CHAPTER V.
JOSHUA.
While awaiting the departure of the train from Aspen Junction to Glenwood Springs, one of the dwellers in the neighborhood came up with a string of beautiful trout, the largest of which weighed two pounds. Where did he catch them?
"Why, right over yonder in the Roaring Fork; lots of 'em; a fellow got one the other day that weighed three pounds."
The manner of the informant defied contradiction or doubt.
"Not improbable, my friend. I have landed more than one five-pounder from that same water," said the Major.
"See here, mister, if I'd a-know'd you was goin' to chip in I'd a-made it bigger—the last man hain't no show, that's a fact."
"Honor bright, my friend; I camped here nineteen years ago this summer; five-pound trout were no rarity then."
The Major's tones carried conviction with them, and, mollified, the native admitted he had "heard of bigger ones up the fork."
The ride of twenty-five miles to Glenwood Springs completed our trip by rail. The next business was to look up a man with a team and wagon. We found him lingering over some old circus posters on a bill-board down a side street, which he seemed reluctant to abandon. He had been recommended to us as a good cook, possessed of a complete camp outfit, and to whom the whole country was an open book.
Mr. Miles was a blue-eyed man of forty, perhaps, with a hint of gray hairs about his temples, broad-shouldered and wearing a pleasant smile. He had been to Trapper's Lake times without number, but he "couldn't get a wagon over the trail."
"If you want to go by wagon, the best way is round by Meeker, and up the White River; it's a hundred and thirty miles, mebbe, while it's only about a day's ride by the trail."
"By Meeker," was our route; we had come to look at the White River Valley; we might return to Glenwood by the trail.
"Meeker it is; then four dollars a day and you find the grub and your own saddle-horses, or ride in the waggin."
After assuring us that he would be back in an hour with "everything ready to roll out for Newcastle," where we were to stop the first night, Mr. Miles took his departure, singing in a delightful tenor, "The sweet by-and-by."
Two hours elapsed and Mr. Miles had failed to put in his appearance. We set out to hunt him and found his cabin. It was a very neat cabin of logs, hewed to the line, and a rustic porch covered with a wild clematis vine made the place inviting on a warm day. A couple of women in calico gowns and sun-bonnets sat outside picking wild hops from a vine which they had cut off at the roots and brought in bodily. A youngster in slips, regardless of the conventionalities of good society, was standing on his head in the shade of the chimney out of sight of the occupants of the porch. The ground being sandy our approach was unheeded by the women. The hands of one were toil-worn, of the other slender and shapely, but browned by the sun. The Major was about to speak but was forestalled by the imp from the chimney appearing, right side up, with the announcement:
"G'amma! here's men!"
The old lady's face, from her position, was first to be seen, and revealed Mr. Dide's monitress. The other was that of a young woman of twenty, perhaps. As the child spoke the latter raised her hands to the sun-bonnet, and turning toward us, disclosed a very pleasant face with wonderful brown eyes.
"Land sakes! if it ain't you; come in and set down—Hannah, git some cheers."
The Major declined, as we were in a hurry, and inquired for Mr. Miles.
"That's my Joshua, certain. He's gone to hunt his horses; he's been hired to go out campin' with some tenderfeet, and they are out grazin'; but do set down; this is my daughter Hannah," as the young woman returned with the chairs, which she burnished with her apron, though they were entirely innocent of dust.
The Major felt obliged to repeat his excuse; then pleasantly:
"I guess we are the tenderfeet——"
"Now, you don't say!—Land sakes—but you won't mind an old woman's nonsense, will you? Set down, do; Joshua'll be here by-'m-by, he greased his waggin just before he went; don't mind the muss—me and Hannah's been savin' these hops, they're better'n any store truck; they're good for yeast; I never could 'bide salt risin' anyway, and for neuralgie, I've suffered with that some, so's Joshua, seems it's in the altitude, that's what the doctors call it, and to my mind there's nothing like a hop piller. Wish you'd set awhile."
The Major assured the good soul that we should be delighted, but really we were anxious to start and had a multitude of trifles to look after. Would she be kind enough to request Joshua not to delay longer than was necessary? and we bowed ourselves away.
The sun went down and Joshua did not appear. At ten o'clock we went to bed with the conviction that we should have to abandon the namesake of the potent commander. About the time we were fairly asleep, he came and assured us, through the door, that he would "be on hand at eight o'clock, sure, with everything ready." That the horses had "strayed and were not to be found until after dark." We were prompt at the appointed time and waited until nine. The Major was again about to give him up, when he came around with a pair of stout-looking mares and an empty lumber wagon, and announced that he must "go and hunt up an extra spring seat," as we had concluded not to take saddle-horses. He came back in about half an hour, with a seat lying in the wagon, and said he had "a mind" to go after his bedding. The Major suggested that he hurry.
"Oh, I'll be round, you bet."
At ten o'clock he returned with a roll of blankets and we inquired after his camp outfit.
"By the great horn spoon—if I didn't forget all about it; just hold on a minute," and he drove off again. In the course of another half hour he returned with a frying-pan and a broken skillet. We inquired for the plates, cups, knives and other articles supposed to be convenient in camp, including the coffee-pot.
