CHAPTER XIV

BUTE INLET

Bute Inlet is the most remarkable as well as the most beautiful of the larger fiords of the British Columbia coast. Its great length and the height of the mountains that wall it in make it unequalled. Nowhere at the sea-level can such stupendous mountains be seen so near at hand, nor such sublime views be had.

At its mouth the Inlet is only about a mile in width, and in its widest portion it is not more than two and a half miles. At the entrance, the hills are not especially high or rugged, but rise from the water in a series of rounded undulations. Densely wooded to their summits, they roll away in smooth green waves to the higher more distant mountains of the interior. No sharp pinnacles of granite nor dark frowning precipices interrupt the green of the forests. The dome-shaped hills come into view one after another, always smooth and ever green. The scene is one of quiet picturesque beauty. A little farther up the inlet the scenery changes. The shores rise more abruptly from the water's edge, but though the mountains increase in height the soft green foliage of firs and cedars still rises toward the summits in an unbroken sweep. Then masses of rock lift themselves above the timber line, glittering in the sunlight as though studded with jewels, or when shadowed by clouds frowning down cold, black, and forbidding. Soon patches of snow begin to appear on the mountains; at first visible only as narrow white lines nestling in the deeper ravines, but farther along large snow banks came into view and before long extensive snow fields are seen, glittering white on the summits, or even down among the green of the mountain sides.

The canoe started early and a fair wind enabled them to set the sail and to sit back at ease all through the long day and view undisturbedly the enchanting scenery which they were passing.

Jack had often heard his uncle describe a trip that he had made to Norway, and his journey up some of the fiords of that rock-bound coast. As he now watched the shore and the mountains of Bute Inlet slip by, these descriptions were constantly brought to his mind. Scarcely less impressive than the wonderful cliffs and mountains that he was seeing, were the beautiful streams, fed by the melting of the perpetual snow high upon the hills. These streams plunged over the precipices in beautiful falls and cascades. Long before the water reached the rocks below, it was broken up into finest spray; and a white veil of mist waved to and fro before the black rocks, in fantastic and ever changing shapes.

Here the mountains had become much higher than any they had approached before. Instead of peaks from twenty-five hundred to four thousand feet in height, they were close to those that reached an altitude of six or eight thousand feet. One of these was Mt. Powell, a naked peak stretching up like a pyramid, more than six thousand feet high; and farther on there were others still higher. The first of the glaciers was seen just to the north of Fawn Bluff, and was recognized by Hugh, who called out to Jack: "There, son, there's a chunk of ice. Don't you see how it shines, blue in the sunlight, just like one of the glaciers that we got sight of in the Piegan country?"

"So it is, Hugh. I recognize it. My! Don't I wish we could get up close to it; but it's awful high on the mountains and terribly thick timber below it."

"Yes," said Hugh, "I reckon it would be quite a climb to get up there."

"How different these mountains are," said Jack, "from our Rockies. They rise so much more steeply; but like the Rockies, there is a big cliff of wall rock on the top of each one of them."

"Yes," said Hugh, "in the mountains that we see from the plains the slope is more gradual; first foot hills, and then a long timber slope, and then lastly the rocky peaks that rise above the timber line. But here there are no foot-hills, and there are no gradual rising slopes between us and the main peaks. A man's eye doesn't get a chance to adapt itself to the highest hills by measuring the gentler slopes that are nearer to him. Here the mountains rise either in a continual slope or else in a series of cut walls, one above the other, to the straight up peaks. I don't believe the distance on foot to one of these mountains is more than twice the mountain's height. I don't believe many people that have not been here have had a chance to stand at the sea-level and look straight up to a snow peak right above them as high as these are. That is what makes these mountains seem so high and so wonderful."

A few moments later the canoe rounded a point and a long reach of the inlet was exposed to view.

"There," said Fannin, "look off to the right! There's something that I don't think many people have seen."

"My! I guess not!" exclaimed Jack.

