CHAPTER V.
THE START FOR THE ROCKIES.
“Great Blue Bells of Scotland!”
Mountain Jim Bothwell uttered the exclamation as he gazed at theimmense pile of baggage labeled H. D. Ware.
“Say, who _is_ H. D. Ware, anyhow? He goin’ to start a hotelhereabouts? When’s the wagons comin’ for all this truck?”
“That’s my camping equipment,” struck in “H. D. Ware,” looking ratherred and uncomfortable under the appraising blue eye of Mountain Jim.
“Young feller,” spoke Jim solemnly, “you’d need an ocean liner totransport all that duffle. We ain’t goin’ to sea; we’re goin’ inter themountains. What you got in there, anyhow?”
“Dingbats,” said Ralph quietly, a mischievous smile playing about hismouth.
“Dingbats? Great Bells of Scotland, what’s them?”
“The things that the sporting goods catalogues say no camper should bewithout,” exclaimed Ralph; “we told him, but it wasn’t any good.”
“Well, my mother said I was to have every comfort,” said poor Hardware,crimsoning under the guide’s amused scrutiny. “When we were camping inMaine----”
“When you were camping in Maine, I don’t doubt you had a cook----”
Hardware nodded. He had to admit that, like most wealthy New Yorkers,his parents’ ideas of “a camp” had been a sort of independent summerhotel under canvas.
“Well, young fellow, let me tell you something. From what the professorhere wrote me, you young fellers came up here to rough it. I’m goin’to see that you do. The cooking will mostly be done by you and yourchums; your elders will--will eat it, and that’ll be sufficientpunishment for them.”
“But--but I’ve just engaged a lad to aid with the cooking and help outgenerally,” struck in the professor.
“That’s all right,” responded Mountain Jim airily, eying Jimmie, whoseclothes, since they had been dried by the agent’s cook stove, lookedworse than before, “that kid seems all right, and he can take his turnwith the others. In the mountains it’s share and share alike, you know,and no favors. That’s the rule up this way.”
The boys looked rather dismayed. Already the standards of the citywere being swept aside. Evidently this mountaineer looked upon all menand boys as being alike, provided they did their share of the work setbefore them.
Ralph, alone, whose wild life on the Border had already done for himwhat the Rockies were to perform for his companions, viewed the guidewith approval. He knew that out in the wilderness, be it mountain orplain, certain false standards of caste and station count for nothing.As Coyote Pete had been wont to say in those old days along the Border,“It ain’t the hide that counts, it’s the man underneath it.”
“First thing to do is to sort out some of this truck and see what youdo need and what you don’t,” decided Mountain Jim presently. “Mosttimes it’s the things that you think you kain’t get along without thatyou kin, and the things you think you kin that you kain’t.”
“That’s right,” agreed Ralph heartily. “Daniel Boone, on his firstjourney into Kentucky, managed to worry along on pinole and salt, andrelied for everything else on his old rifle and flint and steel.”
“Never heard of the gentleman,” said Mountain Jim, “but he must uv beena good woodsman. Now let’s get to work and sort out this truck.”
Ruthlessly the travelers’ kits were torn open, and it was amazing, whenMountain Jim got through, what a huge pile of things that he declaredunnecessary were heaped upon the depot platform. As for poor Hardware’s“dingbats,” a new kind of compass and a hunting knife that met withJim’s approval, alone remained.
“All this stuff can stay here till you get ready to come back,” saidJim; “the station agent will look after it and see that it is put inthe freight shed.”
But it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Out of the rejected“Dingbats” a fine hunting suit, axe, knife and compass were found forJimmie, who, indeed, stood sadly in need of them. When the boy hadretired to the station agent’s room and dressed himself in his newgarments, the change in him was so remarkable, when he reappeared, asto be nothing less than striking. In the place of the ragged lookingBowery boy, they saw a well set-up lad in natty hunting outfit. Atrifle emaciated he was, to be sure, but “We’ll soon fill him out withhard work and good grub,” declared Mountain Jim, who had been toldthe boy’s story, and who had warmly praised his heroism in rescuingPersimmons.
The latter had also changed his wet garments and was in his usualbubbling spirits when they were ready, in Ralph’s phrase, to “hit thetrail.” This was not till nearly noon, however, for the rejection ofthe superfluous “Dingbats,” of which even Ralph and the professor werefound to have a few, had occupied much time. Then, after hearty adieusto the station agent, who had incidentally been the recipient of agenerous gratuity from the professor, they mounted their ponies and,with Mountain Jim in the lead, started on their long journey into thewilds. Jimmy, whose circus experience had taught him how to ride, wasmounted on one of the pack animals, for, such had been Mountain Jim’sruthless rejection of “Dingbats,” only a tithe of the expected “pack”remained.
Up the trail they mounted at an easy pace under the big pines thatshook out honey-sweet odors as the little cavalcade passed beneaththem. At the summit of the rocky cliff that towered above the depot,the trail plunged abruptly into a dense, black tunnel of tamarack, pineand Douglas firs.
As the horses’ hoofs rang clear on the rocky trail and echoed among thecolumnular trunks that shot up on every side like the pillars of somevast cathedral roof, Mountain Jim broke into dolorous song:
“Hokey pokey winky wang; Linkum, lankum muscodang; The Injuns swore that th-e-y would h-a-n-g Them that couldn’t keep w-a-r-m!”
Over and over he sang it, while the shod hoofs clattered out a metallicaccompaniment to the droning air.
“Can we ride ahead a bit?” asked Ralph after a while, for the monotonyof keeping pace with the pack animals and the constant repetition ofMountain Jim’s song began to grow wearisome.
“Sure; go ahead. You can’t get lost. The trail runs straight ahead. Theonly way to get off it is to fall off,” said Jim cheerfully, drawingout and filling with black tobacco a villainous-looking old pipe.
“Don’t get into any trouble,” warned the professor, who had beenprovided with a quiet horse, and who was intent, as he rode along, on avolume dealing with the geological formation of the Canadian Rockies.
“We’ll be careful! So long! Come on, boys,” shouted back Ralph, as hestruck his heels into his pony.
Off they clattered up the trail, the rocks ringing with their excitedvoices till the sound died away in the distance. Jimmie alone remainedbehind. He felt that his duty as general assistant demanded it. Whenthe last echo of the ponies’ hoofs had died out, Mountain Jim turned tothe professor with a profound wink.
“I can see where we have our hands full this trip, professor,” heremarked, as they ambled easily along.
The professor looked up from his book and sighed.
“Really, I wonder my hair is not snow white,” he said mildly. “Butsurely that is a fine specimen of Aethusa Cijnapium I see yonder!”
“Oh, that,” said Mountain Jim, gazing at the feathery plant indicated,which grew in great profusion at the trail side, “that’s ‘fool’sparsley.’”
“O-h-h!” said the professor.
He might have said more, but at that instant from the trail ahead,came a series of shouts and yells that made it appear as if a troopof rampant Indians was on the war-path. The sharp crack of a riflesounded, followed by silence.
The Border Boys in the Canadian Rockies Page 6