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diff --git a/29681-h/29681-h.htm b/29681-h/29681-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ba24b9 --- /dev/null +++ b/29681-h/29681-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8739 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of A Mountain Boyhood, by Joe Mills +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter { + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.diary { text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 5% } + +P.footnote {font-size: 80% ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.quote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +H3.h3left { margin-left: 0%; + margin-right: 1%; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: left ; + clear: left ; + text-align: center } + +H3.h3right { margin-left: 1%; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: right ; + clear: right ; + text-align: center } + +H3.h3center { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-align: center } + +H4.h4left { margin-left: 0%; + margin-right: 1%; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: left ; + clear: left ; + text-align: center } + +H4.h4right { margin-left: 1%; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: right ; + clear: right ; + text-align: center } + +H4.h4center { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-align: center } + +H5.h5left { margin-left: 0%; + margin-right: 1%; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: left ; + clear: left ; + text-align: center } + +H5.h5right { margin-left: 1%; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: right ; + clear: right ; + text-align: center } + +H5.h5center { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-align: center } + +IMG.imgleft { float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: 1%; + padding: 0; + text-align: center } + +IMG.imgright {float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1%; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center } + +IMG.imgcenter { margin-left: auto; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: auto; } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Mountain Boyhood, by Joe Mills + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Mountain Boyhood + +Author: Joe Mills + +Illustrator: Enos B. Comstock + +Release Date: August 12, 2009 [EBook #29681] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MOUNTAIN BOYHOOD *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="transnote"> +[Transcriber's note: Extensive research found no evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT="AT THAT INSTANT THE BEAR CAME TO LIFE." BORDER="2" WIDTH="463" HEIGHT="655"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 463px"> +AT THAT INSTANT THE BEAR CAME TO LIFE. +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +A<BR> +MOUNTAIN<BR> +BOYHOOD<BR> +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>by</I> JOE MILLS +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +Author of "The Comeback" +</H4> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Illustrated by +<BR> +ENOS B. COMSTOCK +</H3> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +J. H. SEARS & COMPANY, Inc. +<BR> +PUBLISHERS +<BR> +NEW YORK +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY +<BR> +J. H. SEARS & CO., INCORPORATED +<BR><BR> +COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY +<BR> +THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA (INC.) +</H5> + +<BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +MANUFACTURED COMPLETE BY THE<BR> +KINGSPORT PRESS<BR> +KINGSPORT, TENNESSEE<BR> +<BR> +<I>United States of America</I> +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TO<BR> +THE ONE WHO MADE THIS<BR> +BOYHOOD POSSIBLE<BR> +MY WIFE<BR> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">CHAPTER</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">GOING WEST</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">GETTING ACQUAINTED WITH WILD COUNTRY AND ANIMALS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">FIRST CAMP ALONE—EXPLORING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">DANCING ACROSS THE DIVIDE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">TRAPPING—MOUNTAIN-TOP DWELLERS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">A LOG CABIN IN THE WILDS—PRIMITIVE LIVING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">GLACIERS AND FOREST FIRES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">THE PROVERBIAL BUSY BEAVER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">MOUNTAIN CLIMBING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">MODERN PATHFINDERS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">OFF THE TRAIL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">DREAMERS OF GOLDEN DREAMS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">THE CITY OF SILENCE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">BEARS AND BUGBEARS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS +</H2> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-front"> +At that instant the bear came to life . . . . <I>Frontispiece</I> +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-063"> +I plunged downward, struggling frantically +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-069"> +I sat down by the fiddler and dozed +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-081"> +I glimpsed his flaming eyes and wide-open, fang-filled mouth +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-099"> +Sheep and rock dropped straight toward me +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-105"> +Never before had the ring of an ax echoed in Silent Valley +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-121"> +"See all fools ain't dead yit," he observed +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-137"> +The memory of that race for life is still vividly terrifying +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-149"> +Every fall I watched Mr. and Mrs. Peg at their repairs +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-205"> +They turned tail and came racing back, straight toward me +</A> +</H4> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#img-241"> +Out of the dust of years, we dug the history of a buried past +</A> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +A MOUNTAIN BOYHOOD +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER ONE +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +GOING WEST +</H4> + +<P> +Father and mother settled on the Kansas prairie in the early fifties. +At that time Kansas was the frontier. Near neighbors were twenty miles +or more apart. There was no railroad; no stages supplied the vast +unsettled region. A few supplies were freighted by wagon. However, +little was needed from civilized sources, for the frontier teemed with +game. Myriads of prairie chickens were almost as tame as domestic +fowls. Deer stared in wide-eyed amazement at the early settlers. +Bands of buffalo snorted in surprise as the first dark lines of sod +were broken up. Droves of wild turkey skirted the fringes of timber. +Indians roamed freely; halting in wonder at the first log cabins of the +pioneers. +</P> + +<P> +In my father's old diary I found the following: +</P> + +<P CLASS="diary"> +June, 1854. +</P> + +<P CLASS="diary"> +Drove through from Iowa to Kansas by ox team. Located four days' drive +south of Portsmouth.* Not much timber here. +</P> + +<P CLASS="footnote"> +* Later Kansas City. +</P> + +<P CLASS="diary"> +October, 1854. +</P> + +<P CLASS="diary"> +Just returned from visit to our nearest neighbor, John Seeright, a +day's drive away. Took the chickens and cow along and stayed several +days. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Father told me that the early settlers did not like a region after it +got "settled up." He laughed heartily when he said this. It is quite +true nevertheless; as soon as a region became "settled up," the +pioneers were ready to push on again into the unknown. They loved the +frontier—it held adventure, hazard always, mystery, ofttimes, romance, +life. They moved ahead of and beyond civilization—even the long arm +of the law did not penetrate their wilderness fastnesses. Their +experience—so numerous books cannot hold them all—have become history. +</P> + +<P> +It is not strange that my parents welcomed the gold rush of '59. It +called them once more into the farther wilderness, the vaster unknown. +When news of the finding of gold in the Rockies came across the plains, +legions of adventurers trailed westward. The few roads that led across +the rolling prairies to the Rockies were soon deep-cut. Wagons trains +strung out across the treeless land like huge, creeping serpents moving +lazily in the sun. Joyfully the adventurers went—happy, courageous. +They were the vanguards of civilization, pushing ever to the West. +</P> + +<P> +To my lifelong regret, my boyhood came after the gold rushes were over; +the buffalo bands had passed for the last time; the Indian fighting +ended. However, these exciting events were still fresh in the memory +of my parents. When neighbors came to visit us, long hours were spent +in talking over and comparing experiences. I thrilled as my father +told of climbing Long's Peak, the eastern sentinel of the Rockies—of +Estes Park, teeming with trout and game. I thought then that I had +been born too late—that all the big things in the world were past +history. I feared then that even the Rockies would lose their wildness +before I could explore them. +</P> + +<P> +Within sight and sound of the farm where I was born, a number of Civil +War skirmishes took place. The eastern Kansas border during the trying +time of the early sixties was perhaps the worst place in all the world +to live. Raiding parties plundered on both sides of the +Kansas-Missouri line. My mother watched the battle of Mine Creek from +the dooryard; saw the soldiers streaming by, and prayed fervently as +the tide of battle swayed back and forth. My father was fighting in +that battle. These frontier conflicts were still the favorite topics +of conversation at neighborhood gatherings when I was a little boy. I +listened breathlessly to them and lived them over in my imagination. +Of all the tales recounted around our fire, I loved that of the gold +rush of '59 best—my father and mother had participated in it—and I'm +sure that story moved me most of all to obey Horace Greeley's +injunction. +</P> + +<P> +The wagons, in the beginning of the journey, formed a train, keeping +close together for mutual protection. As they neared the Rockies, they +scattered, each party following its individual route. Late in the +summer, high up in the mountains near Breckenridge, Colorado, my father +fell ill of "mountain fever." My mother, who weighed less than one +hundred pounds, alone drove the pony team back across the plains to +eastern Kansas. Many weeks were spent en route. Sometimes they camped +for a night with westward-bound wagons; then resumed the eastward +journey alone. Buffalo, migrating southward, literally covered the +prairie—at times, so dense were their ranks, my mother had to stop the +team to let the herds go by. +</P> + +<P> +One experience of this trying trip, often related by my father, filled +me with lasting admiration for my plucky mother. +</P> + +<P> +"We were camped one night beneath some cottonwoods beside a wide, +shallow stream," father would say, "and I was unable to move from my +bed in the wagon. Your mother cared for the team, started a fire, and +got supper. Shortly after dark, and before supper was ready, a dozen +Indians filed solemnly into our camp and sat down facing the fire. +They said nothing, but followed your mother's every movement with +watchful eyes. If your mother tasted the brew in the brass kettle, +every Indian eye followed her hand, and every Indian licked his lips +eagerly. The brass kettle was about the only cooking utensil we +possessed, and your mother guarded it carefully. +</P> + +<P> +"This night the kettle held a savory stew of buffalo meat. When the +stew was done, your mother set it off the fire to cool. During a few +seconds—while her back was turned—the kettle vanished. From the +shelter of the wagon I saw an Indian reach out stealthily and slip it +beneath his blanket. The next moment your mother was facing the silent +circle with blazing eyes. And there, hundreds of miles from a +settlement, with no help at hand, she defied a dozen Indians. In spite +of the fact that she weighed just ninety-two pounds, she swept around +the circle slapping the surprised braves, pulling their hair and +demanding the kettle. She noticed that the chief was sheltering +something beneath his blanket. At once she gave his blanket a jerk. +The hot brew spilled over the surprised redskin's legs. There was a +yell that rent the stillness. The fellow leaped high into the air, and +vanished into the night, leaving the brass kettle behind him." +</P> + +<P> +Little did my parents realize that their recounted experiences would +eventually lead me, still a boy, to venture into new regions. +</P> + +<P> +At ten years of age I hazarded the statement that I was old enough to +shift for myself; that I was going West to live the rest of my life in +the Rocky Mountains. But my parents, in order to frighten me out of my +plans, told me that Indians still infested the wilds; that terrible +bull buffaloes and horrible grizzly bears roamed the wilderness. +</P> + +<P> +These attempts to frighten me only strengthened my desire for adventure +and my determination to seek it. When all else failed I was told that +I was too young to strike out for myself. At last father put his foot +down firmly, a sign that his patience was at an end—so I postponed my +adventure. +</P> + +<P> +The day finally came when I was aboard a train, heading westward, +toward the mountains of my dreams. I possessed twenty dollars, my +entire savings. During the journey I hardly slept, but kept watch out +the window for the first glimpse of the Rockies. I have no +recollection that there were sleeping cars at that time; anyhow, my +thin little purse afforded no such gross extravagance if I had known. +I recall that the individual seat of the chair-car gave me much +concern. I had considerable trouble adjusting it—putting it up and +laying it down. +</P> + +<P> +Beside me in the companion seat rode a man of middle age, bearded, +roughly dressed, who took keen interest in my destination. He was +located, I learned, over the Continental Divide in that vast region +beyond Grand Lake. He talked of the forests of uncut timber near his +homestead, of the fertile valleys and grassy parks that would +eventually support cattle herds. "Some day," he predicted, "there'll +be a railroad built between Denver and Salt Lake City; and when it +comes it's bound to pass close to my claim." +</P> + +<P> +At dawn I caught my first sight of the great snow-covered peaks, a +hundred miles away, rearing rose-red in the early morning light. At +first I mistook those misty ranges for cloud banks, lighted by the +rising sun. Then, as we drew nearer and day wore on, I made them out. +</P> + +<P> +Toward noon I reached Fort Collins, Colorado, fifty miles from Long's +Peak, where there was no stage connection with Estes Park, but +Loveland, a town fifteen miles south, had a horse stage that made three +trips a week. The fare, I learned, was quite prohibitive, three +dollars for something more than thirty miles. The walk would be +interesting, I decided. But the old canvas bag, containing all my +worldly possessions, was too bulky and awkward to be carried. After +some hours of dickering, I paid eight dollars for a second-hand +bicycle, tied the bag on the handle bars and started for the Mecca of +my dreams. +</P> + +<P> +That first journey to the mountains was filled with thrills. The old +stage road shot up successive mountain ranges, and plunged abruptly +down into the valleys between. There was no Big Thompson route then; +instead, the road ascended Bald Mountain, climbed the foothill range, +crossed the top, then dropped into Rattlesnake Park. It squirmed up +Pole Hill, a grade so steep that I could scarcely push up my wheel. Up +and down, up and down, it seesawed endlessly. The afternoon wore on; +each successive slope grew harder, for my legs were weary. Twice, +braking with one foot on the front crotch and sliding the wheel, I had +pitched headlong over the handle bars. Upon two descents that were too +precipitous to venture unballasted, I tied fair-sized pine trees to the +rear of my craft to act as drag-anchors. +</P> + +<P> +As darkness came on I coasted down a sharp pitch to a little brook. In +the aspens that bordered the road was a range cow standing guard beside +a newborn calf. Across the road, like grisly shadows among the trees, +skulked several coyotes. The calf half rose, wabbled, and went down. +Three times it attempted to rise, grew weaker, and at last gave up the +struggle. With the waiting coyotes in mind, I leaned my wheel against +a bowlder and went to its rescue. Several things happened at once. +The half-wild range cow misunderstood my good intentions. She was +accustomed to seeing men on horseback; and one afoot was strange. She +charged headlong. I dodged quickly aside but not in time to escape +entirely. She raked me with her sharp horns. There was a wild race +through the aspens; I leading, but the cow a close second, her horns +menacing me at every leap, while I doubled and backtracked sharply +about among the trees. I had no chance to "tree"; though no mountain +lion was ever more willing, for Mrs. Cow was too near. Only Providence +and my agility saved me from an untimely end. At last the cow halted, +for she was getting too far from her calf. She shook her horns after +me menacingly, turned and hurried back toward where her offspring lay. +</P> + +<P> +Each mile I covered impressed upon me more and more that there is not +even a distant relationship between mountain miles and my Kansas +prairie miles. The latter are ironed out flat, the former stand on +end, cease to be miles and become trials. Slowly the shadows filled +the cañons, and came creeping up the slopes. I gazed in awesome wonder +at the beauty of my land of dreams. My legs, cramped almost past +pedaling, still kept on—for my goal, my mountains, were at hand. +Exaltation of spirit overcame exhaustion of body. +</P> + +<P> +At no time had I given any particular thought to what would happen when +I arrived; so far my whole attention had been centered on reaching the +Rockies. Such trivialities as no job, no relatives, practically no +money, made little impression upon my Rocky-bound mind. +</P> + +<P> +Long after nightfall I reached the crest of Park Hill, the last barrier +to Estes Park. The moon shone full upon the valley below, and upon the +snow-capped mountains beyond. The river murmured softly as its shining +folds curled back and forth across the dark green meadow, suddenly +vanishing between dark cañon walls. Coyotes raised their eerie voices; +across the cañon, from the cliffs of Mount Olympus, an owl hooted +gloomily. Before me loomed the Rockies, strangely unreal in the +moonlight and yet very like the mountains of my imagination. I gazed, +spellbound. My dream was realized. +</P> + +<P> +It was midnight when, completely exhausted, I stopped before an old log +cabin. Dogs charged out, barking furiously at the strange thing I rode +and nipping at my legs; but I was too weary to remember distinctly even +now what happened. I must have tumbled off my wheel for I learned +afterward that I was picked up and put to bed; but for hours I tossed +about, my body racked with pain, my thoughts jumbled. But boys must +sleep, and I slept at last. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning, pushing the wheel slowly, I headed for the most remote +ranch in the region, that lay at the foot of Long's Peak. Progress was +slow and painful for my body was stiff and sore; the road I followed +wound upward, climbing steadily to higher altitude. Frequently I +halted to rest, and spent my time of respite searching the mountains +with eager, appraising eyes, planning explorations among them. Toward +noon I came to the ranch I sought, located nine miles from the nearest +neighbor, at nine thousand feet altitude, and surrounded by rugged +mountains. Above it rose Long's Peak, up and up into the clouds, to +more than fourteen thousand feet. The rancher was the Reverend E. J. +Lamb, one of the early settlers of Estes Park. The Parson, as he was +known, was more than six feet tall, straight as a lodge-pole pine +physically—and even more so spiritually. He wore a long, flowing +beard, rose habitually and unprotestingly at four in the morning—a man +of diverse talents and eccentricities. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER TWO +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +GETTING ACQUAINTED WITH WILD COUNTRY AND ANIMALS +</H4> + +<P> +Parson Lamb's ranch consisted of a fenced garden tract surrounded on +every side for miles by high mountains that shut it in. There was +heavy forest on the slopes above the ranch; and out of these came many +lively little streams that were almost as cold as their parent +snowbanks. +</P> + +<P> +I hoarded my few remaining dollars. The Parson gave me room and board, +in return for which I helped about the place, doing various chores, +such as wood-splitting and clearing land for more garden, and +occasionally going the nine miles to the village for the mail. My work +took only a small part of my time, leaving me free to explore the +near-by region, with its deep, evergreen forests, and the wild animals +which lived in them. +</P> + +<P> +Many were the tales the tall, rawboned Parson told of his early pioneer +days (for he had lived there since the early seventies, and was a +loquacious old fellow), as he and his wife, Jane, and I sat beside the +granite fireplace, when the coals glowed low and the shadows scurried +here and there over the rough logs of the cabin walls. He had been +shot and nearly killed by a bandit, gored by a bull, dragged by a +frightened horse, and bitten by a bear. Upon one lonely excursion far +from any settlement, he had been followed by a huge, stealthy, mountain +lion. +</P> + +<P> +Harrowing as were these tales, the one that made me shiver despite the +radiant pitch knots, was that of his perilous descent of the precipice +on Long's Peak. Time has not changed the character of that face—it is +sheer and smooth and icy now, as then. He was probably the first man +to attempt its descent, and I was always weak and spent when he ended +his story of it, so vividly did he portray its dangers. I sat tense, +digging my nails deep into my palms, living through every squirm and +twist with him, from the moment he slid down from the comparatively +safe "Narrows" to the first niche in the glassy, precipitous wall, +till, after many nearly-the-last experiences, he landed safely at its +foot. That adventure had almost cost him his life, for he had once +missed his foothold, slipped and slid and had hung suspended by one +hand for a long, terrible moment. +</P> + +<P> +Always I sat with eyes glued upon the story-teller, thrilling as he +talked, planning secretly to emulate his example, proving some of his +statements by daily short excursions. However, the Parson was not +always away on trips. Sometimes he guided visitors to the top of the +Peak or worked on the trail to its summit. He chopped wood, worked in +the garden, hunted stray cattle or horses. Frequently he rode off with +his Bible under his arm, for he was a circuit rider, carrying the +gospel into the wilderness. He gave good, if free, advice, officiated +at weddings and funerals, at barn-raisings and log-rollings. He +preached or worked as the notion moved him; lingered in one place or +rode long trails to fulfill his mission. His own ranch was thirty +miles from the railroad, but many of his calls were made on settlers +even more remote. +</P> + +<P> +Gradually I extended the scope of my explorations, frequently spending +the night abroad, carrying a pair of worn and faded blankets and a +little food. A number of times I climbed Long's Peak alone. On these +trips to high country I scouted the high-flung crest of Battle +Mountain, Lady Washington, Storm Peak, and Mount Meeker; explored +Glacier Gorge, investigated Chasm Lake, and from the top of Peak and +Meeker looked down into Wild Basin to the south. +</P> + +<P> +I sketched a rude map of the great basin in my notebook and named it +"Land of Many Waters," because of the scores of small streams that +trickled down its inclosing mountain sides. The oval bowl I estimated +to be fifteen miles long by about half as wide, its sides formed of +mountain slopes densely wooded up to bleak timberline. Save the murmur +of falling water, or the wind upon the heights, it was a land of +silence. Small streams converged, dropped into deep cañons and reached +the river that rumbled far below. There were vivid, emerald lakes +everywhere—some lost in the woods near the river, others pocketed +behind the ridges, while still more could be seen up above naked +timberline. +</P> + +<P> +I returned, thrilled with the thought of exploring Wild Basin, sought +the Parson and told him my ambition. At first he was much amused, but +when he found I was serious he grew grave. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no neighbors over that way," he objected. "If anything +happens, you'll be beyond help." Even though he was older and much +more experienced, I thought him hardly qualified, after his own +foolhardy adventures, to discourage me; but I decided to wait until +fall before setting out. This delay would enable me to know more about +the mountains, to add to my experience, and better fit me to cope with +the emergencies of that inviting, great unknown—Wild Basin. +</P> + +<P> +Everywhere I found strange birds and animals, and began to get +acquainted with them. The handsome, black and white, long-tailed +magpies were much like the crows I had known in Kansas, so far as +wariness was concerned. The Rocky Mountain long-crested jays, quite +unlike our prairie jays, much more brilliant in coloring, their +gorgeous coats of turquoise blue and black flashing in the sunshine, +were continually bickering, and following me through the woods to see +what I was about. Chickadees and nuthatches were always inspecting the +trees for food, running up and down, paying no attention to me and +going about their business with cheerful little chirrups that expressed +their contentment. Occasionally a crow flew up the valley with raucous +calls; and sometimes a raven pursued his way toward the deeper woods. +Meadow larks and robins were everywhere. +</P> + +<P> +Woodpeckers and flickers did their bit to keep vermin off the trees, +and performed daily operations on trunk and limb, removing borers and +beetles that had penetrated beneath the bark, thus saving the lives of +many evergreen monarchs. Around ten and eleven thousand feet there +were campbirds, Canada jays, friendly and inquisitive; on first +acquaintance they often took food from my hands, and helped themselves +freely of any food accessible in camp. They were unruffled, flitting +softly from tree to tree, with little flapping, calling low, and in a +sweetly confidential tone. +</P> + +<P> +However friendly I found the birds, the big game animals were extremely +wary. I mentioned the fact to the Parson. +</P> + +<P> +"They've been shot at," was his explanation. "Every time they've come +in contact with men they've suffered. They know men are dangerous, +always have guns." +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the Parson's observations we always had wild game hanging +in the log meat house; there was never any question about securing +whatever we wanted in that line. Except during the winter months, deer +could be had with little effort. But the elk had practically vanished; +occasionally a lone survivor strayed into the ranch valley. There were +bears, of course, shy and fearful, in the rough, unsettled country. We +had great variety of meat, venison, Bighorn sheep, grouse, ptarmigan, +wild pigeon, sometimes squirrel and, rarely, bear steaks. +</P> + +<P> +Wherever I went, even in the far-away places where few men had ever +been, the deer and elk and bear were very wild, and I found it +impossible to approach them unless the wind was from them to me, and I +moved forward carefully hidden. I spent many eventful days, walking, +climbing, sitting motionless to watch the scampering chipmunks, or to +invite the birds up close. Thus, a little at a time, I came to know +the habits of the wild folks I met; learned their likes and +dislikes—the things that excited their curiosity, and that frightened +them away in panic. +</P> + +<P> +Upon my first climb to the top of Long's Peak alone, I halted above +timberline and stared about in amazement at the wide stretches of +rock-strewn slopes. From a distance these had appeared no larger than +a back yard, but a close-up revealed they were miles across; and +instead of being barren, were a series of hanging gardens, one above +another, each of different shape and size, and all green with grass and +with a hundred different kinds of wild flowers waving in the sunshine. +I counted more than fifty varieties, none of which I knew, and still +they seemed endless. +</P> + +<P> +Usually I wandered off the trail to follow birds or animals. In the +arctic-like zone above were birds entirely strange to me, and animals +that never came down to the valley of the ranch. It was not long +before I discovered that nearly all birds and animals live at a certain +zone of altitude, rarely straying above or below it. +</P> + +<P> +Occasionally I heard a queer "squee-ek." It sounded close, yet its +maker was invisible. Many times I looked up, searching the air +overhead for the elusive "squee-eker." At last I came upon a bunch of +grass, no larger than a water pail, and stopped to examine it. Grass +and flowers had been piled loosely in an irregular heap, resembling a +miniature haystack. +</P> + +<P> +"Something making a nest," I observed aloud. +</P> + +<P> +"Squee-ek," denied a shrill voice almost at my elbow. +</P> + +<P> +Ten feet away upon a bowlder that rose above the rest of the rocks, sat +a small animal which at first I mistook for a young rabbit. In shape +and size he closely resembled a quarter-grown cottontail, but his ears +were different from any rabbit's, being short and round. His eyes were +beady; somehow he made me think of a rat. He ran down the rock and +climbed to another perch. Not even so much tail as a bunny—none at +all. In some respects he resembled a rabbit, a squirrel and a prairie +dog. His actions reminded me of all of them. In fact, he is sometimes +called "Rock Rabbit" and "Little Chief Hare." He may have other names +besides. +</P> + +<P> +I watched the interesting little fellow for some time and later found +his actions characteristic of his tribe. He literally makes hay while +the summer shines. He is the only harvester I ever saw who works on +the run. He dashed at top speed, without stopping for breath, bit off +a mouthful of grass and again ran pell-mell for his growing stack. He +scampered down its side, then leaped from an adjacent rock to its top, +laden with his bundle of hay. Evidently he found the alpine summer +short and felt it necessary to step lively. Altitude, that convenient +scapegoat of tenderfeet, did not seem to affect his wind or his +endurance. He stacked his harvest in one corner of the field from +which he cut it. He cut flowers along with the grass. Perhaps he used +them for flavor as grandmother put rose-geranium leaves in her +crab-apple jelly. The haycock he built was about the size of a +bucket—I have since seen them as large as bushel baskets. His tiny +fields lay between bowlders; some of them were but a few inches square, +others a foot, several a yard, perhaps. +</P> + +<P> +I was interested to learn if the little haycocks were blown away by the +timberline gales, so returned later, not really expecting to find them. +Nor were they in the same location, but their owners, not the wind, had +moved them. Evidently, as soon as the hay was cured, it was stored for +safe-keeping, usually beneath the overhang of a rock, away from the +wind. +</P> + +<P> +I was then curious to see how the cony would transport his hay in +winter. Many of his under-rock passages would, at that season, be +filled with snow, forcing him to appear on the surface where the wind +was often strong enough to blow me over, to say nothing of what it +would do to the little midget in fur with a load of hay attached. He +met the storm situation easily. Whenever he exhausted one hayloft, he +moved his home to another. Thus he solved the transportation question +and gained a new home at the same time. Several times, upon digging +beneath the slide rock, I discovered cony dens, merely openings far +down between the jumbled rocks, beyond the reach of wind and weather. +They were of great variety, large, small, wide, narrow; all ready to +move into. They were the conies' castles, ready refuges from enemies, +their devious passages as effective as drawbridge or portcullis. +</P> + +<P> +The cony is something like the heaver far down on the flats below; +working at top speed when he does work, and then resting for many +months. Outside the brief harvest period I have found him sitting idly +atop a rock, napping in the sun, dreaming apparently; thus for days and +months he is idle, always harmless—a condition that does not apply to +human beings under similar circumstances. He is energetic, ambitious, +courageous, and acrobatic. He is the scout of the mountain top, always +alert and friendly. +</P> + +<P> +The altitude zone of the cony I found to be between eleven and thirteen +thousand feet. He and the Bighorn, ptarmigan, weasels and foxes are +mountain-top dwellers throughout the year. Marmots hibernate during +the long alpine winters. But the cony I have seen on sunny days in +January; his welcome "squee-ek," piercing the roar of the wind, has +greeted me on the lonely storm-swept heights when not another living +thing was in sight. +</P> + +<P> +But in spite of his living in the out-of-the-way world the cony has +enemies for whom he is always watching. In summer there are hawks and +eagles, foxes and coyotes. In winter his feathered foes depart, but +the foxes remain, as do the weasels. Sitting motionless in the midst +of jumbled rocks I have faded into the bowlder fields, and thus have +been able to watch the cony and his enemies. Usually his "squee-ek" +announced the appearance of a foe before I discovered it. Then, if the +enemy was a bird or a beast, he merely hugged the rock, watching +alertly until he was discovered, then flipped out of sight to the +safety of rocky retreat, giving a defiant "squee-ek" as he went. But +if a weasel appeared... +</P> + +<P> +I sat watching a cony one day in early fall as he lay in the sunshine +upon a bowlder. From somewhere below us came the distant "squee-ek" of +a relative, followed shortly by the shrill whistle of a marmot. The +cony sat up suddenly, awake and alertly watching. The signals were +repeated. Instantly the little fellow departed from his outpost and +hurried away, circling the bowlder, leaping to another, disappearing in +the rocks and reappearing again. His actions were so unusual that I +wondered what message the signals had carried; to me they were no +different than they were when they announced my coming—yet the +difference must have been plain to the wee furry ears, judging from +their owner's apprehensive actions. Indeed, a weasel was abroad +seeking his quarry. When his presence was announced, neither the cony +nor I could see him because of an intervening upthrust of rock. +</P> + +<P> +Soon the weasel appeared, circling the rock where the cony had been +sunning himself, searching beneath it, hurrying along the tunnels +through which the cony had fled. Emerging upon the bowlder, he paused +for a few seconds as he looked in all directions. The weasel was +brownish-yellow in color. I was to learn later that he changed to pure +white in winter. +</P> + +<P> +I sprang to my feet and pursued him, shouting as I ran, throwing rocks +and attempting to scare him off. Losing track of both pursuer and +pursued, I stopped for breath. Suddenly, from almost beneath my feet, +the agile villain reappeared, staring at me with bright, bold eyes, +advancing toward me as though to attack. He was no coward; with +amazing agility he dodged a rock I threw at him, turning a back-spring +and landing at my feet. For a moment we glared at each other, then he +made off as though utterly unconscious of my presence. +</P> + +<P> +I watched the long slender body disappear among the rocks in the +opposite direction to that taken by the cony, standing for a moment to +regain my breath and recover from my surprise. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly there was a shrill whistle behind me. I jumped and whirled +about. Twenty feet away a marmot stood erect atop a rock, eying me +inquiringly, watching every movement. He had whistled his signal about +me, whether good or bad news I could not detect, but from the distance +came other whistles in reply. He was the cony's ally, broadcasting +information about the skirmish taking place before his eyes; but +whether he was attempting to interfere and divert my attention, I could +not make out. Certainly, though, he was giving information, signaling +my presence to all within hearing. My intrusion upon the heights in +summer has ever been announced by the conies and the marmots. +</P> + +<P> +From another direction came a second whistle; apparently I was +surrounded. Then, as I moved, the second marmot hurried away from his +observation post. He was short-legged, reddish-yellow in color, with a +bushy tail, and he ran with great effort but with very little speed, +like a fat boy in a foot race. +</P> + +<P> +Down in the valley near the ranch were numerous grouse, old and young, +so tame that it was like knocking over pet chickens to kill them. But +there was a strange bird above timberline, the ptarmigan, the arctic +quail of the north—fool hens, the Parson told me. These birds were +mottled in color, matching the rocks among which they lived, and so +closely did their color blend with their environment it was impossible +to distinguish bird from rock so long as the fowl remained still. It +was because they depended so utterly upon their protective coloration, +making no effort to get out of the way but acting with utmost +stupidity, that they came to be called "fool hens." +</P> + +<P> +The days I spent above timberline were the most wonderful of all. From +high above the world I could see tier upon tier of distant, snow-capped +mountains—ghost ranges—and southward, at the horizon, loomed Pike's +Peak a hundred airline miles away, a giant pyramid above the foothills, +standing sentinel over the vast, flat plains that reached to its foot. +</P> + +<P> +As weeks passed and my interest in the wild things increased, I began +to wish for a cabin of my own, a home or a den to which I could retreat +and spend the time as I desired. Wherever I rambled I was alert for a +location for my little house. I was not yet old enough to take up a +homestead and claim land for myself. +</P> + +<P> +Climbing to the summits of various promontories I planned the sort of +cabin I would like to build there; I'd have a dog, and a horse too, and +a camera—I began to doubt whether I'd want my rifle for as I developed +my acquaintance with the animals I found myself less eager to shoot +them. +</P> + +<P> +Hunting and trapping was the habit of everyone I knew; even back in +Kansas the boys and men had gone shooting at every opportunity; and the +few men I encountered upon the trails in the Rockies were for the most +part real trappers and hunters, following the trade for a living. They +gave no thought to the cruelty of their traps or the suffering their +operations occasioned, It is not strange, then, that such men saw no +harm in their actions, for they considered all game fair prey. +</P> + +<P> +Occasionally I left my gun at home and found that I rambled the heights +above timberline in a changed mood from when I carried it. The animals +were more friendly, perhaps my actions were more open and aboveboard. +My rifle naturally inspired a desire to shoot something; a mountain +sheep, a bear, even the fat marmots did not escape my deadly fire. +</P> + +<P> +But, without a gun—there was interest everywhere. Many times I +laughed at the antics of the animals, especially at the awkward, +lumbering haste of the marmots. These animals, while very curious, +were quick to take alarm. They would climb to a lookout post at the +top of a rock, watching me eagerly and whistling mild gossip for the +delectation of their neighbors who could not see me. One day, far +skyward, I came upon an exceedingly fat marmot busily eating grass in a +narrow little hayland between bowlders. He must have weighed more than +twenty pounds, but this fact did not deter him from adding additional +weight for the long, winter sleep. At best his active period was +short, his hibernation long, so he ate and slept and ate again through +all the hours of daylight. At my approach he reluctantly left off +eating, crept up a rock and whistled mildly as though merely curious. +For a time I amused him by advancing, retreating, and circling his rock. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly I dropped out of sight behind a bowlder. Instantly his +whistle carried a note of warning. So long as I remained in sight I +was merely a curiosity, but the instant I dropped from sight, I became +a suspicious character. Again he broadcasted sharp warning to all +within hearing. From near and far came answering marmot shrillings, +and from near by a cony "squee-eked" his quick alarm. +</P> + +<P> +My reappearance reassured the marmot. He whistled again, and I thought +I distinguished a note of disgust or of disappointment. +</P> + +<P> +This marmot lived on the south slope of the big moraine that shoulders +against Lady Washington, neighboring peak to the giant mountain, Long's +Peak. Sometimes I found the roly-poly fellow saving hay by eating it, +or asleep in the sun on an exposed rock. Often he ventured down into +the cañon at the foot of the moraine to investigate the grass that grew +down there. +</P> + +<P> +One day as I sat atop the big moraine, I heard his shrill whistle from +the edge of the trees in the cañon below. It was somehow different +from any signal I had heard him give before, but just how it was +different I could not make out. The notes were the same, but the tone +was different—that was it, the tone had changed. Then the reason for +the difference came out of the scattered trees—a grizzly bear stalked +deliberately into the open and sat down facing the huge bowlder upon +which the marmot sat. +</P> + +<P> +The marmot stood erect on his hind legs, eying the bear warily, +prepared to dash for his den beneath the rock the instant the visitor +made an unfriendly move. But the bear was a very stupid fellow; he +took no note of the marmot. Instead, he looked off across the cañon, +swung his head slowly to and fro as though thinking deeply of something +a hundred miles away. He was a young bear with a shiny new coat of +summer fur. He had just had a bath in the stream where ice water +gushed from beneath a snowbank. +</P> + +<P> +The marmot gave a second whistle, carrying less fear. Apparently the +slow-moving, sleepy bear meant no harm. For half an hour the marmot +watched alertly, then slid down beneath the bowlders and started +eating. From time to time he sat stiffly erect, peering suspiciously +at the intruder. But since the bear made no overt move, he continued +his feeding as though he were too hungry to wait until his uninvited +guest departed. +</P> + +<P> +At length the bear rolled over on his back with all four feet in the +air. The marmot surveyed the performance for a few seconds, then went +on feeding, gradually grazing out beyond the shelter of the rock +beneath which he had his den. The bear "paid him no mind," apparently +asleep in the sunshine. Slowly the marmot fed away from the rock, the +farther he ventured the more luxuriant his feast, for the grass was +eaten off short around his dooryard. For an hour I watched every move +of that silent drama, trying to guess the outcome, wondering if the +bear were really asleep. All at once the little gourmand whistled +reassuringly: "All right, it's a friend." +</P> + +<P> +The marmot was not more surprised than myself at what happened next. +The bear lay perhaps a hundred feet from the marmot's home, and the +marmot had fed perhaps forty feet from it—a distance he could quickly +cover if the visitor showed unfriendly symptoms. +</P> + +<P> +But there were no symptoms. It was all over so quickly that I was left +dazed and breathless. There was a small bowlder about four feet high +in the midst of a tiny hayfield where the marmot fed. The unsuspecting +whistler fed into the little field, passed behind the rock, and was out +of sight for just a second. At that instant the bear came to life, +leaped to his feet and dashed toward the den beneath the rock, cutting +off the marmot's retreat. +</P> + +<P> +Too late the quarry saw the bear. It made a frantic dash for home and +shelter, its fat body working desperately, its short legs flying. Ten +feet from the den the bear flattened the marmot with a single quick +slap of his paw. Then he sat down to eat his dinner. His acting had +been perfect; he had fooled me as well as the marmot. