THE summer was well advanced when Mul-tal-la, Deerfoot and the Shelton boys drew rein in the Rocky Mountains, south of the stream known as Medicine River, and far to the northward of the headwaters of the Yellowstone.
They had had a hard time in reaching this point on their long journey. Numerous streams had been crossed, deep and dangerous defiles threaded, treacherous paths followed, and several accidents encountered. Once in following a narrow, winding path leading around a vast mountain wall, Zigzag lost his footing and rolled over several times in his descent to the bottom, fully fifty feet below. Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la hurriedly scrambled after him in order to recover the goods and to put the animal out of his misery. When they reached Zigzag they found him standing on his feet, with his pack somewhat askew, but seemingly suffering from only a few trifling bruises. He was extricated with much labor from his position, and resumed his plodding task. One fact was evident; he knew more than he did before, and nothing in the nature of a similar mishap occurred again.
The mosquitoes still pestered our friends at times, but not to the degree that they suffered on the shore of the Great Horn. Once or twice they were pinched with hunger, but to no serious extent. They were now comparatively close to the Blackfoot country, and, if all went well, ought to reach it within a week. In fact, as Mul-tal-la declared, they were liable to meet some of the hunting parties of his people at any time.
On the night succeeding this statement two mounted Blackfeet, from the principal village, rode into camp and greeted the travelers. The couple were old acquaintances of Mul-tal-la, and, as may be supposed, the meeting was pleasant indeed. Deerfoot’s friend had an absorbing story to tell of his experiences during the year that he had been as far removed from his own people as if out of the world. They listened like a couple of children enthralled by a marvelous fairy tale, and would have sat in delighted attention the night through had their old comrade been willing to keep up the thread of his narrative, whose charm could never pall for them.
They were astonished to find the young Shawanoe able to speak their own tongue like one of themselves, and when Mul-tal-la dwelt upon the prowess, wisdom, chivalry and daring of the youth, they stared at him as if he belonged to another order of beings. Mul-tal-la would have told much more of his friend had not the youth checked him with a sternness that the Blackfoot dared not disregard.
The visitors were very friendly and George and Victor Shelton were much pleased with them. They got on quite well through the language of signs, and the warriors were again amazed when they heard their countryman speak to the lads in their own language. It must have been a marvelous country and people that sent the youths forth, and which had been visited by Mul-tal-la. It was plain that the couple, when they sighed and looked into each other’s face, longed for the same experience that had befallen their countryman.
But with all this Mul-tal-la had also a sad story to tell. He had left home with a companion, but returned without him. It was a strange accident that overtook that comrade after he had surmounted so many perils, but his body rested many hundreds of miles away in a wondrous country, and his friends must wait to see him until he and they met in the happy hunting grounds that are the final home of all true and brave red men.
This visit caused an important change in the plans of Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la. As you know, the party had been steadily following a general northwest course, with the Blackfoot country as their chief destination. The intention was to remain there for a few days or weeks, and then press westward to the Pacific. When in the Blackfoot region a fourth of their journey would still be before them, and it led through a section the most difficult of all to travel. The understanding was that Mul-tal-la would accompany Deerfoot and the boys until all were given to look upon the mightiest body of water on the globe. By the time they reached the Blackfoot country again winter would be so near (if not already upon them) that our friends purposed to remain among that tribe until the opening of spring, when they would set out on the return to their own home.
But Mul-tal-la, after a long conversation with his countrymen, told Deerfoot that when he joined his people he would not be allowed to leave them again. An unprecedented favor had been granted him and his companion. The one who had received such an indulgence could not receive it a second time. Moreover, the death of the comrade increased the difficulty, if that were possible, for the head chief of the Blackfeet, who was an autocrat among his tribe, would be offended with Mul-tal-la when he learned all that had taken place. Many Indian tribes follow the custom of the Chinese and punish an unfortunate leader, no matter how blameless he may have been for his misfortune.
Had Mul-tal-la returned with his former companion it is not unlikely that the chieftain would have permitted him to accompany Deerfoot and the boys to the Pacific, but, coming back without the other, such permission was impossible.
Long after the brothers had stretched out by the fire the Shawanoe and the Blackfeet talked together. Convinced that the life of Mul-tal-la was in danger from the chieftain, Deerfoot was determined that his friend should not run the risk that awaited him if he went back with the couple or followed them after a brief interval.
He proposed, therefore, that the party with Mul-tal-la should turn off from the route they were following, force their way through the Rocky Mountains to the headwaters of the Columbia, and pass down that to the Pacific, after which the four would visit the Blackfeet and stay with them till spring.
Meanwhile the two Blackfeet would return to their countrymen and report what they had seen and learned. An outburst against Mul-tal-la was certain, but it would be given time in which to spend its force. The visitors would do all they could to placate and show their chieftain that Mul-tal-la would have been glad to hasten home had he not been under pledge to guide the Shawanoe and his friends to the Pacific. The Shawanoe would give his life at any time rather than break his promise, and he had taught the same high principles to Mul-tal-la.
Deerfoot was unwilling to admit that any credit in the matter was due to his teachings, but he was forced to hold his peace when his friend unhesitatingly told him that among his people the violation of a pledge was not regarded as wrong when the interests of the one making the pledge called for such a course. “And,” added the grinning Mul-tal-la, “I am a Blackfoot.”
Deerfoot with all his sagacity failed to note one phase of the situation that was apparent to Mul-tal-la. The latter, despite the protest of the Shawanoe, managed secretly to tell his countrymen a good deal about the remarkable youth who had proved so unselfish a friend to him when such a friend was needed. He gave the story of his conquest of the wild stallion, of Deerfoot’s incredible fleetness of foot, of his skill with the bow and rifle, of his courage and readiness of resource, which surpassed that of any of his race, and of his admirable character, which Mul-tal-la had never seen equaled by any white or red man.
There was one subject upon which the four red men talked freely, for it was always a welcome one to Deerfoot the Shawanoe. Unto the visitors had come vague, shadowy rumors of a religion different from that which they had been taught, and which had been followed by their people from time immemorial. In some cases these reports were definite enough to awaken curiosity and inquiry. Stories were told of self-sacrificing missionaries who had spent years in teaching the new faith, and who had given their lives for its sake. It was a strange doctrine, indeed, which taught the sin of revenge, of deceit, of cruelty, of wrong-doing, and replaced them with love, forgiveness, mercy and the Golden Rule, and the assurance that a reward of eternal life awaited those who lived according to the will of the one and true God.
Immortality is not capable of scientific proof, but one of the strongest evidences of its truth is that yearning which is implanted, to a greater or less degree, in every human heart, and in every race, no matter how low or degraded its order in the rank of civilization. All religions, whether true or false, are based on the idea of a life beyond the grave. It accords with reason and with the self-evident fact that no man can feel that his life’s work is rounded out and completed on earth, and that consequently there must be another existence in which that work shall be carried on.
That these longings, these yearnings, this instinctive reaching out for the things beyond mortal grasp, are an inherent part of our being show that they have been divinely planted there by One who is capable of satisfying them all, and who, in his own good time, will satisfy them. So reasonable and so well founded is this belief that the burden of proof is thrown upon those who dispute it. Let them demonstrate, if they can, that that which we call death ends all. But it is beyond their power, and from the nature of things always will be beyond their power, to do this impossible thing.
At the opening of this century we stand on the threshold of the most marvelous discoveries and achievements made since the world began. Some of these discoveries fill us with awe, and clearly presage the greater that are close at hand. Among them may be the scientific proof of a future existence, though such proof is not necessary with the most exalted intellects, any more than it is with the simpler and more child-like minds.
We must not wander, however, from the thread of our narrative, though the subject is the most momentous that can engage our mental powers. When Mul-tal-la put into more definite form the dim glimpses that his countrymen had caught of the true light, he appealed to Deerfoot, who in his modest, convincing manner told the story of his conversion and of the sweet communion he held every day with the Father of All Good. It was a faith which no trial, no suffering, no torture could change or modify, and he impressed upon his absorbed listeners the ineffable beauties of the religion which made a man a new being and fitted him for the life to come.
Deerfoot had that rare tact of not pressing an important question too far. He knew he had said enough, and when his hearers ceased to question him he ceased to exhort. He, like all true Christians before and since, had to meet that most troublesome of questions: the evil-doing of those who profess the white man’s religion. The Blackfeet had met Caucasians who prayed and bellowed their faith, yet whose lives belied every word of their profession. They wronged and cheated the Indians; they broke their promises; they maltreated them, and in short did everything that was evil. If the Christian religion made such men, the pagans might well declare they wanted none of it, for they were unquestionably better than those hypocrites.
