CHAPTER VII
Out into the snow we ran, while nearer and nearer sounded that terrificroaring and rumbling; it was as if the round world was being rentasunder. Pitamakan led the way straight back from the river toward thesouth side of the valley, and we had run probably two hundred yardsbefore the noise ceased as suddenly as it had begun. We were quite outof breath, and it was some time before I could ask what had happened.
"Why, don't you know?" he said. "That was a great piece of the ice cliffon the mountain across there. It broke off and came tearing down intothe valley. Trees, boulders, everything in its way were smashed andcarried down. I thought that it was going to bury our lodge."
Pitamakan wanted to make an early start in the morning to view the pathof the avalanche, but I insisted that we stay at home and work harduntil the things that we needed so much were finished. I had my way.
Ever since the day of the elk killing, we had kept one of the big hidesin the river in order to loosen the hair. In the morning we brought itinto the lodge, and laying it over a smooth, hard piece of driftwood,grained it with a heavy elk rib for a graining-knife. It was very hardwork. Although we sharpened an edge of the rib with a piece of sandstoneand kept it as sharp as possible, we had to bear down on it with all ourstrength, pushing it an inch or two at a time in order to separate thehair from the skin. Taking turns, we were half a day in finishing thejob.
We cut the hide into two parts. Of these, we dried one, and cut theother into webbing-strings for snowshoes--tedious work with our obsidianknives. As soon as the half hide was dry, I rubbed elk brains and liverwell into it, and then, rolling it up, laid it away for a couple ofdays until the mixture could neutralize the large amount of glue that isin all hides. After that operation, I spent half a day in washing thehide and then rubbing and stretching it as it dried. I had then a verygood piece of elk leather,--so-called "buckskin,"--enough for four pairsof moccasins.
These Pitamakan and I made very large, so that they would go over therabbit-skins with which we wrapped our feet as a protection from thecold. Our needle for sewing them was a sharp awl made from a piece of anelk's leg bone; the thread was of elk sinew.
_O-wam_ (shape of eggs) is the Blackfoot name for snowshoes. Those thatwe made were neither shaped like an egg nor like anything else. The bowswere of birch, and no two were alike, and the webbing was woven on themin a way to make a forest Indian laugh. Neither Pitamakan's people northe other tribes of the plains knew anything about snowshoes except ina general way, and I had never seen a pair. All things considered,however, we did a fairly good job. If the shoes were heavy and clumsy,at least they were serviceable, for they sank only a few inches in thesnow when we tested them.
The evening we finished this work another snowstorm came on, whichlasted two nights and a day, and forced us to postpone our hunt. Weemployed the time in improving the interior of the lodge by building aheavier stone platform for the fire, one that would give offconsiderable heat after we went to sleep.
In order to create a draft for the fire, we were forced to admit someair through the doorway, and this chilled us. Finally, I remembered thatI had seen in the Mandan lodges screens several feet high, put betweenthe doorway and the fire, in order to force the cold air upward.
We made one at once of poles, backed with earth, and then, building asmall fire, sat down on our bed to see how it worked; no more cold airswept across the floor, and we were absolutely comfortable. But in thenight, although the stones gave out some heat, we were obliged toreplenish the fire as soon as it died down. What we needed in order tohave unbroken sleep was bedding. Pitamakan said that one animal here,the white mountain goat, had a warmer, thicker coat of fur than thebuffalo. We determined to get some of the hides and tan them into softrobes.
The morning after the storm broke clear and cold, but my partner refusedto go up into the high mountains after goats.
"We must put it off and do something else to-day," he said. "I had avery bad dream last night--a confused dream of a bear and a goat, onebiting and clawing me, and the other sticking its sharp horns into myside. Now either that is a warning not to hunt goats to-day, or it is asign that the bearskin that we are sleeping on is bad medicine. This isnot the first bad dream that I have had since lying on it."
"My dreams have all been good since we began sleeping on it," I said.
"Then use it by yourself; I shall not sleep on it again."
"Oh, dreams don't mean anything!" I exclaimed. "White people pay noattention to them."