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER THREE +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +FIRST CAMP ALONE—EXPLORING +</H4> + +<P> +My short trips into the wilds tempted me to go beyond the trails. So +far my rambles had taken me only to the threshold of the wilderness, I +wondered what lay beyond; I wanted to follow the game trails and see +where they led. Above all I was eager to pit my scant skill against +primitive nature and learn if my resourcefulness was equal to the +emergencies of the unknown. Somehow I never doubted my courage—I +simply didn't fear. +</P> + +<P> +As the short high-altitude summer began to wane, I grew restless. +September advanced; the aspen trees near timberline turned to gold; +from day to day those lower down turned also until a vast richly +colored rug covered the mountain sides. Ripe leaves fluttered down, +rustling crisply underfoot. Frost cut down the rank grass, humbled the +weeds and harvested the flowers. Forests of spruce and lodgepole were +dark with shadow. A beaver colony returned to its former haunts at the +foot of Long's Peak and was working night and day. Its pond of still +water was glazing over with clear ice. +</P> + +<P> +October came. The nights grew colder. The snow of early winter came +to the high peaks, dusting their bare, bald crowns. +</P> + +<P> +"Fur ought to be getting prime now," the Parson said one day. "It'll +be better still, higher up." +</P> + +<P> +This was the message I had been waiting for. It set me packing at +once, for I was going into Wild Basin, alone, to hunt, trap and explore. +</P> + +<P> +On a morning near the middle of October, much excited, I set out for +the land of mystery. Ahead lay the unknown, uncharted wilds. I could +go where I chose and stay as long as I wished. Bold Columbus, looking +westward, I could not have been more thrilled. Mountain maple beckoned +with ripe, red banners. The mountains peeked through the autumn haze, +divulging nothing, promising everything! +</P> + +<P> +My outfit consisted of an old, ragged tent, a little food, a camera +that had been through a fire and leaked light badly, a knife, an ax, a +six-shooter, and an old rifle that had been traded about among the +early settlers and had known many owners. In addition I had bought six +double-spring steel traps sufficiently large to hold beaver, coyotes or +wolves. The pair of ragged blankets that had served me on my short +trips about the region had been reinforced with an old quilt, faded and +patched, but sweet and clean. +</P> + +<P> +All this duffle I packed upon a "return" horse, lent me by the Parson, +one that would return home as soon as it was let loose. +</P> + +<P> +The Parson chuckled at the appearance of my pack, even the horse turned +his head inquiringly, but I was too excited to mind their insinuations. +As the sun topped the mountains, I led the horse slowly down the old +tollroad toward a game trail, and swung up in the direction of Wild +Basin. +</P> + +<P> +Deer tracks showed in the old road and in the game trails; I also +recognized coyote tracks, and puzzled over strange tracks which I could +not make out. The small streams I crossed had many deep pools where +trout were collecting for the winter. I tossed stones into them and +the fish, like rainbow darts, dashed for shelter beneath the rocks. +Hourly my excitement grew—a million plans ran through my head. I +would become a mighty hunter and make a fortune trapping; I would turn +prospector and locate a mine: Father and Mother would yet have the gold +of which they were thwarted. +</P> + +<P> +The second evening brought me into such rough country that going +farther with the horse was next to impossible. With excited hands I +unpacked, bade the beast good-by, and started him toward home on the +back trail. He trotted off, neighing eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +Save for the rumble of the river deep down in its cañon, the great +basin was voiceless. The forest showed no signs of man. Above and +beyond rose a circle of snow-capped peaks. I paused in awe; the world +was bigger than I had dreamed. I was a boy without a woodsman's +skill—a boy alone in the heart of an overwhelming silence. I turned, +with a pang of homesickness, just in time to see the return horse +disappear. Whistling loudly, I set about making camp. It should be my +headquarters, from which I could explore in all directions, returning +as often as necessary for supplies. +</P> + +<P> +A lake with sandy shores lapped in and out among immense bowlders. On +the west side a cliff rose straight from the water. At the upper edge +a small cataract came leaping down the ledges and plunged noisily into +the pool that overflowed into the lake. Above the water was a grove of +Engelmann spruces, giant trees that rose straight for more than a +hundred feet. I pitched my tent in a small open glade, but had trouble +getting down the stakes, for everywhere was granite. The first test of +my resourcefulness had come—I met it by piling stones around the tent +stakes, bracing them taut for the ropes. +</P> + +<P> +The call of the wild was too loud to ignore—I hastened my camp making. +The sun was going down on a world of splendor. Overhead were +brilliantly colored clouds, while deep in the cañon below the early +darkness was thickening. From somewhere in the distance came the cry +of an animal. Camp was left unfinished; I climbed to a jutting +shoulder that overlooked the cañon. From far below came the noise of +the river as it chugged and sobbed and roared endlessly between its +towering walls. I promised myself I would go down and explore that +dark cañon at an early date. +</P> + +<P> +Of a sudden there came an indescribable, unearthly sound that echoed +and reëchoed among the cliffs. I could not tell the direction from +which it came; a sudden chill crept along my spine, my hair prickled +and lifted. Then the echoes ceased, the silence that followed was +equally terrifying. I bethought me of my unfinished camp. Later I +learned that alarming sound was the bugling of a bull elk. It was the +mating season. +</P> + +<P> +As darkness came on I ate beans and bread by the light of the campfire. +The beans came out of a can, so were well cooked; but the bread was my +first campfire, culinary concoction. It was a flour and water mixture, +plus salt and baking powder, cooked against a hot rock. It was smoked +black and cooked so hard it nearly broke my teeth, besides, it had a +granite finish from association with the rock oven. But I ate it with +boyish relish in spite of its flaws. My imagination expanded as I +watched ghostly shadow-figures dance upon the face of the cliff. The +shifting flame, the wood smoke, the silent, starry night swelled my +heart to pride in my great adventure. I ignored the incident of the +animal cry that had sent me scurrying to camp. This first camp was +just below timberline, at an altitude of eleven thousand feet or more. +</P> + +<P> +I had much to learn about altitude, as well as of winds and weather, +woods and mountains. In the mountains the higher one goes the harder +the wind blows. In the Rockies, around timberline, gales often reach a +velocity of a hundred miles, or more, an hour. Here during the long +alpine winters, the wind booms and crashes among the peaks, roars +through the passes, and rips through the shattered trees. That first +night I lay in camp and listened to its unceasing roar, as it tore +along the ridge tops. Occasionally, a gust would scatter my fire. It +raged through the spruces like a hurricane, causing me much uneasiness +lest one of the trees should come crashing down upon my frail shelter. +At last, after dozing before the dying fire, I went inside the tent, +crept between my blankets and fell asleep. +</P> + +<P> +I was aiming at a charging grizzly, when there came a swishing, banging +crash! I sat up, half awake. The tent flapped wildly, lifting clear +of the ground. My stone cairns had been jerked down by the repeated +yanks of the stake ropes. A stronger gust, the tent went down, or +rather up, and vanished into the night. The spruce tree, which was my +tent pole, struck me on the head. I sat dazed. Gradually it came to +me that my clothes, as well as my tent, were gone. I realized, too, +that I had pitched camp on the wrong side of the little stream, for the +mischievous gusts, saturated with water from the falls, spat upon me +and soaked my blankets. I managed to strike a match, but the wind +snuffed it out instantly. I tried again and again to make a +light—with no success. I crawled dazedly about—I struggled +upright—my toe caught beneath a rock, and I pitched headlong. That +hour of darkness taught me never to venture about blindly. +</P> + +<P> +The night was unbelievably cold. During the day, while the sun had +shone brightly, the temperature had been very comfortable, even warm. +But now, with wind blasts from the snow-fields and glaciers and +waterfall, I was chilled through and through. As I felt about for my +vanished clothes, my teeth chattered. Soon I gave up the search and +sought shelter in the spruces; I found a leaning slab of rock and crept +beneath it as a wild animal would have done. Through the remaining +hours of the night I shivered and shook there; my imagination dulled, +my ambition dampened. I decided to break camp as soon as it was light. +</P> + +<P> +But it is marvelous what sunshine will do. When at last the tardy sun +came up, and the wind died down and I had recovered my clothes and +warmed myself at a leaping fire, my heart too leaped up with renewed +courage. All was serene. It seemed impossible that I could have been +so miserable in the night. +</P> + +<P> +As soon as I had eaten I dragged the tent back among the spruces where +I set it up and anchored it securely. Lesson Number One had sunk in. +It would not need repeating. +</P> + +<P> +When camp was at last secure, I climbed slowly to the ridge top above. +Its crest was above timberline. On all sides rose lofty mountains, +many of them patched with snowbanks. Deep cañons cut sharply between +the ridges and shoulders. Ice fields indicated possible glaciers. I +wanted to explore everything at once; wanted to climb the peaks, and +delve into the cañons; hunt out the game and explore the glaciers. +</P> + +<P> +At timberline I stopped in silent wonder. Broken trees were scattered +about upon the ground like soldiers after a battle. I didn't quite +comprehend its significance, but Parson Lamb had described it to me. I +had seen other timberlines in my rambles, but none so impressive as +this. Here was the forest frontier. How dauntless, how gallant, these +pioneers were! How they strove to hold the advantage gained during the +brief summer respite! Here a canny stripling grew behind a sheltering +bowlder, but whenever it tried to peep above its breastworks, the wind, +with its shell-shot of sand and gravel and ice bullets, cut off its +protruding limbs as neatly as a gardner might have done. Consequently +its top was as flat as a table. +</P> + +<P> +In the open, other trees trailed along the ground like creeping vines, +their tops pointing away from the wind. It seemed as if they banded +together for mutual protection, for they formed a dense hedge or +"bush." Here was the deadline established by altitude. The forests +were commanded to halt; this line of last defense was not unlike the +sweeping shoreline of the sea. Here and there were lone scout trees in +advance of the ranks. They were twisted and dwarfed, misshapen, +grotesque. +</P> + +<P> +There were wide, naked stretches bare of snow. Great drifts lay in the +woods; the deep, narrow cañons were piled full of it. Many of these +drifts would last far into the following summer; a few would be +perpetual. At the approach of summer, such drifts turn to ice through +frequent thawing and freezing, since the surface snow, melting under +the glare of the summer sun, seeps down through the mass beneath in +daytime, and freezes again at night. From such drifts flow icy streams +for the leaping trout. Countless sparkling springs gurgled forth at +the foot of the slopes. +</P> + +<P> +Here I had my first lessons in conservation and learned that it is +indeed an ill wind that does no good. Here nature hoards her savings +in snowbanks. To these savings she adds constantly throughout the +winter. Long I sat upon a promontory and marveled. Dimly, only, did I +grasp the significance of what lay before me! The ranks of primeval +forest waiting to aid civilization; snow, that white magic eventually +destined to water crops on the distant plains; and, above all, woods, +the final refuge of the big game; the sanctuary of the birds. +</P> + +<P> +Everywhere were scattered unnamed lakes. These edged out and around +the rock peninsulas, folded back into dark coves and swung out of sight +behind the timbered bends. Some were almost pinched in half by the +crowding cliffs till they formed giant hour-glasses; again they bulged +and overflowed like streams at high water. I began to name them +according to their shape. "Hourglass," of course; the one that bulged +out at one end was surely a plump "Pear"—yes, and +"Dog-with-three-legs"! My imagination was recovering. +</P> + +<P> +For miles I followed the strange, fantastic timberline. Occasionally I +found stunted little trees scarcely knee high, peeping through the +crushing weight of snow that had smothered them, even throughout the +summer. I cut several trees to count the rings of growth. I found +trees growing close together and about the same size, with centuries of +variation in age. One, that had been broken off by a rock slide, had +two hundred and ninety-six annual rings. It had grown in a sheltered +nook. Ten yards away another, much smaller, but growing upon an +exposed, rocky point, was no higher than my head, yet I counted five +hundred and seven rings; for half a thousand years it had stood at its +post. I found the counting of these annual rings extremely difficult, +as they were so dense that it was hard to distinguish them and they +averaged from fifty to a hundred rings to an inch of thickness, but the +small magnifying glass I carried made it possible. +</P> + +<P> +The most striking thing I discovered about the timberline trees was +their irregularity. There was no similarity of form, as prevails among +trees of the deep forest. Each tree took on a physical appearance +according to its location and its opportunities. One resemblance only +did they have in common: none had limbs on the west side. All their +leafy banners pointed toward the rising sun. Thus I learned the +direction of the prevailing winter winds. The west side of the trees +were polished smooth, many cut halfway through. Trees that had reached +maturity, or had died, were stripped almost bare of limbs, which had +been cut away by the constant scouring. +</P> + +<P> +There were abundant tracks of deer, and some of elk, but I saw not a +single animal. Near the spot from which had risen the terrifying +sounds of that first night, a deep-worn game trail led down into the +heavy forests. Sharp hoofs had cut into it recently, yet neither hide +nor hair of an animal did I glimpse. There were no traces of beaver +nor any coyote tracks. There were bear tracks, but the small traps I +had brought would not hold bear, so I did not set them. I was running +low on provisions, for I had counted on the game for meat: I had meant +to have venison steak as soon as I had got settled in my permanent camp. +</P> + +<P> +Here was mystery! My curiosity was challenged; I determined to fathom +it! +</P> + +<P> +How I studied those tracks! Those of the sheep could be distinguished +by the rounded toe marks of their hoofs, worn blunt by the granite +rocks they lived on. This was especially true of the forefeet. They +were also wide apart, while the deer tracks were sharply pointed, with +the hoofs close together. Days passed and the tracks in the trails +grew dim, but not before I had read their story. I followed the +sheep's up above timberline—they grew plainer and more numerous. So +that was it! The sheep climbed where the wind would keep their tables, +spread with sweet cured grass, swept free of snow, and had placed the +barrier of timberline drifts between them and their enemies! +</P> + +<P> +The other tracks all led down to the valleys. There in the foothills +winter would be less rigorous, and the grass would not be buried for +months beneath the snow. Winter was at hand in the high country and +all but the Bighorn had deserted it. What with them above me, and the +rest below, I found myself in a no-game zone. +</P> + +<P> +There was no repetition of the frightful sound that had sent me +scurrying for camp. I suspected a bull elk had made it, though I +recognized no resemblance between that hair-raising sound and a bugle. +</P> + +<P> +My thoughts turned to other game. I must have meat—how about a bear? +If I couldn't trap one, perhaps I could shoot one. I got out my +battered old rifle, so like the timberline trees, and boldly set out +for "b'ar." In and out of the dense forest I blundered; crashed +through the tangle at timberline; toiled up the rocky ridges. Up and +up I climbed, paying no heed to the direction of the wind. I found +bear tracks, both large and small, but no sight of Bruin himself. +</P> + +<P> +Discouraged, I lay down to rest and had a nap in the sun. Later, with +the wind in my face, I peeped over a rocky upthrust near a large +snowbank. My eyes bulged, my mouth opened. There was a bear just +ahead. Surely it was mad—crazy—for no animal in its right mind would +do what it was doing. +</P> + +<P> +First it would lumber along a few feet from the edge of the snow, +stopping, sniffing, striking out suddenly with its forepaws; it +repeated this performance again and again. I watched, hypnotized, +unaware of the gun gripped tightly in my hands. Anyhow, who'd want to +eat a mad bear? +</P> + +<P> +A slight sound caused me to turn my head. Twenty feet away another +bear stood regarding me curiously. +</P> + +<P> +Not being absent-minded, I have never been able to understand why I +left my rifle on the mountainside after lugging it up there for an +avowed purpose. At any rate I made record time back to camp, glancing +rearward frequently, to see if the "flock" of bears was pursuing me. +</P> + +<P> +The next day, after surveying the mountainside to make sure that no +bears were lurking there, I went back up and recovered the rifle. The +sand beneath the shelving rock where I had seen the second bear was +disturbed. Claws had rasped it sharply. It appeared as though this +bear had been startled suddenly; had wheeled about and fled for its +life in the opposite direction to that I had taken. The tracks were +small, too, apparently those of a cub. This was my first hear +experience. I had yet to learn that bear are as harmless as deer or +mountain sheep; they attend strictly to their own business, and they +never come near man except through accident. At that time, though, I +was willing to give all bears the benefit of the doubt—and the right +of way. +</P> + +<P> +While further exploring the ridge above the camp I came upon an old +abandoned tunnel with its dump concealed among the trees below +timberline. The entrance to the tunnel had been timbered to prevent +its caving. There was nothing in its appearance to tell how long it +had been abandoned. Beside the dump was a small selected pile of ore. +This I gloated over happily, mistaking mingled stains and colors for +pure sold. But if it was a gold mine, why had the owners departed—and +why had they left rich ore? These and, other questions unanswered, +left me with an uneasy feeling. I wondered if a tragedy had happened +here, so many miles from civilization. With a torch of small twigs I +ventured into the dark hole running straight back beneath the cliff. A +short distance inside the tunnel I stopped uneasily. The silence was +intense. The twig torch fluttered faintly and went out. The darkness +was black beyond belief. Without delay I felt my way out into the +sunshine, leaving further exploration for another day. +</P> + +<P> +For weeks I roamed the forest, circled the scattered lakes, climbed to +the jagged tops of high-flung peaks; and daily, almost, had new and +strange experiences. Everything was intensely interesting, and all was +fairyland. Many times I was torn between timidity and curiosity. +Though I often carried the huge old rifle with deadly intent, I failed +to bring down any big game. Invariably when I had a good chance, my +gun would be at camp. +</P> + +<P> +Before breakfast one morning I made an excursion to a promontory to +watch the sunrise. Deep down in the cañons below, darkness still +lingered. Slowly the world emerged from the shadows like a +photographic plate developing and disclosing its images in the +darkroom. Beyond the promontory a great spire lifted high above the +cañon; I climbed to its top. Above the spire was a higher crag. Again +I climbed up. Up and up I climbed until almost noon. Each new vantage +point revealed new glory; every successive outpost lured me on. +</P> + +<P> +At last the long ridge I followed shouldered against a sheer-topped +peak of the Continental Divide. It was mid-afternoon and hunger urged +me homeward. The way I had come was long and circuitous. There was a +short cut back to camp, but this threatened difficulty, for there was a +deep cañon to be crossed; and even though I reached its bottom there +seemed to be no possible way up the precipitous farther wall. +</P> + +<P> +I did, however, make the homeward side of the cañon very late. The +clouds had shut down over the peaks, leveling their tops to timberline. +All day I had carried the heavy camera with a supply of glass plates. +Besides I carried my six-shooter, with belt and cartridges, buckled +around my waist. Several times I saw grouse and fired at them, but not +once did I get a close-up shot. +</P> + +<P> +As I toiled upward to cross the ridge that overlooked camp, I entered +the lower cloud stratum. The air was biting cold. It was impossible +to see more than a few feet ahead. I regretted that I had brought no +food. Snow began to fall; and the higher I plodded the thicker it +fell. Darkness came rapidly; footing became precarious. The snow +plastered the rocks; the light was ghostly and unreal. I began to +stumble; I slipped and slid, lost my balance, and fell. +</P> + +<P> +Then, as the snow deepened and the darkness increased, I realized that +to attempt the descent of the slope above camp would be folly, for it +was as steep as a house roof, and covered with loose bowlders. Besides +it had many abrupt cliffs fifty to a hundred feet high. There was only +one thing to do—camp here, for the night. But I was on an exposed +shoulder of the mountain, above timberline, and it would be impossible +to live through the night without shelter and fire. +</P> + +<P> +I headed downhill without regard for direction. I was becoming numb, +but in half an hour I safely reached the dwarf trees at timberline and +plunged through them to a dense grove of spruce. Occasionally there +was a dead tree, and nearly all trees had dead limbs low down. With +such limbs or small trunks as I could find I constructed a rude +lean-to, with closed ends. With my pocket knife I cut green boughs, +covered the lean-to and plastered the boughs with a coating of wet +snow. The green branches, together with the snow that was streaming +down like a waterfall, soon rendered the shelter windproof. +</P> + +<P> +With a glowing fire in front to light my way, I ranged in ever-widening +circles for fuel to last through the long night ahead. Within an hour +I had collected a fair-sized pile of wood, but I thought I'd better +have even more. My quest took me farther among the trees. Of a sudden +there came a whirr of wings that made me jump and drop my load, as a +number of grouse flew in all directions, their booming wings fairly +exploding with energy. +</P> + +<P> +One of the grouse alighted in a tree overhead and I snatched out the +six-shooter, aimed carefully and fired. It was a new experience for +the grouse; it stretched its head out, and, twisting sidewise, stared +down at me curiously. Once more I fired. The interest of the grouse +increased. Again and again I fired, pausing confidently after each +shot for the bird to tumble down. Three times I emptied the cylinder +without a hit. Then in disgust I shoved the gun back into its holster +and fumbled in the snow for a stone. The first throw was close, the +second hit its mark, and the bird came fluttering down. +</P> + +<P> +The clouds dropped lower, enveloping my camp. The night was inky +black. I lay beneath my lean-to, watching the fire before which the +plump grouse was slowly turning round and round as it roasted. The +turning was accomplished by hooking a green twig into its neck and +tying the other end of the twig with a string that wound and unwound as +the bird alternated directions. I unloaded one of the revolver +cartridges and used the salty powder for seasoning my feast. I saved +some ammunition after all! +</P> + +<P> +It was noon next day before I reached camp. Then the storm shut down +again. Snow began to accumulate. In the woods it lay knee deep, while +the high ridges above the timberline were swept bare by the howling +wind. +</P> + +<P> +Quite unexpectedly, in the dead of night, I had a visitor. He was +uninvited, but was determined to make himself at home. Awakened by the +rattle of tin, I sat up, listened and waited. I struck a match and +caught a glimpse of a huge mountain rat disappearing in the darkness. +I had scarcely fallen asleep again before he returned, and when I +struck a light he stared at me with villainous, beady eyes. By the +uncertain light of a match I took aim with the faithless six-shooter +and fired. When I sprang up, expecting to find the mangled remains of +the intruder, I discovered a gaping hole in my only frying pan. +</P> + +<P> +After an hour the pest came again, satisfied, no doubt, that my +marksmanship was not dangerous. This time I was prepared for his +coming. I had a lighted pine torch to see to aim by. I tried another +shot. The rat kept moving while in the open and only stopped when +behind shelter, peeping out with one eye. At last he left the tent, +and I followed him into the woods. Beneath the overhang of the cliff +he stopped, his piercing eyes flashing in the darkness as I advanced +with the torch. Patiently he waited beneath a leaning tree trunk. Ten +feet from him I knelt upon the velvet needles of the forest, and with +torch held aloft, steadied the six-shooter, aimed carefully, and fired. +</P> + +<P> +At the shot the rat disappeared. I pressed forward confident that at +last I had scored a hit. The torch had gone out. I was feeling among +the dead needles for the rat's mangled body when my fingers touched +something wooden. Instantly the pest was forgotten. By the light of a +match I saw that I had uncovered the corner of a little box. It +flashed upon me that I had stumbled upon the cache where the old +prospectors had hidden their gold. They were gone; the gold was mine! +</P> + +<P> +I tugged and tugged till I dragged it from its concealment beneath the +rotting log. In trembling haste I tore off its cover. Then... +</P> + +<P> +I staggered back with a cry of dismay! The box was filled with old, +crystallized dynamite. An inch above the top layer of the deadly stuff +was a fresh hole where my bullet had crashed through. A little lower +and it would have hit the powder crystals! +</P> + +<P> +The next morning snow lay deep about the tent. It was impossible to +make my way through the woods. I was marooned far from civilization. +The wind rose; crashing among the peaks, tearing along the ridges, +roaring through the passes. Blinding clouds came sifting down from the +wind-swept heights. +</P> + +<P> +After days of patient waiting, I started the laborious climb upward, +for it was impossible to make progress downward, where the soft snow +lay. Now, like the sheep, I would take advantage of those wind-swept +stretches above timberline. +</P> + +<P> +Before dawn I was on my way. It required three hours to gain the first +mile. Then, as I reached the cleared stretches, progress became +easier. Though the wind came in angry squalls, that sometimes flung me +headlong, and buffeted and drove me about, the going underfoot was good. +</P> + +<P> +If I could keep my bearings and head northward, steer out around the +heads of countless cañons, hold my given altitude above timberline, I +would eventually reach a spot some miles above the valley where the +home ranch lay. All day I plodded. The wind did not abate, but came +in a gale from the west. At times it dropped to perhaps fifty miles an +hour, and again it rose to more than a hundred miles; it shrieked, +pounded at the cliffs, tore the battered timberline trees to bits, +caught up frozen snow crust and crashed it among the trees like ripping +shot. At such times I was forced to turn my back, or to feel my way +blindly, head down. I moved with utmost caution lest I walk over a +cliff. +</P> + +<P> +The time came when I had to abandon the wind-swept heights and flounder +through the soft snow of the cañons. Through narrow passes I had to +crawl, so terrific was the wind that poured through the channel like a +waterfall. Nothing short of a Kansas cyclone can match the velocity of +a mountain-top gale. All day I stemmed its tide, which sapped my +strength, bowled me over and cut my face. +</P> + +<P> +As early darkness came on I reached a familiar cañon that dropped down +toward the valley where the ranch lay hidden. Drunkenly I staggered +homeward, too exhausted to care what happened. The last three miles +required three hours of heroic work. I became extremely weary and +wanted nothing so much as to sink down in the snow and go to sleep; but +I knew what that would mean, so I kept slapping and beating myself to +keep awake. In the end I reached the ranch, pounded upon the door and, +when it was opened, pitched headlong across its threshold. +</P> + +<P> +The Parson gazed down at me from his six feet of height. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he said at length, "guess you found a pretty big world." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER FOUR +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +DANCING ACROSS THE DIVIDE +</H4> + +<P> +So new was the life, so fascinating the animals and elements of the +primitive world, so miraculous was it that my lifelong dreams were come +true, that I never thought of home-sickness, nor missed the comrades +left behind me, although the Parson and his quiet wife were rather +elderly companions for a youngster. There were, too, the diversions of +going for the mail, either horseback or in the old spring wagon behind +the steady, little mountain ponies, the swapping of yarns while waiting +for the generally belated stage to dash up, its four horses prancing, +and steaming, no matter how cold the weather, from the precipitous ups +and downs of the mountain roads they had traveled. The return journey +in the dusk or by moonlight was never without incident: porcupine, +deer, bear, Bighorn, mountain lion—some kind of game invariably +crossed my trail. +</P> + +<P> +And, as was true in all pioneer regions, the community abounded in +interesting personalities. During the first half of the nineteenth +century, the fame and fairness of the country had reached the centers +of Eastern culture, and had lured the ambitious and the adventurous to +try their skill in hunting and trapping and fishing in this Paradise, +roamed over by big game, crossed by sparkling streams, alive with +trout. Kit Carson was the first white man to look down upon its +beautiful valleys. Others soon followed: Joel Estes, for whom the Park +was eventually named; "Rocky Mountain Jim," a two-gun man, living alone +with his dogs, looking like a bearded, unkempt pirate, taciturn, yet +not without charm, as later events proved, unmolesting and unmolested, +enveloped in a haze of respected mystery. There was also that noted +lady globe-trotter, Miss Isabella Bird, an Englishwoman of undoubted +refinement, highly educated—whose volume, "A Lady's Life in the Rocky +Mountains," is one of the earliest and most picturesque accounts of +that time—upon whom "Rocky Mountain Jim" exerted his blandishments. +Some sort of romance existed between them, how serious no one knows, +for the tragic shooting of Jim, by an irate pioneer father, cut short +its development. +</P> + +<P> +In the early sixties, an English nobleman and sportsman, the Earl of +Dunraven, attracted by the wealth of game in the region, attempted to +make it into a private hunting park or preserve. He took up all the +acreage which he could legitimately acquire in his own name, then took +up fraudulent claims in the names of his tenants. But the hardy +pioneers, who were coming into the country in ever-increasing numbers, +rightly doubting the validity of his own ownership of so many thousands +of acres, homesteaded land to their liking and built their log cabins +upon it. Lord Dunraven tried to scare them off, but they would not be +bluffed, and in the contest which followed, he lost out and departed +from the region. Although his coming to the Park contributed much to +its romantic history, in his "Memoirs"—two thick, heavy volumes, +published a few years ago—he devotes only half a page to his Estes +Park experiences. Whether this is because he considered them +negligible or unworthy, would be interesting to know. +</P> + +<P> +The old Dunraven Lodge was the first hostelry in the region, and about +the great fireplace in its spacious, trophy-hung lobby gathered many of +the political and artistic celebrities of that day. The fame of the +mountain beauty spot spread—visitors came. The settlers added "spare +rooms" to their log cabins, and during the summer and early fall "took +in boarders," thus helping to eke out their living expenses and, what +was even more far-reaching perhaps, the outer world was thus "fetched +in" to them: they heard of railroads annihilating the long +oxen-traversed distances of covered wagon days, of new gold strikes, of +national politics, rumblings of the Civil War, slavery agitation, +presidential elections, and those other momentous, history-making +events of their time. +</P> + +<P> +The most important and regular social occasion of that day was the +community dinner and "literary." Imagine the picturesque company, +congregated from miles around, each contributing whatever he could +muster of food and drink—the old Earl of Dunraven, as well as others, +had a bar!—and seated at a long, single table. What genuine, +home-made fun! What pranks, what wit—yes, what brilliance! Some one, +usually Parson Lamb, sometimes gaunt old Scotch John Cleave, the +postmaster, rarely some noted visitor, who either from choice or +ill-health lingered on into the winter, made a speech. There were +declamations, debates, the interminable, singsong ballads of the +frontier, usually accompanied by French harp or fiddle. Families were +few, bachelors much in the majority; I remember that at one of the +community affairs there were eighteen bachelors out of a total +attendance of thirty persons! But as the region settled up, the +bachelor ranks dwindled. They, like the big game, disappeared, as +though in their case "open season" prevailed likewise. +</P> + +<P> +I had attended several of these pioneer festivities and had enjoyed +them greatly, and was much impressed with their importance, for +underlying all the fun was an old-fashioned dignity seldom found +nowadays. But Parson Lamb told me these dinners were tame compared to +a real mountain dance. "Just you wait till you see a real shindig" he +said. "Then you'll have something to talk about." In January, there +was a letter in the mail from Jim Oss, my acquaintance of the train on +which I came West. We had been carrying on a desultory correspondence, +but this message was momentous. +</P> + +<P> +"I am giving a dance Monday," he wrote, "to celebrate proving up on my +homestead. Come ahead of time so you can see all the fun." His +hundred and sixty acres lay on the western slope of the Continental +Divide—fifty-five miles away. Snow lay deep over every one of those +intervening, upstanding miles! The Parson was concerned about my going +alone. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tain't safe to cross that old range alone any time of year, let alone +the dead of winter. Hain't no one else agoing from here?" +</P> + +<P> +I inquired, but it seemed there was not. Secretly I was well pleased +to have it so. I was young enough to thrill at the chance of so +hazardous an experience. +</P> + +<P> +Parson Lamb agreed that Friday morning would be a good time to start. +We were not superstitious, and it wasn't the thirteenth. The trip had +to be made on snowshoes, with which I was not very adept, but that only +added to its attractions. In order to cross the Divide, it was +necessary to descend from my lofty nine thousand feet elevation to +seven thousand five hundred, before starting to climb Flattop trail, +which led over to Grand Lake, the last settlement before reaching Oss's +place. By sundown I reached a deserted sawmill shack, the last shelter +between me and Grand Lake. It was six miles below the top of the +Divide, and twenty miles to the Lake. There I spent the night and at +dawn was trailing upward, in the teeth of a sixty-mile gale! +</P> + +<P> +The first two of those uprising six miles were fair going, and took +only a little more than an hour. Thereafter the trail grew more +precipitous. The third mile required one hour, and the fourth, two +hours of exhausting work. The sun rose, but not the temperature; +powdery snow swirled around the heads of the peaks; clouds swept above +the ridges, flayed and torn; from above timberline came the roar of the +wind. +</P> + +<P> +Dark glasses protected my eyes from snow and wind; and I was warmly +dressed. I left my bedding roll at the sawmill, to be picked up on the +return trip, for shelter could be had at Grand Lake. The light pack I +carried contained peanuts, chocolate, and a change of socks. +</P> + +<P> +The higher I climbed the wilder became the wind. From timberline I +surveyed the prospect ahead and hesitated. Clouds and snow whirled up +in a solid mass, blinding and choking me. The cold penetrated my heavy +clothing. I went on. In a few minutes I was in the midst of the +turmoil, utterly lost, buffeted about. I tried to keep the wind in my +face for compass, but it was so variable, eddying from all directions, +that it was not reassuring. Near the top of the mountain a blast +knocked me down, and half smothered me with flying snow. I arose +groggily, uncertain which way to head; it was impossible to see even a +step in front. The staff I carried served me well, with it I went +tapping and feeling my way like a blind man. There I was on the top of +the world, thirteen thousand feet above sea level—and overlooking +nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Flattop mountain is shaped like a loaf of bread, sloping off steeply at +the ends, its sides guarded by sheer cliffs.. It was these cliffs I +feared and strove to avoid. I had heard startling tales of the effects +of high altitude on one; how the atmosphere was very rare and light. +Had it been any heavier that day, I could not have survived. Violent +blasts of wind frequently bowled me over. After one of these falls, I +arose uncertainly, drifted with the wind for a moment's respite, +neglected to feel ahead with my staff—and walked out upon a snow +cornice that overhung the top of the cliff. The cornice broke away! +Amidst an explosion of snow I plunged downward, struggling frantically +as I went! +</P> + +<A NAME="img-063"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-063.jpg" ALT="I plunged downward, struggling frantically." BORDER="2" WIDTH="482" HEIGHT="582"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 482px"> +I plunged downward, struggling frantically. +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +I landed in a snowdrift featherbed which, while it broke my fall, +almost buried me alive. The wind reached me only in occasional gusts, +so I realized that I must be sheltered by the cliff wall. In the first +brief lull I took my bearings. I had landed upon a narrow ledge a few +feet wide. Below me yawned the gorge. It was a terrible half hour's +work with a snowshoe as a shovel to extricate myself, but a few minutes +later I was once more on top. +</P> + +<P> +Again I struggled upward. I reached the pass and started down the +western slope toward timber. My fingers and toes were frosted, I was +numb with cold, and so battered by the gale I could only pant. My +careful calculations had come to naught, as I was far behind the +schedule I had planned. I decided to make up time by abandoning the +trail and taking a shortcut to timber and shelter through an unknown +cañon which I thought led to Grand Lake. +</P> + +<P> +But the cañon was hard going. Thick, young evergreens, entangling +willows and fallen logs impeded every step. I could make no headway +and darkness was coming on. Disgusted, despairing, I took to the +frozen stream, only to skid over icy bowlders and at last to break +through the ice crust into the frigid water. +</P> + +<P> +Long after dark I staggered down the single street of Grand Lake toward +a dim patch of light. It proved to be the window of a store. Within +was a glowing stove, surrounded by a group of men. +</P> + +<P> +The proprietor eyed me with suspicion. "Where'd you drop from?" +</P> + +<P> +I waved vaguely toward the Continental Divide. +</P> + +<P> +"Must 'a' bin something urgent to make you tackle the Flattop trail in +winter." +</P> + +<P> +He awaited my explanations curiously—but I had slumped down near the +stove and was half asleep. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning I looked back up the way I had come—low clouds, tattered +to shreds. Even at that distance I could hear the roar of the wind +among the loft crags. I was thankful that I had crossed the Divide the +day before. It was still thirty miles to the cabin of my friend, but +they were fairly easy miles compared with those I had just traversed. +Even so, so spent was my strength, it was pitch dark when I dragged +wearily up the broken road to where that cabin nestled in its grove of +spruces. +</P> + +<P> +The dance was not until Monday night, so I took it for granted that I +should be the first to arrive, since I was a full day ahead of the +function. But no! Many were already there! They were eating supper +and made room for me at the long table before the open fire. They were +cordial and made me feel at home at once, marveling over my making the +trip alone, and praising my pluck. I was much too weary and hungry to +protest, even though I had been becomingly modest. Seeing this, they +filled my plate and let me be, turning their nimble tongues on our +host—What handsome whiskers—la! la! He'd better be careful with +those hirsute adornments and a cabin with a plank floor! He couldn't +hope to remain a bachelor long! So the banter ran. +</P> + +<P> +Supper over and the dishes cleared away, the candles were snuffed out +and the company (visitors were never called guests) sat around the +flickering hearth and speculated over the possible coming of the Moffat +railroad. What an assorted company it was! Young and +grizzled—trappers, miners, invalids seeking health, adventurers, +speculators, a few half-breeds; all men of little education, but of +fascinating experience; a few women of quiet poise and resourcefulness. +Their clothes were nondescript and betrayed the fact that they had come +from the East, having been sent west by condoning relatives, no doubt +after having lived in more fashionable circles. There were two little +children who fell asleep early in the evening in their parents' arms. +</P> + +<P> +The company was put to bed in Oss's one-room house by the simple means +of lying down upon the floor fully dressed, feet to the fire. +</P> + +<P> +All were up early next morning, and each found some task to do. Some +of the men cut wood and piled it outside the door; the women folks +assisted Oss with breakfast which was cooked in the fireplace; for he +had not yet reached the luxury of a cook stove, which would have to be +"fetched in" over sixty miles of mountain roads and would cost a tidy +sum besides. +</P> + +<P> +Some artistic soul, with a memory of urban ways, made long ropes of +evergreens and hung them in garlands from the rafters, a flag was +draped above the fireplace, lanterns were hung ready to light. +</P> + +<P> +Distant "neighbors" kept flocking in all day, each bringing a +neighborly offering; fresh pork from the owner of an only shoat; choice +venison steaks; bear meat from a hunter who explained that the bear had +been killed months before and kept frozen in the meat house. Wild +raspberry jam, with finer flavor than any I have ever tasted before or +since, was brought by a bachelor who vied with the women folks when it +came to cookery. The prize offering, however, were some mountain +trout, speared through the ice of a frozen stream. +</P> + +<P> +Dancing began early. The music was supplied by an old-time fiddler who +jerked squeaky tunes from an ancient violin, singing and shouting the +dance calls by turns. Voice, fiddle and feet, beating lusty time to +his tunes, went incessantly. He had an endless repertoire, and a +talent for fitting the names of the dancers to his ringing rimes. +</P> + +<P> +Some of his offerings were: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Lady round lady and gents so low!