CHAPTER XVII TRACKING MOUNTAIN GOATS IN AN AIRSHIP

As soon as Jake knew that Mr. Mackworth planned to have a day’s fishing at Josephine Falls he declined to cook Frank and Phil’s fish in a “balsam bake.”

“I’ll put that over right at the Falls,” he insisted, “while the spots are on the fish.”

The boys were up early to see the camp. There were four sleeping tents, each with a second top which extended out at one end to make a shaded entrance. Beneath this, the thick canvas floor of the tent also extended to afford a lounging place outside the tent. Light netting, weighted to keep it from blowing about, enclosed this entrance for protection against mosquitoes although, so far, the valley breeze had kept these away.

There were cots in each tent, except the one occupied by Jake, Hosmer and Skinner. Mr. Mackworth was alone in his tent but, allowing for the amount of extra equipment stored therein, he had less space than the others. And, as soon as it was agreed that the party was to remain in camp for a few days, it was surprising how many articles of comfort and convenience he produced from his trunks and bags.

“Two things I insist on in camp,” Mr. Mackworth explained. “I’m willing to eat out of the skillet, so long as the food is right; I’ll drink out of my hat, if necessary, and I can sleep on the ground; but I want a place to wash my face and a comfortable chair.”

The outfit included plenty of big, collapsible, canvas chairs with backs and in each tent there was a washbasin, water bucket, a rack for towels, wash rags, comb and brush and a mirror. Another idea of Mr. Mackworth’s was a provision tent, insect proof, in which he insisted that cooking utensils and dishes be stored between meals.

Jake Green had already improvised benches to hold his pans and plates, and when breakfast was announced it was only necessary to draw the chairs nearer the savory cook fire. Jake served all with ease and despatch. On this particular morning the skilled colored boy had coffee, bacon, scrambled eggs and fried trout.

“Jake,” exclaimed Lord Pelton, “that trout is a king’s dish. It’s even better than the fish you served the night we started.”

“I had to sauté ’em,” Jake said deprecatingly. “They’re too big to fry in oil.”

“Never any other way for me,” exclaimed Captain Ludington as he conveyed a piece of the smoking fish to his mouth.

“But these eggs,” commented Lord Pelton, “they—”

“Eggs? I hadn’t anything to do with ’em,” exclaimed Jake. “Can’t anyone scramble eggs for Mr. Mackworth but himself. Talk to him about the eggs.”

“It’s so simple,” laughed their host, “that even Jake won’t do it.”

“What’s the secret?” asked Captain Ludington giving attention to the golden dish.

“No secret. All you have to do is to take ’em off before they’re cooked. In cookin’ eggs, you don’t. And then you ought to have real black pepper for seasoning; not white dust. Beat the whites and the yolks separately, just cover the bottom of the skillet with butter and keep turning the eggs from the edge of the pan to the center with a fork. When they are hot, take ’em off and they’ll finish cookin’ in their own heat and you won’t have ’em hard and dry.”

Before the party broke camp the Englishmen insisted they were in a fair way to get the gout and Captain Ludington had a notebook full of directions how to prepare Mr. Mackworth’s famous spaghetti; his “camp chicken;” coffee; steamed, sautéd, fried and baked trout and the sauce for each.

“It’s a case of hindsight bein’ better than lookin’ ahead,” said Phil at breakfast when Hosmer described the trail to Josephine Falls. As there seemed no good landing place there for the Loon it was decided that Sam Skinner should stay in camp that day; and about nine o’clock the rest of the party set out for a day’s fishing at the Falls. Hosmer directed a pack horse to be loaded with Jake’s luncheon outfit and the horsemen, at last on their way for real sport, were as lively as schoolboys.

When the first hill had been crossed and “Grizzly” picked up what he called a “road” through the tall lodge-pole pines in the next valley, even Mr. Mackworth laughed.

“Anything is a ‘road’ that you can keep goin’ on and where you don’t have to stop to cut down timber,” explained “Grizzly.”

They did the former and while the others could not even make out a trail, their guide went ahead without delay. Coming out of the woods at last, the Hog Back rose before them.

“Where’s your road now?” exclaimed Phil. “I didn’t see any last night.”

“You don’t need a road in the open,” replied “Grizzly” contemptuously. “It’s all road.”

Hosmer began a swift ascent of the almost mountainous slopes. Stopping now and then to examine the rough ground ahead; turning and twisting forward on new tacks; in less than twenty minutes the party came out on the crest of the hill.

“There she is,” called out Frank, “the scene of our disaster.”

Apparently it was the last valley before the high ground beyond it broke into the foothills of the real mountains. It lay green and rolling, gay with flowers and spring-time verdure.

“Why wouldn’t that make a good ranch?” asked Captain Ludington. “I can almost see the cattle and sheep gorging themselves. And over there on the bank of the river would be just the place for a big home and barns. Why there are thousands of acres here going to waste.”

“Come back in five years,” replied Mr. Mackworth soberly, “and you’ll probably see just what you describe. What you see here, you can find in thousands of places in this part of the world.”

“Could anyone come here?” broke in Phil, recalling his long days in the factory and his eighteen dollars a week.

“My boy,” said Mr. Mackworth, “Canada is begging people to come.”

