Boy Scouts in Glacier Park

by Walter Prichard Eaton

  CHAPTER VII--Joe Gets Acquainted with Porcupines, the Diamond Hitch,and Switchback Trails

  Some hours later the boys were awakened by a tremendous clatter justoutside the tent. They both sprang up and rushed out. It was pitch dark,the last ember of the fire had died, and they could see nothing. Butthey could hear something scampering away in the underbrush.

  "Is it a bear?" Joe whispered. "Gee, I wish they'd let you have a gun inthe Park!"

  Tom jumped into the tent and lit the lantern. By its dim rays, they sawwhat had made the clatter. Half their little stock of canned goods andother provisions had been knocked down off the shelf Joe had built.

  "I know--porcupines!" Spider cried. "Remember, Big Bertha told us tolook out for 'em."

  They carried their provisions back into the tent, and went to sleepagain.

  Tom was the first up. Joe heard him muttering and exclaiming outside thetent, and crawled out to see what was the matter.

  "Matter? Matter?" Spider shouted. "Look at this--and this!"

  He held up his sweater in one hand, and one of the scout axes in theother. One entire sleeve of the sweater was gone, and the handle of theaxe was so chewed up that it was practically useless.

  "Holy smoke, what did that?"

  Before Tom could answer, there was a movement in the undergrowth, andboth boys sprang toward it. There, sure enough, was the culprit--a fatporcupine, surprised by their quick descent, and backing away from themwith every quill rigid and ready for business. Tom grabbed a heavystick, and was about to hit it, when Joe stopped him.

  "Wait a minute--I want to see it work," he said. "I want to see if theyreally throw their quills. You keep him here."

  Joe quickly hunted up a rotten stick, and gingerly poked it at theporcupine, which bit at the end viciously, and filled it full of quills,but he certainly didn't "shoot" them. The stick had to touch them firstbefore they came out.

  "There, now you see the story's a fake," Tom cried, "so good-night,Pork,--you'll pay for my sweater, you beast, you!"

  He brought his club down on the poor animal's head, and laid it out.

  "I kind of hate to see him killed," said Joe.

  "I hate to kill animals myself, but we got to keep our sweaters andaxes," Tom answered. "We'll make an Indian belt, or something, of thequills, and send it home to the kids."

  They were still talking about the porcupine as they got breakfast.

  "Don't seem as though a woollen sweater sleeve and a wooden axe handlewere exactly what you'd call nourishing," said Joe.

  "I'd rather have bacon," Tom laughed. "He looks fat, too."

  As they were speaking, they heard steps in the woods, and a second latera tall, thin, tanned man in a khaki-colored uniform, with leather ridinggaiters and a wide-brimmed felt hat, appeared in their little clearing.The two scouts rose quickly, in surprise.

  "Hello, boys," the man said, as his blue eyes took in them and everydetail of the camp at a single piercing glance, "goin' to have porcupinefor breakfast?"

  "He'll never have my sweater for breakfast again!" Tom replied.

  The man laughed--or, rather, he smiled. It was really a kind of insidelaugh, noiseless. Even his voice was low, so you had to listen sharplyto hear what he was saying.

  "They'll eat the clothes off your back if you let 'em," said he.

  "But why do they eat such--such dry stuff? It's worse than patentbreakfast food without cream," said Joe.

  "Salt," the man replied. "They'll eat anything a man or a horse hastouched, to get it salty with perspiration--an axe handle, for instance.I knew a lumber jack once who had a grudge against a feller, so he putsalt on his cabin roof, and the porcs came in the night and ate the roofmost off. There come a rain the next day, too."

  The boys laughed. They wanted to ask their visitor who he was, butdidn't see quite how to bring it about. Finally Tom said, "Won't--won'tyou have some breakfast?"

  "Had mine," the man answered. "Might take a cup of coffee, though. Yourssmells good."

  He sat down on the log which was serving the boys as a chair, firsteasing his belt holster, which held a 38-calibre automatic.

  "He must be a Park Ranger," Tom whispered to Joe. "Nobody else can carryarms in the Park, they say."