<BR> +First couple lead to right—<BR> +Lady round lady and gents so low—<BR> +Lady round gent and gent don't go—<BR> +Four hands half and right and left."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The encores he would improvise: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Hit the lumber with your leather—<BR> +Balance all, an' swing ter left."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +All swayed rhythmically, beating time with their feet, clapping their +hands, bowing, laughing. The men threw in their fancy steps, their +choice parlor tricks. A few performed a double shuffle; one a pigeon's +wing; a couple of trappers did an Indian dance, twisting their bodies +into grotesque contortions and every so often letting out a yell that +made one's hair stand on end. +</P> + +<P> +There was little rest between the dances, for the old fiddler had +marvelous powers of endurance. He sawed away, perspired, shouted and +sang as though his life depended on his performance. He was having as +good, or better time, than anyone. With scarcely a moment to breathe +he'd launch into another call—and not once the whole night through did +he repeat: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Ole Buffler Bill—Buffler Bill!<BR> +Never missed an' never will."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Then as the dancers promenaded he'd switch to a new improvisation, +ending in a whirlwind of wit and telling personalities, which sent the +company into hysterical laughter. I joined in the dance, rather +gawkily no doubt, for my mother's father was a Quaker preacher and we +had never been allowed to dance at home. The ladies regarded my +clumsiness with motherly forbearance, and self-sacrificingly tried to +direct my wayward feet. But either because I was not recovered from my +trip or because the strangeness and confusion wearied me, I could not +get the hang of the steps. Presently an understanding matron let me +slip out of the dance, and I sat down by the fiddler and dozed. +Clanking spurs, brilliant chaps, fur-trimmed trappers' jackets, +thudding moccasins, gaudy Indian blankets and gay feathers, voluminous +feminine flounces swinging from demure, snug-fitting basques—all +whirled above me in a kaleidoscopic blur! +</P> + +<A NAME="img-069"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-069.jpg" ALT="I sat down by the fiddler and dozed." BORDER="2" WIDTH="491" HEIGHT="743"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 491px"> +I sat down by the fiddler and dozed. +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +A wild war whoop awakened me—nothing but a little harmless hilarity! +It was two o'clock in the morning. I wished the dance would end so I +could sleep undisturbed. I envied the two children asleep on the +floor. But the dance went on. The fiddle whined, its player shouted, +heavy shoes clumped tirelessly on the plank floor. There was still +energetic swing and dash to the quadrilles, still gay voices were +raised in joyous shouts. Those hearty pioneers were full of "wim, +wigor and witality"! +</P> + +<P> +Dawn broke redly over the Divide; still the dance continued. Daylight +sifted over the white world, and yet the dancers did not pause. At +last as the sun came up, the old fiddler reluctantly stood on his chair +and played "Home Sweet Home." +</P> + +<P> +All-night dances were at that time the custom of the mountain folk; the +company assembled as far ahead of time as was convenient, and remained, +sometimes, a day or two after the close of the festivities. There was +no doubt as to one's welcome and there was no limit to the length of +his stay. Isolation made opportunities for such social intercourse +rare and therefore everyone got more "kick" out of these occasions than +is possible in our swiftly moving, blasé age. +</P> + +<P> +Weather conditions changed while we danced: the wind eased off and the +mountain tops emerged from the clouds and drifting snow. I trailed up +the cañon I had struggled through in the darkness; and except for the +final stretch of the steep mountain above timberline the snowshoeing +was nothing except plain hard work. In some places the wind had packed +the snow hard; again it was soft so that I sank knee deep at every +step. In the soft snow, where there was a steep slope to negotiate, +each snowshoe had to be lifted high, until my knee almost touched my +chest. The webs accumulated snow, too, until each shoe weighed many +additional pounds. +</P> + +<P> +But the fairyland that I found on top of the Divide was worth all the +effort required to reach it. It was the first time I had found the +wind quiet; every peak stood out sharp and clear, many miles away +seemed but a few minutes' walk. There were none of the usual objects +that help estimate distance; no horses or cattle, no trees or trails, +nothing but unbroken space. The glare of the sun was blinding; even my +very dark snow glasses failed to protect my eyes. +</P> + +<P> +The silence was tremendous. Always before there had been the wind +shrieking and crashing. Now there was not a sound, not a breath of +wind, not even a snow-swirl. I shouted, and my voice came back across +the cañon without the usual blurring; each word was distinct. I +whistled softly and other echoes came hurrying back. Never have I felt +so alone, or so small. As far as the eye could reach were mountains, +one beyond the other. Near by loomed the jagged Never-summer range, +while farther down the Divide Gray's and Terry's peaks stood out; then +the Collegiate range—Harvard, Yale and Princeton. +</P> + +<P> +In the midst of my reverie there came a creaking, groaning sound from +almost beneath my feet. I had paused on the brink of the same +precipice over which I had fallen on my way to Grand Lake. Before I +could move, the snow-cornice broke away and several hundred feet of it +crashed down the cliff. In places it appeared to be ten to forty feet +thick. It must have weighed thousands of tons. It fell with a +swishing roar, with occasional sharp reports, as loose rocks dropped to +the clean-swept ledges of the cliff. It seemed to explode as it +struck, to fly into powder which filled the gorge between Flat top and +Hallett peaks. +</P> + +<P> +The wind had drifted the snow over the edge of the precipice where some +of it had clung. Farther and farther it had crept out, overhanging the +abyss, its great weight slowly bending the cornice downward until it +had at last given way. +</P> + +<P> +I shuddered a little at the awfulness of it; felt smaller than ever, +backed away from the rim of the cañon, and headed for home. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER FIVE +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +TRAPPING—MOUNTAIN-TOP DWELLERS +</H4> + +<P> +Gold and fur have ever been beckoning sirens, luring men into the +unknown. As I have said, the famous trapper, Kit Carson, was the first +white man to look down upon the picturesque, mountain-guarded valley, +later known as Estes Park. From the foothills, he had followed up one +of the streams, seeking new fur-fields, until, after crossing the last +barrier range, he looked down upon a broad, river spangled park set +like a gem in the midst of the encircling peaks of the Divide, with +that sheer, pyramidal face of Long's Peak dominating all. We like to +think that these early adventurers appreciated the beauty of the +primitive lands they explored, but whether or not Carson thrilled at +that exquisite alpine panorama, he noted keenly the profusion of tracks +criss-crossing its green and white expanse, promising an abundance of +game, for he moved down into the region and at the foot of Long's Peak +built himself a rude log cabin. There he spent the winter trapping +beaver, and the following spring bargained with the Indians to help +pack out his catch. The walls, the hearth, and part of the stone +chimney still mark the site of that first cabin. +</P> + +<P> +I selected the top of a high cliff overlooking these storied ruins for +the location of a cabin which I planned to build as soon as I could +manage it. I, too, would be a trapper, and though the beaver and other +fur-bearing animals were not nearly so numerous as they had been that +day, sixty years gone, when Carson first beheld their mountain +fastness, there still remained enough to make trapping interesting and +profitable. Game tracks still abounded, and notwithstanding that I was +a mere boy, inexperienced in woodcraft, I could distinguish that they +differed, even though I could classify only a few of them; coyote +tracks, I found, were very like a dog's; sheep, elk and deer tracks +were similar, yet easily distinguished from one another; bear left a +print like that of a baby's chubby foot. Yes, there was still a chance +for me! +</P> + +<P> +As soon as I returned from the dance at Jim Oss's, I set about carrying +out my plans. I mushed over deep snow back into Wild Basin, to recover +the six traps I had abandoned there on that memorable first camp alone, +and found my tent crushed under six feet of drifted snow and the region +still deserted by game. I set the traps out in the vicinity of the +home ranch. Every few days I inspected them, only to find them empty. +Indeed, over a period of long weeks I caught but one mink, two weasels +and three coyotes. The Parson kindly said the country was trapped out; +still, I suspected my lack of skill was responsible for my scanty catch. +</P> + +<P> +One morning in following up my trap line, I found a trap missing. In +the sand about the aspen tree to which it had been anchored were coyote +tracks. Ignorantly fearless, I set out to track down the miscreant. +The trail led down toward a forest, where dense thickets of new-growth +lodge-pole pines livened the stark, fire-killed trees. As I neared the +forest, the tracks were farther apart and dimmer, but here and there +were scratches on fallen logs as though a trap had been dragged across +them; moreover, there were occasional spots where the earth was greatly +disturbed, showing that the animal had no doubt threshed about in his +efforts to dislodge the trap, caught on the snags or bowlders. +</P> + +<P> +No denying I thrilled from head to foot over the prospect of meeting +Mr. Coyote face to face! If he showed fight I'd snatch my six-shooter +from its holster (forgotten was its faithless performance in Wild +Basin!) and show him I was not to be trifled with. Of course, I'd aim +to hit him where the shot would do least damage to his fur; it would be +more valuable for marketing. +</P> + +<P> +Just then I heard the clank of the trap chain. Heart pounding, hands +trembling, I shakily drew my gun, and cautiously advanced. Around the +corner of a bowlder I came upon a large coyote, with a black stripe +running along his back, squatting in an old game trail, apparently +little concerned either at my presence or at his own dilemma. As I +stumbled toward him, he faced about, and without taking his eyes off +me, kept jerking the trap which was wedged between a root and a +bowlder. Twenty feet away I stopped, and with what coolness I could +command in my excitement, took aim and fired. The bullet only ruffled +the heavy fur at his shoulder. Determined to finish him next shot, I +edged nearer. My target refused to stand still—he sprang the full +length of his chain again and again, striving to dislodge the trap. +Finally it jerked free and he was off like a rabbit, despite his +dragging burden, leaping logs or scuttling beneath them, zigzagging +along the crooked trail, dodging bowlders, tree limbs and my frequent +but ineffective fire. For I madly pursued him though hard put to keep +up his pace. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the trap caught again and jerked its victim to an abrupt stop. +He whirled about and faced me defiantly, eyes blazing, fangs bared. I +reloaded my revolver, aimed—fired, aimed—fired again and again, until +the cylinder was empty, without once hitting him. +</P> + +<P> +I began to think that, like old Tom, he led a charmed life. Just then +he jerked loose, and once more the chase was on. I reloaded my +six-shooter and fired on the run, shouting excitedly. He ran on with +tireless, automatic motion, apparently as unperturbed as he was +impervious to bullets. +</P> + +<P> +All at once I discovered my belt empty—I had exhausted my cartridges! +Disgusted, I shoved my gun back into its holster, and, picking up a +stout club, ran after the coyote. Several times I was close enough to +hit him, but he deftly dodged or else sprang forward beyond reach. +Once when the trap caught and prisoned him an instant, I swung my club, +sure of ending the race, but it collided on a limb overhead and went +wide of the mark! Again I overtook the coyote as he struggled through +hindering bush, and, reaching forward, swung my bludgeon with all my +might and fell headlong upon him! I gave a terrified yell; my battered +hat flew off; I dropped my club. The coyote was out of sight before I +gained my feet! +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly we popped out of the forest on the edge of a cañon; its sides +were smooth and almost bare. On this open ground, my quarry gained on +me by leaps and bounds. I spied a rock-slide below—great slabs that +had slid down from the cliff above—between openings amply large to +admit almost any animal. Once the coyote reached that slide, he would +escape. Panting loudly, I sprinted forward to overtake him. +</P> + +<P> +The trap chain wedged unexpectedly, the coyote changed ends, and came +up facing me. I could not put on brakes quickly enough and skidded +almost into him. He sprang at my throat. As he launched upward I +glimpsed his flaming eyes and wide-open, fang-filled mouth. I do not +know what saved me; whether my desperate effort to reverse succeeded, +whether I dodged, or whether the restraining trap chain thwarted him. +As it was, his teeth grazed my face, leaving deep, red scars across my +chin.... His was the handsomest skin that adorned the walls of my +cabin when that dream eventually became a reality. I did not sell the +skin as purposed—not, however, because my bullets had ruined it for +marketing! +</P> + +<A NAME="img-081"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-081.jpg" ALT="I glimpsed his flaming eyes and wide-open, fang-filled mouth." BORDER="2" WIDTH="479" HEIGHT="723"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 479px"> +I glimpsed his flaming eyes and wide-open, fang-filled mouth. +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +In common with all small boys, I was the hero of my dreams, and in my +fancy saw myself growing into a magnified composite of Nimrod, Robin +Hood, Kit Carson, and Buffalo Bill, all molded into one mighty man who +dwarfed the original individuals! I confess reality was retarding my +growth considerably. It looked as though Kit Carson would go unrivaled +by me as a trapper; certainly the shades of Nimrod and Robin Hood had +no cause to be uneasy lest I win their laurels from them, and as for +Buffalo Bill—both the Buffalo and the redskins, whose scalps had +always dangled in fancy from my belt in revenge for their plaguing my +mother on her brave drive with my sick father across those long +unsettled miles, were far beyond my puny vengeance. +</P> + +<P> +The Parson told me that the Utes, a nomadic tribe, had once roamed the +mountains and valleys around Estes, but that it was not generally +believed that they had permanent settlements here. It was thought they +made temporary or seasonal camp when hunting or fishing was at its +height, and that they used the alpine valley as a vast council chamber +when they met to discuss inter-tribal matters. Certain it is, I +puzzled over curious, dim, ghostly circles, or rings, in the valleys, +where neither grass nor any other vegetation had gained root even after +all these years. The old-timers told me these had been made by the +Indians banking dirt around their lodges. A few scattered tepee frames +still stood, here and there, in sheltered groves along the river. +Occasionally I picked up arrowheads—once upon a high-flung ledge I +came upon a score or more. How my imagination soared! Here, no doubt, +an Indian had stood, in eagle-feathered war bonnet and full regalia, +guarding this pass; he had been wounded sore unto death, he fell! His +bones, and all his trappings, the wooden shaft of his arrows, had +disintegrated and disappeared. Only these bits of flint enmeshed in +the clinging tendrils of Indian tobacco, or kinnikinic, were left to +tell the tale of his heroism. +</P> + +<P> +Of course, I didn't give up hunting or trapping or even my hope of +finding a gold mine, altogether. I continued to exercise my +six-shooter, though repeated failures to find my mark made it easy for +me to depend more and more on my camera for "shots." I still inspected +my trapline, with mental resolutions against trailing trap-maddened +coyotes. +</P> + +<P> +My trip over the Divide gave me a keener appreciation of winter upon +the heights. When, from the window of our snug log cabin, I looked up +toward Long's Peak, and saw the clouds of snow dust swirling about its +head, I pictured just what was happening up there far more accurately +than I could ever have done before I had that experience. I made +frequent trips above timberline, sometimes to find arctic gales that +filled the air with icy pellets which penetrated like shot, cutting my +face; gales that drove the cold through the thickest, heaviest clothes +I could put on; gales that blew the snow about until it enveloped me in +a cloud-like veil, making vision impossible. On such days, retreat was +the only possible, if not valorous, course. To have remained would +have been foolhardy, for blinded and buffeted by the storm, I might +easily have stepped off a precipice with less fortunate consequences +than had attended my experience on my journey over the Divide. +</P> + +<P> +But sometimes, the conditions on the heights were astonishing. Once I +left our valley chill and gloomy, all shut in by lowering clouds, and +climbed up toward the hidden summits of the peaks, to emerge above the +clouds into bright, warm sunshine. Another day, at an altitude of +twelve thousand feet, I found it only twelve below freezing, while, at +the same time, as I learned later, it was twenty-four degrees below +zero at Fort Collins, a town forty miles away on the plains. Strange +freak of weather! The explanation lay in the difference between the +winds that blew over the respective sections, a blizzardly north wind +was sweeping over the low, exposed plains, while up on the +peak-encircled heights a balmy "chinook" gently stirred from the west. +Mountaineers know that as long as the west wind blows no severe storm +is to be feared. It is the chill east wind that comes creeping up the +cañons from the bleak plains and prairies of the lowlands, which bring +the blizzards. +</P> + +<P> +One rare, windless day upon the heights, my little hay-making friend, +the cony, greeted me with an enthusiastic "squee-ek." He was sunning +himself upon a rock and looked so sleek and plump I knew his harvest +had been bountiful. He lay gazing off into space, apparently +contemplating the Divide. But when, a few minutes later, a beady-eyed +weasel challenged my right of way, I wondered whether little +"Squee-ek's" thoughts were so remote as those distant peaks! In both +storm and sunshine, I saw weasels abroad on the heights. They were +bold, fearless little cutthroats, approaching within a few feet to +stare at me wickedly. I saw them below timberline pursuing snowshoe +rabbits many times their size. +</P> + +<P> +Occasionally I came across fox tracks. These sly fellows seemed +indifferent to cold or wind. They stalked the ptarmigan above +timberline, and the grouse that had migrated up the slopes to winter, +below it, and accounted for the death of many. One moonlit night, as I +prowled upward, I heard an unearthly, uncanny squall. I couldn't help +the shiver that ran down my spine. All the pent-up anguish and torment +in the world broke forth in that sound. But perhaps it was only his +foxy protest because his prey had outfoxed him. +</P> + +<P> +But by far the most interesting mountain-top dwellers were the Bighorn +sheep, which adopted those frigid regions as a winter resort. I had +often wondered about those lofty-minded animals I had tracked over in +the Wild Basin country. Were they still on those wind-blown heights? +It seemed incredible that they could stand a whole winter of such +bitter buffeting. Yet, on the days when I climbed above the +timberline, no matter the weather, they were always there, contentedly +feeding on the sweet, early-cured tufts of grass that the raging alpine +gales kept uncovered. It was fascinating to watch them; neither wild +winds nor blinding snow seemed to disconcert them; their thick wool +coats were impervious to the keenest, most penetrating blasts. True, +on terribly stormy days they sought the shelter of giant upthrusts of +rock, towering cliffs or sky-piercing spires that faced eastward, away +from the prevailing winds. There they probably stayed for days at a +time, as long as the worst storms prevailed. Such days I did not dare +venture upon the heights, but I often found signs of their bedding down +among similar crags. +</P> + +<P> +And such nerveless or nervy creatures as they were! From the top of a +cliff, one day, I watched a band of them go down a nearly perpendicular +wall. I could not follow, though I did go part way down to where the +wall bulged outward. There the ledges had crumbled away, leaving +sheer, smooth rock. It did not seem possible that anything could go +down that smooth face. But half a dozen sheep in succession made the +descent safely, as I watched, breathless, from above. They seemed to +defy the laws of gravitation in walking over the rim rock; for, instead +of tumbling headlong as I feared, they went skidding downward, +bouncing, side-stepping, twisting and angling across the wall like +coasters on snow; they could not stop their downward drop, but they +controlled their descent by making brakes of their feet, and taking +advantage of every small bump to retard their speed. By foot pressure +they steered their course for a shelving rock below. One after +another, in quick succession, they shot down, struck the shelf and +leaped sidewise to a ledge a dozen feet beneath. In spite of their +efforts to retard their speed, they had gained tremendous momentum +before reaching the ledge and landed with all four feet bunched beneath +them. It seemed that their legs would surely be thrust through their +bodies. Their heads jerked downward, their noses threatened to be +skinned on the rock! Yet that rough descent neither disabled nor +unnerved them. They recovered their balance instantly and trotted away +around a turn of the wall. +</P> + +<P> +One young ram thought to escape by leaving the cliff and making his way +across a steep, snowy slide to another crag. In places he struck soft +snow and plunged heavily, breaking his way through. Midway between +crags, however, he came to grief quite unexpectedly. An oozing spring +had overflowed and covered the rocks with a coating of ice. Then snow +had blown down from above and covered it. The ram struck this at top +speed, and a moment afterward was turning somersaults down the slope. +A hundred feet below he nimbly recovered his balance and proceeded on +his way, carrying his head haughtily, as though indignant at my burst +of laughter. +</P> + +<P> +Part way down the cliff I found the tracks of the big ram leader of the +band. I had long since named him "Big Eye," which an old trapper had +told me was the Indians' expression for extraordinary eyesight. Not +that "Big Eye" was exceptional in this respect, not at all! Every one +of his band possessed miraculous eyesight. But he was always alert and +wary. It was unbelievable that he could detect me such a long way off, +around bowlders, through granite walls, in thick brush, but it seemed +to me he did. No matter how carefully I concealed my approach, he +always discovered me. This day he had left his band and had turned +aside upon an extremely narrow shelf and made his way out of sight. I +followed his tracks, curious to learn where he had gone. Many places +he had negotiated without slacking his speed, whereas I was forced to +make detours for better footing, to double back and forth, and +generally to progress very slowly. Apparently he was not much +frightened, for his tracks showed that he had frequently halted to look +behind him. +</P> + +<P> +So intent was I upon overtaking him, that I ran into a flock of +ptarmigan and nearly stepped on one of the "fool hens" before it took +wing and got out of the way, so utterly did it stake its safety on its +winter camouflage. The whole flock had been sitting in plain sight but +their snow-white coats made them hardly distinguishable from their +background. They faded into the landscape like an elusive puzzle +picture. In summer they had depended on their speckled plumage, so +like the mottled patches of sand and snow and grass and granite whereon +they lived, to protect them. They certainly put their trust in nature! +</P> + +<P> +Around a turn, I came upon the old Patriarch. He was standing with his +back to the wall, facing out and back, for here the ledge he had been +following pinched out, and even he, champion acrobat of the cliffs, +could neither climb up nor find a way down. For several minutes we +faced each other, ten yards apart. I had heard that mountain sheep +never attack men, and that even the big leaders never use their +massive, battering ram heads to injure anyone. With this in mind I +moved up to within ten feet when a movement of his haughty head stopped +me. Somehow in his action was the suggestion that he might forget +tradition. One bump of his huge head would knock me overboard. There +was nothing but space for a hundred feet below, then sheer wall for +several hundred feet more. +</P> + +<P> +Arrogantly he faced me, unflinchingly; his eyes of black and gold never +wavering; statuesque, his heroic body set solidly upon his sturdy legs, +his regal head high, his lodestone feet secure upon the sloping rock, +he was a handsome figure. He outweighed me about three pounds to one; +so the longer I looked at him, the less desire I had to crowd. At +length I mustered up courage to try him out. Slowly, an inch at a +time, I edged forward, talking quietly—assuring him that my intentions +were good, and that I merely wanted to learn how near a fellow might go +without his lordship's taking exceptions. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he stiffened; half closed his eyes and lowered his head. At +the same instant he shifted his feet as though to charge. As I backed +carefully away, I recalled again that his kind had never harmed anyone, +but I gave him the benefit of the doubt and left him in undisputed +possession of the ledge. +</P> + +<P> +On many a windy winter day thereafter, I saw "Big Eye" and his band. +Always I laughed a bit at my experience upon the ledge. The ram +appeared so dignified, so quiet, so harmless! Still, I had no fault to +find with my retreat that day. +</P> + +<P> +One day there came a change over the world. Signs of spring came +creeping up the valley. The pussy willows put on their silvery furs, +the birches and elders unfurled their catkin tassels. Bands of deer +and elk began to drift back into the valley; the Bighorn eagerly +forsook the heights. The few coyotes that had remained throughout the +winter were joined by more of their kin; fresh bobcat tracks appeared +daily. The mountain lions that had trailed the deer and elk down to +warmer climes, returned close on their heels as their red records +testified. On my rambles I often came upon the scenes of their kills; +deer, elk and even wary sheep were their victims. +</P> + +<P> +The wet, clinging, spring snows lent themselves readily as recording +tablets for the movements of all the woods folk. Not far from the +proposed site of my dream cabin, the story of a lion's stalk was +plainly told by tracks. He had climbed to the top of a rock that stood +ten feet above the level floor of the valley, a huge bowlder that had +rolled down from a crag above, torn its way through the ranks of the +trees and come to rest at last in the grassy meadow. There he lay in +wait for the slowly advancing, grazing deer. +</P> + +<P> +As they approached the rock, the band had split; a section passing on +either side of the bowlder. Out and down the lion had leaped—ten feet +out and as far down. His momentum had overthrown his victim which had +regained its feet and struggled desperately. The turf was torn up for +thirty feet beyond the rock. I found only the tracks of the hind feet +of the lion; it was not hard to imagine that, his front claws were +fastened in the shoulders of his prey, and that his terrible teeth had +reached an artery in his victim's neck. Many such slaughters the soft +snow revealed! Aroused by them, I determined to revenge the shy, +innocent deer family. At every opportunity, I have taken toll of the +lion tribe. As soon as the first new grass painted the meadows pale +green, the sheep flocked down from their lofty winter resort: the +sunshine in the hemmed-in valley was hot; they still wore their heavy +winter coats, they grew lazy; hours on end they lay dozing, or moving +tranquilly about, feasting on the succulent young shoots. For six or +seven months,—it was at least that long ago since my discovery of +their uprising migration in Wild Basin—they had been living on dried +fare—unbaled hay—with no water to wash it down, for there were no +flowing springs about their airy castles. Snow was the only moisture +to be had. +</P> + +<P> +I was all eagerness to "shoot" them with my camera! I had watched them +so often I felt we were at least acquainted. But out of respect for +their tremendous dignity, I decided to keep my plans secret from them, +to approach under cover, to creep forward cautiously, soundlessly. To +my dismay, as soon as I got within a quarter of a mile of them, some +busybody of a sentinel would see me, and if I continued advancing, no +matter how stealthily, the flock would move away. It seemed offish, +not to say unfriendly; time and again I tried the same tactics, with +the same result. I was disappointed and puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +I came to the conclusion that I had presumed too much on our previous +friendship, that such regal creatures could not be expected to +capitulate after a brief winter's acquaintance. I would visit them in +their little valley, learn their peculiarities—who would do less to +gain a friend worth while—and gain their confidence. Accordingly, +every day I strolled casually in plain sight, over toward their feeding +ground. They gradually lost their nervousness at my advances and +eventually let me come within a hundred feet of them. +</P> + +<P> +One morning, after several weeks of this chivalrous conduct, I set out +with my camera, to spend the day with them. Not that they had extended +an invitation, but they unconsciously invited me. There were +thirty-two of them, including two huge old rams, grazing at the edge of +the valley. I approached them from the windward side, so they would be +doubly sure of my identity, for I knew that with their telescopic eyes +they would recognize me while I was still a long way off. +</P> + +<P> +I halted first while about a hundred yards distant. Pausing a few +moments, I advanced again, until I cut the distance between us in half. +I affected the utmost indifference—I lay down to rest, I got up and +prowled about. They left off feeding, and bunched together, the wary +old rams on the far side of the flock. They gallantly let the ladies +and children be first to meet me! +</P> + +<P> +For an hour the game went on. Little by little I cut the distance to +thirty feet. Some of them even forgot themselves so much as to lie +down and doze, others were discourteous enough to resume feeding, but a +canny few continued to watch my every movement sharply. Several times +I tried to circle round them; each time they edged away towards the +mountain slopes. At last they bunched together beside a jutting rock +and made such a beautiful picture, I could no longer control my desire +to photograph them. Setting my camera at forty feet, I again slowly +advanced. At thirty feet, the sheep still being quiet, I shortened the +range. My greediness threatened to be the end of me! +</P> + +<P> +Below my subjects was a smooth rock slope. Having set my camera for +twenty-five feet, I ventured across it. If I could only reach the edge +of that sloping rock before they took fright what a wonderful picture +I'd get! Slowly, inch by inch I crept toward them. My eyes were glued +to the finder, my finger trembled at the button, all at once, I stepped +out, on nothing! Boy and camera turned over in midair and alighted, +amid a shower of cones, in the top of a young spruce tree. +</P> + +<P> +After the first instant of astonishment, my exasperation grew. I had +lost my first chance at getting a photograph of the sheep—most likely +the best chance I'd ever have, too. Maybe ruined my camera, my +clothes, and my hide! My disposition was past mending. My second +surprise belittled my first. For when I looked about, expecting the +sheep to have vanished, there they all were, crowding forward, and +peering over the edge of the rock, in friendly solicitude! How often +the unpremeditated exceeds our fondest plans! The picture I finally +made far excelled the one I had first counted on! +</P> + +<P> +After my fall, the game was taken up again. The sheep moved higher +whenever I came too near them. Sometimes I dropped to all fours and +gave an imitation of a playful pup; stopping to sniff loudly at a +chipmunk's hole or to dig furiously with both hands. The sheep crowded +forward appreciatively. Evidently they had a weakness for vaudeville. +No acrobat, no contortionist, ever had a more flatteringly attentive +audience. I laughed at my foolishness, but the sheep were courteously +grave. +</P> + +<P> +Toward noon the band set off for a steep cliff, where each day they +took their siesta. The two old rams led the way. After making +pictures of them silhouetted against the sky, I circled the cliff and +hid at the end of a ledge. I counted on getting a good photograph when +the old leaders surmounted the crag and marched forward at the head of +their single-file column. To deceive them, I built a dummy at the spot +where they turned aside upon the ledge. Coat and cap and camera case +went into the sketchy figure, and after it had been propped in place to +block the downward retreat, I hurried around the point and hid in some +bushes behind a granite slab, first setting my camera, well camouflaged +with stones, atop the rock, and focusing it toward the point where the +sheep would pass in review. Minutes passed. Not a sheep rounded the +point! More waiting. I sallied forth to reconnoiter. The sheep were +feeding peacefully in the valley below. They had knocked down the +dummy, trampled over it, and retreated along the ledge the way they had +come! +</P> + +<P> +The joke was on me, but it had been a glorious day for all that. I +retrieved the remains of my down-trodden dummy and started home. I +halted midway down to the valley to study some queer records in the +sand. Surely a crazy man had made them! What would a stranger have +thought if he had happened upon that grotesque trail? But a stranger +<I>had</I> been there. On the heels of my crazy trail were the tracks of a +mountain lion. He had been stalking me! +</P> + +<P> +From my experience with these sheep I made some naïve deductions and +wrote them in my notebook. From it, lying open before me now, I +transcribe these boyish but none the less accurate observations: +</P> + +<P> +"Mountain sheep have all-seeing eyes—therefore, one keeps in the open +at all times and never attempts stalking them under cover. If you do, +you are acting suspiciously, and they will treat you in the same +manner." +</P> + +<P> +"They will not permit you to approach from above them. They are lofty +minded; so keep your place beneath them." +</P> + +<P> +"If sheep are in the open, and on level ground, they will not permit a +near approach." +</P> + +<P> +"Keep in the open, below them, permit them to retreat to the rocks. If +these rocks give way to sheer cliffs the sheep will feel at home. They +will then permit you to approach quite near." +</P> + +<P> +"Sheep are tremendously curious. Take advantage of this fact and offer +them something in the way of entertainment. If you want to get on with +sheep, make a fool of yourself." +</P> + +<P> +As spring advanced, the ewes left the flock and sought safety among the +cliffs where they raised their young in partial concealment. While +their lambs were yet mere infants, a week old or so, they hid them +among the rocks. Instinctively the youngsters lay low, remaining +immovable until their mothers returned from feeding near by, to claim +them. Eagles hovered high overhead, waiting to drop like plummets upon +the helpless babies. These great birds accounted for many a bleating +little lamb's passing. Lions, likewise, visited the heights and took +toll of mothers as well as of offspring; even bobcats pounced upon +them. Sometimes coyotes or wolves surprised partly grown sheep, that +had brashly ventured too far from sheltering rocks. +</P> + +<P> +While returning home one day I stumbled upon a very young sheep. The +youngster lay low, like a wounded duck. Several times I walked within +a few feet of him, coming closer each time until at length he sprang up +and fled in terror. He took refuge by climbing an almost perpendicular +cliff wall. Camera in hand, I followed as best I could. Fifty feet +up, he came to a point where even his nimble feet could find no +adequate footing. His retreat ended. He scrambled to a little jutting +point not much larger than a hand's breadth, and took refuge there with +all four feet bunched together. +</P> + +<P> +Carefully I worked up toward him. Several times he bleated for his +mother and shifted his position. Every moment I feared he would lose +his footing and plunge down the rock face. Twenty feet below I stopped +because I could climb no higher. Carefully I turned about and faced +the wall, hugging it as closely as possible. Holding the camera at +arm's length, and pointing it straight up, I sprung the shutter. The +click, slight as it was, startled the lamb. He leaped several feet to +another nub of rock, teetered precariously several seconds, then +suddenly his pedestal broke off. Sheep and rock dropped straight +toward me. To avoid the rock, I sprang sideways. The sheep plunged +down upon me as the rock hurtled past. Together we revolved, that +sheep and I, the camera being abandoned in midair to shift for itself. +Together the struggling youngster and I struck the rock, slid and +bounded outward, turning over as we fell, first one on top, then the +other, until at length I clutched a bush growing out of a crevice in +the slide and stopped myself; but the lamb continued his bouncing fall +down the mountain. In all, he must have rolled three hundred feet +before he stopped, his feet sticking up out of the brush like the legs +of an overturned bench. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-099"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-099.jpg" ALT="Sheep and rock dropped straight toward me." BORDER="2" WIDTH="462" HEIGHT="683"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 462px"> +Sheep and rock dropped straight toward me. +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +It was some time before I was able to walk. But as quickly as possible +I went to the rescue of that sheep because I had caused his downfall. +He was still breathing, but unable to stand. With great effort, for he +was heavy and I was shaking from my fall, I carried him down to the +stream and soused him in its icy water. He revived at once. The +camera had smashed to pieces before it finished its bouncing flight +down the mountain. +</P> + +<P> +After all, it was a great experience, and though it cost me my camera, +some of my hide and most of my clothes, I wouldn't have missed it for +all Kit Carson's priceless furs! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER SIX +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +A LOG CABIN IN THE WILDS—PRIMITIVE LIVING +</H4> + +<P> +At last, that long-anticipated day dawned, when my dream cabin became a +reality. High upon a shoulder of Twin Sisters Mountain, a thousand +feet above the floor of the valley, where Parson Lamb's ranch stood, +overlooking the ruins of Kit Carson's own cabin, I built it. Across +the valley, towered Long's Peak and its lofty neighbors. Forty miles +of snowcapped peaks were at my dooryard, and beyond, toward the rising +sun, hazy plains stretched away to the illimitable horizon. Between +its craggy shoulder and the main body of the mountain, lay an +unsuspected, wedge-shaped valley, down which a little brook went +gurgling. There ancient spruce and yellow pine and quaking aspens grew +in sheltered luxuriance. +</P> + +<P> +"Silent valley," I named it, though "Peaceful," or "Hidden," or "Happy" +might have fitted it as well. About eighty years previously, as I +calculated by the age of the new trees since sprung up, fire had burned +over Silent Valley. Many of the fire-killed trees were still standing, +sound to the heart. These solid, seasoned trunks, I cut for the logs +of my cabin walls. The Parson, almost as excitedly happy as I, lent me +a team to drag them to the spot where the house was to stand. They +were far too heavy for me to lift, so I had to roll them into place by +an improvised system of skids. Construction was a toilsome work; I was +not skilled at it, I handled my ax awkwardly, and squandered much +energy in "lost motion." But how I sang and shouted at the task! +Never could Kit Carson nor any other pioneer have exulted at his +building as I did! No wonder the deer paused in the aspen trails and +peered timidly out from their leafy retreat in amazement! No wonder +those sages, the mountain sheep, watched from the cliffs above with +sharp, incredulous eyes. Never before had the ring of an ax echoed in +Silent Valley! +</P> + +<A NAME="img-105"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-105.jpg" ALT="Never before had the ring of an ax echoed in Silent Valley!" BORDER="2" WIDTH="479" HEIGHT="660"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 479px"> +Never before had the ring of an ax echoed in Silent Valley! +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +My cabin grew, as fast as young shoulders and eager hands could build +it. Log walls snugly chinked, and log rafters boarded and sodded; two +windows, "lazy" windows we maligned them, because they lay down instead +of standing, one sash above the other, and opened by sliding past each +other. The few dollars I had saved from my original stake and made +from the sale of hides, I spent, extravagantly, it seemed then, for +boards to make a door and lay a floor. That lumber cost nine dollars +per thousand feet on the job, and had to be hauled eleven miles from a +local sawmill—an exorbitant price that made a lasting impression on my +thrifty mind and left my old leather pouch flat. That same lumber +sells to-day for fifty-two dollars a thousand! Shades of Kit Carson! +How fortunate I lived near your time! +</P> + +<P> +Built-in furniture is nothing new, "we pioneers" always used it! From +the odds and ends of planks left from the door and floor, I built a +wall seat, a chimney corner, a shelf cupboard and a bunk. My scanty +furnishings were all homemade—a rough, pine-board table, which served +for kitchen, dining and library purposes, and a bench which I always +"saved," using the floor before the hearth instead. "Aunt Jane" +insisted on giving me a featherbed to put on the rough slats of my +bunk, and some pieced quilts; I used my camp blankets for sheets. She +gave me, too, a strip of old rag carpet she had brought from her +Eastern home. +</P> + +<P> +The crowning architectural feature of my mansion was the corner +fireplace, raised of the native granite bowlders. With what care I +selected the stones!