The Voyage of the Rattletrap Part 13

"How do you like it, Uncle Jack?" inquired Ollie. "Do you feel that you are living now?"

Jack's teeth were chattering. "Y--yes," he said; "but I won't be if we don't get a fire started pretty quick."

There were some timbers from an old bridge near by, and we soon had a good fire, around which we tramped in a procession till our clothes were fairly dry. The wind was chilly, and it was a dark, cloudy morning. The unfortunate Snoozer had gone down with the rest of us, and was the picture of despair, till Ollie rubbed him with a dry corner of a blanket, and gave him a good place beside the fire.

By the time two or three hours had elapsed we began to feel partially dry, and decided to start on, relying on exercise to keep ourselves warm. We had had breakfast in the meantime, and, on the whole, were feeling rather cheerful again. We opened the cover and spread out the bedding, inside and outside, and hung some of it on a long pole which we stuck into the wagon from the rear. Altogether we presented a rather funny appearance as we started out along the trail, but no one paid much attention to us. The freighters were already astir, and we were constantly pa.s.sing or meeting their long trains. Among others we pa.s.sed Eugene Brooks, the man with whom we had taken dinner. We told him of our mishap, and he laughed and said:

"That's nothing in this country. Something's always happening here which would kill folks anywhere else. You stay here awhile and you'll be as tough as your old black horse."

Brooks had an outfit of five spans of mules and two wagons.

We stayed with him a half-hour, and then went on. As we could not reach Deadwood that day, he advised us to camp that night where the trail crossed Thunder b.u.t.te Creek, a branch of La Belle Fourche.

The trail led for the most part through valleys or along the sides of hills, and was generally not far from level, though there was, of course, a constant though hardly perceptible rise as we got farther into the mountains. We camped at noon at Elk Creek, and made further progress at drying our household effects.

We pressed on during the afternoon, and pa.s.sed through the town of Sturgis, where we laid in some stores of provisions to take the place of those spoiled by the water, and also a quant.i.ty of horse-feed. Later we congratulated ourselves on our good-luck in doing this.

As the afternoon wore away we found ourselves getting up above the timber-line. The mountains began to shut in our view in all directions, and the valleys were narrowing. As night drew nearer, Jack said:

"Seems to me it's about time we got to this Thunder b.u.t.te Creek. 'Gene said that if we pa.s.sed Sturgis we'd have to go on to that if we wanted water."

We soon met a man, and inquired of him the distance to the desired stream. "Two miles," he replied, promptly. We went on as much as a mile and met another man, to whom we put the same question. "Three miles," he answered, with great decision.

"That creek seems to be retreating," said Jack, after the man had gone on. "We've got to hurry and catch it, or it will run clean into Deadwood and crawl down a gold mine."

It was growing dark. We forged ahead for another mile, and by this time it was quite as dark as it was going to be, with a cloudy sky, and mountains and pines shutting out half of that. I was walking ahead With the lantern, and came to a place where the trail divided.

"The road forks here," I called. "Which do you suppose is right?"

"Which seems to be the most travelled?" asked Jack.

"Can't see any difference," I replied. "We'll have to leave it to the instinct of the horses."

"Yes, I'd like to put myself in the grasp of Old Blacky's instinct. The old scoundrel would go wrong if he knew which was right."

"Well," I returned, "come on and see which way he turns, and then go the other way." (Jack always declared that the old fellow understood what I said.)

He drove up to the forks, and Blacky turned to the right.

Jack drew over to the left, and we went up that road. We continued to go up it for fully three miles, though we soon became convinced that it was wrong. It constantly grew narrower and apparently less travelled. We were soon winding along a mountain-side among the pines, and around and above and below great rocks.

"We'll go till we find a decent place to camp, and then stop for the night," said Jack. We finally came to a little level bench covered with giant pines, and we could hear water beyond. I went on with the lantern, and found a small stream leaping down a gulch.

"This is the place to stop," I said, and we soon had our camp established, and a good fire roaring up into the tree-tops. Ollie found plenty of dry pine wood, and we blanketed the horses and stood them under a protecting ledge. It was cold, and the wind roared down the gulch and moaned in the pines, but we scarcely felt it below. We finished drying our bedding and had a good supper. Jack got out his banjo and tried to compete with the brook and the pines. We went to bed feeling that we were glad we had missed the road, since it had brought so delightful a camping-place.