"That is because your gods give you different medicine from that ourgods give us," he said, very seriously. "To us is given the dream; inthat way our gods show us the things we may and may not do. Do not speaklightly of it, lest you bring harm to me."
I had sense enough to heed his wish; never afterward, either by word orlook, did I cast even a shadow of doubt upon his beliefs. For thatreason, largely, we got along together in perfect harmony, as allcompanions should.
As there was in his dream nothing about other animals, we put on oursnowshoes and started out to hunt and set traps in the valley. At oddmoments we had been making triggers of different sizes for deadfalls,and now had fifteen ready to use. They were of the "figure 4" pattern;more complicated than the two-piece triggers, but more sure of action.Having with the small ones set deadfalls for marten, fisher, and mink,we went on up the river to the carcasses of the bear and the bull elk.We found that both had been almost entirely eaten by wolverenes, lynxes,and mountain lions. Having built at each of these places a largedeadfall, we weighted the drop-bars so heavily with old logs that therecould be no escape for the largest prowler once he seized the bait.
By the time we had the last of the triggers baited and set up and thelittle pen built behind the drop-bar, night was coming on, and wehurried home. We had seen many tracks of deer, elk, and moose, but hadbeen too busy to hunt any of them. As we neared the lodge, anothersnowstorm set in, but that did not disturb us; in fact, the more snowthe better, for with deep snow the hoofed game of the valley would beunable to escape us. We could choose the fat does and cows for ourwinter's meat. The bucks and bulls were already poor, and the otherswould lose flesh rapidly once they were obliged to "yard," that is, toconfine themselves to their hard-beaten trails in the limited area of awillow patch.
It was a heavy snow that fell in the night, and the next morningsnowshoeing was good. As Pitamakan had had no bad dreams, and the sunwas shining in a clear sky, we started out for a goat hunt. Afterclimbing the mountain-side opposite the lodge for some time, we came toa series of ledges, whence we obtained a fine view of the country whichwe were living in. The mountain which we were on was high and verysteep. Not far below its summit was the big ice field, terminating atthe edge of a cliff, from which a great mass had tumbled, and startedthe avalanche that had frightened us.
Turning to the east and pointing to the backbone of the range, Pitamakantold me to notice how absolutely white it all was except theperpendicular cliffs, where snow could not lie. There was no questionbut that the snow was a great deal deeper up there than where we were.
I thought that there was a longing in Pitamakan's eyes as he gazed atthe tremendous wall of rock and snow that separated us from the plainsand from our people, but as he said nothing, I kept quiet. For myself, Ifelt that I would give anything, suffer any hardships, if I could onlyget once more to Fort Benton and my uncle. True, we now had acomfortable lodge and plenty of elk meat, weapons for killing game,snowshoes for traveling, and the outlook for more comforts wasfavorable. But for all that, the future was very uncertain; there weremany things that might prevent our ever reaching the Missouri; allnature was arrayed against us, and so was man himself.
Pitamakan roused me from my reverie by a tap on the shoulder.
"I can see no goat signs here above us," he said, "but look over thereat the ledges well up on the next mountain to the east. Do you see thefresh trails?"
I did. In the smooth, glittering snow they were
startlingly distinct intheir windings and turnings from clump to clump of the pines on therocky ledges. None of the animals that made them were in sight, but thatwas not strange; as they were of practically the same color as the snow,we could not see them at that distance except when they happened to getin front of the dark pines or rock. Although the distance over there wasnot more than a mile in a straight line, a cut gorge between the twomountains obliged us to return to the river before making the ascent,which more than doubled the distance.
After striking the river, we followed it up past the mouth of the gorge,past three of the deadfalls set near the shore. The first one held afine, large, dark-furred marten, its body nipped across the shouldersand crushed by the drop-bar. Taking the little victim out, and hangingit in a tree, we reset the trap. The next deadfall was unsprung. Thethird, one of the big falls, was down, and we hurried as fast as wecould to see what it held.
"A lynx," I ventured.
"A wolverene," Pitamakan guessed.