Off to the right was a tall mountain whose summit was hidden, but which seemed to end in a long horizontal crest crowned by a wavy covering of palest blue, the lower end of a great glacier. It could be conjectured that, running down from some very high point, this river of ice reached the top of this mighty precipice, and little by little was pushed over, breaking off in huge masses, which, from time to time, fell over the cliff and down into the hidden recesses at its foot, where possibly another smaller glacier made up of these icy fragments ran, for a little way, down the valley.

"Look at those little grassy spots scattered here and there along the mountain side," said Fannin; "how are those for goat pastures? How bright those little meadows are by contrast with the dark foliage of the forest, the gray of the rocks, and the white of the snow banks. Those must be great feeding places for the goats, and there, I guess, they are never bothered except by the eagles that try to catch the kids. Surely there they must be safe from everything except enemies that can fly. Except for the goats and the wood-chucks, I don't believe there are any living things up there but birds. I'll bet there are lots of ptarmigan up there, brown in summer and white in winter. The little mother bird scratches out a hollow in the turf and moss near some fringe of willows, and lays her brown spotted eggs there, which by this time are hatched. The young are queer, downy little chicks, buff in color, and streaked here and there with brown. You would hardly think it possible that they could stand the cold winds, the fogs, the rain, and the snows that they must be exposed to."

"Did you ever find a nest, Mr. Fannin?" asked Jack.

"Yes," said Fannin, "when we crossed the mountains on our way from the East, nearly twenty years ago, I found the nest of a white-tailed ptarmigan high up on the range, but I have never seen a nest of these black-tailed ptarmigan, such as we killed up on the head of the North Arm. Once or twice, though, I have come across a mother with her young ones, and I tell you the mother is a plucky bird. If you catch one of the young birds she will come back and attack you and make a pretty good fight. I have had one come up to my very feet and then fly against my legs, pecking at my overalls and rapping my legs with her wings, trying to frighten me into letting the young one go; and, of course, I always did it after I had finished looking at it."

"I don't suppose there's much game up here," said Hugh to Fannin, "except these goats that live high up in the mountains. It seems too cold and damp here for anything like deer."

"Well," said Fannin, "I don't know much about that. I, myself, have never been here before, and Bute Inlet is as strange to me and just as beautiful as it is to you."

While all this talk was going on the canoe, pushed along by a good wind, had been hurrying up the inlet. They passed one great gorge between two mountains, so nearly straight that, as they looked up at it, they could see on the mountain's crest a great glacier; and, pouring out beneath it, a thundering torrent, which rushed down the gorge toward the inlet. From beneath the blue mountains of ice a tiny white thread ran down the slope, constantly increasing in size, its volume swollen by a hundred lesser streams which joined it on its way. Always a torrent, and always milky white, it swept on, sometimes running along an even slope, at others leaping down precipices a hundred feet high, now undermining a thick crust of soil green with spruces, again burrowing beneath snowdrifts which almost filled the gorge. Long before they came to it they heard the roar of its fall; and as they passed its mouth they could not hear the words that one called to the other. The rush of this great mass of water Jack thought enough to frighten one.

When they reached the mouth of the Homalko River, at the head of the inlet, the sun had disappeared and the great walls of rock about them cast dark shadows. The peaks of the mountains were still touched by the sun, and the snow took on a rosy tint; and even the black granite walls were lightened and softened by a ruddy glow. But over the snow fields, on the high mountains, the rock walls and peaks cast strange, long shadows. As the sun sank lower and lower these shapes seemed to lengthen and to march along as if alive. Slowly this glow faded, until only the highest peaks were touched by it; and then, one by one, as they grew dull, twilight, with stealthy footstep, cast shadows that softened and blended the harsher outlines of the scene.

At the mouth of the Homalko River began a couple of miles of long, hard pulling against its hurrying current. At last, however, after winding through wide meadows and among clumps of willows, they saw before them an open spot, and presently the houses of the Indian village appeared, standing close to the border of the timbered stream. Soon they had landed close to the houses, transferred their load to their shelter, and lifted the canoe up onto the meadow. The day had been one of excitement, if not of continued effort, and all were tired and hungry. Moreover, as soon as the river had been entered, vast swarms of mosquitoes attacked them and made life miserable. Happily, the insects did not enter the Siwash house that they had appropriated, but any one who ventured out of doors was at once attacked. That night the party went to bed with little delay, hoping to spend the next two or three days in an investigation of the mountains that walled in the narrow river valley on both sides.

