Jack the Young Trapper: An Eastern Boy's Fur Hunting in the Rocky Mountains
by George Bird Grinnell · English · Gutenberg #45690 · 516,110 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jack the Young Trapper: An Eastern Boy's Fur Hunting in the Rocky Mountains
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 the Young Trapper: An Eastern Boy's Fur Hunting in the Rocky Mountains
Author: George Bird Grinnell
Illustrator: Walter King Stone
Release date: May 18, 2014 [eBook #45690]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45690
Credits: Produced by Giovanni Fini, David Edwards 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 THE YOUNG TRAPPER: AN EASTERN BOY'S FUR HUNTING IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS ***
JACK, THE YOUNG TRAPPER
_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: "WE'VE GOT A BEAVER, I RECKON."--_Page 171._]
JACK
THE YOUNG TRAPPER
_An Eastern Boy's Fur Hunting
in the Rocky Mountains_
BY
GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
Author of "Jack the Young Ranchman," "Jack Among the Indians," "Jack
in the Rockies," "Jack the Young Canoeman," "Pawnee Hero Stories,"
"Blackfoot Lodge Tales," "The Story of the Indian,"
"The Indian of To-day," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER KING STONE
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
Twelfth Printing, January 22, 1936
_Printed in the United States of America_
FOREWORD
A century ago the western half of the American Continent was unknown.
Vast herds of buffalo and antelope swarmed over its rolling plains; elk
and deer fed along its rivers; wild sheep and white goats clambered
over its rocky heights; bears prowled through its forests; beavers
built their dams and houses along every stream. Occasionally a group of
Indians passed over the plains or threaded the defiles of the mountain
ranges.
A few years later the white man began to penetrate this wilderness.
Beaver were growing scarcer, and men were forced to go further for
them. So the trapper entered these unknown fastnesses and began his
work. He followed up stream after stream, sought out remote valleys,
crossed deserts. With rifle in one hand and trap in the other, he
endured every hardship and exposed himself to every danger. He swam
rivers, climbed mountains, fought Indians, and risked life in his
struggle for fur.
They were men of firm courage and stern resolution, those trappers of
the early days. About their life and their work there is a romance and
a charm that appeal powerfully to the imagination. Jack Danvers was
fortunate in that the man who taught him some of the secrets of that
now forgotten life was one who had borne a part in the work of subduing
the wild west, and in laying the foundations upon which its present
civilization is built.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A COUNCIL OF WAR 1
II. A PLEASANT SPRING RIDE 9
III. AN EXPEDITION FOR FUR 18
IV. MAKING READY FOR THE TRIP 27
V. THE START FOR NORTH PARK 37
VI. TO LARAMIE AND NORTH PARK 48
VII. A TALK ABOUT BEAVER 60
VIII. THE WATER FOWLS' SUMMER HOME 73
IX. A TROUBLESOME GRIZZLY 83
X. A BIG BEAVER MEADOW 95
XI. INDIAN BEAVER LORE 113
XII. PROSPECTING FOR FUR 126
XIII. A LION'S LEAP 140
XIV. SETTING FOR BEAVER 155
XV. THEY SKIN BEAVER 170
XVI. OFF FOR NEW TRAPPING GROUND 191
XVII. TRAPPING THE MINK 209
XVIII. THE ENGLISH PILGRIMS 228
XIX. THE FIRST BIGHORN 246
XX. DANGER FROM THE UTES 264
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"WE'VE GOT A BEAVER, I RECKON" _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
TWO BOB-CATS PULLING AND TEARING AT SOME SMALL
THING ON THE GROUND 106
A BEAVER APPEARED WITH A LONG STICK, WHICH HE
PLACED WITH OTHERS ON THE ROOF 130
A BEAR, SITTING ON HER HAUNCHES, WAS LOOKING ALMOST
DIRECTLY AT THEM 186
CHAPTER I
A COUNCIL OF WAR
"Well, Jack," said Mr. Sturgis, "I am glad to see you back again."
"Indeed, Uncle George, you can bet I am glad to get back," replied
Jack. "I tell you it just made my heart rise up to ride over the
prairie to-day; it seemed to me that I never smelt anything so good as
the odor of the sage, and the little birds that kept getting up out of
the road and flying ahead of the team and alighting again, seemed like
old friends. Then we saw some antelope and a coyote or two. I tell you
it was bully. It seemed mighty good, too, to see Hugh after all these
months."
"Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "it is good to get you back, and I hope you
will have a good summer. Have you thought of what you want to do?"
Jack shook his head. "No," he said, "I have not; it is good enough to
be back. As soon as this storm is over I want to go out and take a ride
and see the country again."
"Oh, this snow won't last long, though it's a pretty rough night now.
Where were you on the road when it began to snow?" asked Mr. Sturgis.
"We were just about half through the Little Basin," said his nephew.
"Hugh had been looking at the sky for quite a little while back,
and said that it was going to snow. We drove pretty fast from the
Troublesome until we got into the Big Basin; the snow didn't get very
deep until about three or four miles back from here. From there on we
had pretty slow driving."
"Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "suppose you go out and see if you can find
Hugh, and ask him if he will come in here and sit with us for a little
while; I want to talk with you both."
"All right," replied Jack, and he disappeared in the direction of the
ranch kitchen.
It was about the middle of the month of May, and Jack Danvers, after a
winter of hard work at school in the East, had come out by the Union
Pacific Railroad to spend the summer at his uncle's ranch. His old
friend, Hugh Johnson, had met him at the railroad station with a team
of horses hitched to a spring-wagon, and the greater part of the drive
of forty miles out to the ranch had been made in record time. Then it
had begun to snow and blow furiously, and the last few miles of the
distance had been passed over much more slowly. In these high altitudes
in the Rocky Mountains, snowstorms are common in May and June; yet,
though the snow may fall deep at such times, it lies on the ground for
but a short time.
Jack and his uncle had been talking after supper in the comfortable
sitting room of the ranch; a fire of dry aspen logs burned merrily in
the large, open fireplace, and their cheerful crackling contrasted
pleasantly with the howling of the wind without.
As Mr. Sturgis sat filling his pipe in front of the fire, he looked
back over the years which had elapsed since he first began to take an
active, vivid interest in this nephew of his. He remembered him as a
small, pale, shrunken slip of a boy, who spent all his time curled
up in a chair, devouring books; a boy seemingly without vitality and
without any special interest in life. He remembered how the boy woke
up and became alert when he had first spoken to him of the possibility
of a trip to the West. How the little fellow had wondered at and
enjoyed all the different incidents of life on a cow ranch; and how
Hugh Johnson had taken to him, and instructed him in the lore of the
prairies and mountains, in which Hugh was so well versed; and how year
after year the boy had grown and strengthened, until now he was a young
fellow of great promise. Within a few years the boy had changed from a
child to something very like a man. While he was going over these years
in his mind, Mr. Sturgis heard steps in the passage without, and then
Jack's voice, and a moment later the door opened and Hugh Johnson and
Jack stepped into the room.
"Sit down, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "and fill your pipe; I want to talk
with you. You sit down, too, Jack. We have matters to discuss which
will be interesting to both of you, I think. It was pretty hard hauling
this afternoon, wasn't it?" he continued, addressing Hugh.
"Well, yes, Mr. Sturgis, it was so"; said the old man. "The snow
finally got so deep that I would not force the horses. They are strong,
and are willing, and they might have trotted, but we wasn't trying to
catch a train, and they balled up pretty well in this wet snow, and I
was afraid that they might slip and strain something. I reckon I told
you that I had shod both of them, didn't I, when you said that you
wanted me to go in for Jack?"
"No," said Mr. Sturgis, "I don't remember that you did, but it was a
good thing to shoe them; the roads between here and town are cruel on
horses' feet, and, while one trip won't wear down a team's feet, still,
they have work to do all summer, and there is so much gravel in this
soil that their feet would be bound to get tender before summer is
over."
"Well," replied Hugh, "that's just the way I think. A pair of shoes in
front will last them pretty nearly all summer, and when they are shod
we know they won't get tender."
While he had been talking, Hugh had whittled himself some tobacco,
ground it fine between the palms of his hands, filled his pipe and lit
it, and now he sat comfortably by the blaze, with his head encircled by
a smoke wreath.
"Well, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "I asked you to come in here so that we
could talk about what you and Jack are going to do this summer."
"Well," said Hugh, "that's for you to say, I reckon. I'm working for
you--at least I'm supposed to be working for you, but it seems to me
that for the last three or four years I haven't been doing much work,
because I've been off playing with Jack every summer. Lord, son," he
continued with a smile, "what great travelers you and me are getting to
be! First we went up to the Blackfeet and played with them a season;
that's when you counted your first coup; and then we went up with them
another year, and came down south through the mountains and saw all
them hot springs in that country, that they used to call Coulter's
Hell, in old times; and then last year we went out to the big water in
the west and paddled around in the salt water and got fish. You and me
surely have got to be great travelers."
"Well, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "I guess we will have to think up
something for this year. Of course, you and Jack could sit around and
look after the stock, just as the rest of us do here on the ranch,
but I believe it would be better for you to go off and make a trip by
yourselves. What do you think?"
"Well, Mr. Sturgis," said Hugh, "it really would be pleasant to go off
and make a long trip, and there's lots of good country left yet that
Jack has not seen, but I don't think I get exactly what you mean. If
you will speak a little plainer I will understand better."
"It is like this, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis; "Jack is out here for the
summer, and I want him to have a good time, and to see as much as he
can of what there is in this country. It is all beginning to change
here so fast that I am afraid the first thing we know the country
will be full of people, and every time you want to ride off in some
direction you will have to turn out for a wire fence, or you will get
lost because there are so many roads running over the prairie. Where do
you suppose you could take Jack this summer so as to give him a good
time? Of course, I don't want you to take any chances, or to go where
there is any danger, but, then, I know you won't do that, so I needn't
speak about it."
For some moments Hugh sat silently puffing at his pipe and staring
into the fireplace, while Jack, on his left hand, watched his face
with absorbed interest, wondering what he would say. Presently he
raised his head, and turning to Mr. Sturgis, said, "Well, Mr. Sturgis,
there's a mighty nice trip to be made in the high mountains down to the
southward. It's a country where there's no possible danger that I can
see, though, as you know, it's only a little while ago that the Utes
wiped out Major Thornburgh's command. Now everything is peaceable, and
likely to remain so, I reckon."
"Where do you mean, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "down in the Parks of
Colorado?"
"Yes, sir, that's what I mean. It's a great hunting ground down there
still, and besides that, it is a fur country. I have been through there
many times, and I never saw any place in the southern country where
beaver were so plenty; besides that, as you know, it is up in the high
mountains and the fur is good till midsummer. If you all think well
of it, Jack and I could go down there and spend a couple of months
trapping beaver, and if we have good luck, we might make quite a stake.
We wouldn't need to carry much in the way of grub, for the country is
full of game, and there are even some bison down there, though it
ain't likely that we would get to see any of them. I don't know of any
prettier mountains, or where you can live better than you can down
there; deer, elk, antelope, sheep, trout, and birds, till you can't
rest. That seems to me about the nicest trip one could make without
going off far; what do you say to it?"
"That sounds good to me, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis. "What do you think
about it, Jack?"
"Why," said Jack, "it sounds awful good to me. I never thought of
making a trip this year. I just thought that I was to come out here and
loaf around the ranch, and hunt, and help with the stock."
"No," said Mr. Sturgis, "I think it is better for you to be off in the
mountains by yourselves, and if Hugh's plan suits you, it suits me, and
you can say that it can be carried out."
"Splendid!" exclaimed Jack.
"But, Hugh," Mr. Sturgis went on, "what's the shortest way to get
there; and how would you go?"
"Well," said Hugh, "if we should go, I'd say the best way to do would
be to take two or three pack horses and start from here with them. Of
course, you can drive a wagon all the way down there, through North and
Middle and South Park, but I wouldn't want to take a wagon if I could
help it. If you wanted to go up in the mountains, why, you'd have to
come back to that wagon. You can't make any cut-offs, or short side
trips; you've always got to get back to your wagon again. I say, take
some pack animals, and then you will be perfectly foot-loose, and can
go where you want to and as far as you want to. If I should go that
way, I would start from here, go down the Muddy, cross the Medicine
Bow, follow up Rock Creek, and cross over to the Laramie, and follow
up the Laramie until I got into North Park. From there, it's plain
sailing, either through the valley or among the mountains. Son, here,
is a good packer, and with a simple outfit like that we can make good
time."
"Then, when you get into the high mountains," said Mr. Sturgis, "you
think you can get some beaver, do you?"
"Yes," assented Hugh, "unless things have changed there almightily
within a few years. The last time I came through there, I was looking
for beaver sign and it seemed to me that all the streams up the
mountains were full of beaver, and, as I say, up there in that high
country they hold their coats well, and you can trap them until July or
August. Indeed, I have known of men that trapped right on through the
whole summer, but I don't think it's a good thing to do."
"Is there any other fur there?" said Mr. Sturgis.
"Not much else," answered Hugh. "Of course, there are some marten, and
now and then a wolverine or two, but you can't get them until the snow
comes. Mink are not worth much, and otter are so few that you might as
well count them out of the question, too; but there are some bears; in
fact there should be a good many bears, and their coats are good until
July; but if we are going to trap, beaver are what we would have to
depend upon. Maybe we might catch a bear or two in a dead fall, but
I wouldn't bother to take along one of those big steel traps on the
chance of getting one or two hides with it. Those traps are not worth
bothering with if you have a long way to go. They are all right to set
around the ranch, if you think you need a bear hide, or if you have got
a wagon to drive around in, but I have no use for them on a pack. I
have heard lately that some of these pilgrims that come from the East
and are stuck on getting bears, put out baits and set traps near them,
but I never could see any fun in that sort of thing. If you want to
hunt bears, why, hunt them, and prove that you are more cunning and
skillful than they are. It's no fun to set a trap, and then when a bear
gets into it to crawl up and shoot it. It is some fun to get the best
of the shyest and wildest animal that goes on four legs, but I don't
see where the fun comes in in trapping them, and then crawling up on
them and killing them. It's too much like chopping a chicken's head
off--and that wouldn't be very much fun for any of us."
"I agree with you, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis; "but you know there are all
sorts of people back East, just as there are all sorts of people here,
and some of those men who come out to hunt, take back great stories
about the bears that they have trapped, and about the danger that they
were in when they killed the bear. Of course, that does not seem to us
very honest, but there are braggarts all over the world."
"That's so, Mr. Sturgis," said Hugh. "I guess the frauds are not
confined to any one part of the country; you find them 'most
everywhere."
"So you do, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, as he knocked out his pipe against
the stones of the fireplace.
"Well," he went on, "about the trip that you and Jack are going to
make. Let's think it over for a day or two, and if it still seems good
to you, the sooner you start the better."
"Very well," said Hugh. "The sooner we get started the better the fur
will be, and the longer it will last. We'll chew on it for a day or
two, son, and see what we can make out of it." So saying, Hugh rose
from his seat, knocked out his pipe, and saying good-night to Mr.
Sturgis, disappeared down the passage.
Before long Jack and his uncle went to bed--Jack to dream of the
glories of the trip, and the beaver he was to trap.
CHAPTER II
A PLEASANT SPRING RIDE
When Jack arose the next morning and looked out of the window on the
little valley below the house, and upon the side of the mountain, he
saw the ground covered with snow, which glistened in the brilliant
sunshine. It did not take him long to get into his clothes, and he
rushed through the house and out the kitchen door and down toward
the corral. Over the hills beyond the barn a number of horses were
galloping, with streaming manes and tails, and behind them was Joe,
zig-zagging back and forth, occasionally snapping forward the end of
his trailing rope to hurry up the laggards. It was a good sight--one
that Jack had not seen for a couple of years--and he ran on down toward
the corral, but suddenly a thought struck him, and he stopped, turned,
and started back to the house.
When he burst into the kitchen again, he said, "Oh, Mrs. Carter, please
give me a couple of lumps of sugar for Pawnee; I want to see if the old
horse will know me, and whether he does or not, I want to be friends
with him." He ran back into the sitting room and got the old whistle
which he had taught his horse to obey, and put it in his pocket.
Seizing the sugar which Mrs. Carter had put on the table, he hurried
down to the corral. When he got there, the horses for the day's riding
were being caught up, and he entered. He had long ago lost the old fear
that he had had as a little fellow, that the frightened horses would
run over and trample him. Stepping out into the middle of the corral,
he looked at the bunch of twenty or thirty horses which stood there
sleepily, as long as they were undisturbed, but were quick enough to
move about and try to dodge the rope when it was thrown at them. By
this time the men had caught all their horses, and Joe walked over to
the gate, ready to open it as soon as Jack had caught his. Jack called
to him, "Say! wait a minute, Joe; I want to try an experiment;" and
he put the whistle to his lips and blew the old call that he had been
accustomed to use for Pawnee. The horse was standing partly hidden by
two or three others, but the moment the whistle blew he raised his
head, and turned and looked at Jack. Jack stood perfectly still for
a moment or two, and then blew the whistle once more, and the horse
stepped forward over toward Jack, with his head up, his ears thrust
forward, and an expression of great interest on his countenance. Again
Jack blew the whistle, and this time he reached out his hand toward the
horse, which again took three or four steps and stopped only a few feet
from Jack, reaching out his nose to Jack's hand, as if trying to smell
it. Jack put his hand into his pocket and laid a lump of sugar in his
palm, and whistled once more, and the horse stepped forward and took
the sugar, and as he crunched it in his teeth, stepped forward again,
so that his head was close to Jack's shoulder.
Jack patted him very gently, and then slipped the rope over his
neck and knotted it and began to rub the horse's head and ears.
Gradually--as it seemed to Jack--the horse's memory awakened, and after
a few moments Jack felt quite confident that Pawnee recognized him
and was glad to see him. The horse rubbed his head vigorously against
Jack's shoulder, and seemed to enjoy being petted.
As their old friendship seemed to be resumed, Jack called to Joe to
open the gate, and after he had done so the horses walked out. Some of
them had already shed their winter coats, but on others the long hair
hung down three or four inches below their necks and bellies. The dust
and dirt of the corral was full of shed hair, and great wads of it were
lying about everywhere.
Just as Jack started out with Pawnee, to take him to the barn, Hugh
passed by and said, "Does he know you, son?"
"I really think he does, Hugh," said Jack. "At first he didn't, though
he remembered the whistle, and recognized the sugar when I held it out
to him, but now I believe he knows who I am. It's pretty hard on him
to have to remember me, for I expect I have changed more or less in
appearance every year, and you know it's two years now since I have
seen the old horse."
"Yes," said Hugh; "I don't wonder that he was a little slow to
know you, but after all, a horse has a long memory, and inside of
twenty-four hours it will all come back to him. I reckon that to-morrow
he will likely come right up to you in the corral or on the prairie."
"He's fat and in fine condition, isn't he, Hugh? He looks to me to be
in the bulliest kind of order for a trip."
"Lord, yes," said Hugh, "he's fat enough, for I don't think he has
done anything for two years. Your uncle would not let him be ridden
last year, he was so much afraid that something might happen to him. I
shouldn't be a little bit surprised if he would kick and crowhop quite
a little when you first get on him. I don't believe he would really
pitch, but he's likely to pretend to. He looks fatter than he really
is, though of course he's fat enough," the old man went on, "but that
long winter coat of his makes him look as round as a ball."
"Yes," assented Jack, "it does, of course; and what tremendous coats
these horses get in this country, don't they?"
"Yes," said Hugh, "they have to; for, as you know, it is fearful cold
here in winter, and, of course, the horses are out on the range all the
time and they've got to do something to keep themselves warm, so they
grow these long coats. Look at this now!" and walking up to Pawnee he
put his hand under his brisket, and pulling a little from side to side
took off a great patch of hair and held it out to Jack so that he could
look at it. There were seen the roots of the long hairs sticking up
through a sort of fur or down, such as may be seen next to the skin of
an elk or a deer when it is shedding its winter coat.
"There," said Hugh, "do you see that fur that grows next to the skin?
Most animals in this cold climate develop that during the winter, and
you can see that it's almost like the fur on the otter, the beaver, or
the muskrat. It must keep out the cold in great shape."