  Joe brought him a cup of coffee, and as he took it, he said, "Well,boys, I hear you're goin' to look after the tepee camp. Thought I'd comedown to inspect you. I'm the Ranger for this district. Mills is my name.My cabin's just up the trail a piece toward Swift Current. Let me knowif I can do anything for you."

  "Thank you, sir," said Joe. "Some time, if you--you'd----"

  He hesitated, turning red at the boldness of his demand.

  The Ranger waited in silence, only keeping a pale blue eye on his face,but a kindly eye.

  "----if you'd show me how to throw a diamond hitch."

  "Is that all?" said the Ranger, with one of his silent laughs. "Ithought you were goin' to ask me for a thousand dollars. I can show youthe diamond hitch 'most any time. I'm packing off to-day, about ten.Come around and get a lesson. Ride a horse, either of you?"

  "Well, we ride just a little--farm horses out to plowing, and thingslike that," Spider replied.

  "I have an extra horse. Maybe one of you'll come along with me some daywhen you both ain't needed in the camp. If you can always make coffeelike this I'd like you along."

  "Joe's the cook," Tom said. "He can go any time. It's I who am runningthe camp. He's just loafing and getting well. He's been sick."

  "Well, Joe, you come out to my cabin at ten, and you can see me throw ahitch," the Ranger said, getting up, "and ride up the trail with me aspell, if you want."

  Joe's eyes grew big with excitement. "I'll be there!" he cried.

  The Ranger went back again, and the two scouts looked at each other.

  "Say, he's some prince!" Joe exclaimed. "But I don't like to be gettingthe first ride ahead of you. I wouldn't do it, only if I learn to ride,and tie a pack on, maybe I can get a job as cook."

  "Go to it, old scout," Tom answered. "That's what we came here for."

  After breakfast Tom went over to the chalets to report and to do somework around the camp, and before ten o'clock Joe was at the Ranger's logcabin.

  Mills, the Ranger, had three horses out of the little stable behind, andwas putting a saddle on the largest horse.

  "Go get the other saddle from the stable, and let's see you put it onyour horse," he said.

  Joe brought the saddle, a regular western saddle, with the high back andthe horn in front, and did his best to get it on. The Ranger watched hima minute, and then showed him how to cinch it properly and tight.

  "Don't be afraid to pull it hard," he said. "The old nag'll lose some ofhis belly before he gets home, and if you've not cinched it tight yoursaddle will slip."

  Mills now put a saddle blanket on the third horse, and then a packsaddle, which is a framework of wood, arranged like a saddle underneathwith a cinch belt under the belly and a broad canvas belt extendingaround the back and under the tail. After this is put on the horse thewooden frame of the saddle makes a kind of platform on each side to restthe pack upon. The Ranger now brought out his stuff--dunnage bags, anaxe, blankets, a canvas covering, and a long rope.

  "You hold his head," said he to Joe, "and talk to him real kind, while Ihang the bags on."

  One bag was hung on one side, one on the other, to balance the pack, andthen, while the horse tried to do a one-step on Joe's toes with hisfront legs, and kick Mills in the stomach with his hind legs, the Rangerthrew the blankets on top, done up in a flat roll, over the wholesaddle, and covered them with the tarpaulin. Finally, he took the longrope, which Joe saw had a canvas band and strap on one end, and fastenedthis strap, like a cinch, around the horse's belly.

  "Now," said he, "we are ready to throw a hitch. Come here and help.We'll throw a double one, because that's stronger."

  Joe soon saw that the process consists of weaving the rope back andforth under the sides of the saddle and then crossway
s over the top, insuch a way that when it is done the strands of rope, from above, wouldbe seen to make a diamond. Each time the rope was passed over to Mills,he took the end, braced one foot against the horse, and pulled it taut.Joe did the same on his side.

  "Won't I hurt the horse?" he asked.

  The Ranger laughed. "I give you leave, if you can," he said.

  When the rope was all used, Mills fastened the end, went over the wholething with his hand, testing it to see if it was tight, and thenfinished by giving the horse a resounding slap.

  "That's the way you have to finish," he said, "or the horse wouldn'tthink you were through."

  "I wouldn't think the horse would like to be packed much," Joesuggested.

