The Pass

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THE PASS

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"A misstep would have tragic consequences."

See page 188

THE PASS

BY
STEWART EDWARD WHITE

Author of "The Blazed Trail," "The Forest,"
"The Mountains," etc., etc.

FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR BY FERN AND LUNGREN

AND MANY OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS

FROM PHOTOGRAPHS

NEW YORK

THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY

1906

Wfc.o

Copyright, 1906, by

THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, Eng.

All rights reserved

THE OUTING PRESS
DEPOSIT, N. Y.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I The Big Meadow Trail

II The Forest Ranger

III Roaring River

IV Deadman's Canon
V Cloudy Canon

VI Bloody Pass .
VII We Fall Back
VIII The Permanent Camp
IX The Side Hill Camp
X The Ledge
Appendix
Field Notes .

S

1

13

33

45

63

73

91

107

147

173

195

197

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

A misstep would have tragic consequences

Frontispiece

FACING
PAGE

The mountain meadows are like small lakes

with grass in lieu of water . .10

A short forage — a sharp report and dinner 28

Deadman's Canon 48

Wes clears the trail 60

We had just time to dig our heels in and

brace for the shock when over she went 76

Bullet took his time, smelled out each step

and passed without an accident . 84

The way was very rough . . . .100

Among big rugged cliff debris . . .114

The six-shooter terminated the argument

with the rattlesnake . . . .132
vii

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FACING
PAGE

A treacherous snowfield . . . .150

Looking down Elizabeth Pass — a jumble of

mountain peaks lgg

The lake that Wes discovered . . . 180
The thin black line across the face of the

cliff is the ledge by which we descended 192
Map 199

vm

THE BIG MEADOW TRAIL

-^

THE BIG MEADOW TRAIL

We had already been out about two
months, Billy and Wes and I, and were
getting short of grub. Wes took Din-
key and Jenny on a wide detour down
to the six-thousand foot mark, where a
little mill town afforded a chance of re-
plenishing supplies. Billy and I, in
charge of Buckshot and Old Slob and
Calamity Jane, the diminutive mule, con-
tinued on the trail, under agreement to
wait for Wes at Big Meadows.

Billy rode ahead on her brown pony,
watching the landscape go by, peacefully
leading the way. The three pack-horses
followed more or less conscientiously.
Bullet and I brought up the rear, I snap-
3

THE PASS

ping my slingshot and Bullet his teeth to
keep Calamity Jane in the way she should
go. Tuxana, the bull dog, and Pepper,
the Airedale, were in and out of the brush
discovering the most rapturous smells.
That is the way one travels in the moun-
tains.

We were about seventy-five hundred
feet up and in the country typical of that
elevation. Much of the trail was in the
pine woods, but occasionally we skirted
broad, open mountain sides. There grew
manzanita and snow-bush, with bald rocks
outcropping. When we came to such a
hill we shook off the delicious state where-
in a certain part of us — the part that had
to do with horses and trail and lay of the
country and pack-ropes — was wide awake
and efficient, but in which all the rest of
us was luxuriantly and indolently allow-
ing the foreordained to take place; and
began to look for deer. We did not want
4

*^rf-

THE BIG MEADOW TRAIL

to shoot them, but it was fun to see them.
Then regretfully Tuxana and Pepper
obeyed our orders and came to heel. But
in a few moments again we entered the
pines and the cedars and the huge Doug-
las spruces, where the mountain brooks
leaped from one pool to another, and cer-
tain wild flowers lightened the shadows.

After a time we descended a deep
canon to a stream of considerable size.
Obstructing it were boulders rounded by
floods, white as the snow from which the
waters about them came. At the ford it
glittered with fool's gold, barbaric and
splendid. The horses splashed through
indifferently, but the dogs lamented on
the further side of resolution. Finally
they decided. Tuxana, characteristically,
leaped from one stone to another, bal-
anced with care, lost and caught her equi-
librium a half dozen times. About the
middle her hind feet slipped. At once
5

THE PASS

N

I

the current caught them. She clung des-
perately, her countenance agonized, but
the stream was too strong for her. At
last she had to let go and swim, where-
upon the rapids caught her, battered her
about and spewed her forth far below.
Pepper, on the other hand, plunged in
boldly, swam with all her strength, and
managed to crawl out just above the be-
ginning of the white water. Then they
both shook themselves, beginning at the
head and ending in a disgusted quiver at
the tip of the tail.

After this we climbed steadily out of
the canon, following in a general way the
course of a stream tributary to it. At
first the trail led over the shoulder far
above, but gradually the brook rose to our
level, and so we found ourselves once
more among the trees. The sun splashed
through luxuriantly, Douglas squirrels
m in an affectation of
6

THE BIG MEADOW TRAIL

haste, Calamity Jane loafed along, her
ears swinging to each step as though on
ball bearings. Occasionally, far ahead,
and still considerably above us, we made
out, through the forest, the sky-line of the
ridge.

By and by Calamity Jane stopped.
Mechanically I felt for my slingshot.
Then I saw that Old Slob had also
stopped, and also Buckshot, and also
Coco, from the elevation of whose back
Billy was addressing some one. By
standing in my stirrups I could just
make out a small boy on a sand bar in
the middle of the stream. He was a very
small boy indeed, and he wore an old pair
of his big brother's overalls, cut off below
and pulled up above until all I saw was
blue denim and a straw hat, with just a
hint of yellow curls and a single brown
bare foot. The other brown bare foot
was dug bashfully into the sand. An
7

THE PASS

enormous fishing rod completed the
outfit.

Billy was attempting conversation.

"Hello!" said she.

"How do, ma'am," very low, almost in-
audible.

"Caught any fish?"

"No, ma'am" — the other foot began to
dig out of sight.

"What's your name?"

"Johnny, ma'am."

"Johnny what?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How far is it to Big Meadow?" I
asked.

He looked up. The effect was very
good, for he proved to be an honestly
homely infant with a wide engaging
mouth and gray eyes.

"Jest over the ridge, ma'am — sir."

"Well, good luck," we wished him, and
rode on.

8

THE BIG MEADOW TRAIL

"Woof, woof!" remarked Pepper.
That did not mean that she was angry
at the small boy or meant him bodily
harm. It was only her way of announc-
ing that she was an Airedale and exclusive.
Then she leaped in the air twice, turning
completely around each time, bit her tail
with an appearance of fulfilling an im-
portant obligation, and trotted after us
with the virtuous air of having done her
full duty.

We topped the ridge and so came to
Big Meadow.

Big Meadow lies in a shallow cup. It
is exactly like a lake, only the waters are
the green grass, arms of which reach
among and around wooded knolls like
bays and estuaries. A forest surrounds it,
and hills surround the forest, and moun-
tain peaks the hills. You have to travel
some miles to appreciate the latter fact,
however. During those miles you ride in

TbSP

THE PASS

the woods, with occasional openings for
brooks and thickets and other wilderness
necessities of the kind, until all at once you
look out over California, lying seven thou-
sand feet below. Or if you happen to go
in the other direction you merely bob up
and down little ridges until the trail
emerges from cover, at which point it
stands on edge and you climb up to snow
banks. But at Big Meadow itself there
is little to convince you of elevation unless,
happening to botanize or to carry a heavy
pail of water, you shall find your wind
short.

Prevented from crossing the meadow
by a wire fence, we rode on for some dis-
tance through the woods. Then we came
upon a number of young men building
apparently a stockade.

They were tall, straight, sturdy young
3 men, with tanned, solemn faces and pre-
ternaturally grave eyes. They had dug
40

£^y}-7*

THE BIG MEADOW TRAIL

a circular trench some three feet deep, and
were now engaged in placing therein
as many large logs as would stand
upright side by side. They had a horse
and an axe and a cross-cut saw; that was
about all. The rest they did with their
hands and most excellent muscles. It
seemed rather a titanic undertaking this;
and in view of their statement that the
structure was to be a corral, perhaps ex-
cessive. A kangaroo would have diffi-
culty in negotiating a much lower bar-
rier, and a locomotive could hardly have
plunged through. However, they were
certainly having fun doing it; and per-
formed the necessary feats of strength
with a happy superabundance of energy
that possibly was in itself an explanation
of the stockade. No mere corral could
adequately have exercised these lusty
young mountaineers.

They directed us a few hundred feet
11

THE PASS

farther to the main camp, where we found
the Ranger and his wife, a cordial wel-
come, a little tent for our fatigue, a
hearty supper for our hunger, and a cabin
with a big roaring fireplace across all one
end for the evening.

12

THE FOREST RANGER

II

THE FOREST RANGER

Big Meadow flourished under a benign
and patriarchal government. The For-
est Ranger was the head of it. His many
big sons hearkened to his counsels and
obeyed his commands implicitly and
cheerfully; the women looked to him as
the women in the tents of Shem looked
to their masters; and the very beasts
seemed to repose trust in him as the be-
neficent arbiter of their destinies. So
much giving, so much ordering of affairs
had bred in him a certain deliberate large-
ness of spirit. He never had to assert
his authority, because by habit it had
long since become assured. His control
seemed almost Indian in its scope; and
15

THE PASS

yet it was in no sense an oppressive con-
trol. The kindly breadth of his spirit
seemed to find its exact counterpart in
his appearance, for he was deep-chested,
thick-shouldered, sturdy of limb; and his
massive, handsome face, with twinkling
eyes, was well set off by his close-cropped
grizzled hair.

We talked together a good deal in the
course of the next few days. He turned
out to be an enthusiast on the subject of
his calling. The salary of a forest ranger
is small, but he habitually spent part of
it for supplies and tools denied him by
the Government. He failed to under-
stand the niggardly policy, but proved no
bitterness.

"They told me to send in a list of fire-
fighting tools in my district," he said, with
a jolly chuckle. "My district then was
from Kings River to the Kaweah. At
that time all the fire-fighting tools within
16

P^

THE FOREST RANGER

sixty miles was four rakes that I made
myself out of fifty cents' worth of nails."

He was hopeful, however, and saw a
future.

"I like the mountains," he told me,
"and I like my district, and I have the
best trail crew in the reserves. Some day
the Government will wake up, and then
all the boys who are doing good work and
keeping at it will get their chance. Why,
my oldest boy was making good wages
in the mill, but I told him he'd better quit
and come in with me. The wages might
not be so good; but a mill man is only a
mill man, and a forest ranger is, or will be,
in the line of promotion. And then, too,
he's out of doors — and responsible."

He had followed his own advice; for
he was a man of some property and
known ability, and had gone out of busi-
ness and politics to take this subordinate
position.

17

THE PASS

"I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat,"
said he, with another of his delightful
chuckles, "and it's mighty handy, for
when my friends tackle me for especial
favors I just tell them I have a hard
enough time holding my own job."

Naturally a man of his fiber made ene-
mies. He was, perhaps, a little too arbi-
trary sometimes; and it was hard, very
hard, for him to acknowledge himself in
the wrong. A powerful influence for his
removal was last summer brought to bear
by certain people whom his rigid enforce-
ment of game and forest regulations had
offended, and by some others in whose
case, it must be confessed, he had made
mistakes. Luckily, an inspector who
knew a man held up his hands for him,
otherwise the service would have lost a
valuable servant. Men who work for the
love of it are too scarce to lose.

The Ranger had, moreover, a most in-
18

THE FOREST RANGER

teresting and sound outlook on life. He
had lived much among men in his com-
mercial and political career, and he had
from his earliest youth lived much also
in the vast solitudes of the mountains.
The material he gathered in the lowland
he digested and ruminated in the high-
lands. The result was a common-sense
philosophy which he expressed with much
sententiousness.

In a grove near the camp was an out-
of-door smithy and wood- working shop.
There every conceivable job of repair and
manufacture was undertaken. While I
was watching the Ranger blueing a rifle
sight, one of the younger boys brought
up a horse and began rather bunglingly
to shoe the animal. I watched the opera-
tion for awhile in silence.

"The boy is a little inexperienced," I
ventured to suggest after a time. "Aren't
you afraid he'll lame the horse?"
19

THE PASS

The Ranger glanced up.

"Every one of the boys has to do his
own shoeing and repairing of all kinds,"
said he. "He's been shown how, and he'll
just have to learn. I made up my mind
some time ago that I would rather have
a hcrse weak in his hoof than a boy weak
in his intellect."

From that we came to talking of boys,
and education, and chances in life.

"I have eight boys of all ages," said he,
"and I have given a lot of thought to
them. They are getting the best educa-
tion I can buy for them — a man does not
get far without it. And then, besides, I
am teaching them to be thorough, and to
do things with their hands as well as with
their heads. I want them to be like the
old fellow who built his stone wall four
foot high and five foot wide. Somebody
asked him what he did it for. 'Well/ said
he, 'there's a heap of wind in this country,
20

^s^S^^^

THE FOREST RANGER

and I wanted her so that if she should
blow over she'd be a foot higher after the
trouble than she was before.' '

He laughed with genuine enjoyment
of his own story, and plunged the sight
into the forge fire.

"Turn 'em loose, that's the way to do it.
Teach them to take care of themselves,
and then they will. Why, the youngster
is all over the hills, and he is only six
year old."

I said that the day before we had seen
him over the divide.

"Yes, and some day when he gets left
over a divide somewhere by accident, he'll
get back all right ; and when he grows up
he will be more fond of divides than of
pool rooms and saloons. My wife used
to worry over my letting the boys go
hunting when they were so young. One
day especial she came to me in a regular
panic. 'Look here, Sam,' she said, 'here's
21

THE PASS

a piece in the paper that says little Jack
Hooper has shot himself in the leg, and it
will have to be cut off. Suppose that
should happen to one of our boys?'
'Well,' I told her, 'I would rather have a
boy on one sober leg than two drunken
ones/ and that is about right, I do be-
lieve."

He had the old frontiersman's belief
in the axe and the rifle. At any time of
day could be heard the report of firearms.
"Somebody's sighting his rifle," was al-
ways the explanation. The expenditure
of ammunition — expensive, high-power
ammunition — was something enormous,
but was considered a good investment.

"Yes, Jim is a tolerable reliable shot,"
agreed the Ranger ; and that really meant
that Jim was sure death. "Johnny has a
kind of notion he can stick to leather,"
meant that Johnny could ride out the
wildest bucker. They knew and had
22

THE FOREST RANGER

named every deer for miles around. At
the time we visited Big Meadow they
were discussing "Old Three Toes," who
had for years eluded them. Subse-
quently the Ranger wrote me that Three
Toes had been killed, and had proved to
be of eight points. Certainly these
smooth-moving quiet giants and supple
boys could all pass examinations in the
Arabic education of a man — to ride,
shoot, and speak the truth.

The Ranger was just in for a few days.
He had, of course, ridden the mountains
far, so we had great fun discussing trails
and ways through, and the places where
we had both been, and where he had been
and I had not. In that manner we became
interested in the Roaring River, a stream
that had heretofore impressed us merely
as waterfalls and cascades dropping some
thousands of feet into the Kings River \^
canon. Now it seemed that there existed
23

d^

THE PASS

upper reaches among the granites and
snows. He told me quite simply of the
meadows and streams in the two long
canons. Somehow the names fascinated
me — Roaring River, forking into Cloudy
and Deadman's Canons, beneath Table
and Milestone Mountains of the Great
Western Divide. It is a region practi-
cally unvisited.

"There ought to be bear up there," said
the Ranger, "and I know there's deer."

He drew a rough map, showing some
landmarks as he remembered them from
a visit made ten years before.

"If it wasn't for Billy," thought I,
"we'd try it."

But Billy arose to her full five feet and
demanded to know what that had to do
with it. When Billy demands things
from her extreme height it is politic to
diplomatize. So the subject dropped.

We led luxurious lives. I joined the
24

<^v=r

THE FOREST RANGER

littlest children perched on stockade logs
already in place, or rode with the Ranger
near camp. Billy talked learnedly about
"starters" or "sponges" with the women,
or reveled in starch. Starch she had for-
gotten the delights of, so she stiffened
everything in sight until material gave
out. Then she cast a speculative eye on
Pepper and her bristling terrier coat, but
thought better of it.

