"Good Lord, think of it," said he. "Do you ever expect to get there?It is a terrible trip, my son, a terrible trip."
At this point a large number of the outfits crossed to the oppositeside of the river and took the trail which kept up the west bank ofthe river. We, however, kept the stage road which ran on the highground of the eastern bank, forming a most beautiful drive. The riverwas in full view all the time, with endless vista of blue hills aboveand the shimmering water with radiant foliage below.
Aside from the stage road and some few ranches on the river bottom,we were now in the wilderness. On our right rolled a wide wild seaof hills and forests, breaking at last on the great gold range. Tothe west, a still wilder country reaching to the impassable eastrange. On this, our eighth day out, we had our second sight of biggame. In the night I was awakened by Burton, calling in excitedwhisper, "There's a bear outside."
It was cold, I was sleepy, my bed was very comfortable, and I did notwish to be disturbed. I merely growled, "Let him alone."
But Burton, putting his head out of the door of the tent, grew stillmore interested. "There is a bear out there eating those muttonbones. Where's the gun?"
I was nearly sinking off to sleep once more and I muttered, "Don'tbother me; the gun is in the corner of the tent." Burton begansnapping the lever of the gun impatiently and whispering somethingabout not being able to put the cartridge in. He was accustomed tothe old-fashioned Winchester, but had not tried these.
"Put it right in the top," I wearily said, "put it right in the top."
"I have," he replied; "but I can't get it _in_ or out!"
Meanwhile I had become sufficiently awake to take a mild interest inthe matter. I rose and looked out. As I saw a long, black, leancreature muzzling at something on the ground, I began to get excitedmyself.
"I guess we better let him go, hadn't we?" said Burton.
"Well, yes, as the cartridge is stuck in the gun; and so long as helets us alone I think we had better let him alone, especially as hishide is worth nothing at this season of the year, and he is too thinto make steak."
The situation was getting comic, but probably it is well that thecartridge failed to go in. Burton stuck his head out of the tent,gave a sharp yell, and the huge creature vanished in the dark of theforest. The whole adventure came about naturally. The smell of ourfrying meat had gone far up over the hills to our right and off intothe great wilderness, alluring this lean hungry beast out of his den.Doubtless if Burton had been able to fire a shot into his woollyhide, we should have had a rare "mix up" of bear, tent, men,mattresses, and blankets.
Mosquitoes increased, and, strange to say, they seemed to like theshade. They were all of the big, black, lazy variety. We came uponflights of humming-birds. I was rather tired of the saddle, and ofthe slow jog, jog, jog. But at last there came an hour which made thetrouble worth while. When our camp was set, our fire lighted, oursupper eaten, and we could stretch out and watch the sun go down overthe hills beyond the river, then the day seemed well spent. At suchan hour we grew reminiscent of old days, and out of our talk anoccasional verse naturally rose.
MOMENTOUS HOUR
A coyote wailing in the yellow dawn, A mountain land that stretches on and on, And ceases not till in the skies Vast peaks of rosy snow arise, Like walls of plainsman's paradise.
I cannot tell why this is so; I cannot say, I do not know Why wind and wolf and yellow sky, And grassy mesa, square and high, Possess such power to satisfy.
But so it is. Deep in the grass I lie and hear the winds' feet pass; And all forgot is maid and man, And hope and set ambitious plan Are lost as though they ne'er began.
A WISH
All day and many days I rode, My horse's head set toward the sea; And as I rode a longing came to me That I might keep the sunset road, Riding my horse right on and on, O'ertake the day still lagging at the west, And so reach boyhood from the dawn, And be with all the days at rest.
For then the odor of the growing wheat, The flare of sumach on the hills, The touch of grasses to my feet Would cure my brain of all its ills,-- Would fill my heart so full of joy That no stern lines could fret my face. There would I be forever boy, Lit by the sky's unfailing grace.
CHAPTER IV
IN CAMP AT QUESNELLE
We came into Quesnelle about three o'clock of the eleventh day out.From a high point which overlooked the two rivers, we could see greatridges rolling in waves of deep blue against the sky to thenorthwest. Over these our slender little trail ran. The wind was inthe south, roaring up the river, and green grass was springing on theslopes.
