CHAPTER VIIIA QUEER COUNTRY
AN eastward ride of several days carried us to the neighbourhood of the Grand Teton, a splendid mountain, whose height, isolation, and conspicuous outline have made it a landmark and guide to the trapper and the explorer ever since the days when Lewis and Clark first struggled across the continent; and thence, diverging to the left, we took a northward course along the foothills.
Our progress through this thickly timbered country was extremely slow, for we felt it necessary to test for gold every one of the numberless little streams which cut across our path, sometimes making a stop of two or three days for the purpose.
A common obstacle to a rapid advance, too, was the frequent occurrence of swamps,—the work of the beavers. The cleverness of these little engineers is matter for admiration, but theresult of their labours is apt to be annoying to the traveller. They would build a dam across a stream, backing up the water until it overflowed its banks on either side; then they would go a little farther up-stream and build another, and another, and another, until the valley for several miles of its length would be converted into an impassable morass.
These oft-recurring impediments, as I have said, rendered our northward progress very slow. At length, however, sometime early in August as we supposed—for we had but a very indefinite idea of the progress of time—we were forced out of our course by a great series of beaver-dams, and going a long way to the left in the attempt to circumvent them, we came upon a good-sized river flowing swiftly toward the south. On consulting our map we decided that this must be the Henry, or North Fork of the Snake; but our map-maker, though he had knowledge of the existence of such a stream, evidently did not know many particulars concerning it, for he failed altogether to take notice of the fact that it had its source in a beautiful lake, upon whose shore we unexpectedly found ourselves one day. It was the lake that our friend Tracker Jim had mentioned.
By this time Percy and I had begun to understand what was meant by the name “Rocky Mountains.” Previously, I, at least, had taken my idea of this great “system” from the maps in common use in English schools, where the backbone of the continent was represented by an object which might be taken for a long, hairy caterpillar crawling up from Mexico to the Arctic Ocean; sometimes with little caterpillars crawling beside it. It had never occurred to me (or to Percy either, I believe) that one might travel from east to west for seven hundred miles or more and be surrounded by mountains all the way. In common with most schoolboys (begging their pardons if I do them an injustice) I vaguely supposed that I should find a long string of peaks, rough and sharp-pointed like the Grand Teton, with depressions between them, over which one might climb with difficulty; but that anybody could pass over the main range of the Rocky Mountains and not know it, would have seemed to me too absurd to be thought of for a moment. Nevertheless, that is precisely what we did, impossible as it may seem.
Leaving the lake on our left hands, we rode up a gentle acclivity and down the other side,—aswe had done a hundred times before,—and presently found ourselves on the bank of a fine creek running toward the north. Without suspecting it, we had passed from the Pacific to the Atlantic side of the great continental watershed; we were standing by a stream which was flowing to join the Missouri, a tributary of that mighty river upon whose bank we had stepped from an ocean-going vessel so many weeks before.
It may appear strange that none of us should have had any inkling of the truth, but, as to Percy and me, how were we to guess that the great river upon whose left bank we had landed when coming from the east should have any connection with a stream upon whose left bank, again, we found ourselves when coming from the south-west? We did not take into account the immense bend that the Missouri makes before it enters upon its southerly course.
Even Jack, with his greater knowledge and his far greater experience, was deceived by the ease with which we had traversed the pass. He did, indeed, express some surprise at finding so large a stream on the other side, and wondered if, and how, it found its way into the lake we had just left, but he was as far as ourselvesfrom suspecting that he had crossed the main range.
“Well,” said he, as we stopped to let the horses drink, “I’m rather puzzled which way to go: up, down, or across this stream. The country to the right looks most promising for a gold-hunter, but we shall be getting a pretty long way from the settlements in Montana if we go in that direction; besides which Tracker Jim told us that we must bear to the left after passing the lake. What do you think about it?”
“We have a fair supply of flour and sugar left,” said Percy; “so, as far as provisions are concerned, there is no need of going near any settlement at present. I should be inclined to say ‘up.’”
“So should I,” was my contribution to the debate. “The country in front of us does not look very promising, and as gold-hunting is the main object of this excursion I think we should go where we are most likely to find it,—which seems to me to be up-stream; so I say ‘up’ too.”
“Suppose we go into camp at once,” said Jack. “And then we can talk it over after supper. Here’s a pretty good place for camp, now, in the shelter of this clump of pines.”
As we rode round the end of the group of trees in order to get upon its leeward side, I caught sight at a great distance of a long string of animals walking in procession across the valley.