"I declare," said Jack, "I never saw that on a horse before. I did see
it once on an elk that we killed in the spring; I think it was the
first year I came out here, when I hunted with John Munroe. I have
seen this same kind of fur on a St. Bernard dog, too; the animals
that the monks keep up on the tops of the mountains in Switzerland,
away up above timber line, and that they use in winter to look for
people who get lost in the snow in the mountains. They have just that
kind of double coat, with long hair on the outside and a sort of fur
underneath, next to the skin."
"Yes," said Hugh, "I guess all animals that live in cold climates get
that same kind of coat."
While he was speaking, the horn blew, and Jack took Pawnee to the barn
and tied him up, and then he and Hugh went in to breakfast.
"Well, Jack," said Mr. Sturgis, as they sat at the table, "have you and
Hugh had a consultation yet over what you are going to do?"
"Not yet, Uncle George," said Jack; "but I guess we will during the
day, and we will be able to tell you to-night what our decision is."
"This snow will melt right away, and the grass has started enough for
you to go off on your trip any time now," said Mr. Sturgis.
"And I suppose," said Jack, "if we are going off, the sooner we get
started the better. Isn't that so, Hugh?"
"I reckon it is, son; and if we're going to try to get any fur of any
kind, the sooner we start the better the fur will be. It won't be long
now before the animals begin to shed. Of course, a bear hide is good
till well into June, and the higher up the animal lives, the longer the
coat stays good. Why, in old times, we used to trap all through the
summer, but, of course, if we caught fur low down on the prairie it did
not bring us the price that prime pelts brought."
"Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "make up your minds what you want to do, and
report to me to-night."
"All right, sir," said Hugh, and he and Jack went down toward the barn.
"What are you going to do to-day, Hugh?" said Jack.
"Why," said Hugh, "Mrs. Carter said that they were all out of fresh
meat, and I thought I'd go off and see if I could kill a buck antelope.
That's about all that's fit to kill now. Of course, we might go up on
the mountain and hunt around, and perhaps find a mountain sheep, but I
don't go much on sheep meat at this time of the year."
"Why, how's that, Hugh? I thought sheep meat was the best meat there
was, except, perhaps, buffalo meat."
"Ever eat any in spring time?" said Hugh.
"No, of course I never did. I guess you've always been with me when
I've eaten sheep meat, and you and I have never killed a sheep in the
spring."
"Well," said Hugh, "if you kill a sheep now you'll find its meat tastes
and smells so strong of garlic that perhaps you'd not care to eat it.
I've eaten a good many queer things, but I'd never eat sheep meat in
the spring; that is, for choice."
"Why is that, Hugh?" said Jack.
"I'll tell you," replied Hugh. "About the first green thing that
springs up in these mountains is the wild leek, and the sheep,
hungering for something green, hunt this up and eat it whenever they
find it. The result is, that they taste of it, strong. Didn't you ever
hear of that before?"
"No, indeed," replied Jack; "that's news to me. I do believe, though,
that once in a while when I have been in the country in the spring the
milk of the cows has tasted of garlic or onions, and they told me it
was because they had been eating the wild leek."
"That's straight enough," replied Hugh. "I have drunk cow's milk in
spring, out in this country, that tasted strong of sage. Now, you know
well enough, without my telling you, that the meat of the sage hen
tastes strong of sage, because they feed on it all the time, and didn't
Mr. Fannin tell us last year that the hogs and chickens that fed on the
dead salmon could not be eaten because they were so fishy? It seems to
me he did."
"It seems to me he did, too, Hugh. I believe you're right about that."
"Well," said Hugh, "I guess that's common enough. I've tasted beef and
buffalo both that tasted mighty strong of garlic."
"Why, yes, Hugh, I remember now, you told me all about this last year.
You told me about it at the same time that Mr. Fannin told us about
the hogs and chickens which could not be eaten on account of having fed
on the dead salmon. I had forgotten all about it."
"Yes, son, I thought we had talked it over before."
"Well, Hugh, you explain a good many things to me, and I am afraid I
forget some of them."
"Well, son, you can't remember everything. Let's go down and saddle our
horses now."
They went down to the barn and saddled up. Hugh's was a handsome young
black horse, nervous and full of spirit, but with a good disposition,
and Jack could not help admiring the quiet way in which Hugh walked up
to and soothed the horse, talking to him and patting him in a friendly
way that seemed to overcome the animal's fears.
Pawnee flinched when the saddle blanket was put on, and again when the
saddle struck his back, but Jack talked to him and petted him and he
stood quietly while the saddle was being cinched.
"It will be a good idea for you not to draw that cinch too tight at
first, son," said Hugh, "and then to lead him around a little; if he
wants to buck, let him buck with the saddle."
This seemed good advice to Jack, and he led the horse out of the barn.
Pawnee acted a little wild, and kept jumping when a stirrup knocked
against his side, but he made no attempt to get rid of the saddle,
though nervous about the noise that it made.
"He's all right, Hugh," said Jack, "I'll leave him standing here while
I run up and get my rifle and cartridge belt."
He threw down the reins and the rope, and the horse stood quietly
enough by Hugh until Jack returned. Then taking the rope off his neck,
he tied it to the saddle, thrust his gun in the scabbard, and throwing
the reins back over the horse's head, slowly and carefully mounted.
Pawnee stood very quietly, but turned his head around as if curious
to see what this weight was that he now felt on his back, and then at
a touch of the spur moved off, and Hugh and Jack soon passed over the
hill and out of sight of the ranch.
As the day advanced the sun grew warmer and the field of snow was
dazzling.
"We ought to have blackened our faces before we started out," said
Hugh. "This is just the kind of day to get a bad attack of snow
blindness."
"Yes," said Jack, "I can see that's so, but this snow isn't going to
last the day out. See how many patches of bare ground are beginning to
show, and how the water is running off into the ravines."
"That's so," said Hugh. "If it were not for the way it's going it
would be a good idea for us to tie our handkerchiefs across our noses.
Anyhow, I don't want to get an attack of snow blindness; it's mighty
painful, I can tell you, and every time you get it it makes your eyes
weaker and more liable to another attack if you are out in the bright
sunshine when the ground is covered with snow."
"Were you ever snow blind?" asked Jack.
"Yes," replied Hugh, "I've been snow blind, but I never had a real bad
attack. I've been so that I couldn't see, and the way my eyes hurt was
something awful, but it always passed off in a few days. I never had
an attack like I've seen some men have, where they would be blind and
suffering for weeks at a time."
"Where are you going to look for that antelope, Hugh?" said Jack.
"Why, I think we might go up toward the head of the Basin and then
swing over onto the east side. It's warm over there, and a good many
antelope coming back in spring get over there and stop for a while
before they scatter out through the Basin. We're likely to see plenty
of them this morning, and if we do, it does seem to me that we might
as well kill a couple. If you and me are going on a trip pretty soon
there won't be anybody here to kill meat for the ranch."
"All right," said Jack, "I'd like first rate to kill an antelope again.
It seems to me a long time since I've shot at one, and I'd like to find
out whether I've forgotten how to shoot."
"Well," said Hugh, "you're not likely to have forgotten how to shoot,
but your gun may be a little strange to you after such a long rest."
The two rode quietly along for some miles without seeing anything more
than a few birds that rose from the brushy ravines which they passed,
or an occasional coyote trotting over the whitened prairie on his way
to some place to take his nap for the day. Down on the lake below could
be seen many water fowl, and over it a great flock of these would rise
and fly about in the air for a long time, and then alight again on the
water. Sometimes the groups of birds formed a black spot in the sky,
and then swinging out into long lines looked almost like the smoke of a
locomotive carried off over the prairie. It was pleasant riding. Every
moment it seemed to grow warmer and warmer, and the snow disappeared
from the hills with startling rapidity.
CHAPTER III
AN EXPEDITION FOR FUR
Hugh and Jack had ridden some miles across the Basin without seeing
any game except a few distant antelope, for which they did not turn
aside. The hills, as they grew more and more bare of snow, were already
beginning to turn green with the new grass which showed among the sere
and yellow tufts of last year's growth. The buds were swelling on the
trees and bushes which grew in the ravines they crossed, but as yet no
leaves had begun to appear. Yet, all over the prairie, on and under
the bushes, were seen numbers of small birds, some of them migrants on
their way to the north, others summer residents that were building or
were about to build their nests. Now and then was heard the distant
hooting of the sage grouse.
After crossing the valley and climbing the hill on the other side of
the Basin, they came out on a rolling table-land, from which the snow
had almost disappeared, though here and there long lines of white were
seen marking some ravine shaded from the direct rays of the sun. Over
the plain before them were scattered many antelope, and Hugh said,
"Now, son, watch out sharp, and let's get our meat as soon as we can,
and get back."
As they rode along, they approached the top of each hill carefully,
Jack keeping a little behind Hugh, who rode up very slowly to the
crest, and before showing anything more than the top of his head,
scanned the country beyond. They had passed over one or two such rises,
when Hugh slowly bent his head, turned his horse, and rode back toward
Jack, saying, as he reached him, "There's a bunch of antelope just over
the hill, and they may be just what we want; I saw the backs of two
that were feeding; we better creep up there and see what they are, and
remember, a dry doe, or even a yearling doe is likely to be better than
a buck, and if you get a chance, kill one; I'll do the same."
Dropping their horses' reins and loading their rifles, they returned to
the hilltop. Hugh went slowly and carefully, bending lower and lower as
he approached the crest, and finally dropped on his knees, and crept
forward. At last he stopped and very slowly raised his bared head, for
he had left his hat behind him, to take another look; then, with the
same slow motion, he lowered his head, and turning, motioned Jack to
come beside him. As Jack reached him, Hugh whispered, "There's a big
buck off to the right that you can kill, and there's another buck right
in front of me that I'll take after you've shot. Get ready now, and
kill your animal."
Cocking his rifle, Jack slowly raised his head, and in a moment saw the
black horns of an antelope that was looking off over the prairie. He
waited an instant, and then, as the animal lowered his head, he rose up
a little higher, drew a careful bead on the spot that Hugh, years ago,
had told him to shoot at--the little dark curl of hair just behind the
foreleg--and fired. The antelope rushed away, and immediately a dozen
others that had been still nearer to the hunters and out of sight,
followed him. They ran part way up the next slope and then stopped
nearly a hundred and fifty yards off, and as they did so, Hugh's rifle
came to his shoulder and he fired. The animal that he had shot fell in
his tracks, and the others rushed off over the hill. The hunters rose
to their feet, and went back to the horses, picking up their hats on
the way. When they were in the saddle, Jack said to Hugh, "Did you see
anything of my buck?"
"No," said Hugh, "I don't feel sure whether he fell into the ravine
as they crossed, or whether he went on. I heard the ball strike him,
though, and I reckon we'll find him presently."
Riding over toward the animal that Hugh had shot, they crossed the
ravine, and just as they were rising the hill, Hugh stopped his horse
and said, "There's your buck," and pointed down the ravine where,
seventy-five or eighty yards from them, the antelope was seen standing
with his head down, evidently unable to go further.
Jack pulled up his horse and looked at the animal, and said, "I don't
know whether I had better give him another shot, or wait for him to
die."
"Well," said Hugh, "I reckon if I was you, I'd get off and shoot him
again; he's hard hit, but sometimes one of those fellows will give you
a chase of three or four miles if he gets frightened, even though he
may have a mortal wound."
"All right," said Jack, and he dismounted, and stepping back behind the
horses, he shot from the shoulder, and the antelope fell over and was
hidden in the brush of the ravine.
It took but a short time to clean Hugh's buck and put it on the horse,
and a few minutes later, Jack's was similarly tied on his horse. Both
animals had fair heads, but Hugh had said, "It's not worth while to
pack all this extra weight back to the ranch; we may as well cut it
down as low as possible so they had removed the heads and necks and
shanks, before tying the carcasses behind the saddles with the buckskin
strings with which they were provided. While they were doing all this,
the sky had become overcast and the wind had begun to blow up cold from
the west. They mounted their horses and started back for the ranch,
stopping at the first snowbank, where, in the moist snow they washed
the blood from their hands.
"Well," said Hugh, "this wind is blowing up right cold; if we had a
sheltered place to sit down, I would like to smoke a pipe, but as we
haven't, I reckon we better keep on across the valley until we find a
lee over there where we can sit and smoke and talk." But by the time
they had crossed the valley the sun had come out again, and Hugh said,
"Now, son, if we keep poking right along and don't stop, we will get
back to the ranch in time to get some dinner. I move that we do that,
for I'm right wolfish."
"Good enough," replied Jack, "that will suit me; we'll have all the
afternoon to smoke and talk."
They were yet half a mile from the ranch when they heard the dinner
horn, but after they had hung up their meat, unsaddled their horses,
and got into the house, they found the men were still at the table, and
sat down with them.
How good that first dinner did taste to Jack after his morning's ride!
There was the last of some elk meat, killed the fall before by Hugh,
potatoes, canned tomatoes, and lots of good bread, and plenty of milk
and cream. Joe said to Jack, as he watched him eat, after he had
finished his own meal, "Eat hearty, Jack; it's a mighty good thing to
enjoy your victuals like you do!"
"Well," said Jack, "I've enjoyed lots of good meals in my life, but
it seems to me that this is the best I ever did eat, and this milk is
splendid, too. I can drink a quart of it."
"It's something you don't get often on a cow ranch in this country,"
said Joe. "'Pears like the more cows a man has, the less milk he gets;
but I tell you it's a mighty good thing to have, and it helps out the
eatin' wonderfully."
"Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "it always seemed to me that it is worth
while to have the best food there is going, just as far as you can
afford it."
"You had better drink all you can, son," said Hugh, "because if you and
me are going off for a trip, to be gone two or three months, you won't
see any milk for a mighty long time."
Jack grinned as he replied, "Don't be afraid, Hugh. I'm going to fill
myself just as full of the good things as I possibly can, and when I
get where I can't have them, why, I will enjoy the things we can have
just as much as I know how."
"That's good philosophy, Jack," said his uncle; "stick to it; always
get the best you possibly can, but never grumble if that best is pretty
poor."
Dinner over, Hugh and Jack adjourned to the bunk house, and there,
sitting in its lee in the warm sunshine, they began to discuss their
plans.
"Now, Hugh," said Jack, "what do you think about our summer's trip?
Tell me all you can, for I want to know what is coming. Of course
whatever you say goes."
"Well, son," said Hugh, "you have traveled and hunted and seen Indians,
but there's one thing you have not done; you haven't done any trapping.
It seems to me that it would not be a bad idea for you to learn
something about that. I used to be a pretty fair trapper in my young
days, and I reckon we can go down south here in the high mountains and
perhaps get some fur; not much, but enough, maybe, to pay our expenses,
and then we can come back here and turn it in to Mr. Sturgis as a sort
of pay for our time and for the use of the horse flesh we have had."
"That seems to me a bully idea, Hugh; it does seem a shame for me to
come out here every year and take you away from the ranch for all
summer, for I suppose that, of course, my uncle pays you right along?"
"Sure he does," said Hugh. "He paid me my wages that season we spent
up in the Blackfoot country, and again when we came down through the
mountains, and again out in British Columbia, just the same as if I had
been here hunting and wrangling horses for the ranch, working thirty
days in every month. Of course, he does this on your account, he don't
do it on my account; he does it because he is fond of you, and wants
you to have a good time, and wants you to learn things about this
Western country. I'm a kind of hired school teacher for you, and I tell
you, Jack, I like the job, and I reckon you do, too. The reason I speak
to you about it now is because you're older, and you ought to think
about things more, and not just take the good things that come to you,
like a hog under an acorn tree."
"Of course, Hugh, I understand, and I'm glad that you speak to me like
this about it; but what do you mean by 'a hog under an acorn tree'?"
"Why don't you know that old saying about a hog going along and eating
the acorns under an oak tree and never stopping to think where they
come from, or who sends them? I expect it's just because he's a hog."
"No," said Jack; "that's new to me."
"Well," said Hugh, "I reckon it's a mighty good saying. To go back," he
resumed; "now we can go down into the high mountains south of here on
the other side of the range and trap, and maybe get a few beaver. Of
course beaver ain't worth much now, but they are worth something. If we
were out on the prairie down in the lower country it wouldn't be worth
while to do it, because beaver fur gets poor early in the summer, but
up in the mountains, where I think of going, fur is good all the year
round--better in the early spring than it is late in the summer--but
it's good enough all the time."
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "what particular place did you think of going
to?"
"I thought of North Park," said Hugh. "There are high mountains there,
plenty of game and fish, and it used to be a great country for beaver.
It's a good many years since I've been in there. It must be a dozen
years or more. Last time I crossed through there I had been camping on
Henry's Fork of Green River, along with Ike Edwards, old John Baker,
Phil Maas, and Dick Sun. That was a good bunch of men; mighty few like
them in the country now. They were all old-timers, and all had skin
lodges and lived there with their women in the country near Bridger,
and in winter moved into houses which they had on Henry's Fork. I
reckon I'll have to tell you something about them some of these days,
but now we'll stick to our trip.
"North Park is high up, with mountains on both sides of it, mighty high
mountains, too, and if there are any beaver living in that country, we
will probably he able to find them. Beaver is about all the fur that's
worth bothering with. There are not many marten, and if there were, the
fur would not be good now. Of course, you may get a bear or so, and
each bear would bring about seven or probably ten dollars, if we kill
them before they begin to shed. Beaver is worth three or four dollars a
pound. That would make a skin worth about five or six dollars--that is,
a good skin. It's a good deal of a trick to skin a beaver and dry his
pelt in good shape. It's one of them things, of course, that you have
got to learn.
"On the other hand, beaver trapping is mighty hard work, and you had
better know it beforehand. You've got to be in the water more than half
the time, and have to get your beaver back to camp and skin 'em, and
by the time you have been running to your traps, getting your beaver,
setting your traps, packing your catch to camp and skinning it, you
will think you've done a mighty good day's work. All the same, son,
you're pretty husky, and there's no reason why you should not do a full
day's work, but I tell you one thing we had better do, because it will
add a whole lot to our comfort--we had better get rubber boots for
both, before we start out, so that we won't get any wetter than we have
to get. I have had a touch of rheumatism in past years, and I don't
want to get any more of it."
"That seems bully, Hugh," said Jack. "I'm willing to work harder this
year than ever before, and I'm bigger and stronger and better able to
do work than I ever was before. I'll try to hold up my end just as well
as I can."
"Well," said Hugh, "it ain't like as if we were stone broke, and trying
to make a raise to carry us through the winter. We needn't work any
harder than we feel like, but when I tackle a job I like to make it a
good one, and I reckon you feel that way, too."
"Yes," said Jack, "that's the way I feel about it, for that is the way
the people I think most of in the world have always talked to me."
"That's good sound sense, my son," said Hugh.
"Now tell me, Hugh, how do we go from here down into North Park?"
"It's quite a ways," replied Hugh; "eight or ten days' march. We go
from the ranch down the Muddy to the Medicine Bow, up that river quite
a little way, and then cross over the divide to the Big Laramie and
follow that up into the Park. That takes us pretty well on to Laramie
City, and I guess we may as well go there anyhow, if we are going to
get the rubber boots I spoke about."
"In that case we ought to start just as soon as we possibly can,
oughtn't we?" said Jack. "I understand that the sooner we get onto the
trapping grounds the better the fur will be."
"You're dead right," said Hugh, "and I'd rather start to-morrow than
the day after."
"Well," said Jack, "is there any reason why we should not start
to-morrow?"
"I don't know of any," said Hugh; "but your uncle is the doctor, and
he'll have to tell us what to do."
"Well," said Jack, "what's the matter with hunting him up and finding
out?"
"All right," said Hugh, "let's look for him."
Mrs. Carter, when asked as to the whereabouts of Mr. Sturgis, said
that the last she had seen of him he had started down toward the
blacksmith's shop, and there, a little later, Hugh and Jack found him
and Joe busy tinkering with some iron work needed for the horse rake.
The two stood around and watched the blacksmithing for a time, and then
Mr. Sturgis looked up with a twinkle in his eye, and said, "You two
look like scouts that have come in to make a report; what is it?"
"You tell him, Hugh," said Jack, and so Hugh reported the conversation
which had taken place and the conclusion that they had reached.
"Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "I don't know but you are right, but whether
you start to-morrow or next week there is no reason why you should not
get your stuff together and have it all ready to pack on the animals.
If I were you, I would go and get out your pack riggings, select the
horses you want to use, and get Mrs. Carter to put up your grub."
"Hurrah!" said Jack, and he threw his hat up to the roof, and then
felt much mortified when it fell into the forge bucket and he dipped
it out all wet; he then rushed out of the shop toward the house, while
Hugh followed more slowly, going to the store room to get out the pack
saddles and their riggings.
CHAPTER IV
MAKING READY FOR THE TRIP
A little later, when Jack came into the storeroom, he found three
pack saddles and three blankets with various other pieces of the
riggings strewn upon the floor. Lying by each saddle was its lash
rope and cinch, its sling rope and the hackamore for the animal. A
pile of saddle blankets rested in one corner of the room, from which
those required for the trip would be selected. Hugh was rummaging in
the storeroom, and presently came out carrying a piece of canvas and
a small sack, from which he took a palm, a large sail needle with a
crooked point, a piece of beeswax, and a ball of heavy thread. These he
put on the floor, and then taking up the piece of canvas he cut from
its side a long strip about fifteen inches wide.
"What are you going to do, Hugh?" said Jack.
"Well," said Hugh, "we're liable to have considerable climbing to do in
the mountains, and while probably we won't have to make any long drives
nor climb any very steep hills, yet we may want to do both. If we have
anything of that sort to do, we want to keep the backs of our horses
in good order. If our animals are carrying any loads these will have a
tendency to slip off backward when the horse is going up hill, or to
slip off forward when coming down hill. I believe we'll save ourselves
and animals both, if we rig up breast bands, and breechings, too, on
these saddles. Of course, one of them has a crupper already, but that
does not amount to much. I believe we'd better do what I've said, and
then we're pretty sure that the loads, if they are properly lashed,
will stay put, and won't be giving us everlasting trouble."
"How many packs do you intend to take, Hugh?"
"Why," said Hugh, "I should think three will be a plenty; one to carry
our beds, war sacks, and tent; one to carry our mess outfit and grub;
and one to carry our fur, if we get any. The third horse will go light
for part of the way, and then later we can use him to save the others.
Of course, we could get along with two animals, but not so well, if
we're going to bring anything back with us; and, of course, there's
always a probability of that, though, on the other hand, we may not get
anything at all."
"Well," said Jack, "three packs aren't much to bother with, and we
ought to be able to travel fast with them."
"No," said Hugh, "three won't be much trouble, and we can get a good
start every morning, if we want to."
While they had been talking, Hugh had set a saddle upright on the
floor and had run a rope in front of it about where the animal's
breast would come, and then brought the rope back to the side of the
saddle; measuring the canvas by this, he cut off three strips, and
then doubling them over he took the palm and sail needle and with
waxed thread stitched the two edges together so that he had a double
thickness of canvas, six or eight inches wide and long enough to reach
from one side of the saddle to the other, around the animal's breast.
Similar bands were cut and sewed for breeching, and then Hugh pointed
out to Jack where one difficulty lies in using such aids to travel.
"You have got to have the breast band so low that it will press on
the breast and not on the throat, otherwise you stop your animal's
wind--choke him. Again, if you have it too low, and if it isn't held
up by anything from above, it's likely to drop down to the animal's
knees. Probably the best way for us to do is to run a string through
one edge of the band, bring it up, and pass it over the horse's neck
and down through the edge on the other side. There's less danger, of
course, of the breeching slipping down, because it will catch on the
animal's hocks. Still, I think I'll try and see if I can find a couple
of cruppers for these other saddles, and then we can tie the supports
for the breeching to the crupper band, midway of where it runs back
from the saddle. Really, to make good breeching we ought to have it so
that it can be shortened up or lengthened out, and so that it will fit
any animal that the saddle is put on. I don't see how we can get along
without straps and buckles, but as we haven't got any, we'll just put
on a couple of snaps, two or three inches apart. I'll go ahead and sew
the breeching and the breast straps on one side, anyhow, and after we
get up the animals, we can fit them."
"By the way, Hugh," said Jack, "how much grub will we want to take with
us? I told Mrs. Carter that we would be gone for a couple of months;
was that right?"
"Yes," said Hugh, "we'll be gone a couple of months, anyhow, I should
think, maybe more, but, of course, we expect to live mostly on what we
kill. We'll need coffee, sugar, bacon, and flour, and baking powder,
but it seems to me that it's not worth while for us to take much of
that sort of thing from here. If we're going to stop in Laramie City,
we can buy all that stuff there right on the railroad, and in that
case, we only need to take from here a fifty-pound sack of flour, a
little bacon, and a little coffee and sugar. Maybe Mrs. Carter would
bake us bread enough to last us for a few days, and that would save us
wrestling with frying-pan bread for a while. I reckon she would do it,
if you asked her."
"All right," replied Jack, "I'll ask her, and I bet she'll do it, too.
She has always been mighty nice to me."
"Yes," said Hugh, "she's a mighty nice woman."
For a little while Hugh sat silent, busy with his work of sewing up
the bands of canvas and attaching them to the saddles on the off side.
Presently he said, "Look here, son, it 'pears to me you're not doing
much work."
"No," said Jack, "that's so, but I don't know enough to make those
breast bands and breeching to help you, do I?"
"No," said Hugh, "I had better do this part of the business myself, but
don't you see these riggings have got to be fitted to the animals? Now,
why don't you go out and saddle up and bring in the horse bunch, and
then we'll pick out the animals we need for the trip."
"All right," said Jack, "I'll go," and he started for the door.
"And while you're about it," said Hugh, "stop up at the house and tell
Mrs. Carter that we shan't want much grub. It may save her lifting down
a lot of heavy flour sacks, and that's no work for a woman, anyhow."
"Good!" said Jack, and he ran up to the house and explained to Mrs.
Carter what Hugh had said.
A little later he was in the saddle, and spurring Pawnee over the hills
north of the ranch, looked for the horse bunch. He knew about where
they would be found at this time of the day, and at this season of
the year, and before long he rode over a hill and saw them scattered
out before him over a level hay meadow on which the grass was just
beginning to be green. In a few moments he had rounded them up and
started them toward the corral, but without hurrying them, for in the
bunch there were a number of little colts that were rather shaky on
their spindly, crooked legs, and he did not want to hurry them. In
fact, as they trotted along toward the ranch, he let several of the old
mares and colts drop out by the way, trying only to keep the young
horses headed for the ranch. Presently the bunch trotted over the last
hill and down to the gate of the corral, and stopped. Jack rode around
to one side, got off and dropped his reins, let down the bars, and then
remounting rode behind the horses and drove them in. Then he hitched
Pawnee to the fence, and went into the storeroom to report to Hugh.
Hugh's job seemed to be over, though one end of each band of the
breeching and the breast straps was still free from the saddle.
"Well," said Jack, "you've worked pretty fast, Hugh, haven't you? I
have the horses all in now, and if you'll come out and pick the ones
you want, I'll catch them and tie them up, and we'll let the others go
again."
Hugh rose to his feet and went up to the corral, carrying with him the
three hackamores that belonged to the saddles they had selected. He
looked over the bunch very thoughtfully, and then said to Jack, "Catch
that bay with the bald face and the white hind feet."
Jack stepped into the corral and threw his rope, but the bald-faced bay
dropped his head and crowded in among the other horses so the rope slid
off. Coiling the rope again, Jack stepped forward to the bunch, and as
the horses started to run around the corral he made a quick throw and
caught the bay, and led it over to where Hugh stood. Then he put the
hackamore on it and took it out to the gate and tied it to the fence.
"Now catch the big dun," said Hugh, and in a few minutes Jack had him,
and the hackamore was put on him.
"Now," said Hugh, "take that heavy-set, iron-gray colt. He's only
three, and don't know nothing, but he's gentle enough and it's time he
learned. We'll let him be the third of the pack animals, and when he
comes back he will be a good pack horse.
"Now let the others out," said Hugh, after Jack had brought over the
iron gray. "We'll put these horses in the hay corral to-night, and then
when morning comes we'll know where they are; but first we've got to
fit these saddles to them. Let's go down and bring up the blankets and
the saddles and see how they go."
One after the other the pack saddles were cinched on the horses, each
one having a good roll of blankets under it.
"These confounded horses are so fat now," said Hugh, "it's a hard
matter to make the saddles stick on them anyway. It's a good deal like
trying to cinch up a barrel; but they'll lose flesh after they've been
on the road a little while, and luckily there's no load for them to
carry just now. I'm putting on more blankets than I would if these
horses were a little thinner. I hate to put too many blankets under a
saddle. It's just as bad as not putting enough, and mighty likely to
make a horse's back sore."
"Now," said Hugh, after the saddles were all in place, "let's measure
these bands, and then we'll mark them with a pencil and this afternoon
or to-night I'll fix them up so that they'll be in shape to put on
to-morrow morning."
The work did not take long. The breast and breeching bands were brought
around against each animal's breast and hips, and the place where they
should be attached on the near side was marked with a pencil. After
this was done, the saddles were taken off, the horses, with their
hackamore shanks tied up, were turned into the hay corral, and Hugh and
Jack went back to the storeroom.
While Hugh continued his work on the saddles, Jack sat cross-legged on
the floor watching him and asking many questions.
"Are you going to take a tent with you, Hugh?" said Jack.
"Yes, sir," said Hugh. "I can get along all right without a tent, when
I know it ain't going to rain or snow, but when I know it's going to
rain I am powerful partial to some kind of shelter. Of course, if we
had a small lodge, and we were sure we could get lodge poles wherever
we went, I'd prefer a lodge, but as we can't have just what we want,
I'm going to have a tent. Your uncle has got the nicest kind of an A
tent with jointed poles, and I expect he'll be willing to let us have
it. At least, I'm going to ask him for it. I don't reckon it will be in
use at all this summer. You must understand that up in the mountains,
and especially at this season of the year, we're likely to have lots of
rain, and maybe some snow, and certainly plenty of thunder storms. Now,
of course, you can get along all right when it's wet, and you can cook
in the rain and eat in the rain and eat wet grub, too, if you have to,
but I've always found that a man was just a little bit better off and
more comfortable if he kept dry, and I've found, too, that it doesn't
take much more work to keep dry than it does to keep wet. These jointed
poles are the greatest things out. When they are taken apart they are
about three or four feet long; there are only six pieces. They lash
first class, and make a good top pack. They give you a chance, too, to
put up a tent wherever you are, and into the tent you can bring all
the things you want to keep dry. 'Most always you can arrange things
so that you can do your cooking under some sort of cover, and even if
you do get a little damp you can dry off in front of the fire, go to
bed dry, and sleep dry at night. Your saddles, your ropes, and your
blankets all are kept dry, and that helps you a whole lot in getting
away in good shape and season in the morning. It only takes a few
minutes to put up a tent, but those few minutes and the extra work will
be more than paid for some night When perhaps it snows hard, and you
know that if your things were lying out in the weather it might take
you half a day or all day to go around and dig them out of the snow, or
in fact you might have to wait until the snow melted before you could
find them again."
"Well, Hugh, it seems to me it's a pretty good idea to take a tent,
especially if we're likely to strike such weather as you tell of."
"We're likely to, of course," said Hugh; "but that doesn't mean that we
will. I've seen it perfectly fair up there in them mountains day after
day and week after week, but then, again, I've seen it rain and snow
for weeks at a time. Yes, we'd better take a tent by all means, unless
it is going to be in the way."
Hugh had finished his work on the pack saddles long before supper time,
and the two went up to see what grub Mrs. Carter had laid out, carrying
with them two rawhide panniers, which were to hang one on either side
of a pack saddle, and in them they packed the grub and carried them
back to the storeroom.
The load was a light one, and Jack did not stagger under his share of
it.
After supper that night, Mr. Sturgis talked with Hugh and Jack and told
them that he agreed with them that they had better start as soon as
they could, and be gone as long as they liked.
"You will be pretty close to the settlements all the time, I take it,"
he said to Hugh, "and if either of you feel like it, I should like to
have a letter from you from time to time, telling me how you're getting
along and what you are doing. Of course, I don't want to have you feel
obliged to carry on a correspondence with me, but whenever you do get
within reach of a postoffice let me hear from you that you are all
right. I know you are both pretty well able to take care of yourselves,
and I shan't do any worrying about you, but I have a curiosity to know
what fur you find, and generally what you see down there in those high
mountains. I have never been down there myself, and if I had the time I
should like to go with you. I hear that there is some great fishing in
those streams. To-morrow morning I will get out my trout rod and reel
and some flies, and you had better take the outfit with you. You should
be able to carry it so that it won't break, and very likely there will
be a good many times when you can catch some fish. You won't suffer
for things to eat, because there is plenty of game in those mountains
down there. You will have a good time, and maybe you will catch beaver
enough to make a coat apiece. Do you expect to see any Indians, Hugh?"
he asked.
"Why, yes, Mr. Sturgis, I reckon we will see some Utes, but they are
all quiet now, since they killed their agent and had a fight with
Thornburgh's command. I always had an idea that the truth of that
business never came out, and that the Utes had a good deal more to
stand than any of us know about, before they broke out the way they
did. I lived down on the edge of their country once, for several years,
and knew most of the Uinta Utes, and they were always good and kind
people, and brave, too. You know they were always at war with the
Pawnees, Sioux, and Cheyennes, and in fact with pretty much all the
Plains people, and they generally managed to hold up their end pretty
well, too."
"Well," said Mr. Sturgis, "when can you get ready to start?"
"Why, I reckon we can get off soon after day to-morrow morning, if you
think best," said Hugh.
"By all means," said Mr. Sturgis. "You haven't wasted any time, have
you? Got everything ready?"
"Yes," said Hugh, "everything. I was thinking that maybe we would not
take much grub along with us; not more than enough to last for six or
eight days, and then we could buy the supplies for the main trip at
Laramie, if you think best."
"That's a very good idea, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "and you had better
do it. I will give you an order on the store at Laramie for whatever
you want, and you can travel light until you get there; then you will
have to load up heavy, but there is a good road down into the Park, I
hear, and perhaps you can cache a part of your supplies down there,
after you get there."
"I guess that's a good idea," said Hugh. "Maybe we'll do it."
"Well," said Hugh, after a pause, "if it's all settled we start
to-morrow morning, I reckon I'll say good-night and go to bed."
Jack and his uncle sat a while longer in front of the fire talking, and
then they went to bed.
CHAPTER V
THE START FOR NORTH PARK
It was just gray dawn next morning when Jack awoke and tumbled out of
bed. As he passed the corral on his way down to the bunk house, he saw
Hugh moving about among the horses, and entering, found that the pack
animals were all saddled.
"Hello, son!" said Hugh, "I'm glad to see you stirring. We want to get
our loads out, so that as soon as we've eaten breakfast we can pack up
and go. You better roll up that bed of yours and bring it down here
and put it with mine over there against the fence, and then we want to
bring down the grub and the mess kit, and make up our packs."
For a little time both were busy journeying to and fro between the
house and the corral, carrying down loads of food, the small mess kit
packed in a soap box, the ax, the hatchet, the Dutch oven, packages of
ammunition, and their guns. Hugh showed Jack how to lash together the
six pieces which made up the two uprights and the ridge pole of their
small tent, and then with a number of pieces of canvas and some lengths
of rope, Hugh began to make up the packs for the pack animals.
"While I'm working at this, son," he said, "do you go up and put the
saddles on the riding horses. Don't cinch them up, but just draw the
latigos tight enough to hold the saddles in place, and have the bridles
handy; and, by the way, you'd better get that coil of half-inch rope
that's in the storeroom. We'll take all that along, for we may need
picket ropes before we get back. Ropes are something that are awful
easy lost on a trip."
Jack got the rope, which he threw down with the other things over which
Hugh was working, and then went up and saddled Pawnee and Hugh's black.
He watered both horses, and then tied them in their stalls and left
them munching their hay.
When he returned to the corral, Hugh had apparently finished his work,
but while they had three pack horses, there were only two loads piled
up. Jack looked about for a third, and Hugh noticing this, said, "You
see, son, we've got so little to pack that we may as well put it all on
two horses and let the third one go without a load. You see, when we
buy our grub at Laramie, we can stick a good part of it on him, and put
more on the other horses as well. As it is now, neither of the loaded
horses will have had more than half what he ought to carry."
The call to breakfast came about this time, and after the meal was over
all hands went down to the corral and stood around while Hugh and Jack
packed their horses. A few moments later they had mounted, turned their
pack train loose, and after shaking hands all around and saying good-by
to Mr. Sturgis, they started down the valley. For some miles the ride
was a familiar one to Jack, for he had passed over it a number of times
on his hunting trips and on his way to the Powell ranch. He had nothing
special to do except to keep the pack animals close up to Hugh and to
prevent them from turning off and trying to return to the ranch. This
they kept doing for the first few miles, and at last Jack quite lost
patience with them and began to ride fast after them, chasing them
back at a gallop so that at times they ran ahead of Hugh. After he had
been doing this some little time, Hugh stopped and motioned to him
to come up to him. When Jack had done so, Hugh said, "If I were you,
son, I'd be more quiet with the horses. The more you run them, the
harder they'll be to manage, and you're liable to wear out the horse
you're riding if you keep charging up and down in this way. You can
always handle a horse easier if you do it quietly than if you lose your
temper. You know we've talked about that two or three times before, and
I've told you that your way of getting mad at a horse did not go."
Jack felt quite penitent when Hugh spoke to him in this way, and
answered: "I know you are right, Hugh; I do get mad at these miserable
horses. They seem to have no sense at all, and keep trying to turn
around and go back."
"Well, now," said Hugh, "I'll tell you. You say they have no sense.
Perhaps they don't understand what we're trying to do and where we are
trying to go. I'll go over there and sit down and smoke, and while I'm
doing that it might be a good idea for you take each one of the horses
off by itself and tell it where we are going to, and why we are going,
and why he must not go back."
For a moment Jack felt rather silly, and then he burst out laughing and
said, "Hugh, you are the queerest chap I ever saw. I never met anybody
that could make a fellow see so plainly what a fool he was making of
himself. It's pretty silly to get angry at these horses because they
don't want to leave their range; how could they be expected to know
anything about going in one direction or another? I will try to keep my
temper better, and handle the horses with better judgment."
"Do so," said Hugh. "But now, I tell you what we can do. Suppose you
lead for a while if you feel like it, and I'll follow and drive the
horses. All you've got to do is to keep straight ahead down the valley,
and along toward night we'll come to the mouth of the Muddy and camp
there."
"No, sir!" said Jack. "You go ahead and lead; there's where you belong,
and I'll follow and drive the horses; it will give me a lesson in
patience, and that is something that I need. You and the Indians we
have hunted with have taught me to be patient in hunting, but I have
not learned to be patient with horses."
"All right," said Hugh, "I'll go ahead, or I'll come behind, just
whichever you please; but if I'm to go ahead, you drive the horses with
good sense."
"I'll try," said Jack, and from that time on the horses, very largely
owing to the way in which they were treated, went along much better.
There was little that was interesting on the road for the greater part
of the day. On either side of the stream stretched the wide sage plain
of silvery green. Beyond this plain, to the right, rose the tall naked
hills, almost blood red, while to the left, as far off, was a yellow,
chalky bluff. Among the red hills Jack had several times been hunting
deer and elk, and just beyond the chalky bluff was Bate's Hole, where
Jack had killed his first mule deer.
It was but a little after noon when Hugh stopped his horse, and when
Jack had come close to him, said, "Son, there are some antelope over
this next hill, and we need fresh meat; why not slip off your horse and
go up to the top of the next hill and see if you can find a buck that
you can kill."