Quesnelle we found to be a little town on a high, smooth slope abovethe Fraser. We overtook many prospectors like ourselves camped on theriver bank waiting to cross.
Here also telegraph bulletins concerning the Spanish war, datedLondon, Hong Kong, and Madrid, hung on the walls of the post-office.They were very brief and left plenty of room for imagination anddiscussion.
Here I took a pony and a dog-cart and jogged away toward thelong-famous Caribou Mining district next day, for the purpose ofinspecting a mine belonging to some friends of mine. The ride wasvery desolate and lonely, a steady climb all the way, throughfire-devastated forests, toward the great peaks. Snow lay in theroadside ditches. Butterflies were fluttering about, and in the highhills I saw many toads crawling over the snowbanks, a singular sightto me. They were silent, perhaps from cold.
Strange to say, this ride called up in my mind visions of the hotsands, and the sun-lit buttes and valleys of Arizona and Montana, andI wrote several verses as I jogged along in the pony-cart.
When I returned to camp two days later, I found Burton ready andeager to move. The town swarmed with goldseekers pausing here to restand fill their parfleches. On the opposite side of the river otherscould be seen in camp, or already moving out over the trail, whichleft the river and climbed at once into the high ridges dark withpines in the west.
As I sat with my partner at night talking of the start the next day,I began to feel not a fear but a certain respect for that narrowlittle path which was not an arm's span in width, but which wasnearly eight hundred miles in length. "From this point, Burton, it isbusiness. Our practice march is finished."
The stories of flies and mosquitoes gave me more trouble thananything else, but a surveyor who had had much experience in thisNorthwestern country recommended the use of oil of pennyroyal, mixedwith lard or vaseline. "It will keep the mosquitoes and most of theflies away," he said. "I know, for I have tried it. You can't wear anet, at least I never could. It is too warm, and then it is always inyour way. You are in no danger from beasts, but you will curse theday you set out on this trail on account of the insects. It is theworst mosquito country in the world."
THE GIFT OF WATER
"Is water nigh?" The plainsmen cry, As they meet and pass in the desert grass. With finger tip Across the lip I ask the sombre Navajo. The brown man smiles and answers "Sho!"[1] With fingers high, he signs the miles To the desert spring, And so we pass in the dry dead grass, Brothers in bond of the water's ring.
[Footnote 1: Listen. Your attention.]
MOUNTING
I mount and mount toward the sky, The eagle's heart is mine, I ride to put the clouds a-by Where silver lakelets shine. The roaring streams wax white with snow, The eagle's nest draws near, The blue sky widens, hid peaks glow, The air is frosty clear. _And so from cliff to cliff I rise,_ _The eagle's heart is mine;_ _Above me ever broadning skies,_ _Below the rivers shine._
THE EAGLE TRAIL
From rock-built nest, The mother eagle, with a threatning tongue, Utters a warning scream. Her shrill voice rings Wild as the snow-topped crags she sits among; While hovering with her quivering wings Her hungry brood, with eyes ablaze She watches every shadow. The water calls Far, far below. The sun'
s red rays Ascend the icy, iron walls, And leap beyond the mountains in the west, And over the trail and the eagle's nest The clear night falls.
CHAPTER V
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE BLUE RAT
_Camp Twelve_
Next morning as we took the boat--which was filled with horses wildand restless--I had a moment of exultation to think we had left theway of tin cans and whiskey bottles, and were now about to enter uponthe actual trail. The horses gave us a great deal of trouble on theboat, but we managed to get across safely without damage to any partof our outfit.
Here began our acquaintance with the Blue Rat. It had become evidentto me during our stay in Quesnelle that we needed one more horse tomake sure of having provisions sufficient to carry us over the threehundred and sixty miles which lay between the Fraser and our nexteating-place on the Skeena. Horses, however, were very scarce, and itwas not until late in the day that we heard of a man who had a ponyto sell. The name of this man was Dippy.
