Read Ebook: Old Indian trails by McClintock Walter

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Ebook has 1090 lines and 76280 words, and 22 pages

if in pain; he trembled and gave groans that were pitiful to hear. I jumped from my horse and ran at him with my whip. He saw me coming and stopped suddenly in the middle of a groan. He struggled to get up, sneezed to hide his chagrin and ran after the outfit.

We had a buckskin horse with hide of yellow tan. His black mane and tail, black rings around his legs, and a black streak down the center of his back suggested a zebra ancestry. He was strong and stocky; hardest drives did not tire him. Buck was so reliable, we felt as if we could always depend upon him. But that day he gave us a surprise.

After a long rest at the ranch, Buck was feeling fine. When his pack slipped, he pretended to be frightened. He made a series of high jumps, landing stiff-legged on all fours; and gave his pack such a jolt that it turned. Then he threw his tail into the air and away he went. To frighten the other horses he ran among them, with pots and kettles rattling and banging. They were glad to stampede. The scout followed the main outfit; he took it as a matter of course. I rode after Buck who kicked off everything, even his pack-saddle. Then I caught him and went back over his trail, to find the precious contents of his pack and gather together our cooking utensils and kitchen outfit.

But we finally came to the mountains and entered the valley of the Cutbank, where there was a green forest of spruce and lodge-pole pine. In that whole region, the only broad-leaf tree in abundance was the aspen. The ground was covered with a soft carpet of moss and pine needles; and thimbleberry bushes full of crimson fruit. Then we turned into a side valley and followed a stream, where the trail was tortuous. At every turn the scene became more wild, until we came finally to a mass of burned and fallen trees. There we stopped to rest and feast on red raspberries fully ripe; and found an opening thickly covered with huckleberry bushes, bearing the largest berries I have ever seen.

There is nothing more trying than to drive obstinate pack horses through fallen timber. The main thing is to give them plenty of time. Sometimes they turned from the trail and went down the mountain side, or dodged through standing timber; and then their packs were torn and loosened by the trees.

At dusk we emerged weary from the forest and came into a basin with a meadow of green grass. A more romantic spot for a camp I have never seen--a narrow valley surrounded by high mountains and sheltered by trees. Through the meadow flowed a stream of clear water. Waterfalls dashed over the cliffs and fell into the stream below. We pitched our lodge on a carpet of green moss, near an ancient fir tree and a grove of spruces which sheltered us from the cold winds that sweep down the valley from the snowfields.

Soon after we turned our horses loose, I heard a kind of grunting, or roaring whine, answered by the frightened snorts of horses as they galloped away; and the scout shouted: "Hi, there! A grizzly bear! A grizzly bear!"

Among the hoofprints of the horses I found the tracks of a huge bear. But he had gone and we got no sight of him. I saw the place where he had been turning over stones hunting for insects and ant eggs, and tearing up the ground after squirrels.

At dark a cold wind came down the valley, and we gathered many logs and threw them on our camp-fire, till the big fir tree looked like a specter in the red glow of the flames. Then we lighted our pipes and sat by the fire. The scout had the gift of companionship; and when he talked I always felt at ease. He refreshed me with his knowledge of nature and of the woods, and stimulated my interest in Indians. That night he talked about the bear and said:

"In this valley a big grizzly has his range. He has lived here so long, he must now be very old. The Indians know him well and are afraid to shoot at him. He comes boldly into their camps and takes food. He is so big we believe he has supernatural power and call him the 'Medicine Grizzly.'"

For several days the scout and I hunted on the mountains. We climbed to timber-line with its dwarfed and distorted trees. Above were the rocky heights and below the dark forest. In the front line were trees only a few feet in height, many hundreds of years old. Some were pushed partly over by storms and had all their branches pointing one way. They were battered and twisted by a thousand storms and overweighted by heavy snows. But we found no game, not even tracks.

Then the scout said he would go among the high peaks at the head of the valley. He took a light pack and went alone, while I stayed in our camp to guard the provisions and to look after the horses. In order to help in the hunt, I loaned him my large Winchester rifle of 45-70 caliber. Little did I realize how much I would need it myself.

After the scout had gone, I climbed the mountains for camera pictures, caught trout in the stream and looked after our horses. Most of the provisions I stored inside the lodge, to be safe from wild animals and sudden storms. But I had an out-of-door kitchen at the edge of the woods, where I cooked in good weather and kept a supply of food.

One afternoon heavy clouds gathered over the mountains and a storm swept through the valley. Our horses left the meadow and came to the lodge, to pay me a little visit and to get a bite of salt all around; and then they strolled back again.

