Chapter 1

Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. The University of Iowa, Iowa Authors Collection graciously researched and provided scans of missing pages for this book. (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.)

THE YOUNG ALASKANS ON THE TRAIL

BY

EMERSON HOUGH

AUTHOR OF "THE YOUNG ALASKANS" "THE STORY OF THE COWBOY"

ILLUSTRATED

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON MCMXI

BOOKS BY

EMERSON HOUGH

THE YOUNG ALASKANS. Ill'd. Post 8vo $1.25

YOUNG ALASKANS ON THE TRAIL. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.25

HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HARPER & BROTHERS

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

I. TAKING THE TRAIL 1 II. THE GATE OF THE MOUNTAINS 10 III. STUDYING OUT THE TRAIL 23 IV. THE GREAT DIVIDE 37 V. CROSSING THE HEIGHT OF LAND 43 VI. FOLLOWING MACKENZIE 53 VII. AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE 69 VIII. A HUNT FOR BIGHORN 83 IX. A NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS 102 X. HOW THE SPLIT-STONE LAKE WAS NAMED 112 XI. LESSONS IN WILD LIFE 119 XII. WILD COUNTRY AND WILDERNESS WAYS 134 XIII. THE CARIBOU HUNT 143 XIV. EXPLORING THE WILDERNESS 158 XV. IN THE BIG WATERS 168 XVI. THE GRIZZLY HUNT 181 XVII. THE YOUNG ALASKANS' "LOB-STICK" 191 XVIII. BAD LUCK WITH THE "MARY ANN" 200 XIX. NEW PLANS 207 XX. THE GORGE OF THE MOUNTAINS 217 XXI. THE PORTAGE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS 226 XXII. EAST OF THE ROCKIES 232 XXIII. THE LAND OF PLENTY 236 XXIV. THE WHITE MAN'S COUNTRY 244 XXV. HOW THE ERMINE GOT HIS TAIL BLACK 249 XXVI. TRAILING THE BEAR 254 XVII. THE END OF THE OLD WAR-TRAIL 264 XXVIII. STEAMBOATING IN THE FAR NORTH 274 XXIX. A MOOSE HUNT 286 XXX. FARTHEST NORTH 294 XXXI. HOMEWARD BOUND 307 XXXII. LEAVING THE TRAIL 317

ILLUSTRATIONS

AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE _Frontispiece_

THE BEAR BROKE COVER WITH A SAVAGE ROAR _Facing p._ 186

MOISE AT HOME " 266

THE PORTAGE, VERMILION CHUTES, PEACE RIVER " 302

THE YOUNG ALASKANS ON THE TRAIL

I

TAKING THE TRAIL

It was a wild and beautiful scene which lay about the little camp in the far-off mountains of the Northwest. The sun had sunk beyond the loftier ridges, although even now in the valley there remained considerable light. One could have seen many miles over the surrounding country had not, close at hand, where the little white tent stood, the forest of spruce been very dense and green. At no great distance beyond its edge was rough and broken country. Farther on, to the southward, stood white-topped peaks many miles distant, although from the camp these could not be seen.

It might have seemed a forbidding scene to any one not used to travel among the mountains. One step aside into the bush, and one would have fancied that no foot had ever trod here. There was no indication of road or trail, nor any hint of a settlement. The forest stood dark, and to-night, so motionless was the air, its silence was more complete than is usually the case among the pines or spruces, where always the upper branches murmur and whisper among themselves. Such scenes cause a feeling of depression even among grown persons who first meet them; and to-night, in this remote spot, one could not well have blamed the three young occupants of this camp had they felt a trifle uneasy as the twilight drew on toward darkness.

They were, it is true, not wholly new to camp life, these three boys--Rob McIntyre, John Hardy, and Jesse Wilcox. You may perhaps call to mind the names of these, since they are the same who, more than a year before, were cast away for some time on the slopes of Kadiak Island, in the far upper portion of Alaska; from which place they were at last rescued in part by their own wits and in part by the watchfulness of their guardian, Mr. Hardy. The latter, whom all three boys called Uncle Dick, was a civil engineer who, as did the parents of all the boys, lived in the coast town of Valdez, in far-off Alaska.

