Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (top ten books of all time .TXT) 📕

Had Flowed Eastward; Now Suddenly Every Little Rivulet Was

Making For The Pacific.

The Descent Is As Gradual As The Rise.  On The First Day Of

It We Lost Two Animals,  A Mule And Samson's Spare Horse.  The

Latter,  Never Equal To The Heavy Weight Of Its Owner,  Could

Go No Further; And The Dreadful State Of The Mule's Back

Rendered Packing A Brutality.  Morris And Potter,  Who Passed

Us A Few Days Later,  Told Us They Had Seen The Horse Dead, 

And Partially Eaten By Wolves; The Mule They Had Shot To Put

It Out Of Its Misery.

In Due Course We Reached Fort Hall,  A Trading Post Of The

Hudson's Bay Company,  Some 200 Miles To The North-West Of The

South Pass.  Sir George Simpson,  Chairman Of That Company, 

Had Given Me Letters,  Which Ensured The Assistance Of Its

Servants.  It Was Indeed A Rest And A Luxury To Spend A

Couple Of Idle Days Here,  And Revive One's Dim Recollection

Of Fresh Eggs And Milk.  But We Were Already In September. 

Our Animals Were In A Deplorable Condition; And With The

Exception Of A Little Flour,  A Small Supply Of Dried Meat, 

And A Horse For Samson,  Mr. Grant,  The Trader,  Had Nothing To

Sell Us.  He Told Us,  Moreover,  That Before We Reached Fort

Boise,  Their Next Station,  300 Miles Further On,  We Had To

Traverse A Great Rocky Desert,  Where We Might Travel Four-

And-Twenty Hours After Leaving Water,  Before We Met With It

Again.  There Was Nothing For It But To Press Onwards.  It

Was Too Late Now To Cross The Sierra Nevada Range,  Which Lay

Between Us And California; And With The Miserable Equipment

Left To Us,  It Was All We Could Hope To Do To Reach Oregon

Before The Passage Of The Blue Mountains Was Blocked By The

Winter's Snow.

Mr. Grant's Warnings Were Verified To The Foot Of The Letter. 

Great Were Our Sufferings,  And Almost Worse Were Those Of The

Poor Animals,  From The Want Of Water.  Then,  Too,  Unlike The

Desert Of Sahara,  Where The Pebbly Sand Affords A Solid

Footing,  The Soil Here Is The Calcined Powder Of Volcanic

Debris,  So Fine That Every Step In It Is Up To One's Ankles;

While Clouds Of It Rose,  Choking The Nostrils,  And Covering

One From Head To Heel.  Here Is A Passage From My Journal:

'Road Rocky In Places,  But Generally Deep In The Finest

Floury Sand.  A Strong And Biting Wind Blew Dead In Our

Teeth,  Smothering Us In Dust,  Which Filled Every Pore. 

William Presented Such A Ludicrous Appearance That Samson And

I Went Into Fits Over It.  An Old Felt Hat,  Fastened On By A

Red Cotton Handkerchief,  Tied Under His Chin,  Partly Hid His

Lantern-Jawed Visage; This,  Naturally Of A Dolorous Cast,  Was

Screwed Into Wrinkled Contortions By Its Efforts To Resist

The Piercing Gale.  The Dust,  As White As Flour,  Had Settled

Thick Upon Him,  The Extremity Of His Nasal Organ Being The

Only Rosy Spot Left; Its Pearly Drops Lodged Upon A Chin

Almost As Prominent.  His Shoulders Were Shrugged To A Level

With His Head,  And His Long Legs Dangled From The Back Of

Little "Cream" Till They Nearly Touched The Ground.'

We Laughed At Him,  It Is True,  But He Was So Good-Natured,  So

Patient,  So Simple-Minded,  And,  Now And Then,  When He And I

Were Alone,  So Sentimental And Confidential About Mary,  And

The Fortune He Meant To Bring Her Back,  That I Had A Sort Of

Maternal Liking For Him; And Even A Vicarious Affection For

Mary Herself,  The Colour Of Whose Eyes And Hair - Nay,  Whose

Weight Avoirdupois - I Was Now Accurately Acquainted With. 

No,  The Honest Fellow Had Not Quite The Grit Of A

'Leatherstocking.'

One Night,  When We Had Halted After Dark,  He Went Down To A

Gully (We Were Not Then In The Desert) To Look For Water For

Our Tea.  Samson,  Armed With The Hatchet,  Was Chopping Wood. 

I Stayed To Arrange The Packs,  And Spread The Blankets. 

Suddenly I Heard A Voice From The Bottom Of The Ravine, 

Crying Out,  'Bring The Guns For God's Sake!  Make Haste! 

Bring The Guns!'  I Rushed About In The Dark,  Tumbling Over

The Saddles,  But Could Nowhere Lay My Hands On A Rifle. 

Still The Cry Was For 'Guns!'  My Own,  A Muzzle-Loader,  Was

Discharged,  But A Rifle None The Less.  Snatching Up This, 

And One Of My Pistols,  Which,  By The Way,  Had Fallen Into The

River A Few Hours Before,  I Shouted For Samson,  And Ran

Headlong To The Rescue.  Before I Got To The Bottom Of The

Hill I Heard Groans,  Which Sounded Like The Last Of Poor

William.  I Holloaed To Know Where He Was,  And Was Answered

In A Voice That Discovered Nothing Worse Than Terror.

