Girl Scouts in the Rockies

“Tally said it was not over a mile frontage, and that, he says, is a small one. If we saw a fire that stretched for miles along a forest ridge and kept on burning for days and days, – that, he claims, would be a big fire!”

All through that night blood-curdling cries came from the devastated district. The howls of panthers, growls of the bears, cries of coyotes, and yelps of timber-wolves, kept the campers awake. In the morning, Tally started early to seek the cause of such a clamor in the night.

“Dat ole dead coyote! Him mak all dat trubble,” laughed the guide, upon his return to camp. “Dem starvin’ an’mals all wand’da eat him, so dey fight and fight, but ole grizzle fight bes’ an’ git him.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN – LOST IN THE BAD LANDS

The following day the guides led the way up and down the sides of mountains, sometimes the trail running beside steep cliffs that rose sheer above the tourists’ heads, and again past ravines where rushing, tumbling waters silenced all other sounds.

About noon of the third day after leaving Steamboat Springs, they reached the steepest climb of that trip. As they were nearing the top of the peak, Tally’s horse suddenly fell over on its side and kicked its heels wildly.

The guide managed to jump clear of the leather and wild kicks, but the other riders sat speechless with fear at what was going to be the result of this awful spectacle. Before any one had time to offer help, however, the horse Mr. Gilroy rode did the same. The scouts immediately started to dismount, for they feared what might happen if their animals rolled and plunged as the first two were doing.

“Are they having fits?” asked Julie, anxiously.

“No, the unusually steep climb and the altitude affects horses this way quite often,” explained Mr. Gilroy.

“I wish they’d let the rider know before they flop that way,” said Joan, “then we might jump clear of their hoofs.”

“If one had time to warn others of what was about to happen unexpectedly, very few people would have accidents,” laughed Mrs. Vernon.

In a few minutes the horses got upon their feet, shook themselves thoroughly, and then waited to proceed on the trail.

Another halfhour’s climb and they all reached the top of the peak. After leaving the timber-line, the riders found the scrub bushes grew scraggier and shorter, and finally the top of the peak was left as bare and craggy as any volcanic formation. From the top of one of these crags, Tally peered across an expanse of what looked like a rolling sea, but it was grey instead of blue-green.

When Mr. Gilroy saw this sea of sand, he quickly adjusted his glasses and gazed silently for a long time.

“Well, Tally, what do you make it out to be?” asked he.

“Him Bad Land – but I not know him in our way,” returned the guide, apologetically.

“That’s what I think about him – very bad land,” chuckled Mr. Vernon, shading his eyes with both hands and staring down at the desert.

“What does that mean, Uncle? Do we have to cross it?” asked Julie.

“Either cross it, or go back the way we climbed and try to go around it – that means several days wasted on back-trailing.”

“I can just discern the tiny thread of a trail that winds a way across that desert to the other side. We can easily follow the track and do it in one afternoon,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“You don’t think we shall be running any risks, do you?” ventured Mrs. Vernon.

“None whatever. If we were down at the base of this peak, right now, you would see how simple a thing it is to ride across the sand. The only danger in these Colorado wastes is when a storm threatens. But the sky is as clear as can be, and the day is too far spent now, for the sun to start anything going.”

“The only hazard we take in crossing the sand waste, is that darkness may overtake us before we reach the other side, and that might cause us to stray from the trail,” suggested Mr. Vernon.

“With two good guides to lead us, we take no risk on that score,” returned Mr. Gilroy.

“At least it will prove to be a novel trip – climbing mountains and riding over a desert of sand all in the same day,” said Julie, eagerly willing to try the experience.

Luncheon was hastily disposed of, and Tally led them all down the steep trail of the mountainside for several hours. Then they reached the lodgepole pine, which is the only timber that can hold out against desert storms in bad weather and in winter.

“Before we begin this desert ride, do let’s look for some water,” begged Ruth. “I’m thirsty as a sandpiper.”

“Quite appropriate, too, as long as we are going to be closely affiliated with the sand,” giggled Joan.

Tally and the two men had gone on before, and had not heard Ruth’s request, or they might have spared the scouts a great deal of unpleasantness. They had hoped to strike the trail they had seen across the desert, so they rode in different directions to locate it, and the captain and girls were left to amble slowly along until one or all of the men returned for them.

So it happened that Ruth and Joan wandered about in search of drinking-water, and shortly after they left the rest of the scouts, Mrs. Vernon heard Ruth call.

“Come here! We’ve found a lovely little spring!”

The girls quickly followed in the newly broken trail that was plainly seen, and reached the pool of water that was hidden by sagebushes and low lava-rock formation.

“I was so thirsty I just flattened myself out on the sand and filled up,” laughed Ruth, sighing with repletion.

Every one, the Captain included, drank freely of the warm water, and Julie made a remark that it tasted brackish for such an active spring.

“Maybe that is due to the sand and sun,” ventured Joan.

“While we are here, let’s give the horses a good drink,” suggested Anne.

“That’s a good idea. Then they will be fresh for the trip across the sand,” added Mrs. Vernon, starting back to get her horse and lead him to the spring.

But the horses refused to drink. They seemed thirsty enough, but every one of them backed away when the girls tried to make them bend their heads and drink.

“Why, isn’t that funny? Did you ever see them act like this before?” asked Julie.

Just then Tally’s voice was heard calling for them, and the scouts jumped back into the saddles and rode forward. When they explained about the animals refusing the water, Tally looked serious.

“Show me drink!” commanded he, hurrying his horse over to the spring where the girls had drank.

One taste of the water and he made a wry face.

“You say you tak him?” asked the guide anxiously.

“Yes, lots of it,” replied Ruth.

“Him mos’ bad as dem bad land. Dat alkali water.”

“What do you mean, Tally?” anxiously asked several girls.

“Him mak mucha ache here,” explained Tally, placing his hands over his stomach and bending low with an agonized expression.

But the damage was done and so the scouts had to make the best of the case. Consequently, it was not long before Ruth was tied into knots and hardly able to sit in the saddle. The others, according to the quantity they had taken, were griped also. This did not add anything to the pleasure of the ride across the hot dry sand. But as long as they had essayed to cross that day, they kept on going slowly, hoping that with each cramp the scouts would begin to recover from the effects of the water.

Tally and his friend had been so certain that they would reach the other side of the desert before dark, that no one felt the slightest apprehension on that score. But the slowness with which the scouts had to travel made it dubious whether the riders would gain the other side before night.

Here and there, scattered over the desert sand, were queer craggy formations of lava, as if some volcanic eruption had thrown the heaps of burnt-out lava broadcast, to rest for ages upon the sea of waste. There was a constant wind blowing across the desert, that carried the tiniest particles of sand with it, and these cut into faces and uncovered parts of the flesh of horses and riders. This stinging sand added no little to the misery of the suffering scouts.