Munroe Kirk
Rick Dale, A Story of the Northwest Coast

CHAPTER XXVII
BONNY COMMANDS THE SITUATION

Our lads had barely time to do up the tents and blankets they had used for bedding into compact bundles before M. Filbert arrived, with his servant François, and a carriage full of packages, including a bundle of iron-shod alpenstocks. He was clad in what appeared to Bonny and the idlers about the station a very curious costume, though to Alaric, who had often seen its like in Switzerland, it did not seem at all out of the way. It consisted of a coat and knee-breeches of dark green velveteen, a waistcoat of scarlet cloth, stout yarn stockings patterned in green and scarlet and folded over at the knees, the heaviest of laced walking-boots with hob-nailed soles, and a soft Tyrolese hat, in which was stuck a jaunty cock's feather.

He was full of excited bustle, and the moment he caught sight of Alaric began to shower questions and directions upon him with bewildering rapidity. At length, thanks to Alaric's clear head and Bonny's practical common-sense, confusion was reduced to order, and everything was got on board the train that was to carry the expedition to Yelm Prairie, a station about twenty miles south of Tacoma, from which the real start was to be made.

The arrival at Yelm Prairie produced an excitement equal to that of a circus, and our friends had hardly alighted from the train before they were surrounded by a clamorous throng of would-be guides, packers, teamsters, owners of saddle-animals or pack-ponies, and a score of others, who were loud in declaring that without their services the expedition would surely come to grief.

In vain did the bewildered Frenchman storm and rave, and stamp his feet and gesticulate. Not one word that he said could be understood by the crowd, who, in their efforts to attract his attention, only shouted the louder and pressed about him more closely. Finally the poor man, turning to Alaric and saying, "Do what you will. Everything I leave to you," clapped his hands to his ears, broke through the uproarious throng, and started on a run for the open prairie.

"He leaves everything to us," said Alaric, who was almost as bewildered by the clamor and novelty of the situation as was M. Filbert himself.

"Good enough!" cried Bonny. "Now we will be able to do something. I take it that on this cruise you are first mate and I am second. So if you'll just give the word to go ahead, I'll settle the business in a hurry."

"I only wish you would," returned Alaric, "for it looks as though we were going to be mobbed."

Armed with this authority, Bonny sprang on a packing-case that lifted him well above his surroundings, and shouted: "Fellow-citizens!"

Instantly there came a hush of curious expectancy.

"I reckon all you men are looking for a job?"

"That's about the size of it," answered several voices.

"Very well; I'll give you one that'll prove just about the biggest contract ever let out in Yelm Prairie. It is to shut your mouths and keep quiet."

Here the speaker was greeted by angry murmurs and cries of "None of yer chaff, young feller!" "What are you giving us?" and the like.

Nothing daunted, Bonny continued: "I'm not fooling. I'm in dead earnest. What we are after is quiet, and the prince out there, whom you have scared away with your racket, is so bound to have it that he's willing to pay handsomely for it. He's got the money, too, and don't you forget it. He wants to hire several guides and packers, also a lot of saddle-horses and ponies, but a noisy, loud-talking chap he can't abide, and won't have round. He has left the whole business to my partner here and me to settle, seeing that we are his interpreters, and we are going to do it the way he pays us to do it and wants it done. So, according to the rule we've laid down in all our travellings and mountain-climbings up to date, the man who speaks last will be hired first, and the fellow who makes the most noise won't be given any show at all. Sabe? As an example, we want a team to take our dunnage to the river, and I'm going to give the job to that fellow sitting in the wagon, who hasn't so far spoken a word."

"Good reason why! He's deaf and dumb!" shouted a voice.

"All the better," replied Bonny, in no wise abashed. "That's the kind we want. There are two more chaps who haven't said anything that I've heard, and I'm going to give them the job of pitching camp for us. I mean those two Siwash at the end of the platform."

"They are quiet because they can't speak any English," remonstrated some of those who stood near by.

"We don't mind that, though we are French," replied Bonny, cheerfully. "You see, the prince looked out for such things when he engaged us interpreters, and now we are ready to talk to every man in his own language, including Chinook and United States. Now the only other thing I've got to say is that we won't be ready to consider any further business proposals until two o'clock this afternoon, and anybody coming to our camp before that time will lose his chance. After that we shall be glad to see you all, and the fellows that make the least talk will stand the best show of getting a job."

The effect of this bold proposition was surprising. Instead of exciting wrath and causing hostile demonstrations, as Alaric feared, its quieting influence was magical. Times were hard in Yelm Prairie, and a well-paid trip up the mountain, or the chance to obtain a dollar a day for the hire of a pony, was not to be despised.