Deerfoot ranked such men far below those who were called heathens. He despised them utterly, and was sure their punishment would be greater than that meted out to those who live in open sin. He strove to impress upon his listeners—and it is fair to believe he succeeded—the distinction between true and false Christians, and assured the Blackfeet that they were justified at all times in rating a person, not by what he professed, but by his daily life, for it is thus that at the last day the great Arbiter will judge us all.
And so, without fully realizing it, the young Shawanoe sowed the good seed as the soil presented itself. It was he who had brought George and Victor Shelton to see the truth; under whom Mul-tal-la had become a believer; hundreds of miles away he had planted the germ in the ground offered by the trapper Jack Halloway, of whom he was to hear further; and now he had given the first glimmerings of light to these benighted Blackfeet, and it was a light that was not to be extinguished, but would grow and become luminous to a degree that only the Judgment Day would make clear.
Thus it is with all of us. We have only to use the opportunities as they present themselves; to do the kind deed; to utter the encouraging word; to help the fallen; to relieve the suffering; to purify our own actions, words and thoughts, and, all in good time, the harvest shall appear.
DEERFOOT, Mul-tal-la and the Shelton boys were encamped in the heart of the Rockies. The Blackfeet visitors had departed two days before and were well on their way to their own villages. The air was keen and bracing, and the sun that had been obscured now shone from a brilliant sky.
The halt was made at noon to give the horses a needed rest, for they had done considerable hard climbing. Even the peerless Whirlwind showed the effects of the unusual task. It being understood that the pause was to be for several hours, a general break-up of the company followed. The Blackfoot and the Shawanoe strolled off by themselves, and George and Victor Shelton took another direction, with a caution not to wander too far and to return before sunset.
The boys soon found themselves in a region where progress was difficult. They were not following any trail, and were forced at times to clamber over boulders and other obstructions, or to flank them; to descend into deep depressions and to climb ridges at whose summits they were obliged to sit down for a breathing spell. Such hard work made them thirsty, and when they came to one of the numerous tumbling brooks, whose waters were as clear as crystal and as cold as the snow and ice from which they sprang, they refreshed themselves with a deep draught and sat down for a rest.
“Whew!” sighed Victor, removing his cap and mopping his moist forehead; “there isn’t as much fun in this as I thought. I wouldn’t mind the walking and climbing if a fellow didn’t get tired.”
“And if you didn’t get tired you wouldn’t enjoy a rest like this.
“Do you remember,” he continued, “how Simon Kenton used to say at our house that no man could know what a good night’s sleep is unless he sat up one or two nights beforehand. I suppose there’s something in that, though we don’t have to try it on ourselves. I know that water doesn’t taste one-half so good unless you are as thirsty as you can be. It seems to me, Victor, that it’s time we bagged some game.
“We haven’t bagged much,” George added; “Mul-tal-la got an elk yesterday; Deerfoot brought down an antelope; I shot a turkey, and you came pretty near hitting a buffalo that was several yards off.”
“Came pretty near hitting him!” repeated Victor, with fine scorn. “I hit him fairly, and you know it, but these buffaloes have hard heads, like some persons I know.”
“Then you shouldn’t aim at their heads. Other people don’t, and it’s time you learned better.”
“I don’t know any relative of mine that is too old to learn a good many things,” replied Victor, without a spark of ill-nature.
“That sounds as if you mean me. I’ll own up that Deerfoot and I are liable to make mistakes now and then, but I don’t quite think either of us would run from a wounded antelope and keep up a yelling that could be heard a mile off.”
“It is sometimes a wise thing to run; you see it tempts your game to follow and brings him within range.”
“Where is the need of that when he must have been in range at the time you wounded him?”
“But couldn’t he turn and make off in another direction and get beyond reach before you could load again? I tell you, George, there was science in what I did. I advise you to try the same trick when you have a chance, and then”——
A peculiar hog-like grunt caused both to look behind them. The sight that met their gaze was enough to terrify a veteran hunter. Hardly a hundred feet away stood the most gigantic grizzly bear of which they had ever dreamed. They had listened spellbound to the story of Mul-tal-la, but believed that the panic he underwent at the time of his encounter with one of those western terrors caused him to exaggerate his account, though it must have been a fearful brute that could have wrought the havoc he did.
A Western Monarch.
This bear had his hind feet on the ground and his front ones on a boulder, so that his massive back sloped downward from his head, and he was looking at the boys as if speculating as to what species they belonged. His size was tremendous. To the lads he seemed to be three or four times the bulk of any of his kind they had met in the forests of Ohio or Kentucky. It is not improbable that the estimate of the brothers was right. You know that the grizzly bear (which the early explorers referred to as a white bear) is now, as he has been from time immemorial, the monarch of the western wilds. So prodigious are his size and strength that he is absolutely without fear.
And he is justified in this self-confidence. One stroke of that mighty paw, whose claws are often six inches in length, will break the back of a horse or tear a man to shreds, and enveloping his victim in those beam-like front legs, he will crush him to pulp without putting forth more than a tithe of his power. A score of bullets have been pumped into that immense carcass without causing any apparent harm. The Rocky Mountain grizzly saves the hunter the trouble of attacking him. It is the bear himself who starts things moving and keeps them going at a lively rate. The advice of the most experienced ranger of the wilds is that if a man is alone and without an inaccessible perch from which to shoot, he should not disturb the grizzly. This advice is equally good for two persons, and would not be inappropriate for three in most circumstances.
It may be doubted whether the entire West at the time of which I am writing contained a more colossal grizzly bear than the one upon which George and Victor Shelton gazed when they turned their heads. His bulk was so immense that they recognized him on the instant as the dreaded brute of which they had heard more than one terrifying story.
Why he did not advance upon the lads at once is not easy to explain. It probably was because the whim did not come to him, or he may have looked upon the couple as too insignificant for notice. It is not unlikely that curiosity had something to do with it, for no doubt they were the first examples of the Caucasian race that he had seen, though he must have met Indians and may have crushed an indefinite number to death.
The strange spectacle was presented for the next few minutes of the boys staring at the monster, while he stared back at them, no one moving or making any sound. George and Victor were literally paralyzed for the time and unable to stir or speak.
Victor was the first to rally. Forgetting the warnings of Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la, he sprang to his feet, faced wholly around, and brought his gun to his shoulder.
“What a splendid shot!” he exclaimed. “See me tumble him over!”
But George remembered the words of their dusky friends, and, knowing the fatal folly of what Victor was about to do, protested.
“Don’t you do it! He’ll kill us both!”
In his fright Victor was cool. He took deliberate aim, and while the words were in the mouth of his brother pressed the trigger. The report and act threw George into an irrestrainable panic, and bounding to his feet he dashed off at the utmost speed. Across gullies, over and around rocks, threshing through undergrowth, he sped, not daring to look around and hardly conscious of what he was doing. He forgot the peril of Victor in his panic until he had run several hundred yards, when, realizing what he was doing, he abruptly stopped and looked back.
He had gone so far that he saw neither the bear nor Victor, and he began picking his way to the spot, shivering with dread, and expecting each moment to come upon the mangled remains of his brother.
Meanwhile Victor had a remarkable experience. Had he not been so impulsive by nature, and had he been given a few moments for reflection, he would have let the brute alone; but, as I have shown, he fired straight at him. More than that, he hit him. In accordance with the almost invariable rule in such circumstances the grizzly should have swept down upon him like a cyclone. Instead of that he slowly swung his front around, dropped to his natural posture on the ground, and began lumbering away.
Incredible as it may seem, he probably was not aware that he had served as a target for an American youth. He must have been conscious of the landing of the bullet somewhere about his anatomy, but the matter was too trifling to disturb him. The annoyance from mosquitoes was more serious, especially when they attacked his eyes. In Alaska these pests often blind the bears by their persistent assaults, and the miserable brutes wander aimlessly around until they starve to death.
Even Victor Shelton was puzzled by the action of the grizzly. It would not have been so strange to him had the quadruped rolled over and died, for that would have indicated that a lucky shot had been made; but that he should turn and make off was more than the youth could understand. He would have believed the bear had been frightened had he not recalled the accounts of Mul-tal-la, which showed the impossibility of such a thing.
