Читать книгу Chiquita, an American Novel - Merrill Tileston - Страница 7

The summer vacation period found Jack among the old hills of Bozrah, his first visit to the scenes of his childhood since making Boston his home. Six years' business and social life in and about the "Hub" launched Jack upon the world a polished gentleman, refined, cultured, energetic, well qualified to step into a position demanding more than ordinary ability.

The first panic in his experience had unsettled values, trade was at a standstill, confidence was lacking, men hoarded their wealth and the wheels of many mills ceased to turn, while mill hands idly walked the streets or sought labor in distant parts of the globe. The great electoral dispute of "eight to seven" still rankled in the minds of many, while those who cared not for that controversy found themselves unable to entertain the problems of manufacture until the changes anticipated in the tariff should be made by congress. Realizing that the east gave little promise or opportunity for a young man, Jack concluded, soon after his vacation ended, to resign his position and cast his lot with the pioneer on the frontier, or, at least that he would visit Denver and see what the chances were there.

The breaking off of fast friendships was keenly felt; business and social acquaintances admired his "grit," as they called it, but were skeptical as to the ultimate results. Hazel had become a frequent visitor at the Sheppard mansion and made it her "home-in-law," as she called it, whenever fancy took her cityward. She happened to be there when Jack declared himself.

"I've resigned my job and am going to Colorado within a month."

"Jack Sheppard! What? Going to Colorado? Going to leave Boston? Indians! You'll come home without any scalp!"

Such was the chorus which greeted his simple announcement. Hazel cried, his mother cried, his sisters moped around, and his father patted him on the back. "Go and see the world, broaden out, the experience will be worth the cost, even if you don't stay," he said, with lots of emphasis on the experience.

Five days from Boston to Denver. Everything was the old, old story of farms, villages and small cities until the train left Kansas City, then the arid plains opened wider and wider, the towns grew farther and farther apart, less and less in size until what was marked a station on the trip ticket given him by the conductor proved on arrival to be a platform, a water tank and a cowboy straddle of a "buckskin," white-eyed broncho. These scenes in truth were new and Jack's experience had commenced. Occasionally the water tank was supplemented by a saloon. Great herds of cattle grazed along the unfenced right of way of the railroad, and the treeless expanse of never ending brown, sun-burned, alkali-spotted plains wearied the eye, the mind and soul in their wretched monotony. The slow-going "fire wagon," drawing its burden of weary humanity, puffed laboriously along the hot iron pathway toward the setting sun at a speed so slow that many a "cow puncher" tested the mettle of his hardy, sure-footed pony to the discomfiture of the iron horse and its attendant.

Antelope raced with the train and buffalo stood defiantly in the wallows, their lop-ended bodies appearing strangely out of proportion for sustaining the equilibrium necessary for feeding, fighting or flying. Prairie dogs barked their squeaky warnings, and wise looking little top-heavy owls flapped their wings lazily in an attempt to rise, only to fall awkwardly into the next dog village near by, as the train rumbled through the sand-duned desert. But all things have an end. So did the first journey to Denver. Within a week Jack met a mountain guide who told of the deer, the bear, the trout in Middle Park. Within another week he had purchased an Indian pony, saddle, and provisions to last two for seven months, agreeing to follow the guide and trapper in his winter's occupation of securing pelts for market.

It took a month to reach the final spot selected for a cabin on Rock Creek, during which time Jack met many of the brave and weather-beaten, buckskin clad frontiersmen living on the firing line of civilization at the very threshold of savagedom. Men who drove the rude stakes marking pioneer advancement into the soil wrested from its occupants by purchase from a broken down dynasty, claiming discovery, a nation whose bigoted avariciousness blinded its foresight to the end of bartering away its last foothold on the great American continent.

The incidents from Denver to Rock Creek Jack enumerated in an improvised journal, greasy from continued usage in his endeavor to let nothing escape the record.

"First night: Slept on the floor of a grocery store, twenty miles from Denver, a buffalo robe between me and the boards.

"Second night: Slept in the hay in a barn at Georgetown.

"Third day: A. M. Homesick. The trapper not ready to go into Middle Park; must wait four days. All my money left in Denver. Supposed we would have no use for money, as all our worldly provisions and needs would be on the wagon or pack animals, but the provisions are coming by rail and we eat at a restaurant in the mining town where the railway terminates. As my money is gone and no provisions here, I am at a loss to satisfy hunger.

