The Young Alaskans on the Trail by Emerson Hough (i want to read a book TXT) 📕

get a moose or something of the kind we don’t eat.”

“And how many bear have you ever killed, Alex?”

“Twenty-odd grizzlies I have killed or helped kill,” said Alex. “We rarely hunt them alone. Of black bear I don’t know how many—we don’t count them at all, there are so many of them in this country. But now I suppose pretty soon we will have to go over on the Hay River, or the Liard, farther north, to get good hunting. The farms are bringing in mowing-machines and threshing-machines into this country now. The game can’t last forever at this rate.”

“Well, I’m glad we made our trip this year,” said Rob.

“We haven’t made it yet!” smiled Alex. “But I think to-morrow we’ll see what we can do.”

They made an early start in the morning, their first task being that of trying to get the Jaybird up the steep face of the bluff which rose back of the camp, on top of which the trail, such as it was, made off through the shoulders of the mountains in a general course toward the east, the river sweeping in a wide elbow, thirty miles around, through its wild and impassable gorge, far to the south of them.

Taking a boat, even a little one, overland is no easy task, especially up so steep an ascent as this. Powerful as was the old hunter, it was hard enough to make much progress, and at times they seemed to lose as much as they gained. None the less, Alex was something of a general in work of this sort, and when they had gained an inch of progress he usually managed to hold it by means of snubbing the boat’s line around the nearest stump or rock.

“That’s awfully strong line, isn’t it?” said Rob. “You brought that over with you—we didn’t have that in our country. We use rope. I was noticing how thin the line was which those two breeds had on their dugout yesterday.”

“That’s the sort they use all through the trade in the North,” answered Alex. “It has to be thin, or it would get too waterlogged and heavy. You’ll see how long it needs to be in order that the men on shore can get it over all the rocks and stumps and still leave the steersman headway on the boat. It has been figured out as the right thing through many years, and I have seen it used without change all my life.”

“Well, it hasn’t broken yet,” said Rob. “But I think we had better piece it out by doubling it the best we can. We don’t want to break it up at this work.”

Little by little, Alex lifting the main portion of the weight, and the boys shoving at the stern the best they could, they did edge the Jaybird at last clear to the top of the bank, where finally she sat on level keel on a little piece of green among the trees.

While they were resting John idly passed a little way to one side among the trees, when, much to his surprise, he almost stepped into the middle of a bunch of spruce-grouse. These foolish birds, although perhaps they had hardly seen a white man in all their lives, did no more than to fly up in the low branches of the trees. Alex called out in a low tone to John to come back. Then he fumbled in his pockets until he found a short length of copper wire, out of which he made a noose, fastening it to the end of a long stick.

“Now, Mr. John,” said he, “there’s lunch and supper both if you can get it. Let’s see how good you are at snaring grouse.”

John cautiously stepped up under the tree, expecting every minute that the birds would fly. Yet to his amazement they sat there stupidly looking down at him. Cautiously he raised the pole among the lower branches of the tree, and at length managed to slip the noose fairly about the neck of the nearest bird, when he gave it a jerk and brought it down fluttering. Passing from one side of the tree to the other, he repeated this, and soon had four of the fat, young birds in his possession—a feat which interested John in more ways than one, for, as has been indicated, he was very fond of good things to eat.

They left the birds at the top of the bank, and, turning, brought up in a trip or so all the remainder of their scanty amount of baggage from the waterside below.

“I suppose it might be a good plan, now, to make a trip over to the east,” said Alex, “and see what we can see.”

They found after a long investigation that the trail, as nearly as they could trace it, soon swung away quite a distance from the course of the stream, rising steadily for three miles to a sort of high bench. It held this for several miles, finally approaching a steep slope and dropping sharply toward the level of the water, which was much lower than at the head of the cañon.

They discovered the eastern end of the portage to be close at the foot of a high and precipitous bank back of which grew scattered clumps of poplar-trees. This journey, which only Alex made throughout, took them several miles from the place where they had left the Jaybird, and they were tired enough by the time they had returned to their supplies. They made no further progress on that day. Alex told them they would find water at only one place on the portage, so they must camp here in any case for the night.