Ollie was the first to wake in the morning. It was quite light.

"What makes the cover sag down so?" he asked. Jack opened his eyes, reached up with the whipstock and raised it. Something slid off the outside with a rush.

"Open the front and you'll see," answered Jack.

Ollie did so, and we all looked out. The ground was deep with snow, and it was still falling in great feathery flakes. Old Blacky was loose, and looked in at us with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

XI: DEADWOOD

"You're a miserable, sneaking, treacherous old equine scoundrel!" cried Jack, shaking his fist violently at Old Blacky.

"You knew you were making us come the wrong road."

Old Blacky answered never a word, but turned, hit the wagon-tongue a kick, and joined the other horses.

"Well, close down the front and let's talk this thing over,"

said Jack. "In the first place, we are snowed in."

"In the second place," said I, "we may stay snowed in a week."

"I don't think we're prepared for that," said Ollie, very solemnly.

"Let's see," went on Jack. "There are two sacks of ground feed under Ollie's bed. By putting the horses on rather short rations that ought to last pretty nearly or quite a week. But for hay we're not so well provided. There's one big bundle under the wagon, if Blacky hasn't eaten it up. The pony won't need any, because she knows how to paw down to the dry gra.s.s. The others don't know how to do this, and the hay will last them, after a fashion, for about three days."

"Perhaps by that time the pony will have taught them how to paw," I said.

"Wouldn't be surprised," returned Jack. "Perhaps by that time we'll all be glad to learn from her. We've got flour enough to last a fortnight, so we needn't be afraid of running out of water-pancakes at least. You don't grow fat on 'em, but, on the other hand, there is no gout lurking in a water-pancake as I make it."

"No, Jack, that's so," I said, feelingly. "We've got enough bacon for several meals, a can of chicken, and two earls of beans. Also a loaf of bread and a pound of crackers. Then there's three cans of fruit, a dozen potatoes, six eggs, a quart of milk, and half a pound of pressed figs. After that we'll paw with the pony."

"I wonder if we couldn't get some game?" inquired Ollie.

"Snow-birds, maybe," said Jack. "Or perhaps an owl. I've heard b'iled owl spoken of."

After all, the prospect was not so bad. Besides, it was so early in the season that it did not seem at all likely that we should be s...o...b..und a week. Still, we knew little about the mountain climate.

We got on our overcoats and went out and gave the horses their breakfast. Old Blacky was still cross, but Jack contented himself by calling him a few names. We also got up what wood we could and piled it against the wagon, for use in case our kerosene became exhausted, though we decided to cook in the wagon for the present. The snow was seven or eight inches deep, and still falling rapidly. After breakfast we took the pony down to a little open fiat and turned her loose. The old instinct of her wild days came back to her, and she began to paw away the snow and gnaw at the scanty gra.s.s beneath.

After giving the other horses a little hay we returned to the wagon, where we stayed most of the day. I'm afraid we were a little frightened by the prospect. Of course, we knew that if it came to the worst we could leave the wagon and make our way back along the trail on foot, but we did not want to do that. But as for getting the wagon back along the narrow road, now blotted out by the snow, we knew it would be foolish to attempt it. It was not very cold in the wagon, and Jack played the banjo, and we were fairly cheerful. The snow kept coming down all day, and by night it was a foot deep. The pony came in from the flat as it began to grow dark, and we gave the horses their supper and left them in the shelter of the rocks. Then we brushed the snow off the top of the cover, as we had done several times before, and went in to spend the evening by the light of the lantern. When bedtime came, Jack looked up and said:

"The cover doesn't seem to sag down. It must have stopped snowing."

We looked out, and found that it was so. We could even see the stars; and, better yet, it did not seem to be growing colder.

We went to bed feeling encouraged.

The next morning the sun peeped in at us through the long trunks of the pines, and Ollie soon discovered that the wind was from the south.

"Unless it turns cold again, this will fix the snow," said Jack.

He was right, and it soon began to thaw. By noon the little stream in the gulch was a torrent, and before night patches of bare ground began to appear. We decided not to attempt to leave camp that day, but the next morning saw us headed back along the tortuous road. In two hours we were again on the main trail. Just as we turned in, Eugene Brooks came along, having also been delayed by the snow, though the fall where he was had not been nearly so great. 'Gene laughed at us, and told us that we had been following a trail to some lead mines which had been abandoned several months before.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Lack of Confidence in Mankind]