So Bonny was allowed to engage the deaf-and-dumb teamster by signs, and the two Indians by a few words of Chinook, without hinderance. All these worked with such intelligence and expedition that within an hour one of the neatest camps ever seen in that section was ready for occupancy beside the white waters of the glacier-fed Nisqually.

When M. Filbert, who spied it from afar, came in soon afterwards, with hands and pockets full of floral specimens, he found a comfortably arranged tent and a bountiful camp dinner awaiting him. At sight of these things his peace of mind was fully restored, and he congratulated himself on having secured such skilful interpreters of both his words and wishes as the lads through whom they had been accomplished.

Promptly at the hour named by Bonny a motley but orderly throng of men, mules, and ponies presented themselves at the camp, and the whole afternoon was spent in making a selection of animals and testing the skill of packers. Both Alaric and Bonny were inexperienced riders, but neither of them hesitated when invited to mount and try the steeds offered for their use. A moment later Bonny was sprawling on the ground, with his pony gazing at him demurely, while Alaric was flying over the prairie at a speed that quickly carried him out of sight. It was nearly an hour before he returned, dishevelled and flushed with excitement, but triumphant, and with his pony cured of his desire for bolting – at least, for a time.

By nightfall the selections and engagements had been made, and the expedition was strengthened by the addition of two white men to act as packers, two Indians who were to serve as guides and hunters, five saddle-ponies, and as many pack-animals.

That night our lads slept under canvas for the first time, and as they lay on their blankets discussing the novelty of the situation, Bonny said:

"I tell you what, Rick, this mountain-climbing is a more serious business than some folks think. When you first told me what our job was to be I had a sort of an idea that we could get to the top of old Rainier easy enough in one day and come back the next. So I couldn't imagine why Mr. Bear should want to engage us by the month. Now, though, it begins to look as though we were in for something of a cruise."

"I should say so," laughed Alaric, who had learned a great deal about mountain-climbing in Switzerland. "It would probably take the best part of a week to go from here straight to the summit and back again. But we shall be gone much longer than that, for we are to make a camp somewhere near the snow-line, and spend a fortnight or so up there collecting flowers and things."

"Flowers?" said Bonny, inquiringly.

"Yes. M. Filbert is a botanist, you know, and makes a specialty of mountain flora. But I say, Bonny, what makes you call him 'Mr. Bear'?"

"Because I thought that was his name. I know you call him 'Phil Bear,' but I never was one to become familiar with a cap'n on short acquaintance."

"Ho! ho!" Alaric laughed; "that's a good one. Why, Bonny, Filbert is the surname. F-i-l-b-e-r-t – the same as the nut, you know, only the French pronounce things differently from what we do."

"I should say they did if that's a specimen, and I'm glad I'm not expected to talk in any such language. Plain Chinook and every-day North American are good enough for me. I suppose he would say 'Rainy' for Rainier?"

"Something very like it. I see you are catching the accent. We'll make a Frenchman of you yet before this trip is ended."

"Humph!" ejaculated Bonny. "Not if I know it, you won't."

Sunrise of the following morning found the horsemen of the expedition galloping over the brown sward of the park-like prairie towards the forest that for hundreds of miles covers the whole western slope of the Cascade range like a vast green blanket. The road soon entered the timber and began a gradual ascent, winding among the trunks of stately firs and gigantic cedars that often shot upward for more than one hundred feet before a branch broke their column-like regularity.

By noon they were at Indian Henry's, twenty miles on their way, and at the end of the wagon-road. That night camp was pitched in the dense timber, and our lads had their first taste of life in the forest. How snugly they were walled in by those close-crowding tree-trunks, and how they revelled in the roaring camp-fire, with its leaping flames, showers of dancing sparks, and perfume of burning cedar! What a delight it was to lie on their blankets just within its circle of light and warmth, listening to its crisp cracklings! Mingled with these was the cheery voice of a tumbling stream that came from the blackness beyond, and the soft murmurings of night winds among the branches far above them.

Another day's journey through the same grand forest, only broken by the verdant length of Succotash Valley, and by the rocky beds of many streams, brought them to Longmire's Springs and the log cabins of the hardy settler who had given them his name. At this point, though they had been steadily ascending ever since leaving Yelm Prairie, they were still less than three thousand feet above the sea, and the real work of climbing was not yet begun. After an evening spent in listening to Longmire's thrilling descriptions of the difficulties and dangers awaiting them, Bonny admitted to Alaric that he had never before entertained even a small idea of what a mountain really was.