We were both wrong. Pinned down by the neck was a big mountain lion, tous the most valuable of all the animals of the forest. The Blackfeet, aswell as the Crows and Gros Ventres, prized the skins very highly for useas saddle-robes--we could get at least four horses for this one. Takingsuch a prize made us feel rich. Leaving it in the fall until our return,we turned off from the river and began the ascent of the mountain inhigh spirits.
For a time the going was good, although increasingly difficult. Afterwe had passed through the big timber, the mountain became more and moresteep, until it was impossible for us to go farther on snowshoes. Takingthem off, we wallowed up through the deep snow from ledge to ledge,keeping away from the clumps of stunted pine as much as possible, for inthem the snow lay deepest and was most fluffy.
The weather was bitterly cold, but we were warm enough, even perspiringfrom our exertions. Much as we needed to stop and rest at frequentintervals, it was impossible to do so, for the instant we halted webegan to shiver. More than once we were on the point of giving up thehunt, but each time the thought of what a few goat hides meant to usstrengthened our legs to further endeavor.
I never envied a bird more than I did one that I saw that day. A Clark'scrow it was, raucous of voice and insolent, that kept flying a shortdistance ahead of us and lighting on the pines, where it pretended topick kernels out of the big cones. If we could only fly like that, Ikept thinking, within a moment's time we could be right on the goats.
Strange as it may seem, there was more bird life on that bleak, coldheight than in the forest below. One variety of small, sweet singers,flying all round us in large flocks, was especially numerous. I wonderedwhat they could be. Long years afterward an ornithologist told me thatthey were gray-crowned finches--arctic birds that love the winter coldand are happiest in a snowdrift.
We saw, too, many chattering flocks of Bohemian waxwings, also visitorsfrom the arctic regions. Most interesting of all were the ptarmigan,small, snow-white grouse with jet-black eyes, bill, and toes. Neverdescending to the valleys, either for food or shelter, they live on thehigh, bare mountains the year round. They are heavily feathered clearto the toes, so that their feet cannot freeze; and at night, and by day,too, in severe weather, instead of roosting in the dwarf pines theyplunge down into soft snow, tunnel under the surface for several feet,and then tramp a chamber large enough to sit in. These birds were verytame, and often allowed us to get within fifteen or twenty feet of thembefore flying or running away. Some were saucy and made a great fuss atour approach, cocking up their tails and cackling, and even making afeint of charging us.
At last we came walking out on a ledge that ended at the side of a biggouge in the mountain, and on the far verge of it saw a goat, a big oldfellow, sitting at the edge of a small cliff. It was sitting down on itshaunches, just as a dog does. Should you see a cow, a sheep, or anyherbivorous animal do that, you would think his position extremelyludicrous. In the case of the goat, because of its strange and uncouthshape, it is more than ludicrous; it is weird. The animal has a long,broad-nosed head, set apparently right against its shoulders; a long,flowing beard hangs from its chin; its withers are extremely high, andits hams low, like those of the buffalo. Its abnormally long hairflutters round its knees like a pair of embroidered pantalets, and riseseight or ten inches in length above the shoulders. The tail is short,and so heavily haired that it looks like a thick club. Its round,scimitar-shaped black horns rise in a backward curve from the thick,fuzzy coat, and seem very small for the big, deep-chested animal.
The goat was almost as new to Pitamakan as to me.
"What is the matter with it?" he exclaimed. "Do you think it is sick, orhurt?"
"He looks as if he felt very sad," I replied.
And truly the animal did look very dejected, its head sunk on itsbrisket, its black eyes staring vacantly at the valley far below, as ifit were burdened with all the pains and sorrows of the ages.
We were so interested in watching it that at first we did not see theothers, thirteen in all, scattered close round on the little ledgesabove him. Some were standing, others lying down. One big old "billy"lay under a low-branched dwarf pine, and now and then would raise itshead, bite off a mouthful of the long, coarse needles, and deliberatelychew them. We had come out in plain view of the band, and now wonderedthat they had not seen us and run away.
"Let's back up step by step until we are in the shelter of the pinesback there, then look out a way to get to them," Pitamakan proposed.
