Pluck on the Long Trail

E >> Edwin L. Sabin >> Pluck on the Long Trail

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It was a wagon trail right down the valley, and we could travel fast.
The sun grew hotter, and a hole in my boot-sole began to raise a blister
on my foot. Those fourteen days of steady trailing had been hard on
leather, and on clothes, too.

We passed several ranches. Along in the middle of the morning thunder
began to growl in the hills, and we knew that we were liable to be wet.

The valley grew narrower, as if it was to pinch out, and the thunder
grew louder. The storm was rising black over the hills ahead of us.

"That's going to be a big one," said Fitz.

It looked so. The clouds were the rolling, tumbling kind, where drab and
black are mixed. And they came fast, to eat the sun.

It was raining hard on the hills ahead. We could see the lightning every
second, awful zigzags and splits and bursting bombs, and the thunder was
one long bellow.

The valley pinched to not much more than a gulch, with aspens and pines
and willows, and now and then little grassy places, and the stream
rippling down through the middle. Half the sky was gone, now, and the
sun was swallowed, and it was time that Fitz and I found cover. We did
not hunt a tree; not much! Trees are lightning attracters, and they
leak, besides. But we saw where a ledge of shelf-rock cropped out,
making a little cave.

"We'd better get in here and cache till the worst is over," proposed
Fitz. "We'll eat our lunch while we're waiting."

That sounded like sense. So we snuggled under. We could just sit up,
with our feet inside the edge.

"Boom-oom-oom!" roared the thunder, shaking the ground.

"Boom-oom-oom! Oom! Oom! Boom!"

We could feel a chill, the breeze stopped, as if scared, drops began to
patter, a few, and then more, faster and faster, hard and swift as hail,
the world got dark, and suddenly with roar and slash down she came,
while we were eating our first sandwich put up by the two women.

That was the worst rain that Fitz or I had ever seen. Between mouthfuls
we watched. The drops were big and they fell like a spurt from a hose,
until all the outside world was just one sheet of water. The streaks
drummed with the rumble of a hundred wagons. We couldn't see ten feet.
Before we had eaten our second sandwiches, the water was trickling
through cracks in the shelf-rock roof, and dirt was washing away from
the sides of our cave. Outside, the land was a stretch of yellow, liquid
adobe, worked upon by the fierce pour.

"We'll have to get out of this," shouted Fitz in my ear. "This roof may
cave in on us."

And out he plunged; I followed. We were soaked through in an instant,
and I could feel the water running down my skin. We could scarcely see
where to go or what to do; but we had bolted just in time. One end of
the shelf-rock washed out like soap, and in crumpled the roof, as a mass
of shale and mud! Up the gulch sounded a roaring--another, different
roaring from the roaring of the rain and thunder. Fitz grabbed my hand.

"Run!" he shouted. "Quick! Get across!"

This was no time for questions, of course. I knew that he spoke in
earnest, and had some good reason. Hand in hand we raced, sliding and
slipping, for the creek. It had changed a heap in five minutes. It was
all a thick yellow, and was swirling and yeasty. Fitz waded right in, in
a big hurry to get on the other side. He let go of my hand, but I
followed close. The current bit at my knees, and we stumbled on the
hidden rocks. Out Fitz staggered, and up the opposite slope, through
sage and bushes. The roaring was right behind us. It was terrible. We
were about all in, and Fitz stopped, panting.

"See that?" he gasped, pointing back.

A wave of yellow muck ten feet high was charging down the gulch like a
squadron of cavalry in solid formation. Logs and tree-branches were
sticking out of it, and great rocks were tossing and floating. Another
second, and it had passed, and where we had come from--trail and
shelf-rock and creek--was nothing but the muddy water and driftwood
tearing past, with the pines and aspens and willows trembling amidst it.
But it couldn't reach us.

"Cloud-burst," called Fitz, in my ear.

I nodded. He was white. I felt white, too. That had been a narrow
escape.

"We could have climbed that other side, couldn't we?" I asked.

"We were on the wrong side of the creek, though. We might have been cut
off from where we're going. That's what I thought of. See?"

Wise old Fitz. That was Scouty, to do the best thing no matter how quick
you must act. Of course, with the creek between us and Green Valley, and
the bridges washed out and the water up, we might have been held back
for half a day!

The yellow flood boiled below, but the rain was quitting, and we might
as well move on, anyway.

According to what we had been told of the trail, up at the head of the
gulch it turned off, and crossed the creek on a high bridge, and made
through the hills northwest for the town. Now we must shortcut to strike
it over in that direction.

