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In The Heart Of The Rockies

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IN THE HEART OF THE ROCKIES

A STORY OF ADVENTURE IN COLORADO

BY G. A. HENTY







[Illustration: HUNTING DOG SAVES JERRY FROM THE RAPIDS.]



PREFACE


MY DEAR LADS,

Until comparatively lately that portion of the United States in which I
have laid this story was wholly unexplored. The marvellous cañons of the
Colorado River extend through a country absolutely bare and waterless,
and save the tales told by a few hunters or gold-seekers who, pressed by
Indians, made the descent of some of them, but little was known
regarding this region. It was not until 1869 that a thorough exploration
of the cañons was made by a government expedition under the command of
Major Powell. This expedition passed through the whole of the cañons,
from those high up on the Green River to the point where the Colorado
issues out on to the plains. Four years were occupied by the party in
making a detailed survey of the course of the main river and its
tributaries. These explorations took place some eight or nine years
after the date of my story. The country in which the Big Wind River has
its source, and the mountain chains contained in it, were almost unknown
until, after the completion of the railway to California, the United
States government was forced to send an expedition into it to punish the
Indians for their raids upon settlers in the plains. For details of the
geography and scenery I have relied upon the narrative of Mr.
Baillie-Grohman, who paid several visits to the country in 1878 and the
following years in quest of sport, and was the first white man to
penetrate the recesses of the higher mountains. At that time the Indians
had almost entirely deserted the country. For the details of the dangers
and difficulties of the passage through the cañons I am indebted to the
official report of Major Powell, published by the United States
government.


Yours sincerely,


G. A. HENTY.




CONTENTS


CHAP.


I. TOM'S CHOICE
II. FINDING FRIENDS
III. ON THE PLAINS
IV. LEAPING HORSE
V. IN DANGER
VI. UNITED
VII. CHASED
VIII. IN SAFETY
IX. A BAD TIME
X. AN AVALANCHE
XI. WINTER
XII. THE SNOW FORT
XIII. A FRESH START
XIV. AN INDIAN ATTACK
XV. THE COLORADO
XVI. AFLOAT IN CANOES
XVII. THE GRAND CANON
XVIII. BACK TO DENVER
XIX. A FORTUNE




ILLUSTRATIONS


Hunting Dog Saves Jerry From The Rapids
Carry Reads Uncle Harry's Letter
Jerry Gives Tom A Lesson In Shooting
Leaping Horse Mounted, And Rode Across The Stream
A Moment Later The Indian Fell Forward On His Face
"There Is Another Avalanche, Keep Your Backs To The Wall, Boys"
They Went Out To Look At The Indian The Chief Had Shot
"No Good Fight Here," Said Leaping Horse.





CHAPTER I

TOM'S CHOICE


"I can be of no use here, Carry. What am I good for? Why, I could not
earn money enough to pay for my own food, even if we knew anyone who
would help me to get a clerkship. I am too young for it yet. I would
rather go before the mast than take a place in a shop. I am too young
even to enlist. I know just about as much as other boys at school, and I
certainly have no talent anyway, as far as I can see at present. I can
sail a boat, and I won the swimming prize a month ago, and the sergeant
who gives us lessons in single-stick and boxing says that he considers
me his best pupil with the gloves, but all these things put together
would not bring me in sixpence a week. I don't want to go away, and
nothing would induce me to do so if I could be of the slightest use to
you here. But can I be of any use? What is there for me to look forward
to if I stay? I am sure that you would be always worrying over me if I
did get some sort of situation that you would know father and mother
would not have liked to see me in, and would seem to offer no chance for
the future, whereas if I went out there it would not matter what I did,
and anything I earned I could send home to you."

The speaker was a lad of sixteen. He and his sister, who was two years
his senior, were both dressed in deep mourning, and were sitting on a
bench near Southsea Castle looking across to Spithead, and the Isle of
Wight stretching away behind. They had three days before followed their
mother to the grave, and laid her beside their father, a lieutenant of
the navy, who had died two years before. This was the first time they
had left the house, where remained their four sisters--Janet, who came
between Carry and Tom; Blanche, who was fourteen; Lucie, twelve; and
Harriet, eight. Tom had proposed the walk.