CHAPTER XXVIII
ON THE EDGE OF PARADISE VALLEY

From the springs a four-mile scramble through the woods and up the rocky beds of ancient waterways brought the party to a place where the Nisqually River must be crossed. Here a single giant tree had been felled so as to span the torrent, and its upper surface roughly hewn to a level. A short distance above the rude bridge rose the frowning front of a glacier. Although its ice was mud-stained and honeycombed by countless rivulets that poured from its upper surface in tiny cascades, it still formed an inspiring spectacle, and one that filled Bonny with wondering admiration, for it was his first glacier.

From an arched ice cavern at its base poured the milk-white river, with a hollow roaring, and such force that fair-sized bowlders were swept down its channel as though they were so many sticks of wood. The whole scene was of such fascinating interest that it very nearly brought poor Bonny to grief.

He had dismounted, and was preparing to follow M. Filbert and Alaric, who had already led their ponies in safety across the narrow bridge. These animals had crossed so readily that he supposed his would do the same, and, as he stepped out on the great log, was paying far more attention to the glacier than to it. Suddenly he was jerked violently backward, pitched headlong down the bank, and barely saved himself from the icy torrent by clutching at a friendly bush. At the same moment his pony, who had no confidence in mountain bridges, dashed into the roaring stream, was instantly swept from his footing, rolled over and over, and borne struggling away towards what seemed certain destruction. By the good fortune that attends all fools, animals as well as human, he managed to escape both drowning and broken bones, and finally regained his feet on a friendly reef that projected into the river a quarter of a mile below the bridge. There he stood trembling, bruised, and dripping when Bonny and one of the Indians, who had hastened down the bank to discover his fate, found him a few minutes later. From that time forth he was the meekest and most docile pony imaginable, suffering himself not only to be led over the log bridge without remonstrance, but wherever else his young master desired.

From the scene of this incident a hard scramble up a heavily timbered slope, so precipitous that it could only be overcome by a series of zigzags, lifted the expedition a thousand feet above the glacier, and carried them into a park-like meadow so carpeted and fringed with flowers as to throw M. Filbert into an ecstasy of delight. The remainder of that day's ride led through many more of these exquisite, flower-decked mountain meadows separated by belts of timber, and rising one above the other, after the manner of terraces.

Largest and most beautiful of them all was Paradise Valley, a broad sweep of flower-painted sward dotted with graceful clumps of alpine firs and hemlocks, and nestled at the base of a mighty frowning cliff. It was bisected by a rippling stream that entered its upper end by a shimmering fall of nearly one thousand feet in height.

High above this lovely valley, and close to the line where snow and timber met, M. Filbert called a halt, and ordered the permanent camp to be pitched. Although this point was less than half-way to the top of the mountain, or only 6500 feet above sea-level, the ponies could climb no higher, and, after being unladen, were sent back in charge of the packers into Paradise Valley, where they might fatten on its juicy grasses until needed for the return trip.

From here, then, the rugged slope of ice, snow, and rock that stretched indefinitely upward towards the far-away shining summit must be traversed on foot or not at all. But this was not to be done now, nor for days to come, during which the camp just pitched was to be the base of a wide-spread series of explorations.

A few straggling hemlocks, so bent by the ice-laden winds that swept down the mountain-side in winter that they looked like decrepit old men, furnished shelter, fuel, and bedding. An ice-cold stream supplied water, the Indian hunters provided fresh meat, bringing in now a mountain-goat or a few brace of ptarmigan, and occasionally fetching up a deer from one of the flowery meadows a few thousand feet below. The supplies of other kinds of food, of warm clothing and bedding, were ample, and so, in spite of its lofty and solitary situation, that mountain-camp seemed to our lads one of the pleasantest and most comfortable places they had ever known.

"It beats the sloop away out of sight," remarked Bonny.

"Or Skookum John's," said Alaric.

"Yes, or being chased and starved."

"The best of it all is that up here I seem to amount to something," added Alaric.

This was, after all, the true secret of our lads' content; for, in spite of its novelty, the present situation would quickly have grown wearisome had they not been constantly and happily occupied. Every day that the weather would permit they tramped from early morning until dark over snow-fields and glaciers, scaled cliffs, scrambled down into valley-like meadows set like green jewels in the grim mountain-side, threaded their way amid the fantastic forms of stunted forests, toiled slowly up lofty heights, or slid with the speed of toboggans down gleaming slopes. Each day they gained in agility and daring, and each night they returned to that cheery camp with its light, warmth, and abounding comforts, so healthfully tired and so ravenously hungry that it is no wonder they grew to look upon it as a home, and a very pleasant one.