The rain was quitting; the sun was going to shine. That was a hard
climb, through the wet and the stickiness and the slipperiness, with our
clothes weighting us and clinging to us and making us hotter. But up we
pushed, puffing. Then we followed the ridge a little way, until we had
to go down. Next we must go up again, for another ridge.

Fitz plugged along; so did I. The sun came out and the ground steamed,
and our clothes gradually dried, as the brush and trees dried; but
somehow I didn't feel extra good. My head thumped, and things looked
queer. It didn't result in anything serious, after the hike was over, so
I guess that maybe I was hungry and excited. The rain had soaked our
lunch as well as us and we threw it away in gobs; we counted on supper
in Green Valley.

We didn't stop. Fitz was going strong. He was steel. And if I could hold
out I mustn't say a word. So it was up-hill and down-hill, across
country through brush and scattered timber, expecting any time to hit
the trail or come in sight of the town. And how my head did thump!

Finally in a draw we struck a cow-path, and we stuck to this, because it
looked as if it was going somewhere. Other cow-paths joined it, and it
got larger and larger and more hopeful; and about five o'clock by the
sun we stepped into a main traveled road. Hurrah! This was the trail for
us.

The rain had not spread this far, and the road was dusty. A signboard
said, pointing: "Brown's Big Store, Green Valley's Leader, One Mile." We
were drawing near! I tried not to limp, and not to notice my head, as we
spurted to a fast walk, straight-foot and quick, so that we would enter
triumphantly. As like as not people would be looking out for us, as this
was the last day; and we would show them Scouts' spirit. We Elks had
fought treachery and fire and flood, and we had left four good men along
the way; those had been a strenuous fifteen days, but we were winning
through at last.

That last mile seemed to me longer than any twenty. The dust and gravel
were hot, the sun flamed, my blister felt like a cushion full of
needles, my legs were heavy and numb, that old head thumped like a drum,
and I had a notion that if I slackened or lost my stride I'd never
finish out that mile. So when Fitz stumbled on a piece of rock, and his
strap snapped and he stopped to pick up his camera, I kept moving. He
would catch me.

A shoulder of rock stuck out and the road curved around it; and when I
had curved around it, too, then I saw something that sent my heart into
my throat, and brought me up short. With two leaps I was back, around
the rock again, in time to sign Fitz, coming: "Halt! Silence!" And I
motioned him close behind the shoulder.

Beyond the rock the road stretched straight and clear, with the town
only a quarter of a mile. But only about a hundred yards away, where the
creek flowed close to the road, were two fellows, fishing. One was Bill
Duane!

Fitz obeyed my signs. He gazed at me, startled and anxious.

"What is it?" he asked, pantomime.

I held up two fingers, for two enemies. Then I cautiously peeked out.
Bill Duane was leaving the water, as if he was coming; and the other
fellow was coming. The other fellow was Mike Delavan. They must have
seen me before I had jumped back. We might have circuited them, but now
it was too late. I never could stand a chase over the hills, and maybe
Fitz couldn't.

But there was a way, and a chance, and I made up my mind in a twinkling.
I jerked out the message and held it at Fitz. He shook his head. I
signed what we would do--what I would do and what he must do. He shook
his head. He wouldn't. We would stick together. I clinched my teeth and
waved my fist under his nose, and signed that he _must_. He was the one.

Then I thrust the message into his hand, and out I sprang. Around the
shoulder of rock Bill and Mike were sneaking, to see what had become of
me. They were only about fifty yards, now, and I made for them as if to
dodge them. They let out a yell and closed in, and up the hill at one
side I pegged. They pegged to head me.

My legs worked badly. I didn't mind breaking the blister (I felt the
warm stuff ooze out, and the sting that followed); but those heavy legs!
As a Scout I ought to have skipped up the hill as springy and
long-winded as a goat; but instead I had to shove myself. But up I went,
nip and tuck--and my head thumped when my heart did, about a thousand
times a minute. Every step I took hurt from hair to sole. But I didn't
care, if I only could go far enough. Bill and Mike climbed after, on
the oblique so as to cut me off before I could reach the top of the
ridge and the level there.

Straight up I went, drawing them on; and halfway my throat was too dry
and my legs were too heavy and my head jarred my eyes too much, and I
wobbled and fell down. On came the two enemy; but I didn't care. I
looked past them and saw Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand pelting down the road.
He had cached his camera, but he had the flag and the message, his one
arm was working like a driving-rod, he was running true, the trail lay
straight and waiting, with the goal open, and I knew that he would make
it!