I passed that evening reading and writing by the lodge-fire. Finally I lay in my blankets and watched the fire burn low, until there was only a bed of glowing embers; and I fell asleep. In the dead of night, our horses wakened me by coming close to the lodge. I wondered at their leaving their feeding grounds again, and went out to drive them back. The storm was over. The clouds had broken and the moon was shining.

After the horses had gone, there was quiet. The wind had fallen and there was a strange stillness. I stood for a moment and looked reverently at the mystic mountains in the moonlight. I felt that uplift of spirit that I always have in the presence of giant peaks. I heard the solemn hooting of an owl, the distant cries of coyotes, and the rippling of the river rapids.

The night air was so cold I soon went back to my warm blankets. But I could not sleep; I had a feeling that something was near. Finally I raised myself and listened. Suddenly a rattling of pans came from my outside kitchen. Thinking one of the horses had come back, I jumped from my blankets. I seized a stick and ran out to investigate. A huge shadowy form stood against the black line of the forest. It looked like a horse and I was about to hurl my club; but this animal was no horse. It stood high in front and was low behind. It gazed steadily at me with lowered head, which moved slowly from side to side. Then came a sudden snort, a sort of snarling whine; and I realized that I was in close quarters with a huge grizzly bear. The thought of beating him with a stick made a chill run down my backbone; I felt weak in the knees; and I had the sensation of "my hair standing on end."

I remembered hearing that it was sure death to run from a grizzly bear, so I put on a bold front and backed slowly into the lodge. I started to build a fire; I thought the light might drive him off. But I was so excited it seemed ages before I could find either matches or knife. Had I my rifle I might have tried to shoot him; but we were in such close quarters and in the dark, he might have killed me.

No sooner had I a fire burning, than I heard his heavy footsteps; he was coming towards the lodge, but stopped near the door to examine my saddle. For a moment he stood sniffing and grunting; then came close to the side of the tepee, where we had the provisions stored. He raised himself on his hind legs, with front paws against the poles. I was directly underneath him; I saw the canvas press in and heard his heavy breathing. It seemed like a nightmare; again my hair stood on end. I shouted; and the sound of my own voice in that dimly lighted tepee sounded strange and far away. Then the bear got down on all fours and went back to his feast at my outside kitchen.

Believing the crisis was now past and that the old grizzly would do me no harm, I began to take a friendly interest and watched him through an opening in the door. He knocked a cover from a mess of trout; finished a bowl of delicious peaches and tore open bags of flour and sugar. At last he came to our "dutch oven," a heavy iron kettle for baking bread. In it I had stored, for safe-keeping, my greatest delicacy--a small piece of butter. For a moment his efforts were vain; the heavy iron lid held fast. Then he became angry; with his powerful forepaw he struck the kettle such a blow that the cover flew off; and I heard his rough tongue lick up the last of my provisions.

STORY OF THE MEDICINE GRIZZLY

"The things I now tell you happened many years ago, when Mad Wolf, your Indian father, was a young man. He was the war chief of an expedition that went across the Rocky Mountains against the Flathead Indians. Two of his brothers were with him; but they both turned back before they reached the Flathead country. Mad Wolf and his warriors returned later by Cutbank Pass.

"Mad Wolf was riding in the lead, with the others following on both sides of the trail, as was the custom of war parties in those days. For fear of meeting enemies, they rode silently through the forest. Suddenly Mad Wolf heard footsteps and signed for the others to hide. It was a war party of Kutenai Indians. They ran into the ambush. In the fight, Mad Wolf singled out the Kutenai chief and killed him after a hard fight. On his body he found the scalps of his own two brothers, who had turned back. Mad Wolf sang his war song and ran back to help the rest of his party, who were by this time retreating. He roused them to fight harder; and together they killed all of the Kutenai, except one old woman. They spared her life and gave her to the Sun. They took the scalps from the dead Kutenai warriors and had a scalp dance. Then they painted the face of the old woman black. They spared her life and set her free, as a sacrifice to the Sun. They gave her food and presents--a warm blanket and dried meat. They put her on the right trail and started her towards home, with a prayer that the Sun would pity them, as they had their helpless enemy.

"After that Mad Wolf and his party crossed the summit and came down through Cutbank Valley. There they found the camp of some of our people, Running Wolf, Black Bear, and Middle Calf, who came into the mountains to cut lodge-poles. They were camped here, by this old fir tree.

