Night came on, and the difficulty of keeping their boat from being broken to pieces on the rocks, increased the anxieties of their situation. They must have passed a horrible night; so full of fearful expectations, of the certainty of starvation on the crags, or drowning in the stream. In the morning, however, they examined the rocks again, and found a small projecting crag {270} some twenty feet above them, over which, after many efforts, they threw their small boat-rope and drew the noose tight. One of their number then climbed to explore. He found a platform above the crag, of sufficient size to contain his six companions, and a narrow chasm in the overhanging wall through which it appeared possible to pass to the upper surface. Having all reached the platform, they unloosed their lasso, and, bracing themselves as well as they could, with their rifles in the moving, dry earth beneath their feet, they undertook the ascent. It was so steep that they were often in danger of being plunged together in the abyss below. But by digging steps in the rocks, (where they could be dug with their rifle-barrels), and by making use of their lasso where it could be used, they reached the upper surface near sunset, and made their way back to the place of departure.[143]
This is a mountain legend, interesting, indeed, but—
"I cannot tell how the truth may be,
I tell the tale as 'twas told to me:"
At daylight, on the 30th, our cavalcade was moving across the woody ridges and verdant valleys between the crossings of {271} Grand River and its great north fork.[144] We struck that stream about ten o'clock. Its water was beautifully clear, average depth two feet, and current four miles the hour. It is said to take its rise in the mountains, near the south side of the 'Great Gap,' and to flow, in a south-westerly course, through a country of broken and barren plains, into Grand River, twenty miles below the crossings. We ascended rapidly all the day. There was no trail to guide us; but our worthy guide knew every mountain-top in sight. Bee lines through immense fields of wild sage and wormwood, and over gravelly plains—a short halt for a short breakfast—constant spurring, and trotting, and driving, deposited us at sunset, at the foot of a lofty mountain, clothed with heavy timber. This was the dividing ridge between the waters of Grand and Green Rivers. It was necessary to cross it. We therefore, turned out the animals to feed, ate a scanty morsel of dried meat, and went to our couches, for the strength requisite for the task. About the middle of the night the panthers on the mountain gave us a specimen of their growling capacities. It was a hideous noise: deep and broken by the most unearthly screams! They were gathering for prey; {272} for our horses and ourselves. We drove up the animals, however, tied them near the camp, built a large and bright fire, and slept till daylight.
At sunrise, on the morning of the 31st, we stood on the summit of the mountain, at the base of which we had slept the previous night.[145] It was the very place from which I wished to view the outline of the valley of Grand River, and the snowy ridge of the Anahuac; and it was as favourable an hour for my purpose as I could have selected from the whole day. The sun had just risen over the eastern heights, sufficiently to give the valley of the Grand River to the south-east of me, those strong contrasts of light and shade which painters know so well how to use when sketching a mountain scene at early morning, or when the sun is half hidden at night. The peaks were bright, the deep shadows sprang off from the western sides, above faintly, and deepening as they descended to the bases, where the deep brown of the rocks and earth gave the vales the semblance of undisturbed night.
The depression of the valley, as I have termed it, was in truth a depression of a vast tract of mountains; not unto a plane {273} or vale; but a great ravine of butes and ridges, decreasing in height from the limit of vision in the north-east, east and south—and falling one below another toward the stream, into the diminutive bluffs on its banks. The valley below the crossing was less distinctly seen. Its general course only could be distinguished among the bare hills upon its borders. But the great main chain, or Anahuac range, came sweeping up from the Arkansas more sublime, if possible, in its aspect than when viewed from the heights farther south. It was about one hundred miles distant, the length of the section in view about one hundred and sixty; not a speck on all its vast outline. It did not show as glaciers do; but like a drift of newly-fallen snow heaped on mountains, by some mighty efforts of the elements; piled from age to age; and from day to day widening and heightening its untold dimensions. Its width, its height, its cubic miles, its mass of rock, of earth, of snow, of ice, of waters ascending in clouds to shower the lowlands or renew its own robes of frosts, of waters sent rushing to the seas, are some of the vast items of this sublimity of existence. The light of the rising {274} sun falling upon it through the remarkable transparent atmosphere of these regions, made the view exceedingly distinct. The intervening space was thickly dotted with lesser peaks, which, in the lengthened distance, melted into an apparent plain. But the elevation of the great Anahuac ridge, presenting its broad, white side to the morning light in that dry, clear, upper air, seemed as distinctly seen as the tree at my side. In the north-west it manifestly tended toward the north end of the Great Salt Lake. But I must leave this absorbing scene for the journey of the day. The ascent of the dividing ridge, from which I took this extensive survey of all this vast, unknown, unexplored portion of the mountains, was comparatively easy. We threaded, indeed, some half dozen precipices in going up, within an inch of graves five hundred feet deep. Yet, as none of us lost our brains on the rocks below, these narrow and slippery paths can not be remembered in connexion with incidents either remarkable or sad.
With this notice of mountain turnpikes, I shall be obliged to my readers to step along with me over the bold summit and look at the descent, yes, the descent, my friends. {275} It is a bold one: one of the men said "four miles of perpendicular;" and so it was. Or if it was not, it ought to have been, for many very good reasons of mathematical propriety that are as difficult to write as to comprehend. It was partially covered with bushes and trees, and a soft vegetable mould that yielded to our horses' feet, but we, by dint of holding, bracing, and sliding, arrived safely at the bottom, and jogged on merrily six or seven miles over barren ridges, rich plains, and woody hills to the head of Tumbleton park. We had turned out our animals to eat, hung our camp-kettle over the fire to boil some bits of grisly meat that we had found among the rubbish of our packs, and were resting our wearied frames in the shade of the willows, conversing about the tracts which we had seen five miles back; one supposing that they were made by Indians, the Arrapahoes or the Shoshonies, while our old guide insisted that they were made by white men's horses! and assigned as a reason for this opinion, that no Indians could be travelling in that direction, and that one of the horses had shoes on its fore feet; when the Arrapahoe war-whoop and the clattering of hoofs upon the side hill above, brought us to our feet, rifle in hand, {276} for a conflict. Kelly seemed for a moment to be in doubt as to his own conclusions relative to the tracks, and as to the colour of those unceremonious visitors. But as they dashed up, he leaped the brook, and seized the hands of three old fellow-trappers. It was a joyful meeting. They had often stood side by side in battle, and among the solemn mountains dug the lonely grave of some slaughtered companion, and together sent the avenging lead into the hearts of the Blackfeet. They were more than brothers, and so they met. We shared with them our last scraps of meat.
They informed us that they had fallen in with our trail, and followed us under a belief that we were certain friends whom they were expecting from St. Louis with goods for the post at Brown's Hole; that the Arrapahoes were fattening on buffalo in the Bull Pen, on the north fork of the Platte;[146] that the Shoshonies or Snakes were starving on roots on Great Bear River; that the Blackfeet and Sioux were in the neighbourhood; that there was no game in the mountains except on the head waters of Snake River; and that they themselves were a portion of a party of white men, Indians, and squaws, on their way to Bent's Fort on the {277} Arkansas, to meet Mr. Thomson with the goods before named; that we might reasonably anticipate starvation and the arrows of the Sioux, and other kindred comforts along our journey to Brown's Hole. Mr. Craig, the chief of the party, and part owner with Mr. Thomson, assured us that the grass on the Columbia was already dry and scarce; and if there should prove to be enough to sustain our horses on the way down, that the snows on the Blue Mountains would prevent us from reaching Vancouver till the spring, and kindly invited us to pass the winter at his post. After two hours' tarry with us he and his party returned to their camp.