When Jack awoke next morning he saw that it was daylight,--gray dawn, as he thought,--and he turned over and settled himself for another nap, to await Charlie's announcement that breakfast was nearly ready. A little later some movement awakened him, and when he opened his eyes he saw Fannin standing by the fire already dressed.

Jack asked: "Is it time to turn out, Mr. Fannin?"

But Mr. Fannin, with an expression of much disgust on his usually cheerful countenance, answered briefly: "You can sleep all day, if you want to."

"What do you mean?" said Jack, in some astonishment.

"Mean?" replied Fannin; "why, it's raining, and you can't see across the river."

Jack hardly understood what this meant, but as he got up to dress he heard the heavy patter of rain on the building, and when he looked out of doors he saw that the valley was full of a white fog, almost thick enough to be cut with a knife. Nothing could be seen of the surrounding mountains, the mist hid everything except a few yards of muddy water by the house, and the lower branches of the forest behind it. It was useless to venture out of doors, because nothing could be seen. It would have been folly to attempt to climb the mountains in such a fog.

The rain continued all day long, and the white men sat around the fire and smoked and talked and grumbled. The Indians had a better time. Immediately after breakfast they returned to their blankets and went to sleep. After lunch they slept again until dinner was ready, and after dinner they went to bed for the night. Every little while one of the white men would go to the door in the hope that he might see some sign of fair weather, but none greeted him.

The second day at the Indian village was like the first; it rained all day long, and this was followed by a third day of downpour. There seemed no prospect that the rain would ever stop. Fresh provisions had given out, and the party was once more reduced to bread and bacon.

The fourth morning it was still raining, and, after consultation, it was determined that the bow of the canoe should be turned down the Inlet and that they should seek fairer weather on the more open water of the Gulf. To all hands it was a disappointment to go away without seeing something of the mountains they had so much admired at a distance. But the flight of time and the scarcity of provisions made it seem necessary to proceed on their way. Accordingly, on the morning of the fourth day the canoe was loaded and the travellers clad in oil skins and rubber coats, headed down the Homalko River. The rain still fell with the steady persistent pour of the last few days, the mountain sides were veiled with a thick mist, and the party had only the memories of the wonderful beauties of the sail up the inlet to console them, as they swung their paddles on the return journey. The mountain climbing, the exploration of the glaciers, the views of the towering snow-clad heights, and the hunting of the sure-footed goats--these pleasures must all be abandoned. So they paddled down the Inlet through the fog, with nothing to see and with nothing to do but to paddle.

During the next two days the weather continued bad, with wind and rain. The party camped at Clipper Point on Bute Inlet and at Deceit Bay on Redonda Island. On the third day, near White Island, a heavy gale sprang up, blowing from the quarter toward which the canoe was headed, and the paddlers not only were unable to paddle against it, but could not even hold their own. It was therefore necessary to land, unload the canoe, and take it up on the beach out of reach of the waves, and to wait until the wind went down. Fresh meat was still needed, and Hugh, Jack, and Fannin started out to see whether they could get anything. The country was a pleasant one to hunt in, and consisted of open ridges with bushy ravines between, and a little scattering timber on the ridges. Deer and bear signs were plentiful, and Jack was much interested in noticing the great size of the stones turned over by the bears in their search for worms, bugs, and ant eggs. One large piece of granite, lately turned out of its bed by a bear, was not less than two feet in any direction, and so heavy that Jack could not stir it.

Jack was walking quietly along a ridge, watching on either side of him, when a small buck that he had passed unseen, ran out of the brush and half way up the slope of the ravine, and stopped to look back. It was a fatal error, for a moment later Jack's ball pierced his heart. Like all the deer here, this one was small. Jack remembered his struggle with a previous deer, and only attempted to carry half of it into camp. When he got there he sent one of the Indians for the remainder.

