Girl Scouts in the Rockies

CHAPTER SIX – A MULE’S PLEASANTRIES

Long’s Peak had been “done” to every one’s satisfaction, and other neighboring peaks had been scaled. Estes Park was now becoming so familiar an environment that the scouts no longer thrilled at each new experience, but were eagerly looking forward to fresh excitement.

“Well, Tally, how about trekking northwards?” asked Mr. Gilroy of the guide, one night after supper.

“All ’leddy,” returned the Indian.

“Frolic and Jolt seem to be deucedly gay after this long vacation,” ventured Mr. Vernon, eyeing the frisky pack-mules.

“Um – Jolt him big kick,” said Tally, signifying with a hand held above his head, how high the animal kicked that day.

“Our next lap of the journey will take all this freshness out of him, never fear!” laughed Mr. Gilroy.

That night while the scouts slept heavily, Tally heard a sound from the corral where he kept the horses and mules. He jumped up and ran over, but Jolt had broken his halter and had disappeared. He roused Mr. Gilroy and told him the news.

“Oh, let the old rascal go!” mumbled he, then turned over on his side and was fast asleep again. So Tally literally obeyed.

In the morning, however, Mr. Gilroy thought differently about his advice. Jolt was the best and strongest of the two mules, and the luggage of so many tourists was too much for Frolic, the smaller of the pack-animals.

Mr. Gilroy sighed heavily. “Well, the only thing to do is for all hands to turn out and hunt for Jolt.”

“Why not have Verny and Betty, the two tender scouts of the troop, stay and strike camp?” asked Mr. Vernon. “We can go for the mule, while they pack everything and get ready for a start along the trail when we return.”

In spite of the Captain’s vehement declarations that she was not to be classed as too young or tender to enjoy a wild hunt for a fractious mule, the two were left behind, and the others started down the trail.

After many wanderings along side trails that offered temptations to such a wayward beast as Jolt, the hunters found him. Yes, Jolt was found, but it was another thing to catch him! After many vain attempts, Tally finally lassoed him, but the kicking, jumping animal seemed to think the more he performed the better the scouts liked it. After an absence of an hour, the captors filed back to camp, where Frolic – contrarily named – stood meekly waiting to be harnessed with the packs.

While Tally placed the two wooden crates on Frolic’s back, Mr. Gilroy essayed to do the same with Jolt. But the mule had other intentions. The moment he felt the touch of the pack-frame he lit out with both hind legs. Poor Gilly not only caved in suddenly in the region under his belt, but he also sat down unceremoniously several paces behind Jolt.

“Um! Some bad Jolt!” declared Tally, scowling at the mule.

The opportune words were so amusing, that every one, Mr. Gilroy included, simply roared. But the Indian looked at them in silent wonderment. To his mind, these white men were always laughing.

Mr. Vernon now caught hold of Jolt’s bit and held his head firmly between both hands, while Tally “hitched” the mule’s feet so he could not kick or run again. Then the crates were strapped on and the packing began.

Jolt had the heaviest articles roped upon his packs. The canvas, blankets, and camping outfits were his portion. Frolic carried the duffel-bags and lighter baggage. Finally all were ready for the start.

The scouts got into the saddles, and Mr. Vernon followed suit. Tally and Mr. Gilroy were strapping the last leather around Frolic’s packs. It was necessary to pull it in another hole to keep the pack from slipping under the beast’s belly, but while Tally was so pulling it, Frolic gave a grunt. Another yank at the straps, and another louder grunt from Frolic made Betty interfere.

“I just know you are hurting poor Frolic dreadfully! She’ll have a bad stomachache from those straps that are cutting her in half!”

Every one laughed at Betty’s concern, but it drew attention to the work going on; and so, in watching Frolic being strapped up, every one forgot about Jolt. The old rascal saw his opportunity to escape to the delectable grazing ground from which he had been ruthlessly lassoed a short time before. So he wheeled and started for the trail.

But he forgot to make allowances for the projecting packs, and in passing between two tall pines with but a foot’s space between the trunks, the crates became firmly wedged. So fast was he held, in fact, that Tally grinned when Julie yelled, “Jolt’s running away again!”

Tally reassured her, “Jolt no run now – him rest awhile.”

When Frolic had been made ready to start, the men went after Jolt. The aluminum cooking-ware had been hung, the last thing, upon the sides of the packs, and now the dishes were dented almost out of shape because they were the “bumpers” that came between the packs and the treetrunks. It took some time to dislodge the mule and his packs from between the trees, as it was necessary to protect the cooking utensils as much as possible.

This delicate operation was just being completed, when a cry from the scouts drew all attention back to Frolic again.

