Boy With the U. S. Survey Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  A LONE HAND AGAINST HUNGER

  Early the next morning quite a large group of tourists gathered to seethe Survey party set out, it having become known that it was to make useof the old Cameron trail and endeavor to climb the other side of theCanyon. Some, who had been part of the way down the trail, were politelyincredulous as to the possibility of the feat, others took an especialpleasure in prophesying disaster, and a few expressed a wish that theymight accompany the party "to see how it was done."

  To these various people Masseth paid no heed. Indeed he scarcelyresponded to questions, returning but the briefest replies, except once,when an old lady, quiet and gentle in manner, came up and laid her handon his arm.

  "You will pardon an old lady," she said, "but I should not like to thinkof your going down there, unless you can assure me that it is reallysafe."

  The topographer turned to her immediately, raising his cap and smiling:

  "I have been over the trail before," he said, "and indeed I have been inmany worse places than this part of the Canyon, so you really need feelno alarm. It is very kind of you to be solicitous of our well-being, andI shall take your expressed interest as a happy omen for the journey."

  This little speech, overheard by Roger as he came up with the headpacker to say that everything was ready, gave him a quick insight intothe intense graceful courtesy, which was so strong a characteristic ofthe man who was to be his chief for a couple of months to come. A fewsentences between Masseth and the chief packer were followed by thewords, spoken in a sharp tone of command, markedly different from thesuavity of a moment before:

  "You may start, then!"

  Roger waited for instructions.

  "Doughty," said the leader, "you will ride in the rear with Black, andyou will do well to let him teach you how to handle the animals in roughspots. I shall go ahead, of course."

  "Very well, sir," answered Roger, and cantered off to the pack train,where the assistant topographer was helping the second packer to get themules started. The head packer had gone as far as the brink of theCanyon with the chief and there waited to deploy the animals on thetrail in good order and to scrutinize every pack as it passed him, tomake sure that none should become loose and slip.

  The boy chatted freely with Black as they paced along behind the last ofthe mules, and he found his companion well-informed, as Masseth hadsaid, but except on matters of the trail, somewhat non-communicative. Inbrief remarks, however, he explained to the boy many of the troubles hemust expect to encounter and the best manner of meeting them, and hiscurt references to the lie of the land struck Roger as being of immensevalue. He pointed out certain striking landmarks as features of thelandscape which were to be ignored, because, from any point of view,they would appear entirely different; and certain other eminences,perhaps not even as noticeable as the former, which he must remember,since, by reason of their conformation they would always appear the sameand thus could be taken as absolute and certain guides.

  But as soon as the trail fell over the edge there was no more speaking.Fell over the edge, Roger thought, was almost the only way to describethe road, which was precipitous and winding beyond belief. There was asupposition that the way had been made smooth for mules, but it did notseem to the lad that any four-footed animal short of a goat could keephis footing. The long line of mules treading easily in front, however,was evidence that he need not fear, so warily keeping an eye on his mulelest his mount should stumble, he preceded the assistant, followingimmediately after the last pack mule.

  For several hundred feet the trail went down in this rough fashion, thensuddenly turned sharply to the left along one of the broad terraces ofrock, whereof Masseth had spoken to the boy before. After a quarter of amile of easy going, the party came to a slope of loose shale, almostfilling up the terrace. The pack mules picked their way over thiswithout any apparent demur, but Black called out:

  "Guess you'd better get off!"

  Roger slipped from his saddle, and going to the mule's head started towalk beside it.

  "Go in front, you chump," called the other. "If the trail's none toowide for one, how do you suppose two can go abreast?"

  "But I can't help him then!" protested Roger.

  This speech was greeted with a hoarse chuckle.

  "Any old time a mule needs a tenderfoot to teach him where to put hisfeet," he said, "I want to have a front seat to watch it. Don't you everworry about that, I guess he can walk anywhere that you can, but on ashelving bank a rider makes a beast topheavy."