  "Never knew one that did," Mills replied. "Lots o' times, while you'rethrowing the hitch, that canvas band under the tail works up and sort o'tickles the horse, and then, Oh, Boy, look out! Your plug'll buck, and apackhorse don't reckon he's done a real good job o' buckin' till he'scovered about three square acres of ground, and deposited canned beef,tea, syrup, blankets, axes, coffee-pots and a few other things entirelyover said area. Then, when you cinch him tight before you start, too,he's likely to feel that's goin' to interfere with his digestion, andstart buckin'. A packhorse is an ornery critter."

  But this horse, now he was packed, was quiet as a kitten, waiting forthe party to start. The Ranger called to Joe's horse, which had wanderedaway.

  "Now mount," said Mills.

  Joe, on the right side of his horse, started to put his right foot intothe stirrup, and the horse shied away from him, almost spilling him onthe ground.

  "First lesson," said the Ranger. "Never get on a horse from the right.Some of 'em don't mind, but most of 'em do. No use tempting Providence."

  Joe came around to the left side, and grasping the horse by the mane andthe saddle horn, swung himself up.

  "Now, just stand up as straight-legged as you can, and see how manyfingers you can put between your saddle and the crotch of your legs."

  "Two," said Joe. "Oughtn't my stirrups to be shorter?"

  "If you want to ride like a bally British monkey, or a jockey, yes,"Mills answered. "If you want to ride like a regular human bein', they'rejust right. Let's see you trot."

  Joe tightened the reins and gave his horse a jab with his heels, and theanimal started off with abrupt suddenness, at a sharp trot. Poor Joebegan to bob up and down, and bang the base of his spine against thesaddle. He tried to rise on his toes with the motion of the horse, butthat, he felt, only made him the more awkward. The Ranger came upalongside, and passed him.

  "Watch me," he said. "Just barely stand in your stirrups, comfortablelike, bend forward from your hips, and let your body, not your legs,keep the gait."

  He trotted ahead, and Joe saw with admiration that his shoulders hardlybobbed up and down at all. He did his best to imitate him, and after awhile felt as if he were getting on to the hang of it. But they couldn'ttrot far, because the packhorse was following them, all by himself, andif he trotted it shook up his pack too much. So they pulled down to awalk, and climbed the trail, first the Ranger, then Joe, then thepatient packhorse, through woods at first, and across a roaring, racinglittle green river, which foamed up against the horses' legs and madeJoe hold up his feet under him to keep them dry.

  "I'm going over Swift Current Pass," the Ranger said, "and on up theMineral Creek Canon on the other side, and then down into the LittleKootenai River country, to open the trail a bit. You can come with me tothe top of the pass, and pick up some party to bring you back."

  "I wish I could come all the way!" Joe exclaimed.

  Mills laughed another of his silent laughs. "You're ambitious for a sickboy and a tenderfoot," he said. "You'll be sore enough, with fourteenmiles, to-night."

  They were getting out of high timber now, into stunted limber pines,which were covered all over with bright reddish-pink cone buds, likeflowers, and everywhere in the grass and trees around them Joe saw morebeautiful wild flowers, and more kinds of wild flowers, than he had everseen in his life before. It was like riding through a garden, withtremendous red mountain precipices for walls. Beside the trail was theSwift Current River, every now and then widening out into a lovelylittle green lake, and directly ahead of them, at the head of the canyon,rose an almost perpendicular wall of rock for two thousand feet, to alofty shelf, on which Swift Current Glacier, snow-covered now, hung likea gigantic white napkin. To the right was the Egyptian pyramid of MountWilbur. From the glacier, down over the precipice, were falling half adozen white streams of waterfalls, like great silver ribbons. As theygot nearer and nearer to this head wall, and it seemed to rise higherand higher over them, while the walls on each side of them, the oneacross the canyon bright red, also grew higher and higher, Joe began toget nervous.

  "Say," he finally asked, "are we going to _climb_ that?"

  Mills looked back at him with a grin.

  "Sure," he said.

  "Well, I don't see how," Joe answered. "I'm no goat."

  Switchback Trail up Swift Current Pass]

  Mills laughed again, but said no more. Instead, he plodded steadily on,till the great cliff wall seemed about to hit them in the face, and Joecould hear the thunder of the white waterfalls as they leaped andplunged down from the melting glacier two thousand feet over his head.

