Across Starvation Mountains

"Sure," said Patrick Gass, "if I wasn't so sore in me feet an' empty in me stomick I could close my eyes an' think myself back in a Pennsylvany barnyard, with the chickens all a-cluckin'."

"But instead, we're four thousand miles from old 'Pennsylvany,' Pat, and in a country where even the dogs are so hungry they eat your moccasins while you sleep," retorted George Shannon. "The pesky brutes stole my best pair last night."

This was the day of September 5. Ca-me-ah-wait and Toby and John Colter and Pat had spoken truly when they had predicted a tough trip. The region west from the Sho-sho-ne village proved impassable. Old Toby had led northward, by hard trail up and down. The two captains rode in the advance; the hunters scouted for game but found little; York's big feet had failed him and he needs must aide until well; Sa-ca-ja-we-a, of course, rode, carrying on her back baby Toussaint; everybody else trudged afoot, each man leading two pack-horses.

The horses soon were worn out by scrambling amidst rain and snow, and falling on the sharp rocks.

What with hauling and shoving and chasing them, the men had decided that boats were easier, after all.

The route had crossed the crooked range, to the east side again, and here had struck a Tushepaw Indian camp of thirty-three lodges. Now the company were lying around, waiting and resting, while the captains traded for more horses.

"I can not onderstan' one word," complained Chaboneau. "Neider can Sa-ca-ja-we-a."

Old Toby himself scarcely was able to interpret for the captains. The language was a curious mixture of grunts and cries. Nevertheless, a kind and hospitable people were these light-skinned Oo-tla-shoots, of the great Tushepaw or Flat-head nation. They were rich in horses, and generous with their roots and berries; and fearing that these strange white men, who rode without blankets, had been robbed, they threw about their guests' shoulders handsome bleached buffalo robes.

These Oo-tla-shoots, who were on their way eastward to hunt the buffalo, signed that the best trail for the big water beyond the mountains was the Pierced Nose trail, northward still. If the white men crossed the mountains by that trail, they would come to a swift river that joined the Big River, down which were falls and a big water where lived other white men.

Old Toby, winking his eyes violently, said that he knew. He once had been upon that trail of the Pierced Noses, by which they hunted the buffalo. His four sons had left him, several days back; but another son had appeared, and he asserted that they two would guide the white chiefs, by the Pierced Nose trail onward from the No-Salmon River, and so to the stinking lake under the setting sun.

"What white men do we find, at the Pacific Ocean, George?" asked Peter; for both the Snakes and the Flat-heads spoke of "white men "down the Columbia, which was known only as the Big River.

"Traders, Peter. White men from the United States, and from other white nations—England and Russia—who sail there in large boats and trade for furs. Perhaps we'll all return to the United States by one of those boats."

"At No-Salmon River is where we enter the Pierced Nose trail, is it?" mused Sergeant Nat Pryor. "I reckon that's a correct name. 'Cordin' to Chaboneau and Drouillard the salmon aren't to be found in any waters east of the Rock Mountains. They all stay west."

"Oh, murther, an' aren't we west o' the mountains, yet?" exclaimed Pat.

Still north pushed the company, down through the Bitter Root Valley of western Montana, with the line of mountains on the left rising ever colder and higher. In four days' journey was reached a broad Indian trail, along a river running east. It was the Pierced Nose trail, said old Toby, and the river was the No-Salmon River. The Indian road was to be followed westward, over the mountains, but on the way there would be no game.

So the captains called the No-Salmon (to-day the Lou Lou) River, "Traveler's Rest Creek," because here camp was made while the men hunted and mended clothes before again climbing the mountains.

The Pierced Nose trail was plain at first, but on the Idaho side of these the Bitter Root Mountains it soon was lost amidst many other trails, and the snows and the thick timber and the bare rocks. Old Toby himself was wellnigh confused; he had not been along the main trail for many years.

The mountains were very broad, very wild. The jumble of high ridges was steep, and constantly drear with rain and snow. The horses strayed, and went lame, and fell down and broke things. The hunters sometimes brought in a lean deer, sometimes a few grouse, and frequently nothing, so then for all hands there were only a sip of canned soup, and berries.

It was on September 14 that the first of the colts was killed, to be eaten. The soup and the berries were making the men ill. He was a nice little black colt, and Peter hated to have him killed; but what else could be done? On this day, also, they arrived at a clear, rocky river down which extended the Indian road.

"Is this the Big River?" asked Captain Lewis, hopefully, of old Toby. "Is this the Big River, with the falls and the white men?"

