Part 8 (1/2)

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RAINBOW LAKE

The boys were up early, excited by the prospect of a day's sport, and before the sun had more than shown above the hills they were out in the dewy gra.s.s and ready for breakfast. From their camp they could hear the rus.h.i.+ng of the swift Miette below them. All around them lay a wonderful mountain view--Mount Geikie on one side, and off ahead, apparently closing the valley itself, three tall white peaks which were to rise before them for some time yet. The high, dry air of the mountains was most refres.h.i.+ng, and all were full of life and joy when their leader at length told them that they might start for the hidden lake back in the hills.

”How'd you happen to find that lake?” asked John. ”It doesn't seem to show anywhere in this valley.”

”We found it on the same principle as they found the Yellowhead Pa.s.s,”

said Uncle d.i.c.k. ”When we struck this little creek we knew it must come from somewhere, and as a matter of fact we were hungry for trout.

So we followed the creek until we discovered the lake that we call Rainbow Lake, where we are going to-day. It's bad walking along the creek, however, and we'll find it much easier to go on up the valley a little way, and then cross over the high ridge to the right. It's a climb of about a thousand feet, but the going is good, and it's only a mile or so over to the lake in that way.”

Following their leader, they all started up the valley, each with his fis.h.i.+ng-rod in hand. Soon they were making their way up the steep slope of the lofty ridge which lay between the valley and the hidden lake. From time to time they stopped to catch their breath, and at such times sat looking with wonder at the great mountain prospect which rose before them as they climbed.

”It certainly seems as though we were the first to be here,” said Jesse. ”You can't see the track of anybody in here.”

”No,” said Uncle d.i.c.k, ”no tin cans just yet, and we might as well call ourselves the first, because we're traveling precisely as the first men did who came through here. But I would like to ask you whether you discovered anything this morning out of the way.”

John and Jesse could not think of anything, but Rob hesitated. ”I'll tell you what,” said he, ”it seems to me there must have been more than one trail up this valley. At least, I've seen two this morning.”

”Precisely. The main trail ran lower down, below our camp. The other trail which you noticed cut across a low place in this ridge back of us. Now that trail runs right along the side of our little lake over yonder. It pa.s.ses back above that lake and heads off into the mountains. It's as deep and broad as the other trail, but n.o.body seems to know anything about it. It seems to strike in for the mountains somewhere north of Yellowhead Pa.s.s. But where does it go? No one can tell you. Is there another pa.s.s in there, north of Yellowhead? No one can answer that. Perhaps the two trails meet somewhere between here and the Yellowhead; but if so, no one has found where. That's a mystery, isn't it? Some day, if I ever have time, I'm going to follow out that trail and see where it goes.

”But come on,” he concluded; ”we'll go on over the ridge and see the trail itself by the side of the lake.”

They rose now and pushed on up to the top of their steep climb, and soon pa.s.sed into the dense growth of small pines which covered it.

Their leader pushed on ahead, calling to them to follow; and, although the going was very difficult on account of burned timber and tangled undergrowth, they pa.s.sed on rapidly down the farther slope, until presently they broke from the cover and stood at the edge of the beautiful little mountain lake which lay green and mirrorlike, a mile or so in extent, surrounded closely on all sides by the great mountain walls.

”Well,” said John, ”it's a beauty, sure enough.”

”It certainly is,” said Jesse, ”and no tin cans of worm fishermen anywhere along here, either. It looks fishy, too.”

”It certainly is fishy,” smiled Uncle d.i.c.k; ”or it was last year, when I was in here. The trout don't run so very large, but they strike well and they are mighty good to eat.”

”What's this old hump we're on?” inquired Jesse, looking down curiously at his feet. They were standing on a rude pile of poles and sticks which extended well out into the lake.

”Guess,” said Uncle d.i.c.k.

”I know,” said Rob at once--”beaver!”

”Right. It's one of the biggest beaver-houses I ever saw in my life.

You'll find beaver sign all around this lake, but I suppose they caught the last one--maybe old Swift could tell who got him, or some of his Indian friends. So all we'll use the old beaver-house for is as a kind of pier to stand on while we fish--the trees come so close to the lake that it is hard to get a back-cast here.”

”Well,” said Jesse, ”over there to the end of the lake is a sort of point that runs out in--where it is rocky, with little trees and gra.s.s.”

”A splendid place to fish, too,” said his uncle. ”Now if you and John want to go around there, Rob and I will stay here and try it. But you'll have to be careful in crossing that marsh at the head of the lake. That's a beaver marsh--and just to show you how old our trail is that I was mentioning, you will probably find the marsh was made later than the trail was. But you can follow it along the edge of the lake for quite a ways. It's all full of bogs and beaver-dams farther up the valley, beyond the lake.”

”Come on, Jess,” said John, ”and we'll go over there where we can get out a good long line.”