“Jack!” I cried. “Look! What are those?”
Jack’s glass was out in an instant.
“Elk,” said he. “A whole band of them. There must be fifty. Tom, will you make camp by yourself? Percy and I will go after them at once.”
Accordingly away they rode; while I unpacked the mules—tethering them to prevent their running off in pursuit of Toby—and made preparations for the night. This occupied me for about an hour, and then, taking the shotgun, I wandered off up the pine-clad spur of the mountain to see if I could get a few grouse. These birds were very plentiful, and, either from natural foolishness or because they had not yet learned from experience how destructive an animal is man, they were very easy to shoot. On being disturbed they would fly up into the nearest tree, and one might shoot three or four of them before it would occur to the survivors that it might be dangerous to remain there.
On this particular occasion, however, my hunt for grouse came to nothing. I was about to walk across a little open space in the woods, when, from among the trees on the opposite side, about thirty steps away, there suddenly appeared two little woolly animals which, though I had never seen such a thing before, I knew must be young bears. They were evidently out for a spree. They chased each other over the grass; bit, buffeted, and tumbled over each other, growling all the time with a great show of ferocity. I was so interested in watching them that I forgot for the moment the fact that the old bear must be somewhere close by. As soon as that thought did occur to me, however, I prepared to slip away, but just as I was about to do so the gambols of the little bears brought them over to my side of the open space, when, catching sight of me, they stopped, and, with their heads cocked on one side, stood thoughtfully staring me out of countenance. As I remained perfectly still they gained courage to advance near enough to sniff at my ankles, and finding that nothing alarming followed this act of temerity they next proceeded to worry the legs of my overalls, just as two young puppies would do. It was great fun for them, and itwould have been great fun for me, too, had it not been for my fear that the old bear might come and spoil it all.
I had about decided that it would be an act of wisdom on my part to kick the little bears and send them off home, when, happening to look across the open, I saw something which sent my heart into my mouth,—her Ladyship had arrived. From her great size and her grey colour I guessed she must be a grizzly, and remembering with thankfulness that the grizzly is no climber, I cast my eyes from side to side in search of a tree to ascend, the one which sheltered me being too big. Fortunately I was not reduced to this necessity. The old bear, as soon as she saw where her cubs were, uttered a sound which was evidently a note of recall, for the young ones at once ceased to worry my trousers, and ran across to her. The old lady did not appear to be in the best of tempers, for she saluted each of her children with a cuff on the side of the head which sent him rolling over and over,—it seemed to me to be hard enough to knock their heads off altogether,—and turning about, walked off; my two little friends following demurely behind.
As for myself, as soon as they were out ofsight, I departed from the neighbourhood with undignified celerity.
Coming down to the camp again, I was surprised to observe that Ulysses, who had been left in charge, was standing guard over the baggage with his bristles all erect, growling away to himself at a great rate. I observed, too, that the mules were standing with their heads held high, gazing intently in the direction of the pass we had traversed that morning, though they could not see it on account of the intervening strip of woods. Thinking that possibly another bear might be prowling about, I ran down to the camp in order to exchange my shotgun for a rifle, but as I was slipping a cartridge into the latter I paused for an instant, for I had heard a sound I had not heard for a long time,—the sound of a strange human voice.
Calling Ulysses to heel, I crept in among the trees and peered out on the other side. There, coming down the pass, was a bunch of horses, and behind them two men; the whole cavalcade looking very dusty and very weary. They made their way straight to the river, where horses and men at once proceeded to quench their thirst. While the horses were still drinkingthe two men rose from their knees and began to talk; I could hear them, but they were too far off for me to distinguish more than an occasional word.
They appeared to be disputing. The shorter man gesticulated vigorously, and pointing across the river to some high hills whose rocky tops showed above the trees, he made some remark loudly enough for me to catch the word “to-night.” The other, who leaned against his horse as though he were extremely tired, appeared to be remonstrating; whereupon his companion shouted at him:
“You young fool, do you want to be hung?”
It had seemed to me that there was something familiar in the voices, but when the man shouted in that manner I knew in a moment who he was; for at the word “fool,” his voice went off like a whistle-pipe.
As if to confirm my suspicion, one of the herd, more lively than the rest, broke away, and came galloping in my direction, closely pursued by the taller of the two men. When within about fifty yards of my hiding-place it swerved round, and I then obtained a good sight of the rider’s face. As I had supposed, it was Bates.
“So,” thought I, “you have gone into thehorse-stealing business now, have you, you unfortunate chap?”