"Koos koos kee," grunted old Toby. And that was all he would say.

So "Koos-koos-kee" was the river named.

"Dat one funny name," chuckled Chaboneau. "Ze 'Some-odder-river.' "And he laughed. Not for considerable time did he explain to his comrades that "koos koos kee "was only Indian for "This is not the river; it is some other river."

But the Kooskooskee or Clearwater River does the stream remain unto this day.

"More mountains! Wirrah, more mountains!" lamented Patrick Gass, when the Indian road left the banks of the stony Kooskooskee and through the roughest kind of a country started upward again. "Will we niver be out into some place where it's open enough to see 'round a corner?"

"Nebber so col' in mah life befoh," chattered York, plodding on in frozen moccasins, with snow to his ragged knees. "We got to follow Marse Will an' Marse Merne—but how do dis hyar Tobe know whar he gwine?"

Sa-ca-ja-we-a pointed ahead from her pony's back. She had learned to understand even York's speech. She was very smart and quick.

"Pony rub bark," she said. For, as anybody ought to be able to perceive, the snow-covered trail was marked above by places where. Indian pony packs had scuffed low-hanging branches. This to Peter was very plain.

This night the brown colt was killed, for supper. "I slept with me heels higher 'n me head," in the morning announced Pat. "'Tis a fine country where a man can't find a level spot to stretch his bones over."

The next day the spotted colt was killed. Some of the men were growing discouraged. After supper Captain Clark, lean but ruddy, his eyes tired but steady, made a speech, with Captain Lewis seconding him.

"We're doing the best we can, men," he said. "We're bound to break our way out into the lower country where there'll be warmth and game and friendly Indians. Why, it may be only a few miles ahead! We can't turn back. Behind us would be only disgrace. Before is glory, and the honor of the flag. Tomorrow I'm to scout for a better game country than we are finding. The level grassy plains are the places for game; and I'll send you back word, and as like as not some fat meat, too."

"Hooray," agreed the men, feebly.

"Our hearts be strong but our stomicks be weak," sighed Pat.

"We're nearly at the end of the colts," added Alec Willard. "I'd as soon eat my moccasins as chaw old hoss."

The next morning early Captain Clark, with Drouillard, Joe Fields, Alec, John Colter, Hugh McNeal and George Shannon, the strongest of the men, and good hunters all, rode ahead on picked horses to find, as they expressed, "a level spot and game."

Old Toby and his son continued to guide. They were doing the best they could, too. But surely this Pierced Nose trail was long and difficult.

Now the only food left was some soup and bear-oil. Everybody was feeling weak and miserable. But once the men started a cheer, for they glimpsed, distant before, through a gap, a large broad valley or plain—perhaps the end of the mountains and perhaps the country of the Nez Perces or Pierced Noses. Then the mountains closed again and the valley was swallowed up.

On the third day, about ten o'clock, another shout was given. To a tree beside the trail (the trees were getting larger, showing that the trail was leading downward), in a little draw was hanging the carcass of a horse; and to it was pinned by a splinter a note from Captain Clark—

I am going on to some plains to the southwest. Will find Indians and collect provisions for you.

W. C.

Sturdy Captain Clark, the Red Head chief! He could always be depended upon. Captain Lewis's thin face brightened under his tattered hat.

"Load the meat, lads," he ordered. "We'll have a rousing dinner, this day."

Ah, but at noon that horse tasted good, after soup and bear-oil! The head was cut off and tossed aside; then with their knives everyone slashed off thick steaks and roasted them on ramrods, over the fires. Peter got his share.

However, just as the march was about to proceed, the captain, who, as usual, had paused to cast his eyes keenly along the line, exclaimed sharply: "Where's my pack animal, Cruzatte?"

For 'Cruzatte was supposed to look after this horse and another.

"I t'ought he follow," stammered Cruzatte, who was quite sick. "I no see heem. My gracious! Mebbe he in brush."

"Pshaw!" muttered the captain. Then he spoke energetically. "I must have those saddle-bags. They're of the utmost importance. Fields (and he addressed Reuben), you're pretty fit. Take a horse and another man and go clear back to where we loaded the meat this morning. That's likely where the animal strayed, while we halted. Look for his tracks and find him. Be sure and get the saddle-bags, in all events. Their contents are valuable."

"Yes, sir," responded Reuben. He looked about him doubtfully. And Peter did an unexpected thing. Peter felt equal to any man. He was young and wiry; his life among the Otoes had accustomed him to all kinds of outdoor hardships. He had not had so much flesh and bones to carry as had the men; he had walked lightly and straight-footed, as Indians walked.