In one respect Victor displayed wisdom. Without stirring from the spot he carefully reloaded his gun, keeping a lookout all the time for the return of the monster. He had caught sight of the mountainous, shaggy bulk as it swung through the undergrowth, which was trampled down as if it were so much grass, and then disappeared. Would he come back?
While the lad was debating the question he heard the sound of some one approaching from the other direction. Turning, his eyes met those of his white-faced brother, who seemed to find it hard to believe that he saw Victor alive and unharmed.
“Where’s the bear?” gasped George, when he could master his emotions.
“Why didn’t you wait and see me shoot him?” asked Victor loftily.
“It can’t be you killed him.”
“He may live a few minutes longer, but I guess he’s gone off to die by himself. You know wild animals don’t like to have spectators when they give their last kick.”
“It can’t be,” said George as if to himself; “you couldn’t have hit him.”
“Then what made him leave so suddenly? Tell me that.”
“I don’t know; I never saw one of them before; but why didn’t he attack us? This bear is a bigger one than Mul-tal-la ever met, and it couldn’t be he was afraid of us.”
“Not of us—of course not, for only one of us held his ground, and I don’t think his name is George Shelton, but he saw I was here; he took one good squint at me, and things looked so squally he decided to leave.”
The complacency and self-pride of Victor were warranted, provided they rested upon a sure basis; that would soon be known. Few living woodmen have ever driven off a grizzly bear by a single shot, and it seems beyond the range of possibility for the feat to be performed by a boy.
Victor peered in all directions, and seeing nothing of the monster, turned and proceeded to “rub it in” with his brother.
“Let me see, George, you were saying something a little while ago about a fellow that you saw run away from the charge of an antelope.”
George knew what was coming and rallied to “repel boarders.”
“Yes; I saw a great hulking youngster do that very thing. You will find it hard to believe anyone could show such cowardice, but Mul-tal-la was with me, and he’ll tell you it is true.”
“Do you think that the chap, who no doubt was trying to lure the antelope to his destruction, made better time than you did when you deserted me at sight of this big bear?”
“There may not have been much difference in the speed of the two, but you see the case is different. One boy ran from an animal that is as harmless as a rabbit, while the other fled from a beast that would have sent a half-dozen veterans flying, even though they had loaded rifles in their hands.”
“But I stood my ground.”
“Because you didn’t know any better. You were too scared to run.”
“But not too scared to shoot and hit the game. Folks generally say that the fellow who runs away is frightened and not the one who keeps his place and sends a bullet right into the face of the danger. What do you think of it, George?”
“I have already told you what I think. Let us leave the question to Mul-tal-la and Deerfoot to settle when we go back to camp.”
But Victor, unaware that the Shawanoe had heard the story long before from the Blackfoot, was unwilling to have it brought to his knowledge. He knew he cut a sorry figure when fleeing from the frantic antelope, and he did not like to hear references to it. He would prefer to appear ridiculous in the eyes of any person in the world rather than in those of the young Shawanoe. He saw his chance and used it.
“I’ll agree to say nothing about this if you don’t talk about antelopes when Deerfoot is around. Are you willing?”
Before George Shelton could refuse or give assent the conversation was broken in upon in the most startling manner.
THE sound was like that of a score of bison charging through the undergrowth. The affrighted lads glanced around and saw the grizzly crashing down upon them. Possibly he had awakened to the fancy that they were enemies, and one of them had sought to do him harm. At any rate, here he was!
George and Victor instinctively did what any two persons with loaded guns in their hands will do when assailed by a furious wild beast. They brought their weapons to a level and blazed away straight into his face, but they might as well have sent their bullets against a solid rock for all the good it accomplished in the way of checking the rush of the monster, who emitted his hog-like grunts and swept down upon them like a whirlwind.
Without any thought of the wisdom of what they were doing, the brothers separated, their line of flight being almost at right angles from the beginning. Since it was impossible for the beast to pursue both at the same time, he had to select his victim. His choice fell upon Victor, but it is not to be supposed that he recognized him as the original offender in this business.
The gait of a grizzly bear, or for that matter of any of his species, is awkward when he is running at full speed. He has a grotesque way of doubling and humping his body, which seems fatal to high speed. Nevertheless, he can get forward at an astonishing rate, faster than a man can run at his best. If it should ever fall to your lot to meet a grizzly in his western haunts, don’t fancy you can escape him simply by running. Keep out of his way from the first.
George Shelton ran and tumbled and scrambled over the rough ground for a considerable distance before he glanced behind him. Then he discovered he was not pursued. Panting from his exertions, he halted and began reloading his gun with a haste which made the work doubly as long as it would have lasted on any other occasion. As soon as his weapon was ready he hurried back to the help of his brother, who was having a perilous time indeed. As he ran he called as loud as he could for Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la, for the crisis could not have been more serious.
Less than fifty feet separated Victor Shelton from the grizzly when the race for life opened. For a little way the ground was favorable, and the lad ran fully as fast as when fleeing from the wounded antelope. A glance over his shoulder showed the vast hulk doubling and lumbering along and gaining rapidly. In a straightaway race the fugitive was sure to be overtaken within a few minutes.
Something must be done without an instant’s delay. There was no time to reload his old-fashioned gun, nor could he descry any refuge. A sapling appeared a little to his right, but he dared not resort to that. He believed the bear would jerk it up by the roots to get at him, and he was probably right in his supposition. So he kept on.
The situation was so critical that Victor Shelton did a desperate thing. Throwing away the rifle which impeded his flight, he turned to the left and headed, still on a dead run, for the edge of a cliff. Of the depth of the ravine beyond he had not the faintest idea. It might be a few feet or it might be a hundred. He had no time to find out. Over he must go, and without checking his flight in the least, he dashed to the edge and made the leap.
Providentially the distance was barely a score of feet, and instead of alighting upon a rock almost in his line of flight, he landed on the comparatively soft earth. He was severely shaken, but in his fright he heeded it not. He fell forward on his hands and knees, scrambled up instantly, and was off again. He had dropped into a gorge only a few yards in width, which wound indefinitely to the right and left. There was no way of knowing the better line of flight, and he turned to the right.
He had gone only a few paces when he looked back to see what had become of the grizzly. He had stopped on the margin of the bluff and was looking down at the terrified youngster, who was striving so frantically to get beyond his reach. For a moment Victor believed the brute was about to follow him; but instead of doing that he lumbered, growling and grunting, along the side of the ravine, easily keeping pace with the fugitive, despite the fact that the surface was more broken than in the bottom of the gorge.
Still, so long as the relative positions of the grizzly and fugitive remained the same, no harm could come to the latter. But a change speedily took place.
Victor had not gone far when to his dismay he noticed that the ground over which he was running began to slope upward. If this continued he must soon rise to the level of the bear, who acted as if he saw how the situation favored him. The plum which for the moment was out of his reach must soon pass into his maws.
The fugitive slackened his speed, wondering what he could do. He glanced at the opposite side of the ravine in search of a way of climbing out and thus interposing the chasm between him and his enemy. But the wall was perpendicular and comparatively smooth. If he kept on he would soon be brought face to face with the beast. He must turn back, with no certainty that the same hopeless condition would not confront him in that direction.
Just then a shout fell upon his ear. George Shelton appeared on the edge of the cliff within a hundred feet of the bear. A flash and report followed. He had fired at their terrible enemy and the bullet could not miss; but the grizzly seemed as unaware of it as of the former pin pricks. Giving no heed to the shouts, the report and the slight sting, he saw only the lad below him, upon whom he had centered his wrath.
Victor had halted, glanced up, and was in the act of turning back over his own trail when the brute took advantage of the decreased depth of the gorge, leaped the short distance necessary to land him on the bottom, not more than eight or ten feet below, and tumbling, rolling, grunting, scrambling and flinging the pebbles and dirt in every direction, renewed his direct pursuit of the fugitive, with less distance than before separating them.
All that Victor could do was to run, and if ever a youngster did that it was he. Unquestionably he must have exceeded the pace he showed when fleeing from the wounded antelope. And yet it did not equal that of the grizzly, who lumbered forward like a locomotive running down a panic-stricken dog between the rails.
Suddenly another form dropped lightly into the gorge, landing on his feet a few paces behind the fugitive, who, as he sped past, recognized Deerfoot the Shawanoe. Neither spoke, for it was not necessary. The lad did not slacken his speed, which was at the highest tension, and the lithe young Indian, standing motionless, raised his rifle and fired at the grizzly when the space separating the two was barely a rod.
