The Young Alaskans on the Missouri by Emerson Hough (world best books to read .TXT) 📖

they heard in the darkness not far away the tremulous note of a screech owl, repeated again a moment later. Jesse stopped talking, turning his head. Rob laughed: “That’s Uncle Dick now!” he said, in a low tone; and answered with an owl call just like the one they had heard. They heard a laugh in the dark, and from behind the tent stepped Uncle Dick.

“How!” said he.

“How!” said each of the boys gravely. Rob made the Indian sign of “sit down”—his fist struck down on the robe that was spread by the little fire.

Their companion sat down, not saying a word. Pretty soon he began to talk in “sign talk,” the boys all watching closely.

“Me. Gone. Two sleeps. I come here, now, me. Sun comes up. We go. We. Cross water. Horse—four. Ah! Two——”

Uncle Dick broke out laughing. John shook his fingers, loosely, to say, “What’s that?”

“That’s what I don’t know!” Uncle Dick said, laughing again. “I don’t know what the sign is for ‘mule.’ It isn’t elk, or deer, or wolf, or buffalo. Oh, of course, split fingers over another finger—that means ‘Ride horse.’ But that does not mean ‘mule’! And if I put on ears, how’d you know I didn’t mean ‘deer with-big-ears,’ or ‘mule deer,’ and not ‘mule’? The Indians had mule deer, but they didn’t have mules!”

“Yes, they did!” said Jesse. “The Journal says they bought one mule of the Shoshonis, away west of here!”

“Does it? I’d forgotten. Well, I’d like to know where those people got that mule out here, in 1805! I’d have been no more surprised to see a mastodon really walking around out here. Of course, you know that President Jefferson wrote Lewis not to be surprised if he did see the mastodon still living in this unknown country. You see, all of them knew about the mastodon bones found in the Big Lick, Kentucky. They didn’t know a thing about this new world we’d just bought of Napoleon, mastodons, mules, and all.

“Well, anyhow, Billy Williams has his camp five or six miles from here, across, and he has four saddle broncs and two perfectly good mules for the packs—one plumb black and one plumb white—both ex-army mules and I suppose fifty years or so old. I think old Sleepy, the white one, is the wisest animal I ever saw on four legs—I’ve been out with Sleepy before, and with Billy, too. Good outfit, boys—small, no frills, all we need and nothing we don’t.

“I’ve left our outboard motors here in town with a friend. Most wish we hadn’t brought them around. But we’ll see how much time we have when we get done projecting around at the head of the river.

“I can promise you some knotty problems up in there. To me, what’s ahead of us in the next two weeks was the most exciting part of the whole Lewis and Clark trip across.”

“But, Uncle Dick, you promised us some sport—fishing, I mean—trout and grayling.”

“Jesse,” said his uncle, “yes, I did. And being a good Indian myself, I’m going to keep my word to the paleface. We’ll take a week off with Billy’s flivver, if Billy’s mules connect with the flivver; and I’ll promise you, even now, hard hit as every trout water is all through here, the finest trout fishing—and the only grayling fishing—there is left in all America. How does that strike you?”

“Good! Where’s it going to be?” demanded Jesse.

“Never you mind. That’s a secret just yet. Billy knows.”

“And we don’t have to suppose a hundred years have elapsed?”

“No! Now turn in, fellows, or Billy’ll think we’re lazy in the morning.”

CHAPTER XXI THE PACK TRAIN

Before sunup Rob had the camp fire going, while Jesse brought in water and wood and John bent over his cooking. Uncle Dick walked up the river to where he had landed his boat the evening previous, and dropped down closer to the camp. The day still was young when the tent was struck and everything packed aboard the boat, which presently landed them on the farther shore, ready for the next lap of their journey and the new transportation that was now in order.

They were met by their new companion, the young rancher, Billy Williams, who had struck his own camp and brought the animals down to meet them. They found him a quiet, pleasant-spoken young man of perhaps thirty, lean and hardy, dressed much like a farmer except that he wore a pair of well-worn, plain, calfskin chaps to protect his legs in riding—something in which the boys could not imitate him, for they were cut down to their Scout uniforms; which, however, did very well.

They shook hands all around, the young rancher quietly estimating his young charges, and they in turn making up their opinions regarding him, which, needless to say, were not unfavorable, for none were quicker than they to know a good outdoor man when they saw him.

“So this is old Sleepy?” said Jesse, going up to the sleek big white mule that stood with drooping head, the stalk of a thistle hanging out of a corner of his mouth. “He’s fat and strong, isn’t he? What makes him look so sad? And aren’t you afraid he’ll run away? He hasn’t even a halter on him.”

“No, he won’t run away,” replied Billy. “You couldn’t drive him away from the packs. He always comes up every morning to be packed, and he always stands around like he was going to die—but he isn’t. Sleepy’ll live another hundred years, anyhow.

“I never hobble or tie or picket Sleepy at night; he sticks close to old Fox. That’s my horse, the red one. You’d think Fox was going to die, too, but he isn’t. He used to be a cow horse; and a mean one, too, they say; but all at once he reformed and since then he’s led a Christian life, same as Sleepy.

