Girl Scouts in the Rockies

CHAPTER ELEVEN – ON TO FLAT TOP MOUNTAIN

What would a trip in the Rockies mean without an Indian guide? He is the most valuable asset one can have. No matter where he finds himself, under the greatest stress of difficult conditions and circumstances, the Indian guide will manage to save the day. No human being can get as much out of Nature as an Indian. No one can find as desirable a campsite without loss of time. No one can make fire as quickly, pitch tents so securely, weave beds so comfortably, clean up so neatly, spin yarns so thrillingly, and smoke a pipe so contentedly, as an Indian.

So, in the early morning when the scouts awakened to the hope of new adventures, they found their guides preparing breakfast. Julie and Joan felt no after-effects of their unpleasant experience, other than in memory, and there was no reason for that to cripple either one.

The breadtwists were baking, duck broiling, and other delicious odors coming from the campfire, so the girls speedily completed their bath and toilet for the day. Then, the delicious breakfast out of the way, the kits were packed into the canoes, the scouts got in and sat down, and onward they traveled.

At every turn in the stream new vistas of Nature’s varied beauties opened out before their admiring eyes, and every now and then, a scout would call, “Take that picture, Verny! It’s wonderful.” And the Captain always snapped the scene.

Beautiful birds swung low on branches, with heads on one side, eyeing the strange creatures in the canoes. Squirrels sat upon the boughs and threw nutshells at the scouts as the canoes passed under their perches. Thus the hours flew by until night fell again. Camp was made, supper cooked, Indian legends told about the fire, then bed and refreshing sleep.

Beautiful weather blessed the scouts while on the canoe trip, and added to the enjoyment of the experience. Many times they paddled through water that looked like molten silver, so heavy and opaque was it in the weird light. Again they went along streams that reflected the sunset hues, and looked more like sheets of opal with its changeable colors of rose, lilac, and yellow-green. Then this fading, translucent color would suddenly vanish, and all be dark! Again there were times when the canoes threaded a way between towering cliffs that cast somber shadows down upon the waters, and other times when they rushed through gorges and gullies.

Hour after hour, day after day, sped on to join the yesterdays, with one thrilling experience after another passing into memories, and the scouts began to realize that their trip was almost ended. All the time the three Indians paddled faithfully, carefully, and silently, as much a factor in the enjoyment of the marvelous scenes as the water or the forests.

At last the scouts reached the great falls that marked the end of the journey, but they still had the joy of going back. So the backtrail began, with as many happy adventures as one can hope for on a canoe trip. No accident or disagreement marred the trip, and when they reached the rendezvous where they were to meet the riders who went over the Divide, every one was satisfied.

“‘The End of a Perfect Day,’” sang Julie, as she jumped out of the canoe.

That same night Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Vernon hiked into camp and were received with noisy welcome. They were as wildly enthusiastic over the fine specimens they had secured in their side trips, as the scouts were over their canoe trip. Then in the morning the riders came to camp, and after hearty thanks from both sides, the horses and canoes changed hands again.

The Kenmore party started down the stream, and the scouts rode away along the trail that led to Glacier Creek and to Flat Top Mountain. The trails were rough but the horses were sure-footed, and all went well.

They had gone some distance when just ahead, beside the trail they were following, they saw a beautiful sheet of water. It really was a wild tarn, placed in the pocket of the mountains that encircled it.

“It looks just like a diamond sparkling in the deep prongs of these pointed peaks,” said Julie.

“We’ve discovered a poetess, scouts!” exclaimed Ruth, but Julie frowned upon her.

“We’ll find many such pure jewels hidden in these settings,” said Mr. Gilroy. “Some are perched so high in the mountaintops that you wonder how they ever snuggle there. Others are so deeply entrenched in terrifying chasms and ravines that only the intrepid ever see them. But most of these gems are made by the glaciers that carved out their basins by constant friction. The waters, so cold and pure, come from leaping cataracts and icy falls above, that flow from the melting ice fields during the summer.”

On the shores of one of these lovely lakes the Indians made camp that night. The two scientists decided to study some of the peculiar formations found near the place, and the scouts were satisfied to enjoy a quiet rest for a time. With an acre or more of flower-dotted meadow on one side, rugged cliffs on another side, dark forests on still the third side, and Tyndall Glacier rising sheer from the fourth side, what more could adventurous youth ask?