And Pepper and Tuxana enjoyed
themselves also. A trough of milk was
always kept full for the various dogs
about the place. After a breakfast from
it, they would dig happily for ground
squirrels and woodchucks. They never
caught any, but accomplished some noble
excavations. All that could be seen of
any one of them was a quivering tail
and a shower of earth. Then suddenly
a hinder end would appear, wriggling
backward; a mud-whiskered, snap-eyed
25

THE PASS

happy countenance would pop out, look
about for an instant vacantly, and whisk
back again in a panic, lest an instant had
been wasted. At night they straggled in
tired, dirty, disgraceful, with open, vacu-
ous smiles decorated by three inches of
hanging tongue, to flop down flat on the
cabin floor. There they snoozed all the
evening, their hind legs occasionally
twitching as they raced through dreams
of easily caught woodchucks.

The evenings were cold, so we assem-
bled then about the big fireplace in the
main cabin. We made quite a gathering,
and the talk was of many things. Two
other forest rangers dropped in, both fine
fellows.

The average citizen thinks of the forest
ranger as a man whose main duty is to
ride here and there through the reserve,
picnicking at night, and generally en-
joying life. This is not so. The ranger,

26

THE FOREST RANGER

in addition to his fire patrol and fire fight-
ing, has to keep trails in order, improve
old trails, mark out and build new ones.
Even with the best of tools this is no mean
feat of engineering in a high mountain
country; but until recently the Govern-
ment has afforded its servants mighty
little help in that direction. Last sum-
mer (1904) was made an appropriation of
fifty dollars for powder, the first ever is-
sued, in a granite country! In addition
to his trail work, the ranger has to regu-
late the grazing, where the cattle men are
all at war with one another and with au-
thority ; to see that sheep are excluded ; to
oversee campers and settlers; and to pro-
tect the game. If he happens to have any
spare time he tries to build himself shel-
ters here and there through his district,
generally at his own expense.

All his accounts are audited at Wash-
ington, by men who know nothing of
27

THE PASS

local conditions. Many of his claims are
apt to be disallowed, and must then come
out of his own pocket. For instance, one
man early in the season, pursuing sheep
trespassers into the high country where
the grass was still frozen, put in a claim
for two or three sacks of horse feed.
Claim disallowed on the ground that he
should depend on natural feed. He has
to fight red tape at Washington, natural
difficulties in the field, powerful interests
on whose toes he must tread in order to
fulfill his duty as ranger, and in some
cases gross neglect on the part of time-
serving or incompetent superiors.

"What sort of a bird is a supervisor,
anyway?" one asked me once. "I never
even saw the tail feathers of one."

As a final and additional discourage-
ment the ranger is apt to be laid off
part of the year on grounds of econ-
omy, so that he is forced either to seek
28

oo

THE FOREST RANGER

temporary work — always hard to find —
or to lie idle.

In spite of these difficulties, or perhaps
by the very fact that they discourage all
but the enthusiasts, the rank and file of the
forest service is especially good. While
we were at Big Meadow news came of a
thousand dollar trail appropriation — the
first substantial appropriation of the sort.
The rangers rejoiced as heartily as though
each had been left the money as a personal
legacy. I know many who spend a large
part of their wages in the improvement of
their districts, and each and every one
lives in the high hope that some day the
service will get its desert of attention and
compensation. With a strong and able
leader these men would go far. They,
with their endless discussions of new
routes and possible trails and discovered
"ways through," are the true pioneers of

a vast and rich country.

29

THE PASS

At the end of three days Wes had not
yet appeared. We decided to move on,
leaving word for him to overtake us. The
evening before our departure Billy took
affairs into her own hands.

"Now see here," said she, "why can't
we go into the Roaring River country?"

"Because I don't know anything about
it," said I.

"What's that to do with it?"

"Well," I pointed out, "unless you
know a country, you never are sure of
where you are going to camp or of how
long your day is going to be. It's too un-
certain, and it's likely to be hard work."

"It won't be hard work for me," she
argued. "No matter how rough the travel
is all I have to do is to sit on Coco while
you work; and as for standing a long
day, how long were we the time we
couldn't ford the Kings?"

"Well, not very long."
\ 30

THE FOREST RANGER

"Stop and think. We broke camp at
half past seven; and then we went to
Millwood, and didn't stop for lunch, and
got to the river at five. Then how long
were we trying to ford?"

"Not long," said I, weakly.

"It was until black dark; and this is
midsummer. There!"

We argued at length. Finally we com-
promised. We were to go up in the Roar-
ing River country just as far as it was
comfortable and easy. If hardships be-
gan we were to turn back. With this
Billy was satisfied. I think she knew that
we would never turn back once we had
tasted the adventure of a first repulse.

31

ROARING RIVER

Ill

SOARING RIVER

So we received a bag of venison jerky
as a parting gift and set out for the
Rowell Meadow Trail. Wes was to fol-
low. By dusk we had gained a long strip
of green grass running up a shallow ra-
vine to the darkness of the woods, a wide,
fair lawn sloping to a flowing brook, and
four great yellow pines, one of them pros-
trate. To the broken limbs of the latter
we tethered our animals while we un-
packed. Each horse, when freed, walked
immediately to a patch of deep dust each
must already have remarked, took a satis-
fying roll, shook vigorously, and fell to
eating in the strip of green grass. Tux-
ana lay down. Pepper, warm blooded and
thick coated, stood belly deep in the
35

THE PASS

stream, an expression of imbecile satisfac-
tion on her countenance. Billy began to
scrape together a wagon load or so of the
dry pine needles for a bed, while I took
the camp shovel and dug out a fireplace
on the edge of the brook. At this point
the turf sloped down and over the very
stream, so I could turn directly from my
fire to dip up water, which was unusual
and comforting. In ten minutes supper
was under way. The dry pine twigs
crackled and spluttered, throwing a vi-
bration of smokeless heat straight up.
The three kettles set up a bubbling.

Over the stream and up the incline of
the mountain an oliveback was singing
his deliberate, clear, liquidly beautiful
vespers. From the thin screen of asps
around the meadow sloping above us
came the rambling warble of the purple
finch. A rock wren raved near; and a
water ouzel dipped and swung close to
36

ROARING RIVER

the current of the stream. Great austere
shadows lay athwart our lawn; the winds
of a mighty space beyond the pines
breathed softly across the air warmed by
the sun that had left us. Evening, al-
ways big and fearsome in the mountains,
hovered imminent, ready to swoop in its
swift California fashion.

Suddenly Pepper, who had long since
emerged from the stream, raised her head.

"Woof, woof!" she grumbled under
her breath.

Once we used to pay attention when
Pepper said "Woof, woof!" but that time
was gone by. Pepper is an actress. When
she can gain no attention by cocking her
head to one side, raising one ear, cavorting
nimbly in mid-air, or madly biting a
much-abused tail, she looks fixedly into
space and growls in mighty threat and
great ferocity. One who did not know
Pepper would imagine that by means of
37

THE PASS

preternaturally keen senses she had dis-
covered a lurking danger of which she
warned us and from which she was pre-
pared to defend us. But we knew Pep-
per, so we paid no attention. In a mo-
ment, however, Tuxana also showed
symptoms. We got to our feet. Far
down the slope, in the direction from
which we had come, we thought to catch
a gleam of white among the pines. Pres-
ently we saw another. Then sounded a
faint, shrill whistle. Both dogs bounded
away. In a few minutes we were lifting
heavy packs of supplies from the morose
Dinkey and the faithful Jenny, while
Wes, a broad grin on his face, made a
dive for the kettles.

That meant mail, the first for two

months. We built a big fire by which to

read. The magazines were put away in

"the library" — a flour sack — while we de-

J/-"~*} ~> voured our letters.

38

ROARING RIVER

The library was a wonderful affair.
Besides the magazines, it contained a va-
riety surely. At first when off on a long
trip you do not pay much attention to
reading matter, but after a time you save
everything you can lay your hand on. We
possessed about twenty dime novels —
property of Wes — having to do with the
adventures of Nick Carter, the Sleuth,
and with marvelous deeds of a youth of
sixteen, known as Dick Merriwell. Both
heroes were copper-riveted, and through-
out the most bewildering catastrophes we
preserved a comfortable confidence that
they would come out all right. Then
there were two books in Spanish, one vol-
ume of obscure but interesting slavers' ad-
ventures, two remarkably cheap novels of
the English nobility, one of Stevenson's,
two saddle catalogues, and a bushel of old
newspapers.

The next morning we made an early
39

THE PASS

start, and by ten o'clock were looking
across a wide sweep of pine country to
the long crest of the Great Western Di-
vide. Between us and it intervened low,
rolling mountains covered with timber.
To the left, many miles, and beyond a
ridge cleft to admit the passage of Roar-
ing River, we divined the tremendous
plunge of the Kings River Canon. To
the right, again many miles, we discerned
the sheer, bald granite peaks, worn smooth
by glacial action, capped and streaked by
snow, over which our way must lead were
we to gain the canon of the Kaweah. In
the meantime, our first task must be to
cross the wide pine country below us until
we had gained the canon down which
plunged the Roaring River. There we
were promised an old mine trail leading
up to the last sharp ascent.

To our surprise we found the way easy,
though a little bewildering. The pines
40

yy

~+^&£&*£a.

ROARING RIVER

were full of streams, and the streams had
here and there formed meadows rich with
feed, and on the feed grazed small, wild
bands of the mountain cattle. They
had tracked the country in all directions,
and as the mine trail had never been
blazed or monumented, it became increas-
ingly difficult to follow. Not that it mat-
tered much. We knew our direction ; and,
indeed, we soon cut loose from convention
and struck off directly cross country.
Sooner or later, provided we kept to the
straight line, we were bound to come to
Roaring River.

The country was delightful. We could
not understand why it was so little known.
The meadows lay fair and green, sur-
rounded by dense thickets of cottonwoods
or quaking asps, and islanded with round
bushes. The woods were thick and tall.
The travel under foot was not rough, as
roughness goes in the high mountains.
41 v\

THE PASS

Of course, we were not able entirely to
keep to the straight line. The thickets
forced us to detour; the streams flowed
sometimes in miniature unscalable canons.
Often the pines gave place to bold out-
crops, which must be avoided, or wide
patches of manzanita or snow-bush,
through which it was impossible to force
our way. The shoulder of Mt. Brewer,
however, was our guiding mark, and we
steadily neared its shadow.

Lunch of hard tack and raisins we ate
in the saddle. We saw many game tracks,
bear and deer. Once, while skirting an
aspen thicket and buck- jumping through
a windfall, we jumped a deer within a
few feet of the leading horse. Evidently
he had intended lying hidden in the hope
of escaping observation, but we had
headed too directly toward him. He
turned sharp to the right, and encircled
our entire outfit, leaping high in the stiff-
42

ROARING RIVER

legged bounds of the blacktail, until at
last, like a phantom, he entered the
closing-in point of the trees and was
gone.

About three in the afternoon we came
out over Roaring River. It was well
named. The waters dashed white and
turbulent far below us, filling the forest
with their voice. We turned sharp to the
right, and after some scrambling and un-
certainty among ledges and boulders
gained the floor of the valley. Here we
rode for some time until we caught sight
of green on the opposite bank, made a
precarious ford through swift water and
over uncertain boulders, and at last threw
off the packs on a knoll of pine needles
rising but slightly above the thick grasses.
We had been ten hours in the saddle.

43

DEADMAN'S CANON

IV

deadman's canon

A winding path led through a fringe
of bushes down to the stream. There a
back eddy behind a rock offered a peace-
ful dip to our kettles. Elsewhere the
water leaped and boiled from one pool to
another, without pause for breath, as
though exultant. Immediately about the
knoll on which we had spread our tarpau-
lins the grass, sown with flowers, grew
tall. Over opposite, beyond the trees, a
high ridge rose imminent. To the left
and up the canon a rounded bluff marked
the forking of the stream. We were
snugly backed by a pine slope, efficient
screen to the lofty mountains but just be-
47

THE PASS

yond. A great crying of waters filled the
hollow of our canon. At first it drew
our attention almost too painfully, then
dropped into accustomedness, and below
its roaring we made out the elfin voices
of the rapids which I have elsewhere de-
scribed.*

It was quite dark by the time we had
cooked ourselves something to eat. Wes
explored a little in the dusk, and reported
another meadow above, and a cache of
provisions in a small tent, evidently the
property of the man who had brought
the cattle into the country that spring
and would take them out again in the fall.
I whipped a few eddies — there were no
pools — and caught three or four trout.
We turned in well satisfied with our lot
in life.

The next morning we decided, in spite
of stout protests on the part of that young

* See "The Forest," p. 54.
48

^0=f

a

DEADMAN'S CANON

woman, that Billy's ten hours' ride of the
day before had been enough for her. She
was to keep camp, while Wes and I ex-
plored the possibilities of the right-hand
canon. So she strapped on "Black Mike,"
a six-shooter, diminutive, but with the
marvelous property of making her feel
perfectly safe against anything up to and
including earthquakes. Thus fortified
she bade us farewell, and we splashed
across the swift waters of the river.

The canon proved to be seven or eight
miles long. It progressed upward by a
series of terraces. We would ride through
a fringe of woods, or over a meadow, and
then climb vigorously to right or left of
a slide or broken fall until we had gained
another level. The canon walls were very
high, very sheer, and of nearly unbroken
stone. The glacial action had brought
them to syncline near the bottom, so that
to all intents and purposes we were trav-
49

THE PASS

eling a smooth half -cylinder of granite in
whose trough a certain amount of fertile
earth had accumulated. The scenery thus
was inexpressibly bleak and grand.

After perhaps two hours we came in
sight of the end of the canon. There the
stream fell sheer in a fall of indetermi-
nate height. The canon walls widened
around to the grand sweep of a cirque,
and we were able to view for the first time
the mountain barrier over which we must
win.

Although we were still some miles
from the beginning of the ascent, we un-
saddled and picketed our horses. The rest
of the reconnaissance would be easier
afoot. While munching our hardtack and
jerky we examined minutely through our
glasses the face of the mountain range.
To the left of the fall it seemed green, and
beyond that were ledges and niches and
possibilities up to the snow that filled the
50

DEADMAN'S CANON

saddle. We followed painstakingly every
step of the way. It might be done.

Finally I announced my intention of
taking a look at the fall. Wes said he
would climb up a break in the right-
hand wall. We separated, having agreed
on six-shooter signals — two shots, come;
three shots, come quick.

I found the distance to the falls much
greater than I had anticipated. The air
was very clear at this elevation, and I
walked for three-quarters of an hour be-
fore I reached the patch of snow at the
foot of the steep grade. There, to my
delight, I discovered an old miner's trail
leading leftward of the falls through the
greenery, which turned out to be tall
brush. The way was steep and much
washed, but perfectly practicable to good
horses such as ours. I toiled upward,
stopping pretty often to breathe, until I
stood on the small level above the falls.

THE PASS

>

L

Thence, the trail still leading in my direc-
tion, I continued to climb, zig-zagging
from one advantage to another, rather
shortwinded, for I was in a hurry, but
steadily gaining toward the dazzling up-
per peaks.

My first intention had been to explore
merely this far, but as the afternoon was
still new I made up my mind to follow the
trail to the end. The calendar said Au-
gust, but up here it was still early spring.
The ground was soggy with water, and
from every direction leaped waterfalls
and cascades. Of course, I was now far
above timber line, but the short-hair grass
had gained foothold in some fortuitous
little levels. As I topped one of these, I
came upon two golden eagles standing on
the rocks not twenty feet from my face.
They did not seem greatly alarmed, but
rose slowly with a flapping of mighty
wings. Shortly after, I arrived at the
52

DEADMAN'S CANON

end of the miner's trail. All that re-
mained of the camp was a leveled spot on
the shale, some timbers, a rusty pick, and
the usual cans and bottles. Some brilliant-U^"
specimens of copper ore showed what had
been the object of the prospecting. The
men must have had to pack every stick of
firewood up from the canon below.