The tautly-drawn ropes caused Frolic an unpleasant sensation after the days of freedom from harness, so when she was left quite alone, she decided that rolling might ease matters. She lay down and rolled and kicked her heels high in the air, then she rolled again. She kept it up until the scouts knew that every bottle and box in their duffel-bags must be powdered into other necessities.

Tally rushed over and gave Frolic a vicious kick that instantly stopped her rolling, and caused her to lift inquiring eyes to those about her. Strange to say, Betty offered no protest when Tally kicked the mule again, to make her get upon her feet.

“There, now!” exclaimed Julie. “See that you maintain an upright behavior, you shiftless woman!”

The others laughed, for all were gay because the signal had been given to start along the trail. All went well after that, while the mules trotted closely after the horses, and the riders congratulated themselves that henceforth their troubles with the two mules were over. But they were to be undeceived further on.

They were descending a long rough hill when Jolt, who was the last beast but one in the line, heard a strange sound coming from his packs. Tally heard and recognized the metallic banging of some pans that had become loosened when the packs were wedged between the tree trunks at the top of the mountain. But Jolt was not as wise as Tally, and the more he shook himself, and sidled against the trees, the louder came that queer jangle. Then he managed to pass between two trees in order to brush off the objectionable thing, but that made the jangling still worse. So he became desperate.

About this time, Tally rode over to the place where Jolt was trying to crush the noisy thing from his pack, and attempted to use a lash to make the beast stop his stubbornness. But the tip end of the whip was all that caught the mule, and he suddenly jumped. That made all the other utensils shake loose and rattle. This was too much for the annoyed animal, and he started to gallop down the trail.

Warning shouts from Tally made the riders in front get out of the way; the guide then threw his lasso. But it caught upon a knob that had become loose and was projecting from the crate. Jolt flew onward, but the large object that had been roped, fell upon the ground with a dull thud.

To every one’s shocked surprise, the lassoed article proved to be the only bag of flour they had at that time. The cotton container burst open with the fall, and flour dusted softly out upon the surrounding scenery.

“We can scoop most of it up and sift it,” suggested Joan.

“But what is there to put it in?” demanded Julie.

“It’s so precious – we mustn’t lose an ounce of it,” added the Captain.

“We’ll each have to take one of our large clean handkerchiefs, and fill as much in them as they will hold. The ends can be tied together, and each will have to carry her own package,” suggested Anne, who was worried lest a good meal be forfeited.

“That’s the only way, I guess,” agreed Mrs. Vernon; so each one filled a handkerchief, and the rest of the flour was then pinned in the bag and carefully placed in Mr. Gilroy’s charge.

When the riders were on the trail again, there was no sight of Jolt anywhere. Where he had gone with the camp outfit was a question. But Tally worried not. He said laconically:

“Jolt wait nex’ uphill.”

When the scouts reached the bottom of the descent, they found a swiftly-running shallow stream crossing the trail. And in this, with both packs submerged, but with head safely held above the cooling water, Jolt was stretched out.

“There he would stay, I suppose, until he was sure the queer life that made the jangle on his back, was snuffed out,” said Mr. Gilroy, chuckling at the mule’s “horse-sense.”

That day when they stopped to cook dinner, Tally was most careful to leave the pack-frames on the backs of the mules, as that would prevent fresh arguments when the time came to resume the trip.

Fish abounded everywhere, – in the streams, in the lakes, or in the wayside rivulets, – so that there was never a lack of such food. Nor did it need expert anglers to catch the fish. It seemed to the scouts that the poor things were only waiting eagerly to be caught.

Having selected the camp site, Tally suddenly stooped and examined some recently made tracks. “Bear ben here,” said he.

“Oh, a real live bear?” cried Joan.

“Did you think a dead one made those tracks?” retorted Ruth.

“I wish we could see him,” said Julie, and this wish was seconded by all the other girls.

“If you want a close acquaintance with him, just follow that track. Doubtless he is sitting behind a treetrunk this very minute, planning what to do with you after he has embraced you fondly,” said Mrs. Vernon.

“If they follow bear tracks like they followed the calf’s hoofprints, they’ll sure find something at the end of the trail,” teased Mr. Gilroy.

All that morning the sun had remained under a heavy pall of clouds, but noon brought forth its hot shining rays, and the long-reaching fingers seeming to edge the grey clouds with molten gold. During the afternoon the sun had shone fitfully, but towards evening it set in a gorgeous bath of color, the stormbanks that were piled up about it, adding a barbaric touch to the scene.

Flaunting streaks of gold and crimson shot here and there from back of the clouds; and these in turn seemed to reach out in a confused riot of dazzling purple, amber and copper-edged mountains that rose in majesty overhead.

