The Young Alaskans in the Rockies - Emerson Hough (best ereader under 100 .TXT) 📗

one cabin, which showed evident marks of being modern.

“It’s too bad,” said Rob, “that these old historic houses ever were allowed to pass away. How nice it would be if we could see them now, just the way old Jasper Hawse built them. But log cabins don’t stand as well as stone houses, I’ve noticed.”

“I wonder if Mr. Swift is going to build him a stone house when the town comes,” said Jesse. “I suppose it’s only a log house he’s got now.”

“Quite right,” said Uncle Dick, “and it’s only a little way until we reach it to-day. We’ll celebrate our crossing the Athabasca by making a short journey to-day.”

So presently they did pull up at the quaint frontier home known all along the trail as “Swift’s.” They were met by the old man himself, who seemed to be alone—a gaunt and grizzled figure of the old frontier breed. He came out and shook hands with each in turn and helped all to get off their saddles and packs, evidently glad to see them, and still more pleased when Uncle Dick told him that these boys had come all the way from Alaska.

“Alasky?” said he. “You don’t tell me! Now here I be, and I thought I’d come a long way when I come from the States thirty year ago. Alasky, eh? I’ve heard there’s gold up there. Maybe I’ll stroll over there some day.”

“It’s a good long way, Mr. Swift,” said Rob, smiling.

“Well, maybe ’tis, maybe ’tis,” said the old man, “but I betche when they get the railroad across it wouldn’t be any farther than it was when I punched a pack-horse up from the state of Washington. Which way you headed?”

“Clear across to the Pacific,” said Rob, nonchalantly. “We live at Valdez, in Alaska, and that’s a week’s sail from Seattle. We crossed the Peace River summit last year—”

“You did? Now you don’t tell me that!”

“Yes, sir, and Moise here was with us. And this year we’re going across the Yellowhead and down the Fraser to the Tête Jaune Cache, and from there we are going down the Canoe River to the Columbia, and down the Columbia River to the railroad, and then west to the coast. It’s easy enough.” And Rob spoke rather proudly, perhaps just a little boastfully.

The old man shook his head from side to side. “Well, I want to know!” said he. “If I didn’t know this gentleman of the engineers I’d say you boys was either crazy or lying to me. But he’s a good man, all right, and I reckon he’ll get you through. So you’re going over to the old Tee-John, are you? I know it well.”

“And we hope to see the old Boat Encampment on the Columbia where the Saskatchewan trail came in,” added Rob, reaching for his map.

“I know it well,” said the old man—“know it like a book, the whole country. Well, good luck to you, and I wish I was going through; but I’ll see ye up in Alasky in a couple of years, when this here railroad gets through. I got to stay here and tend to my garden and farm and my town lots for a while yit.”

The old man now showed them with a great deal of pride his little fields and his system of irrigation, and the rough mill which he had made with no tools but a saw and an ax. “I used to pack in flour from Edmonton, three hundred and fifty miles,” said he, “and it wasn’t any fun, I can tell you. So I said, what’s the use—why not make a mill for myself and grind my own flour?”

“And good flour it is, too, boys,” said Uncle Dick, “for I’ve tasted it often and know.”

“I s’pose we ought to get on a little bit farther this evening,” said John to the leader of the party, after a while.

“No, you don’t,” said the old man; “you’ll stay right here to-night, I tell you. Plenty of trouble on ahead without being in a hurry to get into it, and here you can sleep dry and have plenty to eat. I haven’t got any trout in the house to-day, but there’s a little lake up by Pyramid Mountain where you can ketch plenty, and there’s another one a few miles around the corner of the Miette valley where you can get ’em even better. Oh yes, from now on you’ll have all the fish you want to eat, and all the fun, too, I reckon, that you come for. So you’re all the way from Alasky, eh? Well, I swan! I’ve seen folks here from England and New York and Oregon, but I never did see no one from Alasky before. And you’re just boys! Come in and unroll your blankets.”

IX THE HEART OF THE MOUNTAINS

“

Well, boys,” said Swift, the next day after breakfast, “I wisht ye could stay longer with me, but I reckon ye got to be on your way, so I’ll just wish ye well and go about my planting.”

“So long, friend,” said Uncle Dick, as they parted. “We’ll see you from time to time. When the railroad gets through we’ll all be neighbors in here.”

“Sure,” said the old man, none too happily. “It’s a fright how close things has got together sence I packed north from the Columby thirty year ago. Well, I hope you’ll get some trout where you camp to-night. You’d ought to go up on my mountain and ketch some of them lake-trout. I dun’ no’ where they come from, for there ain’t nothing like ’em in no other lake in these mountains. But I reckon they was always in there, wasn’t they?”

