Boy Scouts in Glacier Park Part 13

"What a pretty name--it must be Indian, of course?" Miss Elkins said.

"Named for some Blackfeet chief, I suppose," Mills answered.

"Say, dad, what's the matter with you?" laughed the Jones boy. "Why don't you christen it Congressman Peter W. Jones Falls? What's the use of being in the House of Representatives if you can't name a d.i.n.ky little waterfall after yourself?"

"My boy, he's waiting till he reaches the biggest mountain in the Park, to name that after himself," the other congressman said, while every one laughed, and the procession started up again.

They were climbing an ever steeper trail, now, and the trees began to grow smaller and smaller, while, looking back, Joe could see Grinnell Meadow far below him and the great cliff of Gould shooting up out of it.

Ahead, they began to get into snow-fields, and then they crossed timber-line, where the trees were twisted and bent and even laid over flat by the wind, and sometimes an evergreen a foot thick would be only eighteen inches tall, and then, for twenty feet, bend over and lie along the ground like a vine, sheared by the wind. Beyond timber-line they came into a wild, naked, desolate region of broken shale stone, with tiny Alpine flowers growing in the crannies, snow-fields lying all about, and to their right, quite near, the southern end of Gould Mountain where it dropped down a little to the Continental Divide level, to their left the bare stone pile summit of Mount Siyeh, which is over ten thousand feet high. A few more steps, and they stood on top of the pa.s.s, and looked over the rim, on the tumbled mountains to the south, with the great blue and white pyramid of Jackson (ten thousand feet) rising a dozen miles away or more, over what looked like a vast hole in the earth.

"This is Piegan Pa.s.s," said Mills.

"Why Piegan--and why a pa.s.s?" one of the congressmen asked. "I thought a pa.s.s was a place where you went between things, not up over their backs."

The Ranger laughed. "You're only seven thousand feet up here," he said.

"That mountain to the east, Siyeh, is ten thousand."

"Why, it looks as if I could just walk across these stones and get to the top of it in twenty minutes!" cried Bob Jones.

"Try it," said Mills, laconically. "We'll be having lunch down in the pines below."

Joe thought of the story of the Englishman, and hoped Bob would try it.

"You haven't explained the Piegan," Miss Elkins said.

"Why, the Indians that owned this reservation were the Piegan tribe of the Blackfeet," said Mills.

"Dear, dear, another lost opportunity for dad!" sighed the irrepressible Bob.

The cavalcade now began the descent on the south side of the pa.s.s, with the Divide on their right, across a canon, and the trail itself dug out of the vast shale slide which was the south wall of Siyeh. It was a steep, narrow trail, nothing but loose shale, and the horses had to pick their way slowly and carefully, while the riders had to lean well back and brace in their stirrups to keep from sliding forward on the horse.

"Say, Mr. Mills," Joe heard Bob call, "has this horse of mine got strong ears?"

"Why?" asked Mills.

"Nothing, only if he hasn't, I'm going to take a toboggan slide down his nose."

"Try walking," Mills called back.

Joe saw Bob dismount, and as he was feeling saddle stiff, he got off his horse, too, and led him down by the bridle. The poor packhorses had to tread on the very outside edge of the trail, because if they didn't, their packs would knock the wall on the inner side, and what kept them from slipping off was hard to see.

The trail down seemed endless. Far below, Joe saw a party coming up, looking about a quarter of a mile away.

"I suppose we'll meet 'em day after to-morrow," Bob said.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Trail up Piegan Pa.s.s Showing Continental Divide and Mt.

Gould]

As a matter of fact, it was half an hour before the two parties met.

They had to pa.s.s on this narrow path, and Mills, the two guides, and Joe held the horses of their party while the ascending riders squeezed past, and then led the packhorses, one by one, to a spot where they could make room for another horse to get by. It seemed ticklish work to Joe, but the horses were as calm about it as if they had been on level ground.

It was long after one o'clock when the nineteen horses of the procession finally stepped off the last of the shale upon the green gra.s.s of a little meadow, and then into a level strip of woods. With a yell, Mills. .h.i.t his horse, and went forward at a smart trot, everybody following, even the weary packhorses. Out of the woods on the other side they trotted into the most beautiful spot Joe had ever seen in all his life, and when Miss Elkins cried, "Oh, is this Heaven?" he felt like saying, "Me too!"--but remembered that, after all, he was only the cook, and kept silent.

"This is Piegan Pines," said the Ranger. "All off for lunch."

He sprang from his saddle, and he and the forward guide helped the two older women to dismount--and they certainly needed help.

"I can _never_ get back there again," wailed poor Mrs. Jones, as she flopped down on the gra.s.s.

While the party were dismounting, Joe had just time for a quick look about him. They were in a little meadow, maybe half a mile wide, with towering rock walls on both sides, hung with snow-fields and a glacier or two, and, behind, the great shale slide down which they had just come. Only one side, to the south, was open--and there the meadow just dropped off into s.p.a.ce. Across the hole, far off and blue, was the great blue ma.s.s of Mount Jackson, covered with snow, and the great white and green slopes of Blackfeet Glacier, the largest in the Park. The meadow was full of little limber pines, golden with millions of dog-tooth violet bells, and criss-crossed with tiny ice-water brooks, running in channels over the gra.s.s--made, of course, by melting snow on the cliffs above.

"Golly," thought Joe, "if old Spider and I could only come and camp here!"

But now Mills was telling him to get a quick, cold lunch, and he and the other guide sprang for the packhorses, and got out what was needed, while Mills made a camp-fire beside one of the brooks.

As Joe was making his preparations, he felt Miss Elkins standing beside him, and looked up.

"Are you the cook?" she asked.

"I--I believe so," Joe stammered, getting red.

"You don't look very old to be a cook," said she. "Have you got lots and lots to eat? I could devour a whole butcher shop, I think."

"Cold lunch," said Joe, grinning. "Ranger's orders."

"Oh, not a cold lunch! Mr. Mills--Mr. Mills--cook says you say a cold lunch. You didn't say that, did you?"

"Sure, ice water and a cracker," the Ranger grinned. "Can't stop to cook."

"Oh, please, just coffee--mother will _never_ get back on her horse without a cup of coffee."

"I'll never get back without _two_ cups," groaned Mrs. Jones.

"Well, Joe, make 'em coffee," said Mills, with a wink at Joe, who had been intending to make coffee all the time.

He filled his kettle at the little brook, and while the coffee was boiling, opened a small can of sardines apiece, some boxes of crackers, a can of beans, and two or three jars of jam. For the jam, he carefully whittled some dead pine limbs into rough spoons, to save dish washing, and sweetened the coffee, when ready, in the pot, for the same purpose.

By the time he had this very simple lunch spread out on a bit of level ground, with no plates or spoons except for the beans, which he had heated while the coffee was boiling, the party had scattered, all but Val, the young cowboy.

"Ready?" Val asked.

"All ready."

Val picked up a piece of wood and a frying-pan, which lay on the opened pack. Pounding the pan with the stick like a drum, he yelled,

"Come and get it!"

"That's the word that brings 'em in these parts," he added to Joe.