CHAPTER XVII

A FAT BIGHORN

In a sheltered spot at the foot of a great morainal ridge the three climbers sat down and ate their lunch. The air was warm and the sun bright, but every now and then a drift of breeze came down to them which felt cool, for they had been working hard and their garments were damp with perspiration. Hugh smoked his pipe, and then presently they rose and started to clamber further up the glacier. Presently they came upon the tracks of some large animals, either sheep or goats, which had passed over the moraine not long before. The surface of the ground was so hard that they could not be sure what these animals were, but looking over the snow-covered ice before them, they could see the tracks passing up over it, and at last turning up toward the peaks behind a rocky point which ran out from the mountainside. Hugh followed the tracks as far as the snow, and when they reached its unbroken surface they could see that the tracks were fresh, and before long Hugh turned to Jack and said, “They’re sheep. A couple of good rams, I guess.”

After they had come quite near the rocky point behind which the tracks led, Joe, who was a little to one side, suddenly stopped, and called out: “Look at that ram.” From where they stood, neither Hugh nor Jack could see any living thing, but Jack stepped over toward Joe, and as he did so there came into his view a splendid bighorn, outlined against the snow so that every detail of his form could be seen.

The animal’s head was up, and he gazed in curiosity rather than alarm at the three strange creatures that he saw below him.

Jack had loaded his rifle at Joe’s exclamation and now asked, “How far off is he, Hugh?”

“About two hundred yards, I reckon,” said Hugh. “Draw a coarse sight and shoot at his neck.”

The animal was standing half quartering toward them in such a position that his head and neck were in line with his shoulders, and a ball through the shoulder would pierce either heart or lungs. Jack did not raise his sights, but following Hugh’s suggestion fired at the animal’s neck, just below the throat, so as to allow for any drop of the ball. For an instant the smoke hung, and when Jack could see through it, the animal had disappeared.

“Did anyone see where the ball struck?” asked Jack.

“Not I,” said Hugh.

“I didn’t either,” said Joe, “but I thought he turned in an awkward kind of a way, as though he were hurt.”

“I have an idea I heard the ball strike,” said Hugh.

“Well,” said Jack, “let’s go up there anyhow. He was certainly a nice ram, and I’d like to get him.”

They hurried up the slope, Hugh and Joe ahead, while Jack toiled behind. Presently they heard a cheerful shout from Hugh, “Come on, son, there’s blood on the snow, and lots of it.”

Sure enough, when Jack got up to where the slope was less steep he could see, even at a distance, the pure white mantle of snow splashed with great dark blotches.

The trail seemed likely to be a plain one, and the men hurried along over the snow, up the hill. Presently they could see that the ram was staggering, for his tracks no longer went directly ahead, but wavered from side to side. Then they passed on to the rocks and could not see the trail so easily, but farther ahead came to another snow bank where there was a broad smear of blood, showing apparently that the animal had fallen on its side and slipped along over the snow.

Hugh and Joe ran round a point of dwarfed spruces, but Jack, in his eagerness to cut off a corner, attempted to go through the little trees, and found himself in drifted snow up to his waist and his legs held by the branches of the spruces. For a moment or two he could hear the clatter of the others running over the rocks, and a word or two of their talk, but by the time he had got out on to the rocks, his companions were far ahead of him. As they saw him coming, however, they sat down to wait for him.

He followed the blood trail, and when he came up he, too, sat down.

“Have you seen anything of him?” he asked.

“No,” said Hugh, “but he’s going down hill, bleeding, as you see, and falling down every little while. We’ll find him before long.”

“All right,” said Jack, “he’s our meat, I guess. If he keeps on bleeding like this he can’t go very far. We can’t go down there after him and then come back here, and I want to go up and look if we can’t see across the range. How do you feel, Hugh, do you want to go down and get the sheep, or shall we leave him there and all go up and look over the range and then go back?”

“Why,” said Hugh, “I’d better go down and butcher him, and you and Joe can go up to the top of the rocks here and see what you can see on the other side. It isn’t far. That low place, just above where the sheep stood when you shot, is the point to make for, and I reckon you can see all you want to from there. Then you come back, and come down to me. We’ve got quite a job to get that sheep into camp to-night. The fact is, I don’t believe we can do it. It’s too large for the three of us to carry down in one trip.”

Jack and Joe went back in the direction that Hugh had suggested, and keeping well up the hill, soon found themselves close to a little saddle, where one of the side arms of the glacier started. It was an easy matter to climb up here and presently they stood on the crest of the Continental Divide, looking over a broad valley in which nothing was to be seen except rocks and stunted pine trees, and dimly through the thick, hazy atmosphere a distant lake and some high, snow-covered mountain crests.

