The Greatest Works of Emerson Hough – 19 Books in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Emerson Hough
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one shout they all voted for the pack train. “We couldn’t get along without Billy now, anyhow,” said Jesse, “because he knows the Journal as well as we do, and he knows the country better.”
“Thank you, son. Well, I guess old Sleepy won’t die before we get there, though he pretends he can hardly go. Say we get back into the side creeks a little and pick up a mess of fish now and then, and make the Beaverhead a couple of camps later? How’d that be?”
“That’s all right, I think,” said Rob. “I’d like to get a look at the main river, to see why the names change on it so. First it’s the main Missouri; then they conclude to call it the Jefferson — only because the other two forks spread so wide there. Then it runs along all right, and all at once they call it the Beaverhead. And before it gets used to that name they change it to Red River for no reason at all, or because it heads south and runs near a painted butte. Yet it is one continuous river all the way.”
“The real way to name a river,” said Billy, sagely, “is after you know all about it. You got to remember that Lewis and Clark saw this for the first time. By the time we make the Beaverhead Rock, we’ll be willing to say they had a hard job. People could get lost in these hills even now, if they stepped off the road.”
“All set for the Beaverhead Rock!” said Uncle Dick, decisively.
Soon they had settled to their steady jog, Nigger sometimes getting lost in the willows, and Sleepy straying off in his hunt for thistles when the country opened out more. They did not hurry, but moved along among the meadows and fields, talking, laughing, studying the wide and varying landscape about them. That night, as Billy had promised them, they had their first trout for supper, which Billy brought in after a short sneak among the willows with a stick for a rod and a grasshopper for bait.
“That’s nothing,” said he. “I’ll take you to where’s some real fishing, if you like.”
“Where’s that?” demanded John, who also was getting very keen set for sport of some sort.
“Oh, off toward the utmost source of the true Missouri!” said he. “You just wait. I’ll show you something.”
CHAPTER XXV
BEAVERHEAD CAMP
“It’s quite a bit of country, after all, between the Forks and the head, isn’t it?” remarked Rob, on their fourth day out from the junction of the river. “I don’t blame them for taking a month to it.”
“We’re beating them on their schedule, at that,” said the studious John. “At the Forks we were exactly even up, July 27th; we’d beat them just exactly one year at that point, which they called the head of the river. But they went slow in here, in these big beaver meadows; ten miles daily was big travel, wading, and not half of that gained in actual straight distance. It took them ten days to the Beaverhead. How far’s that from here, Billy?”
“Well, what do you think?” said Billy, pulling up and sitting crosswise in his saddle as he turned. “See anything particular from this side the hills?”
“I know!” exclaimed Rob. “That’s the Rock over yonder — across the river.”
“Check it up on the Journal, Rob,” said Uncle Dick.
Rob dismounted and opened his saddle pocket, producing his copy of the cherished work.
“Sure it is!” said he. “Here it says:
“‘The Indian woman recognized the point of a high plain to our right which she informed us was not very distant from the summer retreat of her nation on a river beyond the mountains which runs to the west. this hill she says her nation calls the beaver’s head from a conceived re(se)mblance of it’s figure to the head of that animal. she assures us that we shall either find her people on this river or on the river immediately west of it’s source; which from it’s present size cannot be very distant. as it is now all important with us to meet with those people as soon as possible I determined to proceed tomorrow with a small party to the source of the principal stream of this river and pass the mountains to the Columbia; and down that river untill I found the Indians; in short it is my resolution to find them or some others who have horses if it should cause me a trip of one month.’
“So that must be the Rock over yonder. We’re below the cañon, and below the Wisdom, and below the Philanthropy, and below the end of the railroad, and in the third valley. Besides, look at it. Just as sure as Sacágawea was about it!”
“You’re right,” said Billy. “That’s the Point of Rocks, as it’s called now.”
They made down to the edge of the valley and went into camp across from the great promontory which so long had served as landmark in all that country. That night all of them forded the river horseback and rode close to the historic point. Jesse, who was prowling around on foot, as was his habit, closely examining all he saw, suddenly stooped, then rose with an exclamation.
“See what I’ve found!” said he.
“What is it — a gold nugget?” asked his uncle.
“No. An arrowhead. Funny one — looks like it was made of glass, and black glass at that.”
Uncle Dick examined it closely.
“Jesse,” said he, “that’s one of the most interesting things we’ve run across on this whole trip. Did you know that?”
“No. Why?”
“You wouldn’t think that arrowhead was going to take you to the true head of the Missouri, and to good fishing for trout and grayling, would you?”
“Why, no! How’s that?”
“I’ll tell you. That’s an obsidian arrowhead. The Bannacks and Shoshonis got that black, glassy stuff at one place — the Obsidian Cliff, in Yellowstone Park! Those old trails that Lewis saw to the south were trails that crossed the Divide south of here. They put the Indians on Snake River waters. These tribes hunted down there. They knew the head of the Red Rock. They knew the head of the Madison. They knew the Gibbon River, and they knew the Norris Geyser Basin, up in Yellowstone Park. It’s all right to say the Indians were afraid to go into Yellowstone Park among the geysers, but they did. They knew the Obsidian Cliff — close by the road, it is, and one of the features of the Park, as it now is.
“It’s a far shot that arrow will carry you, son. It will show you more of these Indian trails than even Lewis and Clark ever knew. Of course, they didn’t want to go south; they wanted north and west, because they knew the latitude and longitude of the mouth of the Columbia River. They knew that was northwest. They knew any water they got on, once over the Divide, would run into the Columbia, and they could see the Rockies, just on ahead to the west. As Billy has said, the Indian girl always was telling them that her people lived along in here. An obsidian arrow meant nothing to them. But it meant much to later explorers to the south of here.”
“It’s a good specimen he’s got,” said Billy, looking it over. “The Indians liked to work obsidian; it would cleave so sharp and clean. I thought they had them all picked up, long ago. Up in the Shoshoni Cove they found a good many, first and last. All this was their hunting ground. A little over the Divide it gets awfully rough, and not much game.”
They spent some time around the Rock, examining it, finding the cliff to be about one hundred and fifty feet in height and giving a good view out over the valley plains, over which one could see many miles, and from which the great rock itself could be seen for great distances.
“Here was the old ford of the road agents’ trail,” said Billy. “They crossed here and headed out, east and south, for the hills between here and Virginia City. They were hunting for easier money than beaver then, though — gold! This was the murderers’ highway, right by here. Over a hundred men were murdered on