122 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[March 8, 1888. 



THE ROCK CLIMBERS. 



XI.— THE RETREAT. 



OMETIMES forces are routed: sometimes they with- 

 ^ draw or retire for a better opening. The word 

 "retreat" is broad enough to cover either maneuver, and 



1 use it without prejudice to future tactics. 



By counting back on the calendar I make it Oct. 25, at 

 1 P. M. , when Jack and I left camp with a small pack 

 mule and a quantity of blessings. This reference to the 

 calendar is needed because, as I had lost my watch key 

 and all count of week or month, time had fallen into a 

 tangle which could only be strung into order by much 

 figuring. 



Camp had been pleasant. Altogether too pleasant; for 

 a succession of elemental battles without and an abund- 

 ance of good food within were making us sedentary, if 

 not lazy and unduly fat. But I had to go, for, though my 

 own reckoning was lost, I felt sure that somewhere in 

 the business world almanacs were still consulted, and 

 ignorance is ill -received as an excuse for broken engage- 

 ments. Besides, there was a crumpled rose leaf in my 

 lot. I am a follower of St. Paul, being obliged for my 

 health's sake to take each day a certain fixed quantity of 

 spirit, and the lack of this necessary medicine is severely 

 felt. 



This seems a simple matter to provide for, and so it is 

 in most places; but oiu* chosen hunting ground lay be- 

 tween the Indian police on the one hand and the red 

 tunics of Canadian prohibition on the other. Whisky 

 dealers were criminals, and he who drank liquor from 

 the purest motives was liable to fine, imprisonment, con- 

 fiscation and all the horrors of the law. 



Now mind, here is no cavilling at the righteous and 

 necessary statute which forbids whisky among the In- 

 dians, nor do I pretend to question the propriety of Can- 

 ada regulating or stamping out the liquor trade in her 

 Northwest territories. This is but a dry relation of per- 

 sonal fortunes, relieved by allusions to local history, and 

 even a judge, when not on the bench, may be allowed to 

 have an extra judicial sympathy with law breakers, while 

 every American is entitled to his share of broad Yankee 

 charity for the weak and the wicked. 

 * Of course this repression makes smuggling profitable, 

 and has a tendency to make drinkers sots. When a Can- 

 adian, I am told, gets hold of a bottle, he goes around the 

 corner of the house and, thinking he may never get an- 

 other chance, doesn't stop his draught till the bottle is 

 empty. 



Geography is tinged by the business. I ascribe, per- 

 haps on too scanty grounds, the name of the thriving 

 "Whoop up" to a fit of drunkenness. "Stand off" is 

 certainly so called because a band of smugglers, cornered 

 by the mounted police, took to the brush and proposed to 

 stand off the Dominion, did, in fact, stand off their pur- 

 suers. 



When illegal profits came up to a thousand dollars a 

 barrel, as was said to be the case sometimes in the Indian 

 trade, a man could well afford to follow the example of 

 an acquaintance of mine who started his six-horse wagon 

 laden with nine barrels of whisky, and furnished with a 

 whipper on each side, at full speed across country, up 

 hills, down cut banks, through creek and slough, as the 

 crow flies, till he reached his goal. 



The danger of the trade was full of attraction to men 

 of nerve. Of many exciting incidents that come to one's 

 knowledge, some must be suppressed from motives of 

 personal confidence, but the tragedy of Calf Shirt hap- 

 pened so long ago, and is so well known as to be fairly 

 public property. It well illustrates the savage brutality 

 of the place and time. 



A trader, named, for the purpose " of this narrative, 

 Jacobs, had a post among the Bloods. His log house was 

 built of two thicknesses of timber, one inside the other, 

 with a little space between. Hollowed in there, was a 

 niche in which was set a barrel thus made invisible. In- 

 side on the floor stood a small keg, from which the liquor 

 sold was drawn, and the connection between the keg and 

 the barrel was hidden from the eye. 



Now this keg possessed to the Indian mind the qualities 

 of the widow's cruse. The bibulous tribe had failed to 

 dry it. It was "medicine." A vessel of supernatural 

 capacity. Calf Shirt, chief of the tribe, wanted that 

 keg. 



Calf Shirt was a brute among savages. His "bad 

 eminence" was feared and hated by his subjects. Of his 

 three squaws all were mutilated. He bit off the lip of 

 one when she lifted her face in obedience to his com- 

 mand to kiss him, and the others had been victims of 

 similar mayhem. One day Jacobs was alone in the post 

 when Calf Shirt entered, drunk and determined but in 

 no haste. His arms were crossed and in the right hand, 

 which rested on his left elbow, was his cocked revolver, 

 which as he leaned against the counter pointed at Jacobs. 

 There were several pistols in the store scattered about 

 the piles of blankets but Jacobs could not get one without 

 making a motion that would have betrayed him, and 

 given the signal to Calf Shirt to open fire. While this 

 dangerous position was being maintained, the Indian 

 drunkenly deliberating on his next step, the trader's 

 cook came in. Jacobs spoke to him in English, a lan- 

 guage unknown to ^Calf Shirt, telling him to get a 



revolver at once. The cook stepped behind the counter 

 and seemed to busy himself among the pile of dry goods. 