“Girls,” remarked Mr. Gilroy that evening, “this place offers us all we need for individual pastimes, – you to explore in the forests, and Vernon and I to collect specimens. It’s up to you to say how long we camp here. I’m ready to move on whenever you say.”

Later, as they sat about the campfire, Betty asked, “Gilly, what is it that makes a glacier?”

“Is it the winter’s snow that piles up on mountaintops and freezes?” added Julie who, too, had been puzzling over the matter.

“A glacier, girls, is an accumulation of ice in an altitude where the melting process is not equal to the deposit. Every winter adds snow and ice to the peaks, and then when these slide down to milder areas, they melt and vanish into these rivers and tarns.

“Some of these glaciers found in the Rockies were left here since the Ice Age, when the whole globe was ice-clad. The glacial rivers that flowed from these ice-peaks are mainly responsible for the wild scenery in these mountains. They cut a gully here, or scoop out a pit there, according to the force and size of the torrents. In thus forcing a way through every obstacle, these resistless currents carry along timber, soil, and rocks.

“These, in turn, tearing and banging against other obstacles that resist them, finally carry them along to add to the power of its ruthless progress.

“Through ages these ice torrents, starting from the highest peaks and coming down, down, down from one resting place to another, but always traveling downward and onward, moving mountains, as it were, changing the course of mighty rivers, filling up inland seas, – have given you this grand scenery of to-day.

“Not only do all kinds of débris come flooding the valleys and lakes with this gushing from glacial fields, but gold and other precious metals are washed down and deposited. Thus the seeker may find gold, if he is willing to sacrifice for it.

“To warn you scouts that these glacial fields are not as safe as a floor in your home, let me tell you what happened to a party of mountain climbers. They were experienced men, too.

“They were climbing Mont Blanc when a snowslide swept them away into a deep crevasse. One man escaped to tell the story. It was impossible to reach any of them, so the scientists figured out how long a time must elapse before the glacier would move down to give up its victims. Computations had it that forty years must pass by and then the ice would reach a place where the bodies of the men would be recovered. Forty-one years afterwards, far down the slope of that same mountain, the frozen forms of seven men were found and removed.”

“Well, Gilly, rest assured that not one scout will be found frozen that way, this year or forty years hence!” promised Julie, emphatically.

“Not if we can help it!” seconded the girls.

“See that you remember this vow, when you feel like a little adventuring over a peak,” laughed Mr. Gilroy.

A few days after this talk, the scouts begged the guides to take them on a hunting-trip, – not that they ever shot anything, but they liked to explore the forests and watch the animals browse or run away.

So they hiked up the steep ascent of the mountain that rose many thousands of feet above the camp, and after startling several hares and other tiny creatures, they came upon a fox, dining upon a wild rabbit. But he leaped away almost before they had seen him, his great red brush disappearing between the trees.

“Wasn’t he splendid!” exclaimed Betty.

“Um! Not scout scare him away – something comin’ dis way,” returned Tally, peering eagerly into the dimness.

“Tally!” hissed Omney suddenly, “Grizzly!” At the same time the scouts distinctly heard a crashing through the dry branches of the down-timber.

“Clim tree – quick – in any one near!” warned Tally, while he cocked his rifle to protect the scouts.

“Why don’t you?” demanded Julie, who stood back of the Indians when the other girls scampered anxiously for aspens, or other “safety-first” places.

“Me fight!”

“Oh!” was all Julie said, but she stood her ground behind the two Indians, while her friends all begged her to seek a tree for safety.

“I want to watch what is going on down here – you can’t see a thing up in the foliage,” called Julie. “Besides, I am safe because the bear will have to down the guides first, before he can get a mouthful out of me.”

But the grizzly must have caught a scent of the human beings who stood too near the tempting bit of rabbit right on the trail! So he sat upright on his haunches and waved his fearful paws threateningly, while he growled as if saying, “Come on! I’m waiting for you folks. Why don’t you fight?”

But the two guides and Julie were so screened by the bush that the bear could not see them, – he merely scented them. Then the wind shifted again, and the grizzly thought he was mistaken, for he smelled no further annoyance. But he decided to be cautious, as it always behooved him to be when man was at hand. So he gave voice to a terrifying roar, just to show these pigmies what would happen if they dared to interfere with his meal!