I did not pause here, for the afternoon
was spending, and it was a long ride back
to our Roaring River camp. The trail
ended, so I climbed on more circum-
spectly, trying to monument a way
through for horses. This is a trick re-
quiring some practice, for you must
know, in the first place, just what a horse
can or cannot do in an unbroken country ;
and in the second place, you must under-
stand enough of formations to know
whether or not you are leading yourself
to a blind pocket of a pinched-out ledge.
The way I found was rough, but passable,

53 y^

THE PASS

and by another half hour I had reached
the edge of the snow.

For the first time I looked back. Dead-
man's Canon extended from directly be-
low me. The strip of earth down its
trough, which had seemed so ample to us
while we were traveling through it, now
had narrowed to a mere streak of green.
The glacial sweep of the half cylinder
from cliff to cliff appeared almost un-
broken. I could make out Roaring River
Canon and the place where Kings River
Canon should lie, but even beyond that,
rising from the lowest depths, tier after
tier, were mountains and ranges innumer-
able. The day was remarkably clear, and
I could see without effort the snow-clad
peaks back of Yosemite, and that, as the
crow flies, was one hundred and thirty-five
miles. I made out also mountains we had
lived with, and lost sight of, weeks before.
It forced home a feeling of the discrep-
54

'^^£y

DEADMAN'S CANON

ancy between what a man can conceive
and what he can do. Here I could leap
at one eyesight to the valley of the
Tuolumne, yet it would take me about
three toilsome weeks to make the notion
good.

Peaks of every sort were all about me
as on a spacious relief map. The imme-
diate surroundings, except back of me in
the case of the mountain I was climbing,
and to the east of me, where intervened
the Great Western Divide, were fortu-
nately lower than myself, so I could see
to the natural horizon. The general
effect to the distant north and west was
of an undulating pine-green carpet, from
which sprang boldly here and there
groups of white or granite peaks. At the
middle distance, however, the mantle
broke into a tumult of stone and snow.

I here left the picking of a horse route,
and climbed straight up the snow. From
55

THE PASS

this point the problem was easy, and the
detailed selection of a trail would bear
postponement. In twenty minutes' hard
scrabbling I had gained the saddle, and
looked over into the valley of the Ka-
weah.

I suppose this point represents the wild-
est and most rugged of the Sierras. The
Great Western Divide, above fourteen
thousand feet, runs down from the north-
west. It is crossed at one angle by
a tremendous and splintered upheaval
called the Kaweah Group, and at another
by the lesser but still formidable ridge on
which I stood.

Three canons headed almost at my feet :
Deadman's Canon, up which we had that
day ridden; Cloudy Canon, which turned
sharp back toward its neighbor, to come
to rest beneath the same peak; and the
mighty canon of the Kaweah, a second
Yosemite, with its polished granite
56

~X3C^*

DEADMAN'S CANON

aprons, its awful plunges, and the bleak
ruggedness of its snows and spires.

I looked down then from the saddle to
the headwaters of the Kaweah River with
some curiosity. To my left was a great
cirque, a semi-circle of sheer mountains of
nothing but granite and snow. In the cup
was a torment of splintered granite debris
unrelieved by a single spear of any green
thing; and two lakes, one slightly higher
than the other. The upper of these two
lakes was frozen solid; but from the
lower, in which floated white ice, a stream
crept to the edge of the cirque.

There it plunged several hundred feet
to a second level, again circular in shape.
This contained another lake, and a green
meadow, through which filtered innumer-
able snaky streamlets, but no trees. Again
the plunge to still a third level ; and at the

very lower end of this, beyond the usual Wt^>"
lake, were two or three tamarack trees.

57

THE PASS

Then the canon floor disappeared in the
middle of the earth.

And over opposite, contemporaneous
with my own elevation, were the giants of
the Kaweah group, black, scarred by
storms, wreathed with snow clinging in
streaks to their polished steep sides.

I climbed part way down the southern
slope of the saddle in which I stood. The
way was over shale for a few hundred
feet, then narrowed to a steep rock
"chimney," like a funnel-mouth pointing
to the abysses below. Nothing could pass
that way. I retraced my steps to the sad-
dle and climbed to the top of the peak to
eastward, whence I could look down into
Cloudy Canon and over to the Great
Western Divide. Between Cloudy Canon
and the headwaters of the Kaweah lay
another saddle, lower than the one I
had just climbed. Moreover, just beyond
it was a red mountain. Now the Ranger
58

DEADMAN'S CANON

had given us a red mountain as a land-
mark for our possible pass. Therefore, I
concluded that the lower saddle would be
our best "way through," and that we
should bring our pack train up Cloudy
rather than Deadman's Canon.

By now it was four o'clock. I returned
to the saddle, spread my arms out, dug
my heels in, and fairly sailed down the
steep slope of snow. It did not matter
much whether or not I fell — I merely
rolled a greater or lesser distance. Be-
hind me a cloud of snow rose thick as dust
on a country road. It was glorious.
Tuxana, who had followed me patiently,
woke into wild excitement, She raced
around and around, her hind legs tucked
well under her, her forelegs bent down
in front, her ears back, and her eyes
snapping with excitement. At last she
understood the reason for this fool expe-
dition.

59

THE PASS

We were soon out of the snow, but even
in soggy and rocky trails going down is
quicker than going up — at ten thousand
feet. We gained the bottom in three-
quarters of an hour. There I fired my
six-shooter and sat down on a rock, for I
was pretty tired. In a little while Wes
rode up, leading Bullet.

He reported an interesting view and
a fine glacier lake, but nothing of prac-
tical importance. We rode home through
the early twilight of deep canons, the
domes and battlements above us looming
huger and more portentous as the light
failed. About seven o'clock we regained
camp. Billy had caught some fish and
cooked some supper.

"To-morrow," said we, "we will go up
to the head of Cloudy Canon; next day
we will work over the pass, and so on
down."

The Ranger had told us that once we
60

Wes clears the trail.

DEADMAN'S CANON

had gained the saddle the rest was easy;
and I had seen enough to convince me
that a little hard work would get us to the
top. Four days later we recamped at this
very spot after our first repulse.

61

CLOUDY CANON

CLOUDY CANON

Cloudy Canon we found to differ
from Deadman's Canon only in the fact
that at its lower end it was more over-
grown with aspen thickets, and at the
upper end the jumps by terraces were
rougher. The glacial polishings were
seen to great advantage here, in some
places so glossy, even on granite, as to
shine in the sun like mirrors. Some of the
meadows we had to cross proved boggy,
some of the ascents full of broken and
jagged debris. Still the travel was good
enough, and by four or five o'clock we had e%^s§ "•* y
gained the last cirque before the ascent to j*33 M s

the saddle I had the day before seen from _^-^«^ *.
above. ^-^P^ &

We camped on a flat just over the

65 Au

THE PASS

stream. The nearest wood was at some
distance. By means of our riatas we
dragged enough for a blaze. Patches of
snow lay all about us. A cold wind
sucked down from above, and as the gray
of evening descended the immediate sur-
roundings took on a black and desolate
aspect. Even the water of the stream
looked cold and steel color, as though it
had but just melted from the ice, as, in-
deed, was the case.

The mountain above, however, was
heavily stained with iron, and the red of
this, catching the last rays of the sun after
the other ranges had become slate-gray,
caused it to glow as with some interior fire
of incandescence. We watched it as we
would watch a wood fire in a grate — this
great mass of stone and snow — reddening
and paling, burning with a fiercer, hotter
combustion or cooling as it died. At last
the evening shadow quenched it.
66

CLOUDY CANON

In the meantime we had been exploring
with our glasses. It was entirely out of
the question to go straight up the canon.
That was banked solid with snow perhaps
fifty or sixty feet deep. The ascent to the
right hand of the canon looked easy
enough for some distance, but on that
side at the base of the pass again inter-
vened a sheet of snow. To the left all
seemed clear, with the exception of a
"nigger head," three-quarters of the way
up. It might, however, be possible to get
over this. Only actual reconnaissance
could determine that point.

By this time it had grown to be dis-
tinctly cold. We had a good fire, and our
sweaters, but even they could not entirely
keep out the penetrating snow chill. So,
as always in such cases, we decided on
exercise and got out Tuxana's gunny-
sack.

Tuxana, as I have explained, is a bull
67

THE PASS

terrier. She is built of whalebone springs.
If you do not believe this, you should see
her hunting through a high grass. Then
you would observe her bounding three or
four feet straight up in the air in order
to get sight over the tops.

Now Tuxana's character is simple, ear-
nest and single-minded. What she un-
dertakes she does with all her might, and
nothing can distract her attention from
it. And the things she delights in are
three: The first is hunting, the second is
swinging from a gunny sack, the third is
swimming after a stick. I have men-
tioned these in the order of their impor-
tance. In all other matters Tuxana is
staid and unexcited and of a reasonable
disposition. But let a squirrel chirp, a
bag move, or a stick appear, and Tux-
ana's mental equilibrium totters. Life
focusses.

So I stood up and held the sack above
68

CLOUDY CANON

my head. Tuxana's eyes snapped. She
leaped straight into the air higher than
my shoulder, and her teeth came together
viciously.

"How'd you like to get your hand in
there?" asked Wes.

At the third jump she managed to seize
the bag. Her jaws clamped. Her eyes
closed luxuriously for a moment. Thence-
forward nothing could shake her loose.
I swung her around my head; I pulled
her along the ground. Always, her eyes
half shut in pleasure, but snapping with
beady lights beneath her lids, she resisted.
Finally I paused. At once Tuxana as-
sumed the aggressive. Half squatting
she began to pull by little jerks. It was
astonishing what power she developed. I
was four times her weight, and yet
I could hardly hold her. Finally I threw
her the sack. Immediately Pepper, who
had been awaiting the chance, sprang f or-
69

THE PASS

ward to grab the other end. Growling
fiercely the two dogs wrestled for posses-
sion. In the end, however, Tuxana con-
quered by virtue of her superior age
and weight — Pepper was at that time
only nine months old — and sat proudly
on the sack, daring any one to take it
from her.

We moved aside the smallest and most
prominent stones, laid out our saddle
blankets next the ground, spread the big
canvas taupaulin over them, added a
wadded comforter or "sogun" as addi-
tional softening, and finished the bed with
our gray army blanket. The other end of
the canvas then folded over the whole.
Wes took the lantern and hunted himself
a place to do likewise.

It was very cold. We put on two suits
of underwear and our sweaters and moc-
casins. Then we turned in. Tuxana
looked wistful, so we held up a corner,
70

CLOUDY CANON

and she crawled down to our feet. How
she breathed I cannot tell you, but she
seemed perfectly happy. Pepper we cov-
ered up carefully — we always did. In
about ten seconds she got panicky because
her head was covered, instituted a general
upheaval of blankets, and got kicked out
into the cold. This was the usual pro-
gramme.

Our noses turned cold, the stars over us
seemed fairly to crackle in the heavens,
the still silver mountains sparkled in the
rare air. We could hear the swift dash of
the snow-water in the creek below, the
faint sound of the horse bell in the short-
hair meadow. The wind lifted and let fall
a corner of the tarpaulin. We were glad
of woolen things and wind-turning covers
and snug quarters. The remains of the
fire glowed and sputtered faintly. To
the south I could see in silhouette the
dip of the saddle. It rose gloomy and
71

THE PASS

forbidding, mysterious in its own black-
ness.

"Oh, but it's going to be some chillsome
at four in the morning!" said I to Billy.

So we went to sleep.

i

72

BLOODY PASS

VI

BLOODY PASS

Four o'clock in the morning proved in-
deed to be mighty cold. The sun was just
gilding some peaks a long distance above
us, but that did not do us any good. All
the horses had moved over to the west-
ward slope of the mountain, where they
would be certain to catch the very first
rays of warmth. Their hair stuck up dark
and velvety.

A hot cup of coffee went to the spot.
Then we caught up the horses, and if
there is anything more finger-numbing
and distressing than to undo heavy leather
hobbles stiff with frost, then I do not
know what it is. We brought them in
to camp.

I left Wes to pack up, and pushed on

in light marching order up the right hand

75 _^

THE PASS

of the canon. Our way probably led to
the left and over the "nigger-head," but
it was thought best to overlook no bets.
We agreed on a conventional six-shooter
signal.

It took me probably an hour to reach
the snow line. I could make out a dim
miner's trail as far as that, but of course
it was lost beyond. A very steep climb
over frozen snow-fields — utterly impossi-
ble for horses — brought me to the ridge,
and once again I looked into the canon of
the Kaweah. The ridge ran up to a very
knife edge of rock, some of it solid, some
cut by the frost into blocks and some
loose and wobbly, but none over eighteen
inches wide. It fell away on either side
for twenty or thirty feet. After two
minutes I was glad to descend again to
the snow.

With many precautions against slip-
ping I skirted the base of the cliffs until

We had just time to dig our heels in and brace for the shock when over

she went.

BLOODY PASS

I had reached the saddle. There I walked
out into plain sight on the snow and fired
my six-shooter twice, by way of a signal
to take the left hand, as the only possible
route. Watching carefully through my
glasses I made out Wes and Billy round-
ing the pack stock together. Satisfied
that they understood, I now turned my
attention to the problem of surmounting
the nigger-head.

A very cursory examination proved to
me that it would be impossible to pass
above it. The upper side fell off sheer.
Below it ran a narrow strip of rock and
shale, steep as a roof, and dropping off
straight into the main canon.

The slant as it stood was too abrupt for
footing. A horse would simply creep
around below the precipice of the nigger-
head until he came to the narrow steep
roof. Then his weight would start an
avalanche in the shale which would carry
77

THE PASS

him off the edge to an untimely death.
So I began to experiment, and soon dis-
covered that by sitting down and kicking
vigorously I could gouge out a little fur-
row which would hold. It was tough on
the shoes, and rather hard work ; but I sat
there and kicked cheerfully until I had
accomplished a nick from the head of
the canon to the base of the nigger-head.
It was rather an invisible sort of nick, and
it ran only about twenty feet above the
precipice, and it was very crumbly at best,
but I looked upon it with pride and sat-
isfaction.

There remained only about forty feet
to do. That ran through cliff-debris from
the nigger-head. I went over it once to
find the easiest route, then set myself vig-
orously to rolling boulders aside, and to
chinking the worst holes. This was rather
good fun. The big stones went bounding
and jumping away like living things,
78

BLOODY PASS

striking fire at every contact, finally leap-
ing from view over the last precipice, only
to reappear after an interval minimized
by distance, still rolling and bouncing un-
til at last the repeated shocks broke them
to pieces a thousand feet below. The
smell of burning was in the air from the
superheated stones. Gradually foot by
foot I worked forward until at last, when
Wes appeared around the corner riding
Modesto, there remained not over ten feet
to do.

He dismounted and together we went
at the remainder. Then we walked back
and forth over the length of the trail test-
ing for weak spaces, after which we rode
across in sixty seconds, quite safely, but
with many doubts. Our horses were the
veterans of several hard mountain trips,
and they stepped lightly and surely. So
we gained the snowline.

At this point the stream, somewhere be-

THE PASS

neath a canon full of snow, headed in a
small circular cup, whose sides sloped
steeply to a glacier lake. The water of
this lake was of a deep rich peacock-blue,
typical of the glaciers, but quite impos-
sible to describe. It was fringed by white
ice, which ran out below the surface in
ledges of the most perfect robin's-egg
blue imaginable. The dazzling white,
brilliant rich peacock, and paler translu-
cent blue gave the impression of some
rare and precious gem.

The shores sloped very steeply, and
were covered with snow which terminated
only at the base of the sheer ridge above.
Directly across the lake, and perhaps two
hundred feet up, this ridge broke and
splintered. Wes and I climbed up and
took a look at it. It ran in sharp needles
of rock, knife-edge slabs struck upright,
<^X and jumbled ledge matter. Wes picked
out a possibility.