When Rob, John, and Jesse returned home from their dangerous adventures on Kadiak Island, they had been told that many a day would elapse before they would be allowed to take such chances again. Perhaps Uncle Dick never really told the parents of the boys the full truth about the dangers his young charges had encountered on Kadiak Island. Had he done so they would never have been willing for the boys to take another trip even more dangerous in many ways--the one on which they were now starting.

But Uncle Dick Hardy, living out of doors almost all the time on account of his profession as an engineer, was so much accustomed to dangers and adventures that he seemed to think that any one could get out of a scrape who could get into one. So it was not long after the return from Kadiak before he forgot all about the risks the boys had run there. The very next year he was the first one to plead with their parents, and to tell them that in his belief the best way in the world for the boys to pass their next summer's vacation would be for them to cross the Rocky Mountains from the Pacific side and take the old water trail of the fur-traders, north and east, and down the Peace River from its source.

It chanced that Uncle Dick, who, like all engineers, was sometimes obliged to go to remote parts of the country, had taken charge of an engineering party then locating the new railroad bound westward from Edmonton, in far-off Northwest Canada. While he himself could not leave his employment to go with the boys across the Rockies, he assured their parents that he would meet them when they came down the river, and see that every care should be taken of them meantime.

"Let them go, of course," he urged. "You can't really hurt a good, live boy very much. Besides, it is getting to be so nowadays that before long a boy won't have any wilderness where he can go. Here's our railroad making west as fast as it can, and it will be taking all sort of people into that country before long. Here's a chance for the boys to have a fine hunt and some camping and canoeing. It will make them stout and hearty, and give them a good time. What's the use worrying all the time about these chaps? They'll make it through, all right. Besides, I am going to send them the two best men in Canada for their guides.

"I wouldn't say, myself, that these boys could get across alone," he added, "because it's a hard trip for men in some ways. But in the care of Alex Mackenzie and Moise Duprat they'll be as safe as they would be at home in rocking-chairs."

"What Mackenzie is that?" asked Jesse Wilcox's mother of her brother, Uncle Dick.

"Well, he may be a relative of old Sir Alexander Mackenzie, so far as I know. The family of that name is a large one in the North, and there always have been Mackenzies in the fur trade. But speaking of the name, here's what I want to explain to you, sister. These boys will be going back over the very trail that good old Sir Alexander took when he returned from the Pacific Ocean."

"But that was a long time ago--"

"Yes, in 1793, while George Washington still was alive, and not so very long after the Revolutionary War. You know, Mackenzie was the first man ever to cross this continent, and this was the way he went, both in going west and coming east--just where I want these boys to go. They'll see everything that he saw, go everywhere that he went, from the crown of the continent on down clear to the Arctics, if you want to let them go that far.

"I'm telling you, sister," he added, eagerly, "the boys will _learn_ something in that way, something about how this country was discovered and explored and developed, so far as that is concerned. That is history on the hoof, if you like, sister. In my belief they're the three luckiest little beggars in the world if you will only let them go. I'll promise to bring them back all right."

"Yes, I know about your _promises_!" began Mrs. Wilcox.

"When did I ever fail to keep one?" demanded Uncle Dick of her. "And where can you find three sounder lads in Valdez than these we're talking about now?"

"But it's so _far_, Richard--you're talking now about the Peace River and the Athabasca River and the Arctic Ocean--why, it seems as though the boys were going clear off the earth, and we certainly would never see them again."

"Nonsense!" replied Uncle Dick. "The earth isn't so big as it used to be in Sir Alexander's time. Let them alone and they'll come through, and be all the more men for it. There's no particular hardship about it. I'll go down with them in the boat to Vancouver and east with them by rail to where they take the stage up the Ashcroft trail--a wagon-road as plain as this street here. They can jog along that way as far as Quesnelles as easy as they could on a street-car in Seattle. Their men'll get them from there by boat up the Fraser to the headwaters of the Parsnip without much more delay or much more danger, but a lot of hard work. After that they just get in their boats and float."