"Third day: P. M. Heard some dogs barking away up on the side of the mountain; asked the butcher if he would buy a wild goat if I killed one. It was goats that made the dogs bark, goats that once were civilized but had strayed away and became wild. Shouldered my rifle and climbed that awful stretch of snow-covered slide rock at the imminent peril of starting an avalanche and destroying the whole town. Killed a goat, a black one. Shot him in the shoulder just where "Swiftfoot, the scout," would have planted a bullet, but the goat would not or did not die, so I shot him again through the neck. Then I plunged my steel into him and saw the life-blood gush all over me and the snow, then I dragged the goat by his horns down the mountain side. There were places so steep that the goat went faster than I did, so it was a case of goat dragging me. Finally landed at the same time the goat did, at the bottom of the long gulch; tied the goat's legs together and hung him across my back on my rifle barrel. Walked unconcernedly past the butcher shop to the restaurant, where I deposited the goat on a box in the back yard. The perilous adventure netted me my meals for four days, three dollars in United States money and one Mexican dollar. I was not homesick again."

Another interesting item in his graphic description of the country so new to him:

"We left Georgetown in early morning to cross the range. From timber line on the eastern slope of the great Atlantico-Pacifico water shed, winding around Gray's Peak, serpentinely descending to the Frazier River through Middle Park to our cabin site on Rock Creek one hundred and fifty miles, is one unbroken cheerless blanket of snow, covering irregular sage brush grown mesas sloping to the river banks, along whose sides grow stretches of heavy, coarse grass suitable for wintering hardy, range-grown stock. Cultivation of any of the land is still an unsolved problem. The residents of this great unregistered section live in log cabins. Neighbors are 'near' who occupy claims within ten miles of each other. The one county, Grand, represents more territory than Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island put together. No section lines mark the maps, no organized arrangement of district or circuit courts interferes with the 'administration' of 'justice' when disputes have to be adjudicated. Generally the one quickest with a gun has the law on his side. The people are willing to share beds and grub with each other and strangers; a feeling akin to insult being awakened if payment be tendered for hospitality even of several days' duration, excepting, of course, regularly established quarters where stage coaches change horses and provision is made for the accommodation of summer tourists. Every man is a blacksmith, carpenter, tinker, tailor, cook, chamberman, physician, nurse, even undertaker and grave digger when occasion demands. The food is the most primitive known in a civilized land—bread, venison or elk meat, occasionally antelope, bear, mountain sheep, always bacon and black coffee, and dried prunes, peaches or apples furnish fruit if the ranchman's ambition fires him sufficiently to stew sauce. Occasionally a ranchman has milch cows, which add butter and cream to the simple fare. Vegetables are a scarce commodity, except for a case or two of canned corn, tomatoes, succotash and baked beans, the latter being a dish utterly impossible of being prepared in high altitudes without the aid of baking soda to soften the bean; even then unless great care is taken the alkali spoils the flavor of this toothsome Boston creation. Buckskin and heavy woolen underclothes form the general run of garments, an outer protecting duck coat and overalls being worn to a large extent. White goods as wearing apparel, table or bed furnishings are seldom found, much less used. Time is reckoned by 'sun ups,' 'snows' and the mail carrier. In event of the latter being a day late or ahead, the fact is recorded, or every one would eventually lose complete track of dates, Sunday likely as not being observed in name in the middle of the week."

Jack kept his record straight for a month and then lost the combination entirely for eighteen days. There were no churches, no schools, and but one voting precinct in the whole of Grand County. Ward primaries had not been established and politics centered in a justice of the peace, sheriff, and county judge, none of whom accumulated wealth from office emoluments.

On Thanksgiving Day Jack's last officially correct entry in his log book noted the thermometer as "frozen up," subsequent days for a long period recording "a little colder," "much colder," "terribly cold."

The fifth day from Hot Sulphur Springs found the trapper and his pupil on the west slope of the Gore or Park range, encountering a terrific snowstorm, in the midst of which they stumbled into a band of elk which made Jack forget all his troubles of keeping the trail, the difficulty of keeping the big wagon box on runners from upsetting and himself from freezing. As the big animals loomed up in the clouds of snow flakes driven pitilessly into his face he suddenly recalled the oft-told stories of "buck fever," and for fear this dread disease would shatter his nerves he waited the arrival of the experienced trapper. The band was moving slowly down the ravine, not seeming to notice their enemy—man.

