When we again reached the carcass it was five o'clock, and our work must be done hastily in order to get down the mountain as far as possible before dark. To add to the discomfort of our undertaking a drizzling rain set in just as I was ready to make the views. I exposed a couple of plates, however, which fortunately turned out fairly. We then set to work to skin him as rapidly as possible, and as soon as this was accomplished we started on our return to camp, two of the men taking the two hind quarters of the animal, another my camera, and I the skin and head. With these loads, weighing from twenty-five to thirty-five pounds each, besides our rifles, and considering the difficult and dangerous nature of the ground we had to travel over and the fact that it was already beginning to grow dark, we had, indeed, a perilous journey before us. Climbing over these rock piles when covered with snow was difficult enough work in daylight, but to attempt it in the darkness and now that it was raining heavily, the snow having become wet and slushy and the rocks more slippery than before, it was doubly perilous.
Our course lay diagonally down and along the side of the mountain, and as long as the light was sufficient to at all see where we were stepping we made fair progress. Frequently, however, someone would slip and fall, but fortunately without receiving any serious injury. We were often compelled to hold to some shrub or tree and let ourselves down over projecting rocks several feet, where we could not possibly have stood up without such aid.
Finally, when we were yet less than half way down the mountain side, it became pitch dark. Here we sat down to rest. The rain was falling in torrents, and but for the snow on the ground we could not now have seen a step ahead of us. We had entered one of those more favored strips of land where the falling rocks had not covered the ground entirely, and where there was a considerable growth of timber, both large trees and underbrush. I was in favor of going straight down through this into the creek bottom where we could at least walk in safety, even if our progress should be slower. One of my friends—Mr. Overturf—agreed with me, but the other two—Mr. McWhirk and Mr. Hinchman—preferred to continue over the rocks in a direct line to camp. We therefore decided to separate, Frank and I going straight down through this strip of timber and over the smoother ground, and the other two following the more direct course.
We two reached the foot of the mountain in about an hour more; not, however, without encountering serious difficulties in grasping and finding our way down over precipitous rocks and earth, hanging on to one limb or shrub until we came in reach of another, and thus letting ourselves down safely. We were then about a mile and a half from camp. The creek bottom was densely timbered. There was a dim game trail leading through it up to our camp, but it was impossible to follow it in the darkness, and, in fact, it required the closest attention of experienced woodsmen and hunters to follow it in daylight. We were therefore utterly at sea. We were safe, however, and we heaved a sigh of relief when we found ourselves on level ground, for none of us had relished the idea of having a bone broken in that country, so far from medical aid and home comforts.
Great snow slides had for ages been coming down these mountain sides bringing their débris, such as rocks, and logs, and whole trees with them. These had frequently gone some distance into the creek bottom, breaking and felling all the trees in their path. Tornadoes had raged through the cañon, also, breaking and lopping trees in various directions, so that we now encountered a body of woods through which the most expert woodsman could not possibly travel more than a mile an hour in daylight. Add to this the cimmerian darkness in which we were now groping (for there was no snow here in the bottom of the cañon) and the reader may well imagine that our progress was slow and tedious in the extreme.
We sat down and held another consultation. I favored building a fire and staying there till morning, but Frank preferred pushing on to camp, so I acquiesced. We soon found, however, that it was utterly impossible for us to get through these windfalls in the darkness and with our heavy loads, and decided as a last resort to get into the bed of the creek and wade up it. We were already wet to the skin from head to foot, and this wading could be no worse than clambering over logs and through jungles of wet underbrush. We soon reached the creek and our hearts sank within us as we listened to its tumultuous roar and looked upon its angry bosom, for here we were enabled to see slightly, owing to the faint light admitted through the narrow opening in the trees overhead, how rough and boisterous it was! Its bed was a succession of bowlders from the size of a man's head to that of a small house, and its waters, coming direct from the snow, were ice cold. Yet to camp here was to suffer all night from wet and cold, and we preferred to push on.
By keeping near the shore we could nearly all the time have brush to hang to and steady ourselves, but where there were none of these in reach our rubber boots slipped on the smooth wet rocks, and several times we fell into the icy flood up to our chins. Once, in particular, I fell in water nearly three feet deep, dropped my gun and it went to the bottom. I fished it out, however, staggered to my feet, and struggled on.
After nearly two hours of this terrible trudging, wading, and staggering, we at last reached camp at eleven o'clock at night and triumphantly deposited our burdens within the tent.
Our two friends, from whom we had separated en route, had arrived only half an hour ahead of us, and notwithstanding the rain, which still fell heavily, Dr. Hale, who had remained in camp, had a great log-heap fire blazing in front of the tent. A pot of coffee steamed by the fire, and a sumptuous supper of broiled bear steaks, baked potatoes, and hot biscuits awaited us, but I was too tired to eat. I drank a pint of hot coffee, put on dry flannels, crawled into my blankets, and slept soundly till morning.
As further illustrating the habits of the mountain goat and the perils attending its capture, I may be permitted to narrate the experience of Mr. Westlake, a ranchman in Eastern Idaho, who attempted to procure a pair of skins for a friend in the East a few years ago. He employed a Flathead Indian as guide and assistant, who claimed to know the country thoroughly in which they purposed hunting, and to have had considerable experience in hunting goats. Mr. Westlake provided himself with a good saddle-horse and one pack-horse, a rifle, camp outfit, including a small tent, and provisions for himself and the Indian for twenty days. The Indian was fairly mounted on a small but tough Indian pony and well armed. They set out on September 2, and traveled across the country to the Clearwater river, up which they rode several days, over a very difficult and tedious trail, and when well up toward the head of the stream they reached the mouth of one of its tributaries which debouches from a deep and rugged cañon. Up this they decided to go, for it was their intention to reach the Bitter Root Mountains, one of the best known ranges for the goat.