The Last of the Plainsmen
Page 17
CHAPTER 17.
CONCLUSION
Kitty was not the only cougar brought into camp alive. The ensuing dayswere fruitful of cougars and adventure. There were more wild rides tothe music of the baying hounds, and more heart-breaking canyon slopesto conquer, and more swinging, tufted tails and snarling savage facesin the pinyons. Once again, I am sorry to relate, I had to glance downthe sights of the little Remington, and I saw blood on the stones.Those eventful days sped by all too soon.
When the time for parting came it took no little discussion to decideon the quickest way of getting me to a railroad. I never fullyappreciated the inaccessibility of the Siwash until the question aroseof finding a way out. To return on our back trail would require twoweeks, and to go out by the trail north to Utah meant half as much timeover the same kind of desert. Lawson came to our help, however, withthe information that an occasional prospector or horse hunter crossedthe canyon from the Saddle, where a trail led down to the river.
"I've heard the trail is a bad one," said Lawson, "an' though I neverseen it, I reckon it could be found. After we get to the Saddle we'llbuild two fires on one of the high points an' keep them burnin' wellafter dark. If Mr. Bass, who lives on the other side, sees the fireshe'll come down his trail next mornin' an' meet us at the river. Hekeeps a boat there. This is takin' a chance, but I reckon it's worthwhile."
So it was decided that Lawson and Frank would try to get me out by wayof the canyon; Wallace intended to go by the Utah route, and Jones wasto return at once to his range and his buffalo.
That night round the campfire we talked over the many incidents of thehunt. Jones stated he had never in his life come so near getting his"everlasting" as when the big bay horse tripped on a canyon slope androlled over him. Notwithstanding the respect with which we regarded hisstatement we held different opinions. Then, with the unfailing optimismof hunters, we planned another hunt for the next year.
"I'll tell you what," said Jones. "Up in Utah there's a wild regioncalled Pink Cliffs. A few poor sheep-herders try to raise sheep in thevalleys. They wouldn't be so poor if it was not for the grizzly andblack bears that live on the sheep. We'll go up there, find a placewhere grass and water can be had, and camp. We'll notify thesheep-herders we are there for business. They'll be only too glad tohustle in with news of a bear, and we can get the hounds on the trailby sun-up. I'll have a dozen hounds then, maybe twenty, and alltrained. We'll put every black bear we chase up a tree, and we'll ropeand tie him. As to grizzlies--well, I'm not saying so much. They can'tclimb trees, and they are not afraid of a pack of hounds. If we roundedup a grizzly, got him cornered, and threw a rope on him--there'd besome fun, eh, Jim?"
"Shore there would," Jim replied.
On the strength of this I stored up food for future thought and thusreconciled myself to bidding farewell to the purple canyons and shaggyslopes of Buckskin Mountain.
At five o'clock next morning we were all stirring. Jones yelled at thehounds and untangled Kitty's chain. Jim was already busy with thebiscuit dough. Frank shook the frost off the saddles. Wallace waspacking. The merry jangle of bells came from the forest, and presentlyLawson appeared driving in the horses. I caught my black and saddledhim, then realizing we were soon to part I could not resist giving hima hug.
An hour later we all stood at the head of the trail leading down intothe chasm. The east gleamed rosy red. Powell's Plateau loomed up in thedistance, and under it showed the dark-fringed dip in the rim calledthe Saddle. Blue mist floated round the mesas and domes.
Lawson led the way down the trail. Frank started Old Baldy with thepack.
"Come," he called, "be oozin' along."
I spoke the last good-by and turned Satan into the narrow trail. When Ilooked back Jones stood on the rim with the fresh glow of dawn shiningon his face. The trail was steep, and claimed my attention and care,but time and time again I gazed back. Jones waved his hand till a hugejutting cliff walled him from view. Then I cast my eyes on the roughdescent and the wonderful void beneath me. In my mind lingered apleasing consciousness of my last sight of the old plainsman. He fittedthe scene; he belonged there among the silent pines and the yellowcrags.