Part 33 (1/2)
”Well, that's what I call fast work!” said John, after they had shaken hands all round. ”Here's our bed rolls and everything, all waiting for us! Yet we have been two hundred miles from them on one side of the circle, and they've been around two or three hundred miles on the other side.”
”Well, the pack train came in from Dillon early yesterday morning,” said Con, ”and I already had Billy's message. So I just unpacked old Sleepy and n.i.g.g.e.r, threw the stuff in the car, and hit the trail south.”
”But how did you get here so soon?” demanded Rob. ”It must be a good deal over a hundred miles.”
”You don't know our mountain roads in this country,” smiled Con.
”Besides, it is only about ninety miles from Bozeman, the way we figure it. Anyhow, here we are and ready for any sort of frolic you want to name. If I had started a little earlier, I would have been in here last night. But I was fixing up a tire at Yellowstone, so I just thought I would sleep there last night and come out in the morning early.”
”What shall we do, young gentlemen,” asked Uncle d.i.c.k. ”The day is still young.”
”Well,” said Rob, ”I am for heading right back to the South Fork of the Madison and going into camp there for the rest of the trip--that is, until we have to start up to Billy's ranch.”
They all agreed to this, and accordingly after they had finished their luncheon, they said good-by to the obliging ranchman, whose son, as he had promised, now accompanied them in his own car. In the course of an hour they had picked up the latter's friend from his ranch at the foot of the Lake and soon were speeding rapidly eastward over the Targhee Pa.s.s--once more leaving Idaho and going into the state of Montana; a proposition which they now from their maps could easily understand. They traced out carefully the great southward swing of the Continental Divide which comes through the Yellowstone Park, bends around over to the south, thence swings north and west, making the great mountain pocket which holds all the headwaters of the Missouri River.
Both cars halted at the summit of a hill before they swung down into the valley of the South Fork. The view which lay before them was one of extreme beauty. The sky was very clear and blue, with countless clean white clouds. Over to the left rose great ragged mountain peaks, on some of which snow still was to be seen. On ahead stretched the road leading into Yellowstone Park. On the further side of the valley, where the winding willow growth showed the course of the stream, rose a black forest ridge stretching indefinitely eastward toward the waters of the main Madison.
Not even Uncle d.i.c.k, experienced traveler that he was, could suppress an exclamation of surprise at the beauty of the scene.
”I never get tired of it. Do you, Chet?” said young Bowers to his ranch friend. The latter only smiled.
”It used to be a great beaver country, of course,” went on the former.
”All through here the elk come down even yet, though not so many as there used to be. The big fall migration that came down the Madison and Grayling Creek used to come out the northwest corner of the Park more than it does now. I have seen lots of grouse all through here, and if you could wait until the season opened we would have some fun, for I have a fine old dog. But since game is getting scarcer now, maybe we had better just content ourselves with the fis.h.i.+ng. I promise you good sport--if you know how to cast a fly.”
”And I'll promise you they do,” said Uncle d.i.c.k, smiling.
The two young local anglers looked at them politely, but said nothing.
CHAPTER x.x.xI
AMONG THE GRAYLING
Turning at a point upon the further side of the valley, where the road forked off for the Yellowstone Park, the two cars pa.s.sed on to the northward, through two or three gates of wire fences inclosing a ranch that lay in the valley. They found the ranchman himself at home, and most courteous and obliging. He insisted they should camp near his house and stay as long as they liked, where they could get chickens, b.u.t.ter, and eggs without any inconvenience.
”I post my land,” said he, ”to keep off the general public, who soon would ruin all the fis.h.i.+ng here as they have almost everywhere else, but I have no desire to keep off decent fishermen like yourselves; and I know the young men who are with you now.
”You are just in time for the evening rise. I was over and picked out a couple for breakfast just now. If I were in your place I would go straight across and then work up the stream a little way, to some big holes you will see, then you can fish on down about as far as you like.
By being careful at the crossings, some of you can keep to the stream pretty much all the time, but you can fish from the bank if you are patient. Toward dusk there will be fish enough rising from almost any one hole to give you all the fis.h.i.+ng you will like.
”I think you will find a very small gray hackle will be good. Sometimes they take the Professor. Just the other day a man came down here with a little Silver Doctor fly, and they couldn't keep away from it. Sometimes they take Queen of the Waters--dressed long, like a gra.s.shopper--in the bright time of the day. If they take little flies in the evening, then you use little flies, too. There are certainly plenty of the grayling there.”
On any stream but this the number of rods now present would have spoiled the sport for some one, but so extensive was the good fis.h.i.+ng water that there was room enough for all six of those who intended to fish--Billy said he would go along and carry the basket for Jesse, and Con O'Brien laughed at the idea of fis.h.i.+ng, as he had already had so much that summer; so he went with Uncle d.i.c.k. They broke into three parties, one each of the men going along with one of the young anglers, although Chet and his friend were so used to the stream that they needed no advice. These two for a time did not fish at all, but showed the newcomers how and where the sport would be found.
The prediction of the rancher was more than verified. The day had been warm, and now, as the cool of the evening came, the grayling began to rise. At the heads of the bluffs where the current swept in they could be seen breaking almost continually, taking in some small floating insects. Inside of a few minutes each of the anglers was fast to a fine fish; and after that one strike after another followed fast and furious.
”You will have to be careful, son,” said Billy Williams to Jesse, who had raised three fine grayling and lost them all. ”The mouth of a grayling is very tender. You can't fight him as hard as you can a trout.
Let him run. When he gets that big black fin up crossways of the stream he pulls like a ton. After a while he will begin to go deep; then you want to lift him gently all the time, until in a few minutes you can get the net under him. I would rather fish grayling than trout, although some think trout fis.h.i.+ng is more fun.
”Now look at that fellow jumping over there under the bushes. He's rising right in the same place. You walk around there at that little sand bar, and float your fly right over him and see what happens.”