APPENDIX: SCOUT NOTES

CHAPTER I

Note 1, page 3: Many old-time "scouts" of Western plains and mountains
did not amount to much. They led a useless life, hunting and fighting
for personal gain, and gave little thought to preserving game, making
permanent trails, or otherwise benefiting people who would follow. Their
knowledge and experience was of the selfish or of the unreliable kind.
They cared for nobody but themselves, and for nothing but their wild
haunts. However, these trapper-explorers whose names the Elk Patrol took
were of value to the world at large and deserve to be remembered.

General William H. Ashley lived in old St. Louis, and became a
fur-trader and fur-hunter in 1822. By his great enterprise he encouraged
other Americans to penetrate the Western country. He led numerous
expeditions across the wild plains and the wild Rockies, and his parties
were great training-schools for young trapper-scouts. He it was who
fairly broke the famous Oregon and California emigrant trail across the
Rocky Mountains by hauling a six-pounder cannon, on wheels, to his fort
in Utah; his men were the first to explore the Great Salt Lake; he was
the first brigadier-general of the Missouri State militia, and after his
fur days he went to Congress.

Major Andrew Henry was General Ashley's partner in fur. But before
joining with Ashley, in 1810 he had built, in Idaho, the first American
trading post or fort west of the mountains.

Kit Carson was a real "boy scout," for he took the scout trail in 1826,
when he was only sixteen. Because of his modesty, his bravery, his
shrewdness, and his kindliness, his help to army and other Government
expeditions, and his advice in Indian matters, he is the best-known of
all Western frontiersmen.

Thomas Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand was an Ashley trapper, and was a captain
of trappers. He afterwards served as a valuable guide for emigrants and
the Government, and was a Government agent over Indians. He was called
by the Indians "Bad Hand," because one hand had been crippled through a
rifle explosion. He was called "White Head," too, because in a terrible
chase by Indians his hair turned white.

Jedediah S. Smith is known as the Knight in Buckskin. He also was an
Ashley scout or trapper, and he was the first American trapper to lead a
party across to California. Jedediah Smith was a true Christian, and
during all his wanderings the Bible was his best companion.

Jim Bridger was another Ashley scout. He became a scout when he was
nineteen, before Kit Carson, and is almost as well known as Kit Carson.
He was the Ashley man who discovered the Great Salt Lake, in 1825; he
was the first to tell about the Yellowstone Park; and it was by his
trail that the Union Pacific Railroad found its way over the Rocky
Mountains.

Note 2, page 4: Boy Scouts know that "taking a message to Garcia" means
"there and back and no breath wasted." When the war with Spain broke
out, in 1898, Captain Andrew Summers Rowan, of the United States Army,
was directed by the President to convey a message from the Government to
General Garcia of the Cuban Army. Nobody seemed to know the exact
whereabouts of General Garcia, who was concealed in the depths of the
island. But Captain Rowan did not wait to ask "when" or "how." Not he.
He pocketed the message, he made for Cuba, he plunged into the jungle,
he found General Garcia, and he brought back the desired report. That
was genuine Scouts' work, without frills or foolishness.

Note 3, page 5: Two pairs of thin socks are better for the feet than one
pair of thick socks. They rub on each other, and this saves the skin
from rubbing on the inside of the boot. Soldiers sometimes soap the
heels and soles of their stockings, on the inside.

Note 4, page 6: The "tarp" or tarpaulin, or cowboy bed-sheet, is a strip
of sixteen- or eighteen-ounce canvas duck six to eight feet wide and ten
to twenty feet long. Fifteen feet is long for Boy Scouts. But it should
be plenty wide enough to tuck in well and not draw open when _humped_ by
the body, and plenty long enough to cover, with room for the feet, and
plenty heavy enough to shed wind and water. It is used on the outside,
under and over; and in between, in his blankets, the Scout is snug. The
tarp is simple and cheap and is easily accommodated to circumstances. If
a few brass eyes are run along the edges, and in the corners, then it
can be stretched for a shelter-tent, too. It is much used on the plains
and in the mountains.

Note 5, page 6: The diamond hitch is the favorite tie by which packs and
other loads are fastened upon burros and horses. It has been used from
very early days in the West, and is called the "diamond" hitch because
when taut the rope forms a diamond on top of the pack. There are several
styles of the diamond hitch, but they all are classified as the single
or the double diamond. Some require only one person to tie them; some
require two persons. They bind the load very flat, they may be loosened
or tightened quickly from the free end of the lash rope, and they do not
stick or jam. Nobody has time to fuss with hard knots, when the pack
must come off in a hurry.