“Do you know anything about this country, Joe?” asked Jack.

“No,” said Joe, “not much. I reckon that big lake we see over there may be Lake McDonald, but I don’t know these mountains, nor this country close to us.”

“Well,” said Jack, “I reckon Hugh will know something about it when we tell him what we’ve seen. Now let us go back on the ice, and then get down to him. It looks as if we were going to have bad weather.”

The sky had become overcast, and the wind began to moan among the peaks. It looked like a snowstorm.

They walked down the glacier, keeping as nearly as possible on its comb, for they did not wish to slip, as Joe had done in the morning.

After they had looked down the valley of Swift Current into the flat at the foot of lower St. Mary’s Lake and taken a last look over the glacier, they turned aside and, working out to the rocks, began to make their way down to Hugh.

At a little distance the side of the mountain looked absolutely vertical, and it did not seem possible that man, nor even sheep, could have passed along it, but as they went on they found no difficulty in making their way, and recognized one of the deceptions of these grand and mysterious hills. Joe, when they first started down, had been not a little alarmed, and said, “I’m afraid we never will see White Bull again. He could not have gone down such a place as this; he must have fallen and been killed.”

“Nonsense,” said Jack, “of course he went down all right, and we are going to follow him down. You’ll see it won’t be bad as we go on.”

Before long they came to the blood trail of the sheep, and following that kept on their way until they saw Hugh standing by a fire in a little valley below them.

“Hurrah!” said Jack, “Hugh is cooking meat. I’m mighty glad, for I feel hungry.”

When they had worked their way down to within a few hundred yards of him, zigzagging this way and that over the steep ledges, Hugh saw them and waved his hand, and presently when they got down within speaking distance, he called out, “Well, son, you killed the best piece of meat in the mountains.”

“Good,” said Jack, “I hope you have put some of it on the fire.”

“That’s what the fire is there for,” said Hugh. “Come on down.”

The boys at length reached a point about fifty feet above Hugh, and then had to go off to one side to find a way down the cliff. When they had come near the fire, however, Hugh showed them the ram lying at the edge of the snow bank from which he had drawn him.

“You see,” said Hugh, “when I got almost up to him, he was lying on the rocks right at the top of this cliff with his head down and pretty nearly dead; but when I got quite close to him he heard me walking and got on his feet again and just walked over the cliff and fell into this snow bank down here. When I got to him he was dead. Nice ram, isn’t he?”

Indeed, he was a beauty; perhaps six or seven years old, with horns that were not very large, but perfectly symmetrical and unbroken. His coat was thick, smooth and glossy, dark brown and with a white rump patch. Short of limb, strong of back, sturdy and stout, plump and round as a bull elk in early September, he made a picture such as even the successful hunter does not see every day.

It was evident to all that the whole animal could not be taken in that night, and that another trip must be made to bring in the meat. The best that could be done would be to carry down the head, which Jack wanted to save, and a couple of light loads of the meat, and then the next day they could return and bring in the rest. However, they sat down for a little while and feasted on some of the delicious ribs cut from the animal. Then, taking the head and the two shoulders, they set out for camp. Hugh was inclined to think that by keeping along the mountain, he might reach camp by a route considerably easier than that which they had taken in coming up, though, of course, it would be much longer. He also declared that he thought it possible that they might be able to pick out a trail by which they could bring up a pack horse to carry down the rest of the meat.

As soon as they had finished eating they started down along the mountainside, keeping on the ledges where the walking was good, and descending by easy steps from one ledge to another. They had gone but a short distance when they passed a ravine in which lay a long snow bank hollow beneath. Into this snow cave Hugh went to look for a drink of water and presently called to the boys, telling them to come in to him.

They found themselves in a most beautiful ice grotto. The snow bank was an old one and the rushing waters of spring had tunneled under it, while it melted from above, so that a heavy roof of blue ice stretched across the ravine from side to side. The grotto was eight or ten feet from floor to roof, thirty feet wide and perhaps a hundred long. A drift of snow which had blown in from an opening at its upper end, lay in the bottom of the ravine. The roof seemed not very thick and admitted the light freely. It was a beautiful sky blue and reminded Jack vaguely of some blue grotto in Italy of which he had read and had often heard his mother talk.

The sun was getting lower and lower as the three hurried along the mountain. In most places it was easy going, and in the snow banks, which they were constantly crossing, fresh tracks of goats were seen, but the travelers paid no attention to these and kept on their way as fast as possible.

Long before they had reached the level of the valley the sun had set, but there was light enough for them to go a little way down the stream and then cross on a log-jam which brought them to the other side of the stream. Here they mounted their horses, and in a short time were standing by their tent.