“And it wouldn’t cost you anything to get a farm here and have a house over there by Josephine Falls and its trout; where you could see wild goats on the hills and elk and moose and bears and deer in the woods beyond, and where you have a pasture ready made for your cattle?”

“Almost nothing,” replied Mr. Mackworth.

Phil looked at Frank and unseen by the others winked slowly. In boy language this meant: “Do you hear him? I’m on. I’m goin’ to come here and own Meadow Grass Valley.”

“Grizzly” Hosmer called on all to dismount, as the east side of the hill was too steep to descend mounted. Turning their horses loose the party began sliding and scrambling down the slopes. At ten o’clock, crossing the corner of Meadow Grass Valley at a smart pace, the expedition reached the timber hiding Josephine Falls.

Mr. Mackworth’s trout rigging was not purchased in Michel. As rods, creels, boots, hand nets and fly hooks were unpacked, the little camp looked like a bargain sale in a sporting goods store. Everyone was equipped (Phil with his own rod and outfit this time) and in a few moments, Jake and “Grizzly” Hosmer sat alone in camp. Phil took the stream above the Falls; Frank went a mile below; Mr. Mackworth and Lord Pelton were assigned the pools at the foot of the Falls, and Captain Ludington turned free lance.

All were to be in camp by two o’clock. Phil returned at one without a fish. Evidently they did not get above the Falls. The others came in soon after that time. Frank had eight beauties; Mr. Mackworth and Lord Pelton had caught scores and retained sixteen—all over two pounds. But Captain Ludington was the prize winner. He had nine fish and two of them weighed nearly four pounds each. Each fisherman had put back more fish than he had in his creel.

Jake’s “balsam bake” turned out to be, in reality, “steamed” trout. As soon as the colored boy saw that the party was catching fish he began digging rocks out of the bed of the stream. Two dozen of these, each as big as his head, he heated in a rousing fire. After the trout had been brought in he dressed them, leaving the heads on. Then he rolled the hot rocks into a flat foundation, apart from the fire. On this he piled a foot of the tips of new jack-pine boughs—tender, green fragrant leaves—and on these he laid the fish yet brilliant with nature’s coloring. Over these he piled another foot or more of boughs and then covered the whole with a piece of wet cloth.

The thick white odorous vapor that rolled from the damp pine boughs was ample forerunner of what was to come. In an hour and fifteen minutes the steaming oven was uncovered. Each fish lay as it came from the stream; the gold and pink tints and the “cutthroat” marks of carmine all as vivid as when the trout were caught. The fish were perfectly cooked. It did not seem much of an accomplishment but Captain Ludington’s book on the “Canadian Rockies,” which he wrote later, devotes an entire chapter to “Trout; Catching and Cooking Them.” And in his narrative, Jake’s “pine-bough steam” receives enthusiastic commendation.

Fishing was over for the day and after luncheon, the party made its way back to camp, reaching the ranch about five o’clock. The next day, it was agreed, was to be given up to hunting goats along the Hog Back. There was, therefore, a careful overhauling of the firearms. In the midst of this Frank approached Mr. Mackworth and said:

“The Loon is working perfectly. I’d like to make a little flight with you as a passenger. We’ll follow the Hog Back for a few miles and locate any stray goats loafing about there. It may help you in your hunt to-morrow.”

“Captain Ludington,” said Mr. Mackworth, “I think this a fine idea. I order you to go with Frank on a tour of investigation. Make a sky-view chart of the hill and designate the location of the enemy if discovered.”

Captain Ludington wrinkled his brows and laughed. He twisted his mouth as if about to say something, probably a protest; then, to the surprise of all, he sprang to his feet, clicked his heels together, saluted and said:

“Very good, sir.”

“Come along, Lord Pelton,” exclaimed Phil. “We’ll all go. Take your rifle.”

Mr. Mackworth looked at Phil.

“I wouldn’t take a rifle if I were you. Don’t you think that would be an unfair advantage of the goats? They won’t be looking for an enemy from the sky. I don’t mind using the airship to get on an equal footing with the goats; to get on their heights and meet ’em man to goat; but I wouldn’t shoot them from where they haven’t any cause to expect an enemy. I think shooting goats from an airship would be ‘pot hunting.’”

“I don’t agree with you,” retorted Phil instantly. “As for only doing what the goats have a right to be looking for, there’s nothing in that or we wouldn’t be able to shoot them at all. Goats don’t know anything about guns. And as for the goats having no reason to be looking for an enemy above them, their animal enemies are always above or below ’em. And Sam Skinner says the golden eagle swoops down on them from above whenever he wants a fresh kid.”

“It’s all a matter of taste,” rejoined Mr. Mackworth, smiling. “Do as you like.”

“But I wouldn’t shoot to kill unless I could recover the prize,” added Phil. “And I wouldn’t shoot from the airship to leave an animal dying on the rocks where I couldn’t get it.”

“We’ll just reconnoiter this evening,” suggested Frank.

“I agree with the young man,” spoke up Captain Ludington. “Most sport is nothing but the old Anglo-Saxon lust for blood and killing. And, so long as we hunt, I think the hunter may as well resort to the best means to conquer his quarry. I’m willing to shoot from the airship.”