  Down they went into the chasm, climbing over heaps of fallen rock,pitching down slopes which seemed almost perpendicular to the boy, andas they descended the sun rose higher and the air seemed to become lesstenuous and almost visible. Roger had been expecting the wonderfulradiance of the valley to become tenfold richer under the noonday sun,and was surprised to note all the color fade out of the rocks and theair become as it were so solid as to refract the light of the sun. Thewhole atmosphere seemed to be glowing with a metallic luster which wasmost confusing, because of the way in which it changed the wholeenvironment. Lines of strata became distorted and even disappeared, thebuttes appeared to flatten, the minor shadows to diminish and thedarker shades to turn an inky black, till, when the halt was made atnoon, the boy realized that he could not have made his way back one mileby reason of the chaotic look of the abyss under the direct light of thenoonday sun.

  After the march had been resumed and the afternoon was drawing to aclose, however, the true witchery of the scene struck deep into Roger'smind. As the evening clouds began to gather and the twilight shadowsdeepened, the Titanic temples and cloisters seemed to awake and stretchthemselves to meet the expected vesper. Little by little the atmospherelost its density and the rocks behind began to glow, the colossal buttesassumed their due proportions; while a thousand bizarre forms, that hadnot been observable in the intense light of day, thrust themselvesforward into an uncouth prominence. Then the sun disappeared from theview of the travelers, though still shining on the rocks above. Blackcantered up beside the boy.

  "Now watch," he said: "here's where you see the greatest display ofcolor in the whole world."

  "But how can it be brighter than it is now?" queried Roger, on whom thebold and striking scene was creating a profound impression.

  "The best is yet to come," answered his companion, "and look, it beginsnow!"

  For the first time since morning Roger was able to look upwards withoutbeing blinded by the sunlight. The sloping rays now fell full upon theupper part of the Canyon, at the crest of which a vivid yellow cutathwart the transparent blue of the sky and underneath its pallidbrilliancy ran a soft belt of pale rose. The deep vibrating red of thebody of the Canyon seemed to pulse with life as a faint blue haze beganto gather in the dusk, changing second by second into the countlessdiffering hues of crimson lakes and ruby violets, deepening as thehastening twilight passed. Strange and metallic gleams of burnishedbronze and green gloomed from the intervening lines, all yielding placelittle by little to the veil of azure mist. And beneath all, the glowingred, now changed to imperial purple, as though the world were bathed ina regal radiance at the crowning of a universe's king.

  It was not until the dark had really come and the stars were shiningbrightly that the boy awakened to the consciousness of a trail and feltthat he could speak. He turned to the assistant.

  "And that's been going on every day for years!" he said, struck by thewastefulness of such a sight to so few eyes.

  "For thousands upon thousands of years that went on before any man sawit," replied Black, smiling slightly, "and it will go on when thepresent civilizations are deemed but musty antiquities."

  The night was well advanced when the party reached the crest of theCanyon on the north side. The journey, as Masseth had said, was onedevoid of special risk because of the numbers of the party and the knowntrail, though, in truth, it needed a keen eye at times to discern thatsuch apparently impassable ground was intended for
a trail. The topreached, however, a hasty camp pitched, the packs and saddles taken off,the mules and the animals hobbled to graze on the rich herbage of theKaibab plateau, Roger sank to sleep without loss of time, and it seemedto him hardly ten minutes before the cook aroused him for the campbreakfast.

  "You know something about the work of a rodman, and of the handling ofthe tape?" asked Masseth, after breakfast, referring to the 300-footsteel tape used in measuring distances in wooded areas.

  "Yes, indeed, Mr. Masseth."

  "Of course you realize that the tape is generally impracticable in sucha country as this, and that all the work must be done by the computingof angles with continual astronomical verification. As topographic aidyou can learn as much as you are able of the use of instruments, at suchtimes as you are not carrying out levels." And Masseth, questioningclosely, elicited the mathematical ability of the lad. The boy hadalways hated arithmetic and its kindred studies, not realizing the valueof the higher branches, but with the incentive before him, he found hischief's teaching markedly interesting.

