Part 13 (1/2)

”What a pretty name--it must be Indian, of course?” Miss Elkins said.

”Named for some Blackfeet chief, I suppose,” Mills answered.

”Say, dad, what's the matter with you?” laughed the Jones boy. ”Why don't you christen it Congressman Peter W. Jones Falls? What's the use of being in the House of Representatives if you can't name a d.i.n.ky little waterfall after yourself?”

”My boy, he's waiting till he reaches the biggest mountain in the Park, to name that after himself,” the other congressman said, while every one laughed, and the procession started up again.

They were climbing an ever steeper trail, now, and the trees began to grow smaller and smaller, while, looking back, Joe could see Grinnell Meadow far below him and the great cliff of Gould shooting up out of it.

Ahead, they began to get into snow-fields, and then they crossed timber-line, where the trees were twisted and bent and even laid over flat by the wind, and sometimes an evergreen a foot thick would be only eighteen inches tall, and then, for twenty feet, bend over and lie along the ground like a vine, sheared by the wind. Beyond timber-line they came into a wild, naked, desolate region of broken shale stone, with tiny Alpine flowers growing in the crannies, snow-fields lying all about, and to their right, quite near, the southern end of Gould Mountain where it dropped down a little to the Continental Divide level, to their left the bare stone pile summit of Mount Siyeh, which is over ten thousand feet high. A few more steps, and they stood on top of the pa.s.s, and looked over the rim, on the tumbled mountains to the south, with the great blue and white pyramid of Jackson (ten thousand feet) rising a dozen miles away or more, over what looked like a vast hole in the earth.

”This is Piegan Pa.s.s,” said Mills.

”Why Piegan--and why a pa.s.s?” one of the congressmen asked. ”I thought a pa.s.s was a place where you went between things, not up over their backs.”

The Ranger laughed. ”You're only seven thousand feet up here,” he said.

”That mountain to the east, Siyeh, is ten thousand.”

”Why, it looks as if I could just walk across these stones and get to the top of it in twenty minutes!” cried Bob Jones.

”Try it,” said Mills, laconically. ”We'll be having lunch down in the pines below.”

Joe thought of the story of the Englishman, and hoped Bob would try it.

”You haven't explained the Piegan,” Miss Elkins said.

”Why, the Indians that owned this reservation were the Piegan tribe of the Blackfeet,” said Mills.

”Dear, dear, another lost opportunity for dad!” sighed the irrepressible Bob.

The cavalcade now began the descent on the south side of the pa.s.s, with the Divide on their right, across a canon, and the trail itself dug out of the vast shale slide which was the south wall of Siyeh. It was a steep, narrow trail, nothing but loose shale, and the horses had to pick their way slowly and carefully, while the riders had to lean well back and brace in their stirrups to keep from sliding forward on the horse.

”Say, Mr. Mills,” Joe heard Bob call, ”has this horse of mine got strong ears?”

”Why?” asked Mills.

”Nothing, only if he hasn't, I'm going to take a toboggan slide down his nose.”

”Try walking,” Mills called back.

Joe saw Bob dismount, and as he was feeling saddle stiff, he got off his horse, too, and led him down by the bridle. The poor packhorses had to tread on the very outside edge of the trail, because if they didn't, their packs would knock the wall on the inner side, and what kept them from slipping off was hard to see.

The trail down seemed endless. Far below, Joe saw a party coming up, looking about a quarter of a mile away.

”I suppose we'll meet 'em day after to-morrow,” Bob said.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Trail up Piegan Pa.s.s Showing Continental Divide and Mt.

Gould]

As a matter of fact, it was half an hour before the two parties met.