  Just as he had decided the Ranger was playing a joke on him, for surelynobody could get up those walls, the trail turned sharp to the right,and began to go up.

  Then Joe learned what a Rocky Mountain switchback is.

  A switchback trail can be put up almost any slope that is not actuallyperpendicular, and the slope they were climbing now was not quite that,though to Joe it seemed pretty near it. The trail was about four or fivefeet wide, and was dug right out of the side of the hill. It went up atan angle of about twenty degrees, for perhaps two hundred feet to theright, then it swung sharp left on a steep hairpin turn and ran anothertwo hundred or three hundred feet, took another sharp hairpin turn, andso on up, and up. When Joe had made one of these turns, he could lookright down on the top of the blankets on the packhorse below him.

  "Say," he called up to the Ranger, "what happens to you if your horsefalls off here?"

  "Your horse never falls off," Mills answered. "If he did, you'd probablytake to harp playing. But he won't."

  They climbed up these switchbacks for two thousand feet or so, and thenworked around a shoulder of the mountain so that they couldn't see theglacier any more, but looking back down the canon Joe could see a great,narrow hole, with the green lakes like a string of jewels at the bottom,and at the far end, as blue and level as the ocean, the vast prairie.

  "The prairie looks just like the ocean," he said.

  "Does it?" said the Ranger. "I never saw the ocean. Must be fine."

  In a minute or two they reached the first snow-field. Joe did not wantto appear too green and excited, but he was almost trembling withexcitement, just the same. He had reached the level of summer snow! Hewas above timber-line, or almost above, and here in a great northernhollow was a vast drift, four hundred feet wide and thirty feet deep inthe middle, which Mills said would not melt all summer! Little streamsof water were gushing out from the lower side, and the snow was verysoft and coarse, like rock salt. The trail went right across it, thehorses picking their way carefully over the treacherous footing. Theyclimbed but a little way more, and they were on the top of the pass.

  When you think of a mountain pass, probably, you think of a deep valleyor canyon between the hills, but a pass is not like that at all in thehigh Rockies. In order to get over the Continental Divide (which theIndians called "the backbone of the world"), you have to climb, and thepass is simply a point on this spine which is not quite so high as otherpoints, and can be reached, moreover, from the base. Joe found himselfin a little meadow which was full of stunted pine trees, the last of thetimber, with snowdrifts, and with bright gold dog-tooth violets, some ofthem coming right up and blossoming through two inche
s of snow. Oneither side of him, the Divide rose up perhaps another five hundred or athousand feet, in pyramids of naked rock. Ahead, to the west, he couldsee a great hole, where the Divide dropped down on the other side, andten miles away across this hole a wonderful sharp-peaked mountain allcovered with snow, and looking like the pictures of the Alps in his oldgeography.

  "What's that mountain?" he asked.

  "Heaven's Peak," said the Ranger. "Good name for it, eh?"

  "It sure is!" said Joe.

  Mills stopped the horses in a little grassy glade, sheltered from thewind by a group of stunted pines, and unslung the packs.

  "You're going to make me some more of that coffee," he laughed, openingone of his dunnage bags.

  While Joe was building the fire, Mills pointed up the great slope ofnaked, tumbled rocks to the south. "Climb up there some day," said he,"and down the other side, and you'll get on top of the Divide aboveSwift Current Glacier. It's narrow--just a knife blade, and all alongthe centre of it you'll see a game trail."

  While they were eating lunch, Joe was amused to see the groundsquirrels--hundreds of them, it seemed--come up out of their holes inthe grass and look at the intruders. They sat up on their hind legs,pressed their front paws against their stomachs, and made a _cheeping_noise, almost like birds.

  "Looks as if they were mechanical toys," Joe laughed, "and had tosqueeze their middles to get a sound."

  He put a piece of bread down side of him, to fill his cup again, andwhen he went to pick it up, it wasn't there--it was vanishing into ahole!

  "Mechanical toy, eh?" the Ranger grinned. "Pretty smart mechanism!"

  Before they were through lunch, another party appeared from the west,coming up into the pass, and dismounting. This was a regular touristparty of men and women, with two cowboy guides.