"All right," said Jack. He jumped from the saddle, threw down the
reins and started for the crest of the ridge beyond. As he slowly and
carefully advanced, he saw, not far ahead of him, a pair of small
horns, which he knew must belong to a yearling buck antelope, and
dropping on his knees, he crept forward until close to the ridge; then
slowly raising his head, he saw but a short distance from him a fine
young buck antelope looking across the valley and standing broadside
on. Jack raised his gun and fired, and the antelope fell, while a half
dozen others not seen before rushed into view from behind the hill and
scampered off into the plain. The one that Jack had shot struggled to
his feet and stood with lowered head, facing in the direction in which
its comrades had gone. Jack threw his rifle to his shoulder again,
intending to shoot once more, but the antelope looked as if it were
badly wounded, and he did not think that it could run far. Turning
about, he signaled Hugh to come on, saw him ride over to Pawnee, grasp
the bridle reins and start towards him. Then Jack slowly walked over
the crest and up to the antelope. There was, of course, a possibility
that the animal might run, and Jack cocked his rifle and held it at
a "ready," but the antelope, shot through the lungs, was breathing
heavily and was in no condition to run away. Still, it kept its feet,
and Jack was doubtful as to how to handle it. He certainly did not care
to go in front of it and take it by the horns, and he did not like to
put down his gun and attempt to stab it with his butcher knife. Finally
he put down the gun close by the antelope, and stepped up behind it
with drawn butcher knife, caught its hind leg and tried to hamstring
it. It was not until then that he realized something of the strength
of even so small an animal as this. It kicked and struggled, and Jack,
while he managed to keep his hold of the leg, was shaken and twisted
about in a way that greatly astonished him. He dared not let go, for
fear the antelope would run away, but he had no idea as to how long
the struggle would last. However, after a minute or two, which seemed
to him like a very long time, the antelope's efforts grew weaker, and
finally it fell over on its side. By the time Hugh had come up with the
horses, Jack had cut the little buck's throat.
"What was the matter?" said Hugh. "You seemed to be having quite an
active time down here."
"Active time!" said Jack, "I should say so! I had no idea that an
animal as small as this antelope could shake me up as he did. I made a
poor shot, for I hit him too high up, and from the way he breathed, I
think I just cut the upper part of his lungs. I shall have to practice
shooting if I am going to help keep the camp supplied with meat this
summer."
"Oh, don't you bother about practicing," Hugh said. "Two or three
shots will get you back into your old way again, but that's a regular
green-horn trick to shoot too high. It seems to me that mighty few
people know how low the life lies in any animal. I keep telling you
where to shoot at in an antelope, and you must remember it."
"Of course you do, Hugh," said Jack; "I know that well enough. I try to
shoot at that little curl of hair; that's what I aimed at, but you see
I drew my sight too coarse."
"Well," said Hugh, "just a little shooting is what you need, and you'll
get plenty of that in a very short time now."
Hugh got off his horse, and they began to skin the antelope, which was
a very short operation. The hide strips off an antelope very easily,
just as the hide strips off a deer. Jack noticed that on his side Hugh
kept turning under the edge of the skin, so that the hair side was
always next to the ground or else turned well under the edge. Jack,
on the other hand, simply laid the hide on his side on the ground,
and twisted and pulled it about; sometimes the flesh sides would come
together, and some of the antelope hair rubbed off on the body.
Hugh said to him, "You might as well learn to skin an antelope right,
son. You know the hair smells quite strong, and if you let the hair
touch the meat, the meat gets this smell and tastes of it. Lots of
people don't like that taste, and so I always make it a point to keep
the hair from touching the skin. You see how I'm working it on my
side, always keeping the flesh side to the body."
"I see," said Jack, "and now that you have told me, I see why you do
it. Of course I've tasted the flavor of the antelope hide in the meat,
and I don't like it a bit, myself. I will remember that after this in
skinning. Are there other animals, the meat of which is affected by the
touching of the hide?"
"Well," said Hugh, "the meat of the tame sheep gets an awful strong
taste if the wool is allowed to rub against it, and sometimes I think
the meat of the wild sheep gets the same taste; anyhow, it's just as
well to keep the hair side of the hide away from the meat of the animal
it belongs to. At best the hides of these animals are full of dirt and
dust, and there is a common prejudice against making that sort of thing
your food. We have to eat a lot of it, of course, but at the same time
we don't want to eat any more than we have got to. You take the hide
of a deer or an elk or a buffalo, just after you have stripped it off,
rub your hand down the outside of it, and see what a lot of dirt you
will get on your hand. Of course, the Indians don't think much about a
little thing like that, and perhaps the average plainsman don't, but
I've noticed a few times how very dirty these hides are, and it seems
to me worth while to be as clean as we can with the skinning."
The antelope being lifted off the hide, its body was rested now for a
moment on the top of a sage bush, while Hugh went to his saddle and
from one of the strings behind it untied a cotton sack. The antelope
was quickly quartered and the pieces packed in this sack, which was
lashed on the unloaded horse, and they went on.
Camp was made that night some miles above where the Muddy runs into the
Medicine Bow River. There was no timber, but the grass was good, and
there was plenty of sage brush and some dry willow bushes, so that
they had fuel enough to cook their meals. By the time the horses were
picketed and the coffee was boiling, it was dark.
The day had been warm and bright, and as the night was clear, they
decided that it was not necessary to put up the tent. After supper they
sat by the fire, Jack questioning Hugh about the country they were
going to.
"You have talked to me a good deal about the Northern countries, but
I don't know that you have ever said anything about the Parks of
Colorado, and I don't know just what they are. Of course, we will see
them before long, but I should like to have some idea of the country
before we reach it."
"Well," said Hugh, "I can tell you pretty clearly what these Parks are
like. They are just big basins of open country lying between ranges of
high mountains. In some places they are fifteen or twenty miles across
and twice as long as they are wide, and the mountains on either side
are very high--not like the mountains back of the ranch, but running
away up above timber line. There are no people in North Park, though
I believe within the last two or three years some folks have begun to
drive cattle in there for the summer; but in Middle Park and South
Park, which are nearer Denver, there are some settlements. In North
Park and in Middle Park there is lots of game--in fact, I reckon it's
one the greatest game countries there is left now. You will find elk,
deer, antelope, sheep, and maybe a few buffalo, but no moose, and no
white goats. If you imagine a big plain like the Basin we have just
come over, with high mountains all around it, you will have a pretty
good idea of North Park.
"There's a wagon road from Laramie into the Park--a good wagon road,
but after you pass Pinkham's you won't see any settlers until you get
over the divide into Middle Park. The North Platte heads in North Park,
and, of course, there are no fish in that. Then you ride over a low
divide and strike one of the heads of Grand River, and there, even up
in the shallow water in a small brook you can catch lots of trout."
"Why is it, Hugh, that there are no trout in the Platte River?"
"I reckon a thousand people have asked that question, and nobody has
ever been able to answer it, so far as I know. We all just know that
there are no trout in the stream, but why it is, nobody can tell.
Neither in the Platte River nor in any stream that runs into it, so far
as I know, are there any trout, and it does seem queer."[1]
[1] In recent years the North Platte River has been stocked with trout.
"Why, yes, Hugh, that does seem queer; but where do the trout come from
that are in the other Rocky Mountain streams? I know that they are not
the same kind of trout that we have back East. Those have red spots,
and these have black ones."
"You just can't prove it by me," said Hugh; "but I've always believed
that they came from the other side of the mountain, over the range.
How they got over to this side, I do not know, but I reckon that there
are ways for fish to move about and get scattered over the country,
that maybe you and I don't know anything about. There's one place up
north of here where there's a little spring right on the crest of the
mountain, from which the water flows both ways. That is to say, it
flows down into the Yellowstone on one side and into the Snake River
on the other, and so from this same spring water goes to the Atlantic
Ocean and to the Pacific Ocean. Now, of course, it might be possible
for a trout from the west side of the range to push his way up a
western stream until he got into this little spring, and then he might
push his way down the stream, which runs east, and where one fish went
another might follow; and so that stream might get stocked. It may be
that in times past there have been a number of places like that where a
fish could climb over the range. Mind, I don't say that is the way that
it happened, but it seems to me it might have been that way."
"That's mighty interesting, Hugh," said Jack; "I never heard of that
place before. What do they call it?"
"Why," said Hugh, "they have a good name for it, they call it 'Two
Ocean Spring.' Long ago I heard of it from mountain men a great many
times, and I have been there once or twice. It's in the right high
mountains just east of that Yellowstone Park that we came down through
two years ago. They call the two little creeks that run out from it,
Atlantic Creek and Pacific Creek, and these seem to me to be very good
names for them, too. I heard that not very long ago a government outfit
crossed over there and made a map of the country."
"Jerusalem!" said Jack; "that's one of the places I'd like to go to."
"Well," said Hugh, "you're likely to see just as pretty places as that
in these mountains this summer. The little pool up there, that these
two streams run out of, is just like any other little shallow lake on
top of a divide, and there isn't any wonderful scenery there. It's a
good game country, though not any better, I think, than what we came
through when we made that trip with Joe two years ago; but it is a
pretty country to travel through; open parks and quaking aspen groves
and high peaks of mountains sticking up every little while. Oh, yes,
it's a real nice country."
"Well," said Jack, "I would like to go there, but dear me! what a lot
of country there is out here, and how much time it would take to visit
all of it!"
"That's so," said Hugh, "there's a right smart of country that I have
never seen, and I have been out here a pretty considerable time."
For a little while both sat silently looking into the fire, and
listening to the sharp barks and the shrill wailings of a coyote
perched on a hill not far from them. The noise made seemed to Jack to
be enough for a half dozen animals, and yet he suspected that very
likely it was all made by one. At last he spoke to Hugh about it, and
said, "How many of those coyotes do you think there are yelling out
there, Hugh?"
"Well, I don't know," said Hugh; "there must be at least one; he makes
plenty of noise, doesn't he?"
"I should think so," said Jack. "I thought there must be at least half
a dozen."
"No, I don't think so," said Hugh; "if there were more than one, you
would be apt to distinguish their voices, and there would be barking
at different times. Instead of that, if you will listen to this fellow
you'll hear him bark and then howl and stop, and then bark again. I
reckon he's hungry, and is trying to call up a partner, and to-morrow
morning they will go hunting together and try to kill a rabbit or two,
or maybe pull down an antelope. They are queer beasts."
"Yes," said Jack, "and mighty cunning, I expect."
"Lord, yes," said Hugh, "they are cunning enough. A fox is a fool to
one of those coyotes."
CHAPTER VI
TO LARAMIE AND NORTH PARK
They were up before light next morning, and by the time the sun had
risen, the little train had started off southward. Crossing two low
divides, they found themselves, before noon, on Rock Creek, and
traveled up that without incident until late in the day. Everywhere
scattered over the valley and the bluffs, antelope were feeding in good
numbers.
About the middle of the afternoon Hugh proposed that they should stop
and smoke and let the animals feed for a little while, and they did
so. The men lounged in the shade of a clump of bullberry bushes, for
the sun was hot. After half an hour's rest, Hugh said, "Well, son,
let's gather up these horses and be moving. We want to get beyond Rock
Creek Station to-night. I don't think much of camping in or close to a
town, and especially not close to Rock Creek. There's where they unload
considerable freight for the ranches up north, and there's usually a
good big crowd of bull-whackers there, and most of them drunk. Let's
get by there before we camp."
They were stepping out to get the horses, when Hugh stretched out his
hand and touched Jack, saying, "Hold on a minute, son, what's that
coming down the creek?"
Jack looked, and could see far off a flock of birds coming. They were
stretched out in a line and seemed to have white bodies with black tips
to their wings.
"What are they, Hugh?" he said, as they both crouched on the ground and
watched the distant birds.
"I'm not sure," replied Hugh. "There are mighty few birds that are
white with black tips to their wings. These might be white geese or
white cranes or gulls or pelicans. They can't be gulls, for they don't
fly right, and they are not white cranes, I am sure. They are either
geese or pelicans, and we'll soon know which."
The birds drew nearer and nearer, and presently Hugh said, "They are
not geese, either; they must be pelicans. I hope they'll come over us,
for they'll make a fine show, and I reckon they will follow the water."
Very slowly, as it seemed to Jack, the great birds approached. He was
astonished at their tremendous spread of wing and at their curious
appearance. They flew in single file, nine of them, the bill of each
just about so far from the tail of the bird before it. Their necks were
crooked so that the back of the head seemed to rest on the body, and
Jack could not but think that in this matter they carried themselves
just like herons. Their enormous yellow bills shone in the bright
sunlight, and the feet stretched out behind were yellow, but seemingly
paler than the bills. To Jack two or three of them seemed to have a
wash of gold color on the side of the head, but except for that they
were pure white all over except the black wing tips. On steady wing
they followed the windings of the stream, not more than thirty or forty
feet above the water, passed the travelers without noticing them, and
then disappeared down the stream.
"My!" exclaimed Jack, as they grew smaller in the distance, "that was a
fine sight, Hugh. I never expected to see anything quite like that. I
did not know that there were many pelicans in this country, though, of
course, there are plenty of them further west, at least that's what the
books say."
"Yes," answered Hugh; "there are lots of them out West, especially in
Utah and Nevada, so I've heard, but there are a few scattered all over
the Western country. Now and then one sees them up in Montana, and
sometimes down here, and pretty much everywhere, but it's a long time
since I've seen a lot together this way."
"Well," said Jack, "I'm mighty glad they came along just when they did."
A few minutes later the train was in motion, and not long before sunset
they passed through the town of Rock Creek. As Hugh had said, much
freighting was going on here, and many wagons with white tilts were
drawn up side by side, while at a distance on the prairie, herds of
stock fed, each watched by a herder. Scattered about near the different
groups of wagons, were the camps of the bull-whackers, and a few men
were seen, though most of them were presumably in the cook tents eating
their suppers. The train had almost passed through the camps, when
from between two tents a hundred yards off to one side, Jack saw a
little man run out, turn and run down toward another camp, and almost
immediately behind him was another much larger man who carried in his
hand a good stout club. The little man did not run so fast as the one
behind him, and presently the pursuer overtook him and began to beat
him with the club. The second or third blow knocked the small man flat
to the ground, but he did not remain there, and springing to his feet,
he turned and caught the tall man around the neck with his left arm and
in a moment the tall man fell to the ground, while the little fellow
walked off. It had all happened quickly, and almost by the time Jack
had called Hugh's attention to it, the little fellow had quickened his
steps and was now running away from the camp. As Hugh and Jack looked
back they could see dark stains spreading over the white undershirt
that the large man wore, and it was evident that the little fellow had
stabbed his antagonist. Almost at once from three or four directions
men came running toward the wounded man, and a little later two or
three men rushed out from tents, carrying rifles and cartridge belts.
Jack had said to Hugh, "Oh, Hugh, that man is wounded; shan't we go
over and help him," to which Hugh had replied, "Don't you do it, son;
let us get ahead as fast as we can and not mix up with these fellows'
quarrels. You can't tell what these half-drunken men will do. They are
liable to try to knock one of us off our horse if the notion takes
them. The best thing we can do is to put as much ground between them
and us as we can. There's one comfort," he added; "if they do shoot at
us they can't hit us."
Meantime, shots were sounding out on the flat, and Jack could see the
little man running hard for the distant bluff, while behind him two
or three men were running or staggering and shooting with pistols and
rifles. Before very long, Hugh and Jack had put two or three miles
between Rock Creek and themselves, and just after sundown they camped
in a pleasant part of the valley where there was good grass and water,
but not much wood.
While Hugh was cooking supper, a man came along on horseback and
stopped to speak with them.
Hugh asked him if he would not alight and have a cup of coffee, and he
accepted.
"Have you men just come from Rock Creek?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said Hugh. "We have just passed through there an hour ago.
A lively place, isn't it?"
"Too lively for me," said the stranger; "I've got charge of that bull
train, and those drunken bull-whackers will break my heart if I don't
get them out from the railroad before very long. Three or four of them
got drunk and quit on me the other day, and I've been into Laramie
to try and get some more. I've got three that are coming up on the
passenger to-night."
"Well," said Hugh, "we saw a couple of them having fun with each other
as we came through. There was a big man pounding a little man, and the
little man turned and cut the big man, and then pretty much the whole
camp turned out and chased the little fellow off over the prairie, and
the last we heard they were still shooting at him."
"Yes," said the foreman, "that don't surprise me a bit. That little
fellow was Wild Tex, and the big fellow was Donovan. Donovan has always
been picking on Tex, and when he gets drunk he is worse than ever.
I've been expecting that Tex would kill him, but he's a mighty patient
little cuss and hasn't done it yet."
"Well," said Hugh, "he had a good chance to do it to-day, and if
Donovan gets well I hope he'll have learned a lesson."
"I hope so," said the foreman, "but I don't think he is one of the kind
that learns lessons."
The foreman sat with them until they had finished supper, and then
getting up said, "Well, I must be going. I've got to round up my outfit
and get them started to-morrow morning, if I can. A mighty good cup of
coffee you gave me. So long."
The next night they camped close to Laramie, and early the next day
went into the town and purchased their supplies, not forgetting a pair
of rubber boots for each. It was only the middle of the morning when
the loads were put on and they started south over the open prairie on
their way to North Park. Now Jack felt that the trip had really begun.
The ride over the open prairie was delightful. The mountains toward
which they were journeying showed many strange shapes and curious
colors, and the wagon road which they were following was constantly
dipping down steep hills and climbing others. The first few miles
showed them many cattle and horses, but no game, but later, as they
approached the mountains, a few antelope began to be seen, and there
were many well-known western birds of the dry country, which now for
two years Jack had not seen.
Towards evening they reached Beaver Creek, a tributary of the Laramie,
and after following it up for a few miles, camped for the night. The
day had been a long one, and not long after supper both Hugh and Jack
turned into their blankets and were soon sound asleep.
Off again at an early hour next morning, they traveled for a long way
through the pleasant green timber, where the foot fall of the horses
made no sound on the forest floor of dead pine needles, and where
no sound was heard except occasionally the call of a gray jay, the
rattle of a woodpecker's bill on a dead limb, or the soft whistle of a
crossbill in the tree tops.
Jack felt obliged to follow behind Hugh, though he really wanted to
ride beside him and talk about the pleasant country through which they
were passing. Still it was his business to watch the horses, especially
so now during the first day of travel through the timber, where a pack
horse, unless watched, might possibly get hung up by a tree and break
something or disturb his pack.
It was this morning, after leaving camp on the Beaver, that they came
to what is called the Neck of the Park, and passing over the divide,
followed down the valley, at first narrow, but gradually becoming
wider, which at length lead them to a more open country. They passed
Pinkham's Ranch, and then took the right-hand road, which Hugh said led
to the mines at Hahn's Peak.
Soon after leaving Pinkham's, they passed a cabin, near which was a
small spring, from which bubbled up a constant supply of cool water
abundantly charged with what Jack thought might be carbonate of soda.
At all events the water was fresh, sparkling, and delicious, and he
thought that if it were nearer to a market it might be bottled and sold.
Soon after they left the soda water fountain, they crossed a high steep
ridge and then passed down a gentle descent toward the North Platte
River. On either side of the trail they were following the mountains
were rough, and weathered pillars of granite stood out bare among the
ancient cedars on the hillside.
They camped in the beautiful valley of the North Platte on the edge
of a splendid level meadow covered with fine grass, on which in the
evening and again next morning Jack saw from three to four hundred
antelope at a time. There were also ducks, rabbits, sage hens, and blue
grouse; abundant food, Jack thought, for any hunters who are satisfied
with enough.
That evening Jack wandered away from camp and found in a clump
of willows, not more than a quarter of a mile from it, a curious
collection of long-eared owls. He could not think what brought so many
of them to this place, unless it was for a shelter during the day,
which would enable them to get out of the bright glare of the sun, for
nowhere else in the neighborhood could shade be found except in this
growth of willows. Here, too, in the tops of the willows he noticed a
number of domed nests of magpies, and from the calls of the birds that
he heard around about, he felt sure that they were occupied.
When he got back to camp, Hugh said to him, "Do you know, son, that
last antelope you killed is pretty nearly gone? We ought to have
another one, or at all events some meat before long. You might start
out to-night, though it's a little late, or we can lay over here
to-morrow until noon and you can go out and try to kill something."
"Say we put it off until to-morrow morning, Hugh," said Jack, "and
I'll start out early, and see what I can do."
As soon as breakfast was over next morning and it was light, Jack
started off along the edge of the valley to look for an antelope. He
did not have to look far to see a great many, for the bluffs and river
bottom were covered with them, but he walked for some time before he
could find any of the animals so placed that they could be approached.