The simplest form of the diamond hitch is tied as shown here. Scouts may
practice it with a cushion laid upon a porch rail, a cord for a lash
rope, a strip of cloth for the band or cincha, and a bent nail for the
cincha hook.

The Elk Scouts had under their top-packs a "sawbuck" pack-saddle, which
is a pair of wooden X's; and to the horns of the X's they hung on each
side a canvas case or pannier, in which were stowed cooking utensils,
etc. The blankets, etc., were folded and laid on top, with the
tarpaulins covering, and the whole was then "laired up" (which is the
army and packing term for tucking and squaring and making all
shipshape), so that it would ride securely. The panniers must balance
each other, even if rocks have to be put in on one side to even up; or
else the burro's back will be made sore. Top-packs must not ride wobbly
or aslant.

A splendid little book for Boy Scouts is the pamphlet "Pack
Transportation," issued by the Quartermaster's Department of the United
States Army, and for sale at a small price by the Government Printing
Office, Washington. It tells about all the pack hitches, with pictures,
and how to care for the animals on the march. This latter is very
important.

Before Number 3 is formed, the cinch or cincha (the belly-band) must be
drawn very tight, so that the double-twist which makes the loop in
Number 3 will stick. But the rope and cincha are apt to slip and loosen,
unless the Scout takes a jam-hitch or Blackwall hitch around the hook of
the cincha. The rope should be kept taut throughout; and at the last
should be heaved tauter still, so that the diamond bites into the pack
well; and the end of the rope should be doubled back and tucked under so
that it will not drag, and yet can be easily got at.

[Illustration: THE SIMPLEST SINGLE DIAMOND]

The lash rope, or pack-rope, in the Army is one-half inch in size and is
fifty feet long; but a forty-foot rope is plenty long enough for Scouts.
A lair rope also is useful in packing. This is a three-eighths inch
rope, twenty-five or thirty feet long, by which the packs may first be
laired or tied up securely so that nothing shall shake out.

A pack for a burro may weigh from 200 to 250 pounds; but on a long,
rough trip 150 pounds is better. A pack is harder on a mule or a horse
than a rider is, because it never lets up.

Note 6, page 6: The Indian bow was only two and one-half to four feet
long, so that it could be carried easily when stalking or when on
horseback. The Sioux bow, four feet long, was an inch and a half wide at
the middle and an inch thick, and tapered to half an inch thick and half
an inch wide, at the ends. The Indian bow was made of wood, and of
mountain-goat horns, or of solid bones, glued together. The wooden bow
frequently was strengthened by having hide or sinew glued along the
back. Until they learned the knack of it, few white men could bend an
Indian bow.

The arrows were of different lengths, but each warrior used the one
length, if he could, so that he would shoot alike, every time. Each
warrior knew his own arrows, by a private mark--by length or by pattern
of stem or of feathers. Some tribes used two feathers, some three.
Scouts can mark their arrows, in the same way.

The bow and arrow are good Scout weapons. They give no noise. They do
not frighten animals or warn the enemy. They are not expensive. They can
be made on the spot. And it takes Scoutcraft to make them and to use
them successfully. As long as the Indians had only bows and arrows,
there was plenty of game for all.

Note 7, page 6: The lariat rope, or simply "rope," in the West, is
thirty-five or forty feet long. Usually it is five-eighths, four-ply
manilla, but the best are of braided rawhide. Those bought at stores
have a metal knot or honda through which the slipnoose runs; but cowboys
and Boy Scouts do not need this. They tie their own honda, which should
be a small fixed loop with space enough for the rope to pass freely. The
inside of the loop, against which the rope slips back and forth, may be
wrapped with leather. In throwing the rope, the noose or slipknot should
be opened to four or five feet in diameter, and the free part of the
rope outside the noose should be grasped together with the noose for
about one third along the noose from the honda knot. The remainder of
the rope is held in a coil in the other hand, ready to release when the
noose is cast. The noose (with the part of the free rope) is whirled in
thumb and fingers around the head, until it has a good start; and then
it is jerked straight forward by the wrist and forearm. As it sails, the
honda knot swings to the front and acts as a weight to open the noose
wide. That is why part of the rope is taken up, with the noose, and the
noose is grasped one third along from the knot itself.

