Part 6 (1/2)

said Rob. ”It's cold up in the hills yet, and the snow isn't melting.

This country's just like Alaska in that way.”

”That's the way I figure,” said Uncle d.i.c.k. ”I know the regular trail is on this side the Athabasca, but at the same time they do sometimes ford it down below here. We'll go have a look, anyhow.”

Accordingly, they started out from their camp near Folding Mountain, not in the direction of Roche Miette, but departing from the trail nearly at right angles. They pulled up at last on the sh.o.r.es of the rus.h.i.+ng, muddy Athabasca. Here they found a single cabin, and near it a solitary and silent Indian. What was better, and what caused Uncle d.i.c.k's face to lighten perceptibly, was a rough home-made bateau of boards which lay fastened at the sh.o.r.e.

”How deep?” asked Uncle d.i.c.k, pointing to the swirling waters, here several hundred yards in width.

The Indian grinned and made signs, motioning with his hand at his knees, at his waist, and far above his head.

”Swimming it, eh?” said Uncle d.i.c.k. ”Well, that means swimming the horses across. Also it means freighting the packs. Off with the loads, then, boys, and let's get busy.”

The Indian and Uncle d.i.c.k now examined the boat and found that it would ferry something like five hundred pounds besides two men acting as oarsmen. As they had something like three-quarters of a ton in the pack-loads, this meant several trips in the boat.

Meantime Moise, singing and laughing as usual, proceeded to build a fire and to make a little midday camp, for he knew they would tarry here for some time.

”We'll wouldn't took all the grub over right way first thing,” said he. ”Better eat plenty first.”

”All right, Moise,” said John; ”I'm hungry right now, and I'll eat any time you say. But I think we'd better wait until we see how they come out with the boat.”

With the first load of supplies in the skiff, Uncle d.i.c.k and the Indian had a good stiff pull of it, for the current of the Athabasca here is at least six or eight miles an hour. But by heading up stream they managed to land nearly opposite the place where they had started.

By the time they had returned for the second load all the packs were off and the horses were ready for the crossing. Uncle d.i.c.k thought that it would be best to cross the horses at once, as any mountain stream is lower in the early part of the day than it is in mid-afternoon, when the daily flood of melting snow is at its height.

The boys had often heard of this way of getting a pack-train across a river too deep to ford, and now they were to see it in actual practice. The Indian, wading out, showed that there was a shallow hard bar extending some distance out and offering good footing. He pushed the boat out some distance from sh.o.r.e and sat there, holding it with an oar thrust into the sand. Uncle d.i.c.k rode his saddle-pony out a little way, and led the white bell-mare, old Betsy, along behind him, pa.s.sing Betsy's rope to the Indian as he sat in the boat. Betsy, as may be supposed, was a sensible and courageous horse, well used to all the hards.h.i.+ps of mountain work.

It is the way of all pack-horses to be given to sudden frights, but, still, if they see that another horse has gone ahead they nearly always will try to follow. All the other horses now stood looking out at Betsy. As they did so the others of the party made a sort of rope corral behind them and on each side. All at once Moise and Uncle d.i.c.k began to shout at the horses and crowd them forward toward the water.

Although they plunged and tried to break away, they were afraid of the rope, and, seeing Betsy standing there, one after another they splashed out into the shallow water.

Uncle d.i.c.k sprang on top of his horse, Danny, once more, and headed off those which undertook to come back to the bank. Then, once more riding out to the boat, he sprang off nearly waist-deep into the water and climbed into the boat, leaving Danny to take his chances with the others. Both men now bent to the oars. Old Betsy, seeing her rope fast to the boat for the time, swam toward it so strongly that they were almost afraid she would try to get into it, so at length Uncle d.i.c.k cut off the rope as short as he could and cast everything loose. By that time, as good-fortune would have it, all the horses were swimming, following the white lead-mare, which, seeing the sh.o.r.e on ahead, and not seeing the sh.o.r.e behind, and, moreover, seeing human beings in the boat just ahead, struck out st.u.r.dily for the other side.

The swift icy current of the Athabasca carried the animals far down-stream, and this time Uncle d.i.c.k did not try to keep the boat up-stream, but allowed it to drift with the horses, angling down. It seemed to those left on the hither sh.o.r.e at least half an hour before a call from the other side announced that the boatmen had reached shallow water. Of course it was not so long; but, whether long or short, it certainly was fortunate that the journey had been made so quickly and so safely. For now, one after another, they could see the horses splas.h.i.+ng and struggling as they found solid footing under them, so what had lately been a procession of heads and ears became a line of pack-horses straggling up the bank; and a very cold and much-frightened train of pack-horses they were, too, as Uncle d.i.c.k could have told his young companions. But what he did was to give a great shout which announced to them that all was safe.

After that, of course, it was simply a question of freighting over the remainder of the supplies and the others of the party, and of rounding up the scattered horses from the grazing-places in the woods. Moise insisted on having tea before the last trip was made; and by this time the boys realized that at no time in these operations had they been left alone with no one older than themselves to care for them in case of accidents, nor had they been left without supplies close at hand.

”You're a pretty good manager, Uncle d.i.c.k,” said John, while they sat on a long log by the fireside before the last trip across the river.

”I'm willing to say that you're a pretty good engineer as well as a pretty good contractor.”

”Nothing venture, nothing have,” said Uncle d.i.c.k. ”You have to use your head on the trail a little bit, as well as your nerve, however.

We'd have had to swim the Athabasca anyhow, and I'd about as soon swim a train over a broad, steady river as to try to cross a rough mountain river with a loaded train, and maybe get a horse swept under a log-jam. Anyway, we can call the river crossed, and jolly glad I am of it, too.”

”When do we get any fis.h.i.+ng?” asked Jesse. ”That water looks too muddy for trout.”

”We won't get any fis.h.i.+ng for a couple of days yet, probably,” said Uncle d.i.c.k. ”And as to shooting, you must remember that we are now in Jasper Park, and if we struck a game warden he would seal all our guns for us.”

”Well,” said Rob, ”I see there's a lake over here called Fish Lake.”

”Yes. The old traders' trail runs between Fish Lake and Brule Lake, and a great piece of sand it is in there, too--we engineers will have to put blankets on that country to keep it from blowing away when we build the railroad through. But we'll miss all that, and to-morrow we'll stop at Swift's place, on the other side of the river.”