CHAPTER V
THE START FOR NORTH PARK
It was just gray dawn next morning when Jack awoke and tumbled out of bed. As he passed the corral on his way down to the bunk house, he saw Hugh moving about among the horses, and entering, found that the pack animals were all saddled.
"Hello, son!" said Hugh, "I'm glad to see you stirring. We want to get our loads out, so that as soon as we've eaten breakfast we can pack up and go. You better roll up that bed of yours and bring it down here and put it with mine over there against the fence, and then we want to bring down the grub and the mess kit, and make up our packs."
For a little time both were busy journeying to and fro between the house and the corral, carrying down loads of food, the small mess kit packed in a soap box, the ax, the hatchet, the Dutch oven, packages of ammunition, and their guns. Hugh showed Jack how to lash together the six pieces which made up the two uprights and the ridge pole of their small tent, and then with a number of pieces of canvas and some lengths of rope, Hugh began to make up the packs for the pack animals.
"While I'm working at this, son," he said, "do you go up and put the saddles on the riding horses. Don't cinch them up, but just draw the latigos tight enough to hold the saddles in place, and have the bridles handy; and, by the way, you'd better get that coil of half-inch rope that's in the storeroom. We'll take all that along, for we may need picket ropes before we get back. Ropes are something that are awful easy lost on a trip."
Jack got the rope, which he threw down with the other things over which Hugh was working, and then went up and saddled Pawnee and Hugh's black. He watered both horses, and then tied them in their stalls and left them munching their hay.
When he returned to the corral, Hugh had apparently finished his work, but while they had three pack horses, there were only two loads piled up. Jack looked about for a third, and Hugh noticing this, said, "You see, son, we've got so little to pack that we may as well put it all on two horses and let the third one go without a load. You see, when we buy our grub at Laramie, we can stick a good part of it on him, and put more on the other horses as well. As it is now, neither of the loaded horses will have had more than half what he ought to carry."
The call to breakfast came about this time, and after the meal was over all hands went down to the corral and stood around while Hugh and Jack packed their horses. A few moments later they had mounted, turned their pack train loose, and after shaking hands all around and saying good-by to Mr. Sturgis, they started down the valley. For some miles the ride was a familiar one to Jack, for he had passed over it a number of times on his hunting trips and on his way to the Powell ranch. He had nothing special to do except to keep the pack animals close up to Hugh and to prevent them from turning off and trying to return to the ranch. This they kept doing for the first few miles, and at last Jack quite lost patience with them and began to ride fast after them, chasing them back at a gallop so that at times they ran ahead of Hugh. After he had been doing this some little time, Hugh stopped and motioned to him to come up to him. When Jack had done so, Hugh said, "If I were you, son, I'd be more quiet with the horses. The more you run them, the harder they'll be to manage, and you're liable to wear out the horse you're riding if you keep charging up and down in this way. You can always handle a horse easier if you do it quietly than if you lose your temper. You know we've talked about that two or three times before, and I've told you that your way of getting mad at a horse did not go."
Jack felt quite penitent when Hugh spoke to him in this way, and answered: "I know you are right, Hugh; I do get mad at these miserable horses. They seem to have no sense at all, and keep trying to turn around and go back."
"Well, now," said Hugh, "I'll tell you. You say they have no sense. Perhaps they don't understand what we're trying to do and where we are trying to go. I'll go over there and sit down and smoke, and while I'm doing that it might be a good idea for you take each one of the horses off by itself and tell it where we are going to, and why we are going, and why he must not go back."
For a moment Jack felt rather silly, and then he burst out laughing and said, "Hugh, you are the queerest chap I ever saw. I never met anybody that could make a fellow see so plainly what a fool he was making of himself. It's pretty silly to get angry at these horses because they don't want to leave their range; how could they be expected to know anything about going in one direction or another? I will try to keep my temper better, and handle the horses with better judgment."