Presently, when the coffee-pot was bubbling and some fat sheep meat sputtering in the pan, when the horses had been looked after and the day’s labor was over, it was pleasant to talk of the wonderful things that they had seen since sunrise.

The next morning the boys saddled a pack horse, and crossing the little stream which pours out of the lake, Hugh, Jack and Joe climbed the mountainside, dragging the pack animal behind them.

After they had once got through the thick brush it was not difficult to lead the horse along the ledges, almost to the sheep’s carcass. They did at last come to a place where the horse could not get up, and though by taking half a day’s time they could probably have found a way to take him to the meat, it seemed simpler and shorter to leave him where he was and to carry the meat to him.

“Now,” said Hugh, as they were eating their luncheon, “we’ve got a little idea of this fork of the stream, what do you say to turning around now and going back to the head of St. Mary’s River, where we came from? I believe that by this time the snow has melted some and we will find feed for the horses, so that we can stop there for a while, and do a little hunting and maybe climb the mountains that you’ve been talking about. What do you say?”

“What do you say, Joe?” asked Jack.

“Why,” said Joe, “I’m ready to go ‘most anywhere or do ‘most anything. I think I like the country at the head of the lake, where the bear tore down the tent, better than I do here.”

“Well, Hugh,” said Jack, “that’s the way I feel. Of course, it is nice here and interesting, and we could spend a lot of time and see a great many things; but it seems to me that the country at the head of St. Mary’s River is bigger and more interesting than this.”

“All right,” said Hugh, “let’s go if you say so, and if we’re going, why not pack up and roll now. We ought to be able to get down nearly to the mouth of Swift Current before dark. Maybe we can even camp in the big flat of the St. Mary’s River. If you boys want to start, round up your horses and I’ll be making up the packs, and we’ll move mighty quick.”

By the time the horses had been brought in and saddled, Hugh had his packs made up, and it took but a few minutes to lash the loads, and soon the train was moving off down the valley.

As they crossed the snowslide, Jack turned aside and looked back toward the great mountain behind them and wondered again at the mighty mass of ice that lay in its lap. It hardly seemed to him possible that he had been up walking on that ice, and on those rocks that now seemed so far away and so difficult of access.

He had but little time, however, to think about this, and, turning his horse, hurried on after the others, who were just entering the timber.

They had gone but a little way, when Hugh stopped his horse, and all the others came to a standstill. He called back to Jack, “Son, have you got a piece of string in your pocket?”

“Yes,” said Jack, fishing it out, “I have, but it’s only about three feet long.”

“Well,” said Hugh, “get off your horse and come up here.”

When Jack reached Hugh’s side, Hugh pointed to the ground a few feet from him, and there, standing close together, were three beautiful Franklin grouse, while on a little spruce tree, two or three feet above the others, sat a fourth bird.

“Now, son,” said Hugh, “I reckon you’ve heard me talk about the way these fool hens are gentle, and how you can kill them with a rock or sometimes with a club, or can even slip a noose over the head of one, as he sits on a branch in front of you. Do you want to try and catch one?”

“Why, yes, Hugh,” said Jack, “I’d like to do that. I don’t want to kill one particularly, because we’ve got what meat we need, but I’d like to catch one.”

“Well,” said Hugh, “you can, and if you get it in your hands quickly enough, you can take off the string and let it go. There’s a straight dead branch over there. Just make a noose of your string, and then tie the string to the end of that branch, leaving about a foot hanging down from the branch, and try it.”

Jack arranged his snare, tying it to the end of a straight branch about six feet long, and then advanced very slowly toward the grouse.

They paid no attention to him until he was within three or four yards, and then one of those on the ground appeared to notice him and stretched out its neck to look at him. Jack stood still and in a few seconds the bird seemed satisfied and resumed its huddled-up position. Then Jack went on, very slowly, and when he had come within six or seven feet of the bird he held his stick before him and tried to pass the noose over the bird’s head. This was not easy to do, and two or three times the noose struck the side of the bird’s head without passing over it, yet the grouse merely moved to one side to avoid the string. Presently, in making this movement, the bird itself passed its head through the noose, and Jack, lowering the point of the stick, pulled it toward him, drew the bird off the branch, and brought it flapping furiously to his feet. He at once seized it and, loosening the noose, took it from the bird’s head. Then he smoothed the bird’s feathers and in a moment or two it seemed to lose all fear.

“Isn’t it a beautiful bird, Hugh?” he said, as he held it up for Hugh’s inspection.

“Yes,” said Hugh, “they certainly are right pretty little birds. It’s a pity they don’t know better how to take care of themselves, for everything that runs across them can kill them.”