"Come out for some fresh air, Carry," he had said. "You have been shut
up for a month. Let us two go together;" and Carry had understood that
he wanted a talk alone with her. There was need, indeed, that they
should look the future in the face. Since Lieutenant Wade's death their
means had been very straitened. Their mother had received a small
pension as his widow, and on this, eked out by drafts reluctantly drawn
upon the thousand pounds she had brought him on her marriage, which had
been left untouched during his lifetime, they had lived since his death.
Two hundred pounds had been drawn from their little capital, and the
balance was all that now remained. It had long been arranged that Carry
and Janet should go out as governesses as soon as they each reached the
age of eighteen, but it was now clear that Carry must remain at home in
charge of the young ones.

That morning the two girls had had a talk together, and had settled
that, as Janet was too young to take even the humblest place as a
governess, they would endeavour to open a little school, and so, for the
present at any rate, keep the home together. Carry could give music
lessons, for she was already an excellent pianist, having been well
taught by her mother, who was an accomplished performer, and Janet was
sufficiently advanced to teach young girls. She had communicated their
decision to Tom, who had heartily agreed with it.

"The rent is only twenty pounds a year," he said, "and, as you say, the
eight hundred pounds bring in thirty-two pounds a year, which will pay
the rent and leave something over. If you don't get many pupils at first
it will help, and you can draw a little from the capital till the school
gets big enough to pay all your expenses. It is horrible to me that I
don't seem to be able to help, but at any rate I don't intend to remain
a drag upon you. If mother had only allowed me to go to sea after
father's death I should be off your hands now, and I might even have
been able to help a little. As it is, what is there for me to do here?"
And then he pointed out how hopeless the prospect seemed at Portsmouth.

Carry was silent for a minute or two when he ceased speaking, and sat
looking out over the sea.

"Certainly, we should not wish you to go into a shop, Tom, and what you
say about going into an office is also right enough. We have no sort of
interest, and the sort of clerkship you would be likely to get here
would not lead to anything. I know what you are thinking about--that
letter of Uncle Harry's; but you know that mother could not bear the
thought of it, and it would be dreadful for us if you were to go away."

"I would not think of going, Carry, if I could see any chance of helping
you here, and I don't want to go as I did when the letter first came. It
seems such a cowardly thing to run away and leave all the burden upon
your shoulders, yours and Janet's, though I know it will be principally
on yours; but what else is there to do? It was not for my own sake that
I wanted before to go, but I did not see what there was for me to do
here even when I grew up. Still, as mother said it would break her heart
if I went away, of course there was an end of it for the time, though I
have always thought it would be something to fall back upon if, when I
got to eighteen or nineteen, nothing else turned up, which seemed to me
very likely would be the case. Certainly, if it came to a choice between
that and enlisting, I should choose that: and now it seems to me the
only thing to be done."

"It is such a long way off, Tom," the girl said in a tone of deep pain;
"and you know when people get away so far they seem to forget those at
home and give up writing. We had not heard from uncle for ten years when
that letter came."

"There would be no fear of my forgetting you, Carry. I would write to
you whenever I got a chance."

"But even going out there does not seem to lead to anything, Tom. Uncle
has been away twenty-five years, and he does not seem to have made any
money at all."

"Oh, but then he owned in his letter, Carry, that it was principally his
own fault. He said he had made a good sum several times at mining, and
chucked it away; but that next time he strikes a good thing he was
determined to keep what he made and to come home to live upon it. I
sha'n't chuck it away if I make it, but shall send every penny home that
I can spare."

"But uncle will not expect you, Tom, mother refused so positively to let
you go. Perhaps he has gone away from the part of the country he wrote
from, and you may not be able to find him."

"I shall be able to find him," Tom said confidently. "When that letter
went, I sent one of my own to him, and said that though mother would not
hear of my going now, I might come out to him when I got older if I
could get nothing to do here, and asked him to send me a few words
directed to the post-office telling me how I might find him. He wrote
back saying that if I called at the Empire Saloon at a small town called
Denver, in Colorado, I should be likely to hear whereabouts he was, and
that he would sometimes send a line there with instructions if he should
be long away."