The rope, or lariat, or lasso, is a handy implement for the Scout. The
Western Indians and the old-time scouts or trappers used it a great
deal, for catching animals and even enemies; and when the United States
fought with Mexico, in 1846, some of the Mexican cavalry were armed with
lassos.

Note 8, page 7: Anybody on the march always feels better and can travel
better when he keeps himself as clean and as neat as possible. Each pair
of Scouts in a Patrol should share a war-bag, which is a canvas sack
about four feet long, with a round bottom and with a top puckered by a
rope. This war-bag is for personal stuff, so that there is no need to
paw around in the general baggage, and no chance of losing things.

Note 9, page 7: Coffee is popular, but tea is better, in the long run,
and Scouts should not neglect it on the trail. It is lighter than
coffee, is more quickly made, and is a food, a strength-giver, and a
thirst-quencher in one. All explorers favor it.

Note 10, page 7: Scout Troops would do well to have an official
physician who will make out a list of remedies to be used in camp or on
the march. When Scouts know how to clean out the stomach and the
intestines and how to reduce fever and to subdue chills, and what to
give in case of poisoning, then they can prevent many illnesses and
perhaps save life. The remedies should be in shape to be easily carried,
and should be simple to handle.

Note 11, page 7: The Indian walk and the old scout walk was the
straight-foot walk, because it covers the ground with the least
resistance. When the foot is turned so that it is pushed sideways, there
is waste motion. The toes should push backward, not quartering, to get
the most out of the leg muscles. George Catlin, the famous Indian
painter, who lived among the Indians of the West before any of us were
born, says that he could not walk in moccasins until he walked
straight-foot. The Indians turned their toes in a little.

Note 12, page 10: All the Indian tribes of the Western plains and
mountains, and most of the old-time scouts, knew sign language. This was
a language by means of motions of the hands, helped by the body and
face; so that persons could sit and talk together for hours and not
utter a word! In time of danger, when silence is desired, Scouts of
to-day will find the sign language valuable; and by it the Scout of one
country can talk with the Scout of a foreign country.

A book on the "Indian Sign Language" was written in 1884 by Captain W.
P. Clark of the United States Army, and it gives all the signs for
things from A to Z.

Fitzpatrick's sign for "Watch!" was to bring his right hand with back
up, in front of lower part of the face, the first two fingers extended
and separated a little and pointing down the trail. The thumb and other
fingers are closed. The tips of the two fingers represent the two eyes
looking! When he meant "Listen!" he put his hand, palm front, to his
ear, with thumb and first finger open, so that the ear set in the angle
of them; and he wriggled his hands slowly.

Jim Bridger's sign for "Horseback!" was two fingers of one hand placed
astride the edge of the other hand, and the sign for "Wolf!" is the hand
(or both hands) with palm to the front, before the shoulder, and the
first two fingers pricked up, separated like two ears. Then the hand was
moved forward and upward, just a little, like a wolf reconnoitering over
a crest.

Occasionally the sign for something was not precisely the same among all
the Indian tribes. The Pawnee sign for "wolf" was the first finger of
each hand stuck up alongside the head, like ears pricking. But it was a
sign easily read. All the signs were sensible and initiative. When the
"future" was meant, the finger was thrust ahead with a screwing motion,
as if boring; when the "past" was meant, the hand and finger were
extended in front and drawn back with the screwing motion. When he was
full of food the Indian drew his thumb and finger along his body from
his stomach to his throat. When he was hungry he drew the edge of his
hand back and forth across his stomach, as sign that he was being cut in
two. The sign "talk" is to draw the words out of the mouth with thumb
and finger; while to "stop talking" is the same motion half made and
then slashed by the edge of the same hand being brought down through it.
This means "All right," "That's enough," "I understand," and also "Cut
it out!" "Chop it off!"

Years were reckoned as winters, and "winter" is signed by the two
clenched hands shivering in front of the body. Days were "sleeps," and
"sleep" is signed by inclining the head sideways, to rest upon the palm
of the hand. "Man" is the first finger thrust upright, before, because
man walks erect. The "question" sign is the right hand bent up, before,
at the wrist, fingers apart, and turned from side to side. To ask "How
old are you?" the Indian would sign: "You," "winter," "number," "what?"

So Scouts will not find it hard to pick up the sign language; the
motions represent the thing itself. When a sign requires several
motions, a good sign talker will make them all as rapidly as we
pronounce syllables, and he will tell a long story using one hand or
two, as most convenient.

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