All this time I had been on pins and needles lest our mules should bray and thus betray my presence, and in consequence it was with very sincere pleasure that I saw the party splash across the stream and make off in the direction of the rocky hilltops; the men pausing to look back toward the pass ere they plunged into the woods. In about half an hour I caught sight of them again, crossing an open space upon the hillside, and again I observed that they paused to look back. Evidently they were in fear of pursuit.
Our hunters presently returning to camp, I at once related to them the event of the afternoon.
“Well, that settles the question for us,” said Jack. “As they have gone off toward the left, we will go off toward the right,—up-stream. They won’t interfere any more with us, I expect, for it is pretty plain that they have given up looking for us, and have taken to horse-stealing as the next best thing to boy-stealing. All they are thinking of just now is to make their way to some place where they can dispose of the horses before they are overtaken. Wemight even follow in their tracks with safety, for if they saw us coming, they would probably run away from us. On the other hand, as we are only three, they might ambuscade us,—which would not be pleasant. And so, I think, the wisest thing we can do will be to give them as wide a berth as possible by going off in the opposite direction.”
“Decidedly,” said Percy. “The farther we keep away from them the better.”
“That is what I think,” I chimed in. “Let us give them all the start they like; I don’t want to catch up with them. Up-stream for me.”
“And me,” echoed Percy. “Do you suppose, Jack,” he went on, “that if they were caught they would be hung?”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Jack; “unless they were shot first.”
“Poor old Bates,” said Percy, reflectively. “To think that the trick he played upon us, which made us run away for fear of being hung, should have worked round so that now he is running away for the same reason. Upon my word I’m sorry for him.”
But however sorry we might be for Bates, we were none the less determined to avoid hiscompany, at least as long as he should choose to consort with his present ally, and accordingly we set off next morning up the stream, following along its left bank until we arrived at the point where its feeders became small and rapid. Passing from one to the other of these little creeks, and working always towards the left, we tested each one as we came to it; always without success, but always hopeful for better fortune next time. Under Jack’s supervision we two novices had taken many lessons in the art of gold-washing,—or, rather, in the art of washing for gold,—and we were now fairly expert in manipulating the pan, but however expert we might be our labour produced nothing; either the country was barren of the precious metal, or we had not found the right places. It was very disappointing,—to Jack especially,—but the hopefulness of youth was on our side, and every failure only determined us the more to persevere.
On one of these occasions of our moving camp from one creek to the next we found that the distance between creeks was much greater than we had expected, and as a consequence the darkness overtook us before we could find a suitable camping-ground. Emergingat length from the woods upon a little grassy plateau which would serve our purpose, we quickly unpacked and turned loose the animals, which, having first enjoyed their preliminary roll, walked off according to custom to take a drink from the creek. To our surprise, they did not seem to like the water; they walked along the bank, tasting the stream in different places, and snorting in a dissatisfied manner. Going over to find out the reason, we discovered that the water was strongly impregnated with iron and sulphur. Presumably some mineral springs ran into it from up above somewhere. However, the horses presently came to the conclusion that they must drink there or go without, and having satisfied their thirst they wandered off and soon were comfortably cropping the grass.
Meanwhile we had lighted a fire, and having cooked and eaten our supper were thinking of going to bed, when the moon rose, and by its light we noticed for the first time that the ground not far removed from where we were was all covered with some white substance, presenting a very strange appearance in the midst of the black woods.
“What is that?” I asked, shading my eyesfrom the glare of the fire, and peering into the darkness. “It can’t be snow.”
“I should say it was egg-shells,” remarked Percy. “There’s an uncommonly strong smell of bad eggs about here.”
“I don’t think your egg-shell theory will pass, Percy,” said Jack, laughing; “the smell of bad eggs probably comes from some sulphur-springs in the neighbourhood. I expect that white stuff is deposit from the springs; though I never saw so much in one place before. Let us go down that way and have a look.”
We had advanced some distance along the gloomy alley of trees, Ulysses trotting behind, when Percy stopped, holding up his finger.
“Hark!” he exclaimed. “What is that sizzling noise?”
We stood still to listen. Sure enough there was a sizzling noise going on somewhere near; a noise like the frying of a beefsteak. We went poking forward in the dark with our noses near the ground, and presently Jack, who was on the left, said:
“It’s just here, whatever it is. Have you a match, Tom?”
I struck a match and held it low down where the sound came from. To my great surprise—forthere was not a breath of air stirring—the match was instantly blown out. I struck another. The same thing happened.