  "I thought they'd be along," said Mills. "I'm going to send you backwith them. And now here's what I really brought you for--I'll be gonethree or four days, and somebody's got to look after Popgun (that's thehorse you're riding). How'd you like to feed him every day, and give himsome water, and a bit o' exercise, just around the lake, mind you. Idon't want you riding off alone on the trails."

  Joe gasped with surprise and delight. "You--you mean it?" he asked.

  "Sure I mean it. Don't take me long to size folks up. I like you boys,and maybe we can help each other. Pretty lonely in my cabin, you know."

  Mills gave him directions about the feed, and then went over and spoketo one of the guides. When he came back, he said to Joe, "Now, let's seeyou throw a diamond hitch."

  Joe did his best, but he had to have help.

  "I could get it with two or three more tries, I bet!" he cried. "Then Icould get a job as cook with a party, maybe."

  "There's a rope in the barn. You can be practicing," the Ranger laughed."So long."

  "Good-bye, sir," Joe answered, as the lean Ranger swung into his saddle,called to his packhorse as if it were a dog, and disappeared down thetrail to the west, the faithful packhorse plodding on behind.

  The other party were a long time about their meal, and Joe climbed partway up the peak to the south, getting above the last timber, whichconsisted of tiny, twisted trees not over two feet high, and some ofthem growing along the very ground. Up here he found beautiful, tinyAlpine flowers in the rock crannies, he started up what looked like abig black and gray woodchuck, and which he later learned was a whistlingmarmot, and he came upon a bird, something like a partridge, but thesame gray color as the rocks. This bird was followed by six littlefluffy chicks, which went scuttering away with shrill little peeps intothe maze of stones, and ten feet away couldn't be seen, so like thestones were they.

  "That's protective coloring," Joe thought. "Wonder why they are coloredthat way?"

  He was later to learn that this was a ptarmigan hen and her chicks, thelargest bird which lives above timber in these mountains. No doubt it iscolored like the rocks to protect it from the eye of foxes, eagles, andother foes.

  Joe didn't dare climb any higher, though he longed to get to the top,which now rose steep above him. He felt perfectly well, too, and theclimbing didn't make him cough. But he saw the party was packing upagain, so he hurried down and cinched up another notch in his saddle tomake sure it did not slip on the descent. He mounted and fell in behindthe procession, which immediately began winding its way down the steepswitchbacks. Joe, from the rear, could look almost directly down on thehead of the leader, a hundred feet below him. One or two of the womenwere screaming, and now and then a stone, loosened by a house's hoof,would go bounding down the slope with a terrifying rattle. But thehorses, carefully putting one foot ahead of the other, were as calm andsure as if they were on level going, and nothing at all happened, ofcourse.

  Once on the comparatively level trail below, the leading guide brokeinto a trot, and the whole cavalcade came bouncing on behind. Joebounced at first as much as anybody, but by dint of much trial, he gotinto the swing a little, and began to ride more comfortably. When theywere on the level trail in the woods at last, a mile from the lake, theleader gave a yell, touched his spurs, and leaped out at a gallop. Allthe other horses, without waiting for any command, started in to gallopalso, including Popgun. Joe yelled with the rest, jammed his cap onhard, hung to the horn of his saddle to keep aboard, and felt the windrush against his face. Still galloping and shouting, the cavalcadedashed past the Ranger's cabin, and on toward the tepee camp.

  Joe hoped Spider would be around to see. He wanted to stop his horse atthe tepees, but whether he could or not was another question. Popgundidn't appear to have any intention of stopping till the rest did.

  As they dashed in sight of the camp, he saw Spider standing by thetrail. Joe yelled, "Hi--Tom!" and began to tug at the reins. Popgun camedown to a trot obediently--and also suddenly, very nearly sending Joeout over his head. Another tug, and a "Whoa!" brought him up short,though his ears were pricked up, and his eyes were following thegalloping cavalcade now disappearing toward the hotel.

  "Well--_what_ are you doing?" exclaimed the astonished Tom.

