CHAPTER XII
WHAT WILL BECOME OF THE ELK?
"Here we are, boys; this is the divide--the top of the range,"said Hugh. "Now if we can only get down this hill and find decenttravelling in the valley, we'll soon be out of this snow. I expectthis is one of the heads of Wind River, and I hope we can make itdown below the snow to-morrow."
The way down the new stream was steep, and for a while progresswas slow. There appeared to be no trail, and several times Hughdismounted and went ahead slowly on foot, to pick out a way for theanimals down steep rock slides. At last, however, they came to apoint where the stream had a little bottom, thickly overgrown withtimber, but all of it green; and working their way along throughthis they came, shortly before sundown, to a little open parksurrounded by willows, where they camped.
There was a little daylight left after camp had been made andsupper eaten, and Jack, with Hugh, walked out to the edge of thestream. There was a good deal of water flowing in it, for eversince they came into the valley they had been crossing rivuletsand brooklets, tumbling down from the high hills and pouringtheir current into the valley. The little river flowed among theclose-set pines, and its bed was composed of great blocks ofstone. Just opposite the camp it opened out into a pool twentyfeet long, and half as wide; and, as they stood here, they saw twolittle dippers at work in the stream.
Although Jack had often seen these birds in the northern mountains,they constantly interested him. He knew that, although livingalways in and about the water, their nearest relations were notwater-birds, such as ducks or snipe, but instead were thrushes,of which the common robin is one. Yet as many times as he hadseen them diving into the water, swimming about on it, and againdisappearing beneath its waves, he could never quite get over hisastonishment at seeing a bird walk down the shelving rock or smoothbeach into the water, and keep on walking, without attempting toswim or to dive, until it had disappeared.
He spoke about this now to Hugh, and said, "Those are the queerestlittle birds I ever saw, and I don't know of any like themanywhere."
"Yes," said Hugh, "they are queer; but they're mightycheerful--mighty good company if you're alone in the mountains.They stay here, you know, all summer and all winter, wherever thewater is open, and they've got a real nice little song, and theysing, too, at all seasons of the year. There, listen to that one,"he said, as a dipper appeared from under the water in the poolbefore them, and then flying to an old dead stick that projectedfrom the bank, alighted on it and began to warble a simple butpleasing song. After it had finished, it flew part way across thepool, and then dived from the wing, and came to the surface againsome distance below where it had entered the water. Then flying toa rock it seemed to batter to pieces some small object which it hadbrought up from the bottom, which it then devoured.
"Don't it seem queer, Hugh," said Jack, "that they never get wet;their plumage seems light and fluffy, like that of a land bird, andnot close and compact like that of the duck or grebe. They musthave a big oil-sack, and must oil up their feathers pretty often."
"I reckon they do," said Hugh, "but I'm sure they never get wet.I've often wondered what it is they feed on; I suppose it's insectsthat live at the bottom of the water. Anyhow, I've often seen thembring up one of those little worms that build sort of houses forthemselves out of sticks and little bits of sand, and take it to arock and pound it to pieces, and then eat the worm that's inside ofit. You've seen those things, haven't you? I don't know what theydo, or what they're good for, without it is to feed the birds andthe fish."
"Oh yes, Hugh," said Jack, "I've often seen those. Mighty queerlittle houses they are, but I don't know any more than you dowhat the insect in them lives for. I expect he may turn into adragonfly, or maybe some kind of beetle or other. I know I'veheard that there are lots of insects that lay their eggs, and livepart of their lives in water, and then finally, coming up to thesurface, change their shape and become perfect insects."
"Well," said Hugh, "I expect likely that's the way it may be."
Jack noticed that the dippers seemed to dive into the upper part ofthe pool, and to be carried down by the swift current close to alittle point of rocks, and slowly walking out there, and standingperfectly still, he soon saw one of the birds drop down from alarge stone near him, and disappear under the water. He could see asort of a flying shadow under the surface, and in a moment the birdcame up a little below him, and flew off to the other side of thestream. As it grew darker, the dippers disappeared, having probablygone to their roost; and as the two returned to camp, Hugh said toJack, "Son, did you ever see one of the nests made by these birds?"
"No, Hugh, I never did," said Jack.
"Well, we must be on the lookout for that. They're mighty queerlittle nests. On the outside they seem to be made of green moss, sothat the nests look just like a bunch of moss growing on a rock.Often they build them close under some little water-fall, and Iexpect maybe it's the mist from the fall that keeps the moss wetand growing; but if the outside is damp and wet, the inside is justas dry as can be, and the young birds have a good warm place, and agood roof over their heads. It's kind of fun to watch one of thesenests and see how hard the old birds have to work to keep the youngbirds quiet. They come with an insect, and give it to some one ofthe young ones, and then dart off, and are not gone more than afew minutes, and then come back again, so both the old birds keeptravelling back and forth; and all the time the young ones aremaking all the noise they can, only you can't hear'em for the soundof the water--they're a hungry lot, I tell you. Of course, thebreeding season is past a long time now, and maybe if we keep oureyes open we'll be able to see a nest and get it for you to takehome with you, though often they're in a place where it's mightyhard to get at them."
