The Greatest Works of Emerson Hough – 19 Books in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Emerson Hough
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The Tête Jaune Cache was what you might call the head of water transportation on the west side — as far as the canoes dared attempt the Fraser going east. From the Tête Jaune Cache it is possible to make a canoe journey up and down the river between that point and Fort George, although every time one makes the journey he takes his own chances.”
“Is the Canoe River a very bad river, then?” demanded John.
“Well, as to that, she’s jammed and drifted and overhung and fast, but not so bad as the Peace River was in many places,” replied Uncle Dick. “I don’t think we need have much anxiety as to that part of our journey. At least, we’ll not worry about it yet, for worrying doesn’t get anybody anything. I only hope that Mount Robson will not put on his cap until we get down to the lower end of the Grand Fork Valley.”
They found their trail now as it had been described, less dangerous. Indeed, there was but one risky crossing, that of a rock slide which ran down sheer to the river-bank, where a misstep might have been fatal. They kept steadily on until at length they opened up the wide valley of the Grand Fork, a tributary which comes down from the great peaks which surround the noble mountain known as Robson.
When at last the full view up this valley unfolded before them they pulled up and paused, not saying a word. It was a wonderful sight that lay before them, one of the most wonderful in all the great Rockies. On every hand ran frowning slopes crowned with dark forest growth, flanked here and there by the yet darker shadows of the passing clouds. But towering above all, and dwarfing all rivalry, there stood before them one great, noble, white-topped peak, unshaded by any clouds. As the boys gazed at it instinctively they took off their caps.
“That’s Robson!” said Uncle Dick, smiling. “Any way you look at it it’s big. Here you see a sheer wall of bare rock, thousands of feet. The approach is steep as the roof of a house, as you can see. All over it in every little valley there are glaciers. Any way you approach it it’s hard going when you try to climb old Robson — ’Yuh-hai-has-kun,’ the Indians called it, ‘the mountain with the stairs.’ But when they tried to climb it they never could quite find the stairs. So far no one has made the ascent.1
“Many a man has heard of this mountain,” continued Uncle Dick, “and a good many have tried to climb it. One party spent all the season trying to get behind it and find a way up. But Robson doesn’t seem to have any blind side.”
“Why can’t we try it?” said Rob, enthusiastically.
“Some day, perhaps,” smiled Uncle Dick, “but hardly now, as short of grub as we are, and as short of time as well. Mountain climbing is a business of itself, and you need a complete equipment. It would take a year, two years, or three to climb Robson, very likely. So with two or three days at our disposal I’ll have to ask to be excused from the attempt; let us take on something easier for an order.
“Now,” he added, “about all we can do is to take off our hats to the old peak and say good morning as we pass.”
“And thank you very much, Sir Mountain,” said Jesse, gravely, his young face serious as he looked toward the peak, “because you let us see clear all up to the top.”
“It mightn’t happen once in months,” said Uncle Dick. “I’ve passed here several times, and I’ve never had as fine a view as we have right now. She’s thirteen thousand seven hundred feet, our triangulations made it. That’s something of a mountain, to be hid back in here all by itself, isn’t it?
“Up at the foot of the mountain,” he continued, “there’s a fine lake, as lovely as Lake Louise down in the lower Rockies. I do wish we had time to go up in there, for the lake is worth seeing. Some day it will be famous, and visited by thousands. At least we can see the edge of it from where we are, and lucky you are to have so early a look, I can assure you.
“Well, we’ll be going on,” said he, presently, as he gathered up his reins. “We can’t take the time now for fifteen miles of the sort of travel that lies between here and the foot of the mountain. At least we’ve seen Robson, full front and clear all the way to the summit — a most unusual sight. You may always remember now that you saw this mountain before it became common.”
They forded the Grand Fork itself without much difficulty, for it was a flat and shallow stream at this point. Passing on to the westward, they finally encamped in a flat from which they still could see up the valley, it being the wish of all to keep in view as long as possible the great white summit of Yuh-hai-has-kun.
“To-morrow we’ll say good-by to Robson,” said Uncle Dick, “and we’ll camp at the Tête Jaune Cache.”
XVI
AT THE TÊTE JAUNE CACHE
“The last day on the trail!” Such was the first word with which the leader of our little party greeted his young friends when they rolled out of their tents in the morning. And soon all hands were busy adjusting the packs ready for the plucky animals which had brought them through so far. Their breakfast was hurried as rapidly as possible.
“Well,” said Rob, “I don’t know whether or not to be glad. We certainly have had a grand trip with the pack-train, hard as it has been sometimes. At least it’s brought us here to the foot of Mount Robson.”
“Our horses will be glad enough to be done with it,” said Uncle Dick. “Down at the Cache they’ll have all the grass they want and nothing to do for all the rest of this summer — unless some of Leo’s children take to riding them too hard.”
“Leo?” inquired John. “He’s the Indian who’s going to take us down the Canoe River, isn’t he?”
“Yes, and a good man, too, Leo. He and Moise will show us how to get along without the horses, eh, Moise?”
That good-natured man grinned and showed his white teeth. “Sometam she’ll ron pretty fast, this river on Columbia valley?” said he.
“Well, at any rate, we turn in our horses with Leo here at the Cache and get them the next time we come through — next year or some other year, perhaps. A horse takes his chance of getting a permanent residence in this part of the world. But our train has come through in fine shape — not a sore back in the lot. That speaks well for your care in packing, young men, and for Moise’s skill in making saddles.”
By this time they all had shaken down into the routine of packing the horses in the morning, and not long after they had finished their breakfast all was in readiness for their last march.
“En avant!” said Uncle Dick. “Mush! Moise, we’ll lunch at the Cache to-day.”
They swung on steadily down the broadened valley whose course now changed more to the southwest for five miles or so. The trail was much better, and as they reached the wide eastern end of the valley, which broadens out near the historic Tête Jaune Cache, they made rapid progress, animated by the continually changing scene before them.
For the last five miles they were in a broad, grassy valley where many hoofs had worn a plainly marked trail. On ahead they could see the Fraser swinging in from its southwest bend to meet them. The courses of many other small streams, outlined by green bushes, also could be seen coming in from almost every direction. Farther to the west and south lofty mountains rose, broken by caps which seemed to be of no great altitude. The Selwyns, on the other side of the Fraser, stood behind them, and off on the right gradually rose the high, sweeping hills which climbed to the shoulders of Mount Robson itself. The whole made an extraordinary landscape.
“We’re in the Tête Jaune Valley,” said Uncle Dick, halting at the edge of the grassy expanse which seemed quite flat for five miles or so ahead of them. “We’re coming now to one of the most interesting points in all the Rocky Mountains, and one of the least known. Some day, where we are here, there