XXI THE PORTAGE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS

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We might just as well do what we can toward getting across,” said Alex the next day, “because now we know what there is ahead of us. I’d just as soon portage the boat a little way, at least, because it will only have to be done when Moise and the two breeds come to help us. Come ahead, then.”

He swung the Jaybird up on his broad shoulders, and started off up a trail none too good at best. The boys, one on each side of the stern of the boat, helped all they could, and thus they made considerable progress, resting and carrying again and again, so that by noon the Jaybird was high and dry, and far enough indeed from the stream which had brought her on so long a journey.

In short, they kept at this work, doubling back to portage the cargo, and making a mid-way camp at the water, but always edging both their boat and their baggage farther on over the trail, until in the course of three days they actually finished the difficult portage, twelve miles in length, alone, one man and two boys! This feat would have been impossible for any man less powerful and determined than Alex, and even he admitted himself to be very weary when at length they paused not far from the scattered buildings of the old port of Hudson’s Hope.

They were now on the eastern side of the Rockies, and the river which they had been following here took on yet a different character. It had dropped down rapidly in the thirty miles of the cañon, and ran in a wide flood, some hundreds of yards across, rapid and indeed violent, but still steady in current, between banks which rose sharply to a thousand feet in height on either side. It was easy to be seen why the earlier traders thought they were among mountains, even before they reached the Rockies, because from the river they really could not see out over the country at all.

At the top of the steep bank above the river they left their boat and most of their supplies, with the intention of waiting until the arrival of the rest of their party. Meantime they paid a visit to the half-abandoned trading-post. There were only two or three log houses, where small stocks of goods sometimes were kept. There really were two posts here, that of the Hudson Bay Company and of Revillon Frères, but it seemed that only the Hudson Bay post was occupied in the summer-time. Whether or not the trader in charge had any family or any associate they could not tell, but on the door of the log building they found a written notice saying that he was gone out bear hunting, and did not know when he would return.

“Well, this isn’t much of a settlement, young gentlemen,” said Alex, laughing, as he saw their plight. “But I think we can get through with what supplies we have and not trouble the Company at all.”

“I always thought there was a good trail from here to St. John,” said Rob. “At least, it’s marked on the map.”

“Not much of a trail!” said Alex. “I worked with the Mounted Police making trail from St. John as far as Half Way River. But the trail cuts across the corner there, and goes on up to Fort Grahame, on the Finlay River. The real highway here is the river yonder—it’s easy water now all the way to St. John—that is, it will be if we can get a boat. I don’t see any chance of one here, and can only hope that Moise and his ‘cousins’ can find that dugout down below here somewhere.”

“If we were on the river down there, you wouldn’t know there was any post here at all,” said Jesse. “You can’t see any buildings.”

“No,” said Alex; “they’re too high up on this bench. You can see the buildings at St. John as you go by, because they are close to the river, and so you can at Dunvegan. I don’t imagine, however, we’ll want to stop anywhere except in camp this side of Peace River Landing. It’ll be fine from here down.”

“My!” said John, “that certainly was hard work, portaging over that twelve miles there. They ought to have horses and carts, I should say.”

“Hard to use ’em in here,” smiled Alex. “As it is, it’s better than trying to run the cañon. No one ever did get through there, so far as ever I heard.”

“Yes,” said Rob, “Sir Alexander Mackenzie must have come up through the cañon, according to his story. That is, he must have followed the big bend around, although, of course, he had to take his boat out and carry it through the roughest kind of country. That was worse than our portage here, and no man can tell how they made it through, from all you can learn through his story about it. You see, they didn’t know this country then, and had to learn it as they went. If they had hit that cañon a month later on their journey the men wouldn’t have stood it—they’d have mutinied and killed Mackenzie, or have left him and started home.”

Not caring yet to undertake their embarkment below the portage, they now strolled around here and there, intending to wait until their friends caught up with them. Off to the east they could see, from among the short, choppy hills, a country which seemed for the most part covered with continuous growth of poplars, sometimes broken with glades, or open spaces.

“I’ve never been west of the Half Way River,” said Alex after a time, “but I know right where we are. We could almost throw our boat on the deck of the steamboat from this bank if we were as far east as St. John.”

“No steamboat for ours until we get to Peace River Landing,” said Rob.

“That’s right,” John assented. “We’ve come