"I see you have set your mind on going, Tom," Carry said sadly.

"No, I have not set my mind on it, Carry. I am perfectly ready to stop
here if you can see any way for me to earn money, but I cannot stop here
idle, eating and drinking, while you girls are working for us all."

"If you were but three or four years older, Tom, I should not so much
mind, and though it would be a terrible blow to part with you, I do not
see that you could do anything better; but you are only sixteen."

"Yes, but I am strong and big for my age; I am quite as strong as a good
many men. Of course I don't mean the boatmen and the dockyard maties,
but men who don't do hard work. Anyhow, there are lots of men who go out
to America who are no stronger than I am, and of course I shall get
stronger every month. I can walk thirty miles a day easy, and I have
never had a day's illness."

"It is not your strength, Tom; I shall have no fears about your breaking
down; on the contrary, I should say that a life such as uncle wrote
about, must be wonderfully healthy. But you seem so young to make such a
long journey, and you may have to travel about in such rough places and
among such rough men before you can find Uncle Harry."

"I expect that I shall get on a great deal easier than a man would," Tom
said confidently. "Fellows might play tricks with a grown-up fellow who
they see is a stranger and not up to things, and might get into quarrels
with him, but no one is likely to interfere with a boy. No, I don't
think that there is anything in that, Carry,--the only real difficulty
is in going away so far from you, and perhaps being away for a long
time."

"Well, Tom," the girl said after another pause, "it seems very terrible,
but I own that I can see nothing better for you. There is no way that
you can earn money here, and I am sure we would rather think of you as
mining and hunting with uncle, than as sitting as a sort of boy-clerk in
some dark little office in London or Portsmouth. It is no worse than
going to sea anyhow, and after all you may, as uncle says, hit on a rich
mine and come back with a fortune. Let us be going home. I can hardly
bear to think of it now, but I will tell Janet, and will talk about it
again this evening after the little ones have gone to bed."

Tom had the good sense to avoid any expression of satisfaction. He gave
Carry's hand a silent squeeze, and as they walked across the common
talked over their plans for setting to work to get pupils, and said no
word that would give her a hint of the excitement he felt at the thought
of the life of adventure in a wild country that lay before him. He had
in his blood a large share of the restless spirit of enterprise that has
been the main factor in making the Anglo-Saxons the dominant race of the
world. His father and his grandfather had both been officers in the
royal navy, and a great-uncle had commanded a merchantman that traded in
the Eastern seas, and had never come back from one of its voyages; there
had been little doubt that all on board had been massacred and the ship
burned by Malay pirates. His Uncle Harry had gone away when little more
than a boy to seek a fortune in America, and had, a few years after his
landing there, crossed the plains with one of the first parties that
started out at news of the discovery of gold in California.

Tom himself had longed above all things to be a sailor. His father had
not sufficient interest to get him into the royal navy, but had intended
to obtain for him a berth as apprentice in the merchant service; but his
sudden death had cut that project short, and his mother, who had always
been opposed to it, would not hear of his going to sea. But the life
that now seemed open to him was in the boy's eyes even preferable to
that he had longed for. The excitement of voyages to India or China and
back was as nothing to that of a gold-seeker and hunter in the West,
where there were bears and Indians and all sorts of adventures to be
encountered. He soon calmed down, however, on reaching home. The empty
chair, the black dresses and pale faces of the girls, brought back in
its full force the sense of loss.

In a short time he went up to his room, and sat there thinking it all
over again, and asking himself whether it was fair of him to leave his
sisters, and whether he was not acting selfishly in thus choosing his
own life. He had gone over this ground again and again in the last few
days, and he now came to the same conclusion, namely, that he could do
no better for the girls by stopping at home, and that he had not decided
upon accepting his uncle's invitation because the life was just what he
would have chosen, but because he could see nothing that offered equal
chances of his being able permanently to aid them at home.

When he came downstairs again Carry said:

"The others have gone out, Tom; you had better go round and see some of
your school-fellows. You look fagged and worn out. You cannot help me
here, and I shall go about my work more cheerfully if I know that you
are out and about."