Hugh had also killed a small deer, which he had brought into camp; and so, for the present, all anxiety about fresh meat was at an end.

They had a good dinner that night. After it was over, they lounged in much comfort around the crackling blaze, for the rain had gone with the gales that had blown, and the night was fair and cool.

"Hugh," said Jack, "you must have seen bears feeding often, and I wish you would tell me how they do it. Of course I've seen places where they have torn logs to pieces, and turned over stones; and the other day I saw that black bear gathering berries up on the river at the head of the North Arm, but that's the only bear that I've seen feeding. I wish you'd tell me how you've seen bears act when they were feeding."

"Well," said Hugh, as he pushed down the fire in his pipe with the end of his forefinger, "that's asking me to tell you a good deal. I've happened to see bears feeding a number of times; but, of course, usually I was more interested in killing the bear than I was in seeing how it gathered its grub, and when the time came for a good shot, I fired."

"Yes," said Jack, "that is natural and I suppose that is just what I would have done; but I can't help wondering how the bears, which are such big, strong fellows, living as everybody says, on berries, mice, beetles, and ants, ever get enough to eat to keep themselves alive; and yet, as I understand it, they always go into their holes fat, in the Autumn."

"So they do, so they do," assented Hugh.

"Well," said Jack, "tell me, then, how do they keep themselves alive?"

"That's hard to tell," said Hugh. "Of course, on the plains, as long as there are buffalo, the bears get a plenty. There are always buffalo dying of old age, being mired in the quicksand, drowned in the rivers, blinded by fire, or killed by the wolves; and the bears, being great travellers, come across these carcases all the time, and feed on them. Then, of course, they catch buffalo sometimes, by crawling on them through the brush; and at other times, by hiding near a buffalo trail and grabbing an animal that goes past. You've surely heard Wolf Eagle tell about the big fight that he saw once up in the Piegan country, between a buffalo bull and a bear, and if you have, you will remember that the bull killed the bear."

"Yes," said Jack, "I think I heard of that, but don't know that the story was ever told me in detail; what was it?"

"Why, the way Wolf Eagle tells it, he was cached down near a little creek waiting for a bunch of buffalo to come to the water, so that he might kill one. They came on, strung out one after another, and had got nearly down to the edge of the water when, as they were passing under a cut bank, a bear that was lying on the ledge of this bank jumped down on the leading heifer and caught her around the neck. Of course, the buffalo all scattered, and the bear was trying to bite the heifer and kill her, and she was trying to get away. In a minute, however, a big bull came charging down the trail, and butted the bear, knocking him down and making him let go the heifer. Then there was a big fight, and one which scared the Indian a whole lot, so much that he did not dare to show himself, as he would have had to, to get away. The bull kept charging the bear, and every time he struck him fairly he knocked him down; and every time the bull charged, the bear struck at him and tried to catch him by the head and to hold him, but this he could not do. They fought there for quite a little time, both of them fierce, and both of them quick as lightning. After a while, the bear had had all the fight that he wanted, and tried to get away, but the bull wouldn't have it. He kept knocking him down and goring him, until at last he had killed him. Even after the bear was dead, the bull would charge the carcase, and stick his horns in it and lift it off the ground. The Indian said that the bull was a sight: that he didn't have any skin on his head and shoulders, but that he was mad clear through, and seemed to be looking around for something else to fight. Wolf Eagle was almighty glad when at last the bull went off and joined the band."

"That's a mighty good story, Hugh," said Jack. "I guess in those old days, bears killed a good deal of game, didn't they?"

"I expect likely they did," said Hugh. "I know that whenever you hear any story about anything a bear has done, the Indians speak of his killing something. You remember Old White Calf Robe? You must have seen him in the camp. He was there two years ago at the medicine lodge. I remember him there, distinctly."

"No," said Jack, "I don't think I do remember him."

"Well," said Hugh, "he tells a story about being carried home by a bear, one time, many years ago, after he had been wounded in war. I don't doubt but that the old man believes that he is telling the plain truth, just as it happened; but in that story, he travelled along with a bear and a wolf, and I know that he says that the bear killed an elk for him to eat, and I think the wolf killed something for him, too, but I can't be sure.