"Oh, it _sounds_ easy, Richard," protested his sister, "but I know all about your simple things!"

"Well, it isn't every boy I'd offer this good chance," said Uncle Dick, turning away. "In my belief, they'll come back knowing more than when they started."

"But they're only boys, not grown men like those old fur-traders that used to travel in that country. It was hard enough even for them, if I remember my reading correctly."

"I just told you, my dear sister, that these boys will go with less risk and less danger than ever Sir Alexander met when he first went over the Rockies. Listen. I've got the two best men in the Northwest, as I told you. Alex Mackenzie is one of the best-known men in the North. General Wolseley took him for chief of his band of _voyageurs_, who got the boats up the Nile in Kitchener's Khartoum campaign. He's steadier than a clock, and the boys are safer with him than anywhere else without him. My other man, Moise Duprat, is a good cook, a good woodsman, and a good canoeman. They'll have all the camp outfit they need, they'll have the finest time in the world in the mountains, and they'll come through flying--that's all about it!"

"But won't there be any bad rapids in the mountains on that river?"

"Surely, surely! That's what the men are for, and the boats. When the water is too bad they get out and walk around it, same as you walk around a mud puddle in the street. When their men think the way is safe it's bound to be safe. Besides, you forget that though all this country is more or less new, there are Hudson Bay posts scattered all through it. When they get east of the Rockies, below Hudson's Hope and Fort St. John, they come on Dunvegan, which now is just a country town, almost. They'll meet wagon-trains of farmers going into all that country to settle. Why, I'm telling you, the only worry I have is that the boys will find it too solemn and quiet to have a good time!"

"Yes, I know about solemn and quiet things that you propose, Richard!" said his sister. "But at least"--she sighed--"since their fathers want them to live in this northern country for a time, I want my boy to grow up fit for this life. Things here aren't quite the same as they are in the States. Well--I'll ask Rob's mother, and John's."

Uncle Dick grinned. He knew his young friends would so beset their parents that eventually they would get consent for the trip he had described as so simple and easy.

And, in truth, this evening camp on the crest of the Rockies in British Columbia was the result of his negotiations.

II

THE GATE OF THE MOUNTAINS

Whether Uncle Dick told the boys everything he knew about this undertaking, or whether their mothers realized what they were doing in allowing them to go so far and into a wild region, we shall be forced to leave as an unanswered question. Certainly they started with their Uncle when he left Valdez by steamer for Vancouver. And, finishing that part of their journey which was to be made by rail, wagon, and boat, here they were, in the twilight of a remote valley at the crest of the great Rocky Mountains; near that point, indeed, properly to be called the height of land between the Arctic and the Pacific waters. Moreover, they were for the time quite alone in camp.

"Well, fellows," said Rob at last, "I suppose we'd better get some more wood together. The men'll be back before long, and we'll have to get something to eat."

"How do you know they'll come back?" asked John dubiously.

"Alex told me he would, and I have noticed that he always does things when he says he is going to."

"I don't hear them, anyway," began Jesse, the youngest, who was, by nature as well as by years perhaps, not quite so bold and courageous as his two young friends.

"You couldn't hear them very far," replied Rob, "because they wear moccasins."

"Do you think they really can get the canoes out, carrying them on their backs all the way from where we left them?" asked Jesse.

"They're very strong," Rob answered, "and that work isn't new to them. And, you know, they carried all our packs in the same way."

"That Moise is as strong as a horse," said John. "My! I couldn't lift the end of his pack here. I bet it weighed two hundred pounds at least. And he just laughed. I think he's a good-natured man, anyhow."