However, at length, as he cautiously peeped over a point of the bluff
which stretched down toward the river, he saw well beyond it a single
buck antelope, and what was more to the purpose, about half way between
the antelope and the point of the bluff, a clump of willows which would
give him an opportunity to approach it. Luckily, no wind was blowing.
He drew back a little and descending the bluff, rounded its point so
that the willows concealed him from the buck, and then hurrying along
toward the patch of brush, soon found himself within a hundred yards of
the antelope. By a careful shot he killed it, and a little later with
the hams and saddle on his back he was on his way toward the camp.
After the antelope had been skinned and put in the sack, it was loaded
on a pack, and they started on again.
The country was open and covered with sage brush, and often from the
high bluffs they could see little lakes, which shone like silver in the
sun. They camped early.
That evening, after supper, as they sat about the campfire, Jack asked
Hugh many questions about trapping.
"Well, son," said Hugh, "trapping is a big subject, and it's pretty
hard to learn much about it, except by setting your traps. You'll have
a chance to set plenty of traps for beaver, and beaver is what we
always used to call the hardest fur to trap."
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "what about trapping wolves? Are they not
worth trapping? Are they hard to catch, or is it not much trouble to
catch young wolves?"
"Those that are one to two years old are easy caught, but if a wolf
has been traveling the prairie for three or four years, he gets to be
pretty smart. Wolf skins are worth from four to six dollars apiece, and
so, of course, wolves are worth trapping, but in old times we always
used to poison them, and that was cheaper and a whole lot less trouble
than catching them in traps. Besides that, a wolf is a powerful, strong
animal, and he can pack off a trap with him just as if he weren't
carrying anything at all. Then, too, on the prairie there is usually
nothing to fasten a trap to, and unless you carry a lot of iron picket
pins with you, you lose your traps about as fast as you can set them."
"You have told me all about poisoning wolves, Hugh," said Jack, "but
you never said anything about trapping, and I don't understand how you
fix the bait in a trap. You certainly can't put it on the pan, for you
don't want to catch the wolf by the nose, and if you did, he would pull
free."
"Of course he would," said Hugh; "you want to catch a wolf by the foot,
and to do that you must scatter your bait around the trap so that he
will put his foot in it; but after all, in trapping wolves you don't
use bait at all. Generally you use a scent, something that a wolf
smells and wants to smell more of, and you raise that above the ground
a foot or eighteen inches and set your trap so that he will step into
it when he tries to get near the scent."
"That's news to me," said Jack; "I supposed that you always set your
traps with something to eat."
"No," said Hugh; "very seldom. The beaver medicine that we use is
just something to smell of; not to eat at all. But about wolf bait:
the worst smelling thing that you can get hold of is about the best
bait for wolves. Some people use asafetida or other drugs that they
can buy in the shops, but the best thing that I know of is to take a
piece of fresh meat, put it with some grease in a wide-mouthed bottle
or jug, and let it stand in the heat for a week or two, until it gets
to smelling very badly. Then add to it some beaver castor and about
a quart of oil or grease, and cork it up tight. Of course, when you
set your trap you must be careful not to leave any scent of yourself
on it. Some people smoke their traps every time they set them, and if
they can, use a fire of green pine boughs, but I don't count much on
that. I believe that though smell of fire may kill the human scent, it
makes the wolves suspicious. I think the better way is to wear gloves
when you set your traps, and to be careful always to keep the traps to
the windward of you. Don't let the wind blow from you to the traps.
Of course, in setting, you have to dig out a hole in the ground large
enough to let the trap set in it, so that the jaws will be just level
with the ground. Then sprinkle over the trap a light covering of dust,
and after the trap is set take a stick eighteen inches or two feet
long, sharpen one end of it, dip the other end in your bottle of scent,
and stick the sharpened end in the ground so that the end with the
scent on it will pretty nearly overhang the trap.
"You have to fasten your trap, of course. If you don't do that the wolf
will carry it away. The best way to fasten it is to bore a hole through
the end of a stick three feet long and as big as the calf of your leg,
pass the end of a chain through that, and then drive a staple through
the ring and into the log. Then if the wolf gets into the trap, he is
not held in one place struggling to get out, and twisting the chain,
and so likely to break it, but he starts off dragging the stick, which
makes a plain trail, catching every now and then in the sage brush
and so making him go slowly. It doesn't give him a chance to fight the
trap. If you go to your traps every day, you will find that a wolf will
not drag the clog very far before you overtake him. Then you probably
have to shoot him.
"As I say, there is a lot of work in trapping wolves that way, and I
would hate to have to earn my living by doing it. If it should happen
that we should get to any place where wolves are plenty we can set two
or three traps for them, but I don't want to do that until we have
tried beaver trapping, because I am afraid we will lose some of our
traps."
"I had no idea, Hugh," said Jack, "that wolves were so cunning and so
powerful."
"Yes," said Hugh, "they are strong animals, and when they have grown
old they are pretty smart. They are mighty tough, too. Haven't I ever
told you about that wolf that Billy Collins killed three or four years
ago at the ranch?"
"No," said Jack, "I don't think so."
"Well," said Hugh, "I only speak of it to show how tough a wolf is.
Billy had gone out just in the gray dawn of the morning, and just as
he shut the door behind him, a big wolf came around the corner of the
house. Billy jumped back into the house to get his gun, and the wolf
ran off and stopped to look around on the top of that little knoll
south of the house. He was about a hundred yards off, and Billy fired
and the wolf yelled and fell down, and then started off. Billy and old
Shep, the house dog, started after him, and when they got up to where
he had stood, they found the ground all covered with blood and a broad
blood trail leading off over the hills. Billy started on the trail,
expecting to find the wolf over the next hill, but he followed him for
two miles before he overtook him, and then the wolf was strong enough
to sit up and fight off the dog, and needed another shot to kill him.
But when Bill went up to him he found that the bullet had gone almost
the whole length of the wolf and had smashed one of its shoulders. I
had a friend who was trapping down in South Park and set two or three
traps for wolves, and one morning when he found one of them gone, he
went back and got two or three hounds that were at the ranch and took
after the wolf through the snow, for it was winter. They chased that
wolf with the dogs for thirteen hours before they got him, and he came
mighty near getting away then."
CHAPTER VII
A TALK ABOUT BEAVER
"Well, now, Hugh," asked Jack, "what can you tell me about beaver
trapping?"
"Why, son," said Hugh, "I can tell you whole lot about beaver trapping.
There is a great big book to be written yet about beaver and how to
trap them, and when that book is written there will be enough left out
of it to make another book."
"I've always heard," said Jack, "that beaver was about the smartest
animal there was, and the one most difficult to trap, but, of course, I
don't know anything about it. I have seen a few dams and the tops of a
few houses up north, but you can't learn much about beaver by looking
at his work."
"No," said Hugh, "not much, and before you can learn anything about
trapping beaver, you've got to know something about the nature of the
beast."
"Well, that's the very thing I want you to tell me about," replied
Jack. "I want to find out all that I can about the beaver, before I see
any. In the first place, suppose you tell me how big they are."
"Well," said Hugh, "they are the biggest gnawing animal we have in this
country. A full grown beaver will weigh from forty to sixty pounds;
perhaps big ones will average as heavy as a half sack of flour."
"My," said Jack, "that's bigger than I supposed they were. I have
always heard of the beaver as a little animal. It seems to me that it's
a big one."
"Yes," said Hugh, "it's quite a sizable animal, and if you've got a
half dozen to pack to your camp on your back you'll think they are
pretty good sized animals before you get them all in."
"Well, where do they live?" said Jack.
"I reckon," replied Hugh, "that they live all over this country of
North America, from Texas north as far as there are any trees. You
know that the food of the beaver is the bark of certain trees, and, of
course, they can't live anywhere except where these trees grow, but I
have heard of them 'way down in Texas, and I know that the Northern
Indians away up toward the limit of trees trap beaver a plenty, so that
I expect they are found over the whole country. I have heard your uncle
say that there were some beaver in Europe, but over there I reckon they
have been about cleaned out. Too many people killing 'em, I reckon."
"Well," said Jack, "I guess they are found all over North America,
north of the United States, anyhow; because I know that the coat of
arms of Canada has the beaver on it."
"Yes, I reckon the beaver was the reason that Canada was settled, and
in fact the beaver was what led men into all this western country. In
the early days, soon after Lewis and Clark went across the continent,
the fur traders began to push their way into this western country,
north and south, and beaver was what they were after. You see in those
days it was a mighty valuable fur, worth a good deal more than it's
ever been since.
"Just as soon as the white men came into the country and found the
Indians wearing robes made of beaver, and clothing trimmed with beaver
and other fur, they began to trade for the robes, and to tell the
Indians that if they'd bring them in beaver skins they'd give them
knives and needles and beads, and later, rum, and, of course, that set
the Indians to killing beaver as fast as they could.
"But, as I say, it wasn't until after Lewis and Clark got across
the continent that trapping began down in the United States. Along
in the 30's, though, white men began to get up fur companies and to
hire the best trappers that they could get, and they pushed out in all
directions, up the Arkansas, up the Platte, and up the Missouri River,
setting their traps in every valley and cleaning out the beaver as
fast as they could. Then they got into the mountains, and there they
found more beaver and better fur, and there, too, is where they began
to run across Indians to bother them. The Blackfeet were the worst.
They used to steal our horses and take our traps, and now and then a
scalp, when they could, and they made us a great deal of trouble. The
prices for fur were good until in the 40's, just before I got out into
the country. Then they fell, and for the next twelve or fifteen years
every old trapper that you met was growling about the fact that beaver
weren't worth anything any more.
"Your uncle tells me that there has been a whole lot of books written
about those early trapping days, but I have never seen any of them. Of
course, then it was all wild country and lots of things were happening,
and a man had to keep his eyes open pretty wide. As I have told you,
the Indian wars did not begin until long after that, and most of the
trouble that we had with the Indians was with parties of wild young
men, who had started off to war, and were anxious to get glory, and to
go back to their villages and brag about what they had done. The fights
were with these little parties and not with the tribes. But, at the
same time, a bullet or an arrow from one of these little parties would
kill a man just as dead as if he had been fighting with a tribe."
"That's all mighty interesting, Hugh," said Jack. "It seems to me that
you never get through telling me interesting things about this country
in the old times. I wish that I knew how to write, so that I could put
it all down, and some day write a big book about your adventures."
"Well," said Hugh, "I'm mighty glad you can't do that. I reckon if I
were to see you taking all these notes down in a notebook I wouldn't
talk so much as I do."
"Well," said Jack, "if I knew how to write, you bet I'd write such a
book. I sort of wonder that Uncle George has never done that. He spends
a great deal of his time writing in winter, when he is back in New
York."
"Well," Hugh went on, "let's go ahead about the beaver. You know
that they build dams across streams to hold back the water, and that
they build houses in the ponds that they make. Have you ever looked
carefully at these dams?"
"No, I don't believe I have," Jack replied; "people have pointed them
out to me, and they've shown me places along the streams where trees
and brush had been cut down, and have said to me, 'that's beaver work,'
and I have seen piles of sticks in the water and have been told that
those were houses, but I never had any idea how any of this work was
done."
"They build their dams across streams," said Hugh, "and hold back the
water and often spread it over quite a wide space of the valley, and
in this water they build their houses. I have always supposed that the
ponds were made as a protection for the animals. You see, they are big
and slow. They can't run away from anything that wants to kill them,
and so the only means they have of getting away from their enemies is
to dive down into the water and swim under it. Then their enemies,
whether they are humans or animals, can't follow them. Of course, I
have no more idea than you how the beaver got the idea of protecting
themselves in this way, but I believe it is for protection they make
these ponds, and for nothing else. You'll see that their houses are
built out in pretty deep water, and when they are scared from shore
they go out and get into their houses, and if somebody tries to pull
down the houses where they live, then they can swim to the shore and
hide there, with their noses just above water."
"Well," said Jack, "that's news to me. I always accepted the fact that
they built dams to hold the water back, but I never had any idea why
they did it."
"No," said Hugh, "I reckon not. I never heard anybody that did know
why, but I am just giving you my idea. You'll hear a whole lot of
stories about the wonderful things that beaver do, and in many of these
stories there is not a grain of truth, but they do wonderful things
enough as it is. You don't have to lie about them to make them out
mighty smart animals."
"Yes," replied Jack, "I have heard of some of these wonderful things. I
think some of the books say that the beaver can cut down a tree so that
it will fall exactly where they want it to lie, just as a lumber-man in
the woods will fell a tree where he wants it to lie. They say that when
the beaver want to build a new dam they look along the stream until
they find a place where there is a tree of just the right length, and
then they fell it across the stream for a foundation for their dam."
"Yes," said Hugh, "I have heard that story, too, but I don't believe
it. Beaver will cut down trees, and mighty big ones, too, but I don't
believe that they can cut down a tree so that it will fall in a
particular direction, and if it does fall in a direction to be useful
to them, that's just nothing but accident. What they cut trees down for
is for the food that they know is growing on the tree. They want to
get at the tender bark of the branches for their food, and that's what
they cut the trees for. All the same, it's mighty wonderful sometimes
to see what big trees they will cut down, and how smart they are about
cutting them. They will gnaw a deep gouge below and then gnaw another
cut eight or ten inches above, and pull the chip out; a chip just about
as big as an axman would cut out with an ax. They are smart about that,
but they haven't any idea which way the tree is going to fall."
"Well," said Jack, "that seems natural enough, and besides that, I
should think that even if beaver did know how to fell the tree to lie
in a particular direction, they could not always do it with these
crooked old cottonwood trees that grow along the streams."
"Yes," said Hugh, "some of them are so crooked and grow so slantwise
that no axman could fell them the way he wanted."
"I have seen it stated in books, too," Jack went on, "that they always
fell a tree just long enough to reach across the stream, and no longer.
I never could see how that could be, because it would be impossible for
beaver to measure the height of a tree."
"Oh," said Hugh, "that's all nonsense; they don't do anything like
that. There is one thing which they do, though, that people don't give
them credit for, or at least I have never heard anybody speak about it;
they'll build a dam across a creek and raise the water, and make a big
wide pond. Maybe the water flows over the top of the dam pretty freely
for its whole length. Such a pond will be lived in for a good many
years. During all those years the rain and the melting snow, and all
the water that falls, carries down from the hills soil and dead leaves
and sticks and a whole lot of trash, and after a time the pond fills
up and gets too shallow for the beaver to use it. Then maybe they'll
raise the dam for its whole length, and make the pond bigger, and then
after years of time this larger pond will partly fill up and grow
shallow. After a time the beaver will, perhaps, leave the pond, and go
somewhere else to build another. Then, after a few years the dam will
rot out and break down, the pond will go dry, the water will get back
to its old channel, and grass and willows and other brush will grow
up over the old bottom of the pond, and there you've got a big wide
flat--what we call a beaver meadow. All along streams all over this
western country there are big strips of flat land that have been made
just in this way by the beaver."
"I have never thought of that before, Hugh, and I never heard anybody
speak of it. The time may come when people will farm on these big
flats, never knowing how they were made."
"Yes, that's a fact," said Hugh, "and already there are lots of places
down toward the prairie where folks have started ranches on land of
just that sort.
"Let me tell you another thing that beaver are smart about. Sometimes
they will make a pond in a particular valley, quite a distance from
any place where their food grows. Often there are no willows, and the
quaking aspen grows only along the foothills, maybe quite a little
distance from the edge of their pond. Sometimes they will dig out a
ditch or canal all the way from the edge of the pond up close to where
the aspen grows. Of course, the water from the pond fills up these
ditches, and the beaver will follow them up close to the aspens, cut
down their feed there, and cutting the trees and brush into convenient
lengths, carry them to the ditches, dump them in and then take and swim
with them back to their houses, or the places where they store their
food. This always seemed to me pretty smart, because, while it must
be a lot of work for them to dig the ditch, it's a tremendous saving
of labor for them to be able to float these sticks to where they want
them."
"That seems to me mighty intelligent, Hugh, and I should think, too,
that they might have another motive in digging these ditches. If they
had to travel two or three hundred yards on dry land, wouldn't there be
a good deal of danger of their getting caught away out from the water
and killed?"
"Lots of danger," said Hugh, "and I wouldn't be a bit surprised if they
made these ditches more for their safety than to save themselves work.
They are mighty industrious animals, the beaver. You know, if we see a
man that is hard at work all the time, we say he works like a beaver.
They are busy animals, and they keep at it all the time."
"What animals are there, Hugh, that kill the beaver? I suppose man is
the worst enemy it's got, but there must be a lot of others, such as
wolves and, perhaps, bears."
"Yes," said Hugh, "a beaver has lots of enemies. As I have said to you,
it's heavy and slow; it can't run away nor climb a tree, and it has no
special means of defending itself. A beaver's got a good set of teeth,
but while he can give one or two pretty strong bites, that would not
help him much in a scrap with any animal near his own size.
"A bear, of course, would kill a beaver every time if he could get hold
of him; so would a big wolf. A single coyote might not be able to, but
two or three coyotes could get away with him in short order.
"Didn't you ever, back East, see a dog get between a woodchuck and his
hole? You know the woodchuck will sit up and chatter his teeth, and
perhaps he will bite the dog once when the dog runs in, but that's the
end of the woodchuck. The beaver has got longer teeth, and can bite a
little harder and deeper, but he is not built for fighting, and what's
more, he never means to fight if he can help it.
"The wolverine sometimes lies around beaver ponds and maybe once in
a while catches one, but wolverines are pretty scarce, and I don't
think they get many. I believe that the animal that gets more beaver
than any other is the lynx. They are small, to be sure, but they are
mighty quick, and they have got those long claws, and they can jump on
a beaver and cut him up pretty badly before he can get hold of them.
I have often seen places where beaver had been killed, and I know it
was done by lynxes; that is, by bob-cats, and also by the big gray
lynxes. One time, a good many years ago, I saw a lynx waiting to catch
a beaver. As it happened, he didn't get him, but he tried hard enough.
"I happened to be riding down William's Fork, and had to pass through
a point of timber, and just before I got out to the pond, on the other
side, I stopped my horse for a minute to look around and see what I
could see. There was a big beaver dam just below me, on the river, and
I knew of it, for I had often passed there. I could see nothing, and
was just going to start on again, when, as I happened to look over
across the creek just opposite me, I saw something move. For a minute I
could not tell what it was, and then I saw lying among the sage brush
a big bob-cat, whose color matched the ground and the weeds about him
so well that it was hard for me to make out his shape. At one end of
him, however, there was something black that kept moving regularly
in little jerks, and, of course, I knew that this was his tail, and
that he was watching something in the stream and getting ready to jump
on it. I looked at the stream carefully, and for a moment could not
see anything, and then, just below the bob-cat, I made out something
swimming in the water, close under the bank, but to save my life I
could not tell whether it was a duck, or a muskrat, or what. When this
thing, whatever it was, had got nearly to the bob-cat, which kept
crouching flatter and flatter all the time, the thing suddenly dived
and hit the water a tremendous rap with its tail, and then, of course,
I knew that it was a beaver that had been swimming up stream, and that
the bob-cat had seen it, and was waiting for it to get within reach,
and then was going to jump on it. Of course, bob-cats don't like the
water very well, but all the same, they will go into it for food."
"What did the bob-cat do when the beaver dived, Hugh?" asked Jack.
"Oh, after a minute or two," said Hugh, "he seemed to realize that the
game was up, and he then got up and walked away into the sage brush.
I have often wished that the beaver had come on a little further so
that I could have seen the end of the thing, and seen whether beaver
or bob-cat would have come out ahead. You see, the beaver must have
been swimming in pretty deep water, and, of course, if he had had sense
enough to grab the bob-cat and hold on to him, no doubt he could have
drowned him, but I don't reckon the beaver would have had sense enough
for that; he would have just tried to get away, and I guess he would
have succeeded."
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "it is interesting to hear of these animals,
but as you say, it's pretty hard work to really learn anything about
them by reading or hearing people talk. The real way is to see the
animals themselves, and I hope we will do that before very long."
"Yes, son, we ought to. In fact, by to-morrow afternoon we ought to get
to where there used to be a great big beaver meadow. I don't know, of
course, whether we will find any beaver there now or not, but it's a
good place to go and look for them. I have seen the time when it was
full of beaver, and if we could find it as full now as it was then, we
ought to be able to load up a pack horse with fur."