"Well, I lent my coffee-pot to a feller who's gone prospectin' and I don't think he'll be back inside of a week—you've got some canned beans and such like—we can use the cans for coffee, and have a new one every day, and I'm out of plates and cups just now, though if I'd a-knowed it I might 'a borrowed some of Jake."
The Major complimented him on this evidence of cleanliness and economy, and then went off and purchased the necessary tinware and cutlery. Joshua packed everything snugly and undertook to adjust the borrowed wagon seat. It was found to be too short.
"Well, I swan! but I'll git a seat if I have to steal it—just hold on a minute."
"I think, Mr. Miles," said the Major, "as it is near noon, you'd better drive home and get your dinner and the seat, and call for us in an hour."
"All right, I'll be round on time—hannup, Woman, get on, Baby—we're not goin' to camp here."
"'There's a land that is fairer than day,
And by faith we can see it afar,
For the Father waits over the way,
To prepare us a dwelling place thar,
In the sweet by-and-by.'"
"That man and his song match well," said the Major, as Joshua disappeared around the corner and the refrain died away, "'my dukedom to a beggarly denier' he does not get back until too late in the day to start. I wonder if he is not trying to make an extra day in his count?"
At two o'clock he returned, but had not succeeded in obtaining a seat. He stood before the Major with eyes cast down and his forefinger on his chin, evidently in deep communion with himself.
"I wonder, now, where I can get a seat—lemme see—Bowers' got a waggin same as mine, but he started yesterday with a load to Newcastle. Ben Soggs-no! his is broke. Lemme see—Pat McGinnis—no, he's usin' his every day——"
"Suppose you buy one—is there not a wagon shop in the city?" said the Major.
"Well, I swan! I hadn't thought of that—just hold on a minute."
In the course of half an hour he returned with the announcement that he had found a seat, but the man wanted five dollars and a half, "second hand, and that's a dollar'n a half more'n it's worth, and——."
"Well, get it, we'll stand the dollar and a half."
"All right—just hold on a minute."
It was three o'clock in the afternoon when we started. We were blessed with several friends in Glenwood; they manifested much interest in our preparations for departure, and, as they had a number of resident acquaintances, the sidewalk was well peopled by the time we climbed into the wagon. Looking over that sea of faces, as I remember it now, every one was lighted up with a broad smile, which resolved itself into a laugh, with a hearty good-by and wishes for luck, together with the request that we "leave some of the game on the White," and would "not kill it all."
We smiled in return, and I felt that I should be happy if Mr. Miles' shoulders were not so broad and I had his head in chancery.
"Where do you propose camping to-night, Mr. Miles?" inquired the Major as we reached the bridge across the Grand River.
"Lemme see—it's fifteen miles to Newcastle, pretty good road, we can make that in three hours with the load we've got; then it's about fourteen miles to Rifle Creek, but there's muskeeters. We might stop at Ferguson's, that's about ten miles beyond Newcastle; that's a good place."
"But it will be quite dark by that time."
"Yes, that's a fact, it will be quite dark by that time."
"Well, it is not very pleasant to make camp in the dark."
"No, that's a fact; you're right about that—'tain't pleasant to make camp in the dark."
"What will you do?"
"Lemme see—we was goin' to stop at Newcastle, wasn't we? that's a good place."
"To camp, do you mean?"
"Yes, good place to camp, or there's a good hotel—we might stop at the hotel over night and take a fresh start in the mornin'."
"How far is it from Newcastle to Meeker?"
"Fifty-five miles,—hannup, Woman! we won't camp here!"
"That's rather a long drive for one day?"
"You're right, it is—but we can make it, with the load we've got—Baby! come out o' that!"
"It would be better not to try."
"You're right—we might camp at Morgan's, t'other side of the Divide, if you want to, that's more'n half way."
"Very well, we'll make Newcastle to-night, Morgan's to-morrow night, and reach Meeker the next day—say at what hour?"
Queen of the Cañon.
"Oh, anywhere before dark, easy."
"Well, we'll see if you can make it."
"Oh, I'll make it, or break a trace!"
The "pretty good road" between Glenwood and Newcastle had recently been traversed by a herd of cattle and seemed the paradise of loose stones. The Grand was muddy, as it frequently is, from the mining on the Blue River and a recent storm. But there is enough beauty in the scenery to compensate one for the roughness of the road, which Joshua seemed to make more rugged by hitting all the rocks in the way.
When we reached Newcastle, Joshua drove up to the hotel and the landlord put in an appearance.
"Why do you stop here, Mr. Miles?" inquired the Major.
"This is a good place to stop, and I thought you said you'd stop here to-night and take a fresh start in the mornin'?"
"We purpose to have an outing, Mr. Miles, and although the hotel may be excellent, we will go into camp just below here on Elk Creek."
There was a decisiveness about the Major's tones not to be misunderstood. Mr. Miles turned around to get a better view.
"All right, just as you say—hannup, Woman! Baby!"
