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

over, and he did it all by himself, without any kind of map to help him.”

“Yes, and when he got over this far he was in an awful fix,” said John. “I remember where it says his men were going to leave him and go back down the Peace River to the east. He wasn’t sure his guide was going to stick to him until he got over to the Fraser, west of here.”

“Yes,” said Rob, “and there wasn’t any Fraser River known by that name at that time. They all thought it was the Columbia River, which it wasn’t by a long way. But Sir Alexander stuck it out, don’t you see. He was a great man, or he couldn’t have done it. I take off my hat to him, that’s what I do.”

And in his enthusiasm, Rob did take off his hat, and his young companions joined him, their eyes lighting with enthusiasm for the man the simple story of whose deeds had stirred their young blood.

Alex looked on approvingly. “He was of my family,” said he. “Perhaps my great-grandfather—I don’t know. He was a good man in the woods. You see, he went far to the north before he came here—he followed the Mackenzie River to its mouth in the Arctic Sea. Then he thought there must be a way across to the Pacific. Some one told him about the Peace River. That’s how he came to make the first trip over the mountains here. By rights the Fraser River ought to have been named after him, too, because he was the first to see it.”

“But he wasn’t the first to run it on out,” said John, who also had a good idea of the geography hereabouts, which he had carefully studied in advance. “It was Simon Fraser did that first.”

“Yes, they’ll both been good man, heem,” said Moise, his mouth full of bacon. “My wife, she’ll had an onkle once name Fraser an’ he’ll been seex feet high an’ strong like a hox—those Fraser, yes, heem.”

“They must have been strong men,” said Alex, “and brave men as well.”

“Their worst time was getting west of here, wasn’t it?” asked John.

“Yes,” answered Rob. “The book says that when they tried to get down the Fraser they had a terrible time. Sometimes they had to carry their canoe through swamps and over hills. No wonder the men mutinied. Why, they lost all their bullets, and got everything they had wet. The men almost lost heart.”

Moise nodded. “I’ll onderstan’ that,” said he. “Sometime man get tired.”

“But you see now, Moise, why we wanted to come down here and go over this same ground and not to take the easy portage trail into Lake McLeod.”

“All same to me,” smiled Moise. “I’ll don’ care.”

“Of course, if we wanted to go through the easiest way,” assented Rob, “it would be simpler to go up through McLeod Lake. But you see, that’s something of a way above here. Finlay found that lake after Mackenzie came across, and they had a fort up there when Fraser came through eighteen years later. The Indians used to come to that fort and tell about the salt water somewhere far to the west. They had brass and iron which they had got of white men somewhere on the Pacific—that was more than a hundred years ago. Fraser wanted to get across to the Pacific, but he followed the old Mackenzie trail across here. He started at the Rocky Mountain portage and went up into McLeod Lake, and stopped there for a while. But he didn’t start west and northwest, by way of Stuart Lake. Instead of that, he followed Mackenzie’s journal, just as we’re doing. He came into the little creek which leads into these lakes—where we’ll go down pretty soon. He came right across this lake, not a mile from where we’re sitting. Then he met Indians in here, who told him—just as Moise has told us—that the best and easiest way to get across would have been by way of McLeod Lake—the very place he had come from.”

“Well,” said Jesse, “I agree with Moise. It would be easier to go where we could have wagons or carts or something to take the boats over. Everything looks mighty wild in here.”

“Certainly, Jess,” said John, “that’s why we’re here. I expect that portage trail up there is just like a road.”

“Fur-traders made it first,” smiled Alex, “and then the miners used it. That was the way white men came into the country east of the Rockies, in the far North.”

“How long ago was that?” asked John.

“There were a great many miners all along the Fraser as early as 1857. Ten years later than that, they came up the big bend of the Columbia. Many men were killed on the rapids in those days. But they kept on pushing in, and in that way they learned all these old trails. I expect some Fraser uncle or other of Moise’s has been across here many a time.”

“Seex feet high, an’ strong like a hox,” smiled Moise, nodding his head. “Heem good man, my onkle, yes, heem.”

“Well,” said Rob, as he bent over the book once more. “Here’s Sir Alexander’s story, and here’s a map I made myself. That way, to the west, is the little lake where the Bad River runs out to another river that runs into the Fraser. This lake drains into that little lake. There’s another lake east of here, according to the story; and when we get there we’ll strike a deep, clear creek which will take us pretty soon into the Parsnip River. From there it’s all downhill.”

“Yes,” said Alex, smiling, “considerably downhill.”

“It’s said there was a current westward in this middle lake,” began John.

“Certainly,” Rob answered, “we are really now on Pacific waters.”

“How far is it across to the other lake?” asked Jesse.