He was a German, and had a hare-lip and a most seductive gentlenessof voice. I gladly make him historical. He sold me the Blue Rat, andgave me a chance to study a new type of horse.
Herr Dippy was not a Washington Irving sort of Dutchman; he conformedrather to the modern New York tradesman. He was small, candid, andsmooth, very smooth, of speech. He said: "Yes, the pony is gentle. Hecan be rode or packed, but you better lead him for a day or two tillhe gets quiet."
I had not seen the pony, but my partner had crossed to the west sideof the Fraser River, and had reported him to be a "nice little pony,round and fat and gentle." On that I had rested. Mr. Dippy joined usat the ferry and waited around to finish the trade. I presumed heintended to cross and deliver the pony, which was in a corral on thewest side, but he lisped out a hurried excuse. "The ferry is notcoming back for to-day and so--"
Well, I paid him the money on the strength of my side partner'sreport; besides, it was Hobson's choice.
Mr. Dippy took the twenty-five dollars eagerly and vanished intoobscurity. We passed to the wild side of the Fraser and entered upona long and intimate study of the Blue Rat. He shucked out of the logstable a smooth, round, lithe-bodied little cayuse of a blue-graycolor. He looked like a child's toy, but seemed sturdy and of goodcondition. His foretop was "banged," and he had the air of amischievous, resolute boy. His eyes were big and black, and hestudied us with tranquil but inquiring gaze as we put the pack-saddleon him. He was very small.
"He's not large, but he's a gentle little chap," said I, to ease mypartner of his dismay over the pony's surprising smallness.
"I believe he shrunk during the night," replied my partner. "Heseemed two sizes bigger yesterday."
We packed him with one hundred pounds of our food and lashed it allon with rope, while the pony dozed peacefully. Once or twice Ithought I saw his ears cross; one laid back, the other setforward,--bad signs,--but it was done so quickly I could not be sureof it.
We packed the other horses while the blue pony stood resting one hindleg, his eyes dreaming.
I flung the canvas cover over the bay packhorse.... Something tookplace. I heard a bang, a clatter, a rattling of hoofs. I peeredaround the bay and saw the blue pony performing some of the mostfinished, vigorous, and varied bucking it has ever been given me towitness. He all but threw somersaults. He stood on his upper lip. Hehumped up his back till he looked like a lean cat on a graveyardfence. He stood on his toe calks and spun like a weather-vane on alivery stable, and when the pack exploded and the saddle slippedunder his belly, he kicked it to pieces by using both hind hoofs asfeatly as a man would stroke his beard.
After calming the other horses, I faced my partner solemnly.
"Oh, by the way, partner, where did you get that nice, quiet, littleblue pony of yours?"
Partner smiled sheepishly. "The little divil. Buffalo Bill ought tohave that pony."
"Well, now," said I, restraining my laughter, "the thing to do is toput that pack on so that it will stay. That pony will try the samething again, sure."
We packed him again with great care. His big, innocent black eyesshining under his bang were a little more alert, but they showedneither fear nor rage. We roped him in every conceivable way, and atlast stood clear and dared him to do his prettiest.
He did it. All that had gone before was merely preparatory, ablood-warming, so to say; the real thing now took place. He stood upon his hind legs and shot into the air, alighting on his four feet asif to pierce the earth. He whirled like a howling dervish, grunting,snorting--unseeing, and almost unseen in a nimbus of dust, strapends, and flying pine needles. His whirling undid him. We seized therope, and just as the pack again slid under his feet we set shoulderto the rope and threw him. He came to earth with a thud, his legswhirling uselessly in the air. He resembled a beetle in molasses. Wesat upon his head and discussed him.
"He is a wonder," said my partner.
We packed him again with infinite pains, and when he began bucking wethrew him again and tried to kill him. We were getting irritated. Wethrew him hard, and drew his hind legs up to his head till hegrunted. When he was permitted to rise, he looked meek and small andtired and we were both deeply remorseful. We rearranged the pack--itwas some encouragement to know he had not bucked it entirely off--andby blindfolding him we got him started on the trail behind thetrain.