On starting to do so, we found that the goats had seen us all the time.Two or three of them turned their heads and stared at us with apparentcuriosity; the old billy at the edge of the cliff gave us one vacantstare, and resumed his brooding; the others paid no attention to ourmovements. Unquestionably they had never seen man before, and did notconsider us enemies because we were not four-legged, like the beaststhat preyed upon them. So instead of backing cautiously, we turned andwalked into the little clump of pines, and beyond them to a deep gutter,where we began the difficult task of stalking the animals. We had toclimb for several hundred yards to a broad ledge, follow it for perhapstwice that distance, and then work our way, as best we could, straightdown to the goats.
That was a terrible climb. As the angle of the mountain was such thatthe climb would have been difficult on bare rock, you can imagine howhard it was to go up in the deep snow. Using our snowshoes for shovelsand taking the lead in turn, we fought our way through, upward, inch byinch. More than once a mass of snow gave way above our gouging, andswept us down a few feet or a few yards. Once Pitamakan was buried sodeep in it that I was obliged to dig him out; he was gasping for breathby the time I uncovered his head.
On the ledge the going was so level that we wore our snowshoes a part ofthe way across, and then, wading to a point directly above the goats, webegan the descent. That was easy. Straight ahead of us the mountaindropped in a series of little shelves, or cliffs, down which we couldeasily climb. Stopping when we thought we were near to the goats, westrung our bows and fitted arrows to them. As I was a poor shot, I tookbut one arrow, to be used only in an emergency. Pitamakan carried theother four.
In a few moments we struck a deep and well-packed goat trail thatmeandered along a shelf thirty, and in places fifty feet wide. Here andthere were clumps of dwarf pine and juniper that prevented our seeingvery far ahead, and Pitamakan gave me the sign to look sharp for thegame.
A moment later, as we followed the trail round some pines, we came faceto face with a big billy-goat. The instant that he saw us he bristled uphis hair and came for us. Did you ever see a wild pig prance out for afight? Well, that is the way that goat came at us--head down andprancing sidewise. I don't know whether we were more surprised orscared; probably scared. The sight of those round, sharp black hornsmade our flesh creep; indeed, the whole aspect of the uncouth animal wasterrifying.
Coming at us head on, there was little chance for an arrow to do anydamage to him.
"Run out that way!" Pitamakan cried, as he gave me a
push. "I'll go thisway!"
There was not any running about it; we waddled to one side and the otherfrom the canon-like trail out into the deep snow, and it was remarkablewhat progress we made. As I said, the goat came prancing toward us, notjumping full speed, as he might have done, so that we had plenty of timeto get out of the trail.
When he came opposite he seemed undecided what to do next. We did notgive him time to make up his mind. Pitamakan let fly an arrow, while Istood ready to shoot if need be. But Pitamakan's shaft sped true; theold billy flinched and humped himself, threw up his head with a pitiful,silly expression of surprise, and dropped in his tracks. We waded backinto the trail and examined our prize; such heavy, thick, long hair andfleece I had never seen on any other animal. At the base of the sharphorns were black, warty, rubber-like excrescences. "Smell them!"Pitamakan bade me, and I did. They gave off an exceedingly rank odor ofmusk.
Pitamakan now pulled out the arrow; it had evidently pierced the heart.He proposed that we go after the band and kill as many as possible; weneeded at least four large, or six small skins for a good bed-robe.
"Well, come on, lead the way," I said.
He held up his hand, and I could see his eyes grow big as if from fear."What is it?" I asked.
He did not answer, but stood anxiously looking this way and that, andsoon I, too, heard the faint, remote droning noise that had alarmed him.We looked at the mountain above us, and at others near and far, butthere was nowhere any sign of an avalanche.
The droning noise became louder and deeper, filling us with dread allthe more poignant because it was impossible to determine the cause.
"The old medicine-men told the truth!" said Pitamakan. "These mountainsare no place for the Blackfeet. The gods that dwell here are not ourgods, and they do strange and cruel things to us plains people when theyget the chance."
I had nothing to say. We listened; the droning grew louder; it seemedall about us, and yet we could see nothing unusual.
"Come on! Let's get away from here!" Pitamakan cried.
With the Indians in the Rockies Page 9