All this wondrous coloring faded rapidly, however, and in a short time the somber gray of the clouds again predominated. Then a chill spread over everything.

“Him rain sure!” remarked Tally, holding a palm to the wind.

“When?” asked Mr. Gilroy.

“Mebbe bed-time – mebbe after night.”

“Then we’d better prepare for it beforehand,” suggested Mr. Vernon.

“Collect plenty of wood and spread the rubber sheets over it,” said Mr. Gilroy. “We’ll see that the tent ropes are well fastened to-night so the wind won’t carry away any canvas.”

Tally was right. Rain began to fall about nine o’clock. At first it came gently and unobtrusively, but soon it was driven in sheets by high winds. It was well the guide had rolled great pine stumps to the fire, to keep the necessary fuel dry through the night. Although the scouts, rolled in their rubber covers, were unconscious of the elements that raged about and over them, Tally sat up feeding the fire that kept an area about the sleepers dry all night.

Now and then the demoniacal gale would root up a mighty pine, and with a s-s-split and a cr-r-r-rash it would thud down, breaking through all the younger timber. At such sounds, the girls would murmur sleepily, “Did you see any old trees near camp?”

Invariably the reply would be, “No – only little ones.”

Then all would sleep again, relieved at such an assurance.

The camp presented a sorry appearance in the gray dawn. Everything was soaked, and the horses looked washed out. Even Jolt looked moister than when he rose out of the stream at the base of the mountain.

Later the sun glanced through dripping foliage and sent its warming beams into the stiffened joints of the campers. And when Tally had called them all to a good hot breakfast, life took on a more cheerful hue.

The tourists seldom followed the beaten trail that ran to Flat Top Mountain or to the Glaciers, because Mr. Gilroy secured better results in finding rock formations and glacial débris in going by the old Indian trails. And Tally knew these trails as well as the surveyor knows his line-maps.

Not long after the scouts had resumed their ride along one of the unfrequented trails, the party reached a mountaintop. The Leader turned her head and craned her neck in order to see what the object was that stood clearly outlined from a crag that hung over a dangerous gulch.

“A Rocky Mountain goat! I verily believe,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“Oh, oh! That’s what we want to see!” cried the girls.

“And I want to get a good picture of it,” added the Captain.

“Now’s your opportunity,” returned her husband.

“But we are too far away to focus the camera.”

“If the goat will wait, you might go over there,” laughed Mr. Gilroy.

“Verny, we could ride across this plateau and manage to get a much better focus,” suggested Julie.

“And there may be a whole herd feeding on the grass down in the glade between these cliffs,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“Oh, let’s go and see!” teased the scouts; so the horses were left with Tally, and their riders crept carefully across the grassy knolls and glades that hid from their view the ravine where they hoped to see the goats.

They were well rewarded for their trouble, too. Down in the green basin, under the crag where the ram kept guard for his sheep and ewes, grazed a large flock of Rocky Mountain goats. The scouts had a sight such as few tourists ever are blessed with, and Mrs. Vernon took a whole film of excellent snapshots, – all but one exposure, and that was left on the chance of an unusual sight.

While they stood watching the herd, a great ram was seen bounding recklessly along the edge of the cliff that formed the wall of the glade directly opposite the scouts. He nimbly jumped from ledge to ledge down this almost perpendicular wall, and soon reached the herd.

Then another ram, that first sighted by the riders, also started down, going where there seemed to be absolutely no foothold for him. He would spring from the ledge and, scarcely touching the side rock with his hoofs, land upon a bit of shelf, thence on down to another tiny ledge far beneath, and so on until he reached the glade.

The two rams now conveyed an alarm to the sheep, and forthwith they started up the perpendicular wall at the end of the glen, winding a way along one ledge after another where no visible foothold was seen with the naked eye. Yet they found one, for they climbed, and having reached the top of the wall, they disappeared.

“Oh, pshaw! I meant to snap the last exposure with that wonderful picture of the herd going up the wall,” exclaimed Mrs. Vernon in evident disappointment.

“You’re lucky to get the ones you did, Captain. These Rocky Mountain sheep are the wildest on earth, and seldom can man come near enough to get snapshots as you did to-day. The Peruvian goats and those in Arabia are agile and daring, but they do not compare with these goats for agility, and faith in their footsteps.

“When we go further North in the mountains, this scene we just witnessed will seem like child’s play to the feats those goats will accomplish.

“The lambs are even more intrepid than the elders, and have not the slightest bit of fear of falling. Strangely enough, they seldom fall, and are hardly ever injured. It is said that the only risks they run are when they happen to jump in strange territory where the ledges and footholds are not understood.”