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Ox-Team Days on the Oregon Trail

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<h3>CLIMBING THE CASCADE MOUNTAINS</h3> <div class='unindent'>Up through the Natchess Pass Bobby and I took our lonely way, to reach and bring over this same difficult trail the party in which were my parents and my brothers and sisters.</div> From the first chill night, following the sweat due to the climb of the day before, my muscles were a bit stiffened; but I was ready for the climb to the summit. Bobby was of a different mind. As I have said, he had been restless during the night. I had just strapped the roll of blankets and hard bread securely behind the saddle, when he suddenly turned his face homeward and trotted off gaily, down the mountain. I could do nothing but follow him. The narrow cut of the road and impenetrable obstructions on either side prevented my heading off his rascally maneuvers. Finally, on finding a nip of grass by the roadside, he slackened his gait, and after several futile attempts I managed to get a firm hold of his tail. After this we went down the mountain together, much more rapidly than we had come up the evening before. Bobby forgot to use his heels, else he might for a longer time have been master of the situation. The fact was he did not want to hurt me, but was determined to go no farther into mountains where he could not get a supper. The contest was finally settled in my favor when I managed to catch hold of the rein. Did I chastise him? Not a bit. I did not blame him; we were partners, but it was a one-sided partnership, as he had no interest in the enterprise other than to get enough to eat as we went along, and when he saw no prospect of food, he rebelled. We were soon past our camping ground of the night before, and on our way up the mountain. Bobby would not be led; if I tried to lead him, he would hold back for a while, then, making a rush up the steep ascent, he would be on my heels or toes before I could get out of the way. I would seize his tail with a firm grasp and follow. When he moved rapidly, I was helped up the mountain. When he slackened his pace, then came the resting spell. The engineering instinct of the horse tells him how to reduce grades by angles, and Bobby led me up the mountains in zig-zag courses, I following always with the firm grasp of the tail that meant we would not part company, and we did not. By noon we had surmounted all obstacles and stood upon the summit prairie—one of them, for there are several. Here Bobby feasted to his heart's content, while for me it was the same old story—hardtack and cheese, with a small allotment of dried venison. To the south, apparently but a few miles distant, the old mountain, Rainier, loomed up into the clouds fully ten thousand feet higher than where I stood, a grand scene to behold, worthy of all the effort expended to reach this point. But I was not attuned to view with ecstasy the grandeur of what lay before me; rather I scanned the horizon to ascertain, if I could, what the morrow might bring forth. This mountain served the pioneer as a huge barometer to forecast the weather. "How is the mountain this morning?" the farmer asked in harvest time. "Has the mountain got his nightcap on?" the housewife inquired before her wash was hung on the line. The Indian would watch the mountain with intent to determine whether he might expect snass (rain), or kull snass (hail), or t'kope snass (snow), and seldom failed in his conclusions. So that day I scanned the mountain top, partially hid in the clouds, with forebodings verified at nightfall. A light snow came on just before night, which, with the high mountains on either side of the river, spread darkness rapidly. I was loath to camp. If I could safely have found my way, I would have traveled all night. The trail in places was very indistinct and the canyon was but a few hundred yards wide, with the tortuous river striking first one bluff and then the other, making numerous crossings necessary. Finally I saw that I must camp. I crossed the river to an opening where the bear tracks were so thick that the spot seemed a playground for all these animals roundabout. The black bears on the western slope were timid and not dangerous; but I did not know about this species of the eastern slope. I found two good-sized trees that had fallen obliquely across each other. With my pony tethered as a sentinel, and my fire as an advance post, I went to bed, nearly supperless. I felt lonesome; but I kept my fire burning all night, and I slept soundly. Early next morning found Bobby and me on the trail. We were a little chilled by the cold mountain air and very willing to travel. Towards nightfall I heard the welcome tinkling of a bell, and soon saw first the smoke of camp fires, and then a village of tents and grime-covered wagons. How I tugged at Bobby's halter to make him go faster and then mounted him, without getting much more speed, can better be imagined than told. <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-135.png" width-obs="338" height-obs="400" alt="A night camp in the mountains with a fire to keep off the bears." title="" /> A night camp in the mountains with a fire to keep off the bears.</div> Could it be the camp I was searching for? It had about the number of wagons and tents that I expected to meet. No; I was doomed to disappointment. Yet I rejoiced to find some one to camp with and talk to other than the pony. The greeting given me by those tired and almost discouraged travelers could not have been more cordial had they been my relatives. They had been toiling for nearly five months on the road across the Plains, and now there loomed up before them this great mountain range to cross. Could they do it? If they could not get over with their wagons, could they get the women and children through safely? I was able to lift a load of doubt and fear from their jaded minds. Before I knew what was happening, I caught the fragrance of boiling coffee and fresh meat cooking. The good matrons knew without telling that I was hungry and had set to work to prepare me a meal, a sumptuous meal at that, taking into account the whetted appetite incident to a diet of hard bread straight, and not much of that either, for two days. We had met on the Yakima River, at the place where the old trail crosses that river near the site of the present flourishing city of North Yakima. <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-136.png" width-obs="273" height-obs="275" alt="Mountain wolves." title="" /> Mountain wolves.</div> In this party were some of the people who next year lost their lives in the White River massacre. They were Harvey H. Jones, his wife, and three children, and George E. King, his wife, and one child. One of the little boys of the camp, John I. King, lived to write a graphic account of the tragedy in which his mother and stepfather and their neighbors lost their lives. Another boy, a five-year-old child, was taken off, and after being held captive for nearly four months was then safely delivered over by the Indians to the military authorities at Fort Steilacoom. I never think of those people but with sadness. Their struggle, doubtless the supreme effort of their lives, was only to go to their death. I had pointed out to them where to go to get good claims, and they had lost no time, but had gone straight to the locality recommended and had set immediately to work preparing shelter for the winter. "Are you going out on those plains alone?" Mrs. Jones asked me anxiously. When I told her that I would have the pony with me, she insisted, "Well, I don't think it is safe." Mr. Jones explained that his wife was thinking of the danger from the ravenous wolves that infested the open country. The party had lost weakened stock from their forages right close to the camp. He advised me not to camp near the watering places, but to go up on the high ridge. I followed his advice with the result, as we shall see, of missing my road and losing considerable time, which meant not a little trouble and anxiety. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-138.png" width-obs="500" height-obs="289" alt="To dig under was the only way to pass the obstruction." title="" /> To dig under was the only way to pass the obstruction.</div> <h2>CHAPTER SEVENTEEN</h2> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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