"My!" said Jack; "don't I wish we could. That would be fine."
"Put some more wood on the fire, son," said Hugh, "and I'll smoke my
pipe, and then we'll go to bed."
Jack rose from his comfortable seat, and going over to where some
cottonwood branches had been dragged together, brought two or three
good-sized logs, and raking the fire together, threw them on. The dry
wood blazed up with a cheerful flame that almost reached the branches
of the pine tree beneath which their tent was pitched, and Hugh, after
filling his pipe and lighting it by means of a twig thrust into the
fire, sat back and declared that this was solid comfort.
"It's a bully good camping place, isn't it?" said Jack.
"First class," was the reply, "and we are going to have good weather
and good country to camp and travel in all summer, except when we have
thunderstorms. Of course, we have got to expect that, for there is lots
of thunder and lightning in these mountains. We will get wet once in a
while, but that's no great harm."
"No, indeed," said Jack, "getting wet is a part of the play."
"Tell me, Hugh," he added after a pause, "what other fur may we expect
to see here?"
"Why, son," said Hugh, "there is mighty little that will be good now,
except bears. As I told you at the ranch, any bears that we can kill
before the first of July will be good prime skins, but right after that
they begin to get sunburned and rusty, and begin to shed off, and then,
the first thing we know, they are not worth skinning for about three
months. Along in October they begin to get a pretty good coat again,
though it is not so very long."
"Well," persisted Jack, "there is fur in the mountains here, I suppose."
"Lord, yes," said Hugh. "There are a few otter, lots of mink, and a few
marten high up in the hills; once in a while a wolverine, and once in
a while a fisher; but none of this fur, except the otter, will be good
in summer, and otters are so scarce that they are not worth bothering
with."
"I should not have supposed there would be any otter here, because the
streams are so small."
"There are not very many," said Hugh, "but yet more than you think. You
see there are worlds of fish in many of these mountain streams, and
where there are fish you are pretty sure to find otter. In some of the
lakes high up in the mountains I have seen lots of otters, but as I
say, there aren't enough to try to trap."
"What is the fisher, Hugh?" asked Jack. "I have heard of that animal,
but I don't very well know what it is. Is that the same creature that
the books speak of as the black cat?"
"I reckon it is," replied Hugh. "I have heard some trappers call them
by that name. Really, it always seemed to me like a big marten, and
why people called it fisher, I don't know. I never saw one near water,
and I don't believe they catch fish. They are great things to climb
round in the trees, and they are quicker in them than any squirrel you
ever saw. I have seen them chasing martens and I believe that they eat
them. I know they eat porcupines, for though I never saw one kill a
porcupine, I have seen them with porcupine quills in their faces and in
their forelegs, but bless you, the quills didn't seem to bother them a
mite. You take a dog or a cat that had as many quills in it as I have
seen in some fishers, and it would be all swelled up and not able to
see out of its eyes, nor to walk; but I have seen fishers stuck full of
quills and I never saw one swelled up or apparently hurt at all. They
don't seem to get inflamed by the quills the way a dog or a cat does."
"I suppose, Hugh, there is no great chance of our being able to shoot
any of these animals while we are hunting?"
"No," replied Hugh, "I don't think there is. Of course, you never can
tell what you might run across when you are going through the timber or
up over the rocks on the mountains, but as a rule these animals will
see, or hear, or smell you before you know they are around, and they'll
just slip out of sight, and either get away as fast as they can, or
else watch you to see what you are going to do. I remember that the
only wolverine I have killed in a good many years was one that I saw
traveling along over the rocks when I was up above timber-line one time
waiting to try to kill a sheep. He just walked up within easy shot,
and, of course, I killed him. A mighty pretty looking animal he was,
too, with his smooth coat all shining in the sun and blowing in the
breeze.
"But, look here, son, if you and I are going to get off in any sort of
season to-morrow morning we'd better turn in now. Suppose you go down
to the creek and get a bucket of water, and I'll go out and look around
through the horses, and then we'll make down our beds."
"All right," said Jack, and he did as requested, and a little later the
camp was peacefully sleeping, as the fire died down.
CHAPTER VIII
THE WATER FOWLS' SUMMER HOME
It was still dark when Jack awoke next morning, but when he struck a
match and looked at his watch he saw that daylight was not far off, and
rising and putting on his clothes he started to light the fire.
Hugh, having heard him, arose, and before long breakfast was well under
way. Then Jack went out to where the horses were picketed and set free
all but one, and this one he changed to fresh grass, so that the horses
might start with full bellies. The sun had not yet risen when breakfast
was over, and Jack had brought in and saddled all the horses. They made
an early start, for the day's journey was to be a long one.
For the first hour or two of the march it was interesting to Jack to
watch the antelope that were seen on both sides of the trail, and to
see how differently those acted that had the sun on their backs from
those that had the sun shining in their faces. Sometimes there were
antelope on both sides of the trail, and when those that were looking
away from the sun started to run, then those that were looking toward
the sun started also. But if the little pack train approached antelope
with the sun on its back, so that the antelope were looking toward the
sun, the timid animals, unable to distinguish what these moving objects
were, would let them come up very close without showing any alarm. Jack
had often seen the same thing happen with other animals, so it was not
new to him, but, nevertheless, it was interesting, and he spoke of it
to Hugh.
"Yes," said Hugh, "that is interesting, and, of course, brings up the
old question of how useful their different senses are to wild animals.
Some people say that a deer has bad eyes; that he can't see well, and,
of course, we all of us know that all game depends on its powers of
scent for warning that its enemies are about. Most game can hear well
enough, and can distinguish between the ordinary sounds of the timber
or the mountains and those made by a man going through the timber
or rattling the rocks. The people that say that game can't see are
mistaken, I think. They don't go quite deep enough into the matter.
What I believe is, that many wild animals don't notice a man and so
don't take him for an enemy, if he keeps absolutely still. An animal's
eye is quick to catch any motion, but a man standing still may be taken
for a stump, or a rock, or a bump of earth. The deer's eye does not
stop to look carefully at stumps and rocks and bumps of earth, but if
one of these things moves, then the eye stops and studies it, and is
likely to find out what it is."
"Of course that is so, Hugh," said Jack, "but I never thought of it
before. I remember, though, that when I went duck shooting on Great
South Bay with my uncle, and was sitting in the blind, he always warned
me never to make a sudden motion, but that if I wanted to lower my head
to get it out of sight behind the blind, I should do so with a slow,
gradual motion."
"Of course," said Hugh, "but if you stop and think a minute you will
know that that is just exactly what you do now when you are hunting in
this country. If you raise your head up so that it shows over a ridge,
and see an antelope feeding there, you don't duck down to get out of
sight; you lower your head very slowly. If you made a quick motion the
antelope would see you out of the corner of his eye, and would run
away without waiting to ask any questions. If you lower your head
gradually, he does not see the slow motion, and you can have a chance
to crawl up to him."
"That's so," assented Jack; "I must be pretty stupid not to be able to
think of these things."
"Well," replied Hugh, "of course you have to think, and boys don't
always stop to do that. Men, after they have lived a good many years
find that they have to do it. But this is what I wanted to say about
the power of game to recognize danger from man; a deer knows that there
is danger only from living things, and he knows also that only living
things move, so that if he sees anything make a sudden motion he knows
that he must be on the lookout."
All day they traveled on through a broad valley, and toward night
camped at the foot of a high, bare hog-back running north and south,
one of the foothills or spurs of the main range to the north. There
was a good spring where they camped, and quite a wide stretch of level
prairie, in which were half a dozen large alkali lakes, and on these
lakes were great numbers of water fowl. Some of them were so large that
Jack thought they must be geese, and getting his field glasses out of
the packs he looked at them and found that they really were geese.
"How is it, Hugh," he said, "that geese are found here as late in the
season as this? Here it's nearly the first of June, and it seems to me
all geese ought to have passed north to their breeding grounds before
this."
"I'll allow," answered Hugh, "that the geese ought to be on their
breeding grounds by this time, but why do you say they ought to be up
north?"
"Why", said Jack, "I thought all geese went north into Canada to breed,
except a few that breed in northern Montana, right close to the Canada
line."
"Well," said Hugh, "there's where you are mistaken. The geese breed
right here in these mountains, and quite a way south of here, too.
Then you know yourself, you've seen them breeding on the Missouri
River, although that is pretty well north, of course."
"Yes," said Jack, "I've seen them up north, but I didn't suppose that
any of them stayed as far south as this."
"That's a mistake," said Hugh. "In old times they used to breed on the
prairies as far south as Kansas, and maybe still further south. Many a
time I have seen them breeding in Nebraska and in northern Kansas, and
from that away north as far as I've been. Swans, too, used to breed in
the same country. The reason they don't breed there any more is because
the white people have come in and killed them at all times of the year,
and so they go on to a country further away from where the white people
are."
"Well, live and learn," said Jack. "I got my knowledge about that from
the books, but I guess the books don't know everything?"
"Well," said Hugh, "I guess the books know just as much as the men knew
that wrote them, and I suppose there's a lot about this western country
that they don't all know yet."
"Say, Hugh," said Jack, "after we've had supper I'm going over to these
lakes to try to see what birds there are on them. Do you mind coming
along?"
"No," said Hugh, "I'll go with you, but first we've got to get supper
and got to get up wood enough for to-night and to-morrow morning. I'll
rustle the supper if you'll pack in the wood."
"Done," said Jack; and for the next fifteen or twenty minutes he was
busy dragging in aspen and cottonwood sticks of which, before very
long, he had a good pile.
After supper Hugh said to Jack, "Son, to-morrow we'll have to kill
something, for there's only enough meat left for a couple of meals. I
don't like to eat meat that is just fresh killed, but if to-morrow
you'll kill a deer or a good fat antelope, we will carry it a day and
then it will be just about right to eat."
They washed up the dishes before they started, and then walked over
to the lakes, the sun being only about an hour high. The lakes were
shallow, and their shores, sloping up very gradually from the water's
edge, were all of soft, yellow mud, so that it was not possible to get
close to the water without sinking deep in the mire.
The abundance and variety of birds seen was very striking. White gulls
flew slowly over the water, and beautiful avocets, striking objects
from the contrasting black and white of their plumage, waded along near
the shore. Flocks of tiny shore birds tripped lightly over the soft
mud of the banks, and brown and black long-billed curlews stalked over
the grassy prairie. Many of these birds were evidently breeding, and
displayed great anxiety when the visitors approached their nests. The
curlews especially were demonstrative, and flew about close above the
men's heads, uttering loud, shrill cries.
On a little knoll near one of the lakes, Hugh and Jack sat down and
adjusted the glasses to study the birds that were floating on the water.
Geese and ducks of several species were there, and Jack could detect
also grebes and coots, and the curious little shore birds known as
phalaropes, which swam about in the water with a curious nodding motion
of the head that reminded Jack of the rails.
Jack was very much excited at this display of bird life, for he
realized that at this season of the year all these birds had either
eggs or young, and there were a multitude of birds that he had never
seen before, and whose eggs he had never seen nor even heard about.
"Why, Hugh, it seems to me we ought to stop over here a day and see if
we can't collect a lot of the eggs of these birds. I think there are
some birds here whose eggs have never been described. Just think what a
great thing it would be if I could take them back and show them to the
ornithologists who have never seen them."
"Sure," said Hugh, "that would be great. How are you going to know when
you get an egg back East what bird it belongs to?"
"Why," said Jack, "I suppose I could remember. I guess my memory is
good enough for that."
"Maybe it is," said Hugh. "I know mine wouldn't be, especially if I
had to do with a lot of eggs of birds that I never had seen before. I
should have to tie the egg round the neck of each bird and take both
home."
"Well," said Jack, "of course, if you are going to collect the eggs I
suppose you ought to collect the parent birds at the same time."
"I suppose," said Hugh, "that you've got your tools for fixing up these
eggs to take away with you, cached somewhere in the packs, haven't you,
and some sort of a chest to carry these eggs in? I expect if we put
a lash rope over them and pull pretty hard it will smash some of the
eggs, won't it?"
Jack sat silent for a little while, and then looked at Hugh. "I never
saw anybody that could make a fellow feel like such a fool as you can."
"Why," said Hugh, "I don't want you to feel like a fool."
"No," said Jack, "I suppose maybe that is not what you want. I suppose
that you want to make me think before I speak."
"Yes," said Hugh, "that's something I would like to do. That would be
a bully lesson for you to learn, and I think you are learning it, only
maybe not very fast."
"Of course," said Jack, "you know just as well as I do that I haven't
any stuffing tools with me, or any tools for blowing eggs, or anything
to carry bird skins and eggs in if I had them. Of course, if we were to
put such things on the packs they'd get broken and smashed up in forty
ways and wouldn't be worth throwing away."
"No," said Hugh, "I don't reckon they would."
"Well," sighed Jack, "it's mighty aggravating to sit here and look at
all these birds and think that there must be lots of their eggs all
about and I can't get hold of them."
"I'll allow that must be pretty aggravating," said Hugh; "but if you
wanted to go off to collect bird skins and eggs why didn't you think of
it before you started out from the States, and bring along with you the
tools you wanted to use? Suppose I had started from the ranch to trap
beaver, and had come down here without any traps, what would you have
thought of me?"
"Well," said Jack, "I suppose I'd have thought you were a pretty queer
trapper."
"I reckon so," said Hugh, "and I think you're a pretty queer bird
collector, as yet. You may become a good one later, though."
It soon grew too dark to distinguish the birds, and the two returned to
camp, where they built up a big fire, for the night was chilly. Several
times after the fire began to blaze up, they saw an owl fly into the
circle of light and pass once or twice about the fire and then out into
the darkness again.
"What gets me, Hugh," said Jack, after they had settled themselves
comfortably by the fire, and Hugh's pipe was going well; "what gets me,
is what has become of all the animals and birds that used to inhabit
all this country? Of course, when I first came out here I saw antelope
and buffalo in wonderful numbers, and there are lots of them now,
but there must have been a time, say a hundred or two hundred years
ago, when perhaps there was just as many buffalo and elk and deer in
Illinois or Ohio as there were in Wyoming and Montana when I came West.
Now, of course, all those animals have disappeared from that country,
and in the same way birds have disappeared. There must be places still
all over the West here where birds come and breed, just as thickly as
they do on these little ponds that we've been looking at to-night.
And in old times they may have bred just as thickly in the swamps of
Illinois and Ohio as they do here in this valley. What's become of them
all?"
Hugh did not answer, but made with his hand the sign for "gone under,"
meaning dead.
"Yes," Jack went on, "I suppose they are, but is that what is going to
happen to all the wild animals and birds in this country? Is the whole
of North America going to be swept bare of all the birds and animals
that belong to it, and just have nothing in it except sheep and cattle
and dogs and things? That's the way it seems to me, but I hope that's
not the way it's going to be."
"Well, son, that's one of the things that we have often talked over,
but it's a pretty hard thing to prophesy about. There's one thing sure,
all big animals are going to be killed off, except those that are found
in parks like that Yellowstone Park we came through two years ago. I
expect that there, elk and deer and sheep and antelope may be found for
a long time. But people are going to come into this western country,
thicker and thicker, and, of course, they are not coming here for their
health, they're coming here to make money. One man will start a band of
cattle, another will have a bunch of sheep, another will farm along the
creek; ten to one, mines will be found all over these mountains, and
the first thing any of us know the country will be full of people and
towns and railroads and factories. Of course, you don't need me to tell
you that there can't be any game when the country gets full of people."
"I suppose that's just what will happen, Hugh. I suppose a time will
come when there won't be any more buffalo, and maybe when there won't
be any elk or even deer. I'm glad that I was born in time to see
something of these wild animals."
"Yes," said Hugh, "you are lucky to get to see them, because I believe
that they're not going to last many more years. I wouldn't be surprised
if twenty or twenty-five years saw them pretty much all wiped out. I
expect that I'll be dead before that times comes, but likely you'll be
alive all right."
Jack sat thoughtfully staring into the fire as though he were
contemplating the death of all game, and of Hugh as well.
Presently Hugh went on: "Now, about the birds, it's a little different.
They've got wings, and can fly, and do fly long distances. They don't
have to stop in one place, and, of course, away up north there is a
whole lot of country yet that the people haven't got into, and I expect
a good many of the birds that used to breed in Illinois and Ohio, as
you were saying just now, don't stop any longer in that country, but
keep on going to the north.
"I've seen Hudson Bay men that came down from that northern country who
say that in some of the lakes and big rivers up there the natives at
the right time of the year kill a powerful lot of fowl. There must be
dead loads of them there, and then when molting season comes and they
lose their wing feathers and can't fly, the natives take after them in
their canoes and kill them with sticks and spears, and then dry them. I
believe that's a regular part of their living up there."
"There must be an awful lot of ducks and geese that breed in that great
country up there, Hugh. It's almost the whole width of the continent,
is it not? and a thousand or fifteen hundred miles north and south?"
"Yes," said Hugh, "it's an awful big country, and mighty few people in
it. You know, don't you," he went on, "that the food of a number of
the Hudson Bay Posts, during certain seasons of the year, is dried or
frozen fish, and dried or smoked geese? They kill the geese spring and
fall, as they are passing back and forth, and so many of them that they
store them up for the winter and summer food."
"My," said Jack, "what a place that would be to go shooting in!"
"Don't fool yourself, son. When you kill game regularly for the food
it yields, it stops being fun to hunt and it becomes real work. I know
it's so because I've done it."
"To-morrow morning," added Hugh, "unless I miss my guess, you'll see
the biggest beaver meadow you ever saw, and we'll get to it toward
night. Then beyond, and not far off, is the main range, where we can
hunt if we want to, but I don't know as we'll be able to get there.
Haven't you noticed something like smoke off to the west? 'Pears to me
I have, and it may be that the range is on fire. If it is, that will
let us out as far as hunting goes."
"I hope there isn't any fire," said Jack; "I want very much to get up
into the mountains."
"Well," said Hugh, as he rose and began to take the straps off his
bed and to unroll it, "even if we should not be able to get into the
mountains here, we can do it further south. We'll see how the high
hills look to-morrow."
In a little while the two were fast asleep, and as the fire died down
no sound was heard except the calls of the water fowl from the nearby
lake.
CHAPTER IX
A TROUBLESOME GRIZZLY
They had sat up so late the night before that neither Hugh nor Jack was
astir very early next morning, and the sun was well above the horizon
before they started west toward the high ridge which lay between them
and the main snowy range.
The horses were now so accustomed to traveling together that they
needed no driving, and Jack and Hugh rode side by side ahead of the
packs, though every now and then Jack looked back to see that the
animals were coming on well. Occasionally an animal would stop and lag
a little, and graze alongside the trail, but usually a shout from Jack
would cause it to stop feeding, and it would trot along until it had
overtaken the others. Each morning about an hour after starting, when
the ropes had stretched a little, the train was halted and the lashings
tightened upon all the animals, and after that they needed no attention.
Of course, if a bad stream or a very steep ravine had to be crossed,
Jack dropped behind and followed the pack animals, but the packing was
so well done that it was very seldom they had to give any attention to
the loads.
As they rode along Hugh said to Jack: "If we had a big train or heavy
loads, I would go 'round the point of the hog-back, which would make us
travel five or six miles further but would be a good deal easier on the
horses, but our animals are fat and strong, and lightly loaded, and we
may as well make the cut-off and cross the ridge."
The ascent of the hog-back was steep at first, but then became more
gradual. Several times during the climb they stopped to let the horses
breathe. On the way up, several big buck antelope were seen, each one
feeding alone, but as they were all at some little distance from the
trail, Jack thought it better to let them alone, on the chance later of
getting a shot which would require less time.
They had nearly reached the crest of the ridge when Hugh, waving his
hand toward the west, remarked, "I thought so; the range is afire,"
and Jack could plainly see the smoke rising some ten or fifteen miles
distant. A little further on they could see the whole range, and found
that everywhere to the south it was on fire, and that the fire seemed
to be moving northward. Columns and masses of thick white smoke rose
from the mountains in many places, and were rolling steadily along from
south to north.
The fire seemed to be chiefly on the lower slopes of the mountains.