"Shoot 'em, why don't you shoot? Careful now, and get that big bull with his flank turned toward you. There, give him another, quick! Again! before he gets out of sight—you've got him!" And Jack saw his first wapiti plunge to his knees, recover, bound sideways and then again lunge with his nose plowing deep into the snow, his hind legs straining at the earth for a support, only to sink in a last effort, and the "monarch of the forest" was Jack's prize. It was but a few moments' work to knot a lariat to a hind leg and by the aid of his Indian pony drag the carcass to a tree, hang the body out of reach of wolves and coyotes, then seek a suitable location for a camp, which in that storm was no easy matter. For hours it had been unload, dig the sled out of a deep bank of snow, load up again and flounder a few rods, only to repeat the process. The diversion of killing an elk gave a rest of half an hour, then another attempt was made to cross a small park before night should envelop them in her black mantle. About half way, however, the horses floundered into a drift which accumulated over the spongy surface of a willow-banked ravine, the sled pitched its nose down deep, the trapper swore, and Jack wanted to.

"Guess we better 'cache' our stuff and get over thar in the timber and let the 'dod gasted' blizzard play itself out," said the man of many winters' experience. "You have done mighty well for a tenderfoot. An old-timer couldn't have done better in tramping snow and breaking trail than you have. This is about as bad a storm as you will ever get into. When it snows so you can't see the horses' heads in front of you it gets about the limit."

"Can we find the provisions if we leave them here?" questioned Jack.

"Yes, you get that long dead sapling over there and we will stick it up beside the pile, throw that wagon sheet over the top, and then we'll drive some tent pins to fasten the corners to. There now—Hi! there, you!" The horses gave a pull and the almost empty sled followed. In a few minutes the edge of the timber was reached and Jack commenced to scrape away the snow preparatory for a camp fire. The old trapper decided it best to put coverings on the horses and turn them loose. It was too stormy to picket them, too cruel to tie them up short, and unless blankets were fastened on them they would make a bee line back to Hot Sulphur.

When Jack had broken dry twigs from the ends of overhanging branches and found a "blazed" spot on a pine tree which promised a good pitch-soaked kindler, and gathered a lot of dead timber, he made ready to light his fire. The wind drove the snow in avalanches. No one could ever light a match in that gale, and when he reached the time for lighting, he found but one match. He had lost his tin matchbox and the stock box was in the "cache," which was by that time under two feet of snow. Carefully making a little "lean to" out of a rubber blanket, he first "warmed" the match against his flannel shirt up in the armpit, to absorb any dampness in the sulphur, then with trepidation and fear he carefully drew the yellow end across the inside of his duck coat, a crack, a choking cloud of sulphur, a sputter of burning brimstone blue and feeble, then a stronger yellow flame and the camp fire was assured. Throwing off the "lean to" the wind drove the flames against the big pile of firewood and soon the cheerful warmth melted a space in the snow big enough to call a camp. It was no easy matter to cook supper, and there was little comfort standing around afterwards, so both made ready for bed. The "lean to" was again the resort for a shelter for the night, as a tent could not be made secure in that storm in frozen ground.

Carefully fastening one end of the canvas to the wagon, and pegging the other to the ground near the fire, a bed was improvised with the rubber blanket next to the snow, then the blankets, eleven in all, the "lean to" tucked in all around—and Jack went to sleep with the wind driving its icy breath through the thick pine forest or shrieking as it caught the naked, ghostlike branches of a leafless aspen. The morning found them almost buried under the snow, but none the worse otherwise.

It was noon before the horses were found and brought back by the trapper, and that evening the camp was pitched only a mile from the other side of the "cache." The storm went down with the sun and the cold intensified until the biting blasts hurled across the open gate to Egeria Park were to the unprotected face like knife slashes.

For two days melted snow had served for cooking, drink for horses, and washing purposes. A good square meal had been impossible to prepare, and a hungry night was in prospect for both man and beast. The trapper declared he would not turn the horses loose that night, so picking out a sheltered place among the pine trees he tied up all but "Ned," Jack's Indian pony, halter lengths, covered them with blankets and harnessed to keep the blankets on. The tent was pitched in a long deep cut, dug into an immense snow bank, to all appearances a part of the big drift after it had been arranged for the night. The intensity of the cold was estimated at fifty degrees below zero and six pair of double blankets weighing eight pounds per pair were used as covering (Jack was actually tired when he awoke, from the weight of the bedding). Single thicknesses of blankets had to be drawn over the face to keep it from freezing. But with all these hardships the young man from the "States" thrived and grew hardy. No such thing as a cold or bodily ailment of any sort attacked either one.