“The portage is just eight hundred and seventeen paces,” replied John, promptly. “I remember that’s what Mackenzie wrote down.”

“Fraser in his journal calls it ‘between eight and nine hundred paces,’” said Rob. “Anyhow, that portage goes over the top of the Rocky Mountain range at this place—that’s the top of the divide. Nearly all these natural passes in the mountains run up on each side to a sort of flat place. Anyhow, when we get over that portage we’re on Peace River waters. In yonder direction the waters run into the Pacific. To the east they go into the Arctic. I’m ready to start now, and anxious to get over the height of land.”

“She’ll be downheel then,” laughed Moise. “All same roof on the house, maybe so.”

“You’re not scared, are you, Moise?” asked Rob, smiling.

“Moise, she’ll sweem all same feesh,” was the answer of the voyageur.

“We’re not going to do any swimming,” said Alex, quietly, “and not even any more wading than we have to. You see, our party is small, and we’re going over a trail that has already been explored. We travel light, and have good boats. I think we ought to have rather an easy time of it, after all.”

“One thing,” broke in John, “that always makes me think less of these early explorers, is that they weren’t really exploring, after all.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Jesse. “You just said that Mackenzie and Fraser were the first to come across here.”

John shook his head vigorously. “No, they weren’t the first—as near as I can find out, the white men always had some one to tell them where to go. When Mackenzie was going north there was always some tribe or other to tell him where he was and what there was ahead. It was some Indian that told him about coming over this way to the west—it was Indians that guided him all the way across, for that matter, clear from here to the Pacific.”

“That’s right,” said Rob. “If some Indian hadn’t told him about it, he probably never would have heard about the creek which leads into these lakes where we are now. He had a guide when he came here, and he had a guide west of the Fraser, too—they never would have got through without Indians to help them.”

“That’s true,” said Alex, not without a certain pride in the red race which had given him half his own blood. “The whites haven’t always used the Indians well, but without native help they could never have taken this northern country. The Beaver Indians used to hunt all through these mountains. It was those men who told Mackenzie how to get over here. He was told, weeks before he got here, that there was a carrying-place across the great hills to the western waters. As you say, young gentlemen, he had guides all the way across. So, after all, as we have only him and Fraser for guides, we’ll take a little credit to ourselves, just as he did!”

“Yes,” said Moise. “My people, she’ll own this whole contree. They’ll show the Companee how to take hold, all right. But that’s all right; I’m glad, me.”

“It looks a little tame,” grumbled John, “coming through here where those old fur-traders knew every foot of the country.”

“Well, we’ll see,” said Alex, rising, filling his pipe and tightening his belt to begin the day’s work. “It may not look so tame before we get through! But first,” he added, “we’ll have to see if we can get the boats to the open water of the lake. Come, it’s time to break camp now for the first day’s journey.”

IV THE GREAT DIVIDE

To boys as familiar with camp work as were Rob, John, and Jesse, the work of breaking camp in the morning was simple. In a few moments they had their tent down and rolled up ready to put in the canoe. Their beds also were rolled, each in its own canvas, and lashed with a rope. Their rifles, which, kept dry in their cases, had been placed under the edge of their blankets as they slept, were now leaned against the bed-rolls. Their knapsacks, in which each boy had his personal belongings, such as brushes, combs, underwear and spare socks, were very quickly made ready, and placed in order each with its owner’s bed-roll. In a very few minutes they stood up and showed Alex that they were ready.

Meantime, Moise had put his pots and pans into the sack which served him as a cook’s box. His flour and bacon he quickly got ready in their packages, and even before the boys were done with their work he was carrying these parcels down to the first canoe, which was to serve as the cook’s boat. The beds of Moise and Alex, simple as they were, required only a roll or two to be ready for the boats.

“We’ll fix a system,” said Alex, “so that we’ll load each boat just the same every day. There’s nothing like being regular when you’re on the trail.”

“I’ll bet, Alex, she’ll not be a harder boss than ol’ Pete Fraser, my wife, he’s onkle,” declared Moise. “He’ll make those men get up by two, three, in the morning an’ track two, three hour before she’ll eat breakfast, heem.”

“Well, you see, we had to do a little reading this morning,” remarked John.

“Surely, and to very good purpose,” answered Alex. “You ought to keep track of the old journal day by day.”

“Exactly,” said Rob, “and I’m going to keep a journal of my own each day. We haven’t got any sextant to take observations, but I’ve got all the maps, and I’ve got a compass—maybe we’ll get out a Voyage of Discoveries of our own some day!”

“Now, Moise,” said Alex, “you’re to go ahead with the cook-boat. You’d better take Mr. Rob