"Do so," said Hugh. "But now, I tell you what we can do. Suppose you lead for a while if you feel like it, and I'll follow and drive the horses. All you've got to do is to keep straight ahead down the valley, and along toward night we'll come to the mouth of the Muddy and camp there."
"No, sir!" said Jack. "You go ahead and lead; there's where you belong, and I'll follow and drive the horses; it will give me a lesson in patience, and that is something that I need. You and the Indians we have hunted with have taught me to be patient in hunting, but I have not learned to be patient with horses."
"All right," said Hugh, "I'll go ahead, or I'll come behind, just whichever you please; but if I'm to go ahead, you drive the horses with good sense."
"I'll try," said Jack, and from that time on the horses, very largely owing to the way in which they were treated, went along much better.
There was little that was interesting on the road for the greater part of the day. On either side of the stream stretched the wide sage plain of silvery green. Beyond this plain, to the right, rose the tall naked hills, almost blood red, while to the left, as far off, was a yellow, chalky bluff. Among the red hills Jack had several times been hunting deer and elk, and just beyond the chalky bluff was Bate's Hole, where Jack had killed his first mule deer.
It was but a little after noon when Hugh stopped his horse, and when Jack had come close to him, said, "Son, there are some antelope over this next hill, and we need fresh meat; why not slip off your horse and go up to the top of the next hill and see if you can find a buck that you can kill."
"All right," said Jack. He jumped from the saddle, threw down the reins and started for the crest of the ridge beyond. As he slowly and carefully advanced, he saw, not far ahead of him, a pair of small horns, which he knew must belong to a yearling buck antelope, and dropping on his knees, he crept forward until close to the ridge; then slowly raising his head, he saw but a short distance from him a fine young buck antelope looking across the valley and standing broadside on. Jack raised his gun and fired, and the antelope fell, while a half dozen others not seen before rushed into view from behind the hill and scampered off into the plain. The one that Jack had shot struggled to his feet and stood with lowered head, facing in the direction in which its comrades had gone. Jack threw his rifle to his shoulder again, intending to shoot once more, but the antelope looked as if it were badly wounded, and he did not think that it could run far. Turning about, he signaled Hugh to come on, saw him ride over to Pawnee, grasp the bridle reins and start towards him. Then Jack slowly walked over the crest and up to the antelope. There was, of course, a possibility that the animal might run, and Jack cocked his rifle and held it at a "ready," but the antelope, shot through the lungs, was breathing heavily and was in no condition to run away. Still, it kept its feet, and Jack was doubtful as to how to handle it. He certainly did not care to go in front of it and take it by the horns, and he did not like to put down his gun and attempt to stab it with his butcher knife. Finally he put down the gun close by the antelope, and stepped up behind it with drawn butcher knife, caught its hind leg and tried to hamstring it. It was not until then that he realized something of the strength of even so small an animal as this. It kicked and struggled, and Jack, while he managed to keep his hold of the leg, was shaken and twisted about in a way that greatly astonished him. He dared not let go, for fear the antelope would run away, but he had no idea as to how long the struggle would last. However, after a minute or two, which seemed to him like a very long time, the antelope's efforts grew weaker, and finally it fell over on its side. By the time Hugh had come up with the horses, Jack had cut the little buck's throat.
"What was the matter?" said Hugh. "You seemed to be having quite an active time down here."
"Active time!" said Jack, "I should say so! I had no idea that an animal as small as this antelope could shake me up as he did. I made a poor shot, for I hit him too high up, and from the way he breathed, I think I just cut the upper part of his lungs. I shall have to practice shooting if I am going to help keep the camp supplied with meat this summer."
"Oh, don't you bother about practicing," Hugh said. "Two or three shots will get you back into your old way again, but that's a regular green-horn trick to shoot too high. It seems to me that mighty few people know how low the life lies in any animal. I keep telling you where to shoot at in an antelope, and you must remember it."