The little circular meadow in which they had camped was not largeenough to give good feeding for their horses, even if the groundhad not been covered with snow; but Hugh felt certain that thehorses would not try to follow the back trail up the hill again,nor did he think that they would venture away down the streaminto country unknown to them. However, he picketed two horses andhobbled most of the others, and when morning came they were most ofthem in sight, though one or two had strayed away into the timber.The snow on the ground made it an easy matter to follow them, andsoon after sunrise the train had started on again.
The travelling was better than had been expected. Althoughsometimes the walls of the valley drew so close together that therewas hardly room for the stream to flow, they managed to get alongwithout very much climbing, and were all the time going down hill.The next night when they camped, the snow had almost entirelydisappeared from the valley, only patches lying in some of the mostshady spots. There was abundant sign of game here, but they sawnone, nor did they look for it. The next afternoon however, Hughstopped as they were crossing a meadow, and, calling Jack to him,pointed out some tracks in the soft ground, which Jack at firstsupposed were elk tracks, but on more careful examination found tobe quite different; and after thinking for a moment, he asked Hughif they could be moose tracks.
"Yes," said Hugh, "that's just what they are. This was a good bull,and he crossed here early this morning. Follow his tracks a littleway and see if you can make out anything special about them, andthen come on after us and tell me what you saw."
Jack followed slowly along on the tracks until they entered thetimber. Then he returned to take his position in the pack train.By this time the way was so open that it was not necessary totravel in single file, and Jack, riding up to Hugh said, "Well,Hugh, those tracks are about twice as long as an elk's track, andonly a little bit wider; that makes them look long and narrow.Then, besides that, I noticed that whenever the animal went over asoft spot, and his foot sank in a little, there seemed to be twomarks behind the main track, and I suppose those are the dew clawssinking in. Is that so?"
"That's it," said Hugh, "I'm glad you took notice so carefully.Maybe we'll get a chance to kill a moose before we get down out ofthese mountains. We don't really want one now; but
you've neverseen a moose, and I expect if one should show up, why maybe you'dwant to shoot at it."
"Well, Hugh, I guess I would," said Jack; "but I suppose as longas we're travelling here with the pack train, and making so muchnoise, there isn't much chance of our seeing one."
"No, not much," said Hugh.
As the valley became wider, and the stream larger, there seemedto be more life in the bottom. Several broods of ruffed grousehad been noticed during the day, and all were so tame that theyscarcely moved out of the horses' way as they passed along. Inthe river there were a few ducks, of the kind that breed high upin the mountains; and the next morning, when Jack was down at thewater's edge, just after he had risen, he saw a hawk make a dash ata family of ducks. The ducks were flying down the river when thehawk came out of the timber and darted toward them. They all fellinto the water, with loud splashings, and the hawk swooped at oneof them which was a little apart from the main flock; but the duckmade a rush to one side and easily avoided it. Then the hawk gaveup the chase, and flew into a tall tree, where he watched the ducksas they swam swiftly down the stream. Jack was amused at a littlespotted sandpiper that had been flying up the stream when the hawkdarted for the ducks. The bird was very much frightened, thinkingthat the hawk was after it. It dropped into the water as if it hadbeen shot, and sat there with its head cocked to one side, watchingthe enemy, and prepared to dive at a second's warning, if the hawkshould dash at it.
The weather was bright and pleasant, and they kept on down thestream, which constantly grew wider. Now there was some sage-brushon the benches above the bottom, and often the trail kept away fromthe stream, and close under these benches, in order to avoid thefrequent wet and miry places which would have troubled the horses.As Jack was riding along he suddenly heard a shot behind him, andlooking about, saw three deer running near the top of a ridge,and just below the timber. Joe had shot at one of them, and justafter Jack looked round, two of them disappeared over the ridge.The last one stopped almost at its crest, and looked back, and Joefired again. The doe fell, and Joe rode up to where she lay. Thetrain was halted, and when the deer had been brought down to thetrail she was put on one of the packs and they started on again. Asthe bottom became wider it was evident that beaver had been much atwork here, and although they had long deserted it, the marshes andsloughs and mud-holes caused by their damming of the stream stillremained as pitfalls for the traveller.
Ever since they had left Snake River they had heard from time totime the shrill bugling call of the elk, though near the top of therange where the snow was deepest they had not heard them whistle.Now, however, they frequently heard elk, and on this day an oldbull came out of a point of timber near which they were travelling,and stood and looked at them. He was but a short distance off,and might easily have been killed; but they had meat enough, andthere was no reason for shooting him. He was but forty or fiftyyards distant, and seemed disposed to come even nearer, makingsome threatening demonstrations with his head, and advancing a fewsteps; but no attention was paid to him, and presently he turnedabout and disappeared in the timber. Hugh said that very likely theelk took some of the pack animals for cows, and wished to gatherthem in.