As he sat munching the mouthful of rabbit, blinking at nothing in particular, Tally suddenly jerked his head sideways and took a searching look at the beast. Then he leaned over and whispered to Omney so softly that Julie could not hear a sound.

Omney now stared at the bear in unbelief, but after gazing keenly, soon nodded his head anxiously. Then, in another moment, two rifles were silently levelled, and two shots rang out. The grizzly rolled over while the rabbit still remained half-chewed in his great maw.

“O Tally! Shame on you!” cried Julie, furiously.

The scouts now slid down the treetrunks and ran over. Each one had a protest to register against the heartlessness of the Indians. But they were over by the bear, turning him over on his side.

“Him be Devil-Bear!” exclaimed Tally, excitedly.

“Um! Bump on haid, scar on rump!” added Omney.

“What do you mean, boys?” now asked Mrs. Vernon.

The scouts saw a great knob on one side of the bear’s head, and an old scar that cleft his left hind-quarter almost in two.

“Dis ole Devil-Bear come down all time to ranches, kill calf, eat lamb, carry off ennything, an’ nobuddy ketch him. Evehbud’ hunt and shoot, but Devil-Bear quick an’ get away. He climb glacier, go over peaks, live evehwhere.

“Sometime him in Flat Top, nudder time him down in Wyom. One time he run in Denver, kill horse, scare evehbuddy away, den run back to Flat Top.” Tally laughed at the last memory.

“Him steal cattle, even fight ranchers, so big reward out fer him,” added Omney.

“How can you be sure you have killed this demon?” asked Mrs. Vernon, eagerly.

“We hear ’bout Devil-Bear and pickshers nail on all signboard for reward. Big scar in rump, big lump on haid – him got ’em,” Tally replied.

“Um! Dis scar make by rancher. One day he chop wood and fine sheep-dog play round. Devil-Bear steal out of woods, catch dog unner man’s nose, and run away. Rancher so mad he frow axe at bear, an’ it hit right there,” explained Omney, poking his foot at the scar on the bear.

“Rancher say dat bear neveh walk gin, but nex’ year nudder rancher see bear kill calf an’ many lamb and run away,” added Tally.

“Then I’m glad you shot him!” declared Betty, glaring at the dead beast.

“But you’ve got to get him back to camp, boys, to get the reward,” said Mrs. Vernon.

The two Indians considered this the least of their problems, and when they had tied the forelegs and the hindlegs together, they swung the heavy animal from a long pole they had cut down from a clump of pine.

That night when Mr. Gilroy heard the story, he assured the scouts that the guides had really done a great service to the country at large, as this bear had terrorized every one in the mountain ranches.

“As a rule, grizzlies are not ferocious except when interfered with. They use their fine intelligence to keep man at a safe distance with their roaring and display of fierce strength. But this rascal was the exception, and it’s well he is dead,” added he.

“If the guides get the reward, the scouts ought to have the pelt,” suggested Mr. Vernon.

“I’ll see to it that they do,” returned Mr. Gilroy.

The Indians made quick work of skinning the beast and leaving the head on the body so the bump could be identified. The bear fat was tried out and saved by the guides, and several fine steaks were carved from the carcass and broiled, but the girls refused them.

The men had no such qualms, however, and ate greedily, then smacked their lips laughingly at the disgust manifested on the scouts’ faces.

“Devil-Bear good eat!” chuckled Tally, as he wrapped the remaining steaks in a paper for another time.

When the campers resumed their ride, Devil-Bear – or all that was left of him – was packed on Jolt’s back. The mule cared not a fig for a dead bear, so the skin was carried along without demur, although the horses now and then caught a whiff of the bear-pelt and tossed their heads nervously.

The trail up Flat Top Mountain proved as wonderful as it had promised to be. The scouts rode their horses without a tremor, although at times they went on narrow ledges, forded roaring streams, or plunged down through gulches, and over down-timber. They steadily climbed all that day, and towards night were on Flat Top – twelve thousand, three hundred feet high.

Mr. Gilroy reached his desired Tyndall Glacier, and so delighted was he that he acted like a boy with a new toy. Here they camped for a few days while the scientist collected some interesting bits, then the party continued to the very top of the mountain.

From this summit the scouts could see over the entire country for miles around. Estes Park looked like a tiny city park from that height. And Long’s Peak appeared on a line with their sight. They could plainly see Stone’s and Taylor’s Peaks, and also Mt. Hallett, while several famous lakes, – Mills, Bierstadt, Dream, and others – were seen gleaming like sheets of blue ice down in the hollows between the crags.