“That’s curious,” said Jack. “Wait a moment; I’ll go back to the fire and bring a lighted stick.”
He had hardly spoken when a most astounding incident occurred. There was a dull thud like the explosion of loose gunpowder; a shower of mud bespattered us all over, and a cloud of steam puffed into our faces.
To say that we were frightened would be to put it altogether too mildly. Ulysses, giving vent to a howl of dismay, clapped his tail between his legs and disappeared into the woods; and as for us, we staggered back, and stood for a moment trembling and speechless. One does not, as a rule, care to confess having been afraid, but I own with perfect readiness that I was on this occasion very much afraid, and Jack and Percy I know will own as much. If anybody shall choose to scoff at us he is welcome; but I should like to see the hero who would preserve his equanimity under such circumstances. An unexpected explosion at any time or in any place is a terrifying thing. How much more terrifying must it be thenin the darkness and silence of an untrodden wilderness?
As Percy afterwards said, it was enough to scare anybody to have the solid earth all of a sudden get up and fly at you like that.
As soon as we could collect our senses we ran back to the fire, and there again we stood still for a short time gazing apprehensively into the darkness; wondering what was to happen next, and what it was that had happened already. Our captain was the first to recover the use of his tongue.
“I wonder what that was,” said he. “I never was half so scared in my life. It seems to be all quiet now. Shall we go back and look?”
It was not easy to screw up one’s courage to go near the place again, but anything was better than uncertainty. Making, therefore, a couple of torches, we walked back to the scene of the explosion.
For a space about fifteen feet square we found the turf all broken into pieces and much of it turned upside down, while between the fragments there issued a light cloud of steam. The turf itself was damp and warm.
“Well,” said Jack, “I expect no three fellows ever had such a surprising thing happen tothem before. I think I can account for it, though. There must be a good many hot springs about here—there’s the irony taste of that creek, and the white stuff down below, and the smell of bad eggs—and I expect the steam from one of them has found its way under the turf to this spot, and as soon as there was enough of it it blew up.”
“That’s it, I’ve no doubt,” said I. “But look here, Jack; how are we to know that it won’t blow up under our beds to-night? That would be worse than this was.”
“I expect we are all right as far as that goes,” replied Jack. “You see there was no sizzling noise about the camp, and the one we heard was caused, I suppose, by the steam squeezing its way out from under the turf. I don’t suppose such a thing happens once in a thousand years.”
“I hope it doesn’t,” Percy put in. “Two or three more of them would turn my hair grey. Come. Let us go to bed. What’s become of old Lyss, I wonder? Oh, there he is by the fire. Here, Lyss!”—whistling.
But Ulysses was not to be persuaded. He stood by the fire wagging his tail when we called to him, but no blandishments could induce him again to approach the place wherehe had been so nearly scared out of his wits. Scientific explanations were wasted on him.
After sitting around the fire for some time, discussing this strange phenomenon, we retired to bed, not feeling any too sure that we might not be pitched out and parboiled before morning; and though nothing so serious as this occurred, the night was not destined to pass without disturbance. We had been asleep some time when Jack was awakened by Ulysses’ whining and trying to crawl into his bed. This extraordinary behaviour on the part of the usually discreet old dog naturally disturbed Jack’s slumbers, and rousing himself to see what was the cause of it, he heard a strange noise going on somewhere, which caused him to call out:
“Tom! Percy! wake up!”
As we had gone to sleep with our nerves set with a hair-trigger we awoke in a second, and, sitting up on our beds, listened.
From the valley below there came a mixed sound of thumping, roaring, and splashing; and presently in the bright moonlight we saw a great cloud, like a bolster five hundred feet high standing on end, go sailing up the valley, soon to be followed by others, a dozen or two, one behind the other.
It was a strange country indeed that we had come into.
Suddenly Jack startled us by clapping his hands together and shouting out:
“I know! I know what’s the matter. We have crossed the range without knowing it,—it must have been the day we left the lake,—and we have wandered into the geyser basins of the Yellowstone region. That’s what’s the matter.”
“Wandered where?” asked Percy and I together.
“Into the geyser region.”
“What’s that?”
“What! Haven’t you heard of the geysers of the Yellowstone that were discovered a year or two ago?”
“No.”
“Well, then, go to sleep, my unsophisticated infants,” said Captain Jack, with a patronising air, as he lay down again; “and if I’m not mistaken you shall see to-morrow some of the most wonderful sights that are to be found in all the wide world.”