The Greatest Works of Emerson Hough – 19 Books in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Emerson Hough
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and early they were in the saddle and off for the crowning experience of their long quest for the head of the great Missouri. Billy brought up the horses from the ranch below. The chauffeur from Monida said he “had not lost any mountains” and preferred not to make the ascent, so only five were in the party, Billy, of course, insisting on seeing the head of the river, in which he had had such interest all his life.
They took one pack horse, a few cooking implements, and such blankets as their hostess could spare, their own bed rolls and most of their equipment having gone back to Billy’s ranch by his pack train. Their supply of food was only enough for two meals — supper and breakfast — but this gave them two days for the ascent, whereas Mrs. Culver had made it in one; so they felt sure of success.
Well used to mountain work, and guided by a good engineer, their Uncle Dick, who had spent his life in work among wild countries, they wound easily in and among the shoulders of the hills, taking distance rather than sharp elevation, and so gradually and without strain to the horses working up the mountain that lay at one side of Mount Jefferson. When they were well up, they followed a long hogback that swung a little to the left, and at length turned for their deliberate plunge down into the steep valley of the stream. Here, among heavy tracts of fallen timber and countless tumbled rocks, they came at last to the white water of their river, now grown very small and easily fordable by the horses.
“As near as I can tell,” said Uncle Dick, “we’ve got her whipped right now. This must be a good way above the place Brower and Culver left their horse. We’re up seventy-six hundred and forty feet now by the aneroid. The valley is around seven thousand feet, and Brower makes the summit at eight thousand feet; so we’ve not so far to go now. We crossed above the upper Red Rock Lake, and Brower makes the whole distance, along the longest branch, only twenty miles from the head spring to the lake. A mile or two should put us at the edge of the Hole in the Mountains, as he calls his upper valley. What do you say — shall we leave our horses and walk it, or try on up in the same way?”
“I vote against leaving the horses,” said Rob. “It’s nearly always bad to split an outfit, and bad to get away from your base of supplies. I’d say keep to the horses as high as they can get. A good mountain horse can go almost any place a man can, if you leave him alone. If it gets hard to ride, we can walk and lead, or drive them ahead of us over the down timber.”
“And then, if we get them up to the Hole, we could camp up in there all night,” suggested John. “Like enough, we’d be the first to do that, anyhow.”
“And maybe the last,” laughed Billy. “It’ll sure be cold up in there, with no tent and not much bedding and none too much to eat. We’re above the trout line, up here, and not far to go to timber line, if you ask me.”
“Not so bad as that, Billy,” commented Jesse. “Nine thousand, ninety-five hundred — isn’t that about average timber line? We’re only eight thousand at our upper valley, and we’re not going to climb to the top of the peaks.”
“Well, I’m game if you all are,” said Billy. “We can make it through for one night, all right, for when the firewood runs out we can make camp and finish on foot.”
“Go on ahead, Jesse,” said Uncle Dick. “You’re the youngest. Let’s see how good a mountain man you are.”
“All right!” said Jesse, stoutly. “You see.” Accordingly, they rode on up, slowly, for a little distance, allowing the horses plenty of time to make their way among rocks and over fallen poles. At last Jesse came to a halt and dismounted, leading his horse for a way, until he brought up at the foot of such a tangle of down timber and piled boulders that he could not get on. He turned, his face red with chagrin. “Well,” he said, “I’ve never been here before. I guess a fellow has to figure it out.”
“You go ahead now, John,” laughed Uncle Dick. “Jess, fall to the rear; you’re in disgrace.”
“All right!” said John. “You watch me.”
This time John rode back downstream a little, until clear of the patch of heavy down timber. Then he turned and swung up above the bed of the stream, angling up on the side of the mountain, and finally heading close to the foot of a tall escarpment which barred the horses for a way. Here he hugged the cut face for a few yards and by good fortune found the way passable beyond for quite a distance.
“Not bad,” said his leader. “Go on. I see you’ve got the idea of distance for elevation.”
“Yes, sir,” said John. “But I’m like Jesse — I’ve never been here before, and I don’t know just where I’m going.”
“Humph! Isn’t that about the way Lewis and Clark were fixed, only all the way across?” scoffed Uncle Dick. “Go ahead, and if we have to get down and lead, I’ll put Rob ahead, or Billy.”
John gritted his teeth and spurred up his horse. “You give me time,” said he, “and I’ll take you up there.”
He did pursue his edging away from the stream until he could no longer see the exact course. At last he pulled up. “We must have climbed three hundred feet,” said he. “Where is it?”
“What do you say, Rob?” asked Uncle Dick.
“I’ll stay behind and see that Mr. Pack Horse comes,” replied Rob. “But I should think we might angle down a little now, because we’re going up the wrong split. It’s two-thirty o’clock, now, and we ought to raise the Hole pretty soon. I’d say off to the right a little now, wouldn’t you, Billy, till we raised the Hole for sure?”
Billy nodded, and presently set out ahead. His practiced eye found a way through the hard going until at last they stood, at the left and above the stream’s entrance into a roughly circular little depression, surrounded by a broken rim of high peaks.
“Here she is, fellows!” exclaimed Uncle Dick. “This is what we’ve been looking for! Yonder’s the thread of the water, headed for New Orleans and the last jetty of the Mississippi. What’s your pleasure now?”
“Well, sir,” said Rob, who had for some time been afoot, leading his own horse and driving the pack horse ahead, “why not throw off here and finish her on foot, to the clean head, where Mrs. Culver left her tin plate? Here’s a trickle of water and enough wood for fire, and the horses can get enough feed to last them for one night.”
“All right,” said Uncle Dick. “It’s all in plain sight and we can’t lose our horses, especially if we halter them all tight till we get back.”
They now all dismounted and made their animals fast to the trees and stout bushes, first unlashing the pack.
“Good work, Billy!” said Rob, as he helped cast off the lash rope. “She hasn’t slipped an inch.”
“More’n I can say,” rejoined Billy. “I slipped a good many times, coming up, and barked my shins more’n an inch, I’m thinking.”
“Lead off, Jess,” said Uncle Dick, as they stood ready for the last march. “No, don’t leave your coat; it will soon be cold, and it is always cold in the mountains when you stop walking. And you all have your match boxes?”
“Why, Uncle Dick,” expostulated Jesse, “it’s just over there, and we won’t need any fire there, for we’re coming right back.”
“But, Jesse, haven’t I told you always in new country to travel with matches and a hatchet, or at least a knife? No man can tell when he may get hurt or lost in mountain work, and then a fire is his first need. It’s all right to know how to make a fire by friction, Indian way, but you can’t always do that, and matches are surer and quicker. Never leave them.”
They set out, their leader now in advance, Billy bringing up the rear. Skirting the edge of the marshlike depression which acted as a holding cup for the upper snows, they at last headed it and caught the ultimate trickle that came in beyond it. This, following the example of their late hostess, they rapidly ascended, until at last, by a clump of dark balsam trees, high up toward the white top of