"That evening they were all gathered at the lodge of Middle Calf to hear about Mad Wolf's trip. It was a warm moonlight night and some of the women were outside. Middle Calf told his wife to bring a pail of water from the stream. She came back frightened. She said: 'I met a stranger at the crossing. He jumped across the stream and ran into the forest.'

"Then another woman said: 'I just saw a man near the big fir tree. He looked into the lodge and ran away. He was an enemy. I could see his war bonnet.'

"Mad Wolf and the rest seized their weapons and ran out. They met a band of Gros Ventres who were ready to attack their camp. They killed all of the Gros Ventres except their leader. He escaped into the underbrush and stood them off. When his arrows were all gone, he fought savagely with his knife. All the time he made a noise like a grizzly bear. He dared the Blackfoot to come into the thicket. He kept shouting: 'Come on! I am not afraid. My power is very great.'

"After the Blackfoot had killed him, they found that he was a medicine man; his power came from the grizzly bear. He wore the skin of a grizzly and had a necklace of big claws about his neck. They scalped the dead Gros Ventres warriors and had a scalp dance around a fire. But they burned the body of their leader; they were afraid some of his supernatural power might escape and do them harm.

"The summer after that, a party of Indians came into Cutbank Valley, to this same meadow. They pitched their lodges near this old fir tree where we are now camped--the place where you saw the big bear. That night this same grizzly came into their camp and took all the food he wanted. The dogs attacked him; but he killed some and put the rest to flight. He was so big they were afraid to shoot. We call him the Medicine Grizzly. We believe he is the medicine man of the Gros Ventres. When he was killed near this old fir tree, he changed himself into a grizzly bear."

INDIAN SUMMER

October was fine that year, with days of warm sunshine and frosty nights--ideal for living in the open. Late in the month a party of Indians, both men and women, stopped at our ranch on their way to the mountains. Little Creek and my Indian sister were going; Yellow Bird, Onesta, and his wife Nitana; the sisters Katoy?sa and N?nake; and they asked me to go along.

We put two old mares in the heavy wagon, to carry blankets and camp equipment; they were the only horses to be found near the ranch. Yellow Bird drove the team with Katoy?sa and I rode Kutenai, my saddle horse.

Soon, one of the team became lame; and Yellow Bird went back for another horse. So I put Kutenai in the harness and mounted the driver's seat beside the Indian girl.

At first the going was good. The prairie was level and we had no trouble; but we were left far behind. Our wagon was heavy, the team slow and badly matched. Without a whip, I had to shout and swing my lariat to make the horses move along. Throughout the day we saw no big game, only jack rabbits and badgers and ground squirrels, chirping and standing straight up, like miniature prairie dogs.

Near the mountains we came to rough traveling, up hill and down. In bad places, with no road to follow, there was danger of breaking the tongue, a wheel or an axle. We had to cross gullies and washouts and streams with high banks; to find our way round ravines, and through thickets of alder and quaking aspen.

We did not talk much, but our silence was natural. Katoy?sa only spoke when she felt like it. She was a quiet, self-contained girl, fearless and conscientious. She wanted to help her tribe in their struggle for survival; that they might learn to adapt themselves to the ways of the conquering white race.

That day I felt as though I were in a dream--like a pioneer of early days, on my way to a new land with this Indian girl. But, alas! I was brought suddenly back to earth. We crossed the summit of a high ridge and overlooked a terrible hill--a steep descent to a lower level of the plain, stretching to the foot of the mountains. The air was marvelously clear, and fragrant with the scent of pine and cedar.

We started down the hill; and I thought to myself: "If this heavy wagon ever gets started, the horses cannot hold it and we shall both be killed." The ground was smooth and hard, with a grass-covered gravel. When the tail of the wagon began to swing, Katoy?sa was calm and unafraid. And, when the brakes did not hold, she was quick to act; she jumped from the wagon and held the heads of the frightened horses, while I blocked the wheels with stones. Then we rough-locked the wheels with ropes; and cut down a green tree and lashed it to the body of the wagon, so that it dragged on the ground in front of the hind wheels. Thus we made our way slowly down the steep hill, zigzagging back and forth until we came to a dangerous slant, where the wagon went on two wheels and began to topple. We thought we were turning over. But neither of us tried to jump. I put my arm about Katoy?sa and we were ready. Then the wagon suddenly righted itself; I turned the horses into a low growth of aspens; and thus we came safely to the bottom.

We trailed the rest of our party across level prairie and along a river, passing through the broad entrance of a valley through lovely meadows of tall bunch grass, thickets of willows and groves of poplars, until we came to our camping place in the mountains--a high bench over the river and close to a green forest of pine and spruce.