Above it could be seen the green timber, and above that again gray
rocks bare of vegetation, whitened a little further up by occasional
patches of snow, and still higher were great fields of snow, pure and
shining when touched by the rays of the sun, but seeming gray and
soiled where shadowed by clouds or by a column of ascending smoke.
"No use to think of hunting there, is there, Hugh?" asked Jack.
"Not any, son," replied Hugh. "We'll have to strike into the hills
somewhere else. But look at that beaver meadow this side of the
mountain."
Jack lowered his eyes to the valley, and was astonished at what he
saw. There, spreading over miles and miles, north and south, was a
great carpet of green, bordered on either side by the gray and yellow
prairie, and intersected by a thousand tiny streams that glistened in
the sunlight. It looked like a vast carpet of emerald velvet over which
had been spread an irregular net of silver cords.
Beautiful it was, but the most astonishing thing about it all was
its great size. It seemed to stretch north and south for ten or
fifteen miles, and east and west for half as many. The view presented
astonishing contrasts in the aspect of the mountains, snow-capped,
timber-clad, and fire-swept; and not less in the lower land, with its
opposites of arid sage brush prairie, and of watered, verdant meadow.
Jack turned to Hugh: "That's the most wonderful thing I've seen since
I've been out West, Hugh. Did you ever see anything like it?"
"Well," said Hugh, "it's sure a pretty sight, but I wouldn't want to
say that it was the prettiest thing that I'd ever seen. One sees a
whole lot of fine sights out in this country. 'Pears to me I've heard
you say a good many times that different things are the most wonderful
things you'd ever seen."
"Well," said Jack, "that's so. I never get through wondering at the
sights here in the mountains, and I don't suppose it's true that each
thing is more wonderful than anything else I've ever seen, but I do
keep being surprised at all these beautiful sights."
"Well," said Hugh, "what do you think of stopping off at the first
water we come to, and taking off the loads and letting the horses rest
while we cook a cup of coffee?"
"That will suit me, Hugh," said Jack, "but I'd like to stop somewhere
so I can look at this show that is spread out in front of us."
"We can do that all right," said Hugh, "and I think over in that little
ravine just below us we'll find some water. There are some willows down
there, and that must mean a spring somewhere near."
They started on, Jack following behind to keep the horses up and to
catch them when they got to the stopping place.
Hugh kept on down the slope, and then turning short to the right
descended into the ravine. He had got part way down the slope when
suddenly his horse threw forward his ears and stopped. Two of the pack
horses turned at right angles and began to climb the sides of the
ravine. At the same moment, from under a cedar just ahead of Hugh, a
bear sprang up and rushed down the ravine. Jack caught a glimpse of the
animal, and saw Hugh throw his rifle to his shoulder and fire, but as
the black horse was trying to run, Jack was not sure that the shot had
told. Jack spurred his own horse up the side of the ravine where the
pack horses had gone, and in a moment was high enough to see portions
of the ravine down which the bear had run. He wheeled Pawnee so that he
could shoot handily, and having loaded his rifle, sat there watching
for the bear.
Suddenly it appeared, and he could see it while it ran twenty-five or
thirty yards along the ravine. It was a hundred and fifty yards off,
but he threw his rifle to his shoulder, and aiming high and well ahead
of the bear, fired. The animal turned a somersault at the shot, and
then regained its footing and disappeared.
Hugh, meantime, had galloped on down the ravine, and a moment of two
later his rifle spoke again.
Jack was strongly tempted to ride down and see what had happened, but
feeling that it was now too late to do anything, and that the bear
had either been killed or had escaped, he rode round the pack horses
and drove them on down the ravine, following Hugh's course. Presently
he came to a place where some willows grew at the side of a patch of
green grass, and there out of the bottom of the bluff bubbled a spring
of clear water. Jack tasted it and found it sweet and good, and then
caught up the pack horses and tied them to the willows.
A few moments later Hugh galloped back, dismounted, and said: "Well,
let's take the packs off here," and in a few moments the horses were
relieved from their loads, and were turned loose on the green grass,
with their hackamores dragging.
Jack saw that Hugh had blood on his hands, but forebore to ask any
questions. He felt sure that presently Hugh would tell what had
happened.
"Now, son," said Hugh, "we've got quite a job on our hands skinning
that bear. It's a good-sized fellow, and you know that skinning a bear
is a good deal of a job."
"Where is he?" said Jack.
"About a half mile down that little valley, right in the open. He's
got a fine hide and we want to save it. It ought to mean eight or ten
dollars to us. Suppose we go right down there and take his jacket off,
and then come back and eat and pack up and go on. That's going to cut
off your looking at the scenery, but we can't afford to waste that
bear's hide."
"No," said Jack, "you're dead right, of course. Let's go and do it now.
We can look at scenery 'most any time, but we don't get bears every
day. How was he hit, Hugh?" Jack went on. "There were only three shots
fired."
"I guess they all hit him," said Hugh. "My horse was hopping round so
when I fired the first shot that I expected I'd miss him clean, but I
don't think I did. I shot him too far back and too high up. When the
ball hit him he fell and bit himself, and then got up and kept on. I
started after him, but just then he disappeared round a point, and when
I got up to it he was away ahead of me. Then you shot and you hit him,
because he fell again and then got up and went on again, but he was
hard hit then and going slowly, and before long I got up to him and
killed him. The hide is in good order, and we are pretty lucky to get
it."
The two mounted and rode down the valley, presently reaching the bear,
which, as Hugh said, was a big one with a beautiful long coat of
shining brown. The long claws of the fore-feet showed that he was a
grizzly and a very large and handsome specimen.
The next hour and a half was spent in skinning the bear, and long
before this operation was finished, Hugh and Jack were tired and more
or less covered with grease.
"This will be good practice, son, if we get any beaver," said Hugh.
"You see, in skinning a beaver you've got to work just as you do on
this bear. You can't do any stripping; every inch of hide you take off
has got to be cut free from the fat that lies under it, and as you see,
that's a mighty long, slow business."
"I should say it was," said Jack, "and a mighty greasy business, too.
It seems to me as if I was all covered with oil, and I am, up to my
elbows, and my face, too. Seems to me my face never itched before as it
does now, and when I rub it with my greasy hands of course my face gets
all grease, too."
"Yes," said Hugh, "it's a very different thing skinning a bear or
beaver, from skinning a deer or a buffalo, but this is just a part of
the game, son, and this hide will pay us good wages for the trouble
we've been to."
"There," Hugh went on, as he made a last cut, "that hide is free on
this side down to the middle of the back. How are you getting on on
your side?"
"I've got a lot more to do," said Jack.
"All right," said Hugh, and he came around to Jack's side and began to
help him, and presently it seemed as if the hide were free throughout.
"Now," said Hugh, "I tried to lift and drag that bear just after he was
dead, and I couldn't stir it, and I don't believe you and I can do any
better now; let's try."
They took hold of the bear's hind-legs and tried to lift and pull the
carcass off the hide, but it was too heavy for them to move.
"Well," said Hugh, "get your rope off Pawnee and we'll see what a horse
can do."
When Jack had brought his lariat, it was knotted about the hind-legs
of the bear, and then after tightening the cinches of his saddle, Jack
mounted, took a double turn of the rope around his saddle horn, and
then slowly started Pawnee up the valley while Hugh took hold of the
bear's hide to keep it in place. The carcass began to slide off the
hide, and Hugh with his knife made two or three last cuts, which freed
the hide from the carcass, and presently the hide lay there spread out
flesh side up. After the rope had been untied from the carcass, the two
went over the hide with their knives scraping away all the fat that
they could get off, and presently Hugh declared that it was in shape to
be spread and dried.
"We're likely to have some trouble getting this on a pack, because, of
course, no horse likes to pack a bear hide, but I guess we can do it
all right. Instead of taking it back to where we left the horses, let's
spread it out here and bring one of the animals down here and load it
on him."
"All right," said Jack, "and now let's get back to camp. I feel like
having a wash."
Returning to the horses it took some little time with water, mud, and
sand--for, of course, the soap was in the pack and they did not want to
open it--to cleanse themselves of the grease from the bear. The smell
of the beast they could not get rid of, and this gave them some trouble
when they were catching and loading their animals, for the horses
snorted and jumped and pulled back when they caught the scent of either
of the two. However, at last they had their lunch, and then loaded
their horses, and went down to the bear skin.
As Hugh had said, the matter of loading it was not easily performed. It
was first lashed up into a secure package, to be put on as a top pack,
and then the lightest loaded of the horses was brought up to it. The
horse did not like it a bit, but at length by blindfolding him with a
coat tied about his head, he stood quietly enough for Hugh to place the
load on his back, but Jack was obliged to hold the rope, for the horse,
notwithstanding his blindfolding, kept stepping about and was very
uneasy.
Hugh managed to tie the skin on so that it would stay, and then Jack,
going around to the off side, helped to put on the lash rope firmly.
When they took off the coat, however, and the horse saw what was on his
back, he bucked fiercely all over the meadow, and would have stampeded
the other horses when he passed near them if it had not been that Hugh
and Jack, both mounted, had a firm hold on their ropes.
At last the horse became tired of bucking, but its fears were not
quieted, for every little while it would look back at its pack and
snort and rush here and there, much afraid of the load it was carrying.
"That bear skin is going to make us a lot of trouble, son," said Hugh,
"and the sooner we get it dried so that some of the smell will be gone
out of it, the better it will be for us. Let's go on now to the edge
of that beaver meadow and camp there. We'll have to spend a day or two
drying this hide and getting the horses used to it."
For the rest of the day they had much trouble with their horses, for
every time the trail crooked around so that the odor of the bear skin
was carried to the other horses of the train, there was a scattering,
and Jack had to round up the animals and bring them back again.
It was nearly dark when they finally camped at a little spring at the
border of the beaver meadow, where a little clump of cottonwood trees
gave shelter and wood for the campfire.
Not long before they reached the stopping place, dark clouds had begun
to rise over the mountains to the west, and gradually the whole
western sky became overcast.
"Looks like we were going to have a rain storm," said Hugh; "and I
wish we might, and a good hard one. It would put out the fire on the
mountains and cleanse the air of the smoke."
"Yes," replied Jack, "I wish it would rain. I hate to see all that
timber burning. It will take a long time for the mountains to become
green again."
"Yes," said Hugh, "many and many a year; and sometimes, of course,
after the fire has gone over the hills like that they never again are
covered with timber. I have seen mountains way down in the south-west
that at one time must have been covered with splendid great trees, and
then had been burned over and no trees ever grew there again. There are
big logs lying on the hillside now that are all that is left of those
old forests, but no sign of any new timber springing up anywhere."
"Well, how long ago were those mountains burned over?" asked Jack.
"You can't prove it by me," said Hugh. "I've asked that question a good
many times, and I have never found anybody that was old enough to know
anything about when the fires took place. It must have been long, long
ago."
"But why don't those old logs that you were speaking about, rot and
disappear?" asked Jack.
"I'll tell you why," said Hugh. "It's because that country is so dry. I
don't believe more than six inches of rain falls there in the year, and
nothing ever rots; things just dry up and lie there, getting drier and
drier all the time."
"And yet," said Jack, "when we came down through the mountains from
the north, we saw lots of country that had been burned, and almost
everywhere a lot of new green timber was springing up to take the
place of the old burnt tree trunks that were getting ready to fall."
"That's so," replied Hugh; "but I remember that we passed over some
places where the forests had been burned, where there was no sign at
all of anything growing, no sign of any soil; nothing except the bare
gravel or the rock."
"Yes," said Jack, "I remember that, too."
"I reckon it's like this," explained Hugh. "If the fire passes over the
country quickly and just burns or kills the standing trees and doesn't
heat the soil too much, then the seeds that have been dropped by the
trees and are lying hidden in the soil, sprout and new timber grows
up, but if the fire catches in the soil of the forest, which you know
is made up of the needles and branches and cones of the pine trees,
and if that soil is dry enough so that it will burn, then the fire
keeps creeping through it, burning it where it's dry enough to burn, or
heating it where it's too damp, and so all the seeds that are lying in
it are either burned or cooked, and there is nothing left to sprout.
Then after that, a few years of rain storms will wash away all the
soil, and as there's nothing left on the mountain to furnish seeds, no
timber ever grows. I take it, a great deal depends on the condition of
the soil at the time the fire goes through. If it's dry, the seeds of
the trees are likely to be killed. If it's damp, they're likely to live
after the fire has passed and to send up another crop of trees."
"It seems an awful shame, Hugh, that all this timber should be
destroyed and all game should be driven out. Of course, the timber has
no commercial value now. I suppose it's too far from any market, and
there's no way to get it out."
"No," said Hugh, "you couldn't sell it for anything, of course, but
the time will come, I expect, when there'll be some use for all this
timber. This country is going to fill up with people sometime, and
those people will need houselogs, corral poles, and fence-posts; and
then besides that, nobody knows what mines may not be found in these
mountains; and if mines ever are found and worked, there is going to be
a lot of lumber needed to timber them with."
When the camp was reached the western sky looked very threatening, and
Hugh said to Jack, "Now, son, let us get these loads off as quick as we
can and picket the horses, and then we'll get the tent up. I reckon we
are going to be rained on to-night, and we may as well sleep as dry as
we can."
It took but a few minutes to throw the loads off the horses, and to
picket them, and immediately the little tent was raised and the beds
and packs got under cover. By this time it was dark, and over the
mountain-tops to the west could be seen lightning flashes, playing far
above the red glow of the forest fire.
"Yes," said Hugh, as he looked toward the mountains, "I believe that
rain will come pretty near putting that fire out to-night. At all
events it will check it."
The storm advanced toward them, and presently the light of the fire
grew dimmer as the rain passed over it and advanced toward the valley.
Supper had hardly been cooked when the first few drops reached them,
and after piling plenty of wood on the fire, they retreated to the
tent to eat. It was a hard thunder storm, and before long flashes of
lightning were thick all over the sky and the thunder was crashing and
rattling above their heads.
"I don't believe we'll get drowned out here to-night," said Hugh, "for
this place where we've camped is a few inches higher than anything
round about it, but we may find our things pretty damp in the morning,
for this hard rain sifts through even good canvas like this," and he
pointed to the tent above them.
"There's one thing you want to look out for when you are camping in a
dry country, son," he went on; "don't ever camp down in a ravine, no
matter how dry it may seem to be. I've known three or four cases where
a lot of fellows camped in a nice grassy spot in the middle of a ravine
and along during the night there came a cloud-burst somewhere up on the
high prairie, and the water came rolling down the ravine and floated
all the fellows off. I guided a party of scientific chaps one time that
did just that. The ravine was dry when they went to sleep, and they
were washed away during the night, and the next morning the ravine was
pretty nearly dry again, but they spent two or three days traveling
down that gulch, picking up their things that had been carried away by
the water and digging them out of the mud and sand. Some of the men
might easily enough have got drowned if the storm had lasted a little
longer."
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "why did you not tell them not to camp in such
a place."
"I did," said Hugh, "but they laughed at me, and thought that because
there wasn't any water there then, and hadn't been for a long time,
there never would be any. I took my blankets and slept on a little
point eight or ten feet above the bottom of the ravine and the water
never got to me, but I had to laugh at two or three of the young
fellows who waded out close to my bed. Of course, it was dark and
they didn't know where they were, nor what had happened. I heard them
calling and shouting to each other, and before that I had heard the
water coming, so that I knew what was taking place, but I could not do
anything to help any of them."
"Well, after that, Hugh, I expect those men had more respect for your
advice, didn't they?" said Jack.
"Well," said Hugh, "I don't know but they did."
CHAPTER X
A BIG BEAVER MEADOW
The next morning dawned bright and clear. Jack and Hugh were both up
before sunrise, and while Hugh was kindling the fire, trying to make
wet wood burn, Jack went down to the stream to get a bucket of water.
He was just about to stoop over to fill his bucket, when suddenly he
saw something swimming along under the water, and placing his bucket on
the ground, he fired at the object just as it passed in front of him.
The stream was narrow and deep, so that he shot almost directly down
into the water, and as soon as the splash made by the ball ceased, he
could see something struggling below him, and reaching down into the
water he caught the animal by a foot, and lifting it out threw it on
the bank. It was a little beaver.
Jack had seen plenty of beaver hides, but never before a living beaver,
and this seemed to him very small, and, judging by what Hugh had
previously told him, he concluded that it was a young one. It would not
weigh more than ten or twelve pounds.
Filling his bucket, he carried his water in one hand and the beaver in
the other, with the rifle under his arm, up to the tent, and surprised
Hugh by throwing the beaver on the ground.
"Well," said Hugh, "is that what you shot at? I wondered whether you
could have run on a deer down by the creek, or maybe an antelope.
This is a good piece of meat you've brought in. Beaver is first-class
eating, and this is a nice, fat, tender kitten. About three months old,
I should say, by the size, and it's mighty early for kittens as big as
this. You'll get your first lesson in skinning a beaver to-day, and
your first taste of beaver meat, too. Won't it be, or did you ever eat
beaver when you were with the Blackfeet?"
"No, Hugh," said Jack, "I don't think I ever tasted it. I'd like to."
"We'll have beaver tail soup, too," said Hugh. "This tail's only a
little one, but it'll be enough to give us a taste. Beaver tail used to
be considered great meat by the old-time trappers, something like back
fat among the Indians. I never cared much about beaver tail. It's too
oily for my taste. I should think those Indians we saw last summer up
in British Columbia would like it, but I like something a little more
solid.
"Lay that kitten in the shade," he went on, "and after we've got
through our breakfast we'll stretch that bear hide. You must remember
that that is like so much cash in our pocket. We've got to save all the
fur we get this trip, and no fur is ever safe until it's good and dry."
As they sat at breakfast, they looked toward the mountains. The morning
was still, and instead of the flames and the onrushing clouds of smoke
which they had seen the day before, there were now only a few smoke
wreaths lazily curling up toward the sky at occasional points on the
mountain side.
"Yes," said Hugh, as he waved his knife toward the range, "I reckon
that storm last night put out that fire. In the first place it wet all
the timber, green and dry, and then it wet all the dead underbrush and
the needles and dry branches with which the ground is covered. I think
everything got a good soaking, and I believe that now the fire will go
out. Anyway, I hope so."
"I suppose you have no more idea than I have how the fire got started?"
asked Jack.
"No," said Hugh, "no man can tell about that. A fire may get started in
forty ways. Usually, it's some fellow goes off and leaves his campfire
burning, and then a puff of wind comes up and blows some of the coals
into some dry grass or something that catches fire easy, or else the
Indians may set fire to the timber just for the purpose of driving the
game into some big stretch of country where it is easy to hunt it. Of
course, Indians get the credit for a whole lot of fires that they never
set, and I believe that half the fires are started by white men, just
from carelessness, like throwing down a lighted match, or chucking away
a cigarette that will burn for ten or fifteen minutes. On the prairie,
of course, lots of fires are started by the railroad. The sparks from
the locomotive fall among dry grass. Sometimes in the timber lightning
starts a fire. There are lots of ways in which the forests can be
burned, and as long as there's so much forest, and it's nobody's
business to look after it, of course, these fires will keep burning
year after year."
"Well now, son," said Hugh, "after they had finished eating, if you'll
get another bucket of water I'll wash the dishes, and then we can
stretch that bear hide."
Jack brought another bucket of water, which Hugh set on the fire, and
while it was heating he directed Jack to unlash the bear hide and to
drag it out a little away from camp. After this had been done, he sent
him down to look along the stream to see if he could find any birch or
alder brush, telling him if he could do so to get enough branches to
make thirty or forty wooden pins. Taking the ax, Jack went down the
stream and could find neither birch nor alder. He did find, however, a
thicket of small ash saplings, and cutting down half a dozen of these
he put them on his back and dragged them back to camp.
"Couldn't find any birch?" said Hugh. "Well, I don't know as I'm much
surprised. It's pretty well south for birch, but that makes better
pins than 'most anything else. However, this ash will have to do, I
reckon." He took the saplings and with the ax cut them into lengths of
about eight or ten inches, and then taking the thickest ones he split
them.
Then he said to Jack: "Get out your knife now, son, and help me whittle
pegs. We want quite a lot of them, for I would like to stretch this
hide nicely, and take it in in good shape."
