But only last week it was quite pleasant - not real summery, but warm
enough for one to go about in safety. Faye came down from the saw-mill
one of those days to see the commanding officer about something and to
get the mail. When he was about to start back, in fact, was telling me
good-by, I happened to say that I wished I could go, too. Faye said:
"You could not stand the exposure, but you might wear my little fur
coat" Suggesting the coat was a give-in that I at once took advantage
of, and in precisely twenty minutes Charlie, our Chinese cook, had
been told what to do, a few articles of clothing wrapped and strapped,
and I on Bettie's back ready for the wilds. An old soldier on a big
corral horse was our only escort, and to his saddle were fastened our
various bags and bundles.
Far up a narrow valley that lies in between two mountain ranges, the
government has a saw-mill that is worked by twenty or more soldiers
under the supervision of an officer, where lumber can be cut when
needed for the post. One of these ranges is very high, and Mount
Bridger, first of the range and nearest Fort Ellis, along whose base
we had to go, has snow on its top most of the year. Often when wind is
not noticeable at the post, we can see the light snow being blown with
terrific force from the peak of this mountain for hundreds of yards in
a perfectly horizontal line, when it will spread out and fall in a
magnificent spray another two or three hundred feet.
The mill is sixteen miles from Fort Ellis, and the snow was very
deep - so deep in places that the horses had difficulty in getting
their feet forward, and as we got farther up, the valley narrowed into
a ravine where the snow was even deeper. There was no road or even
trail to be seen; the bark on trees had been cut to mark the way, but
far astray we could not have gone unless we had deliberately ridden up
the side of a mountain. The only thing that resembled a house along
the sixteen miles was a deserted cabin about half way up, and which
only accentuated the awful loneliness.
Bettie had been standing in the stable for several days, and that,
with the biting cold air in the valley, made her entirely too frisky,
and she was very nervous, too, over the deep snow that held her feet
down. We went Indian file - I always in the middle - as there were
little grades and falling-off places all along that were hidden by the
snow, and I was cautioned constantly by Faye and Bryant to keep my
horse in line. The snow is very fine and dry in this altitude, and
never packs as it does in a more moist atmosphere.
When we had ridden about one half the distance up we came to a little
hill, at the bottom of which was known to be a bridge that crossed the
deep-cut banks of one of those mountain streams that are dry eleven
months of the year and raging torrents the twelfth, when the snow
melts. It so happened that Faye did not get on this bridge just right,
so down in the light snow he and Pete went, and all that we could see
of them were Faye's head and shoulders and the head of the horse with
the awful bulging eyes! Poor Pete was terribly frightened, and
floundered about until he nearly buried himself in snow as he tried to
find something solid upon which to put his feet.
I was just back of Faye when he went down, but the next instant I had
retreated to the top of the hill, and had to use all the strength in
my arms to avoid being brought back to the post. When Bettie saw Pete
go down, she whirled like a flash and with two or three bounds was on
top of the hill again. She was awfully frightened and stood close to
Bryant's horse, trembling all over. Poor Bryant did not know what to
do or which one to assist, so I told him to go down and get the
lieutenant up on the bank and I would follow. Just how Faye got out of
his difficulty I did not see, for I was too busy attending to my own
affairs. Bettie acted as though she was bewitched, and go down to the
bridge she would not. Finally, when I was about tired out, Faye said
we must not waste more time there and that I had better ride Pete.
So I dismounted and the saddles were changed, and then there was more
trouble. Pete had never been ridden by a woman before, and thinking,
perhaps, that his sudden one-sidedness was a part of the bridge
performance, at once protested by jumps and lunges, but he soon
quieted down and we started on again. Bettie danced a little with
Faye, but that was all. She evidently remembered her lost battle with
him at Camp Baker.
It was almost dark when we reached the saw-mill, and as soon as it
became known that I was with the "lieutenant" every man sprang up from
some place underneath the snow to look at me, and two or three ran
over to assist Bryant with our things. It was awfully nice to know
that I was a person of importance, even if it was out in a camp in the
mountains where probably a woman had never been before. The little log
cabin built for officers had only the one long room, with large,
comfortable bunk, two tables, chairs, a "settle" of pine boards, and
near one end of the room was a box stove large enough to heat two
rooms of that size.
