“He told them to take him to a high cliff on that mountain. He died there and his followers left beside him the war club of the Nez Percé chief.”
After the story we sat awhile on the summit to look out over the plains, and then descended into a basin, a beautiful amphitheater with a peaceful little lake, clusters of pines and a moist green meadow with a sheep-lick. In the meadow were golden snow lilies, sky-blue forget-me-nots, and the rose-red monkey flower, growing close to a cold brook that came leaping down the mountain. At the head of the basin was a lofty rock wall, with silvery waterfalls and a great gray glacier, close to the saw-tooth cliffs of the Continental Divide. [[164]]
Then we lay silently behind some stunted spruces and watched the sheep-lick for game. We saw some conies on the slide-rock, a timid little rabbit-people who live among the rocks at timber-line. They scampered about, squeaking and running back and forth with grass and flowers in their mouths. From a rock-cliff a hoary marmot came waddling across a barren slope to his feeding grounds on the green turf. He was gray in color, with short legs and heavy body and a white band round his nose.
The only sound was the singing of a waterfall at the head of the lake, and of the brook flowing softly through the grass. Suddenly a stone came tumbling down, followed by a rattling of shale; a small ram came into view, making his way leisurely along the mountain, stopping now and then to take a bite of grass. The spot where he had chosen to feed was beyond our range and without cover to approach. But the wind was favorable. Then Little Creek crawled among the rocks to get near enough for a shot. Finally I saw him lie flat, and with elbows resting on the ground, he took aim and fired. The ram leaped into the air and started up the mountain with wonderful speed. At several more shots it scarcely seemed to touch the ground, but bounded along and disappeared among the high cliffs.
Then we left the basin and followed the gorge of a mountain torrent, which descended into the valley. We came down through a series of parks and meadows with many kinds of grasses, the brightest greens I have ever seen; and an open forest of alpine firs, with long-pointed crowns and blue-green leaves and bark so pale and smooth their trunks seemed carved from stone.
We came upon two black-tail deer, a buck and a doe, and, as we had the wind in our favor, we approached under cover of the forest to within one hundred yards. Little Creek rested his rifle in a forked tree and fired. At the shot the buck [[165]]stretched out his limbs and bounded away, running in a zigzag course, then round and round until he fell dead. And, after cutting up the carcass, we took the meat back to camp.
By our camp-fire my Indian friends talked about a trip to Canada. Nomads by nature, they loved to wander and were happier on the move. They liked trips of all kinds, to hunt and fish and visit friends; but most of all to go among their northern relatives, the Bloods, North Piegans and North Blackfoot.
Said my Indian sister: “We should start right away; the weather is warm and clear; this is the best time of year to travel.”
“But we cannot get a permit from our Agent,” replied Onesta. “And besides the North-West Mounted Police would stop us at the Line. I know Indians who tried to cross into Canada and were stopped. The police turned them back and they had to come home.”
For a moment there was silence; and then I said: “Your Agent is my friend. From him I have a pass to go whither I please. You can all come with me and we will make the north trip together.”