Over the Rocky Mountains: Wandering Will in the Land of the Redskin by Ballantyne (classic books for 10 year olds TXT) đź“•
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- Author: Ballantyne
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When they at length unwillingly pulled up, the shades of evening were beginning to descend on the scene, and neither buffalo nor comrades were within range of their vision.
“Humph! we’ve got lost because of that rascal,” grumbled Will Osten.
“Bad luck to it!” exclaimed his companion.
“Have you any idea of the way back?” asked Will, with a look of perplexity.
“Not in the laste,” said Larry; “it’s always the way, when a man goes on a wild-goose chase he’s sure to come to grief, an’ a wild-wolf chase seems to belong to the same family.”
Will was too much vexed to reply, so he urged his steed to a gallop, and tried to retrace his way to the little plain, but the more they wandered the deeper did they appear to stray into the mountains.
Meanwhile, the trapper and Bunco, having cut off the best parts of the animals they had killed, made their encampment on the highest bluff they could find near the lake, and prepared supper; looking out now and then for their absent comrades. As the evening wore on they became anxious, and went out to search for them, but it was not till the following morning that they were discovered, almost falling out of their saddles from exhaustion, and wandering about they scarce knew whither. Conducting them to the camp, the trapper and Bunco gave them food, and then allowed them to sleep until the sun was high, after which, with recruited energies and spirits, they resumed their journey.
Thus they travelled for many a day—now scaling rugged mountain passes where it seemed doubtful whether the horses would be able to clamber, anon traversing rich meadows, and frequently meeting with and shooting deer, bears, Rocky Mountain goats, and the other wild inhabitants of the region. But, in course of time, they reached a particularly barren part of the mountains, to travel through which was a matter of extreme difficulty, while, to add to their hardships, game became very scarce.
One evening they met with an adventure of a rather warm description, through the carelessness of Larry, which well-nigh cost them their lives. They had reached a forest of small pines, through which they proceeded several miles, and then, finding that the trees grew so close together as to render progress very difficult, they resolved to encamp where they were, and, accordingly, cut down a clear space, in one part of which they fastened the horses, and at the other end made the camp. The weather had for a considerable time been hot and dry, and mosquitoes and gadflies were very troublesome. They therefore lighted a fire for the horses as well as for themselves, in order to let the poor creatures get the benefit of the smoke which, as long as it lasted, effectually cleared away the flies. It was Larry’s duty that night to hobble and secure the horses, but Larry was fatigued, and particularly anxious to commence supper with as little delay as possible. He therefore fastened the horses so insecurely that one of them got loose, and, without being perceived, kicked about some of the blazing embers in his anxiety to get into the thickest of the smoke, and so find relief from his tormentors. These embers set fire to the dry moss. While the travellers were busy with supper, they were startled by a loud, crackling sound. Before any of them could jump up, they heard a roar, which was followed by a mighty illumination. One of the neighbouring pines had caught fire, and blazed up as if it had been gun-cotton. The moment was critical. The little wind there was blew from the burning tree towards the spot where they sat. They had scarcely realised what had occurred when another and another of the trees flashed up, for, although green, they burned like the driest timber. To unloose and drive the horses out of danger, and carry off their camp equipage in time, was impossible. Big Ben, seeing this at a glance, seized his axe and shouted to the others to assist. He sprang at the intervening trees, and, exerting his enormous strength to the uttermost, cut them down as if they had been willow-wands—fortunately they were small; some of them were lopped through with a single crashing blow. Our hero was not slow to emulate Ben, and, although not so expert, he did such good execution that in a few minutes there was a wide gap between the camp and the burning trees.
