Down the Yellowstone

y to compete at the annual cow-carnival at Miles City. Having read of my voyage in the paper, they came to me with the proposal that I book the lot of them as passengers. The

of the situation. They readily admitted that it would not carry anything like ten people, even with

s could not, or at least did not. In fact the third one precipitated the swamping when he stumbled and fell over the two who had preceded him. After we had raised, dumped and launched her again, I assured them that a single passenger was my outside limit, b

o explain that the modus operandi involves throwing a steer by seizing its nose in the teeth and upsetting its centre of gravity

of my Gieve was completed. When I returned I found a bewhiskered stranger recounting with facile gesture how he fished the floaters out of the eddy below his ranch down-river. He called it "Dead Man's Douse." Last floater he took out was a cow-puncher who had been so rol

the bank offering a free passage to Billings to any of his mates who cared to accept. No takers. The gamest of the lot appeared to be a lady broncho-buster called Lil. She actually stepped into the boat once, b

A. Hu

OUTFIT

slough to the river. I bumped into some of them again in Miles the day after the Round-up. Most of their faces bore the marks of hoof or fist. Lady Lil had lost no cuticle (at least where it showed), but red eyes hoisted the distress signal of a deeper seated wound. The "dogger" had taken up with another girl-a she-dude that h

n through the almost solid tumble of white where the river was chasing its tail in a sharply notched bend about five miles farther on. These little riffles didn't bother me much, though. My mind was too much occupied by the "Dead Man's Douse" for that. I was wondering whether the old chap intended to run me through that fish-brain-spattering-rapid, or if he might be considerate enough to help

se?" I exclaimed in dismay, adding in a feeble attempt at

that yarn. I thought youse savvied all the time. I jest was wantin' this here seat that bull-biting cow-puncher had perempted. There ain't no 'Dead Man's D

ting buffalo and elk on the river in the early days, and of many comparatively recent jaunts down the Yellowstone searching for agates. He would have been well worth listening to. I never l

the snowy pinnacles where the Absarokas reared against the southern sky. The restlessly counter-marching clouds above the valley were full of whirling wind-gusts but not of rain. The sudden side-swipes of air kept the skiff yawing rather crazily, but as there was no very fine shooting to do for the mome

ed mesas wore down the hoofs of his Indian ponies so that it became necessary to protect them with shoes of buffalo hide. This increased Clark's anxiety to take to the river and his diary speaks often of the vain search for large trees. Very near the point I had now reached an accident occ

R THE SITE OF CAPTA

ET REACH OF THE

the names of the members of his party a half dozen times over in geographical nomenclature, to call the creek "Thy Snag'd." Gibson suffered so much from the jolting of the horse upon which he was carried after his injury that it became necessary to rest him in camp. With a halt of two or

d Clark's Fork still bear their original names, but Thy Snag'd Creek and River Across are no more. The former has become Deer Creek and the latter pair have been given individual names-that flowing in from the north Big Timber Creek, that from the south Boulder Ri

ain and the mist deadened the sound somewhat, just as they confused the perspective. Standing up on the thwart in an endeavour to get a better view, I was warned by the accelerating undulations of the skiff that I had floated right onto the intake of a riffle which I had assumed was still several hundred yards distant. Hastening to straighten the cushion on my seat before taking to my oars, I was jolted from my feet by the first solid wave, so that I sat with my full weight upon the doubled-up index finger of my left hand. I distinctly recall either hearing or feeling the snap of what I thought at the moment was a tendon, but as the finger still crooked with its fellow round its oar I gave it no more thought unti

nly a straight, swift reach of river bordered with a narrow belt of cottonwood on either side. There appeared no menace of mist-masked rapids ahead, but with the rain settling into what seemed likely to be an all-day downpour I was glad to pull up to the left bank where an enchanting vista of ranch buildings opened up

s of frying doughnuts. And when the doughnuts are being forked forth by an astonishingly comely and kindly young housewife; and when her husband comes in from the alfalfa patch and proves just as kindly if less comely; and when they insist on your d

OWSTONE

OF TH

TER AND

ied trip home to bring back a young woman that he reckoned just as lovely and just as promising as his ranch. Neither had disappointed him. His ranch had doubled and trebled in size, with his family just about keeping pace with it. There were hard yea

e of miles to the next down-river ranch. He wanted me to drift a rapid stern-first, as the agate hunters were wont to do it. Trimmed as we were, I knew what must happen. I agreed to the trial readily enough, however, partly because it was Fahlgren's suggestion but principally beca

ft to avoid an obstacle. If the riffle is not too rough to make the control of the boat impossible when rowed bow-first with the stream, drifting means the cutting down of speed and the loss of much good ti

o be considered at all. An equally strong gale blowing up-stream would have tried to stand the river on its head and scoop the channel dry. It would have succeeded in neither, but the resulting rough-and-tumble would have kicked up a wild welter of white caps such as no skiff could have lived in for half a minute. But with current and wind going in the same general direction it was quite another matter, especially as I had a chance to ease up to it gradually as the gale incre

or less mythical Providence that has been known (though by no means often enough to warrant the proverb) to shepherd drunks and fools had something to do with it. At any rate, I was still in mad career down midstream when the wind gave up the bootless chase at six o'clock, broke up into fitful zephyrs and went to sleep among the cottonwoods. In all that time I had not landed once, had not