  "I'm a regular cowboy now, eh, what? Allow me to introduce Popgun, mygallant broncho. We've been on top of the Great Divide, we have, andseen the water going toward the Pacific, and, gee I know where there's agame trail we can climb to, and I'm goin' to have this horse to ride forthree or four days, and feed him, and--and all."

  "I bet you're sore to-night," said Tom.

  "I bet I am, too. You try him. Gee, he's a fine old horse. You ought tosee him come down a trail--just as careful. Wow! and some trail, too!"

  Joe dismounted, stiffly, with an "Ouch!" and Tom climbed into thesaddle. Popgun looked mildly around, to see what the change meant, andthen trotted obediently off.

  Joe watched, laughing. There was no doubt that Tom bounced. He bouncedas much as the women. The harder he tried not to, the more he bounced.

  "See, you got to do it this way," said Joe, as the other scout cameback. He started to mount again, with a leap, but his legs were so stiffthey'd hardly work.

  "Very graceful, _very_ graceful indeed!" Tom taunted. "Why don't you geta job in the movies, you're so graceful?"

  "Maybe I will," Joe answered, finally getting into his saddle. "Nowlook--here's the way."

  He hit Popgun with his heels, and started up the trail, but before hewas out of sight a second cavalcade, with a cowboy at the head, camethundering past. Popgun turned, and in spite of Joe's cries and tugs atthe rein, insisted on galloping with it. Hanging helpless to his saddlehorn, Tom saw Joe tearing past, in the middle of the crowd, anddisappearing toward the hotel.

  Five minutes later he returned, looking very sheepish.

  "I see just how to do it," Tom taunted. "Joe, you've got speed, but nocontrol!"

  "You wait! I'll have old Popgun eating out of my hand yet," Joeanswered. "Guess I'll put him up now, and feed him."

  "Yes, and then you come back and rest. You've been doing too muchto-day," said Tom.

  When Joe got back, he found
Tom busy at the camp. The first party ofhikers had arrived--ten of them, men about thirty-five years old fromChicago, who were taking their vacation tramping through the Park. Theyall wore high, heavy boots with hobnails, flannel shirts, khakitrousers, and carried knapsacks on their backs. Tom was hustling aroundbuying provisions for them at the chalet store, fixing their bunks,getting fresh water, making a fire in the stove, and so on, while two ofthe men, who acted as cooks, were getting ready to cook the supper.

  "Can I help?" Joe asked.

  "No, you go back to our tent and rest," said Tom. "You can get oursupper, after you've thought a while about how graceful you are."

  Joe went limping off, and was only too glad to lie down in the tent. Helay on his side presently. He began to realize acutely, and locally,that he had been riding horseback, fourteen miles, for the first time.

  But he had supper ready when Tom came at six-thirty.

  "How do you feel?" Tom demanded. "I bet you've been doing too much.Tired? Got a fever?"

  He got out the thermometer.

  "I'm sore, all right, but I'm not very tired, not half as tired as Iused to get at home, just walking back from school."

  Tom answered by putting the thermometer in his mouth.

  "No fever at all--and you're all sweaty," he said a minute later. "Youreally feeling better, old Joey?"

  "Sure I am."

  But Tom wouldn't let him help after supper in getting more wood for thecamp. Tom did it all, while Joe sat at first outside the tepees andtried to hear the talk of the hikers about their trip, and later, whenTom was through, moved closer to the "council fire," built in a ring ofstones, at the invitation of the men, and heard them tell of theirtwenty-two mile hike that day over Piegan Pass from Upper St. Mary Lake.It was fine to sit there, by the warm fire, as the darkness gatheredover the great, solemn wall of the Divide, as the lights in the hotelacross the lake twinkled on, as the night wind whispered in the pines,and hear the talk of glaciers, and snow-fields, and ten-thousand-footclimbs. It made Joe and Tom long for the day when they could get out,with blanket and knapsack, over the high trails. They went back to theirtent at last reluctantly, while the hikers bade them a cheerfulgood-night.

  "Seems as if everybody in the Park was good-natured," Joe remarked, ashe crawled into bed. "Guess it's the air."

  "I like everybody but the porcupines," Tom answered, carefully foldingwhat was left of his sweater under his pillow! "I wrote home for a newone to-day, but I'll hang on to what I've got."