Tom nodded, put on his cap and went out; but he felt far too restless to
follow her advice and call on some of his friends, so he walked across
the common and lay down on the beach and went all over it again, until
at last he went off to sleep, and did not wake up until, glancing at his
watch, he found that it was time to return to tea. He felt fresher and
better for his rest, for indeed he had slept but little for the past
fortnight, and Carry nodded approvingly as she saw that his eyes were
brighter, and the lines of fatigue and sleeplessness less strongly
marked on his face.

Two hours later, when the younger girls had gone to bed, Carry said:
"Now we will have a family council. I have told Janet about our talk,
Tom, and she is altogether on your side, and only regrets that she is
not a boy and able to go out with you. We need not go over the ground
again, we are quite agreed with you that there seems no prospect here of
your obtaining work such as we should like to see you at, or that would
lead to anything. There are only two things open to you, the one is to
go to sea, the other to go out to Uncle Harry. You are old to go as an
apprentice, but not too old, and that plan could be carried out; still,
we both think that the other is better. You would be almost as much
separated from us if you went to sea as you would be if you went out to
America. But before you quite decide I will read uncle's letter, which I
have found this afternoon among some other papers."

She took out the letter and opened it.

"'My dear Jack,--I am afraid it is a very long time since I wrote last;
I don't like to think how long. I have been intending to do so a score
of times, but you know I always hated writing, and I have been waiting
to tell you that I had hit upon something good at last. Even now I can
only tell you that I have been knocking about and getting older, but so
far I cannot say I have been getting richer. As I told you when I wrote
last I have several times made good hauls and struck it rich, but
somehow the money has always slipped through my fingers. Sometimes I
have put it into things that looked well enough but turned out
worthless; sometimes I have chucked it away in the fool's manner men do
here. I have just come back from a prospecting tour in the country of
the Utes, where I found two or three things that seemed good; one of
them first-rate, the best thing, I think, I have seen since I came out
here.

"'Unfortunately I cannot do anything with them at present, for the Utes
are getting troublesome, and it would be as much as one's life is worth
to go back there with a small party; so that matter must rest for a bit,
and I must look out in another quarter until the Utes settle down again.
I am going to join a hunting party that starts for the mountains next
week. I have done pretty nearly as much hunting as mining since I came
out, and though there is no big pile to be made at it, it is a pretty
certain living. How are you all getting on? I hope some day to drop in
on your quiet quarters at Southsea with some big bags of gold-dust, and
to end my days in a nook by your fireside; which I know you will give
me, old fellow, with or without the gold bags. '"

[Illustration: CARRY READS UNCLE HARRY'S LETTER.]

"'I suppose your boy is thirteen or fourteen years old by this time.
That is too young for him to come out here, but if in two or three years
you don't see any opening for him at home, send him out to me, and I
will make a man of him; and even if he does not make a fortune in
gold-seeking, there are plenty of things a young fellow can turn his
hand to in this country with a good certainty of making his way, if he
is but steady. You may think that my example is not likely to be of much
benefit to him, but I should do for an object lesson, and seriously,
would do my very best to set him in a straight path. Anyhow, three or
four years' knocking about with me would enable him to cut his
eye-teeth, and hold his own in the world. At the end of that time he
could look round and see what line he would take up, and I need not say
that I would help him to the utmost of my power, and though I have not
done any good for myself I might do good for him.

"'In the first place, I know pretty well every one in Colorado, Montana,
and Idaho; in the next place, in my wanderings I have come across a
score of bits of land in out-of-the-way places where a young fellow
could set up a ranche and breed cattle and horses and make a good thing
of it; or if he has a turn for mechanics, I could show him places where
he could set up saw-mills for lumber, with water-power all the year
round, and with markets not far away. Of course, he is too young yet,
but unless he is going to walk in your steps and turn sailor he might do
worse than come out to me in three or four years' time. Rough as the
life is, it is a man's life, and a week of it is worth more than a
year's quill-driving in an office. It is a pity your family have run to
girls, for if one boy had made up his mind for the sea you might have
spared me another.'