80

BLOODY PASS

"If they get through here, we'll have to
take out a license for keeping goats,"
said Wes.

We piled up small stones to help in
some places, and pried out what obstruc-
tions we could, but our best was mighty
little. I have seen horses travel in rough
country, but this little bit was the worst.
However, we consoled ourselves with the
Ranger's assurance that once to the top
our troubles would be over. We started
the horses along. First they had to skirt
the lake and climb slanting up the steep
snow bank. We anticipated no trouble in
this, but when about half way up discov-
ered something of which our light weight
afoot had not apprised us. The top cov-
ering was comparatively loose ; but earlier
in the year, before the last snowfall, evi-
dently a freezing rain had fallen, so about

six inches under the surface lay a hard
and slippery crust.

81

THE PASS

Dinkey, always cocky and self-confi-
dent, was the first victim. She slipped,
attempted to recover, and went down.
Slowly the weight of her pack overcame
her balance, forcing her as one wrestler
forces another.

"Look out! She's going to roll over!"
yelled Wes.

He threw his riata over her head. We
had just time to dig our heels in and brace
for the shock when over she went.

Now it was about a hundred feet down
to the glacier lake, and we both knew that
if Dinkey ever plunged into it we should
never see her again. So we braced a
mighty brace, and heaved a mighty
heave. I can't describe the rest in detail.
I know I slid ten feet or so on my heels,
was upended, enveloped in a choking
whirl of snow, felt the rope encircle me
and so cast it loose, stopped rolling,
cleared my eyes, saw the end of the rope

BLOODY PASS

within a foot of me, grabbed it, and was
again yanked through space.

When the sky resumed its natural posi-
tion I found that the combined efforts of
Dinkey, Wes and myself had brought the
outfit to a standstill just about one yard
from the edge of the peacock-blue water
in the glacier lake. We were covered with
snow, and we sprawled at the end of what
looked to be the track of an avalanche.

"Well, we stayed with it," said Wes.

We looked up. Billy was roosting on a
rock with a camera in her hand. Bullet,
good, wise old Bullet, had headed the rest
of the pack train and was holding it there
in the deep snow. Tuxana and Pepper,
who had added to the joy of the scene by
chasing around and around in mad circles,
sat on their haunches with a please-do-it-
again smile on their faces.

It now became necessary to return
Dinkey to her original position. We did
83 ~*^^_^^S>

THE PASS

this very gingerly by leading her back to
the starting place. She had completely
lost her nerve and trembled pathetically.
At this Wes and I rejoiced somewhat, for
Dinkey heretofore had made us feel very
inferior and ignorant.

We now set ourselves in good earnest
to the task of gaining the last hundred
feet. A rope was attached to Bullet; we
both took a hand. But Bullet walked
across like a tight-rope dancer. At the
piled up destruction of the boulders and
ridges he took his time, smelt out each
step, and passed without an accident. I
rubbed his forehead for him, and left him
on a tiny flat place just beyond the top.

Jenny came next. She started confi-
dently enough, following Bullet's lead,
but soon had the bad luck to thrust one
hind leg through a thin spot and down
into a deep hole. In the recovery she fell
on her side, and while we managed to
84

Bullet took his time, smelted out each step, and passed without an accident.

BLOODY- PASS

prevent her rolling over, she came so near
it that she uttered a sharp squeal of fright.
Two years before Jenny had fallen from
the trail, had caught on a narrow ledge,
and had been slung thence bodily by
means of two riatas. The experience had
shattered her nerves. Now she went all
to pieces. We undid her pack rope, teased
the kyak from beneath her — gave her
every chance in the world. But she re-
fused even to try to get up. So we
twisted her tail and pulled on her lead
rone until she had to make some effort.
E\en then she struggled wildly, her eye
fairly glazed with terror. Of course, she
went down again, and yet again, flounder-
ing like a big fish. We held her to the
slope without too great difficulty, for we
had good footholds, and little by little
teased her along toward the edge of the
snow and the beginning of the splintered
rocks. There we hoped Jenny would get
85

THE PASS

over her hysterics in the realization of ac-
customed footing. The last ten feet she
floundered forward on her fore knees,
never even attempting to get more fully
to her feet.

Once secure we let her stand, while we
ourselves carried over her pack to where
Bullet patiently awaited us. Then, hav-
ing decided that Jenny should have re-
gained her poise by this time, we led
her on.

How she surmounted that hundred foot
climb without breaking her fool neck will
always be a problem. She slipped and
skated and fell and recovered. The sharp
edges cut her fearfully. Blood streaked
her from a dozen wounds, ran down her
white coat, even dripped on the rocks.
We were sorry, but we could not help it.
Finally we did gain the saddle, and look-
ing back with deep breaths of relief
named this Bloody Pass.
86

BLOODY PASS

Buckshot made the snow fields with
nothing worse than several bad staggers,
and the splintered rocks sagely and care-
fully, testing each foothold, as was Buck-
shot's fashion. Old Slob, too, did well,
though he was badly frightened. At one
spot it was necessary to jump from an
unstable take-off up a little ledge. Old
Slob, too anxious to do the thing prop-
erly, rather over-did the matter; his pack
over-balanced him, and he poised on the
verge of falling directly backward off the
mountain. That would have been the end
of Old Slob. Fortunately my footing
was good, so that by throwing every ounce
of my weight into the riata by which I
was leading him, I was able to decide the
balance.

So we led them up one at a time. The

climbing was severe, for the altitude was

somewhere about eleven thousand feet.

We worked like slaves, and when, after

87

THE PASS

various minor incidents of the kind al-
ready detailed, we had crowded the last
of the animals on the big flat rock at the
top, we were glad to hunt the lea of a
boulder for a rest.

We ate hardtack and venison jerky and
raisins, and told each other that the worst
now was over. Indeed, as far as we could
see, the descent did not seem to be espe-
cially difficult. A series of ledges slant-
ing into each other irregularly ran in
natural lacets to the limit of eyesight.

After we had eaten we started down.
The way was very rough, as you may im-
agine, but opposed no insuperable obsta-
cles to our animals. It was necessary only
that one of us should scout far enough
ahead to assure an open way from one
broad ledge to another. This was not
difficult, for a man afoot can get about
much more rapidly than the horses. Oc-
casionally, Wes and Billy would halt un-
88

BLOODY PASS

til I had explored all the possibilities of a
choice of several routes.

In this way we worked down about a
thousand feet. The passage in general
was plain before us. We had to do a few
hundred feet more of this ledge country,
then step out on a long shale slide, which,
however steep and unstable it might prove
to be, would take us safely enough to the
shores of the second glacier lake. There
we could camp.

I scouted ahead, came to a forty-foot
drop, returned, took another way, came
to the same forty-foot drop ; repeated the
operation, gained exactly the same result.

Then both of us men turned in to ex-
plore in earnest. A half hour convinced
us that we were in a cul-de-sac to which
all possible routes from the saddle con-
verged. There was no other way. Our
glasses showed us impassable debris
below.

89

THE PASS

We sat down to face the situation. We
could not go on; we could not camp here
in the granite, where there was no feed,
no water, no fuel. The nearest of those
necessities was precisely whence we had
started this morning.

"We've got to go back," concluded
Wes, reluctantly.

It was by now three o'clock. We had
been since daylight getting this far. Our
horses were tired out from the rough
climbing and the lack of food; they had
not had a mouthful since they had ceased
grazing late the previous night. Before
us was a sharp thousand-foot climb, and
then the extraordinary difficulties we had
surmounted with so much pains and dan-
ger. As if to add positively a story-book
touch to the discouragement of the out-
look, the sky clouded over, and a cold,
sleety rain began to fall.

WE FALL BACK

VII

WE FALL BACK

By this time it was three o'clock in the
afternoon. We had to traverse before
dark the distance we had taken since day-
light to cover. As additional full meas-
ure, the clouds, which latterly had been
gathering about the peaks of the Kaweah
Group opposite, now swept across to en-
velope us. Our horses were tired because
of hunger and the hard day. We could
anticipate only a bleak, hard camp to
which we would have to drag wood at the
end of our riatas before we could even get
warm.

Pepper and Tuxana alone were aggra-

vatingly cheerful. They sniffed eagerly

into all the crevices among the rocks,

93

THE PASS

popped up bright-eyed over the tops of
boulders, quivered with their anxiety to
find out what all this expedition was
about, anyway. It would have suited us
better if they had adapted their demeanor
more accurately to the situation. I wish
I had a dog's vivid interest in mere living.

Buckshot groaned and grumbled ; Din-
key swore, but up the ridge they had to
climb again. In the desperation of great
weariness is an apparently careless haste
that sometimes accomplishes marvels. It
carried us over the needles of rock and
down the snow slopes without the smallest
accident. Rain began to fall, at first like
mist, then more heavily in long, pelting
lines. Darkness was shutting in.

At this point Billy and the dogs left us.
They were to run down the snow lying
deep in the canon. The crust was plenty
strong enough to support a human being,
with some to spare, but the horses would
94

WE FALL BACK

probably have broken through. We
watched her figure dwindle as she slid and
slipped down the long white declivity.
Our fate was to pick out in the darkness
and rain the miserable and tortuous foot-
hold we had that morning constructed.
We speedily became wet through, after
which the affair was an entire engross-
ment in dark, slippery rocks, the trickle
of waters, voids filled with gray, and con-
stant shoutings of advice, speculation and
encouragement from one to the other of
us. The horses traveled doggedly, as
tired horses will, their heads swinging.

Finally we reached the bottom of the
slope. A rush of white waters opposed
us, but we plunged in without much at-
tempt to find a ford, and emerged drip-
ping on the other side.

Billy was awaiting us, together with
the dogs, now utterly crushed under the
sudden realization that it was dark, and
95

THE PASS

neither fire nor supper was forthcoming.
They were beginning to regret certain
scorned mush of happier days.

An almost invincible disbelief in the
possibility of comfort overcame us. Mo-
tion seemed rather to bring to acuter real-
ization our chilly state than to start our
blood to circulation. It required faith,
faith deep and real, to force us to the
unpacking, to the necessary search for
fuel, to the patient labor of ignition.

The horses wandered rather dispirit-
edly away in search of the scanty short-
hair grass of this altitude. After much
chopping for the heart of the firewood,
we managed to start a little blaze. It
grew, and we gathered close. After a
time we began to feel a trifle less numb.
One of us summoned courage to explore
among stiff and wet canvases in search
of the grub bags and the utensils. We
began on hot tea, and then plucked up

WE FALL BACK

heart for the trouble of slicing bacon, and
so on gradually to a full and satisfactory
meal. Tuxana and Pepper huddled close
and shivered violently in the effort to
throw off the chill. Pepper curled up in
a ball; but Tuxana sat on her tail, both
hind feet pathetically and ludicrously off
the ground, blinking her bull-terrier pink-
rimmed eyes. We felt recovered enough
by now to laugh at her.

Then slowly it became borne in on our
now torpid faculties that something yet
remained to be done. Not the dishes —
no, indeed — they must wait for the morn-
ing. But out of the cold, wet blackness
beyond the firelight we had to conjure
sleeping places. The task was not in it-
self great; but it had on top of it the
weight of a long, hard day.

Reluctantly we lit the little candle-
lantern and looked about. It was a case
of hard rock that night, for every depres-
97

THE PASS

sion of shale was soggy with water, and
boughs there were none at all. So Billy
and I spread our tarpaulin and the quilt
to soften things a trifle, and the gray
army blanket, and crawled in shivering.
Poor old Tuxana, wet as a fish, begged
hard ; but the best we could do for her was
a saddle blanket. Into this she retired
utterly. Pepper, with the combined in-
consequence of youth, reliance on a thick
wire coat, and personal imbecility of dis-
position, declined to remain covered, so
we left her to her own devices by the
spluttering fire.

We shivered for awhile, then the ani-
mal heat accumulated sufficiently beneath
our coverings, and we fell deeply asleep.
About two o'clock I awoke, the side of
me next the rock feeling as though it were
flattened out, like meat that has been in
a refrigerator. My nose was as cold as
a dog's. Overhead light clouds were hur-

98

'-'. -•--"..

WE FALL BACK

rying by. Through them shone some very
pale and chilly stars.

The next morning we arose rather later
than usual. It had cleared somewhat, but
the air was bitterly cold. After breakfast
we assembled about a recklessly large fire
and discussed what was next to be done.

The decision made — I forget what it
was — we caught up the horses. Then it
became evident that fate had taken mat-
ters out of our hands, for Jenny's legs, by
daylight, proved to be more cut than we
had supposed. They had already swollen.
We could guess without much effort that
Jenny would be unfit to travel for at
least ten days. So we put my riding sad-
dle on the cripple, transferred her pack
to Coco, and Billy to my own horse,
Bullet.

"I will climb the ridge again," said I,

"and look for a route over from the other

canon. You can make camp at the

99

rA

x w

THE PASS

meadow where the two canons come to-
gether, and I will join you about dark."

They filed way, and once more I ad-
dressed myself to the ascent.

In climbing a mountain at a high eleva-
tion you start out comfortably enough.
The first symptom of trouble is a short-
ening of your breath, the next a violent
pounding of your heart ; then come sensa-
tions of heavy weights attached to your
feet, ringings of your ears, blurring of
your eyes, perhaps a slight giddiness. It
is now time to stop. After a moment the
landscape steadies, the symptoms subside.
You are ready for another little spurt.
The moment you stop, or strike level
ground, you are all right ; but at the high-
est elevations, even a slight incline or a
light burden will bring you immediate
distress. At just what elevation this dis-
tress becomes acute depends on your in-
dividual make-up. Some people cannot
100

The way was very rough.

WE FALL BACK

stand even six or seven thousand feet.
Billy is fit for navigation up to about thir-
teen thousand. Beyond that point she is
subject to a seizure that stiffens her out
as though by a stroke of paralysis. Snow
on the forehead brings her around all
right, and luckily snow is abundant that
high. I personally have never been be-
yond fifteen thousand feet; but that al-
titude, though rendering rapid exertion
extremely laborious, did not affect me
painfully.

An hour brought me to the snow. I
could see very well how to get up through
a chimney were it not for that snow. But
in present conditions the case was abso-
lutely hopeless. The slant was such that
even in soft footing a horse would have L.
difficulty to keep from falling, but now
the substratum of ice made the passage
absolutely impossible. In addition, the
snow itself lay in sharp edges and cups
101

THE PASS

%

several feet deep, like a gigantic muffin
mold of innumerable hollows. One had
either to attempt the knife edges of the
partitions, or to climb laboriously in and
out of the hollows. Generally the result
turned out to be a disconcerting compro-
mise between the two.

However, another twenty minutes'
hard work took me to the top. There I
quickly traversed the T where the two
canons headed against the ridge, and
stood once more looking out over Dead-
man's Canon.

The great black masses of the Kaweah
Group were blacker still with a formida-
ble thunder storm slowly gathering about
its peaks. So sinister, gloomy and for-
bidding did the canons and crevices be-
come as the light was blotted from their
glittering snows and rocks that I could
not rid myself of the notion that the very
essence of the world was undergoing the
102

<^--

WE FALL BACK

transformation of some catastrophe. It
had started yonder, under those black
peaks. It was spreading, as spilled water
spreads. Shortly it would kill that broad,
smiling sunny meadow far beneath. Then
it would creep up the slope below. Then
it would swallow me.

A peal of thunder seemed to tear apart
the stillness with the voice of a command.
One after another the mountains echoed
back the submissive response, as though
reporting themselves at their posts for the
sinister change that was to befall them.
I thought to hear a faint and distant roar-
ing. A gray veil suddenly shut out the
peaks.

This seemed to break the spell of por-
tent. I noted that the air currents and
the configuration of the mountains were
likely to carry the storm eastward, and so
set to work.

