The Young Alaskans on the Trail, Emerson Hough [tharntype novel english .TXT] 📗

hinder us as yet from dropping down and watching carefully on ahead as we go.”

Rob was again consulting his inevitable copy of Mackenzie’s Voyages.

“It took Mackenzie and Fraser each of them just eight days to get this far up the river from the west end of the Cañon of the Rocky Mountains,” said he. “Fraser must have built his boat somewhere west of the Rocky Mountain Portage, as they call it. That must be seventy-five miles east of here, as near as I can figure it from the Mackenzie story, but Uncle Dick’s friend, Mr. Hussey, said it was one hundred and thirty miles—and only two big rapids, the Finlay and the Parle Pas. I wish we could run it every foot, because Mackenzie did when he came down. At least, he doesn’t say he didn’t.”

“It was done by the traders for a long time,” said Alex, “all but those two rapids and that cañon. There is no trail even for horses between Hudson’s Hope and Fort St. John, but that is easy water. They serve St. John now with steamboats, and the old canoe days are pretty much over. But, anyhow, there is the main ridge of the Rockies east of us, and we’ve got to get through it somehow, that’s sure. Back there”—he pointed up the valley down which they had been coming now for so long—“we were between two ranges of the divide. The Finlay yonder comes down out of some other range to the northwest. But now the doubled river has to break through that dam of the eastern rim. I suppose we may look for bad water somewhere. Look here,” he added, examining the map, “here are the altitudes all marked on by the government surveyors—twenty-five hundred feet above sea-level at Giscombe Portage, twenty-two hundred and fifty at Fort McLeod. I suppose it was about three thousand feet where we started across. At the mouth of the Finlay it’s only two thousand feet—a big drop. But she drops nearly three hundred feet more to the west end of the portage, and two hundred feet more at the east end. That’s going downhill pretty fast—five hundred feet in less than one hundred and fifty miles—and some of it not very fast water.”

“Well,” ventured Rob, “why don’t we drop down as far as we can, and if we get caught by a flood then stop and take a little hunt somewhere back in the hills? You know, we haven’t got that grizzly yet you promised us.”

“Sure enough,” said Alex, with no great enthusiasm; for he did not relish the idea of hunting grizzly bear in company with such young companions.

“But we have come through good grizzly country already,” ventured John.

“Very likely,” Alex smiled. “I’ve seen considerable bear sign along the shores, as well as a good many moose tracks close to where we camped.”

“If you think we’re afraid to go bear hunting, Alex,” Rob began, “you certainly don’t know us very well. That’s one of the reasons we came on this trip—we wanted to get a real Rocky Mountain grizzly.”

“It is not too late,” the old hunter rejoined, “and I shouldn’t wonder if there was as good country east of here as any we’ve come to. The grizzly is a great traveler, anyhow, and is as apt to be found one place as another. At this time of year all the bears come out of the mountains and feed along the valleys on red willow buds and such things. They even swim from the shore to the islands, in search of willow flats. Besides, there are plenty of saskatoons, I don’t doubt, not far back from the river. The bears ought to be down out of the high country by this time, and if you really care for a hunt, there ought to be plenty of good places below here.”

“It isn’t dark yet,” said Rob; “suppose we break camp and run down just a little farther this evening. If the flood comes in behind us, we’re just that much ahead.”

They acted on Rob’s suggestion, and, passing rapidly on down the now slightly discolored water, they soon left the Finlay gap behind them. Their journey was but brief, however, for soon they heard the boom of the rapids below them.

“On shore, queek!” called Moise to Rob, who was in the bow of the leading boat.

XV IN THE BIG WATERS

The sound and sight of the Finlay rapids, at the head of which the leading boat now paused, gave Rob his first real idea of how wicked a great mountain river can be. He looked back to see whether the Jaybird and her crew were well warned of the danger. But Alex soon brought the other boat alongside at the landing place, on the south side of the stream, above the rapids.

“Well, here we are,” said he. “Now you may see what some real rapids are. Those little ripples up above didn’t amount to much.”

“She looks pretty bad,” said Rob. “Could anybody run a boat through there?”

“Old Sir Alexander probably did it, but he had a big birch-bark. I’d take it on with a good man and a good boat. We could very possibly even get one of these boats through if we were obliged to, but there is no use taking any risk. We can line down through the worst of it, or even run the boat ashore if we like.”

“Me, I’ll rather ron the rapeed than walk on the bank with boat,” said Moise.

“Never mind, Moise,” said Alex, “we’ll not have to walk far with her. We’ll camp here to-night and look it over in the morning. It’s always better to tackle rough work in the morning rather than in the evening.”