"But of course," Hugh went on, "bears don't get very much meat. Certainly they don't live on meat, by any means. When they first come out in the spring, they generally travel pretty high up on the bare ridges, and live largely on the fresh green grass that starts early on the hillsides. They are always on the watch for mice and ground squirrels, and they dig out a good many wood-chucks, but I fancy their main food is grass. Then, a little later, roots start up which they like to gather,--pomme-blanche, camas, and a whole slew of other plants,--and that carries them along pretty well until the berry time. In the early summer I have seen them in little mountain parks, digging out mice or ground squirrels. A bear will see where a mouse or ground squirrel has a run close to the surface of the ground, and if his nose or any other sense tells him that it is inhabited, he will quickly run his paw along the tunnel, digging it up, and if the animal happens to be there, throwing it out on the surface of the earth. Then it is fun to see a big bear that will weigh three or four hundred pounds, and maybe twice as much, dancing around and striking the ground with his paws to try to kill the little animal that is dodging about, trying to get away. You'd never think how mighty active a bear can be under those circumstances.

"When berry time comes the bears spend a great deal of time around the sarvis berry patches, the plum thickets, and the choke-cherry groves; and every now and then a number of Indian women gathering berries, will run across one, and the women will get scared half to death, and light out for camp. Once in a long time an Indian gathering berries will suddenly come on a bear, and the bear will kill him; or, perhaps, sometimes an old bear that is mean will lay for an Indian, and kill him just for fun.

"The Indians say that when the sarvis berries are ripe, bears will ride down the taller bushes, pressing the stems down under their breasts, and walking along them with their forelegs on either side of the stem. I never saw them do it, but I've seen plenty of places where the bushes have been ridden down in this way, and had bear hair stuck to them. I once saw a mother and some cubs picking huckleberries high up in the mountains during fall. They walked about from one bush to another, and seemed to be picking the berries one by one, though I was so far away that I couldn't tell much about it.

"It's fun to see them turn over stones, and they're mighty cute about it, too. Now, if you or I have occasion to turn over a stone, the chances are we'll stoop over it, take hold of it by its farther edge, and pull it over toward us, and of course, unless we straddle it or watch it pretty close, we're likely to drop it on our toes; but a bear always turns a stone over not toward himself, but to one side. He gets his hind feet well under him, braces one fore foot, and then with the other fore foot turns over the stone, swinging it out from him to one side, and after he has finished the motion, he drops his head into the bed where the stone lay and gobbles up whatever insects are there. Sometimes he makes a claw or two with one foot into the bed, perhaps to turn up the ground to see whether there are some insects below the surface, or to see if there may be the hole of some little animal passing close beneath the stone."

"That's mighty interesting, Hugh," said Jack, "and I am greatly obliged to you for telling us about it. Now, Mr. Fannin, have you seen much of the way bears of this country feed?"

"No," said Fannin, "I have not. You see in this country we don't have a chance to see very far. It's all covered with timber, and it's only once in a while, in such a situation as we got to the other day when we were goat hunting, that we have an opportunity to see any considerable distance. So, really, all that I know about the feeding of bears is what I have discovered from cutting them open and seeing the contents of their stomachs. I told you the other day about how the bears sometimes came in and carried off hogs for us."

"Yes," said Jack, "I remember that, of course. Hugh," he went on, "where are bears most plenty back in our country?"

"Well," said Hugh, "there are a good many bears along the Missouri River, and in the low outlying ranges like the Moccasin, Judith, Snowy, and Belt mountains, but I think the places where they are the plentiest is along the foot of the Big Horn Range. You take it in the early summer, there's a terrible lot of bears to be found there."

"And which are the most plentiful, the black or the grizzly?" asked Jack.

"Why," said Hugh, "there's no comparison. The grizzlies outnumber the blacks about three to one, I should say. Black bears in that country are mighty scarce."

"And in this country," said Fannin, "you can say the same of the grizzly."