The Greatest Works of Emerson Hough – 19 Books in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Emerson Hough
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or two up above here where you shall have all the fun you want. This used to be a great fur country. I fancy the Stony Indians killed off a good many of the sheep and bears on the east side of the Rockies below here, and of course along the regular trails all game gets to be scarce, but I will show you goat trails up in these hills which look as though they had been made by a pack-train. I don’t doubt, if one would go thirty or forty miles from here, he could get into good grizzly country, but you know we put our grizzly shoots off for the other side of the Rockies, and we all agreed just to plug on through until we got to the summit.”
“How’s the country on ahead?” asked John, dubiously.
“Bad enough,” said Uncle Dick, “but it might be worse. At least, there is a lot of ground on this side the river which is solid, and in fact I wouldn’t say there is anything very bad until we get pretty well up the Miette River where the cross-creeks come down. We may find some soft going up there, with the snow just beginning to melt, as it is. But now let’s get into saddle and push on.”
They soon were under way once more, passing up the wide valley and now entering deeper and deeper into the arms of the great Rockies themselves. Not far from their camp they paused for a moment at the ruins of old Jasper House. It was as Uncle Dick had said. Nothing remained excepting one cabin, which showed evident marks of being modern.
“It’s too bad,” said Rob, “that these old historic houses ever were allowed to pass away. How nice it would be if we could see them now, just the way old Jasper Hawse built them. But log cabins don’t stand as well as stone houses, I’ve noticed.”
“I wonder if Mr. Swift is going to build him a stone house when the town comes,” said Jesse. “I suppose it’s only a log house he’s got now.”
“Quite right,” said Uncle Dick, “and it’s only a little way until we reach it to-day. We’ll celebrate our crossing the Athabasca by making a short journey to-day.”
So presently they did pull up at the quaint frontier home known all along the trail as “Swift’s.” They were met by the old man himself, who seemed to be alone — a gaunt and grizzled figure of the old frontier breed. He came out and shook hands with each in turn and helped all to get off their saddles and packs, evidently glad to see them, and still more pleased when Uncle Dick told him that these boys had come all the way from Alaska.
“Alasky?” said he. “You don’t tell me! Now here I be, and I thought I’d come a long way when I come from the States thirty year ago. Alasky, eh? I’ve heard there’s gold up there. Maybe I’ll stroll over there some day.”
“It’s a good long way, Mr. Swift,” said Rob, smiling.
“Well, maybe ’tis, maybe ’tis,” said the old man, “but I betche when they get the railroad across it wouldn’t be any farther than it was when I punched a pack-horse up from the state of Washington. Which way you headed?”
“Clear across to the Pacific,” said Rob, nonchalantly. “We live at Valdez, in Alaska, and that’s a week’s sail from Seattle. We crossed the Peace River summit last year — ”
“You did? Now you don’t tell me that!”
“Yes, sir, and Moise here was with us. And this year we’re going across the Yellowhead and down the Fraser to the Tête Jaune Cache, and from there we are going down the Canoe River to the Columbia, and down the Columbia River to the railroad, and then west to the coast. It’s easy enough.” And Rob spoke rather proudly, perhaps just a little boastfully.
The old man shook his head from side to side. “Well, I want to know!” said he. “If I didn’t know this gentleman of the engineers I’d say you boys was either crazy or lying to me. But he’s a good man, all right, and I reckon he’ll get you through. So you’re going over to the old Tee-John, are you? I know it well.”
“And we hope to see the old Boat Encampment on the Columbia where the Saskatchewan trail came in,” added Rob, reaching for his map.
“I know it well,” said the old man — “know it like a book, the whole country. Well, good luck to you, and I wish I was going through; but I’ll see ye up in Alasky in a couple of years, when this here railroad gets through. I got to stay here and tend to my garden and farm and my town lots for a while yit.”
The old man now showed them with a great deal of pride his little fields and his system of irrigation, and the rough mill which he had made with no tools but a saw and an ax. “I used to pack in flour from Edmonton, three hundred and fifty miles,” said he, “and it wasn’t any fun, I can tell you. So I said, what’s the use — why not make a mill for myself and grind my own flour?”
“And good flour it is, too, boys,” said Uncle Dick, “for I’ve tasted it often and know.”
“I s’pose we ought to get on a little bit farther this evening,” said John to the leader of the party, after a while.
“No, you don’t,” said the old man; “you’ll stay right here to-night, I tell you. Plenty of trouble on ahead without being in a hurry to get into it, and here you can sleep dry and have plenty to eat. I haven’t got any trout in the house to-day, but there’s a little lake up by Pyramid Mountain where you can ketch plenty, and there’s another one a few miles around the corner of the Miette valley where you can get ’em even better. Oh yes, from now on you’ll have all the fish you want to eat, and all the fun, too, I reckon, that you come for. So you’re all the way from Alasky, eh? Well, I swan! I’ve seen folks here from England and New York and Oregon, but I never did see no one from Alasky before. And you’re just boys! Come in and unroll your blankets.”
IX
THE HEART OF THE MOUNTAINS
“Well, boys,” said Swift, the next day after breakfast, “I wisht ye could stay longer with me, but I reckon ye got to be on your way, so I’ll just wish ye well and go about my planting.”
“So long, friend,” said Uncle Dick, as they parted. “We’ll see you from time to time. When the railroad gets through we’ll all be neighbors in here.”
“Sure,” said the old man, none too happily. “It’s a fright how close things has got together sence I packed north from the Columby thirty year ago. Well, I hope you’ll get some trout where you camp to-night. You’d ought to go up on my mountain and ketch some of them lake-trout. I dun’ no’ where they come from, for there ain’t nothing like ’em in no other lake in these mountains. But I reckon they was always in there, wasn’t they?”
“Certainly they were,” answered Uncle Dick. “I know about those trout. They tell me they are just like the lake-trout of the Great Lakes. But we can’t stop for them to-day. I’ll promise the camp some rainbow-trout for supper, though — at least for to-morrow night.”
“I know where ye mean,” said the old man, smiling; “it’s that little lake off the Miette trail. Plenty o’ rainbows in there.”
“We’ll camp opposite that lake to-night.”
“And pass my town site this morning, eh? Wish it well for me. If I’ve got to be civilized I’m going to be plumb civilized. Well, so long.”
They all shook hands, and the little pack-train turned off up the north-bound trail.
They were now following along a rude trail blazed here and there by exploring parties of engineers. Presently Uncle Dick pointed them out the place where the new town was to be built.
“Here,” said he, pulling up, “is where we will have a division point, with railway shops, roundhouses, and all that. Its name will be Fitzhugh.”
“Huh!” said John, “it doesn’t look much like a town yet. It’s all rocks and trees.”
“But