Deerfoot aimed at one of the eyes. He must have brought down the terrific brute had not the latter at the very instant of the discharge started to rise on his hind legs, as his species do when about to seize their victim. Despite the brief distance separating the two there was just enough deflection in the aim to save the eye. The bullet struck below that organ and did no more harm than the missiles that had preceded it.
But Deerfoot had interposed between his friend and the grizzly, and the fight was now between him and the furious Goliath. Never was a more thrilling sight witnessed than that upon which George Shelton gazed from the top of the ravine, and which his brother viewed from a safe point within the gorge.
The Shawanoe saw on the instant the cause of his failure to kill the bear. His gun was of no further use for the time, and, like Victor Shelton, he flung it aside. He did not doubt that he could outrun the grizzly in a fair race, and he would have fled had he thought Victor was beyond reach, but there was no saying whether the gorge was not in the nature of a blind alley or cage, from which the lad could not escape. To save him the Shawanoe held his ground.
At the instant of flinging aside his rifle Deerfoot drew his knife from his girdle and gripped it in his good left hand. The grizzly, as I have said, had risen on his haunches and reached out for his victim, but the space was too great. He sagged down on all fours, plunged a few paces forward, and reared again.
As he went up he must have caught the flash of flying black hair, of a fringed hunting shirt and a gleaming face. And as he saw all this like a phantom of his dull brain, he awoke to the fact that a dagger was driven with merciless force into his chest and withdrawn again, both movements being of lightning-like quickness.
He had seen that face almost against his nose, and the ponderous fore legs circled outward and swept together in a clasp that seemingly would have crushed a stone statue had it been caught by those mighty legs. But Deerfoot ducked with inimitable agility and leaped back a dozen feet.
If the grizzly had not felt the bullets he now felt that knife thrust, and all the tempestuous fury of his nature was roused. He dropped on all fours, charged forward, rose again and grasped at the audacious individual that had seriously wounded him and dared still to keep his place an arm’s length away.
Precisely that which took place before occurred again. As the shaggy monster reared, his head towering far above that of the Shawanoe, the latter bounded forward past the guard, as it may be called, and drove his dripping knife with fierce power into the massive hulk, dropping and slipping beyond grasp before the brute could touch him.
Deerfoot knew where to thrust to reach the seat of life, but the enormous size of the grizzly actually seemed to hold it beyond reach of an ordinary weapon, for after several blows the bear showed no evidence of harm beyond that caused by the crimson staining of his great hairy coat. Apparently he was as strong as ever.
George and Victor Shelton held their breath at times when viewing this remarkable combat. They knew that if the bear once seized the Shawanoe he would not live a minute. Repeatedly it looked as if the youth had been caught. Once when the huge fore leg showed outside the shoulder of Deerfoot and seemingly against it, and his head almost touched the snout of the bear, both lads uttered a wail of agony, and George, from his place at the top of the gorge, called to his brother below:
“Poor Deerfoot! He is gone!”
“So he is!” chuckled Victor; “gone from the claws of the grizzly.”
Just then Mul-tal-la hurried forward to the side of George Shelton. The youth suspected the truth. The Blackfoot, although ordinarily a brave man, had no wish for a close acquaintance with so overwhelming a specimen of “Old Ephraim,” as he is now often called. He knew too well the tremendous prowess of the monarch of the western solitudes.
But Mul-tal-la could not stay in the back ground when his friend was in danger. Standing beside George Shelton, it took but a glance for him to understand the situation. Deerfoot was engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the most formidable grizzly bear upon which the Blackfoot had ever looked or of which he had ever heard.
A minute told the Blackfoot further that the youth was certain to win, for, while he was continually thrusting and wounding his antagonist, who must soon succumb, the latter had not harmed a hair of the other’s head.
To such a struggle there could be but one issue, provided no accident intervened. But a mishap is always possible in the case of the bravest and most skilful combatant. Deerfoot might slip at a critical moment and be caught. Amazing as was his prowess, he was not infallible, and death was likely to seize him at any moment.
The action of the Blackfoot, therefore, was to be commended, when he knelt on one knee and aimed with the utmost care at the brute. While he and the youth were interlocked there was danger of injuring Deerfoot. Mul-tal-la, therefore, waited until a brief space separated the two and just before the Shawanoe made another bound forward.
Mul-tal-la held his aim for several minutes, for he was resolved not to make any mistake. He aimed just behind the ear, and when he pressed the trigger the little sphere of lead bored its way into a vital part, and then it was all over.
Deerfoot had struck again and leaped back when he heard the report of the rifle, saw the outreaching paws droop, the snout dip, and the mountainous mass sag downwards and sideways, tumble over, and that was the end.
“Mul-tal-la only hastened the death of the bear”, remarked the Blackfoot when he and the boys clambered down into the ravine and stood beside the victor; “my brother had done the work, and the bear could not have lasted much longer.”
“Perhaps my brother is right,” replied the Shawanoe. Then he looked sternly at the lads and added:
“If my brothers do not heed the words of Deerfoot he will not be their friend.”
The boys succeeded after much talking in putting matters in such a light that Deerfoot finally agreed to soften his rebuke, though they felt it hardly the less keenly.
THE month of August was well advanced when our friends reached the junction of two streams where to-day stands Salmon City, Idaho. They were well received at an Indian village, whose people showed a wish to do all they could to help the travelers on their way to the headwaters of the Columbia. When Mul-tal-la made known their destination several of the red men, including the chief, shook their heads and said it was too late in the season to make the journey; but the party were resolute, for it was not only their intention to traverse the long distance, but they meant, if possible, to return to the Blackfoot country in time to spend the remainder of the winter there.
The Indians were right in declaring the way difficult, for the road led over a path so strewn with broken and sharp bits of rocks that in the course of time had fallen down the mountains, that all feared the unshod horses would be too injured to travel. But, to the pleased surprise of everyone, no trouble of the kind appeared. Men and boys walked most of the time, and the animals kept pace with them.
Had the little company failed to provide themselves with fishing tackle they would have suffered for food, for day after day passed without gaining a shot at any kind of game. The streams, however, abounded with salmon, which were easily caught and much relished. It was oppressively warm during the middle of the day, but as the sun went down a rapid lowering of temperature followed, and in the morning frost whitened the vegetation and needles of ice put out from the shores of the streams.
You have heard something of the Shoshone or Snake Indians with whom our friends had had an interesting experience. This tribe a hundred years ago embraced the Indians of the southern ranges of the Rocky Mountains and of the plains on both sides. A village of Shoshones, where the explorers halted, contained hardly a hundred warriors and two or three times as many women and children. Regarding these people some noteworthy facts were learned. They formerly lived on the prairies, but were driven to take refuge in the mountains from a band of roving Pahkees, who came down from the Saskatchewan country and attacked them with great ferocity. From the middle of spring until the beginning of autumn these Shoshones lived around the headwaters of the Columbia, where they were not molested by the Pahkees. Through these months the Indians depended mainly upon salmon, but the fish disappeared with the approach of cold weather, and other means of subsistence had to be found.
This little fraternity of Shoshones then made their way over the ridge to the waters of the Missouri, down which they cautiously moved until they were joined by other bands, either of their own people or of Flatheads. Thus strengthened, they had little fear of the Pahkees, and were not afraid to hunt the bison to the eastward of the mountains. They remained till the salmon returned to the Columbia, when they migrated to that section. Nevertheless, the dread of their enemies was so great that the Shoshones never left the mountains till impending starvation drove them out.
These people displayed some excellent qualities. Lewis and Clark reported them frank, fair and honest, and he and his men received generous hospitality at their hands. As with most of their race, war was the most exalted occupation, and no warrior could look for preferment until he earned it by some daring exploit. The triumph of killing an adversary was not complete if the victor failed to wrench the scalp from his head. If he neglected to do this and some other warrior secured the scalp, all the honor went to him, since he had brought away the trophy of victory.
After parting with the Shoshones, who showed regret at losing the company of the explorers, the latter began their final journey across the mountains. The first camp was on the southern bank of Lemhi River. Here Zigzag showed signs of slight lameness. He could be ill-spared, and it was deemed best to run no risk with him. His load was therefore distributed among Jack, Bug and Prince. It was not thought well to make Whirlwind a beast of burden. His proud spirit was likely to rebel and there was no necessity for offending him.
Early the next day Zigzag was better, but the other three horses retained his load, while he plodded to the rear of them. Men and boys remained afoot. The Blackfoot took the lead, for though he had never been through this country, he had met some of its inhabitants, and their accounts gave him a more extended knowledge than any other member of the company could possess.
