seen.

White clouds hung low over the valley and hid the mountains on
either side; but as Jack walked along the beach the western sky
grew lighter, and for a few moments the sun struggled to shine
through the clouds. Then suddenly, far down the valley the white
wall that shut out the view broke away, and Jack could see the
great mountain mass of the Teton Range. He stopped and gazed,
waiting for the rent to close up again. Through it he could see,
like a picture in its frame, the mountains, not dark and gray
as they had been yesterday, but white now, in all the purity of
new-fallen snow. As he looked, the break in the clouds moved
rapidly northward, exposing one mountain after another, each
seeming more beautiful than the one seen just before. A wreath of
mist hung around and concealed the needle peak of the Grand Teton,
adding to, rather than taking away from its height. The rift in the
clouds passed northward, and after it had shown him Mount Moran, it
closed again and the white vapor cut off the view. Jack had seen
the glories of the Tetons, snow-clad. He returned to camp.




CHAPTER X

TRAILING BLACK-TAILS


It was pleasant that night after supper was over, as they lay about
the bright fire in the lodge. During the afternoon, while Jack had
been fishing, Joe had split fine a lot of dry cottonwood sticks,
and a good pile of them lay within the lodge door, just to its
left. The fire blazed and crackled merrily and the draft was good,
so that there was no smoke even in the top of the lodge.

Joe said to Jack, "Jack, have you seen all this old beaver work up
north of the camp?"

"No," said Jack, "I have seen plenty of small beaver cuttings.
There have been lots of beaver here, but I haven't seen any big
work."

"Well," said Joe, "you'd better go up fifty yards from the camp,
and you'll see there bigger trees cut down by the beaver than I've
ever seen, and I've seen some beaver work in my day. Why, there's
cottonwood logs there cut down by the beaver that are bigger round
than my body, and I believe they're more than a foot through. You
surely ought to see them."

"Well," said Jack, "I will in the morning."

"This used to be a great place for fur, didn't it Hugh?"

"Yes," said Hugh, "I expect when the white men first came in here
that beaver were awful plenty. Wherever I've been since I came into
this valley I've seen lots of old work but not much new work. All
the same, these sticks that Joe is talking about are not very old;
they were cut down only a few years ago. I guess 'twas a great fur
country. But, Lord! I've told you about the stories that people
used to tell about Jackson's Lake. They used to say that pretty
nearly everything good in the mountains was to be found here, and
plenty of it.

"Do you know, boys," Hugh continued, "I've about made up my mind
what we'd better do? Now, we don't know the country here, none of
us, but I expect we can find our way around pretty well with the
pack-train. I think the best thing we can do is to go back to that
last big creek that we crossed, and follow that up to its head;
then cross the mountains there, and get over onto Wind River;
and then we can follow Wind River down; and then over and strike
Sweetwater, and follow Sweetwater down to the Platte; and then, you
know, we're pretty near home. What do you say? Would either of you
rather go any other way, or will you leave it that way?"

The boys sat silent for a little while, and then Joe said, "I think
it will be good to do as Hugh says; he is the leader, and we will
follow him."

"I think so, too," said Jack. "Neither of us boys knows anything
about the country, and we want to do just what you think is best,
Hugh."

"Well," said Hugh, "I guess that is best, and if you say so, we'll
do it; and we'll start to-morrow morning if the weather is good
and the things are dry."

"All right," said both boys.

The next morning saw the little train following its back trail up
Snake River for a few miles, when Hugh turned off to the right, and
entered the valley of a great stream which rushed down from the Red
Mountain Range. The hills were low and rounded and composed of sand
and gravel, covered with grass and sage-brush. On either side, from
time to time, the stream had cut into the hills and washed away
the gravel, and its bed was full of huge boulders; so that it was
necessary for them to keep back on the ridge, at some distance from
the water. The river was so large and along it there were so many
evidences of a vast body of water running down through this valley
in the spring, that i

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/44671