But the horses, meanwhile, were in danger of being suffocated, and the dry moss under foot was burning so fiercely that the fire threatened to spread in spite of their exertions. Seeing this, Bunco and Larry—first casting loose the horses—ran with their kettles and mugs to a neighbouring stream for water, which they poured on the moss. By this time they were nearly surrounded by fire and smoke; the flames roared with appalling fury; the horse that had done all the mischief got burnt about the legs, threw himself down in the very midst of the fire and rolled in agony. Axes and kettles were instantly dropped, and all sprang to the rescue; grasped the creature by the head and tail, but could not drag him out. In desperation, Larry seized a stick, and so belaboured him that he leaped up and rushed out of the smoke and flames, terribly singed, indeed, but not much hurt otherwise. After this the fire was again attacked, and gradually its progress was cut off, so that our travellers were ultimately enabled to remove to a place of safety. But the flames had only been checked; they soon spread again, and, away to leeward of them, set the whole region on fire. From their new encampment that night, they could see rolling clouds of smoke mingling with tongues of flame which shot up, ever and anon, above the trees, and brought out in strong relief, or cast into deep shadow, the crags, gorges, and caverns of the mountains—presenting a scene of terrible devastation and indescribable sublimity.
We must guard the reader, at this point, from supposing that our adventurers were always tumbling out of frying-pans into fires, or that they never enjoyed repose. By no means. The duty which lies upon us, to recount the most piquant and stirring of the incidents in their journeying, necessitates the omission of much that is deeply interesting, though unexciting and peaceful.
For instance,—on one occasion, Larry and Bunco were deputed to fish for trout, while our hero and the trapper went after deer. The place selected by the anglers was a clear quiet pool in a small but deep rivulet, which flowed down the gentle slope of a wooded hill. The distant surroundings no doubt were wild enough, but the immediate spot to which we refer might have been a scene in bonnie Scotland, and would have gladdened the heart of a painter as being his beau idéal, perhaps, of a “quiet nook.” The day was quiet too; the little birds, apparently, were very happy, and the sun was very bright—so bright that it shone through the mirror-like surface of the pool right down to the bottom, and there revealed several large fat trout, which were teazed and tempted and even exhorted to meet their fate, by the earnest Larry. The converse on the occasion, too, was quiet and peaceful. It was what we may style a lazy sort of day, and the anglers felt lazy, and so did the fish, for, although they saw the baits which were held temptingly before their noses, they refused to bite. Trout in those regions are not timid. We speak from personal experience. They saw Larry and Bunco sitting astride the trunk of a fallen tree, with their toes in the water, bending earnestly over the pool, just as distinctly as these worthies saw the fish; but they cared not a drop of water for them! Larry, therefore, sought to beguile the time and entertain his friend by giving him glowing accounts of men and manners in the Green Isle. So this pleasant peaceful day passed by, and Pat’s heart had reached a state of sweet tranquillity, when, happening to bend a little too far over the pool, in order to see a peculiarly large trout which was looking at him, he lost his balance and fell into it, head first, with a heavy plunge, which scattered its occupants right and left! Bunco chuckled immensely as he assisted to haul him out, and even ventured to chaff him a little.
“Yoo’s good for dive, me tink.”
“True for ye, lad,” said Larry, smiling benignantly, as he resumed his seat on the tree-trunk, and squeezed the water out of his garments. “I was always good at that an’ it’s so hot here that I took a sudden fancy to spaik to the fishes, but the dirty spalpeens are too quick for me. I do belaive they’re comin’ back! Look there at that wan—six pound av he’s an ounce.”
Not only did the six-pounder return to the pool almost immediately after Larry left it, but a large number of his brethren bore him company, and took up their former position as if nothing had happened. Nay, more, the surprise had apparently so far stirred them up and awakened them to a perception of their opportunities, that the six-pounder languidly swallowed Bunco’s hook and was in a moment whisked out of his native pool and landed on the bank,—for the anglers fished with stout cord and unbending rods!
“Musha! but ye’ve got ’im,” exclaimed Larry.
“Yoos better take noder dive,” suggested his friend.
“Hooroo!” shouted Larry, as he whipped another large fish out of the pool.
This, however, was the last for some time. The trout, ere long, appeared to have settled down into their former lazy condition, and the anglers’ hopes were sinking, when it suddenly occurred to the Irishman, that if the fish were stirred up with a pole they might be again roused to an appreciation of their advantages. Accordingly a pole was cut, the trout were judiciously stirred up, and several of them actually took the bait in the course of the afternoon—whether under the influence of the unwonted excitement we do not pretend to say, but certain it is that before sunset an excellent dish was secured for supper!
Equally peaceful and pleasant were the experiences of our hero and the trapper on that tranquil day. They wandered about in a state of silent happiness all the forenoon; then they shot a grizzly bear,
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