For half or three-quarters of an hour the two were busily employed
whittling down and pointing pins, and they had a large pile of them
before Hugh declared that there were enough. They carried the pins over
to where the bear skin lay and threw them on the ground; then turning
the hide flesh side up they stretched it as nearly square as possible,
and then with their jack-knives went round its border, cutting holes
half an inch long in the margin of the hide at intervals of about six
inches. When these had all been cut, the hide was again spread out, and
Hugh, with the ax, drove two pins through holes, one in each side of
the neck, and then, stretching the hide to its full length, drove two
more in holes each about a foot on either side of the tail. Then two
pins were driven at one side of the hide between fore and hind leg, and
two on the other side, between fore and hind leg. The hide now was held
in position, and going about it, Hugh, with great care, drove in his
pins, stretching the hide so that it was nearly square, though a little
longer from head to tail than from side to side. Of course, the four
legs and the head made the square irregular, but, on the whole, Hugh
declared, after he had finished, that it was a very good job.
"I shouldn't have stretched this hide quite so large, son," he said,
"if it hadn't been so very well furred. Usually the hair is thin on the
flanks, and if you stretch a hide much you get places on either flank
just in front of the hind-legs where there is scarcely any hair at
all, and a bear hide that shows up like that never brings a good price.
You notice, though, that on this hide the fur is just about as good on
the belly as it is on the back. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if your
uncle bought this hide himself, instead of letting us sell it to some
fur buyer.
"Now, I don't want the sun to burn it," he went on, "so we'll just go
down to the creek and get a lot of willow brush and make a shade for
it. If the sun shines all day on this fat it will more than half cook
it, and that will spoil the hide."
Hugh and Jack went down to the stream, and cutting a lot of the
green-leafed willows, brought them up and so arranged them that the
direct rays of the sun were kept from the hide.
"Never dry a hide in the sun," said Hugh; "always in the shade. Let the
wind and the dryness in the air take up the moisture for you. Then your
hides will always sell well."
"Well, son," said Hugh, when the job of stretching the hide and shading
it was ended, "do you feel pretty wolfish?"
"Yes," said Jack, "I believe I'm ready for dinner."
"All right," said Hugh, "we'll skin that little beaver, and roast him
for our dinner. If we have any luck trapping you'll have plenty of
skinning to do before we get back, and I guess you'll be pretty sick of
it."
Returning to the camp they took the beaver kitten to the shade of one
of the cottonwood trees, and Hugh showed Jack how to skin it.
"You split it," said Hugh, "from the chin right straight down the
middle of the belly to the root of the tail, and then take off the skin
just as you would with any other animal. You must have a whetstone by
you and keep your knife sharp, and be careful in your cutting so that
you make no holes in the hide. At the same time you must skin close to
the hide, and not leave any fat on it. When you get to the legs, cut
the skin all around just above the feet on fore and hind legs, and at
the tail cut all around the bone, just above where the scales begin. In
skinning around the eyes, see that you don't cut the eyelids, and when
you get to the ears, cut them off close to the hide on the inside. Now,
go ahead and see what you can do."
Jack split the beaver as directed, and carefully worked back the hide,
first on one side and then on the other. It was slow business. In his
effort not to cut holes in the skin he made short cuts, and the peeling
off of the hide seemed to go very slowly. However, he worked it along
with much patience until he got to the legs and the tail, and cut them
around, as Hugh had instructed.
Meantime, Hugh had gone off and cut some long willow sprouts, and
returning to where Jack sat, occupied himself in making a circular
hoop, which, he told Jack, was to stretch the skin on. He bent a long
twig into a circle, and with the slender branches on the end tied the
smaller and larger ends together. By this time Jack had the beaver
about half skinned, and Hugh, drawing his knife, took hold of one side
of the hide and helped, and in a very few minutes the carcass was free
and lying on the grass, while beside it lay the skin, flesh side up.
"Well, son," said Hugh, "that is a pretty good job, considering it's
the first beaver you ever skinned. It will be a good practice for you.
You see, if we should ever be lucky enough to get half a dozen beaver
in a morning it will take us about all day long to skin them."
"Whew!" said Jack, as he stood up and stretched his cramped limbs,
"that's something like work. I guess most fellows, when they think
of trapping, think only of how good they feel when they catch their
beaver, and how good they feel when they sell the skins. They don't
remember how much work it takes to get the skins ready for market."
"That's so, son," said Hugh, "but then, I guess that's true about 'most
everything in life. The miner thinks only about the rich haul that he
is going to make; he doesn't reckon on the number of hours that he's
got to swing a pick or a sledge or hold a drill before he strikes pay
streak. He just thinks of striking it rich, and then getting the money
for his mine. There's lots of human nature in all of us.
"Well, now," he went on, "the first thing we want to do is to go
down to the creek and get rid of some of this grease that we have
accumulated, and then we can come back and cook our dinner."
It took a lot of scrubbing with soap and sand to free themselves from
the oil of the bear and the beaver, and the smell of the grease they
could not get rid of. When they had returned to the tent Hugh sent Jack
to cut a long, green, forked stick. Sharpening this at its larger end,
he drove it firmly into the ground in such a position that it would
overhang the fire. He tied a stout cord to the hind-legs of the little
beaver, built up his fire of dry cottonwood, and let it burn down to
good, red coals, and then hung the beaver to the fork of a green stick
so that it swung directly over the coals. Then he told Jack to get a
long, green, willow twig, and from time to time to give the beaver's
carcass a twirl, so that it would constantly keep turning over the
fire. Then Hugh himself began preparations for the rest of the dinner,
which, after all, consisted only of bread and coffee. The hot coals
soon caused the grease to drip from the meat, which slowly twirled
over the fire, and by the time Hugh had baked his bread and cooked his
coffee he declared that the meat ought to be done. It was taken from
the fire and a slash with a knife showed that it was cooked through.
Hugh divided it into two pieces, and putting it on two tin plates, gave
one to Jack and took one himself.
"Now, son," he said, "try this meat, and see how you like it. Most of
us think that kitten is pretty good food. Of course, it isn't like fat
cow, or even like mountain sheep or elk, but to my mind it's quite as
good as any bird or fish that there is."
For some time Jack's mouth was so full that he could not comment on the
dinner, but, after a time, he declared in response to a question by
Hugh, that the meat was "prime." "But what is this queer, half-bitter
taste that it has, Hugh?" he asked.
"Why, son, that's extract of cottonwood and willow bark. Don't you know
that is what the beaver feed on, and, of course, the flesh tastes of
it? This little fellow is not very strong, but I've sometimes eaten old
beaver that was so bitter that you really didn't want to eat much of
it."
"Well," said Jack, "this is about the tenderest meat that I've ever
eaten, and I like the bitter flavor."
"Yes," said Hugh, "it's mighty nice, and then this fellow is so young
that you don't have to mind the ribs at all; you can chew them right up
and swallow them down."
"Well," said Jack, "I say it's prime, and I hope we'll have lots more
beaver meat before we go in."
"No doubt we will," said Hugh; "but no doubt, also, it will not be
as good as this has been. It's not every day that one gets a kitten
beaver, and it's mighty poor policy to kill them. You see this little
bit of a hide isn't worth anything, whereas, if the kitten had been
allowed to grow a year more the hide would have been worth, maybe, four
or five dollars. Now it isn't worth more than seventy-five cents."
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "if I had known that perhaps I wouldn't have
shot it, but you see, I didn't know that kitten ought not to be
killed, and if I had known about it I had no time to think."
"No," said Hugh; "it was all right to kill this one, but I'm just
telling you so that after this you'll know about kittens. We try always
to set our traps so as to catch only the old beaver. Of course, Indians
will sometimes tear down a dam and kill all the beaver in a pond, but
then Indians haven't much idea of looking out for the future. I say,
kill what old beaver you can and leave the young ones to grow up. If
you don't get them next year somebody else will, and we'll hope that
whoever does will have sense enough to spare the young ones."
When dinner was over and the dishes washed, Hugh told Jack to bring
him the little beaver's hide and the willow hoop that he had made, and
then after cutting holes all around the margin of the hide, he took a
string and passed it through one of the holes, around the hoop, through
another hole and around the hoop again, and so went all around the skin
until it was fairly and evenly stretched on the willow hoop.
"There, son," he said to Jack, "that is the way to stretch a beaver
hide. Now hang this up somewhere in the brush where the sun can't get
at it, nor the wolves and coyotes, either, and by to-morrow morning it
will be dry enough so that we can fold it and put it in the pack."
Jack soon found a good place in the shade near the tent and hung the
skin up, well out of the reach of any animals that might be prowling
about.
When he had returned to the tent, Hugh had about finished washing the
dishes, and Jack wiped them and they were put away in a corner of the
tent.
"Hugh," said Jack, "you told me to hang the beaver skin where the
animals could not get at it, but what about that bear skin out there?
May not some of the animals trouble that to-night?"
"Not so, son; the smell of the bear skin ought rather to frighten off
the animals. At the same time I haven't very much confidence in the
miserable coyotes that this country seems to be full of, so I am going
to put a scare out around that hide to-night, and to-morrow morning you
will see that nothing has disturbed it."
"Well, I shall be mighty glad to see what you do to it, Hugh," said
Jack.
"Oh," said Hugh, "there is nothing special about it. I'm going to
protect that hide by taking advantage of the cunning of the coyote. He
is always on the lookout for traps and snares of one kind or another,
and he won't go close to where he thinks there is a trap. Now, if I put
four sticks in the ground at the corner of that bear skin, and run a
little string from the tops of these four sticks all around the hide,
the coyotes will not pass under that string, because they'll think that
maybe it's some kind of a trap to catch them. You see, the coyotes are
like some men you have heard of; sometimes they are a little too smart."
When Hugh had finished his pipe Jack said, "What shall we do this
afternoon, Hugh? You were going to visit this beaver meadow this
morning if we hadn't had that bear skin to attend to. Is there time
enough for us to go down there now?"
"Plenty of time," said Hugh. "I was just going to propose it. There's
an awful big stretch of beaver work here and I guess that a great deal
of it has been abandoned. We want to find out where the beaver are now,
and when we've learned that and something about their ways, we can get
out our traps. If you like, I'll go down with you now and look for
ponds that have beaver in them."
"All right," said Jack; "I'm ready."
"Well," said Hugh, "let's go on now, and I reckon this is as good a
time as any to christen those rubber boots that we bought in Laramie.
We are likely to find it pretty wet down there, and I don't care to
take a horse in those thick willows until I find out a little about
them myself. An old beaver meadow is a mighty mean place to take
horses. There are bogs and beaver sloughs and old abandoned beaver
holes, and it's easy for a horse to fall down, and sometimes mighty
hard to get him up again."
Hugh and Jack donned their rubber boots, and taking their rifles,
started down toward the main stream. The meadow here was miles in width
and it was quite uncertain how far they could go. As well as they could
see, much of the meadow was overgrown with tall willows, but on the
other hand, there seemed to be many open, grassy meadows.
Before plunging into the willows they followed along the edge for some
little distance and at last Hugh said, "Let's turn in here, son, there
seems to be a game trail running in the direction we should go." Sure
enough, they found a well-traveled and dry game trail which showed that
last autumn it had been traveled by bands of elk, for the bark was
rubbed off the willows as high as Hugh's head, where great horns of the
bulls had forced the stems of the brush apart on either side of the
trail. The way led just in the direction they wanted to go, that is,
across the valley, and ten or fifteen minutes' brisk tramping brought
them to the edge of a green, grassy meadow of considerable extent. Just
as they reached the edge of the willows Hugh paused and motioned with
his hand, beckoning Jack to come up to his side. "Look there, son," he
said, pointing, and Jack saw, only about forty yards away, two bob-cats
pulling and tearing at some small thing on the ground, a little
distance out in the meadow. Hugh said, "You try to kill the one that is
nearest to the brush, and I'll see if I can take the other one on the
jump." Jack leveled his rifle and took a careful side aim at the breast
of one of the cats, which stood facing him. On the crack of the gun the
one he had fired at fell over, while the other jumped high in the air,
and when it struck the ground again stood looking to see whence the
noise had come. It looked only for an instant, for then Hugh's gun also
spoke, and the animal fell over.
"Well," said Hugh, as he reloaded his gun, "I wouldn't have looked for
those two bob-cats in such a place as this. I reckon their hides are
not worth much, but they might make you a pair of shaps, son; let's go
over and get them and see what it is that they were eating."
Walking over to the place, they found that the bob-cats had been
devouring the carcass of a little spotted fawn.
"Look there, now," said Hugh; "that's the sort of work these fellows
are at day in and day out all the year round. Of course, after a while
the fawns get too big and shy for them to tackle, but these bob-cats
are all the time killing something that ought to be allowed to live.
I suppose that every two or three days for the next month or two each
of these cats will kill a young deer, or a young antelope, or maybe
a young elk. That would make twenty head of young game animals to a
cat each summer. It's mighty lucky that there ain't any more of those
fellows in the mountains than there is." He stooped over and looked at
the head of the lynx he had shot, and then at the one that had fallen
to Jack's gun. The latter was shot through the neck and showed a small
hole where the bullet went in and a large one where it came out. The
lynx he had killed had only one bullet hole in its neck, the ball
having entered its mouth and having knocked out some of its front teeth.
"You ought to shoot closer, son," he said to Jack. "Every hole cut in a
skin takes a little off its value. You might remember this."
[Illustration: TWO BOB-CATS PULLING AND TEARING AT SOME SMALL THING ON
THE GROUND.--_Page 106._]
"Yes, Hugh, I know I ought to have shot it through the head, but the
range was short and I was a little afraid that if I fired at its head I
might overshoot."
"Well," said Hugh, "of course, you might have done so, and at the same
time you ought to know how to hold your gun so that you would know just
where the bullet would hit at every range from twenty yards up to two
hundred."
"Well," said Jack, "I have been pretty lucky with my shooting, but you
know that I can't shoot like you, Hugh; and I don't believe I ever will
be able to."
"Nonsense," said Hugh. "When you once know your gun thoroughly,
provided it's a good one, you can shoot just where you want to, and
just as well as any man alive."
"Well," said Jack, "I'll try to be more careful after this. Lord knows,
I want to be a good shot, but you can never make me believe that I'll
ever learn to shoot as well as you do, Hugh."
"Yes, you will," said Hugh. "Now, let's see what we can do with these
bob-cats, son, and then go on a little further and find out something
about how these beaver down here are living."
Hugh took from his pocket a buckskin string and tied the two cats
together. Jack climbed up among some stout willow stems and by his
weight bent them down to within five or six feet of the ground, and
then Hugh hung the cats across them. When Jack came down the stems rose
nearly to their former height and left the lynxes suspended well out of
reach of any prowling animal. Then the two went on.
As they walked on over the meadow where the thick grass stood
knee-high, the ground became more and more moist, until presently the
water quite covered the soil.
"We must look out here, son," said Hugh; "we may strike bad places
anywhere and must go carefully."
Presently they were stopped by a ditch two or three feet wide, in which
a few inches of water seemed to stand. Hugh stepped across it, finding
the bank on the other side firm enough, and Jack jumped after him.
"This," said Hugh, "is one of those ditches that I was telling you
about that the beaver dig to float their feed down to their ponds. If
we could follow it back to the brush we would find that the willows all
along it had been cut off."
A little beyond this they came to a place where the water was deeper
and where the mud under the water was soft, and here they stopped and
turning up the stream, followed as nearly as they could the edge of
the old pond. Standing in the grass, out where the water was deeper,
Hugh pointed out a number of little mounds overgrown with grass and low
willows, which he told Jack were old and long-deserted beaver houses.
"If we could get out to them," he said, "we should find under that
brush a solid foundation of sticks and mud. Those houses will last for
a long time, for as the sticks are kept wet all the time they don't
rot, but just become water-soaked and will last pretty nearly forever."
The grass, the mud and water, and the frequent detours they had to
make made their progress up stream slow, but at length they came to a
grass-grown wall a foot or two higher than the rest of the ground, and
when he saw that, Hugh gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
"Now," he said, "I think we'll have better going. This, you see, is an
old dam, and the chances are we can get on it and cross the stream, and
on the other side, where the bottom is narrower, we shall have better
going." It turned out just as he had said. The dam, though soft in
places, was generally so firm that they could walk along on it pretty
comfortably. Over toward its further end it was partly broken down
and the water of the stream trickled over and through it for a width
of about twenty feet, but by carefully feeling their way and at every
step testing the dam with their feet, they managed to cross the running
water, and from there to the other side of the valley the dam was firm.
On this west side of the stream the moist bottom was much narrower and
they presently found themselves on firm ground, and started to walk
briskly up the creek.
"All this work here," said Hugh, "is very old, and I haven't seen any
sign of beaver being here for a long time. We'll go up stream as far as
we can, but we must cross to the other side before it gets night. We'd
be pretty badly off if we were caught in this beaver swamp after dark.
We'd sure have to spend the night here. I wouldn't be much surprised if
we found that we had to move camp and go up further toward the head of
the stream. The beaver have certainly left this part of it."
They hurried on, and for a mile or two nothing was said. The sun was
hot and the rubber boots which both wore seemed clumsy and heavy. Jack
felt pretty tired but he said nothing of this to Hugh. Presently, from
the dry upland where they were walking they could see ahead of them a
pond, and then, a little later, the dam which held back its waters.
"There," said Hugh, "that looks to me like fresh work. Don't you see
there in that dam some green leaves sticking up? That looks as if the
dam had been lately mended; so lately that the twigs and brush used in
repairing it have not yet died and lost their leaves."
Jack could see this, and then as he looked over the pond he saw a
long wake in the water close to the bank, and caught Hugh's arm and
said, "Look there. Hugh, away over there under the bank. What is that
swimming? Of course, it may be a duck, but may it not be a beaver?"
Hugh looked carefully, and presently the object which was swimming
passed a little bay so that it was distinctly seen as a small, round
object. "That's a beaver, son," said Hugh. "You can see for yourself
that it isn't a duck, and the only other thing it could be would be an
otter or muskrat. It is too big for a muskrat and it doesn't seem like
an otter. There are beaver down there, and what's more, they haven't
been disturbed for a long time, or else they wouldn't be out swimming
around like that in the heat of the day. Let's go down and take a look
around; but keep quiet; don't make any quick motions, and whatever you
see, don't fire your gun. If there are any beaver there we want to get
some of them."
The two walked slowly down toward the dam, taking advantage of whatever
little cover there was in the way of inequalities of the ground or of
willow brush. Down close to the water's edge grew a good many willows,
and they were thus able to get quite close to the dam, and sitting down
there they watched the water. For a long time, as it seemed to Jack,
it was absolutely still, and then, while he was staring as hard as he
could at the farther bank and the place where the dam met it, Hugh
touched him and made a little motion with his head, and Jack, following
the direction of his companion's eyes, saw, not more than twenty-five
yards off, two beaver swimming down toward the dam, each with his head
slightly turned to one side, and each dragging after him a green stick
about three or four feet long. The two animals came on down to the
dam, and without the slightest suspicion that they were being watched,
crawled out of the water, dragging their sticks after them. When they
left the water they were so close to the watchers that they were
hidden from them by the dam, and just what they were doing could not be
seen. Jack touched Hugh, and when he bent down his head, whispered to
him, "Couldn't we crawl up a little closer and watch them?" Hugh shook
his head. A few moments later the two beaver entered the water again
and swam off up the pond. When they had disappeared Hugh touched Jack,
and turning about, they crept away among the willows in the direction
from which they had just come.
When they had left the dam some way behind them, Hugh stopped and said
to Jack, "Now, let us go on up this pond, and try to see where these
beaver are living and where they're working. Keep out of sight as much
as you can. I don't want them to know that there are any people about.
It looks to me as if nobody had been trapping here for years, and as
if we had struck something good. Now, come on, I want to walk fast and
find out all I can to-night, and then we've got to get back to the camp
as quickly as we can." They hurried along up the stream, Hugh looking
carefully at the willows and aspens along the border of the meadow, and
sometimes going down toward the edge of the pond. They crossed a number
of places where branches, some of them quite large, had been dragged
over the ground, but Hugh contented himself with saying to Jack, "You
see, these beaver are working all along here, and they have to go quite
a little way for their food."
The beaver pond was quite a long one, but at last they reached its
head. Here they came upon
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/45690