Victor declared that Zigzag was shamming, for though he limped slightly most of the time, now and then he seemed to forget it, but then Victor never had much respect for that particular horse. It was deemed best to humor him, however, and perhaps because he was ashamed to keep up the deception he was soon so far recovered that he walked without trouble after the burden had been replaced upon his back.
Beaver dams were often passed, but, singular as it may seem, nothing was seen of the animals themselves. Their rounded, cone-like dwellings extended long distances, and many proofs of their skill in cutting down and preparing wood were observed. These sagacious creatures will cut up the limbs and trunk of a large tree as smoothly and evenly as a professional woodchopper could do the work, and in constructing their dams, some of which are of great extent, they display astonishing skill. No freshet is strong enough to break down these dams, and the architects provide for the overflow as men provide sluiceways and gates to set free the surplus of ponds and lakes. The doors of their houses are generally under water, and the structures themselves are often two or three stories high. They generally have sentinels on duty, and the slaps of their tails on the surface of the water never fail to warn their comrades in time to seek shelter.
These tails, it may be said, are quite a delicacy. When boiled or prepared by cooking they suggest buffalo or beef tongue, and are nourishing and palatable. A meal on beaver tails is always welcome to the traveler through any region where the animals make their home.
There is one accomplishment possessed by beavers not generally known, and of which I have never heard the explanation. Sometimes after cutting a large limb into the right length to be used in the construction of a dam, the animal, finding he does not need it immediately, floats it out into the middle of a stream and sinks it to the bottom. If the water is clear you may see a number of such sticks lying here and there ten or fifteen feet below the surface. When the material is needed the sticks are released, rise to the top, and are transported whither they may be wanted.
Now, how is it the beaver sinks the buoyant wood? How he makes it stay on the bottom is, so far as I have ever been able to learn, beyond explanation. The most experienced trapper will tell you he doesn’t understand it. More than once one of these men has pushed the pieces of wood loose. The moment he did so they would come to the surface and stay there. By no trick or device could he make them sink again, unless by attaching a heavy weight. That, however, does not solve the difficulty, for any substance can be sunk by such means, which is not the one the beaver employs.
As the party advanced deer began to show themselves again. It was no trouble to bring them down, and when the chance did not offer the fish always remained, so it will be seen that the food question gave the explorers no concern. The grass at times was not as plentiful as they wished, but take it altogether the horses had no reason to be dissatisfied and the journey went promisingly forward.
The next important stopping place of the explorers was in the country of the Chopunnish Indians, who lived along the Clearwater and Lewis or Snake Rivers, which you will remember were both tributaries of the Columbia. The Chopunnish Indians were known as Pierced Noses, though it is difficult to understand why this name was given, since, so far as known, they never pierced their noses. The name was changed to Nez Perces by the French voyageurs, and has so remained ever since. You may have heard of Chief Joseph, who some years ago made his remarkable retreat northward to Canada, and repeatedly outwitted the United States regulars sent against him. Joseph was one of the most remarkable Indians that ever lived. He was the friend of the white people, and was held in great respect as the head of the Nez Perce tribe.
Our friends were impressed by these red men, who were large, fine-looking and of dark complexion, and whose women had attractive features. All were fond of ornaments. They wore buffalo or elk-skin robes, decorated with beads, and the hair, which was plaited in two queues, hung in front. Seashells fastened to an otter-skin collar were displayed as belonging to the coarse black hair, and feathers, green, blue and white, were plentifully seen. In cold weather each man wore a short skirt of dressed skins, long painted leggings and moccasins, and a braid of twisted grass around the neck. The women used a long shirt of bighorn skin, without a girdle, and reaching to the ankles. Bits of brass, shells and small ornaments were tied to this shirt, but the head showed nothing except what nature had furnished.
The Nez Perces had a hard time of it. They were forced to toil during the summer and autumn to gather salmon and their winter supply of roots. In winter they hunted deer on snowshoes, and at the approach of spring crossed the mountains to the headwaters of the Missouri to traffic in buffalo robes. Added to this unceasing labor they had many fights with enemies from the west, who often killed members of the tribe, stole horses and drove the owners over the mountains.
The Nez Perces showed a very friendly disposition to our friends, who visited their village and were invited to partake of their hospitality for a long time. Although the Indians had a scant supply of food, they offered the visitors all they wished. Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la, out of courtesy, partook of salmon, but would not consent to deprive them of anything further when the travelers felt fully able to provide for themselves.
The visit to the Nez Perces solved a problem that had given the Blackfoot and Shawanoe no little concern. The party had progressed so far that the remainder of the journey could be made much more readily by water than by land. All they had to do was to descend the river in canoes to its mouth, or tidewater, or at least far enough to gain the coveted view of the Pacific Ocean. They would have to make a few portages and exercise skill and care in shooting some of the rapids, but the road was open and they could not go astray.
The question was as to what should be done with their horses. These could continue toiling forward as before, but the way was rough and tortuous, and would occupy a much longer time than the water route. It would wear upon the animals, all of which, with the exception of Whirlwind, showed signs of the draught already made on their strength and endurance. If they could be left behind, the rest would do them a world of good, and they ought to be in prime condition when their masters returned to them.
Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la discussed the plan of leaving their animals with the Nez Perces. These Indians, like all their race, are exceedingly fond of horses, and the fear of our friends was that when they came back their property would be gone beyond recovery. While the warriors might not openly steal them, they could frame ingenious excuses for their absence. The loss of the four ordinary horses might not be so serious, for Mul-tal-la was sure he could replace them from among his own people, but the real problem was the black stallion. He was such a superb steed, so superior in beauty, strength and speed to any of his kind in that region, that wherever he appeared he attracted admiration and envy. But for the watchfulness of his owner he would have been stolen long before crossing the Divide. To part company with Whirlwind in what may be called a hostile country looked like voluntarily giving him over to the spoiler. No sum conceivable would have induced the Shawanoe to sell Whirlwind. He was ready at any moment to risk his life for the animal who was equally ready to die for his master.
This was the situation when, as the party were about to resume their journey, they were approached by a tall, handsome warrior, whose dress, more gaudily ornamented than the others, showed that he was one with authority. He was absent while the visitors were receiving the hospitality of the Nez Perces, and now hastened forward to pay his respects while the opportunity remained.
The moment he drew near, Deerfoot and the boys saw from the expression of his face and on that of Mul-tal-la that the two were old acquaintances.
IN fact, Mul-tal-la had made inquiries for his friend, and was told that he was absent on a hunt, and there was no saying when he would return. He was Amokeat, or the Man-who-never-Sleeps, and one of the leading chiefs of the Nez Perces.
Two years before, when a party of the latter were hunting on the Missouri, they were attacked by their enemies from the west, and all would have been cut off had not some Blackfeet hunters arrived at the critical moment. The tables were speedily turned and the assailants routed. During the fight Mul-tal-la saved the life of Amokeat, when he was hurled to the ground and a savage warrior was bending over to deliver the final stroke. Not only that, but Mul-tal-la scalped the enemy with his own hand and presented the trophy to the Nez Perce leader. No greater honor could be done by one warrior to another, and the gratitude of Amokeat was deep.
You will understand; therefore, how cordially this chief and the Blackfoot greeted each other. Mul-tal-la slipped off his horse and, as the grinning Victor said, seemed about to eat up the other, while Deerfoot looked on and was pleased with the effusive meeting.
Mul-tal-la and his people often mingled with the Nez Perces, and he understood their tongue well enough to make his meaning clear. He told Amokeat of the question he and the Shawanoe (to whom the Nez Perce was introduced) had been debating, and that they had about decided to make the rest of the journey on horseback. Amokeat instantly volunteered to take care of the animals until the owners returned. Mul-tal-la frankly told him that Deerfoot could not feel certain of finding Whirlwind when he came back. Amokeat reminded Mul-tal-la that he was a chief, and pledged his life to hand over the black stallion and the rest of the horses to the right parties.
“And he will do it,” added the Blackfoot, when he made known the pledge of the Nez Perce leader. “He is true and honest and loves Mul-tal-la too well to harm a friend of his.”
“Deerfoot does not doubt what his brother tells him; he does not doubt that Amokeat speaks with a single tongue, but” added the Shawanoe significantly, “there are other Indians who are not as true as Amokeat.”
“My brother is wise; he is always so; he must not forget that Amokeat is a chief and not a common warrior. He will do as he says.”