—choosing those most richly encrusted with green +lichens, fitting each into its place, discarding many, ranging afar for +others to take their place. Chimney building is a job for an artisan, +and even then much of a gamble. Imagine my delight, then, when, the +last stone in place, I built a fire on my hearth, and it roared like a +furnace, and all the smoke went up, and out, the chimney! Later, the +eddying winds sometimes shot prankishly down it and playfully chased +the smoke back into the room, but this only blackened the stones, +giving my fireplace an air of antiquity. +</P> + +<P> +My open fire was cook stove as well as heater. I added to my camping +utensils a Dutch oven, an iron pot with a heavy, deep-rimmed, +tight-fitting iron lid, and a tin basin. My furnishings were complete! +</P> + +<P> +Long evenings I sat on the floor before my hearth, dreaming. Sometimes +I read, but the windy days outdoors, tramping and climbing, left me +relaxed and drowsy. I possessed, perhaps, a dozen books; among them +"Treasure Island," which I read over and over, with my door bolted. My +imagination gave piratical significance to the sighing of the pine +trees and the scampering of the pack rats over my roof. +</P> + +<P> +Yes, my dream cabin was come true. There it stood on its lofty +vantage, watching over me as I fared forth on my explorations, waiting +faithfully for my return, never reproaching me for my absence, its snug +walls always ready to welcome me like sheltering arms, its quickly +blazing hearth cheering me like a warm, loving heart. So high was it +perched, that I could see it, while on my excursions, from many miles +away. It was a beacon to my wandering spirit, a compass and a guide to +my wandering feet. +</P> + +<P> +From it, as my knowledge of woodcraft, which I came to know was nothing +more than common sense and resourcefulness applied to outdoor living, +increased, I ranged farther and farther, into the wilder, more remote +regions, which, except for an occasional trapper, no other white man +had ever penetrated. The country around my homestead, Long's Peak, and +the adjacent mountains, which have since been made a part of Rocky +Mountain National Park, is itself exceptionally high and rugged. +There, in a comparatively small area, are more than sixty peaks over +twelve thousand feet high, Long's, of course, being over fourteen +thousand feet. As the years passed my wanderings took me along the +Continental Divide, from the Wyoming line at the north to the southern +boundary of Colorado. +</P> + +<P> +The vastness of the Rocky Mountains is beyond comprehension, they +sprawl the length of the continent. No one can hope to see all their +beauty, all their grandeur and awesomeness in a single lifetime. From +the crest of the Divide, north, west, and south, stretches a world of +rugged peaks. Range on range, tier on tier, like the waves of a +solidified ocean in a Titanic storm they roll away to the distant +horizon shore. +</P> + +<P> +Always, as a boy, that compelling panorama fascinated me. On pleasant, +sunny days, those rugged slopes, from a distance, looked safe and +plushy, for all the world like deerskin; the dark green cañons +mysteriously beckoned to me, the myriad lakes sparkled knowingly, +intimately, the swift brooks chattered incessantly, urging action, +adventure. On stormy days, when violent winds swept over the Divide +and hid the heads of the peaks beneath the scuttling clouds, that +overwhelming vista, with its tremendous, deep-gashed cañons, its +towering, forbidding cliffs, still challenged even while it repelled me. +</P> + +<P> +To explore every mile, vertical and horizontal, of that uncharted sea +of peaks! That was my boyish ambition! that was what led me westward, +that was what lured me on and on! And my field of exploration was +limitless—one peak conquered, there was always another just beyond, a +little higher, a little harder, waiting to be climbed. The wilder the +region the greater was its fascination for me. No matter how +difficult, how slow my progress, it never became tedious—there was +always the unexpected, the mysterious, as a guarantee against monotony. +</P> + +<P> +Timberline always interested me and those vast, naked plateaus above it +never ceased to move me to wonder—miles and miles of great, granite +desert, up-flung into space. The very tip-top of the world. I used to +marvel that so much of the earth was waste. It was an everlasting +enigma. +</P> + +<P> +Timberline was not all grotesque trees with bleak winds forever +scourging them. In late summer, it was a veritable hanging garden. +Sweet blue and pink forget-me-nots hid in the moss of its bowlders, +Edelweiss starred its stony trails. King's crown, alpine primrose, and +many other flowers nodded a gracious welcome. +</P> + +<P> +And just below it, what a riot of bloom there was! I had learned, oft +to my inconvenience, that the higher the altitude the greater the +precipitation. Around and just below timberline are many lakes, and +miles of marshy, boggy land. On those first winter excursions to the +heights I marveled at the deep snowdrifts banked in the heavy Englemann +forests just below timberline. Long after the last white patch had +melted or evaporated from the exposed slopes, these sheltered drifts +would lie undiminished and when summer really came, they gave birth to +scores of trickling rills. Vegetation sprang up in that moist, +needle-mulched soil as luxuriant as any in the tropics. From the time +the furry anemone lifted its lavender-blue petals above the dwindling +snow patch, until the apples formed on the wild rose bushes and the +kinnikinic berries turned red, it was a continuous nosegay. Indian +paintbrush, marigolds, blue and white columbines as big as my hand and +nearly as high as my head, fragile orchids, hiding their heads in the +dusky dells, thousands of varieties I never knew or learned. Some few +I recognized as glorified cousins of my Kansas acquaintances. The +denser towering spruce forests sheltered them, conserved the moisture, +and scattered their needles over their winter beds. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the Parson's experienced advice on my first trips, boylike, +I ladened myself with blanket roll, cooking utensils and an unnecessary +amount of food. I soon found, however, that besides tiring me early in +the afternoon and robbing me of my zest for scenery, my pack limited +the scope of my operations, for with it I did not dare attempt many +precipitous slopes where a single slip might land me in eternity. I +found, too, that without it I could practically double the length of a +day's journey, and arrive at the end of it still fresh enough to enjoy +things. So I soon simplified my camp equipment. Campfires took the +place of blankets, a pocketful of raisins, a few shelled peanuts, some +sweet chocolate bars provided satisfying feasts. Eventually, when I +became adept at snaring game, I made a spit of twigs and roasted the +game over hot coals. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes this primitive method of camping was inconvenient, but it was +lots of fun. It was pioneering! What boy has not wished himself +Robinson Crusoe? Somehow, in this way I retrieved that early frontier +period passed before my birth. So I met the challenge of the +mountains, met whatever emergencies arose, with such resourcefulness as +I could muster; made my own way with what ingeniousness I possessed, +and lived off the land. Indians could do no more! +</P> + +<P> +Having given up my gun, I learned other, and for me, at least, more +reliable methods of taking game for food. Setting snares was an +intriguing sport, but when I did not have time for it, I resorted to a +more primitive method, stone-throwing. Of course there were days when +neither of these methods succeeded, when the meal hour had to be +postponed, while I whetted my appetite, rather superfluously, with more +miles of tramping. I was surprised to find I could go foodless for +several days and still have strength to plod ahead and maintain my +interest in the scenery. +</P> + +<P> +The cottontail of the Rockies is the commonest and easiest source of +meat, not only to the camper, but to the rabbit's cannibalistic +neighbors. He is a sort of universal food—a sort of staff of life to +the animal world. But for him famine would stalk the big killers. +Fortunately for himself and for his preying foes, he is most prolific, +and holds his own, in numbers at least, despite man and beast. +Occasionally some ravaging disease carries his kind off by the +thousands, then starvation faces those dependent on him for food. The +killers have to seek other hunting grounds, frequently far from their +home range, and often they become gaunt and lank, driven to take +desperate chances to save themselves from starvation and death. +</P> + +<P> +As you can easily imagine, it keeps Bunny Cottontail moving to outwit +his many enemies. He has no briar patches in that rugged country, +though the jumper thickets might serve as such, so he lives beneath the +rocks, usually planning a front and back door to his burrow. In this +way he has a private exit when weasels or bobcats make their uninvited +visitations. A whole Rooseveltian family of bunnies live in congested +districts. Learning this, I usually set a number of snares in their +runways, or at likely holes beneath the rocks. +</P> + +<P> +Part of the game of making nature yield one a living is keeping an eye +out at all times for possible food supplies. If a rabbit scurried +across my path, I marked the spot of his refuge. If he dodged beneath +a certain slab, I set my snare there. Then I poked about, hoping to +scare him into the snare. I did not always succeed in this, though, +for my stick could not turn the corners of his burrow, and he often +appeared out of some other exit, laughing at my stupidity, no doubt. +Sometimes, when very hungry, I tried smoking him out. The stone porch +of his burrow usually sloped, so a small smudge started at its lower +side would travel up-hill, into the tunnel. Mr. Rabbit, thinking the +woods were on fire, would make a dash for the open and fall victim to +the snare. But despite the fact that rabbits are credited with little +wit, I have often known them to nose aside my traps and escape. +</P> + +<P> +Cottontails I found up to eight or nine thousand feet, but even higher +I ran across their cousins, the snowshoe. He quite excelled me in +manipulating his "webs"—his tremendous hind feet with long, clawlike +toes, covered with stiff and, I judged, waterproof hairs. He made his +way nimbly over the soft, deep snow, while I on my webs often +floundered and fell. Like the ptarmigan and the weasel, the snowshoe +rabbit changed to a white coat for winter. In the spring, he was +bluish, though underneath he still retained his arctic snowiness. In +the fall, with good taste and a sense of the fitness of things, he put +on a tan coat, and then, as the winter snows began to drift, he once +more donned his ermine robes. +</P> + +<P> +Grouse were plentiful, except during the winter months. Usually I +found them between six thousand and nine thousand feet altitude, but as +the fall coloring painted the mountain slopes, and the juniper berries +ripened, they moved to the higher, exposed wind-swept cliffs. Above +timberline were the ptarmigan, always easy targets for a well-aimed +stone. +</P> + +<P> +Rabbits, grouse and ptarmigan were all available and filling, but the +most abundant and most easily caught food in all the Rockies at that +time were the mountain trout. When I was a boy, every stream, even as +far down as the plains, was alive with them. Like salmon, they swam +upstream till they came to rapids or cataracts which they could not +leap. Those in the lakes were exceptionally large, but too well fed to +be interested in my bait. In the valleys were deep pools made by +beavers' dams and in these the trout "holed up" for the winter. +Fishing through the ice was common sport years ago. I remember that +one of Jim Oss's neighbors brought a mess of trout to him when he gave +his homesteading dance in January. With fish so abundant and unwary, +and fishermen few, fishing was easy. It took me only five or ten +minutes to catch all the trout I could use. Usually a few feet of +line, a hook, and a willow or aspen rod, was all I found necessary. +Sometimes I used bait—grasshoppers, bugs or worms. +</P> + +<P> +Campfire cooking is an art comparatively primitive and elementary, but +it requires experience and intelligence to master. Like most +accomplishments worth learning, it takes application, and a world of +patience. Since I did not carry any utensils with me, I invariably +roasted or broiled the game I cooked, using hot rocks like the Indians. +I heated stones in my campfire, dug a shallow hole, and when the stones +were hot lined it with them, then put in my meat, covering it with a +hot flat stone. From time to time, I renewed the cooled first stones +for fresh ones, hot from the fire. Sometimes I intensified that heat +of my "fireless" by covering its top with moss or with pine needles. +</P> + +<P> +If I decided to broil my bunny or grouse, I got out my short fishing +line and tied one end of it to a limb of a tree or to a tripod which I +made by fastening three poles together, setting them over the fire. +The other end I fastened to a green stick, three or four feet long, +which I skewered into the meat. Then I gave my "broiler" a spin which +wound up the line. When it was twisted tight, it reversed itself, +unwinding, and so revolving my cookery, exposing all sides to the fire. +Of course it gradually lost its spin, then I gave it another twirl. +Given plenty of time, over a slow fire of glowing coals, my bird would +be done to a queen's taste—a much too delicious dish to waste on any +king! +</P> + +<P> +During dry, warm weather, I raked pine or spruce needles together for a +bed, but in the winter I used green pine or spruce boughs, putting +heavy, coarse ones on the bottom, planting their butt ends deeps in the +snow. Upon these I placed smaller twigs, which gave "spring" to my +couch, and finally I tufted it with the soft, tender tips of the +branches. Never have I rested better on mahogany beds than I did on +such pungent bunks! Lying there, physically weary, mentally relaxed, +drowsily gazing into my campfire, I lived over the day's adventures, +and would not have changed places with any man alive! +</P> + +<P> +I found making camp in temperate weather was no task at all. It was +when it was cold or wet that the real test of my woodcraft came. I +learned that the first requisite in camp-making was the selection of a +suitable camp site. It had to be chosen with thought of the +accessibility to fuel and water. It had to be sheltered from the wind, +which was not always easy to manage in high altitudes, for though the +prevailing winter wind in the Rockies blows from the west, it swirls +and eddies in the cañons, coming from most unexpected and unwelcome +directions and often from all points of the compass in turn. Usually +ready-made camps, overhanging cliffs, were available. When they were +not, my ingenuity rose to the occasion and I thatched together twigs of +willow or birch, or even spruce or pine, though the latter were stiffer +and more difficult to fit tightly together. Beginning at the bottom, I +worked upward, lapping each successive layer over the one beneath, as +in laying shingles, and pointing the tips of the leaves or needles +downward, so they would shed water. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes I had difficulty in starting my fire. If there had been +daily showers for weeks, and the needles and the deadwood, as well as +the ground itself, were soaked, or if in winter the deadwood were +buried beneath snow and the dead limbs of standing trees difficult to +break off, it was a discouraging task. Sometimes after what seemed +like eons of struggling, I would get a sickly little flame flickering, +when, puff! along would come a blast of wind and smother it out with +snow. I did learn eventually that pitch knots were so rich in gum or +resin that they would always catch fire, and so I shaved off splinters +with my trusty hunting knife and used them for tinder. One night as I +lighted a candle in my cabin, it came to me that a piece of it would be +handy to tuck in my pocket for emergencies. Ever afterwards I carried +several short, burned-down ends along on my excursions. I discovered +that one of these stubs, set solidly on the ground and lighted, would +start my fire under the most adverse conditions. But for them I would +have had many a cold camp. +</P> + +<P> +I had read of the Eskimo igloos and I tried to make them. But the snow +at hand in my mountains was never packed hard enough to freeze solid so +building blocks could be cut from it. It is blown about and drifted +too much. I did get an idea from "Buck" in Jack London's "Call of the +Wild," that I adapted. On winter explorations I always carried +snowshoes, even though not compelled to wear them at the outset. These +made handy shovels. When ready to make camp I selected a snowdrift +three or four feet deep, and with my web shovel dug a triangular hole, +about seven feet long on each side. In the angle farthest from the +wind I built my fire. It soon assisted me in enlarging the corner. +Opposite it, I roofed over my dugout with dead limbs, thatching them +with green boughs, and finally heaping the excavated snow over all. I +had a practically windproof nest which a little fire would keep snug +and warm. True I had to fire up frequently throughout the night, for a +big blaze is too hot in a snow-hole, but I soon learned to rouse up, +put on more fuel, and drop back to sleep, all in a few minutes. +</P> + +<P> +But the smoke nuisance in my early dugouts was terrible. Pittsburgh +had nothing on me! Many a morning I crawled out smelling like a smoked +ham, my eyes smarting, my throat sore and dry. Years later, my rambles +led me to Mesa Verde and the kivas of the cliff dwellers. Those +primitive people built fires deep underground, with no chimneys or +flues to conduct the smoke outside. They ingeniously constructed cold +air passages down to the floor of the kivas near the fire bowl. These +fed the fires fresh air, causing the smoke to rise steadily and pass +out through a small aperture in the roof. I tried this, and to my +delight, found it rid me of the strangling plague. +</P> + +<P> +I had discarded my gun, but my camera was with me always. Frequent +dashing showers are common in the mountains. Often, too, I had to +cross swollen streams, and sometimes got a ducking in transit. +Matches, salt and camera plates were ruined by wetting, so I had to +contrive a waterproof carrier for them. I hit upon a light rubber +blanket, which added practically no pounds or bulk to my pack, and in +it wrapped my perishables. It saved them more often than not, but even +it could not protect them in some predicaments. +</P> + +<P> +There, was no month of the year I didn't camp out. Naturally I was +caught in many kinds of weather. In severe storms I learned to stick +close to camp, lying low and waiting for the furies to relent. In the +early days, as in my first camp, I attempted to return home at once, +but traveling over the soft, yielding snow only sapped my strength and +got me nowhere. I learned that by remaining inactive by my campfire, I +conserved both food and energy and had a far better chance to reach the +shelter of my cabin without mishap. +</P> + +<P> +Being young and inexperienced, I was the recipient of much free advice, +the most common being warnings about the imminent weather or the +oncoming winter. Most of these prognosticators used the cone-storing +squirrels or the beavers, working busily on their dams and houses, as +barometers. But I found the old adage that only fools and newcomers +could forecast weather to hold true in the mountains. I got so I +didn't believe in signs. I saw the squirrels and the beavers make +preparation for winter every fall. I took each day, with its vagaries, +as it came and made the best of it. +</P> + +<P> +Returning from one of my midwinter trips to the wilds, one day I +coasted down a very steep slope and shot out of the woods into a little +clearing—a snug log cabin stood there, buried in snow up to its eyes. +In a snow trench, not far from the door, an old trapper was chopping +wood. As I burst upon the scene he dropped his ax and stared at me. +Then he found words. +</P> + +<P> +"See all fools ain't dead yit," he observed with a grin. Then, as I +started on he yelled after me. +</P> + +<P> +"But I bet they soon will be!" +</P> + +<A NAME="img-121"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-121.jpg" ALT=""See all fools ain't dead yit," he observed." BORDER="2" WIDTH="526" HEIGHT="688"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 526px"> +"See all fools ain't dead yit," he observed. +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +So I spent the days of my boyhood—tramping, climbing, exploring! Was +ever another mortal so fortunate as I in the realization of his dreams? +Was ever another lad so happy? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER SEVEN +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +GLACIERS AND FOREST FIRES +</H4> + +<P> +When I first came West, with my imagination fired by the reminiscent +tales of my mother and my father, and our pioneer neighbors, I looked +only for mountains made of gold, for roaming buffaloes and skulking +savages, for fierce wild beasts and mighty hunters. That the mountains +were golden only in the sunset, and the Indians and bison alive only in +the immortal epics of the frontier, somehow did not disappoint me. So +wonderful were those rocky upheavals in the reality, so intriguing were +the traces of redskin and buffalo, I forgot my fantastic +misconceptions. To my enthusiastic youth, everything was +extraordinary, alluring, primitively satisfying. Parson Lamb said the +big game were gone, but there were enough left to give me many a thrill. +</P> + +<P> +Naturally, at first, I saw only the more obvious wonders of the wilds, +but as time passed I discovered other sources of interest, hitherto +unheard of. High and dry upon the meadows and lower mountain sides +were smooth, round bowlders, undoubtedly water-worn. The granite walls +of many of the cañons I climbed were curiously scored—here and there +were inlaid bands of varying colored stone. Running out from the +loftier ranges were long, comparatively narrow heaps of earth, which +resembled giant railroad fills as flat on top as though they had been +sliced off by a titanic butcher knife. They were covered with forests, +and small, jewel-like lakes were set in their level summits. At the +foot of Long's and many other peaks were more lakes, with slick, +glazed, granite sides. The water in them was usually greenish and +always icy. There were immense, dirty "snowdrifts" that never +diminished, but appeared to be perpetual. +</P> + +<P> +Following my trapline or trailing the Big-horn or watching the beaver, +I noticed these things and wondered about them. How came those +bowlders, round and polished, so far from water? What made those +scratches upon those granite cliffs? What Herculean master-smith fused +those decorative belts into their very substance? What engineer built +those table-topped mounds? Who had gouged out the bowls for those icy +lakes? Why were some snowdrifts perennial? I puzzled over these +conundrums, until, bit by bit, I solved them. The answers were more +amazing than anything else I encountered in the wilds. +</P> + +<P> +I learned that those sand-coated drifts were not drifts at all, but +glaciers, probably the oldest living things in the world. For they +were alive, moving deposits of ice and snow, the survivors of the ice +age. Eons ago, they and their like had gouged out the huge bowls which +later became lakes, had gashed the earth and scoured its cañon walls, +leaving in their wakes those square-topped dumps or moraines; debris, +once solid granite, now ground into rocks and sand and gravel by their +slow-moving, irresistible force. +</P> + +<P> +Most of the glaciers I found were upon the eastern slope of the Divide. +This is because the prevailing winter winds are from west to east. +Glaciers are formed by thawing of the exposed snow on top of the huge +deposits, the water trickling down through the moss, and freezing +solidly. Gradually, through continued thawing and freezing, the whole +drift is changed into a field of ice. The first sign of movement comes +when the mass of ice breaks away from the cliffs at its upper edges. +There is an infinitesimal downward sagging, as with incredible +deliberation it moves on with its cargo of rock and sand. But, slowly +as it moves, its power is overawing. A glacier is the embodiment of +irresistible force. Its billion-ton roller cuts a trench through the +very earth, with cañon-like walls; these latter turn upon their master +and imprison him. It tears immense granite slabs from the cliffs and +carries them along. It grinds granite into powder. I have seen water +emerging from glaciers, milk-white with its load of ground-up rocks. +</P> + +<P> +By setting a straight line of stakes across the ice, I measured the +movements of some glaciers. Some progressed several feet in a year, +others traveled scarcely more than a few inches. All moved farthest +nearest the center; for, as is true of streams, there the friction of +the side walls does not retard them. They varied in width from a +hundred feet to half a mile, in depth from forty to a hundred feet. +</P> + +<P> +During my first years in the Rockies, the winters were severe, with +heavy snows, and the summers unusually rainy. The low temperature and +great precipitation prevented the usual amount of thawing on the +glaciers. But there came a season as arid as any in the Sahara desert. +</P> + +<P> +"It's miserable droughty," grieved the Parson one day when I met him on +top of Long's Peak. "Springs are going dry and the streams are +terrible low. See that drift down there?" Standing on Long's +overtowering summit he pointed down the Divide. "The one with black +rock at its edge. Well, sir, I've never seen that drift so small +before—not in all the thirty years I've watched it. The glaciers will +be opening up with all this hot weather! the crevasses'll widen and +split clear down to the bowels of the earth. Wal; it's an ill wind +that blows no good. This drought will make it easy for the tenderfoot +to get a good look into 'em." +</P> + +<P> +I took the Parson's tip and next day packed a horse and started for +Arapahoe glacier which lies south of Long's Peak. On the second day +out, having taken my pack-horse as far up as possible, I unpacked him, +hobbled him and turned him loose to crop what grass he could find. +Then I set up camp. +</P> + +<P> +Camp made, I began the last lap of my climb up the glacier. Along the +way, below snowbanks, wild flowers grew head-high, but in the woods +beside the game trails they were scarce and stunted. As I plodded +slowly up the steep slope I heard loud reports, as though some one were +setting off heavy blasts. They echoed and reëchoed among the cliffs. +A roaring stream dashed frothily down the slope, rocks rolled past. I +climbed a pinnacle overlooking the glacier and looked down upon it. +</P> + +<P> +The Parson was right. All the snow which ordinarily hid the icy +surface was melted away. The glacial ice lay uncovered. Its surface +was split by numberless yawning crevasses. Water drenched their sides. +Every little while ice would break away, and then reports, similar to +the ones I had heard on my way up, would nearly deafen me. +</P> + +<P> +I climbed gingerly down and edged out upon the glacier, testing each +foothold. I peeped into the crevasses, and dropped stones or chunks of +ice into them to sound their depths. I ventured into a shallow crack +and followed it until it pinched beneath a wall of solid ice. Then I +tried another, a larger one. Gaining a little courage by these +explorations, I ventured yet farther and climbed down into one of the +deeper crevasses. Water showered down upon me, from melting walls +above. I crept on down until I was about fifty feet below the top of +the glacier. I paused; before me gaped a dark cavern fenced off by +heavy icicles as large as my body. I peered through this crystal +lattice into the darkness beyond. From somewhere came the tinkle of +water, I decided to investigate. A stream pouring into the crevasse +from above, had washed down a stone. Using it for a sledge, I set to +work to break into that barred vault. I shattered one of the glassy +bars and crawled inside. A ghostly blue light filled the place. With +lighted candle I moved away from the entrance, turned a corner and +plunged into the blackest darkness I have ever experienced. +</P> + +<P> +The silence was eerie, frightening. Just then it was shattered by a +muffled report, followed almost at once by another that seemed to rend +my cavern walls asunder. Bits of ice dropped about me. I suddenly +remembered a number of things I wanted to do outside, I turned and +sought the guarded cavern of the ghastly light. I mistook the way and +turned aside into a blind alley for a moment. I grew panicky—my flesh +went clammy—but that momentary delay no doubt saved my life. As I +reached the opening, there came a rending crash, a splintering of ice, +and broken blocks came hurtling into the crevasse just outside my +cavern door. An inrush of air snuffed out my candle. +</P> + +<P> +My hands trembled as I relighted the candle. Ice still bombarded the +opening. Somewhere water splashed. Before I had descended into the +crevasse I had been perspiring freely, for the sun shone hot upon the +surface of the glacier; now I was shivering, my feet were soaked with +ice water, a dozen little streams trickled down from the cavern roof. +I would soon be warm in the hot sun outside; then... I discovered the +crevasse was blocked with ice. +</P> + +<P> +I lost my head and shouted for help. There were none to hear. I +pushed against the barriers. I pulled myself together and began to +search for a passage among the blocks of ice. The candle gave a feeble +light. Without waiting to feel my way, I edged into a crack, wriggled +forward and stuck tight. Cold sweat oozed as I wiggled backward into +the cavern again. I had difficulty relighting the candle. Again and +again I attempted to squeeze out among the pieces of broken ice; I +climbed up the smooth wall, lost my footing and tumbled back. At last +I found a larger opening among the ice blocks and squeezed into it like +a rabbit into a rock pile. I knew I must hurry because these jumbled +pieces would soon be solidly cemented together when the water pouring +over them froze. +</P> + +<P> +I surged desperately against the pressing ice, held my breath and +squeezed my way through into the sunshine at last—safe. Late that +evening I reached my camp, my interest in glaciers chilled. +</P> + +<P> +Since that experience I have usually looked long before leaping into a +crevasse and then have not leaped. +</P> + +<P> +The next morning I broke camp. I had had enough of close-ups of +glaciers. I followed the crest of the Continental Divide northward, +satisfied with such distant views of those treacherous juggernauts as +could be had from the rim rocks. +</P> + +<P> +That was how I came to be camped at timberline above Allen's Park when +the big forest fire set the region south of it ablaze. From my lofty +station I watched a thunder shower gather around Long's Peak and move +southward, tongues of lightning darting from it venomously. It was +perhaps ten miles wide. It circled Wild Basin, then faced eastward +toward the foothills, its forked tongues writhing wickedly. Those to +the south struck repeatedly; I counted three fires they started, but +two of these the shower extinguished; the third was miles beyond the +edge of the rain, and began spreading even as I watched. Smoke soon +hid the doomed forest, filling the cañon and boiling out beyond it. +</P> + +<P> +Everywhere in the mountains, I had found burned-over forests; ancient +trees that had stood for centuries, had endured drought, flood, storm +and pestilence, only to be burned at last by a fiendish flash and left, +charred skeletons of their former green beauty. +</P> + +<P> +I hurried down from the heights as the fire spread upward along both +sides of the gorge. Upon a bare, rocky ridge, several miles north, +inside the edge of the shower limits, I deposited my pack and turned +the horse homeward, alone. I hoped that I might be able to put out the +fire before it spread too far. +</P> + +<P> +As I hurried in its direction I saw two deer standing in a little +opening watching the smoke intently. They showed no fear, merely +curiosity. But as I approached closer to its smouldering edge, I met +birds in excited, zig-zagging flight. Along a brook I found fresh bear +tracks. Bruin had galloped hastily from the danger zone. +</P> + +<P> +The fire was confined to the heavy timber near the bottom of a cañon, +but was licking its way up both slopes, the backfire eating slowly +downward while the headfire leaped upward. Trees exploded into giant +sparklers. The heat of the approaching flames caused the needles to +exude their sap, combustion occurred almost before the actual fire +touched them. Black acrid smoke arose visible a hundred miles out on +the plains. +</P> + +<P> +Not a breeze stirred where I stood, but the fire seemed fanned by a +strong wind, that swayed it back and forth. It did not travel in a set +direction; one moment it raced westward, paused, smoldered, then burst +forth again, running southward. A little later a flood of flame would +come toward the east. These scattered sorties cut narrow swaths +through the forest, flaming lanes that smoldered at the edges, widened +and combined. +</P> + +<P> +The smoke cloud grew denser. My eyes streamed with tears, my throat +burned, I began to cough. I descended the ridge to cross the cañon—in +the bottom I found little smoke and fairly good air. +</P> + +<P> +Flocks of panic-stricken birds veered uncertainly about. They would +flee the fire, encounter dense smoke, and turn straight back toward the +flames. They circled and alighted at the bottom of the gorge. No +sooner safely there, then they'd take wing again and flutter back into +the trees near the fire. Many dropped, overcome by the smoke, whole +flocks disappeared into the roaring flames to return no more. They +lost all sense of direction, all instinct for self-preservation. +</P> + +<P> +But the birds were not alone in their distress; the animals, too, were +on the move. Down the slopes came deer, does with their young, bucks +with tender, growing horns. To my surprise, they paid no attention to +me. Whether they were unable to get my scent because of the fumes of +burning woods, or whether the fire filled them with a greater fear, I +could not decide. A coyote trotted calmly down a game trail, eyed me +for a moment, and went on his way toward safety. He was the only one +of the wild folk able to keep his wits about him. +</P> + +<P> +Occasionally one of the deer would break away from the refugees, head +up or down without apparent reason, the rest of the band instantly +following his lead. In less than a minute all would return. They +feared to desert their usual haunts in time of trouble. The smoke +robbed them of their sense of smell, the noise of the fire was too loud +for their usually alert, big ears to catch the smaller, significant +sounds. As their confusion grew their terror mounted; they bundled +nervously away in all directions, rushing back together, heading +upstream toward the fire, and leaping wildly over smoldering needles of +the forest floor. +</P> + +<P> +The fawns were deserted, their mothers dashed about frantically as +though unable to recognize their own offspring; they snorted wildly to +rid their noses of the biting fumes that robbed them of scent. A fawn +stopped within a few feet of me and stared about with luminous, +innocent eyes. Its hair was singed and its feet burned. It lifted its +left hind foot and stared at it perplexed; then I saw between its +dainty, parted hoofs a burning stick. +</P> + +<P> +Other animals passed. A badger waddled slowly down the trail, pausing +to grin at me comically. Two beavers splashed downstream, following +the water, diving through the deeper pools and lumbering through the +shallows of the brook. Other animals crashed through the woods, but I +could not recognize them. +</P> + +<P> +A little brook sizzled down through the burning land. I stopped and, +cupping my hands, scooped up some water and drank thirstily. The first +swallow nearly strangled me, it was saturated by the fumes of the +burning forest. I drank on nevertheless; it was wet and cooling to my +parched throat. I soused my head in the brook and soaked my +handkerchief in case of need. +</P> + +<P> +A faint breeze sprang up. Circling the fire, I moved up the slope, +with the wind at my back. The needle-carpeted forest floor was a +smoldering mass—the squirrels' hidden hoards were afire. Young trees, +just starting from those stored-up nurseries were destroyed by tens of +thousands. +</P> + +<P> +On raced the head fire, setting the dead trees and stumps furiously +aflame, touching the needles of the living trees with swift, feverish +fingers, igniting insidious spot-fires as it went. Its self-generated +draft roared thunderingly. It snatched up countless firebrands and +sent those flaming heralds forth to announce its coming to the +trembling forest beyond. As it topped the cañon walls it seemed to +leap beyond the clouds that hovered overhead and burn asunder the very +heavens. +</P> + +<P> +Of a sudden I was enveloped by one of its serpentine arms. It writhed +everywhere around me, hissing, striking at my face, singing my hair, +scorching my frantic hands that would ward it off. My eyes could not +face that venomous glare. My lungs were choked by its searing breath. +I found a stick and, feeling my way with it, fled, like the beaver, to +the brook for sanctuary. That flaming serpent pursued me. Its breath +grew more acrid, more deadly. I coughed convulsively, strangled, +stumbled, fell: when I regained my feet, I was dazed, confused. But I +retained consciousness enough to know I must keep moving. I must reach +the fire's immemorial enemy and enlist the aid of that watery ally to +escape it. I took leaps over the ground, but blindly, with no such +brilliant eyes as my relentless foe. +</P> + +<P> +The memory of that race for life is still vividly terrifying; blinded, +choking, crashing into trees, falling, struggling to my feet, fighting +on and on and on, for what seemed endless hours. In reality it was—it +could only have been—a few moments. I plunged into the brook and +submerged my burning clothes, my tortured body. I hurried on as fast +as I could, downstream, halting now and then to dive beneath the +grateful waters of the deeper pools, but never stopping, until, +staggering, gasping, sobbing, I reached the safety of the cañon. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-137"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-137.jpg" ALT="The memory of that race for life is still vividly terrifying." BORDER="2" WIDTH="511" HEIGHT="773"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 511px"> +The memory of that race for life is still vividly terrifying. +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER EIGHT +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE PROVERBIAL BUSY BEAVER +</H4> + +<P> +It was my boyish ambition to find some corner of those rocky wilds +where no human being had ever set foot and to be the first person to +behold it. What boy has not felt that Columbus had several centuries' +advantage of him: that Balboa was a meddlesome old chap who might +better have stayed in Spain and left American oceans to American boys +to discover? Oh! the unutterable regret of youthful hearts that the +Golden Fleece and the Holy Grail and other high adventures passed +before their time! +</P> + +<P> +In searching for my virgin wilderness, I saw many spots that bore no +trace of human existence, wild enough, remote enough, calm enough, to +justify my willing credulity. +</P> + +<P> +But I had another notion which even my young enthusiasm had to +acknowledge was in error. I fancied that the animals in such a spot as +I have described, unwise to the ways of man, having had no experience +to teach them fear and caution, would be gentle and trusting, and +approachable. I was doomed to disappointment. I found that no matter +how remote the region, how primeval its forests or how Eden-new its +streams, its beasts were furtive, wary, distrustful. +</P> + +<P> +But after all, though these ideas, like many of my other youthful +dreams, did not "pan out" in following them up, I found other leads +which yielded rich experiences. +</P> + +<P> +When I first came to the mountains, the beavers were extremely wild. +Rarely did I glimpse one or even see signs of their activities. True, +all along the streams were deserted beaver homes, merely stick frames +with most of the mud plaster fallen off, and through the meadows were a +succession of dams which might easily have flooded them for miles +around. No doubt large colonies had once lived there. Once in a while +I found a fallen aspen, with the marks of a beaver's keen chisels upon +it. But as for the beaver's renowned industry—it wasn't! +</P> + +<P> +"I thought beavers were busy animals," I complained to the Parson. +"I've heard industrious folks called beavers all my life. I don't see +how they got their reputation. Why, it wouldn't be hard for me to be +busier'n these beavers!" +</P> + +<P> +The old man laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, you're rather hard on the little critters," he defended. +"They're not so indolent, considering their chances." Then he went on +to explain. +</P> + +<P> +A horde of trappers, he said, had followed Kit Carson's successful trip +into the region in 1840. They visited every stream and strung traps in +all the valleys. Beaver fur was taken out by pack-train load. In +twenty years the trappers had reaped the richest of the harvest; in ten +years more they had practically "trapped out" all the beavers. They +left only when trapping ceased to be profitable; and even so, the early +settlers had found some small profit in catching a few beavers every +winter. +</P> + +<P> +The survivors, my old friend said, were wiser if sadder animals than +those the first trappers found. Many beavers had maimed or missing +feet, reminders of the traps that caused their trouble. They deserted +their ponds, neglected their dams and houses and sought refuge in holes +in the banks of streams. Their tunnels entered the bank under water, +thus making it difficult to locate their runways, or to set traps after +the discovery of the runways. +</P> + +<P> +So that was the reason for the beavers scarcity and wariness! Few were +the chances they gave me, on my early rambles, to observe their habits. +But just when it seemed they were doomed to suffer the fate of the +buffalo, Colorado and a few other states woke up to the fact that +beavers were threatened to be classed with the dodo, and feeble +measures were taken to protect them. Slowly their numbers increased, +they returned to their normal habits of living, and rebuilt their dams +and houses. +</P> + +<P> +Down in the valley below my cabin, within a few rods of the spot where +the ruins of Kit Carson's cabin still stand, are two small streams +along which I early found numerous traces of beaver. At the confluence +of these streams were dams and houses that were not entirely deserted; +for occasionally the beavers did some repair work. Since they were +within five minutes' walk of my cabin I visited them frequently during +all seasons of the year. Five times I saw the beavers return to the +old home site, repair the dams and rebuild the houses. Four times I +saw them forced to desert their home, once because a fire burned the +surrounding trees which were their source of food, the other times to +elude trappers. +</P> + +<P> +I discovered that this colony consisted of a trap-maimed old couple and +their annual brood. The male had lost a portion of his right hind +foot, his mate had only a stump for her left front one. I early dubbed +them Mr. and Mrs. Peg, and came to have a real neighborly affection for +them. Their infirmities made it easy for me to keep track of them, and +to keep up with their social activities. Neighborly interest must be +kept alive by the neighbors' doings, you know! +</P> + +<P> +They certainly showed no inclination to become dull from overwork! +About the time the ice on their pond began to break up, they would take +their youngsters and start upon their summer vacation. Upon a number +of occasions I found their familiar tracks along the streams eight or +ten miles below their home site; once more than fifteen miles away. On +their rambles they met other beaver families, and stopped to visit; the +young people of the combined families played and splashed about, while +their more sedate elders lay contentedly basking in the sun. +</P> + +<P> +But late August or early September always saw Mr. and Mrs. Peg back +home; usually without their youngsters. Those precocious paddlers had +set up homes for themselves or had wedded into other tribes. The old +couple at once set to work, toiling night and day, taking no time off +for rest. They repaired their dam to raise the water to the desired +level, replastered their house inside and out with mud, and in addition +cut down a number of aspen trees, severed their trunks into lengths +they could handle, and brought both trunks and limbs down into the +pond. They towed the heavy green wood down first and piled it in the +deep water near their house, the rest they piled upon these until their +larder was full. They ate the whole of the smaller limbs of the aspen, +but only the bark of the larger boughs and trunks. They used the wood +for house and dam construction. +</P> + +<P> +Trappers have told me that the streams beaver live in are poor fishing +places because the furry inhabitants eat the fish. By careful +observation, I proved to my own satisfaction at least, that quite the +opposite is true. For the deep ponds made by the dams they build are +literally spawning pools for the trout, breeding grounds and +hatcheries. They are also pools of refuge, to which the fish flee to +elude the fisherman, and in their warmer depths the finny tribe "hole +up" when the streams are frozen over in winter. I have lain motionless +upon a bowlder overlooking a beaver-inhabited stream and watched large +trout lazing about almost within reach of a preoccupied paddler, +apparently in no alarm over his nearness. Neither paid the other "any +mind." I am sure that beavers eat neither fish nor flesh. +</P> + +<P> +Which reminds me that early in my mountain experience I happened upon +an old trapper's log cabin and stopped to visit him. Mountain +hospitality generously insists that guests be fed, no home or hut is +too poor to provide a bite for the chance visitor. Upon this occasion +I was handed a tin plate with some meat on it. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess what it is," my host urged. +</P> + +<P> +I tasted the meat, examined it, smelled it and tried to make out what +it was. It tasted somewhat like venison, yet not quite the same. It +had something the flavor of cub-bear steak broiled over a campfire, but +it was sweeter and not so strong. I guessed wrong several times before +the trapper informed me. +</P> + +<P> +"Beaver tail," he laughed, pleased at outwitting me. +</P> + +<P> +Still chuckling he went outside to a little log meat house and returned +with a whole beaver tail for my inspection. The tail was about ten +inches in length, nearly five inches wide at the broadest part and +perhaps an inch thick. The skin that covered the tail was dark in +color and very tough, suggestive of alligator skin. The meat of the +beaver tail was much prized by explorers and trappers, and visitors, +such as I, were often given this meat as a special treat. +</P> + +<P> +The old fellow talked at length about the wise ways of the beaver he +had caught. Though I made note of a number of his observations for +future reference, I was skeptical of their authenticity. As years +passed and I talked with many men, I found that their observations +varied greatly. They were not always unprejudiced observers, their +observations were colored by their personal point of view, under +diverse conditions. +</P> + +<P> +I early learned that trappers and hunters, as a rule, are not real +nature students. They are killers, and killers have not the patience +to wait and watch, to take painstaking care and limitless time in the +study of an animal. They will spend only a few minutes watching an +animal that a man without a gun might study for days, or even weeks. +They are prone to snap judgment. Then their over-active imaginations +supply ready misinformation for missing facts. +</P> + +<P> +"A beaver has as many wives as he can git," my host informed me as we +sat before his fire. "There's some that don't have many, and agin +there's some that have a lot, and that's the reason we find some ponds +with only a little house an' others with mighty big ones." +</P> + +<P> +A Brigham Youngish sort of conception of beaver domestic economy! +</P> + +<P> +That same summer another trapper in Middle Park, not many miles from +the first, gave me his version of a beaver's domestic life. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't think they mate at all," he told me; "they're always working to +beat time or else they're wanderin' off somewhere lookin' up good +cuttin' timber and dam sites." +</P> + +<P> +Now, I am sure that Mr. and Mrs. Peg were mated, and for life. Indeed, +I believe all beavers mate for life. They are by nature domestic, +home-loving and industrious, and provident, storing up food for the +winter, making provision against the time food will be scarce because +of snow and ice. They have the coöperative instinct and often combine +their efforts, constructing a house large enough for the whole colony +in the deepest water of the pond, all joining in the harvesting of +green aspen or cottonwood. +</P> + +<P> +Every fall I watched Mr. and Mrs. Peg at their repairs. Their tribe +increased as the years passed, and the shielding laws of the state +protected them. I called their group the "Old Settlers" colony. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-149"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-149.jpg" ALT="Every fall I watched Mr. and Mrs. Peg at their repairs." BORDER="2" WIDTH="496" HEIGHT="706"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 496px"> +Every fall I watched Mr. and Mrs. Peg at their repairs. +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +One fall the Old Settlers abandoned their pond and constructed an +entirely new dam above it, thus solving a number of problems. Sand and +gravel carried down by the swift little stream had settled in the still +water of the pool and almost filled it. The ever-increasing family +outgrew the old house. All the near-by aspens had been cut; this +necessitated the dragging of trees too great a distance before they +could be pushed into the water and floated down. Coyotes had surprised +and killed a number of the Old Settlers' kin as they worked on the long +portage to the stream, and I am sure that the moving of their home was +partly to overcome this danger. +</P> + +<P> +Then it was they earned the title, "Busy Beaver"! How they worked! +That was before the days of ubiquitous automobiles and the beavers had +not become nocturnal in their habits. They swarmed everywhere. +Certain ones were detailed to inspect the dam, make necessary repairs +and maintain the water at the same level all the time. Others worked +at the new house, piling sicks and mud into a heap. It grew, the dam +was raised, so the water was maintained within a few inches of the top +of the unfinished wall. Occasionally I caught a glimpse of some +workers in the deep water or near the shores of the ponds; they were +digging safety-firsts, water escapes for emergency use. These canals +led from the house to either bank and connected with tunnels that had +their openings concealed beneath the surface of the water. Thus, +should their pond be drained suddenly, they could escape by the canals +to their emergency homes beneath the bank. +</P> + +<P> +Other beavers worked in the aspen grove, felling trees and cutting them +into lengths that could be pushed or pulled or rolled to the bank and +floated down the stream. Their work was impeded by the jamming of the +logs in a narrow rocky neck down which they had to be skidded into the +water. +</P> + +<P> +Then the engineers decided upon the construction of a canal around the +rocky falls. They started digging at a point upstream, beyond the +troublesome neck, swung outward, away from the water to the fringe of +aspens, then back again to the stream below the rocks. In all the +canal was two hundred feet long, about two feet wide and averaged +fifteen inches deep. For a time all other work was suspended, and +night and day the whole population toiled on the canal. Apparently +each beaver had his own section to dig, and each went about his work in +his own way. With tooth and claw they worked. Often they cut slides +or runways down the sides of the canal giving them roads up which they +carried their loose dirt. +</P> + +<P> +For thirty-seven nights they toiled in the dry ditch, then turned water +in, and completed the work of deepening the canal. This transportation +system saved them much labor and delay, and provided a safe route to +and from the grove, for they could dive into the water when their +enemies attacked. +</P> + +<P> +I suspected Mr. and Mrs. Peg directed the storing away of that wood, +for it was piled in the deep water beside the house, now rising +majestically several feet about the level of the pool, just as they +always did theirs. The green wood was almost as heavy as the water, +and required little weight to force it under. Thus they always had +some food in their icebox, where they could reach it handily when the +pool froze over. I have observed other beavers on larger streams come +out of their tunnels in the banks and find food along the shores +throughout the winter months. But the smaller the stream the closer +the beaver sticks to his pond. This I believe is a matter of safety +for beavers are slow travelers, and if they venture far from their pool +they fall easy prey to such enemies as bobcats, coyotes, wolves and +mountain lions. +</P> + +<P> +One day while following one of the small tributaries of the St. Vrain +River south of Long's Peak, I heard a loud explosion just ahead of me, +and when I emerged from the fringing woods I discovered two men busy +dynamiting the largest of the three beaver dams in the valley. +</P> + +<P> +"Mining didn't pan out much," one of them replied in answer to my +question, "so we callated we'd take sum beaver fur to tide us over the +winter." +</P> + +<P> +They were prospectors, out of grub, up against starving or getting a +job in the foothills town below, until with their golden promises, they +could again talk some sympathetic listener out of a grub stake. Not +content with obtaining beaver by the usual but slower method of +trapping, they had decided to blow up the dam, drain the pond and shoot +the animals as they sought to escape. Their rifles lay ready to their +hands. +</P> + +<P> +For hours I lingered, to see what luck they would have. They set off +three heavy charges before the dam was shattered. When the water was +nearly drained out—it took but a few minutes—they grabbed their guns. +Not a beaver did any of us see. +</P> + +<P> +They then set a charge of powder against the house and blew a gaping +hole in its side—but there was nobody home! Evidently all had escaped +by the canal in the bottom of the pond to the tunnel beneath the bank. +</P> + +<P> +The men would not admit defeat, but set about to dig the beavers out of +the bank. Darkness saw their task unfinished so they camped for the +night at the entrance of the tunnel; they piled heavy stones at its +mouth hoping to trap the animals within. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning I watched them resume their work, feeling sympathy for the +beavers, but not daring to interfere. Shortly after noon the quest +ended quite unexpectedly. The diggers had discovered a hidden exit +that was concealed among the willows, the beavers had followed the +canal, which could not be drained, to their refuge tunnel in the bank; +and when their enemies destroyed the tunnel, they had used the hidden +exit, and had in all probability made good their retreat during the +night. +</P> + +<P> +As more people settled in the valleys, there was an inevitable +overlapping of claims. The settlers claimed both the water and the +land, and they had government deeds to back them up in their claims. +But the beaver had prior rights, and gamely adhered to them. A feud +arose that is still unsettled between the Old Settlers and the +newcomers. In my rambles I continually came upon homesteaders striving +to drain the valleys and raise grass for their cattle, while +simultaneously the beavers were working to maintain high water. Many +of them lost their lives for their cause, but rarely did they forsake a +home site once established. In the same sections, where the +homesteaders had used aspen for their fence posts, the beavers, no +doubt mistaking them for trees, cut them down. Sometimes their pluck +and persistence won them the admiration of their enemies. In most +cases they won out. +</P> + +<P> +One day, far up near the headwaters of the Cache la Podre River in +Colorado, I came upon a rancher trying to drain a number of beaver +ponds to secure water for irrigation; it was a very dry season and +water was scarce. During the day he tore gaps in the dams, during the +night the beavers repaired the breaks. When after opening the dams the +rancher hurried down to his fields to regulate the flow of water, the +beavers, even in the daytime, would swarm forth and plug up the holes. +</P> + +<P> +Finally in desperation, the man set traps in the gaps he had opened in +the dams. He caught a few beavers and decided that his troubles were +over. But the survivors met the emergency. They floated material down +from above and wedged it into the breaks, without going near the traps. +</P> + +<P> +At this stage of the struggle an old prospector came down from the +higher mountains, driving his burros ahead of him. Hearing of the +rancher's predicament, he suggested his own panacea for all troubles, +dynamite. Enthusiastically, the rancher accepted his proposal. Soon +the dams were in ruins. +</P> + +<P> +A mile below where the dams had been destroyed an irrigation ditch +tapped the river and carried a full head to the green fields. I saw +the rancher standing in the middle of the field, water flowing all +about him. He looked upstream and chuckled, then leaned triumphantly +on his shovel handle. For a long time, he leaned thus, lost in dreams +of prosperity. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he awoke and hurried along his supply ditch. Barely a trickle +was coming down it. The beavers had dammed the intake. +</P> + +<P> +I once worked for a rancher who had a homestead on the North Fork of +the St. Vrain River, which heads south of Long's Peak. He had just +finished clearing a patch of ground to raise "truck" on. +</P> + +<P> +"We've got to get rid of some beaver," he told me the very first day. +He shouldered his shovel and walked down to the dam that sprawled +across the meadow for several hundred feet. +</P> + +<P> +"I cut her loose," he informed me on his return. "She'll soon dry out +so we can put in the crop." +</P> + +<P> +Next morning, whistling happily, he started out for the meadow. His +whistle died away as he caught sight of the water in the pond. It was +as high as usual. The beavers had repaired the break. +</P> + +<P> +Day after day he cut the dam, night after night, the beavers repaired +it. He trapped five of them before they became "trap-wise." After +that they either turned the traps over or covered them with mud. After +trying a number of ruses to frighten them away, the man hung a lighted +lantern in the break he had opened in the dam. The next morning his +whistle piped, merrily, the break was still open. But his joy was +short-lived, for on the following night the beavers constructed a new +section of dam above the break, curving it like a horseshoe. +</P> + +<P> +"Hope they appreciated my givin' 'em light to work by," he laughed; and +gave up the contest. +</P> + +<P> +Beavers seem to possess sagacity in varying degrees. The old animals +are wise according to their years; the stupid and lazy die young. They +adapt themselves quickly to changed conditions; they outwit their +enemies by sheer cunning, never in physical combat; rarely do they +defend themselves—and not once have I known one to take the offensive +side of a fray. Watching them waddling along, one wonders how they +accomplish their great engineering feats in so short a time. Of +course, they can move more rapidly in water than on land, but I suspect +its "everlasting teamwork" that accounts for their achievements. They +are prolific and, unlike the bees, drones are unknown to them. +Coöperative industry—there lies the secret. +</P> + +<P> +I was absent from my cabin for more than a year; and upon my return at +once visited the Old Settlers. Like any other thriving community, they +had made several improvements—two new ponds and houses had been built. +Tracks in the edge of a small new pond showed that my pioneer friends, +Mr. and Mrs. Peg, had removed to a new home. Whether the increasing +number of beavers in the larger pond got on the old folks' nerves, I do +not know; but whatever the reason, they were living alone. I walked +rapidly toward their home, instead of approaching slowly and giving +them a chance to look me over. As I neared the edge of the road, one +of them, I presume Pa Peg, smote the water a mighty whack with his +tail. Both disappeared. I watched for their reappearance, for I knew +that they were watching me from their concealment among the willows. I +sang, whistled, called to them to come out—that I was their old friend +returned. My persistence was at last rewarded. Shyly they came to the +surface, watching me sharply the while, diving at my slightest +movement, reappearing on the farther shore, cautious and canny as ever. +</P> + +<P> +It was spring. Within a few weeks after my homecoming the Pegs would +permit my near approach as they had done before I went away. Though +they worked mostly at night, they did venture out in daytime. If they +were working at separate tasks, the first to discover me would thump +the ground or give the water a resounding whack. +</P> + +<P> +One morning Daddy Peg was missing from the pond. Downstream I picked +up his tracks and discovered that he was hastening away from home. As +it was springtime, I was not concerned lest he was deserting his +faithful wife. It was his habit to leave home when Mrs. Peg was +"expecting." I knew he'd come waddling back in a few weeks to give the +babies their daily plunge. +</P> + +<P> +Sure enough, Mrs. Peg came forth with four midgets in fur; a happy, +romping family that splashed about the pool for hours at a time. Like +all their kin, they had been born with their eyes open and were much +"perter" then other animal infants. They swam, and ate, and took the +trail at once. If Mrs. Peg showed fear of anything, the youngsters +took quick alarm, and forever afterward shunned the object. Of me, +Mrs. Peg took little notice, merely giving me the right of way if I +intruded on one of her trails, or stopping work to watch me curiously +whenever I came near. The beaver babies accepted me as a friend, +permitted me to sit or stand near them as they played. +</P> + +<P> +One morning, as I approached the pool, I discovered the four youngsters +in great agitation. They were not playing. They swam about +restlessly, circled the pool, visited the dam, swam out to their house, +dived inside it, only to reappear almost at once. I searched around +the pond, and found their mother's fresh tracks leading toward the +aspen grove. Near it she had been overtaken by a coyote. +</P> + +<P> +In vain I tried to catch the motherless waifs, but they eluded me. I +went home, made a rude sort of dip-net from an old sack, and returned +to the pool. +</P> + +<P> +During my absence a strange beaver mother with a brood of five babies +had visited the pool where the orphans lived. She immediately adopted +the wee bereft babies. Shortly the pool was merry with the rompings of +the combined families. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER NINE +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +MOUNTAIN CLIMBING +</H4> + +<P> +Mountain climbing is the reverse of the general rule of life in that +the ascent is easier than the descent, and much safer. Most climbers +underestimate the time required to make a chosen trip, and, starting +out with the day before them, ascend at their leisure, making frequent +and unnecessarily long stops to rest, drinking in the beauty of the +prospect from each rise attained, forgetting to allow themselves +sufficient time for the even more difficult descent. Consequently the +return trip is crowded on the edge of darkness, a dangerous condition +on any trail any time, but especially hazardous when the climber is +weary and, therefore, not alert. It is impossible for him to see the +slight footholds or handholds on which he must put his trust, and +weight. +</P> + +<P> +One day, as a boy, I came to grief because I was so absorbed by the +interesting things about me that I took no note of the passing of time +or of the altitude to which I had climbed. From my camp at Bear Lake I +had followed the old Flattop trail to the Divide, from which I could +see a hundred miles or more in all directions; to the north the +mountains of Wyoming peeped through purple haze; eastward, the +foothills dropped away to the flat and endless prairies, with gleaming +lakes everywhere. West and south, my own Rockies rose, tier on tier, +to snowy heights. Gay and fragrant flowers beckoned my footsteps off +the trail; friendly conies "squee-eked" at me from their rocky lookout +posts; fat marmots stuffed themselves, making the most of their brief +summer. A buck deer left off polishing his new horns on a scraggly +timberline tree to look at me. Overhead an eagle swept round and round +in endless circles. +</P> + +<P> +From the rim of the cañon, between Flattop and Hallett, I viewed the +spot where I had blundered over the edge of the snow-cornice on the way +to the dance. Beneath lay Tyndall glacier, its greenish ice exposed by +the summer thaw. I circled the head of the cañon and climbed to the +top of Hallett. From my eerie height, I got an eagle's view of the +world below—a hazy, hushed world where the birds called faintly, the +brooks murmured quietly and even the wind spoke in whispers. From near +by came the crash of glacier ice; falling rocks that thundered down the +cliffs. +</P> + +<P> +All the afternoon I traveled along the crest of the Divide, wandering +southward, away from familiar country into a new maze of peaks and +glaciers, deep cañons and abrupt precipices. Suddenly a gale of wind +struck me, blinded me with penetrating snow. In that instant, without +preliminary or warning, summer changed to winter, and forced me off the +heights. It was impossible to thread my way back over the route I had +come; for it twisted in and out, around up-flung crags and cliffs. +</P> + +<P> +My compass showed that the wind was driving eastward, the direction in +which I wanted to go; so I headed down wind, secure in the thought that +I would soon be off the roof of the world. Lightning and heavy thunder +accompanied the snowstorm, the clouds came down and blotted out the +day; twilight descended upon the earth. +</P> + +<P> +A band of mountain sheep started up from their shelter behind an +upthrust rock and ran ahead of me. I followed them, partly because +they ran in the direction I was going, and partly because they are apt +to select the safest way down the cliffs. +</P> + +<P> +But they turned aside the moment they were out of the wind, swung up on +a protected ledge and there halted to wait out the storm. My compass +had gone crazy. A dozen times I tried it out. It would point a +different direction whenever I moved a few steps. However, the compass +mattered little; the chief thing that concerned me was getting down off +the roof of the world. +</P> + +<P> +Snow swirled down the cliffs, plastering rocks and ledges until both +footholds and handholds were hidden. Still I had to go down, there was +nothing else to do. The hardy sheep, with their heavy coats, could +wait out the storm. But night, with numbing cold, and treacherous +darkness in which I'd dare not move, would soon o'ertake and vanquish +me. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour the ledges provided footing. By turning about, twisting +and doubling, there was always a way down. Of a sudden the clouds +parted; a long bar of sunshine touched the green forest far below me, +focused for a moment upon a single treetop, then vanished as though the +shutter of a celestial camera has snapped shut. +</P> + +<P> +At last I came to a ledge beneath which the sheer cliff dropped away +into unfathomable snowy depths. After short excursions to right and +left I discovered that a section of the cliff had split off and dropped +into the cañon, leaving only sheer rock walls that offered nothing in +the way of footholds. Irresolutely, I faced back the way I had come. +Overhead the wind roared deafeningly; the snow came piling down. No +hope of retracing my steps. I was tired; that upward climb would be +slow and tortuous, would require great strength and endurance. I faced +about and began a thorough, desperate search for a downward route. I +stood marooned in the cañon wall shaped like a crude horseshoe. At its +toe water had leaped down and eroded a slight groove in the solid rock. +This was my only chance. It was not inviting, but I had no +alternative. It led me down a hundred feet, then tightened into a sort +of chimney. Just below I could see the swaying top of a big tree. +Firewood must be near at hand! Wider ledges must lay close beneath! +</P> + +<P> +Fifty feet down the chimney, just as it deepened into a comfortable +groove with rough, gripable sides, I came to a sudden halt, for the +rock was broken away; the cleft bottom of the chute overhung the cliff +below. Sweat streamed down my face, in spite of the cold wind. +Visions of a leaping campfire died out of my mind. +</P> + +<P> +The Engelmann spruce swayed toward me encouragingly, as though offering +to help me down. But its top was many feet from the wall. There was +an abandoned bird's nest in it; a little below that was a dead limb +with a woodpecker's incision at its base. By leaning out I could see, +a hundred feet or more below the bottom of the swaying tree. +</P> + +<P> +In my extremity I shouted, even as I had done in the glacier crevasse, +though there was no one to hear. The echo came back sharply. "There +must be another wall angling this one," I thought. +</P> + +<P> +"It's got to be done, there's no other way." I spoke the words out +loud to boost my courage. +</P> + +<P> +The tip of the old spruce rose to almost my level; but there was that +intervening gulf between it and the rock on which I stood. How wide +was that gulf, I wondered. Five feet? Ten? Too far! +</P> + +<P> +A score of times I surveyed the tree-top, tried to estimate the +distance, sought a foothold in the cramped rock chute, and worked into +position for the leap. +</P> + +<P> +No sharpshooter ever aligned his sights more carefully than I did my +feet. My coat was buttoned tightly, cap pulled down. When at last I +was all set, I hesitated, postponed the jump and cowered back against +the wall. A dozen times I made ready, filled my lungs with deep +breaths, stretched each leg out to make sure it was in working order, +but every time my courage failed me. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly resolute, not giving myself chance to think, I tensed, filled +my lungs, leaned away from the rock, and launched headlong. +</P> + +<P> +As my body crashed into the treetop my fingers clutched like talons, my +arms clasped the limbs as steel bands. I was safe in the arms of that +centuries-old spruce. +</P> + +<P> +Never since that day have I taken such a chance. The thought of it, +even now, sends cold, prickly chills along my spine. +</P> + +<P> +That time trouble came out of a clear sky, but sometimes a bit of +innocent curiosity betrays one. Thus one day, with sunshine overhead +and peaceful murmurs below, I stood upon a rock spire upthrust from the +slope of Mount Chapin, watching a band of Bighorn sheep above +timberline. The Fall River road now runs past the spot where they were +feeding. When I climbed up toward them, they gathered close together, +some of them scrambling up rocks for vantage points, all watching me +interestedly. They were not excited. They moved away slowly at my +near approach, stopping now and then to watch me or to feed. For +several hours I kept my position below them; sometimes edging close to +one of them, keeping in sight at all times, and being careful not to +move quickly. +</P> + +<P> +The band worked its way to the foot of the steeper slopes, above the +tree line, hesitated, eyed me, then started up a narrow little passage +that led up between two cliffs. A rock-slide cluttered this granite +stair. Stable footholds were impossible for the loose rocks slipped +and slid, rolled from beneath the sheep's feet and bounded down the +slope. +</P> + +<P> +Of a sudden something frightened the Bighorn, just what I had no time +to learn. Instantly every one of those nineteen sheep was in full +flight up the rock-slide. They bounded right and left, tacked across +it, turned, scrambled up, slipped back, tumbled, somersaulted, but +always regained their balance and made steady headway. +</P> + +<P> +They seemed to have lost their wits, for they scattered, each selecting +his own route, all striving with great exertion to make speed up the +steep slope. +</P> + +<P> +A barrage of stones fell all about me. Dust-puffs dotted the slide. +Then the whole thing seemed to move downward, like the rapids of a +river, dashing rock spray everywhere. The air was filled with flying +granite, as hurtling rocks struck and exploded into smoky fragments. +Bits, the size of wine-saps, scattered like birdshot; larger pieces, +the size of bushel baskets and barrels, bounded and danced, leaped away +from the slope, out into space, and dropped like plummets. Huge +bowlders (sleeping Titans that they were) stirred, roused themselves, +and came crashing down, plowing through the forest below, furrowing the +earth and cutting a swath through the trees as clean as a scythe +through grass. What was first merely the metallic clink of rolling +stones changed to a steady bombardment, and then into a sullen, ominous +roar as the giant bowlders got under way. +</P> + +<P> +For me the scene had changed abruptly; a moment since I had been +following the wild sheep with ready camera, stalking them, entertaining +them with antics, occasionally hiding for a moment to excite them. Now +pandemonium reigned. The first few stones I dodged; then they came too +thick to be avoided. I dived headlong behind a bowlder, partly buried +in the slide. Like a rabbit I hid there, clinging as the stones hailed +about me, afraid to lift my head. Rocks struck close, filling my eyes +with gritty dust, choking me. Then a giant slab came grinding +downward. I could hear it coming, its slow thunder drowned out all +other sounds. The whole mountain heaved. My rock fort shook, flinging +me backward amidst a deluge of smaller stones. Over and over I rolled, +with the loosened rocks, fighting frantically every instant. +</P> + +<P> +Inside a few short, busy seconds the giant slab shot past, my bowlder +had halted it for only a second. As I leaped aside I was pelted by a +score of stones, battered, bruised, knocked half unconscious, eyes +filled with sharp, cutting grit. At last I gained the outer edge of +the whirlpool, where the movement was less rapid, where only the +smaller stones trickled down. Dazed, bleeding and breathless, I was +flung aside, too blinded to see and too stunned to avoid the +projectiles shooting my way. +</P> + +<P> +The slide lessened; its roar diminished; only occasional rocks came +down. Then came silence, vast, still and awesome after the uproar. +But it was broken by the belated descent of tardy stones, loath to be +left behind. Miniature slides started, hesitated and scattered. +</P> + +<P> +Like a battered bark I lay half submerged at the edge of the slide. My +cap was gone, my camera lost, my clothes torn; in a score of places I +was scratched or bruised. I crawled farther from the danger line, +found a trickle of water below a melting snowbank, where I drank and +laved my bruises. At length I started down the mountain, safe, but not +sound; somewhat wiser, thrilled tremendously at the experience that had +come unannounced. +</P> + +<P> +It is always thus in mountain climbing—the unexpected is the rule! +</P> + +<P> +The habit of estimating time by the number of miles to be traveled goes +by the board in mountain work. A mile stood on end ceases to be a mile +and becomes a nightmare. Trail miles, or those that stretch across the +mountain tops, are not even related to the miles of straight, smooth +highway of the lower levels. A new unit of measurement should be +created for alpine climbers, to conform to the haughty attitude of the +mountains. At times, upon the crest of the Continental Divide, and at +an altitude of from ten to twelve thousand feet, I have covered from +three to five miles in an hour. And again, while breaking a snow +trail, creeping up treacherous glacier ice, or edging along the ledges, +I have often reversed the digits, taking several hours to gain a single +mile. +</P> + +<P> +Then, too, no trip is taken twice under the same conditions. The +mountains are never the same: the weather, the wind, snow or rain +conditions may alter decidedly the footing upon their slopes. Thus a +climb that was accomplished on the first of June in one year without +serious obstacles may, on the same date another year, be found to be +impossible. Experienced mountaineers intuitively know when to proceed, +or to turn back; and though they may not be able to explain why they +abandon or continue a trip, they "feel" their actions imperative. +</P> + +<P> +So climbing tests a man's judgment, his physical endurance, and tries +his soul. It brings out his true character. The veneer of convention +wears through inside a few miles of trail work and reveals the +individual precisely as he is, often to his shame but usually to his +glory. Thus a silent, backward boy one day became a hero by diving +headlong across smooth ice to rescue a trio of climbers who had lost +their footing and had started to slide across a glacier. Again, upon a +certain climb, two husky men who gave promise of conquering the ascent +without trouble, turned out to be the weakest of weaklings, abusing all +the party, demanding all the guide's help for themselves. +</P> + +<P> +"You can't never tell how fur a toad'll jump!" the Parson said +disgustedly as he heard the tale of these two huskies who had turned +babies; "nor which way neither." +</P> + +<P> +One of the things which I have found most helpful on hard climbs, is +mental preparation. If there are certain, lurking dangers to be +overcome, I have found it a decided help to admit the facts freely +before attempting the climb; picturing as far as it can be done the +situations that may arise. In this way it is possible, to a certain +degree, to anticipate emergencies before they happen and to prepare for +them. It also helps one to act with imperative promptness. +</P> + +<P> +It is less easy to prescribe for physical preparation. Equipment must +vary with needs and these are as varied as the climbers themselves. +However, I have found that it is well to dress lightly, for this +permits freedom of movement. Personally I prefer light, low shoes that +reach just above the ankle, the soles studded with soft-headed hob +nails, not the iron ones. A change of socks is sometimes a life-saver, +for frequently the footing leads through ice water or soft snow. Numb +feet are always clumsy and slow, and dangerous besides. I have found +it best to wear medium-weight wool underclothes and just enough outer +garments to keep one warm. A staff is a handicap on rockwork, but +helpful on glaciers or other ice climbing. +</P> + +<P> +On the mountain tops, as well as upon the highways, speed is dangerous. +Haste on a mountain brings grief of various kinds, nausea, needless +exhaustion, injuries. Never sprint! Climb slowly, steadily, like a +sober old packhorse. You will make better time, and reach the summit +in condition to enjoy your achievement. +</P> + +<P> +I came to distrust, and to test out, every rung in my rocky ladders. I +found that even the most secure-appearing "stepping stones" were often +rotten and treacherous, weathered by the continual freezing and thawing +of the moisture in its seams. Often a mere touch was sufficient to +shatter them, but sometimes it was not until I put my weight upon them, +holding to a shrub or an earth-buried bowlder the while, that they gave +way. +</P> + +<P> +I learned, too, that the wise selection of a route up and down is the +crucial test of a good guide. In such selection there are no rules; +for every climb presents problems particularly its own, and what worked +out well on the last climb may turn out to be dangerous on the next. +Thus, on one ascent of the cliffs of Black Cañon, my companion +suggested that we follow a "chimney," a water-worn crack that offered +convenient toe-holds. We ascended by the selected route without +difficulty. But an hour later, when a similar ascent confronted us, we +selected the same sort of route and came to grief, finding our way +blocked by an overhanging wall impossible to surmount. +</P> + +<P> +The actual climbing of difficult places becomes a habit, so far as the +physical effort is concerned, leaving one free to inspect the +precipices above, and to feel out, instinctively, the possible routes +to the top. +</P> + +<P> +The selection of a way up difficult places calls for the sixth sense, +instinct, which cannot always be acquired by experience. Wild animals +possess this "instinct" to a great degree; but human beings are not so +unerring. One man may be blest with it, but another, with equal +experience, will be unreliable. There is no accounting for the wide +difference in their accuracy, it exists—that is all we know. +</P> + +<P> +There are times when even with this guiding instinct, one comes to +grief; though I have noted that grief came to me most often when I was +tired, less alert, and more prone to take chances or needless risks. +Sometimes, under stress of haste to get off a dangerous place before +darkness overtook me, I have had to leap without looking. No climber +may expect to survive many such reckless steps. It is the rule of the +mountains that you look—then do not leap. In most of life's +experiences we may make a mistake and, if wise, profit by it. But in +mountain climbing the first mistake is liable to be the last. +</P> + +<P> +Mountain climbing is a game, a big game; divided as are other sports +into minor and major divisions. The minor climbs include the lesser +peaks, safe, well-marked trails that lead to comfortable night camps: +the major division includes almost everything from peeping into an +active volcano to getting imprisoned in a glacier crevasse. +</P> + +<P> +Colorado offers wide variety of experience in both divisions. It has +forty-odd peaks above fourteen thousand feet, with hundreds of others +almost as high, yet unknown and unmapped. The peaks that are most +widely known, and most often climbed are Pike's Peak near Colorado +Springs and Long's Peak in the Rocky Mountain National (Estes) Park. +Pike's has long been easily accessible by way of the famous cog road, +and more recently an automobile road has reached its top. But Long's +has no royal road to its summit. Only a foot trail partly encircles it. +</P> + +<P> +There are many other than these two peaks to challenge the climber. +The Flattops, in western Colorado, are not necessarily low or smooth, +though flat. The San Juan Mountains are extremely rough and rugged. +The Sangre de Christo Range is at once rarely beautiful and forbidding. +The Never-summer and Rabbit Ear ranges invite exploration, and the +great Continental Divide has no peers. +</P> + +<P> +Every mountain offers its peculiar attractions and difficulties. All +mountains entice the brave-hearted and the adventurous. Occasionally +men lose their lives in conquering them and not infrequently women die +heroically scaling their slopes. +</P> + +<P> +Long's Peak was early the objective of experienced mountain climbers. +For a number of years it defied all efforts to scale it. From 1864 to +1868 a number of unsuccessful attempts to reach the top failed. In the +summer of 1868 a party in charge of W. N. Byers, who had led the first +unsuccessful party, reached the top. Since that time each year has +seen an increasing number of successful climbers. Most climbers go in +small parties, for large ones (more than five) are dangerous. Dogs are +dangerous companions on a climb, because they start rock-slides. +</P> + +<P> +As a boy I lived at the foot of this forbidding Sphinx, climbed it +every month in the year, and thus came to know its mighty moods, the +terrific fury of its storms, the glory of its outlook. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Carrie J. Welton lost her life upon the Peak in 1884. She gave +out near the top and her guide, Carlyle Lamb, son of the Parson, made +heroic efforts to save her. But he, too, became exhausted and had to +leave her alone while he went for help. +</P> + +<P> +But when help arrived, Miss Welton was dead, having perished from +exhaustion and cold. +</P> + +<P> +Other casualties have occurred on this towering mountain. A boy left +his parents in camp at the foot of the Peak and disappeared. Late in +the summer, as the snowbanks diminished, his body was found, lying at +the base of the three-thousand-foot precipice. One man was killed by +the accidental discharge of a pistol. A doctor was killed by +lightning. In January, 1925, occurred a double tragedy. Miss Agnes +Vaille perished near the spot where Miss Welton lost her life, and +under similar conditions. Herbert Sortland, member of the rescue +party, became lost and perished in the storm that was raging over the +heights. His body was found many weeks afterward within a few minutes' +walk of home. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER TEN +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +MODERN PATHFINDERS +</H4> + +<P> +Back on the farm of my childhood, the names of Kit Carson, Jim Bridger, +Buffalo Bill and other renowned frontiersmen were ever on the lips of +my parents. Their reckless bravery that took no thought of self, their +diplomatic cunning that cleverly kept the Indians friendly, their +unlimited resourcefulness, equal to the most unprecedented emergencies, +were the subjects of many a heroic tale. When I came West, no matter +how far I penetrated into remote regions, if there were trapper or +prospector about, I found the immortal fame of these intrepid +pathfinders had traveled into those mountain-guarded wildernesses. +</P> + +<P> +They became the heroes of my boyish dreams, the patterns of my conduct, +the inspiration of my ideals. I seized upon every written word +concerning them and plowed through thick, poorly-printed volumes on the +frontier for one brief sentence about these gallant scouts. I longed +to emulate their fearless, immortal deeds. They left an indelible +impress upon my character, even as they had upon the romantic annals of +their country. +</P> + +<P> +My growing familiarity with the Rocky Mountain region opened up one +trail in which I could follow their footsteps. Tourists were finding +out the country, guides were in demand. In the early days, before the +creation of the National Park, guides were unlicensed. Any experienced +old-timer or climber could take parties up the Peak or on other alpine +trips. I began guiding by taking occasional visitors up Long's. I +furnished my horse, and on most trips, supplies, wrangled the +pack-horses, made camp, cooked the meals, and gave invaluable advice +and "first aid" all for the munificent wage of five dollars a day! +That sum made the replacement of climb-shattered cameras, the +purchasing of a few coarse, cheap garments, and the acquiring of a +Montgomery Ward library, all such riches, possible. +</P> + +<P> +The work afforded none of the opportunities for fame and glory that had +lurked in the trails of my heroes; I did not creep stealthily from a +wagon train in the dead of night to thwart the redmen in a fiendish +massacre; I was not compelled to kill game to furnish food for my +charges; I did not have to find fords across wide, deep and treacherous +unknown rivers, and steer panic-stricken cattle or heavily laden oxen +across them. But even though the work lacked the glamour of the +pioneers' primitive, golden day, it was not without engrossing +interests. It was filled with drama, relieved by comedy, sometimes +fraught with tragedy. +</P> + +<P> +Yes; styles in guides have changed since Bill Cody scouted the plains, +even as they have changed since I piloted my first party up Long's +Peak. A new breed has sprung up since the people have made such wide +use of their National Parks. Not only the modern guides outwit the +savage elements, but, under the National Park administration, they are +required to have a fund of general information, especially nature lore, +to be able to identify the thousands of varieties of wild flowers, the +birds, animals and trees; to conduct field classes in geology, and to +explain every phenomenon of weather and climate. Such a guide must +have the patience to answer numberless questions. All this in addition +to watching his charges, as a nurse watches her patients, feeling their +pulses, so to speak, and taking their physical and moral temperatures. +He must keep up their morale with entertaining yarns, he must restrain +their too ambitious experience, must protect them from their own +foolhardiness. He must have the charity to forbear deriding their +stupidity. He must be as courageous and resourceful as the old-time +guides, though his trials may not be so spectacular. A guide soon +plumbs a man's character and fathoms its weakness and its strength. +</P> + +<P> +As a boy guide I trailed far into the wilds with hunting parties, and +camped through the summers with fishermen, geologists, explorers and +mountain climbers. The reaction of individuals to the open spaces has +ever been interesting to me. I have seen voluble women silent before +the awesome beauty. I have seen phlegmatic business men moved to +tears. There was no way of anticipating people's reactions. +</P> + +<P> +Nearly all climbers dread the altitude of the high country. It is the +"Old Man of the Sea" to most "tenderfeet." It has as many forms as the +clouds and changes them as readily. It pounces upon the innocent but +not unsuspicious wayfarer in the form of nosebleed, short wind, +earache, balky watches, digestive troubles, sleeplessness and +oversleeping. +</P> + +<P> +As guide one day for the wife of a well-known geologist, I secured a +new idea regarding altitude. We were to spend the day above +timberline, where we hoped to identify the distant mountain ranges, +observe the wild life close at hand and collect flower specimens. We +left the valley at dawn, let our horses pick their way slowly upward. +We halted occasionally to watch a scampering chipmunk or to explain our +harmless errand to a scolding squirrel. +</P> + +<P> +Near the timberline we emerged into a little grassy glade beside a +rushing stream. Far above and deep below us grew a dense forest of +Engelmann spruce. In the glade stood a detached grove of perhaps a +dozen trees, dead and stripped almost bare of limbs and bark. +</P> + +<P> +My lady stopped abruptly and stared at these. She shook her head +sadly, murmuring to herself. At last she spoke: +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it too bad?" she grieved. +</P> + +<P> +I agreed sympathetically, then peered about to learn the cause of our +sudden sadness. +</P> + +<P> +The lady pointed to the dead trees, wagged her head, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it too bad the altitude killed them?" +</P> + +<P> +There were green trees a mile farther up the mountain above the dead +ones in the glade. Yet my lady insisted that the altitude had singled +out and killed the little grove in the midst of the forest—so we let +it go at that. +</P> + +<P> +Of course, some persons really are affected by altitude, but weariness, +lack of muscular as well as mental control, often creates altitudinous +illusion. Of this condition I had an example while guiding a party of +three women and one man to the top of Long's Peak. We climbed above +timberline, headed through Storm Pass, and finally reached Keyhole +without a single incident to mar the perfect day. The ladies were new, +but plucky, climbers; the man rather blustery, but harmless. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond Keyhole lies rough going, smooth, sloping rocks and the "Trough" +with its endless rock-slides that move like giant treadmills beneath +the climber's feet. The pace I set was very slow. The man wanted to +go faster, but I called attention to Glacier Gorge below, the color of +the lakes in the cañon, in short, employed many tactics to divert him +from his purpose. +</P> + +<P> +My refusal to travel faster excited him, he became extremely nervous +and made slighting remarks regarding my guiding ability that ruffled me +and embarrassed the ladies. Hoping to convince him of his error, I +speeded up. He remonstrated at once, but when I slowed down to our +customary pace he still objected, saying we'd never reach the top +before dark. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he developed a new notion. Climbing out upon a ledge he +lifted his arms and poised, as though to dive off the cliff. +</P> + +<P> +"Guide," he called, his voice breaking, "I must jump." +</P> + +<P> +After some confusion we were on our way again, the man within clutch of +my hand. All progressed without further trouble until we reached the +top of the trough, where we halted to rest and to look down into Wild +Basin, memorable scene of my first camp! My charge craftily escaped my +clutches, walked out on a promontory, and again threatened to jump. +Secretly I hoped he would carry out his threat. +</P> + +<P> +Before we began scaling the home stretch, I tried to persuade the +erratic idiot to remain behind, but he refused. However, we all made +the top safely. He relapsed into glum silence, which I hoped would +last until we were safely off the peak. But as we stood near the brink +of the three-thousand-foot precipice overlooking Chasm Lake, we were +startled to hear his voice once more, raised to high pitch. +</P> + +<P> +"I must jump over, I've got to jump," he screamed. +</P> + +<P> +He waved his arms wildly, as though trying to fly. The ladies begged +me not to approach him lest he totter from his precarious perch. +Summoning all the authority I could command, I ordered him to come down +off the rock. My commandment unheeded, next I humored him and tried to +coax him back upon the pretext of showing him something of special +interest. But he stood firm, mentally at least, if not physically. +</P> + +<P> +Pushing the ladies ahead, I hurried on toward the trail. As I started, +I waved good-by, and shouted: +</P> + +<P> +"Go on, jump. Get it over with, coward!" +</P> + +<P> +He turned back from the edge, swearing vengeance against me. In +abusing me, however, he forgot his obsession to jump. +</P> + +<P> +During the summer of my experience with the man who wanted to jump, I +guided a party of three men who behaved in a totally different, but in +quite as unexpected, manner. They were three gentlemen from New York, +who wished to make a night climb up Long's Peak. It was a beautiful +moonlight night. Our party left the hotel at the foot of the Peak at +eleven o'clock. Proceeding upward through the shadowy, moon-flecked +forest, we sang songs, shouted, listened to the far-away calls of the +coyotes in the valley below, and from timberline saw the distant lights +of Denver. At one o'clock we reached the end of the horse trail. In +two hours the horses had covered five miles and had climbed up +thirty-five hundred feet. We were on schedule time. Though the sun +would gild the summit of the Peak soon after four in the morning, we +would arrive sufficiently ahead of it, to watch it rise. +</P> + +<P> +All at once my troubles began. The three men wanted to race across +bowlderfield. It was sheer folly and I told them so, and why, but +failed to convince them. They raced. They kidded me for being slow, +dared me to race them, and gibingly assured me that they would wait for +me on top and command the sun not to rise until I got there. +</P> + +<P> +They would have their little joke. They waited for me at Keyhole and +we moved slowly along the shelf trail beyond. On that they raced +again, but not far, for the steep slope of the trough with its slippery +stones stood just beyond. Right there they insisted on eating their +lunch, an untimely lunch hour for there was hard climbing yet to do. +Not satisfied with emptying their lunch bags, they drank freely of some +ice water that trickled out from beneath a snowbank. +</P> + +<P> +I got them going at last and we had gone only a short way when two of +them fell ill. They felt they just had to lie down, and did so, and +became thoroughly chilled, which added to their pangs of nausea. After +awhile we proceeded very slowly. No longer their song echoed against +the cliffs. They broke their pained silence only to grumble at one +another. +</P> + +<P> +Midway of the rock-slide of the trough, they stopped, and like balky +mules, refused to go forward or turn back. In vain I urged them to +start down, assuring them the lower altitude would bring relief. The +sick men didn't care what happened; they craved instant relief by death +or any other instantaneous method, as seasick persons always do. Their +more fortunate friend looked at them in disgust, as those who have +escaped the consequences of their deeds often look at those who have +not. He upbraided me for not keeping them from making fools of +themselves. I knew argument with him would be futile in his +quarrelsome frame of mind. I kept still. His sick companions crawled +beneath an overhanging rock, and lay shivering and shaking, too +miserable to sleep. Presently he joined them, sputtering at me as the +author of all their troubles. His sputterings grew intermittent, +ceased. He was audibly asleep. +</P> + +<P> +After a long time one of his pals demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Who in the —— proposed this —— trip anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +The conduct of these men was not unique. Most climbers start out +exuberantly, burn up more energy than they can spare for the first part +of the trip, and find themselves physically bankrupt before they've +reached their goal. The rarefied air of the high country seems to make +them lightheaded! The most disagreeable character to have in a party, +as in other situations, is the bully, or know-it-all, who spoils +everyone's fun. A guide is a trifle handicapped in handling such +people, in that his civilized inhibitions restrain him from pushing +them off the cliffs or entombing them in a crevasse. I was too small +to do them physical violence anyway, so I had to resort to more subtle +weapons, the most effective being ridicule. If a joke could be turned +on the disturber he generally subsided. The rest of the crowd were +profuse in their expressions of gratitude to me for such service +rendered. +</P> + +<P> +Such an individual was once a member of a fishing party I guided to +Bear Lake. The trip was made on horseback and we hadn't gone a mile +before he urged his horse out of line and raced ahead, calling to some +kindred spirit to follow. They missed the turn and delayed the whole +party more than an hour while being rounded up. +</P> + +<P> +"Lanky," as the party dubbed him out of disrespect, blamed me for their +getting lost, but dropped behind when he saw the half-suppressed mirth +of the others. Along the way were many inviting pools, and +occasionally we saw a fisherman. "Lanky" soon raised the question of +trying out the stream, but was outvoted by the others. He was inclined +to argue the matter, but we rode up the trail, leaving him to follow or +fish as he desired. +</P> + +<P> +At Bear Lake at that time was a canvas boat, cached twenty steps due +west of a certain large bowlder that lay south of the outlet. The boat +was small, would safely hold but two persons. As it was being carried +to the water, "Lanky" appeared and insisted on having the first turn in +it. To this the others agreed, much against my wishes. To save the +others from the annoyance of the fellow, I went out with him in the +boat. +</P> + +<P> +The trout were too well fed to be interested in our flies, though +"Lanky" and I paddled around and across, and tempted them with a dozen +lures. +</P> + +<P> +My passenger became abusive and blamed me for wasting a good fishing +day by bringing the party to the lake. In the midst of his tirade the +boat tilted strangely. For a few minutes he shamefully neglected me +while he gave his whole attention to righting it. +</P> + +<P> +By sundown the party had caught a few small fish, and were ready to +quit. They had gladly let "Lanky" monopolize the boat so as to be +spared his society. To "Lanky's" disgust we had caught only two +six-inch fish. Just as we started for the shore he made a farewell +cast. +</P> + +<P> +Something struck his spinner; his reel sang, his rod bent, and he stood +up in the boat, yelling instructions at me. The rest of the party quit +fishing to watch him land the fish. The trout was a big one, and game, +but we were in deep water with plenty of room. From the shore came +excited directions: "Give him more line!" "Reel him in!" "Don't let +him get under the boat!" "Head him toward the shore!" "Lanky" turned +a superior deaf ear. +</P> + +<P> +After a tussle of ten minutes a two-pound trout lay in the boat, and +"Lanky" raised an exultant yell in which the cliffs of Hallett joined. +Now, indeed, was justice gone astray, when the one disagreeable member +of the party had the only luck. +</P> + +<P> +When the last triumphant echo died away, I picked up his prize, +inspected it critically, held it aloft for the others to witness. "I'm +a deputy warden," I snapped at him disgustedly, "and you don't keep +small ones while I'm around." With that I tossed the trout into the +lake. +</P> + +<P> +Just as I finished, the boat mysteriously upset, and "Lanky" and I +followed the fish. +</P> + +<P> +The early trips I made with parties were mostly short ones for game or +fish, but as more and more visitors came each succeeding summer, longer +trips became popular. From fishing, the summer guests turned to trail +trips, camping en route and remaining out from five to ten days. To +cross the Continental Divide was the great achievement. Everyone +wanted to tell his stay-at-home neighbors about trailing over the crest +of the continent, and snowballing in the summer. +</P> + +<P> +The route commonly chosen was the Flattop trail to Grand Lake, where +camp was pitched for a day or two; then up the North Fork of the Grand +River (known farther south as the Colorado River) to Poudre Lake, where +another camp was made. From here they made a visit to Specimen, a +mountain of volcanic formation which rises from the lake shore. This +peak has ever been the home of mountain sheep. One can always count on +seeing them there, sometimes just a few stragglers, but often bands of +a hundred or more. +</P> + +<P> +However interesting the day's experience had been, the climax came +after camp was made, supper served and cleared away, when a big bonfire +was lighted and all sat about it talking over the happenings of the +day, singing and putting on stunts. In the tourists' minds the guide +and the grizzly were classed together; both were wild, strange and +somewhat of a curiosity. Nothing delighted them more than to get the +guide to talking about his life in the wilds. Most of them looked upon +him as a sort of vaudeville artist. +</P> + +<P> +When several parties were out on the same trip they all assembled +around a common campfire. The guides were given the floor, or ground, +and they made the most of the occasion. Such competition as there was! +Each, of course, felt obliged to uphold the honor of his party and +out-yarn his fellows. Their stories grew in the telling, each more +lurid than the last. There were thrilling tales of bear fights; of +battles with arctic storms above timberline; of finding rich +gold-strikes and losing them again. +</P> + +<P> +At first the guides stuck to authentic experiences. But as the demand +outgrew their supply, they were forced to invention. They had no mean +imaginations and entranced their tenderfoot audiences with their +thrilling tales. Around the campfires of primitive peoples have +started the folklore of races. These guides were more sophisticated +than their rustic mien hinted, the points of their yarns more subtle +than the city dwellers suspected. +</P> + +<P> +One evening I reached the Poudre Lake camp at dusk, to find two other +parties ahead of mine. The others had finished supper and were +gathered around the campfire, with North Park Ned the center of +attraction. +</P> + +<P> +"I was camped over on Troublesome crick, an' havin' a busy time with +cookin', wranglin' the hosses and doin' all the camp work. The +fellers, they was all men, were too plumb loco to help, everything they +touched spelt trouble. They admired to have flapjacks, same as we et, +for supper, an' they watched jest how I made 'em, an' flipped 'em in +the frypan. Then they wanted to do the flippin'." +</P> + +<P> +Ned chuckled quietly to himself and went on: +</P> + +<P> +"I hadn't realized afore that a tenderfoot with a pan of hot, smeary +flapjacks is as dangerous as he is with a gun. He's liable to cut +loose in any direction. He ain't safe nowhere. One of them I had out +was called Doctor Chance; guess he got his name cause other folks took +chances havin' him round. Well, Chance was the first flipper. I'd +showed him the trick of rotatin' the frypan to loosen the jacks so't +they wouldn't stick an' cause trouble. The doctor got the hang of +flippin' 'em 'an did a good job 'til he wanted to do it fancy. The +plain ordinary flip wasn't good enough for him, no siree. He wanted to +do it extra fancy. Instead of a little flip so's they'd light batter +side down, the doctor'd give 'em a double turn an' they'd come down in +the pan with a splash. He got away with it two or three times; then he +got careless—flipped a panful without loosen'n 'em proper—them jacks +stuck at one edge, flopped over and come down on doc's hands. We had +to stop cookin' and doctor the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +"Then another one of 'em thought he'd learnt how from watchin' the doc, +so I set back an' let 'im have all the rope he wanted. It was their +party, an' they could go the limit so far as I was concerned. But the +new guy slung 'em high, wide an' crooked as a sunfishin' bronc. First +thing I knowed there was a shower of sizzlin' flapjacks rainin' where I +set, an' I had to make a quick getaway to keep from bein' branded for +life. Then he heaved a batch so high they hit a dead limb over the +fire an' wrapped aroun' it. +</P> + +<P> +"It was then the next feller's turn, and he started in, while Number +Two shinned up the tree to get the jacks off en the limb. Number Four +hadn't came to bat yet, so the performance was due to last some time. +I got up on a big rock, outta range. +</P> + +<P> +"Number Two was in the tree; Number Three flippin'; Number Four was a +rollin' up his sleeves an' gettin' ready for his turn. The third chef +was sure fancy! He juggled them cakes just like a vodeville artist +does. Of a sudden he cuts loose a batch that sailed up high an' +han'some, turned over an' cum down on the back of Four's neck—him +bein' entertained at the time by the feller in the tree." +</P> + +<P> +Ned had acquitted himself well, his story had the tang of reality in +it, and he told it with rare enthusiasm. He was so clever, in fact, +that the younger guides, including myself, decided not to enter the +story contest that night. But there was one in camp who did not +hesitate; Andrews was his name. I had not seen this man on the trail +before, so listened as eagerly as the others to what he had to offer. +</P> + +<P> +"Remember the mountain sheep we saw on Flattop?" Ed recalled as he put +aside his pipe. "Well, them wild sheep always has interested me. +They're plumb human some ways, I reckon. They sure got a whale of a +bump of curiosity, an' they beat country kids in town when it comes to +starin' at strange sights. Reckon there ain't nuthin' short of a +neighbor that's got more curiosity than them sheep. The old rams git +so wise they live two or three times as long as the foolish ones that +don't never seem to learn nothin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Ole Curiosity, up in back on Specimen, is the biggest ram I ever saw. +He's sure curious, an' smart along with it. If trouble shows up around +Specimen, why Old Curiosity just ain't home, that's all, but hid away +somewheres in the cliffs. An' once when there was shootin' he went +over to another mountain till the hunters was gone. That there ole ram +got so famous that the fellers used to devil the life outta him. +They'd make a show of takin' their gun up the mountain jest ter see the +old feller hide out. +</P> + +<P> +"One day I was guidin' a party up toward Lulu Pass. We was down in a +deep gully, with high walls. All to onct I looked up an' saw a bunch +of sheep. They hadn't seen us yet on account of our bein' in the +aspens. I flagged the party an' told 'em to watch. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess some one was after the sheep, for they was in a hurry to git +across the gully. One at a time they jumped off the cliff an' landed +in the sand along the river. Must have been fifty feet anyhow, maybe +more; but that didn't phase 'em. Of a sudden out walked Ole Curiosity, +lookin' as big as a house, with circlin' horns three feet long. The +ole feller jumped last; and jest as he jumped I rode out of the woods." +</P> + +<P> +Ed eyed the circle of eager faces; his listeners tensed and leaned +forward breathlessly. Then he continued: +</P> + +<P> +"When the ole ram was about halfway down he seen me. An' what do you +reckon he did?" +</P> + +<P> +His hypnotized audience were too spellbound to hazard a guess. +</P> + +<P> +"He turned aroun' and went back." +</P> + +<P> +The story of the ram that turned back is still told around the +campfires of the Rockies, and it has not grown leaner in the +repetitions. But the old-time guides are giving way to younger ones, +more scientific but not so entertaining. The Indians who have turned +guides are unexcelled when it comes to following trails that are dim, +or in tracking down runaway horses. Indians have a subtle sense of +humor, even during the most serious situations. "Injun not lost, trail +lost," one said when adrift in the woods. +</P> + +<P> +To prevent "trails from getting lost," the Park Service requires all to +pass examinations on packing, making camp, handling horses, first aid, +familiarity of the region and general aptness for the calling before +granting them a license entitling them to conduct parties on the peaks +and trails of Rocky Mountain National Park. When the first +superintendent was giving these examinations he invited me to assist +him. +</P> + +<P> +In order to focus the attention of the would-be guides upon certain +important essentials, the questions started out by asking: +</P> + +<P> +"What is the first consideration of a guide?" +</P> + +<P> +"What is the second consideration of a guide?" +</P> + +<P> +The answer expected to the first, of course, was the safety of the +party, and to the second the comfort of the party. +</P> + +<P> +The superintendent and I strolled about the room where a dozen or more +young fellows were laboriously writing out their answers. One chap in +particular attracted my attention, for he was from the woods, a big +strapping fellow with clear eyes, and an eager, honest face. +</P> + +<P> +I peeped over his shoulder. Beneath "What is the first consideration +of a guide?" he had written in unmistakable brevity: "HAM." Beneath +"What is the second consideration of a guide?" in a clear, legible hand +was the kindred word: "BACON." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER ELEVEN +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +OFF THE TRAIL +</H4> + +<P> +That same youthful ambition to emulate the early explorers and discover +new worlds which had led me West also tempted my boyish feet off the +beaten, man-made trails. I was told that trails were the safe, the +sure routes into and out of the wilds, but their very existence +proclaimed that other men had been there before me. I was not the +first on those narrow, winding high roads. I preferred the game trails +to them, but I liked better still to push beyond even those faint +guides, into the unmarked, untracked wilderness. There I found the +last frontier, as primitive as when bold Columbus dared the unknown +seas, and my young heart thrilled at such high adventure. +</P> + +<P> +Late one fall, I climbed high above timberline on the Long's Peak +trail, and, following my adventurous impulse, left the cairn-marked +pathway and swung over to the big moraine that lay south. From its top +I peeped into the chasm that lies between it and the Peak, then angled +down its abrupt slope to a sparkling waterfall, and, following along +the swift, icy stream above it, was climbing toward Chasm Lake, when an +eerie wail rose from the gorge below. Somewhere down there a coyote +was protesting the crimes committed against his race. His yammering +notes rose and fell, ascending and descending the full run of the +scale, swelled into a throaty howl and broke into jerky, wailing yaps +like a chorus of satyrs. The uninitiated could never have believed all +those sounds came from one wolfish throat; it seemed that it must be +that the entire pack, or at least half a dozen animals, raised that +woeful lamentation. +</P> + +<P> +Facing, first one way and then another, I tried to locate the +brokenhearted mourner. But Long's sheer, precipitous face and the +lofty cliffs around me formed a vast amphitheater about which echoes +raced, crossing and recrossing, intermingling. For a full minute the +coyote howled, his sharp staccato notes rising higher and higher, the +echoes returning from all directions, first sharply, then blurred, +faint, fainter. The higher the sounds climbed the gorge the longer +were the intervals between echoes, for the cañon walls sloped back and +were wider apart toward the top. I counted seven distant echoes of a +single sharp bark before it trailed off into numberless +indistinguishable echoes. The varying angles and heights of the walls +altered their tones, but just as they reached the top they came in +uniform volume, and then overflowed the lower north rim and were lost. +</P> + +<P> +For ten minutes that coyote howled, and I tried to locate him by the +sound. I knew it would be impossible to sight him for his dun-colored +coat blended perfectly with the surrounding bowlders. At last I +decided he was due west of me. Cautiously I started toward him, but as +soon as I moved he materialized from the jumbled pile of slide rock a +hundred feet north of where I stood. The echoes had fooled me +completely. I wondered then, and many times since, why he howled with +me so near. He surely saw me. Was lie familiar with the echoes of the +gorge? Did he know their trickery? Did he lift his voice there to +confound me? He is somewhat of a ventriloquist anywhere, perhaps he +liked to howl from that spot because the abetting echoes deluded him +into thinking his talent was increasing and he excelled all his rivals +in the mysterious art! Or perhaps like some singers I have known, he +enjoyed the multitudinous repetition of the sound of his own voice! +After more than a score of years I am no nearer a solution of the +riddle. +</P> + +<P> +Twenty miles from the spot where the music-fond coyote sang, near the +headwaters of the Poudre River, I rode one day in pursuit of a pair of +marauding wolves. As soon as they discovered me tracking them, they +took to an old game trail that climbed several thousand feet in ten +miles distance and headed toward the timberline. From their tracks I +could tell the country was strange to them, for animals, like men, are +uneasy in unfamiliar surroundings. +</P> + +<P> +Somewhere a prospector set off a blast. The sound rolled around and +echoed from all about. The wolves were startled at the repeated +reports, as they thought them, and at sea as to the direction from +which they came; so they hid away in a dense new growth of Engelmann +spruce. When I rode in sight with rifle ready across my saddle, they +lay low, no doubt fearing to blunder into an ambush if they took flight. +</P> + +<P> +A campbird sailed silently into the tops of the young trees and peered +curiously downward. Its mate winged in and together they hopped from +limb to limb, descending toward the concealed animals, and conversing +in low tones of their discovery. +</P> + +<P> +My horse stopped at my low command; I raised my rifle and fired into +the undergrowth beneath the trees. The wolves sprang out at a run, +with lightning bounds, crossed a small opening and disappeared into the +heavy forest beyond. I continued firing at them, without effect. Just +before they vanished into the spruces, I fired a final salute. To my +astonishment, they turned tail and came racing back, straight toward +me, but glancing back fearfully as they came. For a foolish instant I +thought they meant to attack, then the reason for their action dawned +on me. A sharp echo of each shot had been flung back by a cliff beyond +the grove. The fleeing animals on nearing the cliff had mistaken these +echoes for another pursuer. They feared the unseen gun more than the +gun in the open. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-205"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-205.jpg" ALT="They turned tail and came racing back, straight toward me." BORDER="2" WIDTH="516" HEIGHT="760"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 516px"> +They turned tail and came racing back, straight toward me. +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +I killed them from the saddle. An echo had betrayed them. But they +were in unfamiliar country. I doubt if they would have been misled at +home, for animals are commonly familiar with every sight, sound and +scent of their home range, and wolves are uncannily shrewd. +</P> + +<P> +Thus I learned that the same phenomenon that had confounded me deceived +the animals. Echoes make an interesting study and add mystery to the +mountains. But animals, and most woodsmen, have a sixth sense upon +which they rely, an intuitive faculty we call instinct. It is more +infallible than their conscious reasoning or physical senses of sight, +sound, smell, taste and touch. It leads them unerringly through +unblazened forests, during blinding storms or in the darkness of night. +It helps them solve the enigma of echoes, and sometimes when the +vagrant breezes trick their sensitive noses, and bring scents to them +from the opposite direction of their sources, it senses the deception, +and, setting them on the right path, delivers them from their enemies. +</P> + +<P> +I suppose I must have had this instinct to some degree or I would +surely have been lost in those mountain mazes. Not that anticipation +of such a possibility would have deterred me—it would really have +added allurement to the adventure. As it was, I did get lost, but +always succeeded in finding my way home again. +</P> + +<P> +But even with this instinct, people are often lost in the high country +of the Rockies. Mountain trails twist and turn, tack and loop around +unscalable cliffs. Let a stranger step off a trail for a moment to +pick a flower blooming in the shade of the surrounding woods, and, +unless he be an outdoor man, he is liable to be confused as to the +trail's location when he tries to return to it. The sudden changing +weather of high altitudes also causes the climber to lose his way. A +sky which at sunrise is as innocently blue as a baby's eyes, may be +overcast by lowering clouds by noon, or even sooner. A fog may settle +below the summits of the peaks, and cloak all objects more than a few +yards distant, distorting and magnifying those mistily discernible. A +turn or a detour to survey the vicinity and attempt to get one's +bearings almost invariably brings disaster. A fall that dazes one even +for a few minutes is liable to befuddle one as to direction and cause +one to lose one's way. +</P> + +<P> +Few persons lost in the mountains travel in a circle. The typography +of the country prevents them, high ridges confine them to limited +areas. They are as apt to travel in one direction as in the opposite, +but they may usually be looked for and found in a shut-in valley or +cañon. +</P> + +<P> +I was lost one day within a mile of home, almost in sight of the home +buildings, upon a slope I knew well. It came about through my +following a band of deer on my skis. The day was windy the snow +blowing about in smothering clouds. I came upon the deer in a cedar +thicket. At my approach they retreated to a gully and started up the +slope. The snow grew so deep that after floundering in it a few yards, +they deserted the gully, tacked back close to me, and cut around the +slope about level with my position. I gave chase on skis, which almost +enabled me to keep up with them. When they altered their direction and +headed down hill, I easily outran them. Soon I was in their midst, but +had difficulty in keeping my balance. +</P> + +<P> +All at once the animals indulged in queer antics. One lay upside down, +his feet flailing the air; another stood on his head in space; two does +on my left whirled round and round as though dancing with a phonograph +record for a floor. The next instant I joined their troupe. In the +flash that followed I remembered seeing the tops of small trees beneath +me, remembered my skis whipping across in front of my face. +</P> + +<P> +In their panic to escape me, the deer's instinct had deserted them, and +they had dashed full speed across a slope where a spring overflowed and +froze, and the ice was coated with snow. +</P> + +<P> +When I regained my feet I was lost. Everything was unfamiliar. I set +my course toward a prominent thumb of rock, but when I reached it, it +had either changed its shape or moved. The whole valley was strange. +</P> + +<P> +After skiing for several hours, I topped an utterly foreign ridge. +Below me were houses. I coasted down to the nearest that had smoke +rising from its chimney. A neighbor, living just a mile from home, +came to the door. Then I realized where I was, and recognized the +"strange" valley, the "unfamiliar" ridge and my neighbors' houses. I +had traveled in a ten-mile circle. The fall with the deer hadn't +exactly dazed me—I wasn't unconscious—but it had jarred shut the +window of my memory, and though almost at my own door, there was +"nobody home." +</P> + +<P> +The best example of storm causing one to lose one's way is the +experience of Miss Victoria Broughm, the first woman to climb Long's +Peak alone. She started one September morning from a hotel at the foot +of the Peak, taking a dog as her companion. She tethered her horse at +bowlderfield, where horses are usually left, and without difficulty, or +delay, made the summit. Just as she reached the top, a storm struck +the mountain and, inside of a few minutes, hid the trail. Pluckily +Miss Broughm worked her way down, tacking back and forth, mistaking the +way but making progress. She was afraid to trust the dog to guide her. +Late in the evening she descended the trough, a steep rock-filled gully +that extends far below the timberline. The trail goes only part way +down this slide, then tacks across to Keyhole. In the storm she could +not distinguish the cairns that marked the turn-off, and continued on +down the trough far below the trail and was lost. +</P> + +<P> +That evening when she did not return to the hotel, a searching party +set out to find her. But a terrific hundred-mile gale was raging upon +the heights. The searching party found it almost impossible to battle +their way above the timberline and after many ineffectual attempts, +they returned, nearly frozen, without tidings of the lost girl. +</P> + +<P> +William S. Copper, Carl Piltz and myself set out at midnight for the +Peak. The wind that met us at the timberline halted our horses, even +jolted them off the trail. Just above the timberline my horse pricked +his ears toward a sheltered cove and gave a little whinny. We hurried +forward hoping to find Miss Broughm. But only her horse was there, +dragging its picket rope. We proceeded to bowlderfield. +</P> + +<P> +The night was moonless and half cloudy. The wind shrieked among the +rim rocks and boomed against the cliffs. Our lantern would not stay +lighted. Time and again we crept beneath a rock slab and relighted it +only to have it snuffed out the instant we emerged into the wind. +Across the rocks we crept, crouching like wary wrestlers. When sudden +blasts knocked us off our feet, we dropped flat and clung to the rocks. +But even with all our caution we were toppled headlong at times, or +bowled over backward as the wind struck us. +</P> + +<P> +It was after three in the morning when we reached Keyhole, the pass in +the knifelike ridge that separates bowlderfield from Glacier Gorge. +The wind forced up the slope from below tore through Keyhole like water +through a fire hose. One at a time we attempted to crawl through, but +it hurled us back. Together, each holding to his fellow, we braced +against the side walls, clung to little nubs on the floor, and edged +forward an inch at a time. Even so we were blown back like so much +chaff. +</P> + +<P> +We dropped back down below Keyhole and, creeping beneath some rocks, +waited for daylight. No matter how far we crawled beneath the jumbled +slabs the wind found us out. We shivered, all huddled together for +warmth, and waited for dawn to light our way and to calm the hurricane. +</P> + +<P> +At daybreak we managed to get through Keyhole and made our way to the +trough, where we separated, Cooper and Piltz following the trail to the +top while I descended the trough toward Glacier Gorge. We had agreed +to watch for silent signals, since it was impossible to hear even the +loudest calls more than a few feet. +</P> + +<P> +In a little patch of sand not much larger than my hand, I discovered a +human footprint, with a dog's track imposed upon it. I wigwagged to my +companions, received their answering signal, and went on down the +trough, whistling to the dog and shouting his name though I could not +hope he would hear me above that gale. I searched beneath every likely +slab as I went. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the dog appeared atop a huge rock. He howled in answer to my +call; the wind blew him off his post and he disappeared. I hastened +forward; then paused. What would I find beneath the rock? Resolutely +I started to crawl beneath it—and met Miss Broughm coming out. She +was cold, her lips were blue and cracked, but she had not given up +hopes or lost her courage. With her hair blowing like the frayed +remnants of a flag, she stood beside the bowlder and smiled a brave if +twisted smile. She was too cold to walk unaided, so as soon as the +others came up, we all supported her and started upon the return trip. +We reached the hotel between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning with +our lost lady still smiling wanly but rapidly recovering the use of her +limbs. She retired for a few hours and reappeared in time for +luncheon, little the worse for her night out on top of the world. +</P> + +<P> +A compass is limited in its usefulness partly because it is sometimes, +though rarely, affected by mineral deposits and goes wrong, but mostly +because a lost person seldom thinks he is lost and traveling in the +wrong direction, but instead doubts the accuracy of the compass. At +most he will admit he is off the trail, but he does not think that is +synonymous with being lost. His tracks will record the uncertainty of +his mind, wavering, haphazard, indefinite, but he will not admit, even +to himself, that he is lost. +</P> + +<P> +There are a few general rules followed by searchers for lost people. +If the proposed destination or general direction in which they +disappeared is known, the rescuers take the trail and track them. +Every trail, even across windswept bare rocks high above the +timberline, as is the Long's Peak trail, has occasional deposits of +soft sand in which footprints may be imprinted. And as I have said +before, the area which must be searched is restricted by confining +cliffs and ridges. A lost person who cannot find his way back over the +trail he has come, shows wisdom in following down a stream which will +eventually bring him to habitations in the valley below. +</P> + +<P> +Whether or not searching parties start out at once for the unfortunate +climber depends on the character of the country he was bound for. If +his goal is the summit of a high, bleak peak like Long's; or a glacier, +it is imperative to start at once as the temperature above the +timberline is often below freezing, even during the summer months. But +if the country is not so menacing, the searchers delay, hoping the lost +person, like Bo Peep's sheep, will come home unsought, as indeed he +generally does. +</P> + +<P> +Most of the lost are found, but a few persons have vanished never to be +seen again. The Reverend Sampson disappeared supposedly somewhere +along the Continental Divide between Estes Park and Grand Lake, and +though parties made up of guides, rangers and settlers searched for +more than a week, they found no trace of the missing man. I was in the +town of Walden, North Park, late one fall when a woodsman came down +from the mountains west of the Park with some human bones he had found +near the top of the Divide. By the marks on its barrel, the rusty +rifle lying near the bones was identified as one belonging to a man who +had been lost while on a hunting trip thirty years before. +</P> + +<P> +One moonlight night I had an extraordinary and ludicrous experience +with a lost person, though at the time it seemed only exasperating. I +had stepped outside my cabin to drink in the "moonshine" on my superb +outlook. Across the valley, as clearly as in daylight. Long's Peak +and its neighbors stood out. The little meadow brook shimmered like a +silver ribbon. I walked out to Cabin Rock, a thousand feet above the +valley, and sat down. Coyotes yip-yipped their salutations to the +sailing moon. The murmur of the little brooks rose to my ears, +subdued, distant. I listened for each familiar night sound as one does +for the voices of old friends. I sat entranced, intoxicated with the +beauty of the hour, refreshing my soul, at peace, content. +</P> + +<P> +A strange cry startled me from my reverie, a human cry, faint, as +though far off. +</P> + +<P> +"Help!" Then a pause. "H-e-l-p!" Then more urgently: "H-E-L-P!" +</P> + +<P> +For a few minutes I sat still upon my crag, puzzling. Some one has +stumbled into a bear trap, I thought, or been injured in a fall. After +marking the locality from which the calls came, I ran down my zigzag +trail, and hastened down the valley toward the spot whence the cries +had come. Whenever I came to the open, parklike clearings, I stopped +to listen. The floor of the wide valley had been burned over scores of +years before, and a new growth of lodge-pole pines covered it. These +trees were of nearly uniform height, about fifteen feet, and in places +too dense to permit of passage. +</P> + +<P> +Three miles were covered in record time. Then, thinking that I must be +close to the spot from which the calls had come, I climbed an upthrust +of rock, searched the openings among the trees near by, and listened +intently. I shouted; no reply. For perhaps ten minutes I waited. +Then from far up the valley, close below my cabin, the distressing +calls were repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"He's certainly not crippled," I thought. "He's traveled nearly as far +as I." +</P> + +<P> +I set off at a run, for I know every little angle of the woods in the +vicinity. But when I arrived, breathless and panting, there was no +answer to my shouts. I gave up the chase in disgust, and started up +the trail toward my cabin. I decided some one was having fun with me. +</P> + +<P> +Midway up the trail to my cabin, I heard the cries again, agonized, +fearful. They came from across the valley, toward the west. Heading +for the peaks! I must stop him! It certainly sounded serious. I'd +have to see it through. +</P> + +<P> +I hurried across the valley, shouting at intervals, stopping to listen +and to look for the person in distress. There was no answer, no one in +sight. As I reached the steep slope, leading upward to the high peaks, +I heard terrified, heart-rending cries, southward, toward the spot from +which the first call had come. It was strange, and maddening, that I +could hear him so distinctly, yet he could not hear me. He was +certainly deaf or very stupid, for he continued calling for help, when +help was pursuing him and yelling at the top of its lungs. +</P> + +<P> +Again calls. This time straight south of my position. It was a +riddle; annoying, yet interesting. Never in my mountain experience had +I encountered such a mystifying situation. However, with grim +determination, but little enthusiasm, I turned south. My curiosity was +aroused. I wanted to see what sort of fool ran around in dizzy circles +yelling for help, yet not waiting for an answer to his supplications, +nor acknowledging my answering shouts. +</P> + +<P> +I was in prime condition, and well warmed up with ten miles of travel. +My endurance was too much for the will-o'-the-wisp. As, for the second +time, I neared the spot from which he had first called, he shattered +the silence with lusty appeals, then broke cover within a hundred yards +of where I followed, hot on his trail. He looked able-bodied and +goodness knows he'd been active, so I withdrew into the shadows of a +thicket to watch what he would do. +</P> + +<P> +After his outcry, he kept mumbling to himself—his words were +inaudible—lost his voice—don't wonder! Some rooter he'd make at a +football game while he lasted! After muttering a minute, he stopped +and listened intently, as though expecting an answer. Good heavens! +He thinks he can be heard! He moved on, staggering crazily, stumbling, +stopping to look at the shining peaks; then going on aimlessly. +"Loco," I decided. +</P> + +<P> +I circled ahead of him and concealed myself behind an old stump. I +wanted to hear what he was saying. Twice he had crossed the road that +ran down the valley, the only road in that vicinity. From Cabin Rock I +had seen a tent beside it. +</P> + +<P> +As he came toward me, I stepped from behind the stump. +</P> + +<P> +"What in time ails you?" I roared. +</P> + +<P> +He stared at me and walked completely around me before saying a word. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh," he grunted then. "Where'd you come from?" +</P> + +<P> +I explained with considerable emphasis that I had come from almost +every point of the compass. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you tell me why in Sam Hill you are yelling for help when it's as +light as day?" I demanded hotly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm lost," he said meekly. +</P> + +<P> +"Lost!" I yelled. +</P> + +<P> +He nodded shamefacedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Went fishing and couldn't find my camp again," he confessed. +</P> + +<P> +I recalled the tent beside the road, I'd seen from Cabin Rock. It was +the only camp, on the only road in the vicinity. +</P> + +<P> +"Why in thunder didn't you follow the road?" +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't know which way to go," he defended. +</P> + +<P> +"There's the Peak!" I gibed, pointing upward; "plain as day. Your camp +is straight east of it—didn't you know that?" +</P> + +<P> +He winced, but did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't you see the Peak?" I insisted. "You couldn't help but +recognize it." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he admitted. "I saw the Peak, but I thought it was in the wrong +place." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER TWELVE +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +DREAMERS OF GOLDEN DREAMS +</H4> + +<P> +What with my hunting, trapping, exploring, cabin-building and guiding, +my boyish dreams of striking it rich and sending home trainloads of +glittering nuggets to my parents, who had been frustrated by illness in +their trek across the plains to the golden mountains of Colorado, began +to fade into the background. I was engrossed in getting acquainted +with my wild neighbors, in learning their habits and customs, and in +trying to photograph them in their natural habitat. Moreover there was +no rich gold ore in the vicinity of my cabin. Though I was greatly +disappointed in this fact at the time, I have since become reconciled +to it. After seeing the naked, desolate, scarred-up country around +Central City, Cripple Creek, Ouray and other mining localities, I am +thankful that no such madness will ever tempt men to despoil the +beauties of the region around Estes Park. +</P> + +<P> +But if there was no paying gold in the vicinity, there were plenty of +prospectors. The slopes above the Parson's ranch were "gophered" all +over by them. There were miles of outcrop showing and all bore traces +of gold. Every summer some wanderer came probing among the countless +holes sure he'd find riches where others had failed. The most +persistent one was called "Old Mac" who returned repeatedly. Late one +fall he took up his quarters in a log cabin belonging to a mining +company. The cabin stood near Long's Peak trail, at an altitude of +about ten thousand feet. There they had cached some left-over +supplies. Old Mac, forever dreaming, stumbled on to the cache and +decided to take up his residence there. +</P> + +<P> +Through October and November I saw Old Mac frequently as he pottered +about the mine or picked up ore samples from the dump. He staked half +a dozen claims, marked their locations, and dug some new holes to test +the mineral. In December, when deep snows came, I left the region. +</P> + +<P> +When I returned in the spring the snow lay deep and undisturbed about +the old cabin. Evidently Old Mac had got out before winter set in. +However, I shouted his name, more in the spirit of talking to myself +than of expecting a reply. I was surprised to hear a faint reply. +From inside the cabin came a creaking as though some one were getting +out of bed. Then the door opened and the old man, blinking owlishly, +stood before me. His long white hair was unkempt and tangled. He +yawned and stretched like a bear emerging from its winter hibernation. +</P> + +<P> +"Came up to bring them papers?" he asked, expectantly. I recalled +then, when I last saw him in December, that he had asked to borrow some +Denver papers that contained information about the Reno gold rush. I +had forgotten about them. I explained and apologized. +</P> + +<P> +"What sort of a winter have you put in?" I asked by way of diverting +him. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at me in a sort of maze. +</P> + +<P> +"Winter?" he mumbled perplexed. "It's sure settin' in like it meant +business. But I'm plannin' to start a tunnel—got a rich vein I want +to uncover—think come spring I'll have her where somebody'll want to +build a mill an'——" +</P> + +<P> +"But you told me you were going to Reno," I recalled. +</P> + +<P> +"Yep; I am, come spring," he earnestly assured me. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know the date?" I shot at him. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at me sheepishly. +</P> + +<P> +"No-o-o, don't reckon I do," he admitted, scratching his head and eying +me quizzically. +</P> + +<P> +I waited. +</P> + +<P> +"Must be about Christmas, ain't it?" he guessed at length. +</P> + +<P> +It was the eighth of May! +</P> + +<P> +Old Mac was a typical prospector. They are all queer, picturesque +characters, living in a world of golden dreams, oblivious to everything +but the hole they are digging, the gold they are sure to find. They +have a fanatical, unshakable, perennial faith in every prospect hole +they open, no matter how many have been false leads. They are +incorrigible optimists, the world's champion hopers. Unkempt, +unhurried, dreaming, confiding, trustful, superstitious, they wander +the length of the Rockies, seeking the materialization of their golden +visions. They are seekers, far more concerned with finding gold than +with digging it out. Like hunting dogs, their interest ceases with the +capture of their quarry. +</P> + +<P> +They do not care whether the region they propose to search has been +scientifically tested and thought to contain gold. They adhere to the +miner's adage, "Gold is where you find it"; and they seem to have some +occult power of divination for they have uncovered fabulous fortunes in +regions which, like Cripple Creek, had been declared "barren of gold." +Yet, as the old settlers say, "Prospectors never get anything out of +their finds." Having struck it rich, they take to the trail again, to +search endlessly, to probe ceaselessly, with patient faith, the +inscrutable hills. +</P> + +<P> +In addition to their seemingly occult power of divining the location of +earth's hidden treasure, these rugged old men of the mountains possess +a mysterious means of learning news of gold strikes. Let a bonanza +strike be made and every prospector in the region will be on his way to +the new camp within a few hours. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you know that gold had been struck at Caribou?" I asked an old +man whom I met on the trail, driving his pack burro ahead of him, +hurrying considerably for a prospector. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at me, scratched his head, spanked the burro and started on. +No doubt regretting his discourteous silence, he turned, "I knowed they +was agoin' to," he told me. +</P> + +<P> +Nearly every prospector has a little pack burro, that seems to absorb +all the patient philosophy of its master. To his shaggy burden-bearer, +he gives his last flapjack, tells his golden dreams, confides the +location of rich veins of ore, and turns for comfort when the false +lead plays out. The knowing animal provides that rarest of +companionship, a sympathetic, silent, attentive listener. +</P> + +<P> +Most of the prospectors I have met on the trails were old men, working +alone, but two do sometimes cast their lot together, and become +partners. +</P> + +<P> +The story I heard told once around a campfire, of two old prospectors +who were always quarreling, is characteristic. Many times they +separated, each to go his own way; sometimes they merely set up +separate camps a few yards apart, refusing to speak or to take any +notice of each other. Thus they bickered, fought and made up, close to +forty years. They staked claims wherever they discovered promising +outcrop. They were familiar with a hundred miles of ragged mountain +ranges. +</P> + +<P> +After all those years, old and failing, they fell out over some trivial +thing and separated for good. One traveled north, the other south. +Both struck fine mineral that promised to make their dreams come true. +But neither was content. Each wanted the other's companionship and yet +each feared that pride would keep his poor partner from accepting his +advances. They grew morose, and finally both blew up their holdings to +conceal their riches and headed back along the Divide to meet, face to +face, the partner they had deserted. +</P> + +<P> +Prospectors are philosophers, without hurry or worry. They meet each +situation as it arises calmly, and let to-morrow take care of its own. +When food and dynamite give out, they make a pilgrimage to the foothill +towns and with alluring tales of leads, lodes and veins of hidden +treasure soon to be revealed—just as soon as they have time to do a +little more development work—they secure another grub stake and are on +their way to high country again. They always find willing listeners, +for the heart of many a less daring, conservative business man is in +the hills. The listeners are easily inveigled into staking these old +beggars, hypnotized and hypnotizing with dreams, and do it again and +again, gambling on the next strike being a lucky one. The man who +furnishes a grub stake shares half and half with the prospector he +equips. +</P> + +<P> +No matter how little they have, prospectors will share with anyone who +comes their way. Their hospitality is genuine, though perforce +limited. They invite you first, and learn who you are and what your +business may be later. +</P> + +<P> +One day I was picking my way down the bogs and marshes of Forest Cañon. +All at once it narrowed, boxing up between high walls. To go on I had +either to climb the walls or back-track for some distance. I elected +to climb. After the struggle up the face of the rock I sat down to +rest. +</P> + +<P> +"No one within miles," I panted as I sat down. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't look like there's ever been anyone here," I added as I recalled +the way I had come. +</P> + +<P> +"What ya take me fur?" +</P> + +<P> +Ten feet away, standing motionless beside an old stump, stood a +cadaverous fellow whose rags suggested the moss that hung from the +trees. +</P> + +<P> +"Hungry?" he shot at me before I recovered from my surprise. "Camp's +right hyar." +</P> + +<P> +He led the way with all the poise of a gentleman. +</P> + +<P> +But his camp! Beside an old tunnel that plunged beneath the side wall +of the cañon was a lean-to. Upon green boughs were spread a single +pair of ragged blankets. His campfire still smoldered. Upon its coals +were his only culinary utensils, an old tin bucket, in which simmered +his left-over coffee, and a gold pan containing a stew. The pan had +seen better days—and worse ones, too, for one side of its rim was +gone, and the bottom had been cleverly turned up to form a new one, +making it semi-circular with a straight side. +</P> + +<P> +"Prospectin'?" my host ventured, eying me dreamily. +</P> + +<P> +"No, lookin'," I told him. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph." Then, "Hope you find it." +</P> + +<P> +But his curiosity ended there. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, if you're wantin' ter see sum'thin' good, looka that." +</P> + +<P> +He tossed over a piece of quartz. +</P> + +<P> +"Got er whole mountain uf it," he jerked his head toward the tunnel. +He lowered his voice, glanced around, beckoned me to follow, and led +the way inside his mine. +</P> + +<P> +At the edge of the darkness he halted, returned to the entrance and +peered about. Then he leaned close that none might hear, and whispered +the secret; the old, old secret no prospector ever keeps. Not that +prospectors have anything to keep! +</P> + +<P> +Another time, in the rough region west of Ypsilon Mountain, I came upon +a lean, wiry little old man leading a burro. He jerked at the lead +rope in vain attempt to hurry the phlegmatic animal. +</P> + +<P> +"Com' on, durn ye," he squeaked as he tugged at the rope. "Don't ye +know we're tracin' the float? Lead's right close now." +</P> + +<P> +But the burro was of little faith. He had lost his youthful +enthusiasm. He carried all his master's possessions (except his golden +dreams) on his back, but his pack was light. +</P> + +<P> +So engrossed was the old man that he passed within fifty yards of where +I sat without seeing me. He was oblivious to everything but what might +lie hidden on the mountainside. The float would lead to a bonanza +strike, a mill would be built to handle the ore, a town would spring +up—his town, named in his honor as the discoverer of the lead! He +mumbled of these things as he worked. Sometimes he paused, looking +abstractedly at the peaks above, without apparently seeing them at all. +He babbled incoherently of leads, floats, lodes and veins. +</P> + +<P> +His actions were like those of a dog puzzling out the faint trail of a +rabbit that had crossed and crisscrossed its own trail until nothing +could track it down. Somewhere on the mountain above was the source of +the float. The old man edged up the slope, tacking back and forth +across the line of scattered quartz. He located the vein at last by +trenching through a carpet of spruce needles. +</P> + +<P> +He set up camp and started digging, so I dropped down the cañon towards +the Poudre River. But a week later, upon my return, he was still +there. He had located his claim and staked his corner. His location +notice, laboriously written with a blunt pencil, was fastened to a +tree. The burro lay in philosophical contemplation in the grass beside +the stream; while his master sat beside the shallow hole that perhaps +marked the beginning of a mine. His pose was that of a sentinel. He +watched the hole with an expectant air, as though from it something +important would presently emerge, and he was waiting to pounce upon it. +</P> + +<P> +Years later when I passed that way again, the hole was no deeper, but +the frayed remnants of the location notice flapped in the breeze. +</P> + +<P> +Only once in a quarter of a century have I seen a prospector hurry. It +was while I was guiding a party of Eastern folks across the Rabbit Ear +range that we met a gangling fellow named "Shorty," by way of contrast. +I say he was hurrying, because he held a straight course across the +mountains without paying heed to numberless diverting leads he +ordinarily would have "sampled." +</P> + +<P> +Shorty was heading for Central City, where mining had been in full +blast for forty years. He had no burro, he had cached his tools at the +scene of his last camp. He had had a dream that revealed to him the +location of a rich vein, right in the midst of miles of mines, but +unsuspected and undiscovered. Every prospector has dreams by day as +well as by night. +</P> + +<P> +My party "loaned" Shorty some grub and watched him disappear toward the +Mecca of his dreams. Just before he left, Shorty confided to us that +his dream vein lay just below a big bowlder and above some tall trees; +that he knew the vein was right there—and it was. +</P> + +<P> +To my cabin one day, came Slide-Rock Pete, who dwelt in a realm of +unreality. Pete was superstitious after the manner of his tribe. He +knew all the luck signs, all the charms (good or bad), and he had +conjured up counter-charms against ill omens. As he approached my +cabin a visiting cat, a black one, crossed his path. Pete promptly +turned around three times in the opposite direction to that in which +the cat had gone and calmly entered, secure in his belief that he had +broken pussy's dark spell. He was afflicted with rheumatism, which +prevented him from prospecting. At length he figured out the cause of +his trouble and a cure for it. It wasn't dampness, or rainy weather, +he told me, but came from camping near mineral deposits. If he chanced +to pitch his camp near mineral, especially iron, it caused his +"rheumatics" to "come on." +</P> + +<P> +For protection he bought a compass with which we went over proposed +camp sites. If the compass showed variation or disturbance, he +abandoned the site. And once when the compass was out of order, he +camped, unconsciously, at a spot where there was iron. Then as his +rheumatism developed he found that his watch had stopped. Later when +his aches at last left him, his watch started ticking of its own +accord. His watch was so sympathetic that it couldn't bear to run when +he couldn't walk! But when he felt good, it was so joyous it ran ahead +to make up for lost time. Then he set it right by squinting at the sun! +</P> + +<P> +No matter what queer beliefs prospectors have they are never +disgruntled. +</P> + +<P> +I had camped near the old Flattop trail at a spot where, sometime +before, I had cached some food supplies. It was early in September. +No wind reached the bottom of the cañon where I slept beside my fire. +I awoke at the sound of a voice and sleepily I opened my eyes. No one +would be traveling at night—surely I had been dreaming. But no—there +was movement. +</P> + +<P> +"If I kin git the hole ten feet deeper before snow flies, I'll have +something to show that ole skinflint at the lake." +</P> + +<P> +I sat up wondering. Then I remembered the voice. It was old Sutton, a +prospector I had known for many years—one of the typical, plodding, +babbling old fellows who live only in their dreams. +</P> + +<P> +My camp was in the shelter of small spruces while my visitor stood in +the open. Playfully I picked up an empty tin can and tossed it into +the air, that it might fall close beside him. At the fall of the can, +the man spun around suddenly, and, walking over to it, prodded it with +the stick he carried. +</P> + +<P> +"Gosh dern!" he exclaimed; "funny how things happen." +</P> + +<P> +He stood in silence, looking down at the can. +</P> + +<P> +Then I dropped another close to him. He muttered something +unintelligible. The third and fourth cans made him hop around like a +surprised robin beneath an apple tree, with fruit pelting the ground +near it. At length he hobbled off, talking to himself about a new lead +he had found, without solving the mystery of the tin cans dropping from +a clear night sky. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER THIRTEEN +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE CITY OF SILENCE +</H4> + +<P> +For days I had been on the trail, or, rather, off it, for there were no +trails in the high country through which I was traveling, excepting +those made by game. I was hungry. The region lacked charm. It is +difficult for a boy to appreciate scenery on a two-day-old empty +stomach, which he has been urging up mountains and joggling down +valleys. Had the bunnies been more accommodating and gone into their +holes so I could snare them or smoke them out, or the grouse had been +less flighty when I flushed them, and remained near enough so I could +reach them with my stones, I might have stretched my food supply over +the extended time of my unexpectedly prolonged travels. But no such +good luck attended me on that excursion. The very first day I slipped +off a foot-log while crossing a saucy little mountain brook and bruised +my shin, tore my trousers and injured my camera. Like most small boys, +I regretted that gratuitous bath. I began to wonder if Slide-Rock Pete +was so crazy after all. +</P> + +<P> +Now the clouds were pinning themselves up to dry on the pointed summits +of the peaks, and were already beginning to drip on the world below. +Darkness threatened to set in early. I knew I ought to stop and make +camp while it was still light enough to see, but I kept on going, +hoping something might turn up. My empty stomach growled its +disapproval, but I stubbornly ignored its protests. While my better +judgment, my stomach and myself were all three arguing, I thought I +glimpsed a building, far down on the slope below. Too excited to say +"I told you so" to my companions, I quickened my steps and headed +toward it. "A prospector! If he has any grub at all he'll share it, +and I'll be protected from this downpour." By that time the celestial +laundresses were emptying out their wash tubs and sloshing water all +over the earth. +</P> + +<P> +When I drew near the shack, I discovered it was one of a group of +straggling houses scattered along the sides and bottom of the gulch. A +settlement! It was dark by then, yet not a light could I see. "Must +go to bed with the chickens," I mused. "I hope they won't mind being +gotten up to give a wayfarer shelter and a bite to eat." +</P> + +<P> +On my way down the slope, I passed two or three log cabins but these +were silent, apparently empty, and I hastened on to the main group +which faced on the single, grass-grown road that ran along the bottom +of the gulch, intending to knock at the first which showed signs of +life. I walked the length of the sprawling road, looking sharply at +each house, listening for voices, a chance word or a peal of laughter. +Not a sound greeted my ears except the thud of rain upon sod roofs, the +drip of water through stunted, scraggly trees. +</P> + +<P> +Here was something queer; I thought of Slide-Rock Pete and his luck +charms. I regretted more than ever that I had not got a single bunny. +I felt the need of a rabbit's foot. +</P> + +<P> +Shaking myself to shed rain and forebodings, I crossed the street and +knocked boldly upon the door of the nearest house. There was no +response. Again I knocked, louder and more insistently. My raps came +echoing back emptily. I knocked again. A door, creaking on rusty +hinges, swung slowly inward, but no one peered out, inviting me to +enter. I backed away from the yawning cavern, blacker than the +starless night, into the open road. A little saw-whet owl, seeking, as +I was, supper, swooped by on muffled wings, and sawed wood, saying +nothing. I jeered back at him, and felt my courage rising. I stepped +up resolutely to the next house and beat upon its door. There was +instant commotion, a rattling of pans, the clink of dishes as though +some one hurried to the door. Straightening up and facing the door +expectantly, I smiled in anticipation of a hospitable welcome. Then +the sounds ceased. My courage oozed away—an unreasonable fear crept +over me. I lost my desire for food and rest—I would as soon have +rested in a grave. +</P> + +<P> +Once more I stood in the rutted street, searching its brief length for +a human form. I had the feeling that the inhabitants of the town were +somewhere about, that they had just stepped out, leaving their doors +unlocked against their early return. Perhaps there was a dance or a +celebration of some sort in the neighboring village. Strange some one +didn't stay behind. +</P> + +<P> +The sudden eerie notes of a coyote caused my hair to lift—why couldn't +the brute respect the silence? The wind stirred uneasily, doors banged +about me. The uncanny spell of the place overcame my last shred of +courage—my feet started down the road of their own volition. I found +myself breathing hard, running fast. I jerked to a standstill, +laughing sheepishly at my fears—ashamed. Then I faced about, +determined to stay. +</P> + +<P> +Something touched my elbows. I sprang ten feet and whirled, on the +defensive. A dark, horned form stood before me. My muscles tensed for +another sprint, I held my breath. The thing moved; I made out the +outline of a burro. I breathed again, relieved. Here at last was +something alive, something natural in this desert of silence. I wished +the animal would bray, but he only nosed my pockets suggestively. I +laid my hand upon him gratefully, and found he too was in sore straits, +his coat as ragged as my own, his sides corrugated like a huge +washboard. My spirits rose, my forebodings were forgotten. "Hello," I +called joyfully. "What are you doing here?" +</P> + +<P> +Again he smelled my pockets, wagging his great ears the while, then +waited expectantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Sorry, pal," I apologized. +</P> + +<P> +The little beggar's attitude expressed such dejection I laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind, old fellow. We'll go find something. There must be +somebody here." +</P> + +<P> +I started out to renew my search and he followed at my heels. So, +together, we wandered down the street on a tour of investigation. His +coat was so black that often I could not distinguish him from the +darker shadows that filled the street. At every door he crowded +forward expectantly, focusing his long ears as though to catch the +first longed-for salutation. +</P> + +<P> +Nearly every door was ajar. The log cabins were small, two or three +rooms at the most, and easily searched. Their owners had apparently +taken only their most portable and necessary possessions, for nearly +every cabin contained something of value, bed springs, bunks, suspended +by wire from the rafters, tables, chairs, dishes, cooking utensils, +even miners' tools. One had a row of books upon its stone mantel. +When we came to the one where sounds had answered my knocking, I paused +before the door, hesitating to intrude. That first creepy feeling +stole over me. I put my hand on the burro's neck. I jerked the +latchstring and pushed open the door. The room was dark and silent. +When I struck a match, there was a rapid scurrying of rats, darting for +shelter. +</P> + +<P> +My burly bodyguard never once left my side. He waited patiently for my +report, when I emerged from each cabin, and accepted with philosophical +resignation my decision to postpone further search till daylight. +</P> + +<P> +Early next morning I was up and out, further to explore the village. +No one had returned home, there was no doubt now that it was deserted. +In one of the cabins I found some salt which I divided with the burro. +Another yielded a little flour. I prepared a sticky mixture of flour +and water, seasoned with salt, and cooked it in one of the fireplaces. +When baked, it had the firmness of granite, but my appetite had a +cutting edge, and the burro, no more particular, accepted the hardtack, +and crunched it greedily. +</P> + +<P> +After breaking our fast, to say nothing of our teeth, we continued +our—yes, excavations; for out of the dust and neglect of years of +desertion, we dug the history of a buried past, of a forgotten +civilization, where men had worked, women had loved and sacrificed, and +little children had laughed and played. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-241"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-241.jpg" ALT="Out of the dust of years, we dug the history of a buried past." BORDER="2" WIDTH="477" HEIGHT="662"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 477px"> +Out of the dust of years, we dug the history of a buried past. +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +One of the houses had evidently held the post office, for in it was a +small cabinet holding a few pieces of uncalled-for mail addressed to +various persons. There were unopened letters and papers, bearing the +postmarks of towns back East; there were packages, showing marks of +long journeys, still intact, their cords still tightly knotted. Many +of the letters had been forwarded from other Western post offices, and +had followed the men to whom they were addressed to this, then alive, +town named Teller. +</P> + +<P> +The postmaster had apparently been a notary public. His book of +records lay dusty on the shelf, near what had been the post office. +Upon it, too, were filed copies of mining claims. "The Grizzly King," +"Decoration Day," "Lady Forty," "Queen Victoria," "Tom Boy," "Last +Chance," "Deep Water," "Black Mule," "Hope Ever," fantastic, +picturesque names, suggesting many a tale of romance and adventure, +revealing the hopes and fears of daring hearts. +</P> + +<P> +Something of these was hinted at in an open letter lying on the floor +of one of the cabins. It was worn thin where it had been creased, as +though its owner had long carried it around in his pocket, the better +to read and reread it. The wind had pried into it, leaving it spread +open for the next intruder's convenience. Somehow, I felt those frank +spirits would not mind my reading it: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="diary"> +Dear Fred: +</P> + +<P CLASS="diary"> +Hope you strike it rich in Teller, the new town you wrote about. Most +anything out there would beat what we have here. Corn is all dried up +in Iowa, and there's little to live on. Quite a lot of the neighbors +have "pulled up stakes" and moved to Kansas. Ten wagons left last +week, following the road west which so many have taken for better or +worse. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The last and smallest cabin in the town was as clean and tidy as though +its owner might have been gone but a few days. Upon the table was a +worn and frayed little book, weighted down by a rough piece of ore, a +sort of diary, and yet it seemed to be written to some one. I copied +extracts from it into my own notebook: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="diary"> +My dear Katherine—I believe I've struck it rich at last. There was a +rush up here three months ago, and I came in soon as the news reached +Cheyenne. Must have been several hundred in the race to get here +first—about twenty of us won out. I filed on several claims and tried +to hire men to help me do assessment work; but no one would work for +wages. Everyone is raving crazy, bound to strike it rich, and working +double shift to hold as many claims as possible. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="diary"> +Katy, dear, it's been a month since I started this letter. Things have +settled down here now, and the fly-by-nights have vanished. But +there's a few of us sticking to our holes with the notion if we go deep +enough they'll pan out rich. But there's no way of... +</P> + +<P CLASS="diary"> +They came for me to help with a poor fellow who got hurt when his +tunnel caved in on him. Guess he'll make a die of it too. Seems +terrible, just when he thought he had struck a bonanza, to be killed +that way. Makes me lonesome to think how things turned out for him. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="diary"> +I've got a secret cache straight west of my cabin, forty-eight steps. +Under a big rock I've hid a buckskin sack with the golddust another +fellow and I panned from a bar in the Colorado river. It's not so very +much; but it'll help out in a pinch. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="diary"> +Kate, this camp's played out. I'm quitting, disgusted. After all the +hard work here there's nothing rich; just low-grade stuff that won't +pay freighting charges. Maybe if we had a mill—but there's no use +talking mill, when every fellow here is in the same fix—on his last +legs. We got to get out or starve; we're all living on deer and wild +sheep, but its getting so we can hardly swallow it much longer. I'll +let you know as soon... +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was unfinished. +</P> + +<P> +The sides of the gulch were "gophered" with prospect holes, most of +them very shallow, with little mounds of dirt beside them, like the +graves of dead hopes. Occasionally a deeper hole had picked samples +from the ore vein it followed piled near its opening. Likewise, +outside, some of the cabin doors were little heaps of choice ore which +hopeful owners had brought in against the time when shipments would be +made, or an ore mill set up near by. +</P> + +<P> +I had chanced upon an abandoned mining town, left forever as casually +as though its residents had gone to call upon a neighbor. There are +many such in the mountains of Colorado. During the early gold rushes, +when strikes were made, mining towns sprang up overnight, and later +when leads played out or failed to pan out profitably, or rumor of a +richer strike reached the inhabitants, they deserted them to try their +luck in new fields of promise. Often they were eager to be the first +ones in on the new finds and left without preparation or notice, +trailing across mountains and through cañons, afoot, each anxious to be +the first man on the ground, to have his choice of location, to stake +his claim first. They could not carry all their household goods on +their shoulders, nor pack them on a burro's back, and to freight them +over a hundred miles of mountain trails cost more than the purchase of +new goods in the new town. So they departed with only such necessities +as they could carry, and abandoned the rest to pack rats and chance +wanderers such as I. +</P> + +<P> +So these towns, born of their high hopes, died, as their dreams +flickered out, and were abandoned when new hopes sprung up in their +breasts. +</P> + +<P> +I forgot my hunger in unraveling the mysteries of the silent village, +but my companion showed no such inclination. Being a pack burro, and +having a prospector for a master, he had come to look upon tragedy with +a philosophical eye. No doubt he had seen deserted towns before, and +been the innocent victim of the desertion. He grew bored as I lingered +over letters and the other evidence of bygone days and nudged me +frequently to remind me of our original object in searching the cabins. +At last he protested with a vigorous, "Aww-hee-awwhee, a-w-w-h-e-e—" +Remembering his loyalty of the night before, to appease him I left off +rummaging in those dust-covered cabins. +</P> + +<P> +"All right, pal, I'll come. We'll leave this grave-yard right away and +try our luck at fishing." +</P> + +<P> +He seemed to understand for he capered about like a playful puppy. +</P> + +<P> +I knew of several small streams below the town, alive with trout. I +headed for the nearest one, the burro plodding patiently behind, +silent, expectant. +</P> + +<P> +The smell of smoke, coffee, and other camp odors came up the trail to +meet us. Soon we came abruptly in sight of two prospectors who were +eating a belated breakfast. +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon you better have a bite with us," invited one of the men as he +set the tin-can coffee pot upon the coals of their fire. +</P> + +<P> +"Thet thar burro bin a pesterin' you?" asked the second man, fixing the +burro with a searching gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no!" I denied, remembering my debt to the animal. "We put in the +night together, and he even ate some of my hardtack this morning," I +ended laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"He's the tarnationist critter, always a galavantin' roun', an' a +gittin' inter somebody's grub." +</P> + +<P> +The burro chose to overlook these insults and drew near the fire, +unostentatiously. The old prospector slipped him part of his breakfast. +</P> + +<P> +"Which way you headin'?" asked the first man, plainly puzzled because I +carried neither gun nor mining tools. +</P> + +<P> +"To climb Arapahoe peak." +</P> + +<P> +"Climb the peak," he repeated, much mystified. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the idear?" the second wanted to know. "Goin' way off thar +jes' to git up a mountain, when thar's plenty right hyar, higher ones +too?" He indicated the ranges to the east. +</P> + +<P> +"Any place up that way to get out of the rain?" I asked, for the clouds +were dropping again with the threat of gathering storm. +</P> + +<P> +The men exchanged glances. Abruptly the small one got to his feet and +led the burro out of sight among the willows. The other man faced me. +</P> + +<P> +"Better take a friend's advice and keep outen there," he swept a grimy +hand westward. +</P> + +<P> +"What's up?" +</P> + +<P> +"Better do your climbin' round hyar," he replied suggestively. +</P> + +<P> +"But I want to climb Arapahoe; I have heard the Indians used it for a +signal mountain and..." +</P> + +<P> +He beckoned me to follow, and led the way into the grove mysteriously. +At length he stopped, peered about uneasily, then whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"There's an ole cabin up yonder"—he faced toward Arapahoe—"that's +ha'nted." +</P> + +<P> +"Haunted?" my interest quickening, my fears of the depressing night +forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +He nodded—dead earnest. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure about that? Did you ever see the, the——" +</P> + +<P> +His look silenced me. +</P> + +<P> +"Ole feller died up thar," he declared; "nobody knows how." His tone +was awesome. +</P> + +<P> +I made a move down the trail, thanking him for the meal. +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't go, if I wus you," he persisted, following me as far as his +camp. +</P> + +<P> +Then, as I took the unused trail that led down toward North Park, he +called after me: +</P> + +<P> +"Remember, I've warned you!" +</P> + +<P> +Fishing was good in the stream a few miles below their camp, and I soon +had all the trout I wanted and was on my way to the round dome of +Arapahoe peak, jutting above some clouds that were banked against its +lower slope. Through the willow flats and a dense forest of spruce, +the way led up between parallel ridges over a game trail, deeply worn +and recently used. I was right upon a log wall before I knew it. Then +I circled and saw that the wall was part of an old cabin built in a +little opening of the forest. +</P> + +<P> +A section of the roof had fallen in and the fireplace had lost part of +its chimney; the slab door had a broken hinge, and swayed uneasily on +the one remaining, and the dirt floor bore no traces of recent +habitation. +</P> + +<P> +Having gathered wood for the night, for I had no blankets and must keep +the fire burning, I broiled several trout for my supper. How I +relished that meal! +</P> + +<P> +Supper over, I climbed upon a cliff behind the cabin and watched the +moon rise silently above a ridge to the eastward, and listened to the +faint clamor of the coyotes far below. Shadows crept closer to the +cliffs as the moon climbed higher, while from the peaks above came the +moaning of the wind. Never had been such a night! +</P> + +<P> +It was late when I went inside the old cabin, and the fire had burned +low. I put on fresh wood, removed my shoes, and stretched out before +the comforting blaze. I was asleep almost instantly. From time to +time, as had become my habit, I roused enough to feed the fire; then +quickly dropped off to sleep again. +</P> + +<P> +Just when, I am not sure, but I think about midnight, I awoke with a +strange feeling that an unseen presence was in the room. The +prospector's warning came to me vaguely, and I tried to rouse up to +listen, but I dropped back to sleep almost immediately. +</P> + +<P> +Later, coming awake suddenly as though some one had shaken me, I sat up +and, rubbing my eyes to open them, glanced around, but the interior of +the cabin was dark, only the stars sparkled close above the broken +roof. I yawned expansively, rolled nearer the low fire, and fell +asleep. +</P> + +<P> +The next I knew I heard a thud close to my head, and I was wide awake +upon the instant. I lay still, trying to convince myself that there +was nothing in the cabin but myself; when a hot breath struck my face. +I got up on end—so did my hair. I started for the door. +</P> + +<P> +A bulky shadow moved between it and myself. I postponed going in that +direction for the moment and, turning, felt my way to a dark corner +back by the fireplace. From the corner across the hearth came a faint +sound. Thinking the time propitious for a prompt exit, I felt my way +along the wall, turned the corner and made for the door. +</P> + +<P> +Unfortunately, my uninvited guest had the same thought, for as I sprang +for the opening, I bumped into him, and the creaky slab door banged +shut, leaving the cabin blacker than ever. +</P> + +<P> +An idea shot through my head. If the visitor, whatever it was—ha'nt +or otherwise—wanted the location near the door, it could have it. Far +be it from me to be discourteous. I groped my way back to the +fireplace, stumbling over my wood as I went. I had a fleeting notion +to fling fresh wood on the fire which had almost burned out. Again I +collided with my dusky visitor. +</P> + +<P> +I hesitated no longer. I would vacate the cabin instantly, for good +and all, without stopping to gather up my few belongings. Across the +dirt floor I dashed, grabbed the creaky door and jerked it open. +</P> + +<P> +But before I could dart through I was shoved aside. In panic I sought +that exit, but was buffeted about, and finally knocked headlong on the +ground. +</P> + +<P> +Thoroughly scared, I leaped to my feet, ready to run. +</P> + +<P> +Standing a few feet in front of me, big ears thrust forward +inquiringly, was the friendly burro of the night before. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER FOURTEEN +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +BEARS AND BUGBEARS +</H4> + +<P> +In my childish estimation, bear stories rivaled the tales of mad gold +rushes, thundering bisons and savage Indians. No chore was so hard nor +so long but that I managed to complete it in time to take my place in +the fireside circle and listen to accounts of those huge animals that +lived in the Rocky Mountains and were fiercer than any other bears in +the world. "Ursus horribilis," my father called them, and a delicious +little shudder would run down my back at the sound of the words. There +was talk, too, of hunters who had tracked these monsters to their lairs +and overcome them. Early I decided that when I went West, I would +become, besides other things, a mighty bear hunter. The cows I drove +to pasture were "ursus horribilis" (how I reveled in those words!) +fleeing before me, and I was stalking them through the wilds with rifle +upon my arm, and pistol and hunting knife in my belt! I planned to +discard the ragged overalls and clumsy "clodhoppers" of the farm, as +soon as I reached the mountains, for smoke-tanned, Indian-made buckskin +suit and moccasins, all beaded and fringed. I wondered if the Indians +wore coonskin caps like Davy Crockett—I felt it absolutely necessary +that I should have one to wear to meet my first bear. +</P> + +<P> +My first venture into the woods below the Parson's ranch I remember +vividly, because I was filled with eager, yet fearful anticipation. I +expected to meet a grizzly around every bowlder. I kept wondering how +fast a bear could run; I halted frequently beside trees, for I +remembered my father's saying grizzlies did not climb, so I planned to +shin up the tallest tree in the woods should one come in sight. In my +dreams back on the farm, my only fear had been lest all the grizzlies +be killed before I reached the Rockies; barring such dire calamity, I +had never had a doubt of my prowess. But somehow, when at last I found +myself alone in the dark forest, it seemed the better part of valor to +postpone the actual encounters until I should become more skillful with +my old black-powder rifle. So obsessed was I by the thought of bears +that on my first excursions into the wilds, a rock never rolled down a +slope nor dropped from a cliff, a crash sounded in a thicket, but that +I was sure a bear was mysteriously responsible. I dreamed of them, day +and night, until they became bugbears, grizzly bugbears! +</P> + +<P> +Considering my long-avowed intentions, my first camp alone in the Wild +Basin country was not entirely unfortunate, for there, that first +exciting afternoon, I met a bear face to face. Of course, I gave him +the right of way. Was I not the intruder and he the rightful resident? +Though years have elapsed since I dropped my rifle and sped in instant +flight down the mountain side toward camp, I still like to think that +my marvelous speed discouraged "ursus horribilis" and, therefore, he +turned tail. +</P> + +<P> +During my first summer in the mountains, I saw bears several times, in +each instance going about their business and making no move to attack +me. After these glimpses of them I gathered courage and decided to +postpone my career as a hunter no longer. Bears were the objectives of +my hunting expeditions, but they always succeeded in eluding me. Many +times in stalking them I came upon fresh tracks showing they had broken +into flight at my approach. One day I turned homeward, empty-handed, +and learned later I had been within gunshot of one without catching +sight of him. +</P> + +<P> +Gradually my respect for them grew. The one I had watched stalk the +marmot increased my admiration of their cunning. I eventually learned +that they are extremely alert and agile, despite their seemingly stupid +lumbering about, that they employ keen eyes and sensitive ears and +high-power noses to the best advantage. As my respect for them grew, +my ambition to become a mighty hunter of them gave way to a desire to +learn more about them, to observe them in their natural state and study +their habits. Just as they had inspired the most heroic dreams of my +childhood, so they came to interest me more than any other animal of +the wilds. +</P> + +<P> +To the south of the Parson's ranch lay a wild, rugged region, which I +called the "bad lands" on account of its jungle of woods, streams, +swamps and terminal moraines, where bowlders of all sizes had been +deposited by an ancient glacier. Through this tangle it was impossible +to move without making noise, for a fire had swept over it and young +lodge-pole trees had sprung up so close together that it was impossible +to move without crashing into them. It was while on hands and knees in +one of these thickets of new growth that I came upon bear tracks. The +tracks were the largest I had even seen, so I gripped my gun tightly +and peered about warily. The tracks pointed west, so I headed east, +crashing through the trees ponderously, giving an occasional yell to +help the bear keep out of my way. +</P> + +<P> +I had gone about a hundred yards and was congratulating myself on my +escape, when, to my horror, I discovered fresh tracks paralleling mine. +Altering my course I went on, shouting vigorously, but with less +confidence of scaring the bear out of the region. +</P> + +<P> +In this extremity I recalled a bit of advice the Parson had given me. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ever let on you're afraid," he cautioned me one day, "because if +you do the animal may turn on you." +</P> + +<P> +With this in mind I faced about, took up the bear's trail, and with +ready rifle, followed it. I kept looking behind me, to the right and +to the left. The wind was blowing snow off the high peaks above and it +made the tracks easily followed, for it kept them fresh. They turned +aside, angled off, tacked and came back close to their first line. +Around and around I trailed. A dozen times I stopped with my heart in +my mouth, the rifle at my shoulder, but my alarm was occasioned by some +other denizen of the wilds. Twice deer crashed away and left me rooted +fast; and once, a cock grouse took the air from a rock just above my +head, and nearly precipitated a stampede. +</P> + +<P> +Finally I gave up the chase and started home, still watching warily for +the bear. Better to guard against attack I climbed a little ridge that +overlooked the irregular openings through which I had been trailing; +and up there, paralleling my course, were bear tracks. Bruin had been +craftily looking me over from his higher position. I at once advised +that bear, by every means at my command, that he was no longer being +hunted, and I made tracks for home as fast as my legs would let me, +watching warily, or bearily, in all directions. +</P> + +<P> +The Parson laughed heartily when I told of my experience that night as +together with Aunt Jane we sat before the glowing fire of his hearth. +Despite Aunt Jane's gentle excuses for me, I felt ashamed and +determined to return next day and take up the bear's trail. Running +away from an unseen bear was ludicrous, not to say cowardly. But I +comforted myself with the assurance that even the Parson might have no +other chance to run, if the bear saw him first! +</P> + +<P> +The "bad lands" became the scene of many a hide-and-seek game, with the +animals slipping silently away as I blundered along behind, puzzling +out their trails, and imagining I was stalking them unawares. My many +failures, while discouraging, were fruitful of experience, for I +learned to hunt up-wind, thus discounting the high-power noses of the +bears and muffling to some extent my clumsy movements from the deer. +Repeated trips into that rough region informed me that one or two bears +lived there, and that though they often left it to explore some other +region, they eventually returned to their own home range. In tracing +their movements I kept a sort of big-game Bertillon record; only +instead of taking finger-prints, as is done with criminals, I measured +footprints sketching them in my notebook, noting any slight peculiarity +that would distinguish one track from another, and thus made positive +identification possible. +</P> + +<P> +I was compelled to get my information concerning the bears' movements +mostly from their tracks, for they were far too crafty to be seen "in +person"! They evidently moved on the assumption that vigilance was the +price of life. They used their wits as well as their keen senses, +seemed to reason as well as to have instinct. Moreover they made use +of other animals for their own defense. They were ever alertly +watching the significant movements of their neighbors, for signals of +dangers beyond the range of their own senses. The quiet retreat of a +fox or coyote apprised them of something unusual in the wind; the +sudden up-winging of magpies and jays warned them of the approach of an +enemy. They distinguished between the casual flight of birds and their +flying when bound toward a kill of mountain lion or other beasts of +prey. They were tuned-in on every animal broadcasting station on their +range. +</P> + +<P> +I learned that contrary to the lurid tales of the early explorers and +hunters, they were peace-loving, deeming it no disgrace to run away +from danger and leaving the vicinity as soon as man appeared in it. +True, their curiosity sometimes tempted them to circle back and watch a +man from some secure retreat, and at such times they slipped as +silently from one thicket to another as a fox, sampling the air for +tell-tale odors, standing erect to watch and listen. +</P> + +<P> +Bit by bit, as I learned more about them, I came to revise my early, +gory opinion of them. My impression had been formed chiefly from tales +of Lewis and Clark's expedition; when they made their memorable trip +across the continent, grizzlies were not afraid of men because the +arrows of the Indians were ineffective against them. Whenever food +attracted them to an Indian camp they moseyed fearlessly among the +tepees, helping themselves to it and scattering the redskins. Their +attempts thus to raid white men's camps gave rise to blood-curdling +stories of their savagery, and their fearless, deadly attacks on men. +These tales, while pure fiction, led to the belief that all bears were +bad and should be killed, at every opportunity; and ever since Lewis +and Clark saw the first one, men with dogs and guns, traps and poison +have been on their trail. While I do not believe bears guilty of the +many offenses charged them, I am sure that they had been the "life of +the party" at many a camp, having been led out of their retirement by +their small-boy curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +In the region where first I followed a bear, or where it followed me, +there ranged two of these animals, each recording a different track and +displaying individual traits which I came to recognize. The smaller +track had short claws that left their prints in the sand or soft +places. In following this track I found that the maker was inclined to +be indolent; that if the digging after a chipmunk was hard he left the +job unfinished and sought easier sources of food. Thus the black bear +that frequented the "bad lands" loafed across his range, living by the +easiest means possible and rarely exerting himself. Twice when +Blackie's trail crossed that of other black bears, the tracks showed +that all stopped to play, romping much as children romp and showing a +sociable disposition. It was usually late in November before the black +bear denned up for the winter, commonly adapting the shelter beneath +some windfall to make a winter home by enlarging and improving it and +perhaps by raking in some dead pine needles. +</P> + +<P> +At the approach of fall Blackie left off distant wanderings, conserved +energy by little exertion, and thus waxed fat. In the thickest of the +rough jumble I found two of his deserted winter dens to which he never +returned, and once in midwinter I found him out, asleep beneath some +brush over which the snow had drifted. It was the thread of rising +steam from a tiny hole above the den that first attracted my attention +to it, but my nose gave me additional information. +</P> + +<P> +Blackie's tracks showed he had unusually large feet for his pounds, so +I called him "Bigfoot." There was a marked difference between +Blackie's and the other tracks I found in the "bad-lands." The other +tracks were those of a grizzly, a fact I determined after collecting +evidence for several years, and by sight of the animals themselves. +There was a wide difference, too, in the actions of these animals +whenever anything unusual happened. Blackie, commonly, ran away +without waiting to learn what had caused the alarm. The grizzly +displayed extreme caution, usually standing erect on his hind feet, +remaining motionless, watching for silent signals of other animals and +the birds, swinging his head slowly from side to side, training his +high-power nose in all directions, cocking his ears alertly as a +coyote. When he located the enemy he slipped away noiselessly, +followed a trail with which he was familiar and left the vicinity, +perhaps traveling ten or twenty miles before stopping. +</P> + +<P> +Unlike Blackie, too, the grizzly was a prodigious worker. No job was +too big for him. Often he spent an hour or more in digging out a tiny +titbit such as a chipmunk, and several times in his pursuit of a marmot +he excavated in rockslides holes large enough for small basements. +Daily he traveled many miles, foraging for food as he moved, sometimes +eating swarms of grasshoppers, or stowing away bushels of grass or +other greenery, or uprooting the ground for dogtooth violets of which +he was very fond. Such spots, when he had finished his rooting, +resembled a field which the hogs had plowed up. +</P> + +<P> +In one respect the black bear and the grizzly were alike: they never +seemed to have enough to eat, but had the insatiable appetites of +growing boys; never showing any signs of being finicky, but devouring +everything edible. Ants, hoppers, chipmunks, marmots and rabbits, +comprised their fresh meat; while roots, shoots, bulbs, grass, berries +and practically everything growing served for vegetables. They both +were inordinately fond of honey. Early one fall the grizzly left his +home range and headed for the foothills. More than twenty miles away +he found a bee tree, an old hollow cedar which he tore open. He +devoured both bees and honey, then went lumbering home. Mountain lions +made frequent kills about the region, leaving the carcasses of deer, +cattle, horses and burros, which the bears located with their noses or +by the flight of birds, and gorged themselves; afterward lying down in +some retreat and sleeping long, peaceful hours. +</P> + +<P> +It was because of their scavenger habits that they came to be blamed +for killing the animals upon which they fed. But not once did I find +evidence that they had killed anything larger than a marmot. The +grizzly was always working industriously, from dawn to dark, or at +night; while Blackie dallied, even though making a "bear living." He +preferred to go empty rather than to work for food. +</P> + +<P> +Three winters in succession the grizzly climbed to a den in an exposed +spot on the northern slope of Mount Meeker. It was a low opening +beneath a rock, the entrance to which was partially stopped with loose +rubble, raked from inside the cave, and every fall he renovated it by +chinking the larger cracks and by pawing together loose bits of rock +for a bed. As fall approached, his tracks led to it; apparently he +napped inside occasionally to try it out. His ultimate retirement for +winter hibernation depended upon the weather and the food supply; if +the fall were late, with plenty of food, he would still be about the +woods as late as December, while one fall when snow came early and +deep, and so made food unavailable, he disappeared at the end of +October. +</P> + +<P> +The grizzly had many individual traits. Not once in the years I +followed him, did he show any desire for others of his kind. He +preferred being alone. His play consisted chiefly of elaborate +stalkings of easily captured animals. If his hunger was appeased for a +time he would turn to hunting grasshoppers. Marking the spot where one +had alighted he would steal forward and pounce upon it as though it +were an animal of size and fighting ability. Again he would take great +pains to waylay a chipmunk, lying motionless while the unwary little +spermophile ventured closer and closer, then, with a lightning-like +slap of a huge paw, he would reduce his victim to the general shape and +thinness of a pancake. +</P> + +<P> +Though the grizzly was somewhat awkward in appearance he could move +with amazing speed, and his strength was incredible. From glimpses I +had of him I estimated his weight at six hundred pounds, but he could +move the carcass of a cow or horse twice that heavy. Once on Cabin +Creek, not many miles from his accustomed haunts, a lion killed a +horse. As he approached the kill, the grizzly circled warily around +it, stood erect to sniff and listen, and growled warningly, informing +all would-be intruders that it was his. When he had eaten his fill, he +dragged the carcass nearly a hundred yards uphill over fallen timber, +into a thicket, where he covered it against the prying eyes of birds, +thinking, I presume, that they would signal other animals of its +location. +</P> + +<P> +The date of his emergence from his den in the spring, like his holing +up in the fall, depended upon the weather. Commonly though, he +hibernated about one-third of the year. When he came out after his +long sleep he was very thin, the great layers of fat he had taken care +to put on before denning up were gone. One year I followed his tracks +the day he came out to learn what he first ate, and was surprised to +find that he scarcely ate at all. Instead of being ravenous, as I had +supposed he would be, he seemed to have no appetite, and barely tasted +a green shoot or two, and a little grass. His claws had grown out over +winter and the tough soles of his feet soon shed off so that, though +born to the wilds, he became a tenderfoot. +</P> + +<P> +Upon two occasions I found the tracks of this "bad lands" grizzly far +from home; once he was at the edge of a snowbank near Arapahoe glacier, +where he had gone for a frozen grasshopper feast; and another time, +some years later, beyond Ypsilon Mountain, in an old sheep trail that +led toward the headwaters of the Poudre River. He was more than thirty +miles from home and still going. +</P> + +<P> +Experience with men has made the few surviving grizzlies of the Rockies +crafty, and they are instinctively wary. Their habits have been much +the same wherever I have had opportunity of observing them. Their +extreme caution would perhaps lead one to believe them cowards, but +nothing is farther from the truth, for they are fighters of first rank, +and show unrivaled courage as well as lightning-like speed and +prodigious strength in combat. A fighting grizzly is a deadly +antagonist, never giving up, determined to win or die. +</P> + +<P> +When a grizzly turns killer, as occasionally one of them does, you may +depend upon it, there are extenuating circumstances, and any +fair-minded jury would exonerate him of blame. When his home range +becomes settled up and the sources of his natural food are destroyed, +he is forced to seek new haunts and to eat such food as his new +location affords. It is not strange that, constricted in his range by +ranchers and cattlemen, with no opportunity to seek food according to +his instinctive habits, he sometimes turns cattle killer. +</P> + +<P> +His action brands him at once as a bad bear, a killer and his infamy +quickly spreads the length of the mountains. He is blamed for the +kills of mountain lions, and the death of stock killed by chance. He +is hunted, becomes a fugitive from justice, and is kept so continuously +on the move that he has to prey on cattle because he is not given time +to forage in his former manner. Persecution sharpens his faculties; he +eludes his pursuers and their dogs, poisoned bait and traps, with a +shrewdness that puts their so-called intelligence to shame. +</P> + +<P> +It was my rare privilege one day to witness the chase of an accused +"killer" by a dog pack. I was near timberline in the Rabbit Ear +mountains when first I heard their distant baying and caught sight of +them far down a narrow valley, mere moving specks. Close behind these +small dots were larger ones, men on horseback. A mile ahead of the +pack a lone object galloped into an opening and, as I focused my +glasses, stood erect, listening. It was a grizzly. He paused but a +moment, then tacked up the side of the mountain, crossed the ridge, +dropped into a parallel valley, and doubled back the way he had come. +Occasionally I caught a glimpse of him as he ambled along, seemingly +without haste, yet covering the ground at surprising speed. +</P> + +<P> +Abruptly he left this second valley and recrossed the ridge to the +first, taking up the trail he had been on when the pack disturbed him. +The riders were still upon the ridge when the dogs recrossed it and +started baying up the first valley. When the fresh scent led them back +over the grizzly's first trail, they hesitated, confused, disagreeing +among themselves as to the course to follow: and while the dogs +delayed, the bear abandoned the lower ridges and timbered valleys and +headed toward the cliffs. Here the going was slow. Sometimes he +followed old, deep-worn game trails, but more often he chose his own +way. He climbed up the face of a cliff, following narrow ledges. At +the top, he turned and angled back, arriving at the base of the wall +again, but some distance from the place where he had climbed up, and +where he crossed his own trail, he swung back and forth repeatedly. +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later, the pack came howling to the cliff, and began +seeking a way up. They scattered, swung back and forth along the +ledges, crossed and recrossed the grizzly's tracks, but seemed unable +to follow the way he had gone, before they finally circled the cliff +and picked up his trail again. The bear's ruse had succeeded, by it he +gained several minutes' lead on his pursuers. +</P> + +<P> +The grizzly emerged above timberline near where I sat and galloped +straight for a pass that overlooked the deep cañons, dark forests and +rocky ridges on the other side of the range. Just before he gained it, +three of the dogs broke cover and gave tongue, wildly excited at the +sight of their quarry, and instantly hot on his trail. The bear coolly +kept his same gait, until just short of the pass, at the top of a +steep, smooth incline between two huge rock slabs, he halted and faced +about, waiting for them to come up. When the dogs, panting and spent +from running, dashed up, he had got his wind and was ready for them. +</P> + +<P> +The three dogs rushed pell-mell up the steep rock. With a deafening +roar, the grizzly struck out right and left. Two of the dogs ceased +howling and lay where they fell, the third turned tail and fled. The +bear, stepping over the dead bodies of his vanquished foes, leisurely +proceeded through the pass and down into the wild country beyond. +</P> + +<P> +I have watched other grizzlies under similar conditions, and they have +all shown the same shrewd, cool, craftiness. They appear to reason, to +plan; their actions indicate forethought, premeditation. They seem to +have not only the marvelous instinct of the animal world, but also an +almost human power to think. They conserve their energy, bide their +time, choose their position and, in short, set the stage to their own +advantage. They have an instinct for the psychological moment—it +seems at times that they evolve it out of the chaos of chance. +</P> + +<P> +The Parson said, "You never can tell what a bear will do," and I, for +one, believe him. The oddest performance of an individual bear I ever +saw took place over on the banks of the Poudre River. Rambling through +the forest I came, late one evening, upon the camp of two trappers. +They were making a business of trapping and had extensive trap-lines +set throughout the region, mostly for beavers, minks, bobcats and +coyotes, but some for bears too. In a narrow, dry gulch, one of them +had found fresh bear tracks—he thought of a medium-sized black +bear—leading up to the scattered, bleached bones of a cow. Tracks +about the skull indicated that the bear had rolled it about, much as a +puppy worries a bone. One day the trapper found the skull hidden in +some juniper bushes, and reasoned that the bear returned from day to +day, played with it, then hid it away. So he returned to camp, got a +trap and set it by the beast's toy. +</P> + +<P> +I was eager to learn the outcome of this action, so I gratefully +accepted the trappers' invitation to stay over with them. Next day, I +went along when they visited the trap. To our astonishment, the skull +was gone and the trap still set. +</P> + +<P> +It was easy to trace the culprit for his tracks revealed that his left +front foot was badly twisted, its track pointing in, almost at right +angles, to the tracks of the other three feet, with the clawmarks +almost touching the track of the right front foot. We followed his +trail till we came to a sandy stretch upon which that bear had held +high carnival. He had rolled the skull about, punted it with his good +right paw, and leaped upon it, in mimic attack, as though it were a fat +marmot. Then, playtime over, he had carried it a considerable distance +and cached it beneath some logs. +</P> + +<P> +The trapper returned to camp for another trap, and set it and the first +near the skull, concealing the traps cleverly in depressions scooped +out in the sand, and covering their gaping, toothed jaws with loose, +pine needles. Then he scattered a few pine cones about, and placed +dead tree limbs near the traps in such a way that in stepping over them +the bear would be liable to step squarely upon the concealed pan of one +of them. +</P> + +<P> +Three times the bear rescued the precious cow skull, each time avoiding +the traps. At last in desperation, the trapper took two more traps to +the gulch and vowed that he'd pull up stakes and leave the bear alone +if he did not get him with the set he purposed making. +</P> + +<P> +With boyish interest, I accompanied him to the gulch, carrying one of +the traps for him. We left the traps a short distance from where the +bear had concealed the old skull, while the trapper looked the ground +over and decided to set the traps where the skull was hidden, for the +spot was ideal for the purpose. On two sides logs formed a barrier and +beyond them was a huge bowlder, the two forming a natural little cove. +He expected the bear to approach his plaything from the unobstructed +side. +</P> + +<P> +The trapper had further plans. Close beside the logs grew a stunted +pine tree with wide-spreading limbs near the ground. In its crotch he +placed the cow's skull, higher than the bear could reach, and fastened +it there with wire. Then, after setting the traps in a semi-circle +around the tree, just below the skull, and concealing them carefully, +we returned to camp, jubilantly confident of catching Mr. Bruin. +</P> + +<P> +Three times we visited the set and found things undisturbed. We +decided the bear had forsworn his toy and run away. However, I +lingered at the camp in hope that the matter would yet come to a +decisive end. +</P> + +<P> +Some days later, when we visited the gulch again, we came upon a +surprise. From a distance we missed the skull from the tree. So we +hastened forward, keeping a sharp eye out for the bear which we felt +certain was in a trap and lying low. At the set we stopped short. The +two traps nearest the open space had been carefully dug up and turned +over, and lay "butter side down." The bear had climbed into the tree, +wrenched his plaything free, and dropped it to the ground. Tracks in +the sand showed that after climbing down he had cautiously placed his +feet in the same tracks he had made when he advanced toward the tree. +</P> + +<P> +He had carried the skull a hundred yards from the traps and hidden it +again; but there were no signs that he had stopped to play with it. +</P> + +<P> +The trapper was as good as his word; and after recovering from his +astonishment, he sprung the traps, and we carried them back to camp. +</P> + +<P> +"Some smart, that ole twisted-foot bear," the trapper told his partner. +"He's smart enough to live a hundred years—an' I'm willin' to let him." +</P> + +<P> +No campfire is complete without bear stories, and it was around one +that I heard the funniest bear story imaginable. +</P> + +<P> +A lone trapper was caught one day in a trap of his own making, a +ponderous wooden coop calculated to catch the bear alive by dropping a +heavy log door in place at the open end. This door was on a trigger +which a bear, in attempting to steal the bait, would spring. +</P> + +<P> +As this tale was told, the trapper had just completed his trap and was +adjusting the trigger, when the heavy door crashed down, pinning him +across the threshold, with his legs outside. The door caught on a +section of log in the doorway, and saved him from broken legs, but he +was a helpless prisoner. +</P> + +<P> +In struggling to free himself, he kicked over a can of honey he had +brought along for bait, and the sticky fluid oozed over his thrashing +legs. Four hours he lay, imprisoned, shouting at intervals, with the +hope that some wandering prospector or trapper might hear him. Instead +a bear came his way, tempted by the scent of the much-loved honey. +</P> + +<P> +The bear loitered near by some time, no doubt wary of the presence of +man, but at last his appetite overcame his caution, and he started +licking up the honey. Almost frantic with fear, dreading the gash of +tearing teeth, the man lay quiet, while the animal licked the smears +off his trembling legs. Fortunately for the trapper, the bear was not +out for meat that day; so, after cleaning up the sweet, he went his +way. The relieved and unharmed man was rescued shortly afterward. +</P> + +<P> +The only serious injury I have suffered from a wild animal was +inflicted inside the city limits of Denver, Colorado's largest city and +capital. The beginning of this story dated back to the time when I +discovered that another grizzly had intruded into the "bad lands" of my +bears. The first announcement of the strange bear's arrival was its +tracks, together with those of two tiny cubs. This was in May, while +yet the snowbanks lingered in that high country. +</P> + +<P> +Across the miles of fallen timber I lugged a steel bear trap and set it +in a likely spot beside the frozen carcass of a deer. Afterwards I +inspected it every day, though, to do so, I had to cross boggy, rough +country, fretted over with fallen logs. I always found plenty of bear +tracks—it was typical bear country—and there were many signs of their +activities: old logs torn apart, ant hills disturbed, and lush grass +trampled. +</P> + +<P> +The first week in June, I made a surprising catch—three grizzly bears +and a fox. A mother grizzly had stepped into my trap, and her two +cubs, of about fifteen pounds each, had lingered near by, until, +growing hungry, they had ventured to their mother, and one had been +caught in a coyote trap set to protect the bait. The fox had been +caught before the bear's arrival. Mrs. Grizzly, frantic over her +predicament, had demolished everything within her reach, tearing the +red fox from its trap, literally shredding it, apparently feeling it +was to blame for her misfortune. +</P> + +<P> +Her struggles soon exhausted her, for it was a warm day, and when I +discovered her she was about spent, and easily dispatched. +</P> + +<P> +The cubs, very small, helpless and forlorn, howled lustily for their +mother. I decided to tie their feet together, and their mouths shut. +</P> + +<P> +With ready cord, I dived headlong upon a cub, caught him by the scruff +of the neck, lifted him triumphantly—then dropped him unceremoniously, +the end of a finger badly bitten. I was compelled to return to my +cabin for a sack, because the amount of tying required to render the +cubs really harmless seemed likely to choke them to death before I got +them home. It required about an hour's lively tussle to get the two +young grizzlies stowed safely in the sack. But I learned that having +them sacked was no guarantee of getting them home. +</P> + +<P> +If "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," a bear at home, +chained up, is worth the whole Rockies' full in the woods. +</P> + +<P> +The old grizzly's hide, paws included, must have weighed fifty pounds; +the cubs, sacked, thirty—a total load of 80 pounds to carry out over +rocks and fallen trees, through bog and willows. With this load on my +back, I struggled to my feet and started, picking my way slowly, +circling logs and avoiding soft spots. The first half mile was the +best, after that things thickened up, the bog deepened, the bears +wanted to get out and walk. +</P> + +<P> +Where the stream emerges from between a wide moraine and Meeker +Mountain, it is not broad, nor very deep, but it is exceedingly cold +and swift, and the only crossing was a beaver-felled aspen, which lay +top-foremost toward me, presenting an array of limbs that served as +banisters. About midway over the limbs gave out, leaving the smooth +aspen trunk as a foot-log. Many times I had crossed this without +mishap, so I had no qualms about tackling it now. Deliberately I edged +along, stepping slowly, carefully, progressing nicely until about +midway. Just then one of the cubs sank his teeth into my back. I +jerked away, twisted, tottered, half regained my balance, then pitched +headlong into the icy water of the beaver pond beneath. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment there was a grand mêlée. The cubs did not like the ice +water any more than I. They squirmed and clawed, fought free of the +sack, and lightened my load considerably. I spent a busy hour catching +and sacking them again. +</P> + +<P> +It required six hours to transport those cubs four miles! And I'm sure +they were as thankful as their ferry when the trip ended at my cabin. +</P> + +<P> +From the first week in June until the middle of December, they grew +from fifteen pounds to forty each. Although they were interesting +pets, their keep became a problem. Such appetites! They could never +get enough. They weren't finicky about the quality of their food; but +oh, the quantity! Then, too, I couldn't leave them and go on long +trips. So I decided to part with them. +</P> + +<P> +The City of Denver sent a representative to see me, for they wanted +some grizzlies to show eastern tourists. +</P> + +<P> +It was with the feeling that I was betraying the cubs, however, that I +finally took them to Denver. They were so obedient and well-behaved +that I hesitated to deliver them into unknown hands. They knew their +names, Johnny and Jenny, as well as children knew theirs. At command +they would stand erect, walk about on their hind feet, whining eagerly +for some treat, looking for all the world like funny, little old men. +</P> + +<P> +At the Denver City Zoo we were welcomed by the keeper, Mr. Hill, who +courteously invited me to spend the day with him, and entertained me by +taking me into many of the cages, permitting me to feed some of the +animals, and telling me interesting tales of happenings at the Zoo. +</P> + +<P> +When we returned to the large inclosure surrounding the cage of the +larger and fiercer animals, Mr. Hill asked me to assist in transfering +a brown bear and a black bear to the cage where my pets were to be +housed. These other bears were over a year old and more than double +the size of Johnny and Jenny. The brown bear went willingly enough +into the new cage, and we expected the black bear to follow, but when +he reached the cage door, he stopped. Gently we urged him forward, but +his mind was made up—he had gone as far as he intended and was +homesick for his old cage. The keeper was tactful, and unobtrusively +tried to maneuver the bear into the cage without exciting his obstinacy +further, but he wouldn't yield. At last it came to a show down. We +had the option of forcing the bear into the cage, or letting him go +back. +</P> + +<P> +"You go inside and snub the rope around the bars," the keeper directed +me. "I'll boost from behind—we'll show him a trick or two." +</P> + +<P> +A crowd had collected outside the heavy iron fence. Suggestions were +abundant. No young man ever had so much advice in so short a time. +However, we were too busily engaged to profit by what we were told. +</P> + +<P> +The keeper boosted the bear—and I took up the slack in the rope; but +still the bear balked, though three times we double-teamed against him. +Then, suddenly, he let go all holds and lunged through the doorway, +charging headlong upon me and sank his teeth into my left knee. The +bite and the force of his unexpected charge knocked me backward into +the corner. Instantly the bear was on top of me, growling, biting and +striking. +</P> + +<P> +With my uninjured leg I kicked out savagely and thrust him away, +sliding him back across the slippery concrete. Again he charged, and +once more I kicked him off. +</P> + +<P> +Outside the iron fence women were screaming and men trying futilely to +enter, but the fence was ten feet high and the sharp iron points of its +pickets were discouraging—and the gateway was locked against intruders. +</P> + +<P> +At this juncture the keeper rushed to another cage where he kept an +iron bar for just such emergencies, but the bar was away from home that +day. +</P> + +<P> +At this crisis, Johnny and Jenny arrived, Jenny collided with the bars +of the cage and staggered back, dazed. But Johnny found the open cage +door, and charged the black bear ferociously. The black bear +outweighed my little grizzly three to one, but Johnny struck his +sensitive snout, forcing him into a corner, and followed up, striking +with both paws, lunging in and taking furry samples of his hide. +</P> + +<P> +Within a few seconds the black bear was climbing the side of the cage +and howling for help. He gained the shelf near the roof. Johnny, +unable to climb, sat below, growling maledictions in bear language, +daring him to come down and fight it out. But the black bear had had +more than enough. He stuck to the safety seat, whimpering with pain +and fright. +</P> + +<P> +Thus, limping and reluctant, I took leave of my pets. The ambulance +had arrived to rush me to the hospital where my knee was to be treated. +As long as I could see them, they looked after me, wondering at my +desertion. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER FIFTEEN +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK +</H4> + +<P> +It had been my boyhood dream to find a region unspoiled by man, wild, +primitive. +</P> + +<P> +When I saw that rugged wilderness called the Rockies I was sure I had +found it. Miles and miles of virgin forest, innocent of ax and saw; +miles and miles of fertile valleys, yet to feel the touch of plow; +miles and miles of unclaimed homesteads with never the smoke of a +settler's chimney! Deer and elk, sheep and bear roamed the forests, +beavers preëmpted the valleys, trout spashed and rippled the waters of +the lakes and rivers. Yes, this was purely primeval, natural, +uncivilized. +</P> + +<P> +But the old-timers did not agree with me. Parson Lamb, whose nearest +neighbor was ten miles away, complained that the country was being +spoiled. +</P> + +<P> +"It's gotten so nowadays you can't see a mountain 'thout craning your +neck around some fellow's shack; cabins everywhere cluttering up the +scenery." +</P> + +<P> +I recalled my father's chuckling about the pioneers always moving on as +soon as a country got settled up. Surely the Parson was having his +little joke! +</P> + +<P> +One day when I was out looking for Mr. and Mrs. Peg, I ran upon an old +trapper. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" he said, "won't be long till they won't be no critters atall. +They ain't enough now to pay for trap-bait. Game ain't what it useter +be in these parts, I tell you, sonny. I'm goin' ter pull up stakes for +a real game country!" +</P> + +<P> +To me, lately from the thickly settled prairies of Kansas, practically +destitute of game, their fears seemed unfounded. I thought they +exaggerated, and could not understand their point of view. But I came +to understand. I lived to see even greater changes take place, in the +twenty-five years I wandered through the country, that Parson Lamb had +witnessed from the day he hewed his way through the forest, that he +might get his covered wagon into the valley, to that night when I fell +across his threshold after pushing my bicycle over Bald Mountain. +</P> + +<P> +For even as I rambled and camped, a subtle change was taking place so +slowly that for some time I was unaware of it. I saw fewer animals in +a day's journey. At first, when I missed bands of deer or wild sheep, +or some familiar bear, from their usual haunts, I assumed that they had +shifted their range to more distant mountains. All at once I realized +that for a long time I had not come upon a single elk nor even the +tracks of one. I was startled. I made far excursions into the more +remote regions, to verify my assumption that the game had merely +retreated from the more settled parts. From the tops of lofty peaks, I +looked down upon countless valleys with the hope that somewhere, +surely, I would find them. I saw only a few stragglers. +</P> + +<P> +The wilds were like an empty house where once had lived happy children, +where there had been music and laughter, shouts and romping, but now +remained only silence, freighted with sadness. A great loneliness +surged over me. Despite the grumbling complaints of the old settlers, +I had taken for granted that the country would always stay as I had +found it, that other boys would have it to explore, and that it would +thrill them even as it had thrilled me. I awoke at last to the +distressing truth that few of the easily accessible spots were +unspoiled, that forests were falling, that the game was almost gone. +</P> + +<P> +I set out to see what could be done about it. I found others as +concerned as I. Not only those in the immediate vicinity, but men of +vision far removed from the scene. It seemed that similar conditions +had arisen elsewhere and that far-sighted men had evolved a remedy. +Back in 1872, Congress had set aside the Yellowstone region as a +national park, guaranteeing the preservation of its wonders for all +time. Not only that, but the harassed and hunted game in the country +surrounding it had by some subtle instinct sensed its immunity to +hunters, and had fled to it for sanctuary—grizzly bears migrated to it +from long distances and found refuge. I recalled how scarce the +beavers were when first I searched the valleys for them, and how, after +the State had passed laws for their protection, they had multiplied. +Here was the solution of the problem—protection; and the most +permanent and effective protection could be procured by getting the +government to preserve it as a National Park. But, just as nearsighted +and self-interested individuals opposed and tried to thwart the +building of the first transcontinental railroad, so there were persons +who could see no reason for setting aside this region as a National +Park, men who had for years cut government timber without restriction, +or who had grazed livestock without hindrance, or who still hoped to +strike rich mineral deposits in the proposed area to be reserved. +</P> + +<P> +Fortunately, the men of vision prevailed, and in 1915, Congress created +the Rocky Mountain National Park, setting aside 400 square miles of +territory, most of it straddling the Continental Divide, and as wild +and primitive as when the Utes first hunted in it. Thus the +snow-capped peaks and the verdant valleys, the deep-gashed cañons and +the rushing rivers, the age-old glaciers and the primeval forests are +preserved forever from exploitation. +</P> + +<P> +In administering the National Parks, the government takes into +consideration that they are the property of the whole people, not just +of those residing in adjacent or near territory. Not only does it +consider them as belonging to the present generation, but to posterity. +With this in mind, it has formulated certain general principles of +administration applicable to all parks and has adopted special policies +adapted to the peculiar needs of individual parks. For instance, it +has found that in order to protect the visitors and insure their +comfort, and convenience, it is necessary to have certain regulations +of hotel management and transportation facilities. It has found it +impossible to hold many individual concerns responsible for the +enforcement of these regulations, so it has adopted the policy of +granting concessions to one large company equipped to render the +service required. Such a concern conducts its business under +government jurisdiction, and is required to abide by the government +regulations. The transportation companies, for example, are required +to run their cars on regular schedule, at reasonable and approved +rates. Their books are audited by the government, and they pay a +certain percentage of their earnings to it. +</P> + +<P> +As funds are available roads and trails are developed, enabling +thousands to enjoy the last frontier. And it is amazing, how, in this +short time, wild life has increased within the borders of the park. +Beavers have returned, their dams and houses are along every stream; +deer and elk straggle along the trails to welcome wide-eyed visitors; +upon the promontories curious, friendly mountain sheep are regal +silhouettes against the sky. +</P> + +<P> +Here boys and girls of every land may explore even as I explored—and, +with their trusty cameras for guns, shoot more game than Kit Carson +ever trapped! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Mountain Boyhood, by Joe Mills + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MOUNTAIN BOYHOOD *** + +***** This file should be named 29681-h.htm or 29681-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/6/8/29681/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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