The Boy With the U. S. Survey Part 25

[Ill.u.s.tration: FAREWELL TO CIVILIZATION.

One of the dog teams leaving Kroto for the Sus.h.i.+tna River Trail.

_Photograph by U.S.G.S._]

From there the route taken branched off along Indian Creek, which could only be called a mode of pa.s.sage by courtesy. They could not travel along the banks for timber, and rock came to the water's edge, and as the creek bed was a succession of boulders and rapids, half the time the sleds had to be lifted and practically carried over obstructions, in order that perhaps for twenty or thirty feet there might be a spot of good going. Three days it took them to cover the twelve miles, and April 13th found the party at the entrance of the Chulitna Pa.s.s, 3,000 feet above sea level.

Here, of course, it was practically blind going, but despite the hard trip the dogs were in fairly good condition and with Bulson's muscle and Harry's knowledge of the multifold peculiarities of the "husky," they managed to worry through the pa.s.s in four days, reaching the little cache and log hut at the mouth of the Jack River, which was their objective point. So far they had been able to go with dogs, and no further, whereupon the work of unpacking the sleds was begun, the two canoes duly inspected and found uninjured, the supplies redistributed, and the two Indians who had been picked up at Sus.h.i.+tna Station to take back the dogs, were promptly sent back upon the downward trail before the river should break up and make dog-travel impossible. Of course, as it was pointed out, rapid time could be made with an empty sled, and the drivers need rarely walk.

During all this time the whole energies of the party had been given entirely to making headway, and no time had been spent either in topographical or geological work, but the urgency had borne fruit.

Rivers told Roger that he had allowed two months and a half for the journey to their present place, and they were ten days ahead of the schedule.

"And what is to be done now, Mr. Rivers?" asked the boy.

"Wait till the ice breaks, Doughty," replied the geologist, "and in the meantime some little investigation of the range may not be amiss."

The third day after they had made their semi-permanent camp Rivers took the boy with him on a geological trip back to Caribou Pa.s.s, the most practicable opening in the entire Alaskan Range. He spent some time in explaining to the boy the general configuration of the range, and taught him a good deal about the glacial conditions of the region. Happening to observe a curious immense boulder in the pa.s.s, in the form of a rock almost flat on the top, about twenty feet square and nearly as many high, it occurred to Rivers that he might discern distinct striated lines of glaciation if he could get up there on the rock to see. The boulder was somewhat difficult to climb, but by getting on Roger's shoulders, the geologist was able to reach a point where he could get a grip of the rock.

But, just as he worked himself over the edge of the boulder, what was his amazement to see a mountain goat, evidently descending from the cliff above, land with a clatter of hoofs on the rock not ten feet away from him. Rivers promptly scrambled to his feet, and the goat, apparently thinking himself cornered and facing boldly an unknown danger, rushed at him with lowered horns. A quick sideways jump was all that saved the geologist, and the goat nearly went headlong over the edge with his rush.

For a minute or two Roger was in utter ignorance of what had happened, for being immediately under the rock while the chief was standing on his shoulders, he had not seen the goat leap down to dispute the supremacy of position with the unexpected intruder. Not till he heard Rivers call to him did he know that anything was wrong.

"Doughty," he heard him say, "put a bullet in this infernal brute, will you?"

The boy ran back to get a perspective view of the top of the boulder, and by climbing up the cliff a little way saw what had developed. In the meantime the position of the geologist was precarious in the extreme. A succession of short rushes he had narrowly escaped by dodging, but he knew that in a chase of this kind, he could not but lose, and if the goat should catch him with his horns not only would the injury be serious enough in itself, but probably he would be thrown from the rock to fall a distance of twenty feet to the icy and frost-bound ground below.

Suddenly Rivers saw his opportunity, and as the goat paused to turn at the end of a futile rush, he seized his horns sideways with a firm grasp, in such wise that the creature could not get a purchase with which to b.u.t.t, and determined to hang on for dear life. He purposed, if it could be managed, to drive the goat to the edge of the boulder, and then, by twisting its neck, force it over the edge. It was a doubtful chance, but the only one he could see.

In the meantime Roger was cudgeling his brain for some means of climbing the rock, but to no purpose, and he could have bitten his nails in sheer vexation of spirit at his inability to give any aid, with his friend in so great peril a few steps away.

The boy watched and waited in the chance of getting a shot at the goat, but found it difficult to find an opportunity. Once, indeed, he fired, feeling sure that he could hit the animal's flank, but he was not certain enough of his prowess with a revolver to risk a shot when he was just as likely to hit his chief as he was the goat. Once, indeed, the boy thought Rivers had his foe, for he forced him to the edge of the boulder and put all his strength into a violent wrench. But a mountain goat, though not large, is possessed of considerable strength, and in his effort to free himself almost sent Rivers over the edge.