I scouted until I found, about fifteen
103

THE PASS

hundred feet down, some stunted trees
and feed. Then I worked out a route to
them. Then I built as much trail as was
necessary. This took me a long time.
Whether we should be able to do the other
fifteen hundred feet down to the green
meadow and the round lake did not mat-
ter for the present. It was enough if we
could penetrate so far into the enemy's
country, sure of sustenance and a space
for the soles of our feet. While engaged
at this work I came across a big drift of
pink snow. Pink snow is a little hard to
believe in, but it exists. I understand that
the tint comes from the pollen of some
flower. The fact remains that the very
substance of the snow is pink, decidedly
pink, like pink cotton ; and when you step
on it, it crushes into an appearance of pale
blood. When I first saw it far above me,
on the slope of a mountain, I thought I
must have chanced on some anachronistic
104

WE FALL BACK

glow that had happened around too late
for sunrise or too early for sunset.

By seven o'clock I had reached the
forks of the canons. The thunder shower
had increased to a cloud burst, and the
cloud burst had overtaken the pack train.
So violently had the water beaten down
that the horses refused to proceed. They
ran their heads into thick spruce trees and
declined to budge. Billy and Wes had
to sit there and take it. Billy thought it
great fun; but, as Wes pointed out, she
owned a poncho. Wes did not, but re-
tained a semblance of triumphant good
humor because by some mysterious meth-
od of his own he had kept his tobacco and
cigarette papers dry.

The ground was soaked, and miniature
gullies had worked down through the pine
needles. We built a big fire, turned out

the horses and so once more slept with the

great and complex voice of the river.

^3.

105

THE PERMANENT CAMP

VIII

THE PERMANENT CAMP

After far wandering a permanent
camp is a great refreshment to the spirit.

You start in animated by the utmost
vigor. There are so many things to be
done, and they all occur to your mind at
once. After breakfast you seize the axe
and take to the brush. The search for
straight saplings forking at required
heights becomes absorbing. You cut
them and drag them to camp and stick
them in their appointed places. There is
an amplitude to these preparations in de-
licious contrast to the direct utilitarianism
of your camp-making while on trail. So
must have felt the founder of Cologne
Cathedral, his soul big and tranquil with
109

THE PASS

the thought of the three hundred years of
building that were to follow. You make
a shelter and a bed. The former is beau-
tiful and permanent; we put up the little
balloon silk tent, which heretofore had
been used only as a pack cloth. The bed
you arrange carefully, smoothing the
ground with the back of the axe swung
adze-wise between your legs, laying par-
allel two generous lengths of logs well
pegged to prevent rolling, filling between
them first with dry pine needles, then with
balsam fans thatched carefully springy
side up. It is fun to cut balsam. The
thicket is warm with the radiation of sun
from fragrant piney things. You clip
and clip away with the hatchet, bathed
in tepid odors and buzzy sounds. It is
a leisurely occupation that you cannot
hurry, and so you lapse gladly into that
half-dreamy state to be acquired only in

the woods, wherein the golden afternoon
110

THE PERMANENT CAMP

seems to comprise several eternities. Then
you return to camp, and begin feverishly
the construction of a table.

It is a very ingenious table, supported
by three saplings suspended between two
trees. Across them you lay wands, and
over the wands you spread your oilcloth.
The bench you make of hewn logs (be
sure they are dry, otherwise you may stick
to your seat), supported on cross-pieces
between forked branches driven into the
ground. You place your eating utensils,
and feel the creator's joy.

Then remain a dozen other affairs. The
fireplace is elaborate; the saddles are con-
ceded a rack. And you make a woodpile.

Ordinarily, while traveling, you cook
with what you can pick up, or chop in
two by a stroke or so of the axe. Now
you cut the nearest pine logs into lengths,
and lug these lengths into camp on your
shoulders, staggering uncertainly. And
111

THE PASS

then you hit with your axe a mighty
whack lengthwise, and insert a wedge
of hard wood in the crack thus made,
and beat the wedge in until it is buried,
and then insert another wedge lower
down, until at last the log splits in two
with a great tearing of wood fibers.
Whereupon you attack the halves in like
manner, and then the quarters, until in
the final result you are possessed of a
number of slender split posts. You lay
one of these posts over your chopping log.
A full swing of the axe bites deep and
slanting. You reverse the blade and
whack mightily on the end. The slender
post breaks at the point of the axe cut,
and at last you lay aside with pride the
first stick of firewood.

There is a joy in the clean, accurate
labor — a pleasure in stretching your mus-
cles. And the gleaming yellow piles
grow almost like magic.
112

THE PERMANENT CAMP

By now you are fully in the vein. You
are tired ; but you do not know enough to
feel so. A score of desirable little tasks
crowd on your intention. You will put
up shelves, and make a meat safe, and
sweep the forest floor, and dig a garbage
pit, and rope in the camp, and

"Look here!" complains your com-
panion, "don't you think we'd better call
this a day? I'm hungry!"

You glance up with surprise. The
pines are silhouetting against the west.
Shadows are half -tree high already, and
the coolness of evening is creeping very
cautiously, very slowly down through the
lowest thickets. The sparrows and viros
seem to have fallen silent. A pensive
melody of thrushes steals in and out of
the forest aisles.

You straighten your back, and sud-
denly feel very tired. The day is indeed
done.

113

THE PASS

And next morning very early you
awaken and look straight up at the sky.
The pine tops touch it shyly — you could
almost imagine that gently swaying in
the wind they had brushed the stars away.
A great singing of birds fills the air. So
innumerable are the performers that it is
difficult to distinguish the individuals.
The result might be called a tremendous
and composite chattering. Only here the
tone of the chattering is supremely mu-
sical, so that the forest seems to be echoing
to the voice of some single melodious
creature.

Near by a squirrel, like a fussy little old
gentleman, jerks about nervously.

"Dear, dear!" says he. "Look at those
people! Look at those people!"

After he has repeated this a few score
of times he fusses away, probably to re-
port to the proper officers that he must
object, he really must object to such per-
114

THE PERMANENT CAMP

sons being admitted to his club. The sun
strikes through the woods and glorifies a
dogwood just to the left of its direct line
of illumination. The light partly reflects
from, partly shines through the delicate
leaves, until the whole bush becomes
ethereal, a gently glowing soul of itself.
You stretch luxuriously, and extend your
legs, and an unwonted feeling of satisfac-
tion steals over you. You wonder why.
The reason comes in due time. It is this :
a whole glorious woodland day lies before
you, and in it is no question of pack rope,
horse or trail. You can do just exactly
as much or as little as you please.

Probably you elect to putter around
camp. There are innumerable things to
do, and you can have fun at any one of
them. To sit straddle a log, tinkering
away at a new latigo for your saddle is
joy, especially if you can look up every
now and then to a very blue sky not
115

THE PASS

to

much beyond very tall trees. Little items
of repair have long been awaiting this
leisure. Also there is laundry, with a glo-
rious chance to wash everything washable,
even down to the long-suffering dish rag.
I should advise one of the cold-water
soaps, as it is difficult to scare up anything
big enough to boil clothes in.

And if you are fond of cooking, now
is your chance to indulge in the most as-
tounding culinary orgies. Simple pud-
dings, cakes, and other bakings are quite
within the reach of the ingenious camp
cook: there is necessary only the widest
possible interpretation of receipts, and the
completest audacity in substitution. If
you have no eggs, why, never mind. Per-
haps dried prunes will do. Try it, any-
way. I once made a very good pudding
out of the remains of boiled macaroni,
some cold cornmeal mush, sugar, cinna-
mon and raisins. This when baked
116

THE PERMANENT CAMP

through, and well browned atop proved
to be marvelously popular. I admit it
does not sound very good.

The cooking zeal is cumulative. There
comes a day when you cook from morn-
ing until evening, and then triumphantly
announce a feast. If you possess real en-
thusiasm, you get up menus and table
decorations. Here is one we gave at Lake
Charlotte, eleven thousand feet up, in
honor of the birthday of our old friend
Spoopendyke. Your true celebrant in the
woods always makes his feast an occasion,
even if he has to invent one.

Clam Soup a la Dieu Sait Quoi
Fried Trout a la Lac Charlotte

Bacon a V Axlegrease
Scrambled Eggs a la Tin Can

Bread Corn Bread Biscuits

Vegetables a V Abercrombie

Boiled Potatoes Baked Beans

Rice Pudding Strawberries Spice Cake

Nuts Raisins

117

THE PASS

On the reverse came the

Wine List

Tea

In the Large Pot

Coffee

In the Small Pot

Cocoa .

Make it Yourself, Darn You

Water

Go to the Spring

Lemonade

In the Small Bottle

Whiskey

. Drink, $10 ; Smell, 25c.

Cigars

Pipes Cigarettes

After a brilliant climax of this sort,
you generally settle back to a more lei-
surely gait. Other things engage your
attention. You hunt, you fish, you ex-
plore the immediately surrounding coun-
try.

And then little by little you run down,
like a clock that has not been wound.
There is plenty of venison in camp; fish-
ing palls. You lie around during endless
golden hours, shifting with the sun,
watching the rainbow colors in your eye-
lashes, soaking in comfort and rest as
thirsty ground takes up water. In the
118

THE PERMANENT CAMP

evening you swap yarns and hold aca-
demic discussions around the campfire.
If it were not for the fact that you have
to chop wood for that campfire you could
take root and your brains would turn out
budding little green branches. The aca-
demic discussions are lazily delivered, and
irresponsible, oh, utterly irresponsible!
The ordinary rules of coherency and
probability are quite relaxed. You hear
the most extraordinary stories, and still
more extraordinary theories.

"I remember when I was foreman of a
construction gang in the mountains north
of here, the company used to buy con-
demned army supplies. For awhile they
ran short of lubricating oil, so they used
to pack the axle boxes of the cars with
slices of salt pork; it worked fine.

"Well, I used to pride myself on run-
ning a mighty nifty camp, then, and I

had a Chink that could put up a real feed.
119

/V-

THE PASS

One day old Harrington himself dropped
off on me with some of his city friends, so
as soon as I could break away I hiked
over to the cook shack.

" 'Sing Hop,' says I, 'old man come.
Rustle plenty good chop, poco pronto.'

" 'No hab got meat,' says Sing Hop.
'Him no come.'

"Well, that looked bad for the reputa-
tion of my camp, now didn't it? Then
an idea came to me. I sneaked around the
other side of the train, opened one of the
axle boxes and took out a dozen slices of
the condemned pork they had packed in
there for lubricating. Old Harrington
said he'd never eaten better meat."

You exclaim, politely, a little doubt-
fully. The old sinner presses down the
tobacco in his pipe and cocks his eye at
you.

"The joke of it was," says he, "that
Sing Hop never had to touch that meat.
120

^c,:

THE PERMANENT CAMP

The friction-heat of the axles had cooked
it just right."

"You'll never go to heaven," murmurs
some one, kicking the fire. A column of
sparks startles the shadows into momen-
tary flight.

"Speaking of heaven," continues the
sinner cheerfully, "did you ever hear of
the two old Arizonians who met for the
first time in ten years? Of course, they
had to celebrate. By and by they got to
the tearful stage of the game, and began
to mourn the absence of Jim. Jim had
been dead fifteen years. That didn't
make any difference, however.

* 'It jes' spoils thish evenin' that Jim
ain't yere,' sobbed one. 'How dear ol*
Jim would have enjoyed this evenin' I' "

They mourned awhile in hopeless
gloom, and then one saw a little glimmer
of light in the situation.

" 'Nev' mind !' said he, brightening up,
121

THE PASS

'when I die an' go to heaven, I'll tell dear
ol' Jim about thish evenin'!'

" 'Yes,' said the other earnestly, 'but
s'pose dear ol' Jim didn't go to heaven?'

" 'Then,' replied the first quite un-
alarmed, 'then you tell him!' "

Every one smokes and stares into the
heart of the fire. A glowing log crumples
at the middle, and sinks to coals. The
flames die to blues and lucent pale-greens.
In the partial re-establishment of dark-
ness the stars look down between the trees.

"I wonder," says some one, dreamily,
"what will be the first message flashed
from those other worlds when at last com-
munication is established; what bit of in-
formation out of all our boundless curi-
osity we will ask for? Will we hit for the
fundamentals? Will we inquire, 'Do you
die, up there? do you hope? do you fear?
do you love?' "

"Probably some trust will get hold of
122

THE PERMANENT CAMP

it, and the first message will be: 'Use
Broggins' Tongue Titillators, the best
Bon-Bon,' " replied the brutal member.

"Well, after all, it won't matter," in-
sists the idealist unabashed. "The impor-
tant thing will not be the message, but the
fact that it is the first message."

A tentative chilly little night wind ven-
tures across the dying fire. The incan-
descent coals, with their halls and gal-
leries magnificent, sink together with a
faint sound. In a moment they begin to
film over. The features of your com-
panions grow indistinct. Outside noises
come more clearly to your attention, for
strangely enough the mere fact of fire-
light seems to hold at a distance not only
the darkness but the sounds that people it.
The rush of waters, the sighing of winds,
the distant mournful owl-notes, or sleepy
single chirp of some momentarily awak-
ened day-bird — these come closer with the
123

^"~^v.

:■

THE PASS

reassured shadows creeping down to
pounce on the dying fire.

In the group some one raps a pipe
sharply twice. Some one else stretches
and sighs. The stir of leaves tells of re-
luctant risings.

"Time to turn in, boys; good-night, "
says one.

In a moment you and the faint glow in
the ashes are left alone together.

We made a good camp under tall trees.
Then we produced the flour sack contain-
ing our much-read "library"; destroyed
arrears in the laundry business; shaved
elaborately, and so prepared ourselves for
a good time.

First of all we were hungry for fresh
meat, so Wes and I rode down the river
to get a deer. We tied the horses at the
edge of the snow-brush, made our way la-
boriously up to the castellated tops of the
ridges where the bucks lie to harden their
124

THE PERMANENT CAMP

antlers, and crept along, slowly looking
with all our eyes. The early morning was
too much of an effort after our hard work
of the past few weeks, so now the time
was late afternoon. In the before-even-
ing coolness our game should be afoot,
stepping daintily in and out among the
manzanita and snow-brush, nipping a
mouthful here and there, pausing at every
step or so to look watchfully about over
the landscape. Pepper and Tuxana,
chipmunks scornfully forgotten, trailed
along at our heels. They understood per-
fectly that important affairs were for-
ward, and stepped with almost the over-
elaborate caution of a schoolboy on the
stalk for imaginary Indians.

The signs were numerous. Tracks
crossed and recrossed the ridge, all of
them round and full buck-tracks. The
more pointed doe footprints would be
found at a lower elevation, where, in the
125 s~^A

THE PASS

shelter of denser growth, they would be
taking care of their fawns. After an
hour Wes, who for the moment was in
the lead, stopped short and began cau-
tiously to level his rifle. I stepped to one
side and looked. About a hundred yards
away, above the brush, I could just make
out two spike horns and a pair of ears
pointed inquiringly in our direction. The
horns looked not unlike the branches of
dead manzanita, and the ears blended with
the foliage in that strange semi-transpar-
ent manner possessed alike by wild crea-
tures and woodland shadows. Tuxana
and Pepper quivered. A tense stillness
seemed all at once to grip fast the uni-
verse, a stillness which would require a
mighty effort to break.

"Bang!" spoke old Meat-in-the-Pot.

A swift compact cloud of dust immedi-
ately sprang up from the spot where the
deer had stood. A thousand echoes rever-
126

THE PERMANENT CAMP

berated from cliff to forest and back
again. The necessity for caution, for
silence, for slow and deliberate motion
seemed instantaneously to have broken
into these flying fragments of sound. I
sprang to the top of a boulder, Pepper
uttered a single excited yap, Wes spoke
aloud.

"Missed, by thunder!" said he.

In the tones of Wes' voice was deep
disgust. Wes is an excellent rifle shot,
and rarely misses.

I could see the bushes swing with the
deer's progress down hill, and occasion-
ally I caught a momentary glimpse of his
high, springing jumps. Evidently he in-
tended half circling the hill. Almost
could I get enough of a sight to shoot,
and the expectation constantly recurring,
and as constantly frustrated, set me in an
agony of desire to take the cause of events
into my own hands, to shift and adjust
127

THE PASS

them and order them. Wes, screened in
by thick brush, was grumbling away be-
hind me.

