CHAPTER VIII.
A WALKING PINCUSHION.
Ralph’s story was soon told, with the accompaniment of a running fireof sarcasms from Mountain Jim concerning automatic rifles and allconnected with them. An examination of Ralph’s weapon showed that acartridge from the magazine had become jammed just at the criticalinstant that he faced the lynx.
“There ain’t nuthin’ better than this old Winchester of mine,” declaredMountain Jim, taking his well-oiled and polished, albeit ancient modelrifle from its holster and patting it lovingly. “I’ve carried itthrough the Rockies for fifteen years and it’s never failed me yet.”
Nevertheless, the boys did not condemn their automatics on thataccount. In fact, Ralph blamed his own ignorance of the action of hisnew weapon more for its failure to work than any fault lying with therifle itself.
With a few quick strokes of his knife and a tug at the hide, MountainJim had the lynx skinned with almost incredible rapidity. Salt wassprinkled liberally on the skin, and it was rolled up and tied behindPersimmons’ saddle, to be carefully scraped of all fat and skin lateron.
It was sunset when they left the well-traveled trail, along which,however, they had encountered no human being but a wandering packeron his way to an extension of the Canadian Pacific Railroad withprovisions and blasting powder, borne by his sure-footed animals.
In the brief twilight they pushed on till they reached a spot thatappeared favorable for a camp. A spring gushed from a wall of rock andformed one of an almost innumerable number of small streams that feda creek, which, in turn, was later to pour its waters into the mightyColumbia. Ralph needed no instructions on how to turn the horses out,and while he and the rest, acting under his directions, attended tothis, Mountain Jim got supper ready. By the time the boys had completedtheir “chores” and the tents were up, the guide had their evening mealof bannocks, beans and bacon, and boiling hot tea ready for them. Fordessert they had stewed dried prunes and apples, and the boys votedthe meal an excellent one. Indeed, they had been hungry enough to eatalmost anything.
Supper despatched, it was not long before they were ready to turn intotheir blankets, which were of the heavy army type, for the nights inthe Rockies are cool. To the music of a near-by waterfall, they sankinto profound slumber, and before the moon was up the camp was wrappedin silence.
It was about midnight that they were aroused by a loud wail of distressfrom the tent which Persimmons shared with his two chums. MountainJim rolled out of his blankets--he disdained tents--and Jimmie, wholikewise was content with a makeshift by the fire, started up asquickly. From the door of the professor’s tent appeared an odd-lookingfigure in striped pajamas.
“Great Blue Bells of Scotland! What’s up?” roared Mountain Jim.
“Wow! Ouch! He’s sticking me! Ow-w-w-w!” came in a series of yells fromPersimmons. “Ouch! Prancing pincushions, come quick!”
“Is that boy in trouble again?” demanded the professor, as he slippedon a pair of slippers and advanced with Mountain Jim toward the sceneof the disturbance. The air was now filled with boyish shouts, echoingand re-echoing among the craggy hills that surrounded the small canyonin which the camp was pitched.
As they neared the tent, from under the sod-cloth a small dark formcame shuffling forth. It grunted as it went, like a diminutive pig. Jimjerked his old Winchester to his shoulder and the death struggle ofthe small animal immediately followed the rifle’s report.
Simultaneously, the three boys clad in their underclothing, dashed outof the tent door.
“Is it Indians?” shouted Hardware.
“A bear?” yelled Ralph, who had his automatic in hand.
“More like a walking pincushion,” yelled Persimmons, dancing about andnursing one of his hands, “look here!”
He held out his hand and they saw several objects which, in themoonlight, looked like so many knitting needles projecting from it.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Mountain Jim, whose mirth aroused Persimmons’secret indignation, “I reckon it was a walking pincushion, all right.Boy, don’t never put your hand on a porcupine again, they always leavesouvenirs.”
“A porcupine!” cried the professor.
“Sure enough,” rejoined the guide, and he rolled to their feet withhis rifle barrel the body of the small animal he had shot.
It was surely enough one of those spiny and familiar denizens of thenorth woods.
“Nodding needles! No wonder I felt as if I’d struck a pincushion,”cried poor Persimmons, who had, by this, drawn the last of theoffending quills from his hand. “I heard something grunting andnosing about my blankets, and when I put my hand out I got it full ofstickers.”
“I’ll put some peroxide on,” said the professor, hastening to his tentfor the medicine chest.
“They aren’t poisonous, are they?” asked Ralph, referring to the quills.
“No; just sharp, that’s all,” responded Mountain Jim. “Porcupines arethe greediest and stupidest cusses in the woods. I reckon this onesmelled grub and was investigating when he ran into Master Simmonshere.”
“You mean that Persimmons ran into him,” corrected Ralph.
“Guggling geese, no!” expostulated Persimmons, holding out his hand tobe dressed, for the wounds made by the sharp quills were bleeding, “heran into me, don’t ever mistake that.”
It was some time before the camp quieted down again, but finally peacewas restored and a tranquil night, undisturbed by any more nocturnaladventures, was passed.
Bright and early the next day they set out once more, traveling now offthe beaten track and making for their destination, the Big Bend of theColumbia River. The professor was on the lookout for what he calledmetamorphic specimens of rock, which, in plain English, means bits ofstone and so forth that show traces of the new world in the making.For, as he had explained to the boys, the Canadian Rockies are, from ageologist’s standpoint, of recent formation. Unlike many chains of likecharacter, they are not supposed to be volcanic in formation. The finalcause of the uplifting of their giant crests is generally attributedto the shrinkage of the earth’s interior by loss of heat or some otheraction. It is also supposed that eons ago the Rockies were as lofty asthe Himalayas or the Andes, but that the various destructive forcesthat worked and still work amidst their rugged bosoms, have diminishedtheir stature by thousands of feet.
It was at the close of their second day’s travel that the first of aseries of mysterious happenings, destined to puzzle them greatly in thefuture, occurred. Ralph, who had been disturbed by the noise of somenocturnal animal trampling about in the brush, rose from his blanketsand emerged into the moonlight with his rifle, his thoughts centeredon the notion that his long-cherished hope of shooting a grizzly hadmaterialized.
Not far from the camp, and overlooking it, a lofty rock towered abovethe floor of the valley through which they were then traveling. Inthe moonlight its dark form was silhouetted blackly against the nightsky. Ralph’s heart gave a leap as he saw, or thought he saw, somethingmoving on the summit of the great boulder.
He raised his rifle to fire and stood with beating pulses awaiting theopportunity.
Suddenly a form moved into view on the summit of the rock. The boy’sfinger was just about to press the trigger, when he gave a gasp ofastonishment and the rifle almost fell from his hands.
It was the form of a man that had appeared, blackly outlined againstthe moonlight. For one instant the figure stood there and then, asRalph hailed it in a quavering voice, it wheeled, and like an alarmedwild beast, slipped off into the forest.
The Border Boys in the Canadian Rockies Page 9