TERRIBLE FATE OF A DARING INDIAN.
One of the most remarkable subterranean waterways in the world wasrecently discovered in the northern range of the Rockies in Montana,by the agency of a fatal accident, witnessed by me on an expeditionin which Phil Barnes and Pierre Leger, two prospectors, were mycompanions, together with a Flathead Indian named Klikat.
On October 28, having struck northeast from Bonner's Ferry into aregion entered by a few white men before us, we found ourselves withintwenty-five or thirty miles of the Canadian boundary, and 7,500 feetabove sea level. In front and on the right were perpendicular cliffs,which barred our advance. To the left was a precipice about 80 feethigh, overhanging a roaring mountain stream, and extending fully twomiles to the south.
As we stood there, looking around for some opening by which we mightadvance, there came to our ears a deep, roaring sound, alternating inforce, stronger and weaker at intervals of a few seconds. It came injarring sounds, with a volume like thunder.
"Me know what him is," said Klikat, with a pleased air ofcomprehension. "Him is Big-hole-in-the-water. You come look," he added,throwing himself flat on the rock with his head and shoulders hangingover. "Ugh!" he exclaimed, "Big-hole-in-the-water heap mad to-day. Himfunny. Water go in ground; never come out."
Following Klikat's example, I threw myself on the ground, and peereddown from the dizzy height. Barnes and Leger did likewise.
It was a curious sight that we beheld. Straight down below us there wasa deep pool, inclosed on three sides by high walls of eternal rock,thus forming a perpetual barrier to the passage of the water. The noisymountain stream poured great volumes into this natural basin, and thenlost itself. The water in the pool swung round as on a pivot. In thevery centre was a great funnel-shaped "suck-hole," fully eight feetacross, the water rushing downward with lightning speed. In the centreof this funnel was a mass of snow-white foam, dancing and whirling andscattering flakes of itself around the dark-blue rim of the vortex.At intervals of fifteen or twenty seconds there would be a greaterdownward rush of water, and the pillar of foam would disappear with theincreased speed of the current; then the roar would increase in volume,another pillar of foam would form, only to disappear a few momentslater as the previous one had done. It was a grand, a terrible sight.
As I gazed upon it suddenly there was a low, crumbling sound, and thena mass of shelving rock right under Klikat broke loose and fell witha fearful crash. I started to my feet just as I saw the Indian makingfrantic efforts to cling to the edge of the cliff. But his hold was tooslight, and, without uttering word or sound of any kind, Klikat fellheadlong into the mad waters beneath.
Barnes rushed to one of the pack mules for a rope, but it was too late.Three, four, five times did Klikat swing around in a spiral course, andthen, with a sudden twist, he shot into the very centre of the vortex.Down he went with the pillar of foam, out of sight into the bowels ofthe earth, and the darkness of death.
The cavity filled with water and was silent. But it was short satiety.It quickly opened its dark and unfathomable depths again, and gave outa roaring snore that made the very mountains tremble.
Cautiously we three withdrew from the edge of the precipice. We gazedat each other silently and in horror.
Two weeks later we reached the Kootenai country, in British Columbia,and prepared to camp on the south shore of Lake Kootenai. It was whilein the act of gathering driftwood along the shore for our first night'ssupper that Leger discovered a very ghastly object lying in the waterwithin six feet of land.
It was the corpse of a man--an Indian. The face of the dead was badlybruised and torn, and utterly disfigured.
"Heavens!" cried Barnes, as he cut a ragged cloth from the neck. "Thisis a remnant of my silk handkerchief, which I gave to poor Klikatto cover the gash he cut on his neck by that dead limb one day--doyou remember? And see! Right here in this corner is my monogram--'P.B.'--worked in silk."
It was so. We all recognized the silken rag, and we all knew thatthe corpse before us was the dead body of Klikat, who had falleninto the funnel of that awful subterranean river, fully 250 milesaway, far up in the Rockies of Northern Montana. And yet here washis corpse, drifted ashore on this lake, between which and the"big-hole-in-the-water" there is not the slightest connection, so faras mortal eyes can see. How came he to Lake Kootenai, and how long hadhe been there?
We buried poor Klikat on a bit of rising ground about fifty yards fromthe lake shore.