The next night found them camped in a protected ravine near a stream from which water was obtained and some pretensions to comfort prevailed. For the first time elk meat formed a part of the evening meal, and a feeling of good cheer followed a hearty repast. The next morning as Jack climbed the side of the long south slope, covered with stunted sage brush, to get the horses that had found plenty of feed, he came face to face with a tawny-skinned animal that came up out of one ravine as Jack emerged from another, about a hundred yards apart. No firearms, not even a hunting knife, were at hand. To flee would be but an invitation to tempt the mountain lion to possible attack, so Jack sauntered along, carelessly as he could under the circumstances, in the direction of the ponies. The lion kept on his own course, crossing Jack's path and eventually disappearing in a deep arroya, or gulch, all the while turning his head from side to side watching but not attempting to molest either Jack or the horses.

The next camping spot selected was on the bank of Rock Creek, where a bend of the stream deflected by high rocks left a well timbered, protected area, surrounded on three sides by precipitous slopes of the adjacent "benches" covered with sage brush, these "benches" or mesas extending to the high ridges towering above, one facing the north, the other the south, the former bleak and covered with deep snow, the latter, warm and sun-kissed, furnishing feed for horses. The building of a cabin occupied a few days, which, when equipped with a fireplace, a bunk having about eighteen inches of spruce boughs as a mattress, and other frontier conveniences, made a trapper's home.

Deer were abundant. In an evening or in the early morning hundreds of the great muleheaded species could be seen winding their way to and from the feeding grounds, or wandering aimlessly about. Traps were set out, bait doctored with "dead medicine" or poison tacked to trees and stumps where foxes, wolves and lions were likely to find it, and the regular life of "catching fur" was commenced.

A band of Ute Indians that had left the White River Agency established their village two miles below the cabin at a point where Rock Creek joined another stream—Toponas, or "Pony"—and then flowed on to its confluence with the Grand River. These Indians became visitors to the cabin and among them Jack found one, Yamanatz, a friendly and peaceable savage.

The village was destitute of food and ammunition, in fact, no means were at their command for obtaining game, therefore they heralded the trappers' arrival with gladness, for they expected to be able to obtain powder and bullets with which to obtain venison.

The second visit Yamanatz made to the Rock Creek camp, he was accompanied by his beautiful daughter Chiquita, a girl of seventeen, richly attired in beaded skirt, leggings and moccasins. She rode astride of a magnificent chestnut brown, full-blooded Ute pony, a large Navajo blanket drawn tightly about her, Indian fashion. She carried a bow and from her back hung a quiver of arrows. Her well molded face was set in its frame of straight, black hair, braided in two long strands into which were interwoven pieces of lion skin, beaver fur and other bits of "medicine" charms to drive away evil spirits. A string of elk teeth adorned her neck and bands of heavy silver ornaments bedecked her arms.

Indians are similar to other folks in many respects. A proper introduction generally puts them on a gracious footing. It did not take long for Jack and Chiquita to strike up a fast friendship, and the old adage of "feed the brute" held good with both Indian buck and maiden.

The cabin was but partly "chinked" when the old trapper announced his intention of going to Hot Sulphur Springs.

"I left the old woman without enough wood and must go back to cut some for her. Then there are some other matters to attend to which will take a week or ten days, after which I will come back and bring what mail is at the Springs for you," he explained.

Little did Jack realize, in fact, he did not suspect, there might be other reasons for this sudden determination on the part of the trapper. It did not occur to him the seeming folly of a man leaving his wife unprovided with wood. The trip of a hundred miles or more in the dead of winter over unbroken trails was not so much of an obstacle for a man experienced in mountain life; but he did not then know that the Utes' camp was made up of some of the worst characters from the White River Agency, nor that the band was there against the wishes of Indian Agent Meeker, who had requested their return more than once.

Jack took the matter as one of the peculiar incidents in a trapper's life, for he had learned that a trapper has no conception of time, no thought for the days ahead, no particular object in view beyond existence, and no ambition beyond that of the prospector who indulges his fancies of "striking it rich" some day.

Jack knew there were plenty of provisions to last until summer, that the trapper would leave two horses and the sled, besides quite a valuable lot of traps, et cetera, which would insure his return sooner or later, so there were no misgivings when the mountaineer mounted his horse and rode away.

He busied himself day after day and accumulated furs and knowledge of frontier life.

These were the surroundings in which Jack found himself three months after leaving Boston.