"Of course you do, Hugh," said Jack; "I know that well enough. I try to shoot at that little curl of hair; that's what I aimed at, but you see I drew my sight too coarse."
"Well," said Hugh, "just a little shooting is what you need, and you'll get plenty of that in a very short time now."
Hugh got off his horse, and they began to skin the antelope, which was a very short operation. The hide strips off an antelope very easily, just as the hide strips off a deer. Jack noticed that on his side Hugh kept turning under the edge of the skin, so that the hair side was always next to the ground or else turned well under the edge. Jack, on the other hand, simply laid the hide on his side on the ground, and twisted and pulled it about; sometimes the flesh sides would come together, and some of the antelope hair rubbed off on the body.
Hugh said to him, "You might as well learn to skin an antelope right, son. You know the hair smells quite strong, and if you let the hair touch the meat, the meat gets this smell and tastes of it. Lots of people don't like that taste, and so I always make it a point to keep the hair from touching the skin. You see how I'm working it on my side, always keeping the flesh side to the body."
"I see," said Jack, "and now that you have told me, I see why you do it. Of course I've tasted the flavor of the antelope hide in the meat, and I don't like it a bit, myself. I will remember that after this in skinning. Are there other animals, the meat of which is affected by the touching of the hide?"
"Well," said Hugh, "the meat of the tame sheep gets an awful strong taste if the wool is allowed to rub against it, and sometimes I think the meat of the wild sheep gets the same taste; anyhow, it's just as well to keep the hair side of the hide away from the meat of the animal it belongs to. At best the hides of these animals are full of dirt and dust, and there is a common prejudice against making that sort of thing your food. We have to eat a lot of it, of course, but at the same time we don't want to eat any more than we have got to. You take the hide of a deer or an elk or a buffalo, just after you have stripped it off, rub your hand down the outside of it, and see what a lot of dirt you will get on your hand. Of course, the Indians don't think much about a little thing like that, and perhaps the average plainsman don't, but I've noticed a few times how very dirty these hides are, and it seems to me worth while to be as clean as we can with the skinning."
The antelope being lifted off the hide, its body was rested now for a moment on the top of a sage bush, while Hugh went to his saddle and from one of the strings behind it untied a cotton sack. The antelope was quickly quartered and the pieces packed in this sack, which was lashed on the unloaded horse, and they went on.
Camp was made that night some miles above where the Muddy runs into the Medicine Bow River. There was no timber, but the grass was good, and there was plenty of sage brush and some dry willow bushes, so that they had fuel enough to cook their meals. By the time the horses were picketed and the coffee was boiling, it was dark.
The day had been warm and bright, and as the night was clear, they decided that it was not necessary to put up the tent. After supper they sat by the fire, Jack questioning Hugh about the country they were going to.
"You have talked to me a good deal about the Northern countries, but I don't know that you have ever said anything about the Parks of Colorado, and I don't know just what they are. Of course, we will see them before long, but I should like to have some idea of the country before we reach it."
"Well," said Hugh, "I can tell you pretty clearly what these Parks are like. They are just big basins of open country lying between ranges of high mountains. In some places they are fifteen or twenty miles across and twice as long as they are wide, and the mountains on either side are very high—not like the mountains back of the ranch, but running away up above timber line. There are no people in North Park, though I believe within the last two or three years some folks have begun to drive cattle in there for the summer; but in Middle Park and South Park, which are nearer Denver, there are some settlements. In North Park and in Middle Park there is lots of game—in fact, I reckon it's one the greatest game countries there is left now. You will find elk, deer, antelope, sheep, and maybe a few buffalo, but no moose, and no white goats. If you imagine a big plain like the Basin we have just come over, with high mountains all around it, you will have a pretty good idea of North Park.
"There's a wagon road from Laramie into the Park—a good wagon road, but after you pass Pinkham's you won't see any settlers until you get over the divide into Middle Park. The North Platte heads in North Park, and, of course, there are no fish in that. Then you ride over a low divide and strike one of the heads of Grand River, and there, even up in the shallow water in a small brook you can catch lots of trout."