That night they camped on an enlargement of the river, which almostseemed like a little lake. Behind them and on either side weretimbered hills, before them the water, and beyond the mountainsrising steeply. The lodge stood in a little grove of pine trees,which furnished shelter and fuel, and the hungry animals fed on therich grass behind it. The bright fire in front of the lodge lit upthe trees and the lodge and the pack saddles, and as it flamed andflickered, curious shadows peeped out from the dark caverns thatstretched back beneath the pine branches to the gloom beyond, andsometimes creeping stealthily forth, danced for a moment within thecircle of the firelight, and then chased one another back into thedarkness, and were swallowed up in it. The soft murmur of the riverover its stones came to the campers in a monotonous undertone,while now and then from the nearby trees came the plaintive call ofsome bird, and the mountain sides echoed at intervals to the fierceshrill challenge of the angry elk.
"This is a great elk country, isn't it, Hugh?" said Jack. "It seemsto me that elk are 'most everywhere, and I suppose they'll alwaysbe here, won't they?"
"Well, I don't know, son," said Hugh; "it's pretty hard to sayabout that. They'll likely be here until the white folks come;but as soon as they come, why the elk are bound to go. I've heardthey're talking about passing a law not to let them be killed inthe Park we came through--that place where the hot springs andspouting fountains are. But just as soon as mineral is discoveredin these hills, the game will go. I reckon, too, that this lawthey're talking about passing for that Park back there won't amountto much, for I talked with two hunters there who said that theyexpected to get the contract this winter to kill meat for all themfellows that's working on those buildings that we saw. Of coursewhat two men'll kill in a winter won't amount to much; but justas soon as many people begin to come into this country, the gamewill all get killed off. I've seen places down in the south, inColorado, where twenty or twenty-five years ago game was so plentythat you could kill all you wanted right close to camp, any time;and now that country is full of settlers, miners and ranchmen, andthey've killed off the game for the mining camps and tie camps andevery settler has to go and get three or four wagon loads for hiswinter's meat, and the first thing they know there won't be a hoofleft in the country."
"Well, but Hugh," said Jack, "what's going to become of all thegame? Isn't there going to be any left after a few years?"
"You can't prove it by me, son. I don't know; but I expect therewon't be any game left, unless they pass some laws, and enforcethem, to stop the killing of it. Of course laws don't mean anythingwithout they're enforced, and as far as I can see, these lawsprotecting the game never are enforced."
"But, Hugh," said Jack, "that seems to me all wrong. Do you mean tosay that if I come out here twenty years from now there won't beanything for me to hunt?"
"Looks that way to me, son," said Hugh.
"And if I should have a son, and ever want to bring him out hereand show him the things that I saw when I was a boy, he could notsee them?"
"I don't believe he could. I tell you, son, this country haschanged an awful lot since I first saw it, and it seems to me it'schanging more and more all the time, and quicker now than it usedto. I used to think that the time would never come when I couldn'tgo out and kill meat if I wanted it; but my ideas have changed awhole lot in the last year or two, and I believe now that the timewill come when there won't be any game left for a man to shoot witha rifle. I used to think that the buffalo could never be killedoff, but I've seen 'em killed off over part of the country, and Imay live long enough to see 'em killed off everywhere."
"Well," said Jack, "it seems as if there ought to be some way tostop that."
"Yes, there ought to be," said Hugh, "but you see, every fellowthat comes out into the mountains, he's just like you and me; wethink the other fellow oughtn't to kill game, but we ought to killit. We claim that we don't kill anything more than what we wantto eat, and these other fellows claim, maybe--if they're buffaloskinners or elk skinners--that they don't kill any more than theywant to skin. Each man thinks that what he'll kill won't do anyharm; but when they're all at work killing as hard as they can, theupshot of it is that there's no game left."
"I see," said Jack; "each one of us is thinking about himself andabout nobody else, and yet each one of us is likely to talk aboutwhat the other people do. You must have seen lots of game in yourlife, Hugh," he added.
"Yes, son," said Hugh, "I've seen a heap of game. Why, at one timemen used to travel day after day, and never be out of sight ofgame; and most times the game was not afraid at all. Buffalo or elkor antelope would just move out the way, and a man never thoughtof shooting at anything until he needed meat to eat. Of course inthose times we never took anything but the best parts, and so itoften happened that we killed an animal every two or three days
.But we never thought, up to within a very few years ago, whenrailroads began to come into the country, that things would be muchdifferent from what they were then; but when the railroads came,they brought a heap of people, a good many of them hunters, and agood many of them men who came to live on the land where the gamehad always roamed without being bothered by anybody, except maybeonce a year when Indians happened to pass that way and perhapscamped in the neighborhood for a few weeks. Of course the time hasbeen when a man could easily enough kill a car-load of game in aday, but in the old times no one had any reason for doing that. Wecould only eat about so much meat, and wear about so much buckskin;and ammunition cost money, and nobody wanted to waste it."