Pluck on the Long Trail; Or, Boy Scouts in the Rockies

by Edwin L. Sabin

I was so hungry that I didn't more than half cook the grouse by holding pieces on a stick over the blaze, trapper style. While I gnawed I went out around the rocks and watched the sunset. It was glorious, and the pink and gold lasted, with the snowy range and old Pilot Peak showing sharp and cold against it. Up here I was right in the twilight, while below the timber and the valleys were dark.

I must collect wood while I could see, beginning with the pieces furthest away. Down at the bottom of the hill I had marked a big branch; and out I hiked and hauled it up. That camp looked grand when I came in again; the bottom of the hill was gloomy, but here I had a fire.

The sunset was done; everything was dark; the stars were shining all through the sky; from the timber below queer cries and calls floated up to me, but there was nothing to be afraid of. I was minding my business, and animals would be minding theirs. So I moved the fire forward a little from the angle of the rocks, and sat in the angle myself. Wow, but it was warm and nice! I couldn't make a big fire, because I didn't want to run out of fuel; but the little fire was better, as long as it was large enough to be cheerful and to warm me. I spliced my broken arrow with string.

This was real Scout coziness. Of course, I sort of wished that Fitz or little Jed Smith or somebody else was there, for company; but I'd done pretty well. I tried to study the stars—but as I sat I kept nodding and dozing off, and waking with a jerk, and so I pulled the thick part of the branch across the fire and shoved in the scattered ends. Then I wrapped the flags about my neck and over my head, and sitting flat with my back against the rock I went to sleep. Indians say that they keep warm best by covering their shoulders and head, even if they can't cover their legs.

Something woke me with a start. I lay shivering and listening. The fire flickered low, the sky was close above me, darkness was around about, and behind me was a rustle, rustle, patter, patter. At first I was silly and frightened; but with a jump I quit that and ordered, loud:

"Get out of there!"

Wild animals are especially afraid of the human voice; and whatever this was it scampered away. Then I decided that it was only a pack-rat. Anyhow, there would be nothing out here in these hills to attack a human being while he slept. Even the smell of a human being will keep most animals off. They're suspicious of him. And I thought of the hundreds of old-time trappers and hunters, and of the prospectors and ranchers and range-riders, who had slept right out in the timber, in a blanket, and who never had been molested at all. So I didn't reckon that anything was going to climb this hill to get me!

I stirred about and built the fire, and got warm. The Guardians of the Pole had moved around a quarter of the clock, at least, and the moon was away over in the west, so I knew that I must have slept quite a while. (Note 41.)

The night was very quiet. Here on the hill I felt like a Robinson Crusoe marooned on his island. I stood and peered about; everywhere below was the dark timber; the moon was about to set behind the snowy range; overhead were the stars—thousands of them in a black sky, which curved down on all sides.

The Milky Way was plain. The Indians say that is the trail the dead warriors take to the Happy Hunting Grounds. I could see the North Star, of course, and I could see the Papoose on the Squaw's back, in the handle of the Great Dipper; so I had Scout's eyesight. In the west was the evening star—Jupiter, I guessed. Off south was the Scorpion, and the big red star Antares. I wished that the Lost Children were dancing in the sky, but they had not come yet. (Note 42.)