"Why is it, Hugh, that there are no trout in the Platte River?"
"I reckon a thousand people have asked that question, and nobody has ever been able to answer it, so far as I know. We all just know that there are no trout in the stream, but why it is, nobody can tell. Neither in the Platte River nor in any stream that runs into it, so far as I know, are there any trout, and it does seem queer."[1]
FOOTNOTE
[1] In recent years the North Platte River has been stocked with trout.
"Why, yes, Hugh, that does seem queer; but where do the trout come from that are in the other Rocky Mountain streams? I know that they are not the same kind of trout that we have back East. Those have red spots, and these have black ones."
"You just can't prove it by me," said Hugh; "but I've always believed that they came from the other side of the mountain, over the range. How they got over to this side, I do not know, but I reckon that there are ways for fish to move about and get scattered over the country, that maybe you and I don't know anything about. There's one place up north of here where there's a little spring right on the crest of the mountain, from which the water flows both ways. That is to say, it flows down into the Yellowstone on one side and into the Snake River on the other, and so from this same spring water goes to the Atlantic Ocean and to the Pacific Ocean. Now, of course, it might be possible for a trout from the west side of the range to push his way up a western stream until he got into this little spring, and then he might push his way down the stream, which runs east, and where one fish went another might follow; and so that stream might get stocked. It may be that in times past there have been a number of places like that where a fish could climb over the range. Mind, I don't say that is the way that it happened, but it seems to me it might have been that way."
"That's mighty interesting, Hugh," said Jack; "I never heard of that place before. What do they call it?"
"Why," said Hugh, "they have a good name for it, they call it 'Two Ocean Spring.' Long ago I heard of it from mountain men a great many times, and I have been there once or twice. It's in the right high mountains just east of that Yellowstone Park that we came down through two years ago. They call the two little creeks that run out from it, Atlantic Creek and Pacific Creek, and these seem to me to be very good names for them, too. I heard that not very long ago a government outfit crossed over there and made a map of the country."
"Jerusalem!" said Jack; "that's one of the places I'd like to go to."
"Well," said Hugh, "you're likely to see just as pretty places as that in these mountains this summer. The little pool up there, that these two streams run out of, is just like any other little shallow lake on top of a divide, and there isn't any wonderful scenery there. It's a good game country, though not any better, I think, than what we came through when we made that trip with Joe two years ago; but it is a pretty country to travel through; open parks and quaking aspen groves and high peaks of mountains sticking up every little while. Oh, yes, it's a real nice country."
"Well," said Jack, "I would like to go there, but dear me! what a lot of country there is out here, and how much time it would take to visit all of it!"
"That's so," said Hugh, "there's a right smart of country that I have never seen, and I have been out here a pretty considerable time."
For a little while both sat silently looking into the fire, and listening to the sharp barks and the shrill wailings of a coyote perched on a hill not far from them. The noise made seemed to Jack to be enough for a half dozen animals, and yet he suspected that very likely it was all made by one. At last he spoke to Hugh about it, and said, "How many of those coyotes do you think there are yelling out there, Hugh?"
"Well, I don't know," said Hugh; "there must be at least one; he makes plenty of noise, doesn't he?"
"I should think so," said Jack. "I thought there must be at least half a dozen."
"No, I don't think so," said Hugh; "if there were more than one, you would be apt to distinguish their voices, and there would be barking at different times. Instead of that, if you will listen to this fellow you'll hear him bark and then howl and stop, and then bark again. I reckon he's hungry, and is trying to call up a partner, and to-morrow morning they will go hunting together and try to kill a rabbit or two, or maybe pull down an antelope. They are queer beasts."
"Yes," said Jack, "and mighty cunning, I expect."
"Lord, yes," said Hugh, "they are cunning enough. A fox is a fool to one of those coyotes."