“Certainly they were,” answered Uncle Dick. “I know about those trout. They tell me they are just like the lake-trout of the Great Lakes. But we can’t stop for them to-day. I’ll promise the camp some rainbow-trout for supper, though—at least for to-morrow night.”

“I know where ye mean,” said the old man, smiling; “it’s that little lake off the Miette trail. Plenty o’ rainbows in there.”

“We’ll camp opposite that lake to-night.”

“And pass my town site this morning, eh? Wish it well for me. If I’ve got to be civilized I’m going to be plumb civilized. Well, so long.”

They all shook hands, and the little pack-train turned off up the north-bound trail.

They were now following along a rude trail blazed here and there by exploring parties of engineers. Presently Uncle Dick pointed them out the place where the new town was to be built.

“Here,” said he, pulling up, “is where we will have a division point, with railway shops, roundhouses, and all that. Its name will be Fitzhugh.”

“Huh!” said John, “it doesn’t look much like a town yet. It’s all rocks and trees.”

“But there’s a fine view,” said Rob, looking out over the landscape with critical eye. “I presume that’s the valley of the Maligne River coming in on the other side of the Athabasca, isn’t it, Uncle Dick?”

“Yes, and I am glad we don’t have to ford it, but are on this side of the big river.”

“It looks like another valley coming down from the right, on ahead,” said Rob.

“That’s the Miette valley, and we turn up that as though we were going around a corner. Just ahead is where we leave the Athabasca valley. That river runs off to the left. The big white mountain you see square ahead is Mount Geikie. The Athabasca runs south of that, and the Miette this side. In short, this is the place where the old trails fork. Yonder goes the trail to the Athabasca Pass, and here to the right is ours to the Yellowhead.”

“Which did they find first, Uncle Dick?” inquired John.

“As I was telling you, the Athabasca Pass was the first discovered. That is, it was found before the Yellowhead. Far south, at the head of the Saskatchewan, Duncan McGillivray discovered what is called the Howse Pass. That was in 1800. Some suppose that pass was named after old Jasper Hawse, or Howse, who founded Jasper House just below us on the river here.

“The traders used the Howse Pass quite a while, until, as I told you, the Flathead Indians and Kootenais got guns from the west and whipped the Piegans, down below here. That started old David Thompson out hunting for another pass further north. It is thought that the Athabasca Pass was discovered by J. Henry, a free trapper, about 1810. The Yellowhead Pass, which we are going to cross in due time, was not really discovered or used by the traders until about 1825 or 1826. But our friend Jasper Hawse seems to have used it before that time.”

“And he went right up this way where we are going now,” said Rob, musingly.

“He certainly did,” said Uncle Dick. “There wasn’t any other place for him to go if he started up the Miette.”

“It seems to me as though the engineers were always following rivers,” said Jesse.

“Precisely. When you have learned the rivers of a country you know its geography, and a good part of its history, too. You’ll realize more and more that white explorers did very little discovering. They clung to the rivers, which already had paths along them—paths made by the native tribes. Engineers like to stick to stream valleys because the grades are light. All the great passes of the Rockies were found by following rivers back into the hills, just as we are doing now.”

“It’s fine,” said John, “to feel that we are right here where the old men used to travel, and that we’ve got to travel the way they did. I’m glad I came.”

“I’m glad, too,” said Uncle Dick. “It has been rather hard work, and now I propose to give you a little rest, so the horses can pick up as well as ourselves. There’s good grass in the valley on ahead, and we’ll go into camp rather early.”

They pushed on now, swinging away presently from the great valley of the Athabasca, hemmed in by its mountains, and beginning to climb the steeper ascent of the Miette. At the foot of the narrow valley they could see the racing green flood of the river, broken here and there by white rapids, on its way to the valley of the Athabasca, whose rift in the hills they now lost as they continued their ascent.

Late in that afternoon they found good camping-ground by the side of a brawling little mountain stream. The boys were happy and light-hearted as they went about pitching their camp, for the spot was very lovely, the weather fine, and the going had not been so difficult as to tire them out. They plunged into the camp duties with such enthusiasm as to please Moise very much.

“Those boy, she’ll been all right, Monsieur,” said that worthy to Uncle Dick. “She’ll come through all right, all same trapper man.”

“Certainly,” said Uncle Dick; “unless we have some bad accident we’ll have a very fine journey all the way across.”

“And to-morrow she’ll caught some feesh?” inquired Moise. “Why not get some sheeps, too? Me, I am tired of those bacon all the time.”

“We’re still inside the Jasper Park Reservation,” replied Uncle Dick, “so we can’t shoot game, but to-morrow I’ll promise you some fish in camp. We’re now getting into the Rockies, and we’ll have fish every day now, if you like.”

X RAINBOW LAKE

The boys were up early, excited by the prospect of a day’s sport, and before the sun had more than shown above the hills they were out in the dewy grass and ready for breakfast. From their camp they could hear the rushing of the