Both lads developed specialties in which they became expert. Alaric's was photography, an art that he had acquired in France, and had practised at intervals for more than a year. As soon as M. Filbert discovered this knowledge on the part of his young interpreter, he intrusted him with the camera, and never had the lad devoted himself to anything with such enthusiasm as he now did to the capturing of views. His greatest triumph came through hours of tedious and noiseless creeping over a rough ice-field that finally placed him within twenty yards of a couple of mountain-goats.

Although the wind was blowing strongly from them to him, the timid creatures were already alarmed, and were sniffing the air suspiciously when a click of the camera's shutter sent them off like a flash. But the shot had been successful, as was shown by the development of a perfect plate that evening. M. Filbert was jubilant over this feat, which he said had never before been accomplished, and complimented the lad in flattering terms upon the skilful patience that had led to it.

Bonny's specialty lay in the collecting of flowers, to which he had devoted himself assiduously ever since learning that they were what the little Frenchman most desired. Keen-eyed, nimble-footed, and tireless, he discovered and secured many a rare specimen that but for him would have been passed unnoticed.

Thus the leader of the expedition found reason to value the good qualities of his young assistants more highly with each day, and was already planning to have them accompany him on his entire American tour, during which he proposed to ascend at least a dozen more mountains. Bonny was jubilant over the prospect of such a trip, and was now as eager to learn French, in order to qualify himself for it, as he had formerly been scornful of the language.

With all this open-air life and splendid physical exercise, the one-time pale-faced and slender Alaric was broadening and developing beyond belief. His cheeks were now a ruddy brown, his eyes were clear, his muscles hard, and his step as springy as that of a mountain-goat. Above everything else in his own estimation he was learning to swing an axe with precision, and could now chop a log in two almost as neatly as Bonny himself.

For all that they were so constantly and agreeably occupied, the boys were possessed of a great and ever-increasing longing to stand on the lofty but still distant summit, with the general aspect of which they had become so familiar during their stay in the timber-line camp. Thus, when one evening M. Filbert decided to make a start towards it on the morrow, they hailed the announcement with joy. One of the Indians was to accompany them as guide, while his fellow was to be left with François to keep camp.

The greater part of the following morning was devoted to making preparations for the climb and what was thought might prove a three days' absence from camp: the hobnails of their walking-boots, worn smooth by friction, were replaced by a fresh set; alpenstocks were tested until it was certain that each of those to be taken would bear the weight of the heaviest of the party; provisions were cooked and packs laid out. Each was to carry a canvas-covered blanket sleeping-bag, inside of which would be rolled provisions for three days, a tin plate, and a cup. Each was also provided with a sheath-knife and a supply of matches. Besides these things M. Filbert was to carry a barometer, a thermometer, a compass, and a collecting-case. Alaric was intrusted with the camera and two dozen plates. Bonny's extras were a hatchet and a fifty-foot coil of stout rope; while the Indian was to carry an ice-axe and pack a burden of fire-wood.

It was nearly noon when, fortified by a hearty lunch, they left their home-like camp, and, facing resolutely upward, began a tedious climb over the limitless expanse of snow that they struck within the first hundred yards. The sky was overcast, and they had hardly started ere a dense cloud-bank swept down and enveloped them in its chill vapors. An hour later they passed above it, though the clouds still rolled thick below them, and emerged into sunlight. Glad as they were to see this, it was so distressingly bright that they were obliged to protect their eyes from its blinding glare with snow-goggles.

Wherever a ledge of rock projected above the snow they found blooming flowers and busy insects. Even butterflies hovered about these spots of verdure, and seemed as much at home amid their arctic surroundings as in the warm valleys far below.

The climb of that afternoon was hot, in spite of the snow that crunched beneath their feet, tedious, and only mildly exciting, for all the perils of the ascent were to come on the morrow.

Shortly before the sun sank into the sea of cloud that spread in fleecy undulations beneath them, they reached the base of the Cleaver, a gigantic ridge that seemed to bar their further progress. Here, on a small plat of nearly level ground from which they dug away the snow, they made a fire over which to boil water for a pot of tea, ate supper, and prepared to pass the night. They were four thousand feet above timber-line, and two miles higher than the waters of Puget Sound.

As soon as supper was over the entire party crawled into their sleeping-bags for protection against the bitter cold of the night, and for a while the two boys, nestling together, talked in low tones. Then Bonny fell asleep; but for nearly an hour Alaric lay awake, listening to the awful silence of that lofty solitude, or startled by the occasional thunderous rush of some plunging bowlder hurled from its bed by the resistless leverage of frost.