"Most of these woodsmen are," replied Rob. "They are used to hardships, and they just laugh instead of complain about things. Alex is quieter than Moise, but I'll venture to say they'll both do their part all right. And moreover," he added stoutly, "if Alex said he'd be here before dark, he'll be here."

"It will be in less than ten minutes, then," said Jesse, looking at the new watch which his mother had given him to take along on his trip. "The canoe's a pretty heavy thing, John."

Rob did not quite agree with him.

"They're not heavy for canoes--sixteen-foot Peterboroughs. They beat any boat going for their weight, and they're regular ships in the water under load."

"They look pretty small to me," demurred Jesse.

"They're bigger than the skin boats that we had among the Aleuts last year," ventured John. "Besides, I've noticed a good deal depends on the way you handle a boat."

"Not everybody has boats as good as these," admitted Jesse.

"Yes," said John, "it must have cost Uncle Dick a lot of money to get them up here from the railroad. Sir Alexander Mackenzie traveled in a big birch-bark when he was here--ten men in her, and three thousand pounds of cargo besides. She was twenty-five feet long. Uncle Dick told me the Indians have dugouts farther down the river, but not very good ones. I didn't think they knew anything about birch-bark so far northwest, but he says all their big journeys were made in those big bark canoes in the early days."

"Well, I'm guessing that our boats will seem pretty good before we get through," was Rob's belief, "and they'll pay for themselves too."

All the boys had been reading in all the books they could find telling of the journeys of the old fur-traders, Alexander Mackenzie, Simon Fraser, and others, through this country. Rob had a book open in his lap now.

"How far can we go in a day?" asked Jesse, looking as though he would be gladder to get back home again than to get farther and farther away.

"That depends on the state of the water and the speed of the current," said the older boy. "It's no trouble to go fifty miles a day straightaway traveling, or farther if we had to. Some days they didn't make over six or eight miles going up, but coming down--why, they just flew!"

"That wouldn't take us long to go clear through to where Uncle Dick is."

"A few weeks or so, at least, I hope. We're not out to beat Sir Alexander's record, you know--he made it from here in six days!"

"I don't remember that book very well," said Jesse; "I'll read it again some time."

"We'll all read it each day as we go on, and in that way understand it better when we get through," ventured John. "But listen; I thought I heard them in the bush."

It was as he had said. The swish of bushes parting and the occasional sound of a stumbling footfall on the trail now became plainer. They heard the voice of Moise break out into a little song as he saw the light of the fire flickering among the trees. He laughed gaily as he stepped into the ring of the cleared ground, let down one end of the canoe which he was carrying, and with a quick twist of his body set it down gently upon the leaves.

"You'll mak' good time, _hein_?" he asked of the boys, smiling and showing a double row of white teeth.

"What did I tell you, boys?" demanded Rob. "Here they are, and it isn't quite dark yet."

The next moment Alex also came in out of the shadow and quietly set down his own canoe, handling it as lightly as though it were but an ordinary pack. Indeed, these two woodsmen were among the most powerful of their class, and well used to all the work which comes on a trip in a wilderness country.

As they stood now a little apart, it might be seen that both of the guides were brown-skinned men, still browner by exposure to the weather. Each of them had had an Indian mother, and the father of each was a white man, the one a silent Scot, of the Hudson Bay fur trade, the other a lively Frenchman of the lower trails, used to horse, boat, and foot travel, and known far and wide in his own day as a good _voyageur_.

Indeed, two better men could not have been selected by Uncle Dick for the work now in hand. As they stood now in their shirt-sleeves, each wiping off his forehead with his red kerchief, they looked so strong and tall that the boys suddenly felt all uneasiness pass away from their minds. The twilight came on unnoticed, and in the light of the fire, freshly piled up with wood, the camp scene became bright and pleasant. It was impossible to feel any alarm when they were here under the protection of these two men, both of them warriors, who had seen encounters of armed men, not to mention hundreds of meetings with wild beasts.

"Well," said Rob to Moise, "you must be tired with all that load."