n near the railway station called Rapids and extended easterly for three miles. Clark had called them "Black Bluffs," and that name they retain to this da

eye steal back to the head of the bluff, and from there to a cottonwood covered flat that opened up beyond the bend where the river, thrown off a ledge of bedrock, turned sharply to the south in a stolid stream of rock-torn white. Beyond question there was going to be some fairly nice navigation demanded to find a way through that rough stuff below the bend

of highways and byways of fancy without seriously impairing your river navigation, but only when you keep your eyes on the water and the back of your mind in a proper state to receive impressions and transmit orders. I was not in the least culpable in this respect. The reason I hit that mid-stream snag was because a sudden hail from some men grading a road over the b

her swing off without capsizing. It was a merry dance to the bend, but I managed to get her under control in time to head into the best of the going through the suds below. This was close to the right bank, where I had no little trouble in holding her on account of the side-surge from the heavy west wind. This is not a hard series of riffles to run if you have

of first impact, were the only marks she showed of the collision. Light as was the steel, it had not come near to holing from a blow that stopped her dead from at least twelve miles an h

lly I was sorry not to have been able to land and pretend to look for the stumps of the trees cut down for the dugouts. As a matter of fact, however, as the river had been altering

ay run in it-from Rapids to the mouth of Pryor's Fork, near Huntley-strikes me as being a remarkable one. The Captain's actual estimates of distances on this part of his journey are much too high and also present many discrepancies. This particular run, however, is easy fixable by natural features. It must be very close to sixty miles as the river winds, possibly more. It is not fair to compare this with the considerably faster time I made over similar stretches of the Yellowstone. I had considerably higher and swifter water and a boat so light that no delays from shallows and bars were impos

enna or up t

fastest who t

on the Running Road

the impression that the river flowed continuously for many miles under an overhanging bluff. This it does not do, and could hardly have done at any previous period. What it does do is to run along the base of a long

p against the bluffs, but numerous chutes and back-channels sprawling over the verdant flats to the left formed score on score of small islands, all shaded with tall cottonwoods, lush with new grass and brilliant with wild flowers. There was a fresh vista of beauty at every turn.

verhang in sinuous coils of green and white. As I think of it now, it was the cavernous growls and rumbles, magnified by the sounding board of the cliff,

aves from the inner depths of the cavern had a tendency to force the boat out rather than to draw it in. My courage rallied rapidly after that, so that I played hide-and-seek with the river and the cliffs for the next twenty miles. This was most opportune, as it chanced. The overha

. I scooped up a drink as I passed one of the mouths. Clark's observation that it was colder and cloudier than the waters of the Yellowstone still held good. Clark mentions a "ripple in the Yellowstone" about a mile above this tributary, "on passing which the canoes took in some water. The party therefore landed to bail the boats...." As this, considering the size of the boats,

on weakened when she began setting out a pan of scarcely diluted cream, a bowl of strawberries and a chocolate cake. Between mouthfuls I told her (truthfully enough) that I had met Carpentier at the Front during the war and had subsequently seen him box in London. It was a tactical error on my part. I should have known better. She didn't tell me to back away from the berries in so many words, but her manner changed, and she di

his I began to encounter as soon as I resumed my run to Billings. Scores of new channels had been scoured out and countless thousands of big cottonwoods and willows uprooted in the process. Most of the latter were stran

t must have been greatly in excess of that. One minute I would be in what was undoubtedly the main channel. The next I would be picking what seemed the likeliest

ss, but the people turned out to be Russian tenants, and not much for the softer things of life. All of the dozen or more occupants of the big kitchen wore bib overalls, the bottoms puckered in with a zouave-trousers effect. All

some unanimity on the score of its being somewhere down river. But just how far it was by river they couldn't get together on, and even if they had had any real knowledge of the course of the stream they appeared not to have the language to express it. Certainly an estimate in versts wasn't going to help a lot. As I thanked them and turned to go the whole family trooped down to the landing to see

ut it was never very difficult to drag my little tin shallop on to where there was enough water trickling to lead the way back to the main channel. When an increasing frequency of lights indicated I was nearing the outskirts of a town I found the current to be running so swiftly along what appeared to be a levee on the left bank that a landing was rather too precar

ch of beach. As rain was still threatening I decided to seek the town for shelter. Dragging the skiff well above high-water mark, I stacked my stuff in it, shouldered my packsack and

ern world that I have known, lunch-counter coffee has always proved the most inebriating. That was why I was impelled to fare forth to the prizefight b

instant the jabbering ceased-just long enough for the half dozen technical experts to sweep my mud-spattered khaki with scathing glances, snort and get under w

coming right back and assuring them that I was not a Crow Indian, that I did talk 'Merican, and that I had been one of Jack Dempsey's first sparring partners. There was

with awed, troubled eyes. Then dawning wonder replaced doubt in their faces, and they fell-my way. "Darn'd if you don't look the part," said one. "My name's Allstein-in hardware line-Shake!" And then they all int

as it was; not bad at all. I forget just where we were when dawn came, but I do remember I was in the act of showing my punch-damaged hands for the hundredth time when I looked up and saw that a window was growing a glimmering square with the light of the coming day. That was