Fresh camp was pitched that night under the shadow of a gigantic column of jagged rock that rose perpendicularly above the tableland of the peak. The base of the rock was about a quarter of a mile around, but one side of the monolith dropped sheer down to a cliff a thousand feet below. From that ledge it again dropped down to another rocky resting-spot hundreds of feet lower. Thence it went straight down three thousand feet to the bottom of its stand, where it found a firm footing in the valley.

As every one was tired with the climb of the day, they were soon fast asleep on the fragrant balsam beds, and slept until the snorting of the horses roused the Indians, and then they, in turn, called to the others to get up.

CHAPTER TWELVE – LOST IN A BLIZZARD

It was early dawn but such dark clouds obscured everything that the scouts thought it still was night.

“Bad storm blowin’, Mees’r Gilloy. Us hurry down f’om here,” said Tally, anxiously.

“All right – all up, and hurry away!” shouted Mr. Gilroy, running for the horses, to help Omney saddle them for the ride.

Soon thereafter, without stopping to attend to any of their customary toilets, the scouts were in the saddles and quickly following the guides down the trail on the opposite side from that they had mounted the day before.

The blackness was now so thick that it was difficult to see any one ten feet ahead, and the girls could not see the trail at all. Then Tally suddenly shouted a warning to those behind him.

“Huddle togedder – blizzer comin’ down now!”

And in a few seconds, an unexpected breaking of the clouds drove thick smothery, enveloping snow across the plateau. Even the heavy clouds seemed to choke everything in their folds. The wind, which blew a gale, uprooted trees and flicked them out of the way as if they were snips of paper. Gusts of the mad tornado tore off great masses of the dark clouds and, eddying them about, whirled the vapor out of them, away down the sides of the mountain. Trees, rocks, clods of earth, everything movable that presented an obstacle to the gale, was carried away like thistledown.

The poor horses and pack-mules crouched close together, with heads low, making of their bodies as scant a resistance as possible against the storm, and at the same time providing shelter, with their steaming bodies, for the human beings who huddled under them.

Then, as suddenly as the storm broke, it ceased. A weird light played over the plateau for a time, and Mr. Gilroy noted the worried expressions of the Indians.

“What now, Tally?”

“Us clim’ saddles, stick gedder an’ must get away!” shouted Tally, trying to be heard above the soughing of the wind, that was now blowing from behind the crag.

Even as the riders tried to get into the saddles and start after Tally, a chill filled the air. It crept into bones and marrow, and in a few minutes the full fury of the blizzard was felt. In less than five minutes after the first snow fell, everything was drifted under white blankets. The cold bit into human flesh like sharp points of steel, and it was certain that every one must get down from that altitude immediately or be frozen to death.

The Indians led the way, although they trusted their safety on these mountains entirely to the horses and their wonderful sense. The other riders tried to follow as closely as they could in the tracks made by the first two horses. Then as they descended further from the plateau, the storm abated and the temperature felt warmer, until they reached the place where dripping snow from all the tree branches and rocks thoroughly soaked the unfortunates.

The mountainside was cut up by ravines and gulches, or “draws” as they are called, made by erosion of mountain streams that came from the glacier on top of Flat Top.

From one of these draws the scouts could look down for miles to a place where it widened out through the velocity of the roaring waters and unearthed everything in its floods.

Here and there great pines had fallen across and formed natural bridges over the chasms. At other spots the roots or branches of a tree washed down, would catch in the débris of the sides of a draw, obstructing the way and holding up great masses of waste that accumulated rapidly about the twisted limbs, when the torrent washed everything against this comb, that caught the larger objects.

So the file of riders went carefully downward, on the watch for a favorable trail that might lead them to the valley. But every draw they found was so forbidding that they were repulsed from trying it. Some showed great rocks that might roll down at the slightest motion of the ground, and crush everything in their plunge. Even as they pondered the chance of going down one of these, the water caused by the melting snow loosened the grip of a great fragment of rock held up in the gorge, and down it crashed! Other draws displayed century-old snags, and down-timber that lay half-sunken in slimy ooze which trickled down from the mossy sides of the gully; these would suck in any horse or rider that was daring enough to try and go over them.