“Well,” said Jack, “I’m glad I caught this little fellow, but I’m mighty glad I didn’t kill him, and now I’m going to turn him loose.”

He walked over to the other birds and put the grouse that he held gently on the ground and then stood up. The grouse raised itself to its full height and stretched up its neck, looking at him with an air of great curiosity. Then, seemingly satisfied, it lowered its head and with very deliberate steps walked over toward its fellows, while Jack remounted his horse, and the three travelers started on.

An hour later they were in the main valley of Swift Current and marching at a good gait down the trail.

Quite a long time before sunset they crossed Boulder Creek, and a little later came out on the wide flat below the lower lake. Over by the river were some white lodges and a bunch of horses feeding, and Hugh said, “I believe our friends, the Kootenays, are still camped here. Let’s go over and camp with them. I’d rather be right among them than at a little distance. The dogs and children won’t trouble us so much in the camp as they would if we were close to it.”

They found in the camp all their acquaintances of a week or two before. Evidently the hunting had been good, for there were scaffolds covered with drying meat, and many hides pegged upon the ground.

While the white men were making camp, some of their acquaintances came up and spoke to them, and a little later old Back In Sight, the chief, paid them a call, and on Hugh’s invitation sat down and ate with them.

The Indians said they were soon going north and west to their own country. The hunting had been good, and they had killed many beaver. Now the fur was no longer at its best and they did not wish to trap any more this season.

Just before dusk something occurred that immensely interested Jack. A man clad in a blanket and a battered felt hat walked through the camp haranguing the people, who gathered in the middle of the small space within the lodges. Standing in the middle of the group, this man repeated what were evidently prayers. Then to Jack’s intense astonishment he crossed himself; rang a little bell, offered up another prayer and crossed himself again, while all the people followed his example. This went on for some little time until, finally, at the end of one prayer, followed by the tinkle of the bell, the people dispersed.

“Say, Hugh,” said Jack, “I wish you’d ask that Indian that you can talk to what this means. It looks to me like some sort of a church service.”

“Well,” said Hugh, “I wouldn’t be surprised a mite. You know lots of these Indians, especially on the west side of the mountains and to the north, believe in the Catholic religion, and I wouldn’t be surprised if these people do, or think they do. As a matter of fact, I believe they worship the sun, but maybe they think they’re Christians. Wait until I talk a little bit with this man that speaks some Chinook and Piegan.”

Hugh had quite a long talk with the Kootenay, then turned to Jack and said, “Now, son, that’s a mighty queer thing that we’ve seen. This man says that what we saw them doing was worshiping, and that this worship was taught their fathers by a Black Robe a good many years ago. Their fathers taught them how to worship in this way, but they themselves don’t know exactly what it means; all they know is that they are praying to the Black Robe’s God. This Black Robe taught their fathers to say these prayers, to ring this bell and make these motions, touching themselves on four places on their bodies. They try to do this just as their fathers taught them.”

Jack clapped his hands in astonishment. “That is certainly a most extraordinary thing; a real case of survival. I guess if I tell people back East about this they will laugh at me, and say I’m crazy.”

“I reckon, son, if you tell them all the things you have seen out in this country that if they don’t call you crazy they’ll at least call you a liar.”

“That is sure so, Hugh,” said Jack. “I’ve seen people turn their heads away and laugh when I was telling them some common enough story about things out here. You see they don’t understand anything about it, and so when they hear anything that is outside of the range of their own experiences they think I’m lying to them; but this holding Mass in a Kootenay Indian camp beats me. It’s hard to believe that I’ve seen it.”

“It does seem mighty queer, that’s so, son,” replied Hugh, “but we all know what great fellows the Indians are for hanging on to anything that they ever get hold of. They are a great people for old customs, and accept and stick to what their old people have told them. Of course, in these days they are changing all the time. The young fellows around the agencies are becoming civilized in spite of themselves, but take these old fellows that live out in the camps, the old buffalo hunters, and others of that sort, and they haven’t changed much, and they never will change much either. They’ll die old buffalo hunters.”

Early the next morning the little party left their Indian friends and started up the lake. By ten o’clock they had crossed the inlet and were on their way along the upper lake. The packs, well put on in the morning and constantly watched, gave them no trouble and there were no delays. Not long after noon they passed their previous camp just below the Point of Rocks, and climbing that steep ridge, kept on their way along the mountainside.

They traveled until after sunset and at last camped in a little park in the narrow valley, and by noon the next day had reached the old camp at the little lake where they had killed the bears.

Here the aspect of the mountains was greatly changed. Much of the snow had melted, the grass was well started, and the landscape looked more like summer.