 He finally got the pistol but was stopped from cocking 

 it by Jacobs, who feared that the significant noise would 

 start Calf Shirt shooting. 



The dilemma was solved for the moment by Calf Shirt 

 himself, who turned and walked out. Evidently the 

 Indian thought himself out-generaled. The truce was 

 short. In the back room of the post were a lot of men 

 playing cards, half-breeds and others employed by the 

 trader. Many of these men had squaws for wives, and soon 

 one of these women came running to tell that Calf Shirt, 

 in an access of fury, had sworn to kill all the whites and 

 was coming with a Winchester to do it. The party 

 moved to the front room. In a moment the door opened 

 and Calf Shirt stepped in. The whites fired at once and 

 the chief, with sixteen holes in him, turned, grunting his 

 death-song, and walked away. About thirty yards from 

 the house was a depression in the ground. The Indian, 

 with failing strength, fell when his foot went into the 

 hole. He had dropped his rifle, but half turning on the 

 ground he emptied his revolver fruitlessly at his enemies 

 and died. 



Let my one example suffice. Not all the encounters 

 with Indians, however, were blessed with cheap success, 

 and one may hear men tell of occasions where the natives 

 "wooled them plenty" as they say. 



At Lethbridge I had, for sanitary purposes, bought two 

 gallons of whisky at a great price. Naturally the quality 

 was inferior and the bottles were corked with combina- 

 tions of rag and stick, little attractive. Some bottles 

 were smashed in transit; we stopped over night in a 

 snow storm at the house of a philosopher, who, partly 

 by my want of attention, drank three bottles before we 

 left in the morning, and some of the liquor, too, was 

 used up in a way which by comparison I can almost call 

 legitimate, but all was gone. .Need I say that business 

 engagements became pressing? 



We left with the southwest wind at our backs growing 

 momently stronger and warmer, and coming in heavy 

 swirling gusts. The snow, little by little, ceased to 

 crackle beneath our footsteps. Soon it became good 

 material for snowballs, and before we got clear of the 

 mountains it was really melting a little. 



It was creditable to me, and I record the fact in haste, 

 that the change in weather pleased me. My friends at 

 least would profit by a kinder sky than had been spread 

 over me. 



It was on the second day out that the rolling foothills 

 became more prairie-like and finally flattened down to 

 the ordinary ground swell. On the Avay we met a porcu- 

 pine. He sat up as we rode to examine him, quite master 

 of the situation. His black monkey -like face framed in 

 long yellow hair gave him the look of an old Indian. He 

 satisfied his curiosity about us in a few minutes, and then 

 began waddling over the prairie again digging his supper. 

 We stayed that night at the Mormon settlement, a speck 

 of neatness, order and industry refreshing in that slip- 

 shod land. Jack, whom no exertion tires out of his 

 cheerfulness, went whistling at his tasks, and soon the 

 animals were fed and the beds were ready. 



A fragment of one of Jack's songs runs in my mind . 

 It recites the alas! short adventures of an early immi- 

 grant. The unpretending melody, the name so obviously 

 invented for poetic purpose and the simple directness of 

 the verse struck me. Here it is: 



"One night lie ran against a knife 



In the hands of old Bob Kline, 

 And in his bloom went up the flume, 



In the days of '49." 



I have heard that Mormon women were ignorant, 

 blinded foreigners. Some of them may be so. My ex- 

 perience is small. But where we stayed the wife of the 

 house was as bright and capable as possible. I have not 

 met her superior, no not in Israel nor in New England. 



A degree of family affection seMom met with, a piety 

 sincere and open, and industry and neatness of a rare 

 type marked the household. The wife delighted us with 

 an excellent piece of burlesque acting and sated us with 

 Graham gems and domestic butter that can only be com- 

 pared to "manna in the wilderness," for those who have 

 no personal experience of manna admit the principle that 

 "the unknown is magnificent." 



And the fine old Englishman who accompanied me 

 next day told me how well he had settled three of his 

 sons in Utah and what he was going to do for the fourth! 

 I confess to getting a dose of Elijah Kimball's prophesies 

 and a batch of miracles all too recent to inspire respect. 

 Your miracle must have "some relish of the saltness of 

 time" to go down easily. 



Well, puppy dogs and Mormons are near my heart, and 

 probably I do them more than justice. Time will tell. 



Far in the southwest the enduring menace of the cloud 

 bank still hangs to the necks of the mountains. Their 

 snowy ridges peer above, all dominated by the dark gray 

 profile of the towering Chief. Farewell to these rugged 

 friends. Perhaps even their harsh behavior was meant 

 as a rude caress. They rest in memory glorified by sun- 

 set clouds. 