"I suppose that simple-hearted Dutchman is gloating over us fromacross the river," said I to partner; "but no matter, we arevictorious."
I was now quite absorbed in a study of the blue pony's psychology. Hewas a new type of mean pony. His eye did not roll nor his ears fallback. He seemed neither scared nor angry. He still looked like aroguish, determined boy. He was alert, watchful, but not vicious. Hewent off--precisely like one of those mechanical mice or turtleswhich sidewalk venders operate. Once started, he could not stop tillhe ran down. He seemed not to take our stern measures in bad part. Heregarded it as a fair contract, apparently, and considered that wehad won. True, he had lost both hair and skin by getting tangled inthe rope, but he laid up nothing against us, and, as he followedmeekly along behind, partner dared to say:--
"He's all right now. I presume he has been running out all winter andis a little wild. He's satisfied now. We'll have no more trouble withhim."
Every time I looked back at the poor, humbled little chap, my hearttingled with pity and remorse. "We were too rough," I said. "We mustbe more gentle."
"Yes, he's nervous and scary; we must be careful not to give him asudden start. I'll lead him for a while."
An hour later, as we were going down a steep and slippery hill, theRat saw his chance. He passed into another spasm, opening andshutting like a self-acting jack-knife. He bounded into the midst ofthe peaceful horses, scattering them to right and to left in terror.
He turned and came up the hill to get another start. Partner took aturn on a stump, and all unmindful of it the Rat whirled and made amighty spring. He reached the end of the rope and his hand-springbecame a vaulting somersault. He lay, unable to rise, spatting thewind, breathing heavily. Such annoying energy I have never seen. Wewere now mad, muddy, and very resolute. We held him down till he layquite still. Any well-considered, properly bred animal would havebeen ground to bone dust by such wondrous acrobatic movements. He wasskinned in one or two places, the hair was scraped from his nose, histongue bled, but all these were mere scratches. When we repacked himhe walked off comparatively unhurt.
NOON ON THE PLAIN
The horned toad creeping along the sand, The rattlesnake asleep beneath the sage, Have now a subtle fatal charm. In their sultry calm, their love of heat, I read once more the burning page Of nature under cloudless skies. O pitiless and splendid land! Mine eyelids close, my lips are dry By force of thy hot floods of light. Soundless as oil the wind flows by, Mine aching brain cries out for night!
CHAPTER VI
THE BEGINNING OF THE LONG TRAIL
As we left the bank of the Fraser River we put all wheel tr
acksbehind. The trail turned to the west and began to climb, following anold swath which had been cut into the black pines by an adventuroustelegraph company in 1865. Immense sums of money were put into thisventure by men who believed the ocean cable could not be laid. Thework was stopped midway by the success of Field's wonderful plan, andall along the roadway the rusted and twisted wire lay in testimony ofthe seriousness of the original design.
The trail was a white man's road. It lacked grace and charm. It cutuselessly over hills and plunged senselessly into ravines. It was anirritation to all of us who knew the easy swing, the circumspection,and the labor-saving devices of an Indian trail. The telegraph linewas laid by compass, not by the stars and the peaks; it evadednothing; it saved distance, not labor.
My feeling of respect deepened into awe as we began to climb thegreat wooded divide which lies between the Fraser and the Blackwater.The wild forest settled around us, grim, stern, and forbidding. Wewere done with civilization. Everything that was required for a homein the cold and in the heat was bound upon our five horses. We mustcarry bed, board, roof, food, and medical stores, over three hundredand sixty miles of trail, through all that might intervene of floodand forest.
This feeling of awe was emphasized by the coming on of the storm inwhich we camped that night. We were forced to keep going until latein order to obtain feed, and to hustle in order to get everythingunder cover before the rain began to fall. We were only twelve mileson our way, but being wet and cold and hungry, we enjoyed the fullsense of being in the wilderness. However, the robins sang from thedamp woods and the loons laughed from hidden lakes.