"He was lying down," he growled,
"and I under shot. He was lying down;
if I'd had any sense at all, I could 'a seen
that with my mouth !"

Unexpectedly matters adjusted them-
selves. The deer, abandoning his first in-
tention, turned sharp to the right through
an open space. I tried to aim so that the
bullet would catch him as he struck the
ground at the finish of one of his buck
jumps — really the only way to hit a run-
ning deer. At the shot he went down in
a cloud of dust.

"I got him!" I yelled.

But the deer seemed only momentarily

stunned, for he was almost instantly

afoot, and off again with apparently as

£j much vigor as ever. Afterward we found

that my bullet had gone through the

128

THE PERMANENT CAMP

shoulder without either breaking the bone
or entering the body cavity.

At this point Tuxana appeared, made
a flying leap at the deer's throat; missed,
but tried the next best that offered it-
self. In this case the next best happened
to be the deer's tail. That she did not
miss.

It was much better than gunny sacks.
I do not doubt that in the brief moment
during which Tuxana remained on terra
firma, and while her mental processes
were still unconfused, a great illumina-
tion came to her of many things hereto-
fore mysterious — of the reason for gunny
sacks, and why dogs delight to swing
from them, and how they are intended in
the scheme of things as a training and a
preparation for such crises of life as this.
And so Tuxana sailed away, hitting the
scenery on an average of once every hun-
dred feet. The last I saw of her for that
129

THE PASS

moment was as the deer jumped a log.
Her four feet were rigidly extended in
four different directions, uncertain as to
which one would alight first, and how.
And in her soul I knew there was deep

joy-

We followed the trail for a quarter of
a mile. Then we came to a stream flow-
ing among boulders. In the middle of
the stream and half over a miniature fall
lay the deer. Firmly attached to its tail
was Tuxana, the bull dog, her sturdy legs
braced back to hold the great weight
against the current, her jaws clamped,
the water pouring over her flanks. When
we approached she rolled her little pink-
rimmed eyes at us. In them we read sat-
isfaction with the condition of affairs.
She gave no other sign.

We put a bullet through the deer's
head, hauled him — and Tuxana — ashore,
and set about the job of preparing him
130

THE PERMANENT CAMP

for transportation. Tuxana let go with
reluctance. It was the culminating mo-
ment of her emotional existence. She
held herself ready to give any further as-
sistance that might be needed.

The mountain deer is not large, and
this was only a spike buck. We cleaned
him, cut off his head and hocks, and tied
each hind leg to its opposite foreleg.
Thus he resembled a rather bulky knap-
sack, with loops through which to thrust
the arms. We fed the "lights" to the
appreciative dogs, and then carried the
venison to the horses.

The meat supply thus assured, we felt
privileged to loaf a bit. About four of
the afternoon we used to start out fishing.
Roaring River is not particularly well
stocked, but we could get a mess, and it
was extremely pleasant to make our way
through the thickets, over and around the
rocky points where the bluffs came down,
131

THE PASS

to the one little spot where the rushing
white water paused behind the boulder.
Trout fishing anywhere is one of the best
of sports. Trout fishing in the mountains
is superlative. The forest trees, the sheets
of granite, the rush and boil of the water,
the innumerable busy bird voices, the cool
high air, all seem to fill the immediate
world with movement and bustle; yet you
have but to raise your eyes to be calmed by
the great snow peaks lying serene beneath
the intense blue skies of the higher alti-
tudes. And then quite early in the after-
noon the shadows begin to climb the
easterly wall; and as they do so the
upper peaks become ethereal, until at
the last, after your own little world has
fallen to twilight, they glow and palpi-
tate with a pulsating soap-bubble irides-

v cence.

One day it happened that we killed two

, N rattlesnakes, which was quite extraordi-
^ 132

The six-shooter terminated the argument with the rattlesnake.

THE PERMANENT CAMP

nary so high in the mountains. The
campfire talk that evening centered on
the reptiles. We swapped the usual yarns
and experiences; indulged in the custom-
ary argument as to remedies. Wes told
of the chicken which when killed, split,
and tied fresh to the wound clung there
valiantly for two hours, and then, "black
as your hat, sir!" fell off of its own ac-
cord. Billy and I agreed that this was
marvelous. Wes likewise gave as his dis-
illusioned opinion that whiskey is not effi-
cacious. Why? Well, he knew of a man
who, while very drunk, was bitten, and
who forthwith died. And, of course, in
this case the whiskey had a head start on
the poison.

"Wes," said I, "did you ever know, in
your experience, of a man dying from
snake bite?"

"Oh, yes," said he.

"Tell me about it."
133

THE PASS

"Well," he began, "a friend of Jim
Brown's, down in Tulare County, was bit,
and Jim told me "

And that is about the usual answer to
such question. During a fairly extended
experience in snake countries I have made
it a point to proffer that inquiry, and
up to date I have found just three men
in whose veracity I had confidence who
claim to have seen a man dead of snake
bite. Hundreds could prove cases by the
next fellow ; and I have no doubt that the
publication of this will bring forth many
scornful expostulants who have seen
whole cohorts succumb. But such have
been the results of my own careful and
extended interrogations.

This does not mean that the rattlesnake
does not inflict a fatal bite; but merely
that the chances of such a bite, even in a
snake country, are exceedingly small. The
reptile usually begins to rattle before you
134

THE PERMANENT CAMP

are within ten yards of him, and is always
more anxious to retreat than to court
trouble. When he does not rattle, the
chances are that he is too torpid, either
from cold or feeding, to strike at all.
Even if trodden on at such a time, his
stroke is apt to be feeble and slow. An-
other element of safety resides in the fact
that leather or even thick clothing will
generally wipe the venom back along the
grooved fang, so that even if the skin is
actually broken, the probabilities of in-
fection are small. At such a juncture the
supposed victim twines himself around
the whiskey jug, and passes away in an
attack of delirium tremens. Add to these
considerations even the ordinary precau-
tion of a sharp lookout and an occasional
stone rolled ahead into especially snaky-
looking places, and your risk is not worth
mentioning.

As I have said, the rattlesnake's main
135

THE PASS

desire is to be let alone. I have killed hun-
dreds, and I never knew but one case of
the snake's taking the aggressive — in the
sense of coming forth to attack. This was
a large diamond-back that had twined
himself about the roots of a manzanita.
We wanted his skin, and so had spent
some time poking at him with a stick, try-
ing to get his head into such a position
that a shot at it would not injure his body.
Evidently he got tired of this, for after
a few moments he uncoiled, came out
from his shelter, and advanced on one of
us. His mouth was opened wide, like the
snakes on the circus posters, his head was
erect, and he had every appearance of de-
cL^ termination. He advanced straight to-
ward the Tenderfoot, rattling vigorously.
\__yy ~^\ That individual promptly stepped aside,
whereupon the snake likewise changed his
^f course. This was repeated several times,
so that we could have no doubt that he was
136

ZJ,

THE PERMANENT CAMP

actually on the aggressive, was actually
trying to get at our friend.

Three fallacies on this subject I have
often seen printed. One is that a snake
cannot rattle unless coiled. He can. I
have often seen them moving rapidly
across the trail, head and tail both up, buz-
zing away like an alarm clock. The second
fallacy is that he cannot strike unless
coiled. He can. I admit that the zone
of danger is somewhat more contracted,
but it exists. The third is that he never
can strike more than half his own length.
This last is ordinarily true, but it is an
unsafe rule to rely on. Once in a deep, hot
canon I dismounted to kill a rather small
rattler coiled against a rock. I selected
what seemed to me to be a long enough
pole, made one hit — and was missed by
just about six inches! Now I stood at
least five feet from that snake, and he
was not over thirty inches long. From
137

THE PASS

him to me was slightly down hill ; but the
especial point was that the reptile had by
the merest chance happened to get a pur-
chase for his spring from the rock against
which he was coiled. That was abnormal,
of course, but it wouldn't have helped me
any if he had landed.

The best way is to give them a wide
berth. If you have a rifle and enough am-
munition, just point the muzzle in his
direction, hold steady for a moment, and
pull the trigger. You will get his head
every time. He will do all the necessary
aiming himself, as his instinct is to thrust
his head directly toward the nearest dan-
gerous object. If, however, you have no
rifle ammunition to throw away, then use
your six-shooter. Only in this event you
will have to be your own marksman.

It is astonishing how instantaneously
the human nerves react to the shrill buzz.
A man who has never heard it before, rec-
138

THE PERMANENT CAMP

ognizes it at once. And the moment the
sound vibration strikes his ear-drum —
long before it has had a chance of inter-
pretation by the brain — his muscles have
accomplished for him a record-breaking
broad jump.

Late one evening in the southern part
of the mountains Wes and I were return-
ing to camp after an unsuccessful deer
hunt. Our way led down a steep slope
covered with pine needles. We swung
along rapidly, six feet at a stride. Sud-
denly I noticed just about two yards ahead
of Wes, who was preceding me, a rattle-
snake crossing our way. My companion's
next step would bring him fairly atop the
reptile. I yelled, and at the same instant
Wes must have seen his danger. His
stride did not alter its rhythm, nor did he
appear to put forth the least increase of
muscular effort. But he fairly sailed into
space.

139

THE PASS

Wes told me another yarn of how he
and a young fellow, occupying overnight
a rangers' cabin, nearly got into serious
trouble.

"I was sitting on a bench," said Wes,
"and the Kid was lying on the bunk read-
ing, his head on one hand. I looked up,
and nearly froze stiff when I saw a snake
coiled right under his armpit, in the hol-
low of his arm. I knew if I said anything
the Kid would move, and that would be
about all. And, of course, I couldn't do
nothin'. The snake was too close to his
body for me to shoot. So I sat there
figurin' away to myself; and I guess I
must have prayed that was an interest-
ing book. Anyway, finally I sneaked
over, and I reached out, and I got that
Kid by the wrist he was leaning his head
on, and I give him one good yank!
I reckon I was so scared I overdid the
matter, for that Kid hit so hard against
140

THE PERMANENT CAMP

the other wall that it mighty nigh killed
him."

Wes weighs about two hundred and is
strong as a horse. I did not envy the
Kid's predicament either before or after
the discovery of the snake.

We told these and other tales about the
campfire. That night Billy, too, had her
experience with snakes.

When Billy retires for slumber she
wears a sort of blanket robe with a peaked
hood, which she pulls up over her head.
About two in the morning she awoke with
a start, thoroughly convinced that some-
thing was wrong. After a moment her
faculties adjusted themselves, and she
turned cold about the heart as she realized
that a snake had crawled into the blanket,
and was coiled between her head and the
hood. \

She did not know what to do. If she
moved, even to awaken me, the snake dis-
141

THE PASS

turbed in the warm comfort for the sake
of which he had made his invasion, would
probably strike. The minutes dragged
by in an agony. Finally, Billy reasoned
that she was doomed to be bitten anyway,
and that a bite in the hand was preferable
to one in the head, so with a degree of
very real courage she softly inserted her
hand in the hood, poised it over what felt
to be the thickest coil, pounced suddenly
— and nearly yanked herself out of bed
by the braid of her hair ! *

THE PASS— Page 142, New folio— Old folio, 124

* Since writing the above Pepper has been bitten by a
rattlesnake. The reptile struck her just back of the ankle
joint. Almost immediately the whole leg and shoulder
swelled enormously and became exceedingly painful. I
carried her over my saddle for some miles and then went
into camp for several days in order to give her a chance of
recovery. The poor pup had a mighty sick time of it.
The leg and foot were puffed out and as stiff as a club.
Of course she could bear no weight on it — in fact the
lightest touch to the ground caused her to cry dolefully.
At night she sometimes took an hour to lie down. The
swelling ran down the left side of her chest in a great welt.
At the end of two days the symptoms began to subside with
marvelous quickness. By the morning of the third she was
as well as ever, and followed me afoot over Shuteye Pass.

142

THE PERMANENT CAMP

A week slipped by before we knew it.
The only incidents were occasional noon
thunder storms, and the sight of a bear.
This I saw, but as a fishing rod was my
deadliest possession, I did not get him. A
consequent hunt resulted in a yearling
cub, which made good meat, but was not
otherwise interesting.

At the end of the week we realized that
Jenny's legs would not much longer serve
as an excuse. So we prepared for our
monthly job of shoeing the animals.

If I were the only blacksmith in the
world I would charge fifty dollars for
shoeing a horse. It is the most back-
breaking, tiresome job I know of. We
carried the malleable "Goodenough" shoe,
which could be fashioned cold; but even
with that advantage each animal seemed
to develop enough feet to furnish out a
centipede. Calamity Jane appeared to
look on us as a rest cure. Whenever we
143

THE PASS

got a foot of hers off ground, she
promptly leaned her entire weight on that
leg, so we slung her up. Dinkey, with
customary maliciousness, tried every mis-
chievous trick to bother us ; but we settled
her promptly by throwing and hog-tying.
To add to our troubles the punch broke.
We had no forge, of course, so we were
under the necessity of burying it until red
in the hottest fire we could make of cones
and pitchpine, beating it with a hatchet,
and tempering it as best we could in bacon
grease. After three attempts we made
it serviceable and went ahead. But we
were mighty glad when the last nail was
driven.

There is a finality about the abandon-
ment of a permanent camp to be experi-
enced in no other household removal.
You have made this home in the wilder-
ness and even the short period of your
^residence has given it an individuality.

144

£P^

THE PERMANENT CAMP

Now you leave it, and you are absolutely
certain that this particular abiding place
you will never see again. The moment
your back is turned, the forest begins her
task of resolving it to its original ele-
ments. Chipmunks and squirrels and lit-
tle birds make away quickly with the
debris. The trees sift down the forest
litter. Already beneath the soil are ger-
minating seeds which shall spring up to
cover the place where your bed had lain,
and the very ashes of your campfires are
fertilizing them. Next year you may re-
turn to this identical spot. But you will
not resume your place in your old camp.
A new camp is to be made from new ma-
terials amid new surroundings. The old
has vanished forever as completely as the
smoke of the fires that used to eddy down
through the trees.

So when the time came, we packed our
animals and hit the trail eagerly enough,
145

THE PASS

it is true, for we were well rested; but a
little regretfully, also. The camp by
Roaring River had been a good camp.
We had enjoyed it. And though we
knew the voice of the waters would con-
tinue to call through the forest, we knew
also that in all probability it would not
call to us again.

146

^S>

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

IX

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

The horses, too, hated to make a start.
Dinkey, in especial, uttered the most
heart-rending moans and groans as we
cinched her up. And as for Calamity
Jane, her long ears missed support en-
tirely, and hung as the force of gravity
directed.

Tuxana and Pepper, however, were de-
lighted. They had long since terrorized
all the chipmunks and Douglas squirrels
and ground bears of the immediate vicin-
ity. When we whistled "boots and sad-
dles," as was our custom, all fell in line
obediently enough, but the two dogs
fairly frisked.

For several hours we wound leisurely

149 y"

THE PASS

up the defiles of Deadman's Canon, as-
cending the bits of steep trails up the
terraces, crossing the knee-deep meadows
between them, admiring the straight lofty
cliffs on either hand, with their tiny fringe
of pine trees on top inconceivably re-
mote, their jutting crags, like monstrous
gargoyles overlooking an abyss, and
their smooth sheer sweeps in syncline of
glacier-polished granite. At the foot of
these cliffs were steep slopes of rock
debris, thrown down by the action of frost
and sun. Among them had sprouted
hardy bushes, affording a cover in which
we looked in vain for a possible bear. The
canon bottom contained meadows, and
strips of cottonwood and quaking asp, as
well as scattered junipers and cedars. A
beautiful stream, the west fork of Roar-
ing River, dropped from one clear pool
to another, or meandered between clean-
cut banks of sod.

150

A treacherous snow field.