My span is more than run, yet I would like to say a 

 word about the Canadian Pacific Kailroad. The scenery 



of the Selkirks is finer than that along any road 1 know 

 of, except the Central Pacific at "Cape Horn." Even 

 Chief Mountain would be but a brother among sovereigns 

 in the group that gathers around the glacier. The dining 

 cars are as good as ours, and stay with you much longer 

 at a stretch. The eating stations are of that subdued- 

 elegance which I have, perhaps wrongly, called Easty 

 lake, with oiled wood, maroon panels, and what not; anal 

 some of the cars have a bath ! 



Now, I have met but one sleeper with a bath, and in 

 that tub the porter had piled his personal bundles, and{ 

 stated that the cold made it dangerous to use water. I^fl 

 a grim demeanor and a proud brow I imposed on thatj 

 man , and he told me in the morning that the bath was' 

 ready. Whether people without my personal gifts can* 

 get a bath I can't say. 



My bloodless campaign is over. My gun rests an«5 

 rusts. But my memories of the trip are all pleasant, as 

 his must be who has for companion one whose rifjjffl 

 misses only enough to give its unnumbered successes the* 

 pleasure of a delicately small uncertainty, and whose 

 friendship never misses at all. H. G. Dulog. 



Secretaries of gun clubs and others who are interested in the 

 protection of the Yelloivstone National Park are invited to coj- 

 operate with this journal by securing signatures to the petition 

 printed elsewhere. See instructions on editorial page. 



A DREAMLAND STRIKE. 



A N old man sat in his easy chair, 

 His papers around him lay, 

 Eyes closed in sleep and free from care. 

 His thoughts were far away. 



His good old wife in sweet voice read 



A sketch of wood and stream, 

 Then ceased, and softly speaking, said, 



"He hears, but in a dream." 



From moving lips a placid smile 



Played o'er his furrowed face, 

 "Go on," he said, "another mile, 



I'll tell you just the place. 



"I know it well, the high rocks near, 



The overhanging vine, 

 A little further on, my dear, 



There's sport for rod and line." 



Still smiling, musing in his sleep, 

 "Not far— there in the west— 



Where yon great hills their vigils keep- 

 There we — shall be at rest." 



Then suddenly: "Now, back away! 



Great Caesar, see him spin! 

 See how he flings the tinted spray! 



Now, now John, lift him in!" 



Roused in his sport, and wide awake, 



"Ah! that was something like; 

 A glorious dream of woods and lake, 



Withal a splendid strike! 



"With flash and gleam he went and came, 



And bent my old bamboo, 

 And fought for life, for he was game, 



A good five-pounder, too!" 



Good souls, when you've at last read through 



These tales of lakes and streams, 

 May every hope of life come true, 



And happy be your dreams. 



Jerome Burnett. 



PILGRIMAGE OF THE SAGINAW CROWD] 



in. 



rpHE place for the day's expedition was decided upon] 

 X while the horses were being driven Tn from the; 

 pasture and saddled for use. The Doctor and City Official; 

 were to ride to the ford of the Ute (pronounced by th4i 

 natives You-tchay) just below the hoi-se pasture and about 

 half a mile below where the uncertain waters of Prairiff 

 Creek join the sluggish flow of the Ute on toward thej 

 Cimarron. 



Ed and Brooks were to take Mose and strike the Ute a 

 mile or so above the ford at the Whistler ranch, whilffl 

 George and myself were to take Nip and Old Bob and dp. 

 our duty by the shores of the placid Prairie Creek, strik- 

 ing it as far toward its head as we could while the other, 

 party was getting to the agreed starting point. Thesffi 

 streams, like most of the creeks or little rivers of this 

 country are narrow threads of muddy water in places 

 but two or three yards wide, in others, reaches as many 

 rods. The banks "are invariably rough, steep and rocky, 

 while the timber, consisting of walnut, oak, hickory and, 

 pecan, is but a narrow belt of verdure hugging the edges: 

 of the sinuous water course. Back of the timber is either 

 the loveliest rolling prairie under the sun, or a little bunch* 

 of scrub oak and chaparal, and then the green pasture, 

 land. Deer, turkeys and quail are fairly abundant along" 

 the water courses, "and by striking them about as far up 

 as would make a good day's tramp and carefully hunting 

 toward the fork, and then to the ford where the Doctor, 

 and Fred were on guard, we hoped and expected to drive, 

 some of the larger game to one another besides filling up. 

 the time shooting quail. 



At last the poor half -cared for animals, by courtesy 

 called horses, appear. The Doctor and Fred mount and? 

 take their departure in one direction and the rest of the. 

 party clamber into the hack, as the twelve-year old 

 driver, Charley, with a plentiful evacuation of tobacco 

 juice calls the ordinary two-seated platform spring wagon. 

 The horses, this morning, seem to know they have not; 

 far to go and start without the usual balk. Reube is not 

 destined to have his seven days on quail, for Brooks has 

 meat in his eye this morning and not "training vs. break- 

 ing." We leave him tied to one of the trunks on the 