"Take me, Reuben," he said. "I'm all right. I find the horse."

"Faith," supported Patrick Gass, "ye might do worse, Rem. Sure, the lad's as good as the best."

"If the captain has no objections&38212;?" proffered Reuben, with a grin, "I think we'd make out first-rate."

"An excellent plan," agreed the captain. "Take Peter, by all means. He wants to do his part, and when it's his turn to ride he'll be easy on the horse. He's a regular woodsman, too. Look to your laurels, Reuben."

"Yes, sir," grinned Reuben.

So they set off; Reuben, with his rifle, at first on the horse; Peter, with his bow and quiver, trotting alongside, holding to the saddle thongs. After a time, they changed off; Peter rode and Reuben walked.

They had left about three o'clock. It was dusk when they arrived at the noon camp spot, on the other side of the high ridge. Not even a bird had they seen, to kill for food. They had started in such a hurry that they had brought nothing. But the horse's head was still lying here, untouched.

"We'll have to make shift with the head, Peter," quoth Reuben.

So they built a fire, and roasted the horse's head, and ate it even to the ears. Then they rolled in Reuben's blanket and slept together.

"We'll find that hoss or bust," declared Reuben, as in the morning early, having finished the horse-head scraps, they again took the back trail. Soon they arrived at the place where the horse carcass had been packed—and sure enough, in the brush at one side were the tracks of a horse that had wandered.

They followed the tracks carefully, and soon they came to the saddle bags, which had been scraped off from the horse's back. Reuben put them aboard the other horse.

"Now for the critter himself," he said.

The tracks led on and on; and not until almost noon did they sight the loose horse, grazing in a small open spot. He was too weak to be wild, and they caught him easily by his dragging neck rope. Reuben transferred the saddle bags, and clambered stiffly on.

"We've a hoss apiece, anyhow, Peter," he pro-claimed. "But I'm so empty I don't cast a shadow. Come on, let's take the cap'n his saddle bags."

Empty! Anyway—hooray! And now for "home."

Reuben, who was leading, suddenly pulled his horse short. He slipped off, and resting his rifle on the horse's back, took long aim. Two grouse were sitting on a limb, craning their necks foolishly. Peter could see the rifle muzzle waver; he himself felt as though he could not draw his bow. The rifle cracked—the grouse went hurling. Good! Reuben swiftly reloaded, and aimed—and down spun the other grouse. But when they were picked up, both were in a pulp, from which dangled the heads and legs. Reuben shook his own head dolefully.

"And once I could clip off a bird's head at fifty paces. Well, I was lucky to hit 'em at all, for I can't hold steady."

The two grouse made scarcely a couple of mouthfills, so much of the meat had been shot away. The next morning the horses had disappeared, leaving only the saddle bags. Reuben finally shouldered them.

"If we stay looking longer," he said, "we'll starve. I'll tote these as far as I can, Peter; and you can tote 'em as far as you can. Between us we'll manage, for the cap'n 's got to have his saddle bags."

"You bet," agreed Peter.

That was a journey! They struggled all day. The saddle bags, vowed Reuben, gasping, weighed a tour—and what a ton might be, Peter did not know, but at any rate it must be very heavy. Only toward late afternoon did they sight, below and ahead, the captain's party, on the edge of a plain—the plain.

The party were moving briskly; as if encouraged. The captain was in advance. Reuben and Peter quickened at their best. Would they never overtake the other men?

"Smoke, ain't it, yonder?" panted Reuben.

"Pierced Nose village, maybe, Reuben," answered Peter.

"Don't I see Joe, with that crowd? Yes, and a strange Injun, too!" panted Reuben.

They hastened, dragging their numb legs, and lugging those saddle bags. The party saw them, and halted; gave them a cheer.

"Bully for yez!" greeted Pat. "We've arriv, in a land o' plenty, 'mongst the Pierced Noses. Yez are in time."

Reuben saluted the captain, who had turned back. "The saddle bags, Cap'n, but we lost the hosses again."

"You've done well, both of you, lads," praised the captain. "Joe's brought us some fish and roots, from Captain Clark. He's waiting close ahead, with the Pierced Noses. Get on a horse, each of you, and eat as you ride. I think our troubles are over."

Within an hour they all were at the village of the Pierced Noses, here on the open, fertile prairie of the kamass roots that tasted like pumpkin; and Captain Clark and Chief Twisted-hair made them all welcome.