Deerfoot allowed himself to be persuaded, though no means convinced that he was doing a wise thing in leaving Whirlwind behind. He assented to the proposal, but his friends saw that he did so with misgiving.
The decision having been made, there was no unnecessary delay in carrying it out. From the scant supply of trinkets a number were presented to Amokeat, with the promise of more upon the return of the explorers, provided they found the horses awaiting them. The pleased chief secured a large canoe, capable of carrying the four persons and the indispensable portions of their luggage. The transfer was soon made, and the horses turned over to the care of the Nez Perce leader.
Mul-tal-la and the boys felt a little sentiment in parting for a time from their animals. There was something saddening in the thought that the quadrupeds, who had been their companions through so many hardships, trials and dangers, might never be met again. No person can fail to feel an attachment for the dumb creature that has served him faithfully. The brothers patted the necks of their beasts and expressed the hope of having them again as comrades on their journey back across the continent.
Deerfoot could be stoical if he chose, but he made little attempt to hide his feelings when the moment came for him to say good-bye to Whirlwind. He explained to him as well as he could the necessity of their parting company for awhile, and there is no saying to what extent he succeeded in conveying the truth to the noble creature.
“Whirlwind,” he said, as he gently stroked the silken nose and looked into the dark luminous eyes, “Deerfoot must leave you for a time, but he hopes soon to come back, and then you and he shall be comrades for the rest of their lives. If when Deerfoot asks for Whirlwind he sees him not, and they tell him he is gone, then Deerfoot will not go to his home beyond the Mississippi till he meets Whirlwind. He will hunt everywhere for him; he will find him if he is alive. If any harm has come to Whirlwind he who has harmed him shall give an account to Deerfoot!”
Victor was standing beside his brother and now spoke in a low voice:
“Those words mean a good deal, George. Deerfoot doesn’t feel easy over leaving Whirlwind behind. I believe trouble will come from it. I pity the Indian that tries to steal the stallion.”
“I believe he will be stolen. I don’t know why I believe it, but Deerfoot thinks the same, and I don’t understand why he consents.”
“Do you suspect Amokeat?”
“No; but even if he is chief he can’t help some of his people getting the best of him. Can you blame anyone for trying to steal such a horse?”
“I blame him, of course; but I don’t wonder at it. Look at Deerfoot and Whirlwind.”
Almost a hundred Nez Perce warriors, women and children were grouped about watching the departure of the visitors. Some whispered among themselves, but the majority silently looked upon the little group that was leaving them. The river lay a few rods away, and the goods had been placed in the large canoe, which was to bear the owners on their voyage to the ocean, still many miles to the westward.
When the young Shawanoe finished the words quoted Whirlwind laid his nose over his shoulder. Deerfoot placed his arms about the satin neck, fondled the forelock, patted the nose, kissed it, and then turned abruptly to his friends:
“Let us wait no longer. The sun is high in the sky and we have many miles before us.”
He led the way to the side of the rapid current, where the canoe with the luggage awaited them. George and Victor Shelton carefully seated themselves in the stern. Deerfoot, first laying his rifle in the bottom of the boat, stepped after it and caught up the long paddle, placing himself well to the front. Mul-tal-la sat just far enough back of him to allow the arms of both free play. Deerfoot rested the end of his paddle against the bank, gave a vigorous shove, the boat swung into the current, and the long, arduous voyage began.
The boys, who were watching their dusky friend, saw that he studiously avoided looking back, but kept his attention upon the management of the boat. He did this until they reached a bend in the stream, when apparently he could stand it no longer. Resting his paddle across the gunwales, while Mul-tal-la attended to the craft, Deerfoot turned his head and cast a long, lingering look behind him. George and Victor did the same.
The group of Nez Perces were still there, gazing after the canoe and its occupants. Amokeat could be recognized at the front, but in advance of him stood Whirlwind, with head high in air, his perfect outlines stamped as if with ink against the gaudy background of color, the slight wind blowing his luxuriant mane and tail aside, while he watched his master rapidly fading from view.
When he saw the face of Deerfoot he whinnied in recognition. The Shawanoe waved his hand, and those who looked at him observed the tears in his eyes. The next minute the bend in the river shut horse and master from sight of each other.
Facing down stream Deerfoot plied his paddle with a power that sent the boat swiftly with the current. He had taken less than a dozen strokes when he abruptly ceased and sat as motionless as a statue.
“Do you know what that means?” whispered Victor.
“I suppose it is because he feels bad.”
“No; he felt worse when he was paddling so hard. He is asking himself whether he ought not to turn back and bring Whirlwind with him. It won’t take much to make him change his mind.”
Victor was right. That was the question the Shawanoe was debating with himself, and more than once he was on the point of acting upon the impulse to undo what had just been done. Mul-tal-la suspected the truth. He believed the return would take place. So he also stopped paddling and waited for the word.
The cessation turned the question the other way. Deerfoot did not look around again, but dipped the paddle deep in the roiled current, making his sweeping strokes on one side and leaving to the Blackfoot to preserve the poise by doing the same on the other side of the boat.
It was fortunate, perhaps, that Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la were compelled to give attention to the management of the craft, for the river abounded with rapids, most of which were dangerous. Often a single false stroke would have sent the boat against the rocks which reared their heads in every part of the stream. Some protruded several feet above the surface, some only a few inches, while others were located by the peculiar eddying of the current as it whirled over and past them. These were the most to be feared, for they would rip out the bottom of the canoe like the sweep of a broadaxe. But you know the consummate skill of the young Shawanoe in handling a canoe. His quick eye, his unerring stroke, his great power, his instant decision and faultless judgment had been trained from early boyhood on the streams of the East, and, though he was now passing down a river he had never seen before, he read all its “signs” as you would read a printed page.
And the Blackfoot was hardly inferior, for he had passed through long and severe training, and he handled his paddle like an expert. Where both were so skilful they worked smoothly together. Sometimes the Blackfoot called out a warning to Deerfoot, but soon found it was unnecessary, for the youth was as quick, if not quicker than he, to detect the snags, rocks, eddies, bars and all manner of obstructions.
The shores were wooded and rocky at times, and now and then the explorers saw one or more Indians, who paused on the banks and surveyed them as they sped past. Generally one or both of the red men in the canoe saluted the others, and the same friendly spirit was shown by the strangers. George and Victor commented upon the experience which impressed them as singular, since it was so different from what they were accustomed to at home.
The explanation was the old one. These Indians knew too little about white civilization to fear the palefaces; that fear would come with greater knowledge. At intervals piles of planks were observed, these being the timber from which houses were built by the natives who came thither during the fishing season to catch salmon for the winter and for trading purposes.
Fuel was so scarce that it was often hard for our friends to find enough for a fire when they went ashore to camp for the night. Victor and George proposed to supply themselves from the piles that had been left by the fishermen, with the understanding that the owners should be repaid if they could be found; but Deerfoot would not permit it. He said they had no reason to believe they would ever meet the owners, and it was wrong to use their property without permission. So all had to shiver in their blankets and go to bed hungry.
Watchfulness generally prevented much suffering on account of this deprivation. Bits of driftwood were picked up at several points, so that at dusk the party had enough for cooking purposes, but on the fifth evening they found themselves without a stick of fuel, though encamped within a few rods of a pile of lumber. Deerfoot was inexorable, and all had settled themselves for the night when three Indians came down the bank for a social call. They had seen the canoe put into shore, but were timid at first, though they recognized two of the occupants as belonging to their race. One of the visitors had never seen a white man before. Their wondering scrutiny of the brothers made the latter laugh. Victor rolled up his sleeve to show the whiteness of the skin. The three grunted and seemed filled with amazement. He who met a Caucasian for the first time kept up a series of grunts, passed his hand gently over the faces of the lad, looked into his eyes, and then made Deerfoot, Mul-tal-la and George laugh by his attempts to pluck out the tiny, feathery hairs that were beginning to show on the boy’s upper lip, and which, if left to themselves, would in due time grow into an attractive mustache.
“A-o-uah! what are you trying to do?” called Victor, recoiling, the involuntary tears coming into his eyes because of the smarts made by the nails of the Indian’s thumb and forefinger.
“He never saw anything like that before,” said George. “I don’t wonder he is puzzled.”
“He wishes to shave my brother,” gravely explained Deerfoot. “When the hairs come on his own face he plucks them out. He would do the same with my brother.”
“I’ll do my own shaving when the time comes; let him understand that,” said Victor, showing his displeasure so plainly that the visitor gravely desisted.