The young travelers slept none too well that night. The sound of the rapids coming through the dark and the feeling of remoteness here in this wild mountain region proved depressing to their spirits. They were glad enough when at length toward dawn they heard Moise stirring about the camp. By the time they had their breakfast finished and camp broken Alex had already returned from a trip along the side of the rapids.

“It’s not so very bad,” said he, “although the river has come up an inch or so during the night. The whole rapid is about a quarter of a mile long, but the worst place is only a couple of hundred yards or so. We’ll drop down to the head of that strip on the line and portage around there.”

They followed this plan, loading the boats and dropping down for a short time, saving themselves all the portage work they could. In places the water seemed very wild, tossing over the rocks in long, rolling waves or breaking in foam and spray. The boys scrambled alongshore, allowing Alex and Moise to care for the first boat when it became necessary for them to double up on each trip over the worst water. Part of the time they bore a hand on the line, and were surprised to see the strength of the current even on a boat without a load.

“You see,” said Alex, when at length they came to a place where the water seemed still more powerful and rough, and where it seemed necessary to haul the boat entirely from the water for a carry of some distance over the rocks, “it’s better to take a little trouble and go slow rather than to lose a boat in here. If she broke away from us we’d feel a long way from home!”

After they got the Mary Ann again in the water and at the foot of the rapids, the men went up after the Jaybird, while the boys did what they could toward advancing the cargo of the Mary Ann. In less than an hour they had everything below the rapids and saw plain sailing once more ahead of them. Moise expressed his disappointment at not being allowed to run the Finlay rapids.

“My onkle, she’ll always ron those rapeed,” said he. “S’pose I’ll tell heem I’ll walk aroun’, he’ll laugh on me, yes!”

“That’s all right, Moise,” said Rob; “your uncle isn’t here, and for one, I’m glad we took it easy coming through here. That’s rough water either way you look at it, up-stream or down. But now,” he continued, once more consulting his maps and notes, “we ought to have a couple of days of good, straightaway running, with almost no bad water. It’s about seventy miles from here to the Parle Pas rapids. And speaking of rapids, they tell me that’s the worst place on the whole river.”

“That’s a funny name—why do they call them the Parle Pas rapids?” asked Jesse.

“Those were Frenchman words,” said Moise. “Parle Pas means ‘no speak.’ He’s a quiet rapeed. S’pose you’ll ron on the river there, an’ smoke a pipe, an’ talk, an’ not think of nothing. All at once, Boum! You’ll been in those rapeed, an’ he’ll not said a word to you!”

“Well,” said Rob, “the traders used to run them somehow, didn’t they?”

“Yes, my onkle he’ll ron them in beeg boat many tam, but not with leetle boat. She’ll jump down five, three feet sometams. Leetle boat she’ll stick his nose under, yes. My onkle he’ll tol’ me, when you come on the Parle Pas take the north side, an’ find some chute there for leetle boat. Leetle boat could ron the Parle Pas, maybe so, but I suppose, us, we’ll let those boat down on the line because we’ll got some scares, hein?”

“It’s just as well to have some scares on these mountain rivers, Moise,” said Alex, reprovingly. “This water is icy cold, and if even a man got out into the rapids he couldn’t swim at all, it would tumble him over so. We’ll line down on the Parle Pas, yes, depend on that. But that’s down-stream a couple of days if we go slow.”

“When do we get that bear hunt, Alex?” asked John, who loved excitement almost as much as Moise.

“Almost anywhere in here,” answered Alex; “but I think we’d better put off the hunt until we get below all the worst water. No use portaging bear hides.”

“It looks like good bear country here,” said Rob. “We must be in the real Rockies now, because the mountains come right down to the river.”

“Good bear country clear to Hudson’s Hope, or beyond that,” assented Alex.

“All right,” said Rob; “we’ll have a good hunt somewhere when we get below the Parle Pas. If we have to do any more portaging, we don’t want to carry any more than we can help, that’s true. And, of course, we’re going to get that grizzly.”

Having by this time reloaded the boats, they re-embarked, and passed merrily on down the river, which now seemed wholly peaceful and pleasant. The mountains now indeed were all about them, in places rising up in almost perpendicular rock faces, and the valley was very much narrower. They were at last entering the arms of the great range through which they later were to pass.

The character of the river changed from time to time. Sometimes they were in wide, quiet reaches, where they needed the paddles to make much headway. Again there would be drops of faster water, although nothing very dangerous. Relieved as they were now of any thought of danger for the next sixty or seventy miles ahead, this part of their journey seemed delightful in every way. They did not pause to hunt, and saw no game excepting one band of four timber wolves, upon which they came as they swept around a bend, but which hastened under cover before any one could get a shot. Once in a while they stopped at little beaches or bars,