"_Non! Non!_" said Moise; "not tired. She'll been leetle boat, not over hondred-feefty poun'. I'll make supper now, me."

"It was best to bring both the boats in to-night," said Alex, quietly, "and easier to start from here than to push in to the lake. We load here in the morning, and I think there'll be plain sailing from here. It's just as well to make a stream carry us and our boats whenever we can. It's only a little way to the lake."

"I thought you were never coming, Alex," said Jesse, frankly, looking up from where he sat on his blanket roll, his chin in his hands.

The tall half-breed answered by gently putting a hand on the boy's head, and making a better seat for him closer to the fire. Here he was close enough to watch Moise, now busy about his pots and pans.

"Those mosquito he'll bite you some?" laughed Moise, as he saw the boys still slapping at their hands. "Well, bimeby he'll not bite so much. She'll be col' here un the _montaigne_, bimeby."

"I'm lumpy all over with them," said John.

"It's lucky you come from a country where you're more or less used to them," said Alex. "I've seen men driven wild by mosquitoes. But going down the river we'll camp on the beaches or bars, where the wind will strike us. In two or three weeks we'll be far enough along toward fall, so that I don't think the mosquitoes will trouble us too much. You see, it's the first of August now."

"We can fix our tent to keep them out," said Rob, "and we have bars and gloves, of course. But we don't want to be too much like tenderfeet."

"That's the idea," said Alex quietly. "You'll not be tenderfeet when you finish this trip."

"Her Onkle Deek, she'll tol' me something about those boy," said Moise, from the fireside. "She'll say she's good boy, all same like man."

Jesse looked at Moise gravely, but did not smile at his queer way of speech, for by this time they had become better acquainted with both their guides.

"What I'll tol' you?" said Moise again a little later. "Here comes cool breeze from the hill. Now those mosquito he'll hunt his home yas, heem! All right! We'll eat supper 'fore long."

Moise had put a pot of meat stew over the fire before he started back up the trail to bring in the canoe, when they first had come in with the packs. This he now finished cooking over the renewed fire, and by and by the odors arose so pleasantly that each boy sat waiting, his knife and fork on the tin plate in his lap. Alex, looking on, smiled quietly, but said nothing.

"Moise doesn't build a fire just the way I've been taught," said Rob, after a while.

"No," added John. "I was thinking of that, too."

"He's Injun, same as me," said Alex, smiling. "No white man can build a fire for an Injun. S'pose you ask me to put your hat on for you so you wouldn't need to touch it. I couldn't do that. You'd have to fix it a little yourself. Same way with Injun and his fire."

"That's funny," said Rob. "Why is that?"

"I don't know," smiled Alex.

"He just throws the sticks together in a long heap and pushes the ends in when they burn through," said Jesse. "He didn't cut any wood at all."

Moise grinned at this, but ventured no more reply.

"You see," said Alex, "if you live all the time in the open you learn to do as little work as possible, because there is always so much to do that your life depends on that you don't want to waste any strength."

"It doesn't take a white man long to get into that habit," said Rob.

"Yes. Besides, there is another reason. An Injun has to make his living with his rifle. Chopping with an ax is a sound that frightens game more than any other. The bear and deer will just get up and leave when they hear you chopping. So when we come into camp we build our fire as small as possible, and without cutting any more wood than we are obliged to. You see, we'll be gone the next morning, perhaps, so we slip through as light as possible. A white man leaves a trail like a wagon-road, but you'd hardly know an Injun had been there. You soon get the habit when you have to live that way."

"Grub pile!" sang out Moise now, laughing as he moved the pans and the steaming tea-kettle by the side of the fire. And very soon the boys were falling to with good will in their first meal in camp.

"Moise, she'll ben good cook--many tams mans'll tol' me that," grinned Moise, pleasantly, drawing a little apart from the fire with his own tin pan on his knee.

"We'll give you a recommendation," said John. "This stew is fine. I was awfully hungry."

It was not long after they had finished their supper before all began to feel sleepy, for they had walked or worked more or less ever since morning.