It Appeared That He Had Met A Grizzly Bear Drinking At The

Very Spot Where He Was About To Fill His Can; That He Had 

Bolted,  And The Bear Had Pursued Him; But That He Had

'Cobbled The Bar With Rocks,' Had Hit It In The Eye,  Or Nose, 

He Was Not Sure Which,  And Thus Narrowly Escaped With His

Life.  I Could Not Help Laughing At His Story,  Though An

Examination Of The Place Next Morning So Far Verified It, 

That His Footprints And The Bear's Were Clearly Intermingled

On The Muddy Shore Of The Stream.  To Make Up For His Fright, 

He Was Extremely Courageous When Restored By Tea And A Pipe. 

'If We Would Follow The Trail With Him,  He'd Go Right Slick

In For Her Anyhow.  If His Rifle Didn't Shoot Plum,  He'd A

Bowie As 'Ud Rise Her Hide,  And No Mistake.  He'd Be Darn'd

If He Didn't Make Meat Of That Bar In The Morning.'

We Were Now Steering By Compass.  Our Course Was Nearly

North-West.  This We Kept,  As Well As The Formation Of The

Country And The Watercourses Would Permit.  After Striking

The Great Shoshone,  Or Snake River,  Which Eventually Becomes

The Columbia,  We Had To Follow Its Banks In A Southerly

Direction.  These Are Often Supported By Basaltic Columns

Several Hundred Feet In Height.  Where That Was The Case, 

Though Close To Water,  We Suffered Most From Want Of It.  And

Cold As Were The Nights - It Was The Middle Of September -

The Sun Was Intensely Hot.  Every Day,  Every Mile,  We Were

Hoping For A Change - Not Merely For Access To The Water,  But

That We Might Again Pursue Our Westerly Course.  The Scenery

Was Sometimes Very Striking.  The River Hereabouts Varies

From One Hundred To Nearly Three Hundred Yards In Width;

Sometimes Rushing Through Narrow Gorges,  Sometimes Descending

In Continuous Rapids,  Sometimes Spread Out In Smooth Shallow

Reaches.  It Was For One Of These That We Were In Search,  For

Only At Such Points Was The River Passable.

It Was Night-Time When We Came To One Of The Great Falls.  We

Were Able Here To Get At Water; And Having Halted Through The

Day,  On Account Of The Heat,  Kept On While Our Animals Were

Refreshed.  We Had To Ascend The Banks Again,  And Wind Along

The Brink Of The Precipice.  From This The View Was

Magnificent.  The Moon Shone Brightly Upon The Dancing Waves

Hundreds Of Feet Below Us,  And Upon The Rapids Which Extended

As Far As We Could See.  The Deep Shade Of The High Cliffs

Contrasted In Its Impenetrable Darkness With The Brilliancy

Of The Silvery Foam.  The Vast Plain Which We Overlooked,  

Fading In The Soft Light,  Rose Gradually Into A Low Range Of

Distant Hills.  The Incessant Roar Of The Rapids,  And The

Desert Stillness Of All Else Around,  Though They Lulled One's

Senses,  Yet Awed One With A Feeling Of Insignificance And

Impotence In The Presence Of Such Ruthless Force,  Amid Such

Serene And Cold Indifference.  Unbidden,  The Consciousness

Was There,  That For Some Of Us The Coming Struggle With Those

Mighty Waters Was Fraught With Life Or Death.

At Last We Came Upon A Broad Stretch Of The River Which

Seemed To Offer The Possibilities We Sought For.  Rather Late

In The Afternoon We Decided To Cross Here,  Notwithstanding

William's Strong Reluctance To Make The Venture.  Part Of His

Unwillingness Was,  I Knew,  Due To Apprehension,  Part To His

Love Of Fishing.  Ever Since We Came Down Upon The Snake

River We Had Seen Quantities Of Salmon.  He Persisted In The

Belief That They Were To Be Caught With The Rod.  The Day

Before,  All Three Of Us Had Waded Into The River,  And Flogged

It Patiently For A Couple Of Hours,  While Heavy Fish Were

Tumbling About Above And Below Us.  We Caught Plenty Of

Trout,  But Never Pricked A Salmon.  Here The Broad Reach Was

Alive With Them,  And William Begged Hard To Stop For The

Afternoon And Pursue The Gentle Sport.  It Was Not To Be.

The Tactics Were As Usual.  Samson Led The Way,  Holding The

Lariat To Which The Two Spare Horses Were Attached.  In

Crossing Streams The Mules Would Always Follow The Horses. 

They Were Accordingly Let Loose,  And Left To Do So.  William

And I Brought Up The Rear,  Driving Before Us Any Mule That

Lagged.  My Journal Records The Sequel:

'At About Equal Distances From Each Other And The Main Land

Were Two Small Islands.  The First Of These We Reached

Without Trouble.  The Second Was Also Gained; But The Packs

Were Wetted,  The Current Being Exceedingly Rapid.  The Space

Remaining To Be Forded Was At Least Two Hundred Yards; And

The Stream So Strong That I Was Obliged To Turn My Mare's

Head Up It To Prevent Her Being Carried Off Her Legs.  While

Thus Resting,  William With Difficulty,  - The Water Being Over

His Knees,  - Sidled Up To Me.  He Wanted