He kept silent until we reached the creek, when I made a remark about its beauty, then Joshua broke out:
"Fresh from the throne of glory
Bright in its crystal stream."
At the first verse the sternness vanished from the Major's face; he could not resist the inclination to laugh; the laugh was contagious; Joshua turned in his seat with a look of inquiry, and halting in his song, joined us.
"How d'you know the name of the creek, Major?"
"I have been here before, Mr. Miles."
"Oh! How long you lived in this country, Major?"
"Thirty years, next spring."
"No? Then you're a mossback sure enough——
'Tell me the old, old story,
Of unseen things above'".
"Are you a member of the church, Mr. Miles?"
"Why, I ain't never just professed, exactly—what makes you ask that?"
"Your familiarity with the Gospel hymns."
"Mebbe you don't like 'em——"
"Quite the contrary, Mr. Miles—I not only like them, but your singing."
"Oh, give us a rest, Major—you can't blame me for takin' you for tenderfeet with them knee-breeches."
"What did you pay for this wagon-seat, Mr. Miles?"
"Four dollars,—honest Injun."
"I think we understand each other, Mr. Miles?"
"George Washington and his hatchet—I've felt for some time's if I wanted to kick myself for bein' a fool."
The footing being established, Joshua drew up in a grassy spot near some scrub oaks.
"Just rest easy, gentlemen, till I git this team unhitched, and I'll look after the supper, and put up the tent while you're eatin' it."
"We have only a fly, and will not need that to night."
"That's an offset to the knee-breeches; if I'd only knowed it! You don't care for a tent, even?
'The proper study of mankind is man'".
I suggested to the Major that he try the creek,—perhaps he could get a mess of trout for breakfast. He adopted the suggestion, and when we called him, half an hour afterward, he came with five good-sized trout. Not contented with his success, after supper he went to the mouth of the creek and hooked a pound-and-a-half fish, which he brought in with much gratification.
Joshua seemed endowed with new life; he was out of bed next morning and had breakfast prepared before we were fairly awake; by seven o'clock we were on the road. The coach on its way to Meeker passed us shortly after we had started, and would reach its destination by five o'clock. Joshua admitted that he had more than once made the trip in one day from Glenwood with a light wagon and a good team.
The country between Newcastle and Rifle Creek is blessed with spacious mesas covered with black sage brush. Here and there these acres are under ditch and cultivation, attesting that the uninviting uplands, with the aid of water, can be converted into beautiful farms. We crossed Rifle Creek, up and over a broad mesa to Dry Rifle, and found ourselves in a neighborhood by no means attractive. Sage brush, cactus and greasewood, inhabited by magpies and an occasional raven, do not tend to inspire one with pleasant fancies. The soil is adobe, the gulch contracted and hot, and water to be thought of only; the sage brush had assumed dignity and grown into trees. But the arroyo soon widened and gave us a view of pleasantly wooded low hills, and a cool breeze greeted us. The road was good, and we trundled along in cheerfulness, Joshua aiding at intervals with a lively air from the Gospel Collection, or stimulating us with the assurance that game was plenty "back among them hills." We took a lunch about noon but found the water warm and slightly impregnated with alkali; at Morgan's, where we went into early camp, the water was better.
After crossing the Divide, and before we reached our camping-place, the country had improved decidedly; the grass was fresher and more abundant, and the wild flowers added to the attraction of the slope along which we were travelling; the distant hills were bountifully dotted with aspen groves and openings—suggestive to one accustomed to the haunts of deer. Gaps in the hills immediately skirting our way would reveal small parks, beautifully green, and the entrance to them usually guarded by picturesque rocks. In one of these projections a dromedary was conspicuously outlined, with its head carried to the life. In another a hippopotamus was wallowing up from a sandstone bed. In another the form of a woman half reclining in a high-backed chair, while immediately in front was a figure in an attitude of supplication. The afternoon sun shining fairly upon this group gave us a good view of the features in profile; other rocks immediately in front and to the right of the principal figure, were readily constructed into groups bearing a human resemblance, and the Major at once gave the place the name of the Queen's Court. Many have passed this way, no doubt, and have seen a medley of rocks, while others may have enjoyed with us the distinction of an audience with royalty. Balancing Rock, however, cannot escape the attention of the most indifferent.
We finally caught a glimpse of a bit of the White River Valley through the gorge toward which we were moving: a beautiful stretch of meadow-like land reaching up to timber-clothed mountains. The view continued to expand until we arrived at the border of the stream. The way wound among willows and mountain beech, with a few scrub oaks, now and then an alder bush, and what Joshua termed haw bushes, bringing us suddenly to the margin of the river. The water was perfectly clear and cold, with the brush growing close down to the edges of the banks; just above the ford was a pool in which the Major was as sure there were trout as that the sun shone. It did seem, indeed, that the fish must find delightful habitation in every foot of water in sight. We crossed and made camp, and it was not long before the Major verified his prediction. From that same pool, within a hundred feet of the ford where people were crossing nearly every hour of the day, he brought in two trout that more than sufficed for our supper.
"The stream is just alive with them, my boy—you will have trouting such as you never had before."
On the Frying Pan.