  The next day a semi-permanent camp was pitched, and there the supplieswere kept. The head packer, who became a teamster as soon as things weresettled, immediately left for the village of Kanab in Utah, over ahundred miles away, where a heavy wagon was in waiting, and whence theprovisions were to be drawn for the party during the two months itshould be on the north side of the Canyon. As it was a three days'journey there and the same returning, the teamster was a busy man,having but one day comparatively free and camping on the trail fivenights out of seven.

  Roger, of course, went out with the other men every day, scaling pointspicked out for him by the chief as places he desired occupied, measuringfrom the rod elevated by the boy, who then, at a signal, was ordered togo to the next point scheduled. To a boy as fond of climbing as wasRoger, for a day or two this was good fun, but the novelty soon passedby and he did his day's work with a persistent regularity, which, thoughit brought forth the results required, was lacking in the adventurous.In short, the continuity of risky work became monotonous.

  It was due to this cause, perhaps, that one afternoon, when this sort ofthing had been proceeding for several weeks, Roger, passing from oneoutjutting piece of rock to another, but a few feet away, jumpedcarelessly, twisted his ankle beneath him and fell, spraining his wrist.Despite the sprain, however, he reached the point to which he had beensent, and then, instead of going on, returned to the topographer.

  "What's the matter?" called Masseth, who had seen him fall, as soon ashe came in hearing. "Did you hurt yourself?"

  "Sprained my wrist, I think, Mr. Masseth," answered the boy. "Beastlysorry, but I'm afraid I'll have to lay off for the rest of theafternoon."

  A HARD POINT TO MEASURE.

  Note the comparative size of horse and men at the foot.

  _Photograph by U.S.G.S._]

  "Let's see, son." The topographer felt the wrist, then feeling that nobones were broken, and that a day or two would set it all right again,bade Roger go to the main camp and let the cook change places with himfor a few days.

  "I'll write to Mr. Mitchon, and tell him of your promotion to campcook," called Masseth, laughing as Roger rode away.

  On arriving at the camp and giving his message to the cook, the latterreadily agreed to help for a few days.

  "I'll go at once," he said, "the teamster should be back to-morrow, andwhile things are running pretty short, I guess you'll have enough tohold out."

  The following morning early, after having told Roger everything he wasto look after, the cook started for the side camp to take Roger's place,while the latter looked after the camp. Long and weary seemed themorning to the boy, so inactive it was after the strenuous life he hadbeen leading for some weeks, and, though the teamster usually got inbefore noon, when evening came he had not arrived. Roger, who hadcounted on the cook's knowledge of the teamster's time, found himselfalmost without food for supper, and made a very light repast. He wasjust about to turn in for a sleep, when he heard the sound of horses'hoofs and went out to greet the teamster.

  "Is that you, Jim?" he called out.

  "Guess not, pardner," answered a strange voice, and a cowman loped intothe circle of light. "This here a United States camp?" he queried.

  "Yes," answered the boy.

  "An' who's running the shebang?"

  "I am just at present," Roger answered. "But I expected the teamsterhere to-day."

  "You are? No offense, but you don't look more'n a yearling. Well, it'snot so worse to brand 'em young."

  The lad explained the circumstances of his being alone, pointing outthat the rest of the party were only three or four hours' ride away, andthe stranger nodded.

  "Which I was a plumb forgettin' to explain is that the gent what you wasa-greetin' with the airy name of Jim, won't come none this week to camp,but he allowed as you-all had a-plenty."

  "What's the matter with him?"

  "Which I ain't a sharp as a doc. Took a spell or somethin'. I opinehe's a goin' to continue cavortin' around this Vale of Tears some more,though he has been figurin' on procurin' a brace of wings."

  "He's getting better, though?" asked the boy.

  "Which he holds a good hand for a long life."

  "But I haven't got any extra supply of grub," continued Roger in somedismay.