Then suddenly an idea occurred to the boy, and watching a chance, with a gentle toss he pitched his revolver up on the rock, hoping that the chief might be able to find some way of picking it up. A wild and vigorous scrambling could be heard, and a moment later the boy saw the couple again perilously near the edge of the rock.

"Thanks for the gun," he heard Rivers sing out, "I'll get hold of it in a minute."

But evidently the chief did not dare to let go the goat's horns, lest he should be caught before he had the revolver, and two or three minutes elapsed before the welcome sound of a shot came to the boy's ears.

Then Roger, looking up, was relieved beyond measure to see Rivers appear at the edge of the boulder mopping his forehead.

"Guess I'll throw him down," he said. "Of course we can't load ourselves down with the head, but the cook may want a steak or two," and suiting the action to the word, he dragged the animal to the side and flung him over. The boy noted immediately that the bullet had entered behind the ear and under the roots of the horns, so that the combat had been settled then and there.

The goat having been disposed of, Rivers made arrangements to come down, in the same way as he had gone up, by standing on the boy's shoulders, and both were glad when the chief reached the ground.

"That was nearly as good as a bull-fight," remarked the elder man when he had descended, "and it's about all the wrestle I want. I wish it had been Bulson, though; he would have given that pesky animal all the sc.r.a.pping he looked for. But that gun of yours came in very handily, Doughty. I guess we'd have been up there until night if it hadn't been for that."

"I was wondering," said the boy, "how you were going to pick it up, after I did throw it to you."

"So was I," replied the chief, "but I knew I had to risk it, so when the right time came I let go with one hand and reached for the gun with the other. That old goat was almost too quick for me, though, for he turned in my grasp and was just gathering his muscles for a b.u.t.t when I let him have it right behind the ear."

"It was a nasty encounter, all right," said Roger, shaking his head, "but you're not hurt in any way, are you, Mr. Rivers?"

"Only in my feelings," was the reply.

CHAPTER XIV

BREAKING THE ICE JAM

Roger speedily realized the wisdom shown by Rivers in forcing the march through the entire first part of the trip, for whereas the weather had been favorable, two days after the argument with the mountain goat, the sky, which had been dark and gray for days, suddenly seemed to drop to within a few hundred feet of the heads of the travelers, and a tinge of slaty blue came into the over-hanging ma.s.ses. A hollow booming sound filled the air, and the Alaskan old-timers hastened to make everything fast, laying provision close to hand and insuring all the outfit against the coming storm.

All through the day the clouds hung so low that it seemed to Roger that he could touch them, and the stillness and silence became painful; it was so quiet that the weight grew oppressive, yet speech or sound of any kind grated on the nerves. Throughout the entire day Rivers scanned the sky closely, and the afternoon was well advanced when he called out suddenly:

"It'll be a little east of northeast!" and pointed to the direction.

Roger's gaze followed and turning, he saw a little swirl of the clouds.

Then, as though some gigantic hand had suddenly unclenched and pointed an accusing finger at the little group that had defiantly dared the dangers of its domain, a spume of snow was whipped from the gray above, and with a shriek whose vindictiveness seemed almost personal the tempest struck.

"Get under, Doughty," called Rivers, who, standing in the lee of one of the small trees, was closely watching the nature of the storm, "get into the tent!"

But Roger did not want to miss the sight of his first big gale in the northern mountains, so risking a reproval for not obeying, he crawled along the ground against the wind to where Rivers stood.

"I never saw a real blizzard before," he shouted in his chief's ear, as an excuse for his presence.

The older man smiled grimly, but seeing that there was as yet no danger, permitted the boy to remain. He pointed, however, to the peak above them, which sheltered the camp from the full fury of the storm.

"How would you like to stand up there and watch it?" he shouted back.

Roger's reckless spirit prompted him to reply that he wouldn't mind, but before he could formulate the words a sudden gust tore up a large tree whose roots had been too near the edge of a precipice and sent it thundering down into the chasm below.

"I'd like to," he yelled, "but I guess I'd have to be chained down."

Then one blast, stronger than any that had come before, eddied back from the cliff and struck Roger full in the face just as he had stepped forward to reply to Rivers. Some instinct led him to throw both hands over his face, which, leaving him at the mercy of the wind, caused him to be knocked flat like a ninepin, with the same feeling as though he had been struck by a solid object. But it was the last impulse of the squall, and before Roger had arisen to his feet, the white glint at the point where the gale had been born had disappeared, the clouds fell together, and quietly and without hurry the snow began to fall.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WHERE AN ETERNAL GALE RAGES.

On the topmost crests of the Alaskan Mountains. Working out fine calculations in an icy storm.

_Photograph by U.S.G.S._]

"Not hurt, I suppose?" queried Rivers as Roger scrambled to his feet.

"Not a bit," said Roger breathlessly, "but it seems like a week and a half since I got my wind."