In the northern Rockies the autumn nights come early. The sun was down by the time we had our camp ready, and the horses watered and picketed. Then we built a big camp-fire, for the night air was cold. We roasted meat on sticks over the hot coals, and stalks of wild parsnip to bring out the juice. My companions used neither knives nor forks; and like them I held the meat in my hands and tore it with my teeth; but it had a relish and flavor I never tasted in civilization.

In that autumn camp, the Indians were at their best. They were light-hearted and happy, as if they had not a care in the world. They were nomads by nature and loved to wander, to be free and live in the open. They sang Indian songs and told stories and tales of adventure. They talked about a mad Indian who roamed the plains and mountains; he traveled so fast every one was afraid; he killed people on sight, both Indian and white; he was on the warpath and wanted to kill as many as he could before he died; he came silently at night and shot people as they stood in the firelight.

Thus we sat and talked by the fire until late. We slept on the grass, under the stars. The women were together in one place, sharing their robes and blankets; the men in another, with our horses picketed near. As soon as the Indians lay down, there was quiet. But I lay awake, drinking in the clear fresh air and the fragrance of the forest, and watching the moon rise over the broad entrance of the valley. Then, suddenly it was morning. I saw the golden color of sunrise in the sky and the women cooking breakfast.

That day I went with Yellow Bird on a hunt for Rocky Mountain sheep. Our camp needed meat; and, in the fall, mountain mutton was the most delicious of all the game animals. We rode along an old Indian trail, westward through the valley, where the golden brown of ripened grasses covered the meadows; and came to a dark forest where the ground was fragrant with pine needles. We followed the shores of a chain of lakes, to a place where high mountains came close together on both sides of the valley. Yellow Bird was leading with rifle across his saddle. Finally he turned and signed with his hands, "Sheep on that mountain." High up, above timber-line, I saw a band of brownish gray animals with white rump patches. They were feeding on a grassy slope which extended to slide rock, near the summit of the mountain. I counted sixteen sheep--ewes and small rams. Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, they took alarm and ran swiftly along the mountain side. Then a big grizzly appeared against the sky-line, coming across the shoulder of the mountain. He, too, was stalking the sheep. He ran with head up, and I could see his long silvery hair rolling in waves.

Yellow Bird was excited and eager for a shot. So we tied our horses and made ready to climb, leaving our coats and everything we could spare. After a drink of cold water at a stream, we started with our rifles and cartridge belts, taking our course along the mountain side, so that the grizzly might not get our scent. We struggled through tangled thickets of evergreens, and windfalls where dead trees lay piled across each other in all directions. The forest seemed vast and lonely; everywhere silence, not a breath of air stirred. We climbed the southern slope in the glare of the midday sun. I was drenched with sweat and my breath came fast.

Near the edge of the woods at timber-line, we were careful not to snap a twig or make a branch rustle, expecting any moment to meet the grizzly. At every sound or movement in the trees, I felt a sudden thrill and peered through the forest with senses alert. But we did not meet the bear, to Yellow Bird's chagrin. He was a reckless fellow, always eager for a fight and confident of his skill with a rifle.

We crossed the shale to the sky-meadow, where we saw the sheep; and to stalk them went towards the summit of the mountain, that we might approach from above.

Big Horn are the most difficult to approach of all big game. They are wary and quick-sighted; the slightest sound startles them; and they are off like a flash. No animal is their superior in climbing; even in the most difficult places they never slip, nor make a misstep.

We hunted up-wind, keeping out of sight, using crags and boulders for shelter. When we came to a precipitous part of the mountain, we went slowly and carefully, to keep from making a false step and breaking our necks. We scrambled along the narrow ledges and rock-shelves, clinging to cold buttresses and to scant projections of the cliffs, careful not to start a loose stone or any crumbling shale.

Then we made our way back along the treacherous ledges and rock-shelves, where nerve and sure-footedness were necessary for every step. When we came to loose shale, we traveled fearlessly with long slides, down to the carcass of the sheep, near timber-line.

At camp the Indians gathered around the fire to roast sheep meat, and to hear about our hunt. It was the night of full moon, without a cloud in the sky. Our fire was in a meadow, near the edge of the forest, where its red glow lighted up the big trees.

Like true children of nature, my companions acted as they felt. Sometimes they talked; and sometimes there was silence for a while. In the distance an owl hooted. It came nearer and nearer, until its call sounded from the top of a tree near by.

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