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

A number of ground bear lived in the
rocks. These are animals of the wood-
chuck family, about thirty or forty
pounds in weight, possessed of an impu-
dent spirit and beautiful long fur. As
they amble over the boulders, they look
to be much larger than they are. Their
chief delight was to stand directly over an
impregnable hiding place, and then to
utter insults in a shrill, clear voice, which
has earned them farther north the name
of siffleur. At once the dogs, quivering
with eagerness, would dash away. Louder
and louder sounded the stream of vitu-
peration. And then, at the very latest
moment, the ground bear would quietly
disappear. Pepper and Tuxana would
butt their noses against the very unyield-
ing spot where he had been. At the same
instant his first cousin, residing some hun-
dreds of feet distant, would begin to men-
tion to Pepper the ridiculousness of her
151

THE PASS

d

fuzzy bobtail, and to Tuxana the impres-
sion produced by her small pink-rimmed
eyes, whereupon the dogs would scramble
away after this new enemy. It must have
been very hard on their nervous systems,
and I have no doubt that the ground
bears, who are very wise and cynical in
appearance, counted on these tactics to
reduce their pursuers to an early imbe-
cility. Late in the day, however, we
avenged our own animals by shooting a
ground bear. His carcass we used for
dog meat, which we lacked ; his tallow we
employed for boot grease, of which we
stood much in need; and his fur we gave
to Billy, who admired it. Thus his end
was fitting.

We camped that night in the very last
grove at the timber line. Next morning
we were afoot literally by daylight, and
it was very cold. The old trail to the
prospect holes part way up the mountains
152

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

we found steep and difficult, but not dan-
gerous. By ten we had reached, at the
same point, its end, and the beginning of
the snow.

Here we discovered that Modesto had
cast a shoe — one of his nice new ones that
we thought we had nailed on fast. Noth-
ing remained but to unpack Old Slob,
who carried the repair kits, and to under-
take the job then and there. Wes volun-
teered, and while he was at it, we looked
about us with some curiosity.

The miners had laboriously leveled iiy^
the granite debris two platforms for two
tents. The remains of a rough forge
stood near at hand. Beneath a stone still
lingered, undissolved by the elements, the
remains of a pack of cards. Two or three
sticks of stove wood had escaped burning.

Now what do you suppose such men
expect to make out of a dubious copper
prospect in such a location? In the first
153

THE PASS

place, every pound of supplies would have
to be packed from Millwood, heaven
knows how many miles away or over how
many mountains, and every pound of ore
would have to be packed out. In the
second place, it was now well on in Au-
gust, yet the snows had barely receded.
Two months of work a year at most are all
a man can hope for at such an elevation.
And to cap the apparent absurdity, the
mineral to be mined is not one of the
precious metals.

I know of half a dozen such proposi-
tions in the length of the Sierras. And
often I have seen their owners going in
to the properties, old, white-bearded men
for the most part, with jolly, twinkling
eyes and a fund of anecdotes. Inquiry
brings out that they are from Stockton or
Sacramento or Fresno or some other val-
ley town, and that they have been coming
into the mountains for an incredible num-
154

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

ber of years. When you speak to them of
their mines, they always look mysterious,
as though there were things of which they
could not talk — yet. My theory is that
these ancients are jolly and lovable old
frauds. They live respectably in their
valley towns all winter, attending to their
business and their pew rent and their
social duties as staid and proper citizens.
But when summer comes, the old moun-
taineering blood begins to stir in them.
They are ashamed frankly to follow their
inclination. How would it look! What
an example for the young men! Deacon
Brown has got tired of work, so he's go-
ing out to be a hobo! And imagine the
enormity in the eyes of an industrious
neighborhood of a two or three months'
vacation. So these delightful old hypo-
crites invent the legend of vast interests
'way up where the snow lies; and year
after year they sneak back to haunts

i'/f* .

THE PASS

flavored by long associations, where they
do a little pick and drill work — for a man
must save his own self-respect, and, be-
sides, the game is interesting — and shoot
a deer or so, and smoke a lot of strong,
rank tobacco, and concoct wonderful
things with onions in a covered and for-
midable frying pan, and just have a good
time. They are engaging conspirators,
and I advise you never to pass by one of
their camps.

By this time Wes had finished his
job. We repacked and continued on our
way.

Thanks to my careful scouting of ten
days before, we had no trouble at all in
reaching the "saddle." At noon we
called a halt there, ate our lunch, built a
huge pile of rocks as a monument and
congratulated ourselves that the worst
was over. You see, we still clung to the
Ranger's statement that once at the top
156

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

we would have no difficulty with the other
side. Already we began to plan how we
would camp at the lower border of the
round meadow in the rock-bound canon
below us; how next day we would go on
to Redwood Meadow, and by the 26th be
at Kern Lake, and so on. This is a fatal
practice. Just as soon as you begin to
make up your mind that you will catch
some trout, or do the washing, or some-
thing of that sort before supper, the trail
is sure to lose itself, or develop unex-
pected difficulties, so that at the end you
must cook by firelight. An inch on the
map is a mighty deceiving thing.

In the meantime, however, having fin-
ished our hardtack and raisins, we poured
about two spoonfuls of whiskey over a
cupful of snow, and solemnly christened
this place Elizabeth Pass, after Billy.*

* See S. E. corner of the Tehipite Quadrangle, U. S.
Survey.

157

THE PASS

It proved to be a little over twelve thou-
sand feet in elevation. Although we ex-
perienced some difficulty and consumed
some little time in getting over, the delay
was because of the necessity of looking
out the best route. Subsequent travelers,
by following our monuments, and the
field notes given in the appendix, should
have no difficulty, except at one place on
the ledge, of getting through. Of the
ledge, more hereafter. The route should
prove a good short-cut between the south
fork of the King's River and the head-
waters of the Kaweah.

We cached a screw-top can in the mon-
ument. It contained a brief statement
of names and dates, named the pass, and
claimed for Billy the honor of being the
first woman to traverse it. Then we took
a last look on the tumult of mountains to
the north, and addressed ourselves to the
task of following, as far as it led, the
158

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

piece of trail I had constructed ten days
before.

The descent for a thousand feet was
almost suspiciously easy. We slid down
a rather steep and stony ridge at right
angles to the main system, turned sharp
to the left across its shoulder, and so
gained a shallow ravine. All this was
over shale, stones, and angular rocks the
size of your head, not to speak of half
sunken ledges, down which the horses
had to slide or jump. But for all that,
the going, as granite country runs, was
neither dangerous nor too difficult, and
we congratulated ourselves that at this
rate we would be able to test the coldness
of the waters in the lake before even the
early mountain sunset.

Up to the time we gained the head of
the ravine we had traveled over uncom-
promising rock — and nothing else. Here,
however, we waded at once knee deep into
159 . O-

THE PASS

<^wfull-blossomed blue lupins. They filled
the depression between the lateral ridges,
and flung themselves far up the slopes,
hundreds and hundreds of acres of them,
like a huge tapestry laid out to our honor.
Their fragrance was almost overpower-
ing, and their color paled even the intense
blue of the heavens. Below they ran out
into tuft-grass between the stones, and
still below that were two scattered groves
of lodge-pole pines and junipers.

We made our way with extra care
through the lupins, for though they were
beautiful, they masked the uncertainty of
the footing. After awhile we came to
the bunch grass, which was easier, and
so through the thin mask of trees.

Below us the hill dropped off sheer in
a tremendous plunge. We found after-
ward that it was about fifteen hundred
feet. To the left we knew the upper
basin to be on about the same level as our-
160

cO

^ccp-

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

selves. From it leaped the Kaweah over
the rim of the amphitheater on which we
stood, vanished from sight, and reap-
peared in slender filaments feeling their
way through the meadow below. To the
right our side hill seemed to merge in
more precipitous mountains. Below the
meadow the river appeared to take an-
other plunge to another level.

The problem, of course, was to find a
way from the rim to the bottom of the
amphitheater. We could see the opposite
side, and part of one end. Dismount-
ing, we examined the prospect carefully
through a glass. Starting at the top we
would follow out inch by inch the possi-
bilities of descent. Always the most
promising ledges ended in thin air or nar-
rowed to the point of merging with the
face of the cliffs. A single streak of
green, almost perpendicular, and next the
waterfall, offered the only possible way.
161

THE PASS

It might be grassy, on soil, in which case
we would be able to cut in it a zigzag
trail, or it might consist of bushes, which
might or might not mask an impasse.
Our side of the basin was, of course, con-
cealed.

It was decided that I should explore on
foot to the right and below. I resolved
first of all to continue as far as possible
to the right on our present level. The
way led first through another steep and
scattered grove, past a shale slide, and so
out to the ledge.

The ledge was nothing more nor less
than a break in the sheer granite sweep
of a mountain some twenty-five hundred
feet from summit to meadow. It was
not a flat ledge, but rounded outward to
the plunge. Where it joined the upper
cliff a little soil had gathered, and on that
soil had grown a tough, thick sod. This
strip of sod, whose surface was steep as a
162

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

roof, varied in width from one to several
feet. I recognized the fact that while no
horse could possibly walk on it, neverthe-
less we might be able to cut enough of a
notch in it to afford footing. A cursory
examination, however, soon turned me
in another direction. At one point the
ledge ceased for about twelve feet. Up
to the beginning of that twelve feet the
slender vein of sod ran unbroken ; beyond
that twelve feet it continued until it ap-
peared to run out on shale. But between
was nothing but hard, slippery granite,
slanted away at an impossible angle to a
final perpendicular drop of nearly a
quarter of a mile. Unless one had a fly-
ing machine ferry, thought I, he would
hardly cross horses over that gulf.

So I turned back. The face of the
mountain below where we had paused was
utterly impassable. It, too, consisted of

a series of inclined ledges, disconnected,
163

THE PASS

and all pinching out to nothing. A man
could get down afoot, by doing some
dropping, some jumping, and a good deal
of stout clinging. I did so, and shortly
found myself looking far up the cliff
and wondering how I had ever accom-
plished it.

That was not my pressing business for
the moment, however. Turning to the
left I hurried across the immense piles of
debris that sloped steeply away from the
cliff, crossed the stream below the water-
fall, and commenced the ascent of the
strip of green we had made out through
our glasses.

At first I was enough encouraged to
stick up a few tentative monuments.
Then I struck a bad place. It is easy to
slur over bad places when you are afoot.
They are easy enough for you. I wanted
awfully to climb over hastily and forget
it, but I knew retribution would follow
164

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

later. So I canvassed all the possibilities
as to that bad place, and ended by making
a fresh start just below it. This time I
got a trifle farther, had to reconsider
again, and so made progress, a little at a
time.

The mountain teased me up that way
for about six hundred feet. Then she
carelessly tossed a few hundred tons of
angular rocks across the way. The bushes
concealed them ; but they were there, and
it did not take me more than ten minutes
to determine the utter impracticability of
that as a way down. So I threw away
circumspection and climbed rapidly back
to the rim of the basin.

I found the party awaiting me eagerly.

"Which way?" called Wes.

"As near as I could tell," said I, "it is

no way. There's a ledge over there to the

west that peters out, but which I only

looked at from a distance. It may look

165

THE PASS

better when you get nearer. Everywhere
else is straight up and down."

"Well, let's tackle it."

"It's too big a proposition for to-day,"
said I, "we'd better camp."

"Where?" cried Billy, aghast.

"Here," said I.

"Why, it's right on a side hill!" she ob-
jected.

"It is," I agreed. "If you drop a ket-
tle, it is going to roll off into space, and
you'll never see it any more. The same
to you, ma'am. But here's some bunch
grass, and there's a bit of a stream in those
big rocks yonder, and right by you is the
only log of dry wood in this township."

We had a lot of fun making camp on
that side hill. Using the back of the axe
as a sort of pick, we managed to dig out
below a boulder a level large enough to
contain our fire irons. "Upstairs" fifty
feet was another boulder. Above this
166

'

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

one Billy and I, with great labor, scraped
a narrow trough in which to sleep.
"Downstairs" Wes did the same. He
contemplated the result somewhat dubi-
ously.

"In this country," said he, "a man has
to picket himself out to sleep."

Water we dipped up cup by cup into
our folding canvas pail from a single
place where it showed above the massive
granite debris that filled its course. We
could hear it singing up through the in-
terstices of the cool, gray rocks. Wood
we chopped from the single log. It was
resinous, and burned quickly with a tre-
mendous heat and much soot, but it suf-
ficed for our simple cooking. Then we
sat down and looked about us.

The meadow below was already de-
cently on toward night. In the lake a
number of boulders seemed to swim plac-
idly above their own reflections. Oppo-
167

THE PASS

site was a long, black mountain of rock
whose sides were too steep to retain snow,
and which showed, therefore, in the more
striking contrast to the white all around
its base. We called it the frozen monster,
because of its shape. It belonged evi-
dently to the crocodile family, had a blunt
head, short, sprawling legs, and a long,
reptilian tail. The resemblance was per-
fect, and required but little of the exer-
cise of the imagination such likenesses
usually demand. On closing our eyes at
night, the last thing we saw was this sleep-
ing saurian, benumbed by the perpetual
cold in which he dwelt. We amused our-
selves speculating as to his awakening. It
ought to occasion quite a stir among the
old liars who always kill their grizzlies
with a knife, for he was over a mile long.
Above the frozen monster towered the
bleak and forbidding peaks of the Ka-
weah Group, running abruptly down to
168

I)' •*

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

where a bend in the canon concealed what
must have been the beginning of the pine
country. All about us, thus, were great
peaks, rugged granite, snows. We
looked at them from the middle point;
they were co-equal with us, on our own
plane of existence, like gigantic com-
rades. In the next two days we acquired
gradually the feeling that we were living
out in the air, away from the solid earth
that most people inhabit — as a man might
feel who lived on a scaffold above a city.
Clinging to the shoulder of the mountain
we lost the assurance of level ground, but
gained an inflation of spirit that for the
moment measured itself by the standard
of these titanic peaks.

Again, we early fell under the illusion
that somehow more sunshine, more day-
light, was allotted to us than to less for-
tunate mortals. Each morning we arose
in the full sunrise, to look down on the
169

THE PASS

canon still dim and gray with dawn.
Each evening we cooked supper, in the
shadow, it is true, but with sunshine all
about us, while plainly the canon had
set its affairs in order for the night. In
time the notion took us that thus we, little
atoms, were sharing some extra-human
privilege with the calm giants all about
us; that if we only could grow our souls
to meet the rare opportunities here offered
us we could enter into and understand
the beautiful mysteries that are in the
afterglows on the mountains.

A number of more prosaic considera-
tions were likewise forced upon us. For
instance, it took a fearfully long time to
boil things, and a deal of hard work to
get about, and still more hard work to
keep the cooking fire supplied with fuel.
After the sun dipped below the horizon,
the snow-cold swooped like a hawk, and

we soon found ourselves offered the choice
170

THE SIDE HILL CAMP

of retirement at an unheard of hour or
else prolonged rustling of firewood. Now
it happened that some dwarf trees, not
over three or four feet high, but thick
and twisted and sturdy as gnomes, grew
thereabout. We discovered them to be
full of pitch, so we just set fire to one each
evening. It burned gorgeously, with
many colored flames, taking on strange
and sinister shapes and likenesses as the
coals glowed and blackened and fell. It
must have puzzled the frozen monster —
if he happened to uncover one sleepy eye
— this single tiny star, descended from
the heavens, to wink brave as a red jewel
on the shoulder of the mountain.

In the night it grew to be very cold, so
that the mountains looked brittle, and the
sky polished, and the stars snappy like
electric sparks. But we had on all the
clothes we owned, and our blankets were
warm. Tuxana and Pepper crawled
171

THE PASS

down to nestle at our feet. Far up above
we could hear the bell. The horses, as was
their custom, would eat all night. Then,
guided by some remarkable instinct, they
would roost accurately on the first spot
to be reached by the sun. There, fur
ruffled like velvet, they would wait pa-
tiently the chance to warm up and snatch
a little sleep.