"That is all. You know mother sent an answer saying that dear father had
gone, and that she should never be able to let you go so far away and
take up such a rough and dangerous life. However, Tom, as you wrote to
uncle, her refusal would not matter, and by his sending you instructions
how to find him, it is evident that he will not be surprised at your
turning up. In the first place, are you sure that you would prefer this
to the sea?"

"Quite sure, Carry; I should like it much better. But the principal
thing is that I may soon be able to help you from there, while it would
be years before I should get pay enough at sea to enable me to do so."

"Then that is settled, Tom. And now, I suppose," and her voice quivered
a little, "you will want to be off as soon as you can?"

"I think so," Tom replied. "If I am to go, it seems to me the sooner I
go the better; there is nothing that I can do here, and we shall all be
restless and unsettled until I am off."

Carry nodded. "I think you are right, Tom; we shall never be able to
settle to our work here when we are thinking of your going away. The
first thing to do will be to draw some money from the bank. There will
be your outfit to get and your passage to pay to America, and a supply
of money to take you out West, and keep you until you join uncle."

"That is what I hate," Tom said gloomily. "It seems beastly that when I
want to help you I must begin by taking some of your money."

"That can't be helped," Carry said cheerfully. "One must not grudge a
sprat to catch a whale, and besides it would cost ever so much more if
we had to apprentice you to the sea, and get your outfit. You will not
want many clothes now. You have enough for the voyage and journey, and I
should think it would be much better for you to get what you want out
there, when you will have uncle to advise what is necessary. I should
really think some flannel shirts and a rough suit for the voyage will be
the principal things."

"I should think so, certainly," Tom agreed. "The less baggage one
travels with the better, for when I leave the railway I shall only want
what I can carry with me or pack on horses. Anything else would only be
a nuisance. As to a rough suit for the voyage, the clothes I had before
I put these on" (and he glanced at his black suit) "will do capitally.
Of course I shall go steerage. I can get out for four or five pounds
that way, and I shall be quite as well off as I should be as an
apprentice. I know I must have some money, but I won't take more than is
absolutely necessary. I am all right as far as I can see for everything,
except three or four flannel shirts. I don't see that another thing will
be required except a small trunk to hold them and the clothes I have on,
which I don't suppose I shall ever wear again, and a few other things.
You know I would only allow you to have this one black suit made. I was
thinking of this, and it would have been throwing away money to have got
more. Of course, I don't know what I shall want out there. I know it is
a long way to travel by rail, and I may have to keep myself for a month
before I find uncle. I should think five-and-twenty pounds when I land
would be enough for everything."

"I shall draw fifty pounds," Carry said positively. "As you say, your
outfit will really cost nothing; ten pounds will pay for your journey to
Liverpool and your passage; that will leave you forty pounds in your
pocket when you land. That is the very least you could do with, for you
may find you will have to buy a horse, and though I believe they are
very cheap out there, I suppose you could not get one under ten pounds;
and then there would be the saddle and bridle and food for the journey,
and all sorts of things. I don't think forty pounds will be enough."

"I won't have a penny more, anyhow," Tom said. "If I find a horse too
expensive I can tramp on foot."

"And you must be sure not to get robbed," Janet said, breaking in for
the first time. "Just fancy your finding yourself without money in such
a place as that. I will make you a belt to wear under your things, with
pockets for the money."

"I hope I should not be such a fool as that, Janet, but anyhow I will be
as careful as I can. I shall be very glad of the belt. One does not know
what the fellows might be up to, and I would certainly rather not have
my money loose in my pocket; but even if I were robbed I don't think it
would be as desperate as you think. I expect a boy could always find
something to do to earn his living, and I should try and work my way
along somehow, but as that would not be pleasant at all I shall take
good care of my money, you may be sure."

For an hour they sat talking, and before the council broke up it was
agreed that they should look in the newspaper in the morning for a list
of vessels sailing for America, and should at once write and take a
passage.

There was no time lost. Carry felt that it would be best for them all
that the parting should be got over as soon as possible. Letters were
written the next morning to two steamship companies and to the owners of
two sailing vessels asking the prices of steerage passages, agreeing
that if there was not much difference it would be better to save perhaps
a fortnight by taking the passage in a steamship.

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