  "Shore!" The stranger, who was just gathering up his reins, half turnedin the saddle. "I wouldn't bet a small white chip for any gent's successin a dooel with hunger. Which it is some uncomfortable to ignore thechuck-wagon. But this here Jim he relates that he toted a big jag lasttime, and it must be cached."

  "It must be here somewhere, then," said Roger dubiously, "and I'll look.But it doesn't sound good to me."

  "Which if you don't locate, saunter over to the Bar X Double N and wewill supply the existin' demand a whole lot," and with a wave of hishand the rider cantered away into the darkness, without giving Roger achance even to ask where the ranch might be.

  But youth is little accustomed to troubled dreams, and Roger sleptsoundly enough, awakening the next morning, not to a hot andwell-cooked breakfast, but to having to prepare his own. Laying hands oneverything that he could find, the boy made out a breakfast and thenstarted on a search for other provision. He doubted its existence forthe cook had told him that it was nearly all gone. At last, in hisrummaging he found a little notebook, marked on the outside, "Record ofSupplies," and thinking that this might give a clew, he opened it.

  There, under a date of a few days before, was an entry to the effectthat the cook had sold to a passing party a large supply of surplusprovision, thinking that the teamster would make his regular trip. Itwas small wonder, Roger thought, that the teamster was not at allanxious, because he made sure that the provision was still in the camp,and of course the cook was not disturbed because he supposed that theteamster would come the next day.

  The situation was gloomy enough so far as Roger was concerned, for hewas practically without food, but what rendered the matter doublyserious was that the rest of the party would come in from the side camptwo days hence with their supply of provision exhausted, only to findthe camp barren, and leaving five men a long way from getting foodinstead of one. The more Roger thought over the matter, the moredetermined he was that he must procure supplies. The question was,where?

  If the lad had known the country at all, there were undoubtedly ranchessomewhat near at hand to which he could appeal at a pinch, but he hadwisdom enough to know that it would be the height of folly to ride outupon the north Arizona plateau without the faintest idea of adestination. There was the ranch to which he had been told to come, andhe had heard of it often enough to know that it was one of the largestranches in the country, but who would direct him there? He feared that ablind try in the plain might put him out of touch of water as well asfood, a condition insupportable.

  There was only one bright spot in the position, and that was thepresence of Jack. Jack was a burro, apparently of extreme age, who hadbeen foun
d one morning near the camp, and who had attached himself tothe party. Of course all the rest of the animals were away, the cookhaving ridden back to the side camp the horse on which Roger had comefrom there. True, there was this burro, but what could he do with it,where could he go?

  As he asked himself this question, an answer shot into the boy's mindwhich turned him hot and cold. He looked over the plateau to the plainsand shook his head, then quietly went into the tent to think over thebest course for him to pursue. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, thenwith jaw hard-set and lips compressed Roger walked to where the burrowas grazing, and slipped a halter over his head. Obediently the patientanimal followed him to the edge of the rift of the Canyon, and thereRoger looked down and across. Nine miles away, across those fearfulchasms and lurid cliffs lay food and necessaries not only for himself,but for the party.

  Roger was conscious that prudent judgment would counsel his return tothe side camp for the purpose of informing the party of the situation,so that they could cross by the old trail to renew supplies, but the boyknew that Masseth was working against time. Beside this, it would be agreat achievement and the lad was burning with a desire to shine beforethe Survey. The old trail was the better way, but it had been night whenthey debouched on the plateau and Roger could not have told where thetrail entered. He feared he might lose time by hunting for that fainttrail, and decided to direct his whole strength into an attempt to forcehis way straight across the cleft in defiance of the decree that it hadnever been done and could never be done.

  About a mile away along the bank there was a deep fault which could beentered a few hundred yards back on the plateau. The lad knew aboutthis, for the spring whence the camp got its water was close by. Intothis Roger turned with his burro, casting one long glance at the campjust visible in the distance, before he took his courage in both handsand plunged into the almost inaccessible ravine.