THE Blackfoot was gratified to find himself able to understand the jargon spoken by the visitors, although he did not know to what tribe they belonged. A marked similarity showed between many words in the two tongues, and conversation progressed better than would have been supposed, Deerfoot being able to comprehend almost as much as his friend.
Night was closing in, and the fact that the explorers did not start a fire when such an abundance of fuel was at hand clearly surprised the strangers. They looked at the ground and then pointed to the lumber. He who was apparently the leader began talking earnestly to Mul-tal-la. His meaning soon became clear. He was urging him and his friends to make use of the timber. The Blackfoot shook his head and replied they could not take it without the consent of the owner. The leader grinned and said it belonged to him and the two men with him.
That put another face on the matter. Deerfoot told the boys to go to work and bring all the wood they needed. He sympathized with them, but he would not yield on a question of principle. It need not be said that the brothers did not let the grass grow under their feet. It was almost cold enough for ice, but, more than all, they needed the fire for cooking the salmon that had been taken from the stream.
The visitors became very friendly. They were armed with bows and arrows, and showed a willingness to help in gathering fuel, but their offer was declined, and the steel and tinder—another source of astonishment to them—soon set a vigorous blaze going, and the broiling fish sent out a fragrant and appetizing odor. There was an abundance for all, and the visitors accepted the invitation to join in the meal. They ate sparingly, as if afraid of depriving their hosts of what they needed, and when through, each produced a long-stemmed pipe, filled it with tobacco, and smoked with apparent enjoyment.
The strangers remained for an hour after the meal. Then, having smoked all that was in the bowls, they gravely shook out the ashes, carefully stowed the pipes under their blankets, and rose to go. The leader beckoned to Mul-tal-la to accompany him for a few paces, so as to be beyond hearing of his friends. The Blackfoot complied, and the conversation between the two may be thus liberally interpreted:
“A bad Indian lives down the river,” said the visitor.
Mul-tal-la agreed to the statement by a nod of his head.
“He catches a great many salmon.”
“I observe that he isn’t the only Indian who does that.”
“I do not like him.”
“I am sure my friend has good reason not to like him. He must be very bad.”
“I owe him much ill-will. He will be mad when he comes to build him a home to use while he gathers salmon.”
“Why will he be mad?”
“Because the lumber you have used belonged to him, and he is gone so far away that you and your friends cannot pay him for the wood; therefore he will be mad when he comes here again.”
“I should think he would boil over. Who can blame him?”
Having delivered himself of this interesting information, the visitor signed to his companions, and the three strode off and were seen no more.
The humor of the thing struck Mul-tal-la, and he grinned while telling his story to Deerfoot and the boys. The Shawanoe was displeased, but had sufficient philosophy to see that there was no help for it. The wood had been burned, the food prepared and eaten, and though they might refrain from consuming more fuel—as they did—the mischief could not be undone.
“I’m trying my best to feel bad over it,” chuckled Victor to his brother; “but somehow or other I can’t.”
“That’s because you don’t feel as conscientious as Deerfoot.”
“How is it with you?”
“I feel exactly like you; so let’s say no more about it.”
There is no end to the salmon in the Columbia River. At numerous islands mat houses were seen where the people were as busy as beavers in splitting and drying the fish. Looking down in the clear water they could be seen twenty feet below the surface, sometimes moving slowly and then darting hither and thither so swiftly that they looked like flitting patches of shadow. They floated down stream at this season in such enormous quantities that winrows drifted ashore and the Indians had only to gather, split and dry them on the scaffolds. Some of the people explained by signs that, owing to the scarcity of wood, they often used the dried fish for fuel. The material for the scaffolds must have been brought from a considerable distance, for no suitable wood was seen for many a mile.
As our friends descended the Columbia they were compelled at times to make portages around the more difficult passages. The canoe with its contents was carried on the shoulders of the four, who thus lightened what otherwise would have been a heavy burden. Landing on a small island the explorers came upon an interesting vault which was used by the Pishquitpahs for the burial of their dead.
Large forked sticks had been driven into the ground at about a man’s height, and a ridge-pole, fifty feet long, rested upon them. Over this were placed pieces of canoes and boards, which slanted down to the eaves, and thus formed a shed that was open at both ends. Impressed by the sight, the visitors peeped into the interior. Bodies wrapped in skin robes were arranged in rows, over which a mat was spread. Farther on skeletons were seen, and in the middle of the building was a large pile of bones thrown together without regard to order. On a mat at one end of the structure were a score of skulls placed in the form of a circle. The method of these people was first to wrap a body in robes and, after it had decayed, to throw the bones in a heap and put the skulls together.
That the friends of the departed kept them in remembrance was shown by the numerous fishing nets, wooden bowls, blankets, robes, skins and trinkets suspended from under the roof. The sight of numerous skeletons of horses near at hand indicated that the Pishquitpahs sacrificed them to their dead.
The manner in which the Indian tribes of the Columbia formerly dried and packed their salmon may be thus described:
The fish were first opened and exposed to the sun on the scaffolds. There they remained until perfectly dry, when they were pulverized by pounding between stones, and then were placed in a large basket, made of grass and rushes and lined with the skin of a salmon that had been stretched and dried for the purpose. The fish were pressed down as hard as possible and the top covered with fish skins, which were tied by cords passing over the top. Thus prepared the baskets were placed in a dry place, wrapped up with mats, secured again by cords, and once more covered with mats. Salmon thus preserved will keep sweet for several years. Immense quantities were bartered to the Indians below the falls, whence they found their way to the mouth of the Columbia, where they were sold to white visitors.
George and Victor Shelton heard so many reports of the Falls of the Columbia that their expectations were at a high point, but the reality was less than they anticipated. Their height is less than fifty feet in a distance of nearly three-fourths of a mile. The first fall was passed by means of a portage a quarter of a mile in extent, for this fall has a perpendicular height of twenty feet. During the floods in early spring the waters below the falls rise nearly to a level with those above, and the salmon pass up the river in inconceivable numbers.
Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la watched with some anxiety their approach to the second fall, of which their Indian friends had warned them. They first observed a smooth basin, at whose extremity on the right bank rose an enormous black rock which seemed to extend wholly across the river. Since, however, the stream must have a channel, this, of course, was impossible. A loud roaring came from the left, where the current ran more swiftly. Climbing to the top of the rock it was seen that the river was compressed into a channel a little more than a hundred feet wide, in which the water swirled and eddied so furiously that the boys were sure it was impossible to steer the canoe through the wild battle of whirlpool and rapids.
In the Rapids.
But the choice lay between that and the labor of carrying the boat over the towering rock at the expense of great time and labor. Neither Deerfoot nor Mul-tal-la hesitated, and George and Victor braced themselves for the struggle. It proved to be hair-raising. Gripping the sides of the canoe, the boys often held their breath and crouched ready for a leap and swim for life, but the coolness and skill of the two Indians never faltered. Without speaking a word, each understood on the instant the right thing to do, and did it. Repeatedly the craft touched some of the jagged dripping points of rock, and an inch or two more to the right or left would have brought quick destruction to the frail craft, but that slight distance was never passed and they sped onward like a race horse. A vicious wave would fling the boat almost out of the water, and then a foaming breaker seemed about to seize it in its remorseless grasp. A moment later a whirlpool or eddy would have spun the canoe around like a top but for the powerful sweep of those two paddles, which worked like the spokes of the same wheel.
When the lads began to breathe more freely they would gasp and make ready to spring into the water, for disaster seemed rushing upon them, but the swarthy, muscular forms never wavered nor lost control. George and Victor had been with Deerfoot in many situations of peril, but they were sure he never displayed such skill as when guiding the craft through these rapids. Being at the front, his hand was the master one, but, as I have said, it was as if the same impulse guided the arms of Shawanoe and Blackfoot.
This wild charge lasted for half a mile, when the river expanded to a width of two hundred yards; but before the brothers could find much comfort in the fact the situation suddenly became more trying than ever. The channel was divided by two rocky islands, the lower and larger being in the middle of the river. Few Indians dared risk a passage past these obstructions, but the Shawanoe and Blackfoot took it without a moment’s hesitation, and, shipping a little water, sped through without mishap. Turning into a deep bend of the river on the right the explorers went into camp for the night.
A short distance below was a village of some twenty houses, in which lived a tribe of Indians called Echeloots, who belong to the Upper Chinooks. They were hospitable to the visitors, who noted several interesting peculiarities in them, of whom only a very few survivors now exist. For the first time in their travels among the Indians our friends saw wooden houses. They were rude structures, whose chimneys consisted of a single hole each, with a small door at the gable end, which was partly underground.