*^^?££^t

THE LEDGE

THE LEDGE

By shortly after sun-up the next morn-
ing Wes and I were out. We carried
with us our only implements — the axe and
the short-handled shovel. The way we
monumented led along the side hill, with
some twisting to avoid bad outcrops and
boulder stringers ; diagonally through the
thin grove of lodgepole pines, and by a
series of steep lacets down a coarse sand
slide to the beginning of the ledge.

Here we proceeded cautiously, cling-
ing to projections of the rocks, and to the
twisted bushes growing marvelously in
their interstices. The steep grassy strip
was slippery, but testing its consistency
with the back of the axe we found it solid
175

THE PASS

?

and tough. The ten-foot precipice we
climbed above, scrambling where even a
goat could not have gone. We paid little
attention to it for the moment. There
would be plenty of time to worry over its
difficulties when we had discovered the
possibilities beyond.

Them we found rather good. The
ledge here became a strip of very steep
side hill included between two precipices.
That side hill was thick and tangled with
stunted brush, serrated with outcropping
ledges, unstable with loose and rolling
stones, but some sort of a trail through it
was merely an affair of time and hard
work. One ten-foot slide made us shake
our heads a little, for it ended with a
right-angled turn. To continue straight
ahead meant departure by the balloon
route. Finally, we arrived at an al-
most perpendicular watercourse emerg-
ing from a "chimney" in the precipice
176

^D^

THE LEDGE

above us. It contained but a trickle of
very cold, and very grateful, water, but in
the melting of the winter snows evidently
accommodated a torrent. At any rate, its
boulder-filled bottom was some four feet
below our level and that of the trail route
on the other side.

As I have said, the bottom was boulder-
filled, great big round fellows impossible
to move. The banks were of cemented
rubble and rock impossible to break down
without powder. No horse could cross it
as it was, and materials for a bridge
lacked.

"Never mind," said Wes, "we'll tackle
it later."

We crossed to the other side, scrambled
around a bend, and found ourselves on
a little flat. Just beyond the flat we could
see that another steep shale slide began.
We walked to the edge and looked. In-
stead of running off to a jump, as did
177

THE PASS

every other slide on this mountain, it
reached quite down to the round meadow.

"There's our way down," said Wes. "I
don't know whether we can get through
the canon; but anyway we'll have horse
feed, and wood and water."

We turned back, resolved now on pick-
ing our way through more in detail. The
watercourse we left for the time being.

Picking a way is good fun. You must
first scout ahead in general. Then you
determine more carefully just where each
hoof is to fall. For instance, it is a ques-
tion of whether you are to go above or
below a certain small ledge. You decide
on going below, because thus you will
dodge a little climb, and also a rather slip-
pery looking rock slide. But on investi-
gation you find, hidden by the bushes, a
riven boulder. There is no way around it.
So, then, retrace your steps to the place
where you made your first choice. The
178

THE LEDGE

upper route again offers you an alterna-
tive. You select one; it turns out well;
forks again. But you discover both these
forks utterly impracticable. So back you
must hike to the very beginning to dis-
cover, if you can, perhaps a third and
heretofore unconsidered chance. Then,
if none are good, you must cast in review
the features of all your little explorations
in order to determine which best lends
itself to expedients. This consumes time,
but it is great fun.

Wes and I took turns at it. While I
picked a way, Wes followed my monu-
ments, constructing trail. Then after a
little we changed off.

Making trail for the moment consisted
quite simply in cutting brush and rolling
rocks out of the way. The latter is hard
on the hands. I started out with a pair
of "asbestos" gloves, but wore holes in the
fingers after half an hour. Then I dis-
179

THE PASS

covered that the human skin is tougher,
although by the end of the morning the
ends of my fingers were wearing pretty
thin. The round stones rolled off with a
prodigious bounce and crash and smell of
fire. When they reached the edge they
seemed fairly to spring out into the air.
After that we knew no more of them, not
even by the sound of their hitting, al-
though we listened intently. I suppose
the overhang of the cliff threw the sound
outward, and then, too, it was a long dis-
tance to the bottom. The large flat slabs
gave way with a grumbling, slid and slith-
ered sullenly to the edge, and plumped
over in a dogged fashion. There were a
great many of these, and the trouble was
that though they were all solid enough in
appearance, most would give way under
pressure.

"This trail is a good trail, provided the
horses behave," remarked Wes, "but," he
180

THE LEDGE

continued, "each animal's got only one
stumble coming to him."

By noon we had worked our way back
to the break in the ledge. Here we ate
lunch. Then we attacked the grass strip
on the other side.

This was from a foot to a yard or so in
width. We attempted to dig a right-
angled notch in it, but found it too tough.
Shortly the shovel twisted out of my
hands, and as the exact hairline perpen-
dicular was necessary to stay on earth at
all, I had to watch it slide gently over the
edge. We never heard it hit. After that
we tried the back of the axe, but that did
not work any better. Finally, we made
up our reluctant minds that we would
have to use the edge — and we had nothing
but a file with which to sharpen it after-
ward. So, then, we chopped out a way,
probably six inches in width, hard and
firm enough, and wide enough provided
181

THE PASS

no one got panicky. This was slow work,
and evening caught us just as we con-
nected with the zigzag we had made that
morning down the shale.

Next day we attacked the two more
difficult problems that remained. First,
we cut a log ten inches through and about
twelve feet long. To either end of this
we attached our riatas. The tree had
grown almost at the head of the shale slide.
We rolled and dragged and checked and
snubbed it down the slide until we came
opposite the trail we had made along the
ledge. This was no mean undertaking,
for the weight was about as much as we
could possibly handle even in the best of
circumstances, and the circumstances were
far from the best. At times it seemed
that that log would get away in spite of
us, taking our riatas with it. Then by
tremendous efforts we would succeed in
stopping it against a hidden ledge or a
182

THE LEDGE

solid boulder. The thing seemed instinct
with malicious life. When, finally, we
would get it bedded down against some
resting place, we would remove our hats
and wipe the sweat from our brows and
look about us with a certain astonishment
that the landscape was still in place. We
would eye that log a little malevolently,
and we would be extremely reluctant to
wake the resting devil into further move-
ment. But as further movement was nec-
essary, we always had to do it.

And when, finally, we had dragged our
huge captive to the notch on the ledge,
its disposition abruptly changed. It
became sullen. We had to urge it for-
ward an inch or so at a time, by mighty
heaves. Its front end gouged down into
the soil as though trying to bury itself;
it butted against rocks and corners; it
hung back like a reluctant dog. And
whenever it thought our attention was dis-
183

THE PASS

tracted, it attempted suddenly to roll off
sideways.

We soon discovered that the best
method was to apply the motive power
from the hinder end and the directing
force from the front riata. We took
turns, change about, and in what seemed
to me at the moment most undue course
of time, we arrived at our break in the
ledge. The passage had consumed three
hours. We were pretty tired, for in addi-
tion to having a heavy weight to drag, the
possibilities of applying strength on such
precarious footing were necessarily lim-
ited.

Here we rested. Then I climbed up
the face of the mountain twenty feet to
where the cliff jutted out. Around the
projection I threw the loop of one of the
riatas.

Then I crossed above the break to the

other side of it. Wes tossed me the end

184

THE LEDGE

of the second riata. When I had it, he
shoved the log off the ledge. There it
hung straight down the granite, depend-
ent from the line I had already made fast
to the projection above. Next I took in
on the second riata, whereupon, naturally,
that end of the log rose to my own level,
and the gap was bridged.

There remained now to assure its solid-
ity. I looped a great round boulder on
my side. Then we tested every inch of
hold of those two ropes, lest they slide or
abrade. Wes crossed first over the new
bridge, and so we went on to our second
problem, well pleased with our solution of
the first.

The gully we decided we would have to
fill. A certain number of loose boulders
and stones lay ready to our hands, but the
supply of these was soon used up. We
then had to carry our materials from
greater or lesser distances as we could
185

THE PASS

find them. This was plain hard work, at
which we sweated and toiled until we had
moved a few tons of granite. Then we
chinked our stone bridge with smaller
splinters until we considered it safe.

On the way home we paused at the log
to throw sods in the crack between it and
the granite apron. This was not for
greater solidity, but merely to reassure
our horses somewhat by making it look
more like a trail.

We arrived in camp after sundown
dead weary, but rejoiced to find that Billy
had cooked us a good supper. The even-
ing was a short one, and almost before
the frozen monster had blended with the
night, we crawled between the blankets.

Sun-up found Wes and me scrambling
a thousand feet above camp, shortwinded,
breakfastless and disgruntled. Of course,
the horses had strayed — they always do
when you have a particularly hard day be-
186

THE LEDGE

fore you. Also they invariably stray up-
hill. I remember once climbing four thou-
sand feet after Dinkey. She was plodding
calmly through granite shale, and had
passed by good feed to get there. Why,
I do not know. However, in this case we
could not much blame them for seeking
feed where they could, only it did seem a
little unnecessary that they should be at
the upper edge of that patch of lupins.

So we took a parting look at the snow
and granite where rose the Kaweah, and
the frowning black steeps of the Kaweah
Group opposite, and the frozen monster
sprawled in his age-long sleep. First, we
rode to the shale slide. Then we led to
the beginning of the ledge. Then we tied
up, and began the rather arduous task of
leading our animals along it one by one.

Of course, Bullet had the honor of

precedence. The mere ledge was easy to

him, for the footing was good enough,

187

_* A

THE PASS

though limited in quantity. A misstep
would have tragic consequences, but there
existed no real excuse for a mountain
pony's misstepping. At the log he hesi-
tated a little; but as I walked boldly
out on it, he concluded it must be all
right, and so followed gingerly. After
a time we reached the rounded knoll,
where trouble ended. I tied him to a bush
and went back for another animal. By
ten o'clock everybody, including Billy,
had crossed in safety. We resumed the
saddle, and turned sharp to the left for
what now amounted to a thousand-foot
descent.

It was steep, and loose. Sometimes it
seemed that the horses were going to
stand on their heads. Often they slid for
twenty feet, unable to do anything but
keep their balance, a merry, bouncing lit-
tle avalanche preceding them, their hoofs
sinking deeper and deeper in the shale,

THE LEDGE

until at last the very accumulation would
bring them up. Then they would take
another step. None but horses raised to
the business could have done it. They
straddled thin ledges, stepped tentatively,
kept their wits about them. After a long
time we found ourselves among big,
rugged cliff debris. We looked up to
discover what in the absorption of the de-
scent we had not realized — that we had
reached the bottom.

With one accord we turned in our sad-
dles. The ledge showed as a slender fila-
ment of green threading the gray of the
mountain.

With some pains we made way through
the fringe of jagged rock, and so came to
the meadow. It was nearly circular in
shape, comprised perhaps two hundred
acres, and lay in a cup of granite. The
cup was lipped at the lower end, but even
there the rock rose considerably above the
189

THE PASS

level of the grasses. We were surprised
to note that the round lake, which from
above seemed directly adjacent to the
meadow, was nowhere to be seen. Evi-
dently it lay beyond the low stone rim
down the canon.

We rode out through the rich grasses,
belly high to the horses. No animal
grazed there, except the deer. The
stream divided below the plunge from
above to meander in a dozen sod-banked
creeks here and there through the mead-
ow, only to reunite where the lip of the
cup was riven.

We rode to the top of the rock rim.

The lake was indeed just beyond, but at

least five hundred feet lower. We looked
i , ...

over a sheer precipice, which, nevertheless,

had remained quite invisible from our side

hill camp. This was serious. We hitched

the horses in some lodgepole pines, and

separated to explore.

190

THE LEDGE

I found that the precipice continued to
the very hind foot of the frozen monster.
At one point a deep gorge opened passage
to the river. A smoke of mist ascended
from it dense as steam; the black rocks
dripped; jagged monsters appeared and
disappeared beyond the veil. Obviously
nothing but a parachute would avail here.

Wes reported a steep side mountain,
covered with brush, loose stones and rock
slides, around which it might be possible
to scramble. We proceeded to do so.
The journey was rough. To our right
and above stood monoliths of stone, sharp
and hard against the very blue sky of the
high altitudes. They watched us stum-
bling and jumping and falling at their
feet. After a great deal of work and a
very long time we skirted that lake — five
hundred feet above it — and found where
the precipice had relented, and so made
our way down to its level.
191

THE PASS

Twice more we accomplished these long
jumps from one terraced meadow to an-
other. The sheer cliff walls rose higher
and higher above us, shutting out the
mountain peaks. By three o'clock it had
become late afternoon. The horses were
tired; so were we. We should have
camped, but the strong desire to see the
thing through grew on us. We were now
in the bottom, where grew alders and wil-
lows and cottonwoods. Occasionally we
came across the tracks of the wild cattle
of the mountains.

And then the river dropped again over
a fall ; and we had to climb and climb and
climb again until we had regained the
sunlight. A broad, sloping ridge, grown
thick with quaking asp, offered itself.
We rode along it, dodging branches,
blinded by leaves, unable to see underfoot.
Abruptly we burst from them into a deep
pine woods, soft and still.
192

.^ , II

THE LEDGE

I was riding ahead. The woods
stretched before me as far as I could see.
I eased myself in my saddle. Somewhere
ahead the route from the Giant Forest to
Mineral King ran at right angles. Some
time we would cross it.

And then, without warning, there ap-
peared, almost under my horse's hoofs, a
deep, dusty brown furrow. I reined in,
staring. It did not seem possible that the
thing should have happened so quietly.
Subconsciously I must have anticipated
some pomp and blare of trumpets to her-
ald so important an event. The appear-
ance of this dusty brown furrow, winding
down through the trees, represented so
much labor of mind and body, so much
uncertainty, so many discomforts, so
many doubts and fears and hopes! And
now it came into view as simply as a snow
plant or a fallen pine cone. All we had
to do was to turn to the left. By that act
193

THE PASS

we stepped from the great shining land of
adventure and high emprise to the every-
day life of the many other travelers who
had worn deep the furrow. For this was
the Trail.

194

APPENDIX

On re-reading the chapters of The Pass it has
occurred to me that some might imagine that we
consider the opening of Elizabeth Pass an extraor-
dinary feat. This is not true. Anybody could
have done it. I have attempted merely to show
how such things are undertaken, and to tell of the
joys and petty "but real difficulties to be met with on
such an expedition. I hope the reader will take
this account in that spirit.

195

FIELD NOTES

Regular trail into Roaring River.

Ascend west fork of river; proceed by monu-
mented and blazed miner's trail to cirque at end of
cafion.

When a short distance below the large falls, at a
brown, smooth rock in creek bed, turn sharp to left-
hand trail.

Climb mountain by miner's trail to old mine camp.

If snow is heavy above this point, work a way
to large monument in gap. The east edge of snow
is best.

From gap follow monuments down first lateral red
ridge to east. This ridge ends in a granite knob.
The monuments lead at first on the west slope of
the ridge, then down the backbone to within about
two or three hundred yards of the granite knob.
Turn down east slope of ridge to the watercourse.
Follow west side of watercourse to a good crossing,
then down shale to grove of lodgepole pines. Cross
west through trees to blaze in second grove to west-
ward above lake. Follow monuments to slide rock
on ledge. Best way across is to lash a log, as we did.
Follow monuments to knoll west of first watercourse.
Turn sharp to left down lateral ridge for about one
197

FIELD NOTES

hundred feet. Cross arroyo to west, and work down
shale to round meadow.

From meadow proceed through clump of lodge-
pole pines to northwest. Keep well up on side hill,
close under cliffs. Cross the rock apron in little
cafion above second meadow. Work down shale
ridge to west side of the jump off below second
meadow. At foot of jump off pass small round
pond-hole. Strike directly toward stream, and
follow monumented trail.

198

9500

x'vExploration Camp

D1 . _ I25GI
Bloody Gap

Where tve turned beck)
11000

CO

0cO'

(Highest)

&

Scale: Xtfnch to the niife

0

PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE
CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY

SK White, Stewart Edward

601 The Pass

W65

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