“About that thistle. Sleepy is very fond of thistles—he’ll stop the whole train to eat one. Usually he carries one hanging in his mouth, so’s to eat it when he gets hungry. He’s a wise one, that mule. I’ll bet you, an hour before camp to-night you’ll see him wake up and get frisky; all his tired look is just a bluff. And I’ll bet you, too, you can’t manage to ride ahead of Sleepy on the trail. He never will take the last place on the trail.”

“Why, how’s that?” said Jesse. “I should think he’d like to loaf behind, if he’s so wise.”

“No, Sleepy has got brains. He knows that if he gets a stone in his foot, or if his pack slips, a man is his best friend. So he just goes ahead where folks can see that he’s comfortable. You can’t ride ahead of him; he’ll gallop on and won’t let you pass him; so don’t try.

“Nigger, that other mule, doesn’t care—some one’ll have to keep him moving. I usually carry a little rubber sling shot in my pocket, and when Nigger gets too lazy and begins to straggle off I turn around and peck him one with a pebble. Then you ought to see him get into his place and promise to be good!

“I’ve got quite a pack train, at home on the Gallatin, but your uncle said this was all I was to bring. Can we take all your stuff?”

Uncle Dick smiled at that and showed him the four rolls, neat and compact. “The robes make most of the bulk,” said he.

“Yes. Well, I hope they can keep warm in July,” said Billy.

“But we like ’em,” said Jesse. “It’s more like the old times.”

“Yes. Well, I hope you’ve got some mosquito bar. We’ve still got a few old-time mosquitoes in the valley; but in a week or two now they’ll all be gone.”

“Trust these boys to have what they need, and no more,” said Uncle Dick. “Now fall to and get on the loads while I take back my borrowed skiff.”

Billy looked at the boys dubiously. “Well, I’ll make it the ‘lone packer’ hitch,” said he.

“Oh, they’ll help you,” said Uncle Dick. “They can throw almost any diamond, from the ‘government’ hitch down to the ‘squaw’ hitch. You see, we’ve lived up North a good deal, and learned to pack anything—man, dog, or mule.”

“So? Well, all right.” He turned to Rob. “Better take off side,” he said; “the mules are more used to me for near side. I never blindfold them.”

They began with Sleepy, and soon had two packs in the sling ropes, a third on top, with all ready to lash. Rob asked no questions, but went on, taking slack and cinching at the word. Billy laughed.

“Tried you on the old U. S. hitch,” said he. “None better. Set?”

“All set!”

“Cinch!” Rob put his foot against Sleepy’s far side and drew hard. In a jiffy the ropes flew into the tight diamond and Billy tied off. “She’s a good one!” intoned Rob. Billy laughed again.

“I guess you’ve been there before,” said he.

“How about you boys—can you all ride? My saddle stock’s all quiet, far as I know, but——”

“I think we can get by,” said Rob. “We’re not fancy, but we can ride all day.”

“Well, you try out the lengths of the stirrup leathers for yourselves, and I’ll lace them for you. First let’s get your loose stuff in the panniers on Nigger—I brought along one pair of kyacks, for it’s easier to carry the cooking stuff and the loose grub that way than it is to make up packs in the mantas every day.”

John, who was cook for that week, now began to open and rearrange his kitchen pack; and Rob was standing off side, ready to handle the lash rope, when all at once they heard a snort and the trampling of hoofs.

They turned, to see Jesse just manage to get his seat on one of the horses, which plunged away, his head down, bucking like a good fellow. For a moment or so Jesse hung on, but before anyone could mount and help him he was flung full length, and lay, his arms out, motionless. It all happened in a flash.

They ran to him. At once Rob dragged him up, sitting, in front of him, and dragged his shoulders back, pressing his own knee up and down the boy’s spine. He saw that no bones were broken, and was using some revival methods he had learned on the football field.

“Ouch! Leggo!” said Jesse, after a little. “What’s the matter?”

Rob let him up. He staggered around in a circle two or three times, dazed. “Gee!” said he, laughing at last. “Where’d I drop from?” Then they all laughed, very gladly, seeing he had only been stunned by the fall.

“All right, son?” asked Billy, coming to him anxiously. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know——”

“My fault, sir,” said Jesse, stoutly. “I admit it. I ought to have known more than to mount any Western horse from the right side and not the left. My fault. But, you see, I had the laces loose on the stirrup, so I just thought I’d climb up on the other side and try the length there.”

“You’re right—that’s not safe,” said Billy. “I never knew that cayuse to act bad before. Are you afraid of him now?”

“Naw!” said Jesse, scoffing. “Bring him over—only fasten that leg leather. I’ll ride him.”

“Better let me top him off first.”

“No, sir! He’s in my string and I’ll ride him alone!”

Billy allowed him to try, since he saw that the horse was now over his fright, but he mounted his own horse first and rode alongside, after he had the stirrup fixed. To the surprise of all, the horse now was gentle as a lamb, and Jesse kicked him in the