You have heard of the Flathead Indians, also called Salish or Selish, who used to live in a part of the present State of Washington. To-day they number about a thousand. They are short of stature, badly formed, with large nostrils and thick lips and nose. It was formerly their practice to flatten the heads of their children during infancy, when the bones are soft and yielding, and from which fact came their popular name.
At the time of the visit of our friends the strange practice prevailed among the Echeloots, as it did with nearly all the tribes of the Chinook family on the Columbia. The flattening of the skull was not done by pressure upon the crown, as you might suppose, but by binding a flat board on the forehead of an infant. A little way above the crown this board joined the upper end of the plank upon which the child was stretched on its back, but the two boards diverged as they extended in the direction of the feet. You will understand the process better if you will think of the letter V lying on one side, with the head of the infant thrust as far as possible into the narrow end. This brought the pressure over the upper part of the forehead, which was gradually forced down until from the eyebrows to the extreme rear of the crown was a single slope like that of the roof of a house. The skull rose into a peak behind and sloped away, as I have said, to the ridge of the eyebrows.
An Indian who had been subjected to this senseless treatment was shockingly deformed, and no one could look upon such creatures without a feeling of repulsion. Nevertheless, the process did not injure the brain nor diminish its volume. A warrior who had been made a “flat head” knew just as much as if his brain had been left to grow as nature intended.
For centuries the Chinese have compressed the feet of their females; the Flatheads have forced the heads of their infants out of shape, and the Caucasian women have squeezed their waists into the narrowest possible limits. A careful comparison of the three crimes must lead us to think that the last-named is the most injurious and, therefore, the most criminal.
INTERESTING and thrilling as was the descent of the Columbia, a detailed description of the voyage of the little party of explorers would become monotonous. They were hardly ever out of sight of Indians, all of whom were friendly, although precautions had to be taken against many of them that were thieves and eager to steal anything upon which they could lay hands.
You need not be told that the Columbia is one of the most important rivers on our continent. The scenery in many places is picturesque, grand and inspiring. The boys felt that the sight was well worth the journey across the country. Their enjoyment increased day after day as they drew near the sea. Game was so abundant that they never lacked for food, and the Indians were always ready to share with them. At different times they saw natives who gave evidence of having met white men at the mouth of the Columbia. There were numbers of guns, civilized coats and trousers, brass buttons and various ornaments which could have been obtained from no one else, and, now and then, some intelligent Indian showed himself able to speak a few words of English.
One of the counties in the present State of Washington is Wahkiacum, which received its name from a tribe of Indians that have been extinct for years. Our friends paid a visit to a Wahkiacum village on the right bank of the river. After procuring some food and a beaver skin, the explorers climbed to the crest of an adjoining hill and with feelings of expectant wonder gazed to the westward.
At last! As the vision ranged over plain and wood and elevation they saw stretching away to the horizon the mightiest expanse of water on the globe. North, west, south, rolled the Pacific Ocean, extending at its widest part to more than one-third of the distance around the world.
No one spoke, but, grouped together, the spyglass was silently passed from one to the other, and each gazed in rapt admiration and awe. George first offered the instrument to Deerfoot, but he shook his head. He then handed it to Mul-tal-la, but he also declined, as did Victor, and then George leveled the instrument and held it for several minutes, while the others made the best use they could of their eyes. Finally George sighed and passed the glass to his brother. When he had finished he proffered it to the Shawanoe, but he indicated by a gesture that Mul-tal-la’s was the next turn.
At last Deerfoot, standing erect, with his gun leaning against a near boulder, where his companions had placed-their weapons, slowly directed the instrument westward, while all looked at him instead of at the ocean.
The Shawanoe’s eye roved over the immense expanse, as he gradually shifted his gaze from point to point. Over hundreds of square miles nothing was to be seen but the limitless waste of waters. Ridges of foam and a faint roar showed where the long swells broke upon the beach. From the tops of cone-like lodges climbed little twisting wreaths of smoke, indicating the villages of the dusky inhabitants of the region between the ocean and the spectators.
Deerfoot now descried something which the others had not seen. In a direct line to the westward and almost on the rim of the horizon was a tiny white object, like a peculiarly shaped cloud that would soon dissolve into thin air. It was a ship, and the snowy spread was its sails that caught the favoring breeze.
The vessel was many miles distant and heading for the mouth of the Columbia. It was the only vessel visible in that vast sweep of ocean. The Indian watched it as it gradually grew more distinct. He wondered as to the people on board, and speculated as to what part of the world they had come from. He finally lowered the instrument and peered in the direction without the artificial help. Yes; he could now see the vessel with the eye alone.
Pointing toward the right point he handed the glass to George Shelton and said:
“Let my brother look.”
The lad did so and the next moment exclaimed:
“It is a ship! Victor, you must see it!”
“I do,” replied the other, who nevertheless took the spyglass, which was next passed to Mul-tal-la. Then it went around in turn again, and the feast of vision was enjoyed to the full.
For an hour the party held their place on the elevation, studying the sea and the grand and varied panorama spread before them. They could have stayed all day and been content, for there was much that was impressive in the thought that they had reached the end of their long journey over mountain, through tangled wilderness and across prairie and river. Victor Shelton suggested that they should keep on down the Columbia to the mouth and take a bath in the chilling waters of the Pacific, but Deerfoot shook his head. It had been the understanding from the first that they were to press westward until they saw the ocean, but to go no farther. They had touched tidewater some time before, and could feel that at times they were really paddling through the waters of the Pacific. It would take several days to reach the mouth of the river and time had become valuable. The season was so far advanced that winter would be upon them by the time or before they arrived in the Blackfoot country, for a good deal of the return journey must, from its nature, prove much more laborious than the one just completed had been.
Deerfoot unexpectedly revealed one cause of anxiety. He was disquieted over Whirlwind, whom he had left with Amokeat, the Nez Perce chieftain. He could not free himself of the belief that trouble was to come from what he declared was a wrong act on his part. Had the stallion been only an ordinary “every day” animal, the owner would have felt no concern, but the steed was sure to be coveted by more than one warrior, and Amokeat could not have understood the worth of the treasure he had undertaken to guard and keep for the return of the owner.
“Deerfoot did not use Whirlwind right,” said the Shawanoe, shaking his head. “The heart of Whirlwind was grieved when he saw Deerfoot leave him.”
“But,” said Victor, sympathizing with the depression of his friend, “he is so wise a creature he surely understood why you left him.”
“Yes; he understood, and that is why his heart was sad, for he knew that Deerfoot had no right to treat him so.”
The Blackfoot now summed up the question by a remark with which the brothers ardently agreed.
“They will not kill Whirlwind, for they have no reason to do so. He will be alive somewhere; he will seek Deerfoot and Deerfoot will hunt for Whirlwind, and he will find him!”
The boys noted the flash in the eyes of the Shawanoe as he said:
“Yes; Deerfoot will find him if he has to hunt many moons and follow Whirlwind among tribes that are hundreds of miles away and who seek the life of Deerfoot.”
All understood the feelings of the youth who thus condemned himself for an act whose wisdom at the most was an open question.
Having uttered the words, the Shawanoe showed an indisposition to say anything further about the matter. He took the spyglass from the hands of George and once more pointed it at the incoming ship. He could make out the sails more plainly, and even caught the white rim of foam curling from the bow. He noted too that the wind was blowing briskly enough to make the vessel careen considerably under the impulse of the bellying canvas.
As it was still early in the day, it was evident the ship would be at the mouth of the river by nightfall. It would have been an interesting visit if the little party had pressed on and met the captain and his crew. It is not impossible, too, that had it not been for Deerfoot’s anxiety over his horse he would have modified the original plan to the extent of rounding out the journey across the continent by touching the Pacific itself.
But after all, what did it matter? The continent had already been crossed and, as the leader had said, the days and nights had become of the utmost value. Mul-tal-la believed it was safe to return to his people, and in point of fact he had grown homesick. Moreover, there was something in the fact that they were so many hundred miles from home that made George and Victor Shelton quite ready to give up the plan of going any farther.
And so our friends now turned their backs upon the Pacific and once more faced eastward. “Now for home!” was the thought in the minds of all four.
And here we must pause for the time. The incidents through which our friends passed and their adventures will be told in the final volume of the New Deerfoot Series, under the title of
“Deerfoot in the Mountains.”
The End