  "They call this Bright Angel Canyon, Jack," he said aloud. "I'd like tohave a pair of their wings right now."

  The little gray burro looked at him for a moment, then went on pickinghis steps carefully. It was rough but not perilous for a few hundredyards and the boy's spirits rose until in an hour or so he came to anobstruction about ten feet high, but this puny ten feet, which hadlooked simply like a little ridge of dirt, baffled him for hours. Hetraveled up and down, but found the terrace continuous, and it seemed asthough his quest would fail almost before it had well begun.

  Suddenly there flashed into the boy's mind one of the old fables, and,as before, he took his rough-haired friend into his confidence.

  "We can't jump it or knock it down, Jack, old boy," he said. "It's up tous to climb it some way."

  With immense toil and labor he carried stone and rock and bits ofboulders, and though hours were spent on the task he built up a kind ofshaky and insecure pile up which the burro, following him patiently,reached the top. There luck was with him, for, by picking his stepscarefully for twenty yards or so, he was enabled to reach a newly fallenpiece of cliff, by which he got to firm ground on the other side.Stopping to rest, this obstacle over, the boy's ears were greeted by themusical and grateful sound of falling water, and hurrying to the place,he found a little stream fed by springs and gurgling merrily in tinycascades to the river.

  Although he knew but little of geology, Roger's sense speedily showedhim that, by following this little tributary, he probably would have afair path down to the river, or at least, while he would probably findmany drops downward, there would be no walls across his path unless itwere one through which the little creek had tunneled. So, ankle deep inthe grooved bed, they started down the streamlet on its way to thebottom of the valley.

  It was perhaps fortunate for the lad that he was not too well-informedin the customary ways of the burro, and was entirely unaware of theanimal's intense objection to running water. Had he known this, in allprobability he would have left the burro behind, which would haveresulted grievously. But this old burro, as it fortunately chanced, musthave belonged to some prospector working in a mountain country, for heevinced no fear of or dislike to the stream. One hundred and seven timesdid Roger and the burro cross Bright Angel Creek, each crossing growingswifter and deeper than the last. Dusk was falling as they reached thebank of the Colorado River at the base of the Canyon.

  Before it became entirely dark, the boy climbed up a peak of rock tomake sure of the direction of his objective point, a matter hard to bedetermined because of the windings of the river, and on descending laidseveral stones in a row pointing to the direction sought. Then,supperless and almost spent, he resolutely refrained from eating thefew last morsels he had brought with him, and flinging himself downbeneath an overhanging ledge he fell asleep.

  In spite of the strangeness of his position it was bright daylight whenhe awoke and the burro was standing patiently near by. Taking from hiswallet the solitary crust of bread and the few biscuits that remained,and noting that Jack had found some grass just at the water's edge,Roger put on his shoes and walked gravely to the edge of the river.There is only one Colorado River in the world, and it is perhaps themost violent stream in the two hemispheres. It was not at its height atthis time, but it ran like a mill race with a vicious swirl and spume,and was ugly to look at. Roger was no mean swimmer, but his heart sankat the thought of plunging into it.

  "Jack," he said, "I'd as soon try to swim the Niagara gorge," and theburro looked wonderingly at his master.

  So up and down the bank for several hundred yards he went, striving tofind some rapids that might be forded, but only at one place did it evenappear possible and that, the boy thought, had large odds against it.Still, it was all he saw, and he put the burro at it. But Jack refused,point-blank, and as the obstinacy of a burro needs some considerablepersuasion to overcome, things looked black for the boy.

  There was just the river between him and safety, for Roger had heard themen speak of an Indian trail which paralleled the river on the southernside and whence he could reach one of the three trails that ascended theplateau, and not only safety, but the welfare of the party, which hefelt was intrusted to his care. The burro would not try the ford. Verywell, then, he would cross himself. On this side of that torrent,hunger, defeat, and death, on the other food, success, and reputation.Come what might, he would cross!