THE GLACIER AND THE BEAR
Thus far the trip had been free from special adventure beyond the ordinary happenings in the course of an extraordinary journey. But on the day following the departure from Banff, one or two incidents occurred to break the monotony. In the first place, there was Tom’s affair with the bear. But I must retrace my steps slightly, before introducing Bruin.
The Excursion left Banff on the ninth morning from Boston. The road now lay through a wilderness of mighty hills. Onward and upward labored the train, following the curves of mountain streams, rattling in and out of tunnels, and creeping cautiously over high trestles that creaked ominously beneath the heavy cars.
An observation car had been added, and here the Percivals gathered, defying cinders and wintry air. Far above the ravine through which the stubborn Canadian Pacific had pushed its way, they caught glimpses of snow-banks and glaciers, which sent foaming torrents down the mountain-side to join the Kicking-Horse River.
Late in the afternoon they whirled around the last dizzy curve, plunged into a snow-shed and out again, and halted for the night beside a picturesque little hotel in the very heart of the Selkirks.
Most of the party, including all the Percivals except Tom, at once started along a forest path for new wonders that were said to lie beyond. Adelaide Selborne was too tired to go, and her brother, having seen her comfortably resting in a delightful little room in the hotel, hurried off to join the rest.
Bessie, who had lingered behind a moment to pick a handful of starry wild flowers, heard his steps and turned to greet him with a bright look of welcome. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said, in her frank way. “You see, Randolph has gone ahead with Pet Sibley, and Kittie is with Fred, so I was kind of rear-guard, all alone.”
“What kind of a flower is that?” he asked.
Bess did not know, nor did her companion.
“It seems so strange to find real wild wild-flowers,” she exclaimed. “The little home violets and mayflowers seem as tame as possible, compared.”
“This forest has never been cut into,” observed Rossiter, as they sauntered along the narrow path. The lofty trees, unscarred by axe or fire, towered high above them; beside the path waved tall ferns, starred here and there with boughs of the white blossoms the little Captain had been picking. An unseen stream, hastening downward from far-away rocky heights, called softly through the dim aisles.
After a mile or two of this thick wood, they emerged upon rough, open ground, over which they hurried, crossing a rude bridge which spanned the torrent, and – there was the Great Glacier of the Selkirks!
Bessie caught her breath, in the wonder and grandeur of it.
For in comparison with this mighty stream of ice, the glaciers of Europe are but frozen rivulets. All the Swiss glaciers combined would not reach the bulk of this monster, which covers thirty-eight square miles of mountain-side with a moving mass of ice five hundred feet thick. It is fitly guarded by the solitary peak of “Sir Donald,” whose top is lost in clouds eight thousand feet above the valley.
They moved forward at length, climbing to the edge of the glacier, and even mounting upon its wrinkled back.
The advanced division of the party were already quite at home with the big glacier, and sang their gay songs as merrily as in the cosey “Kamloops.” Fred and Randolph caught tin cupfuls of water from an icy rill, and passed it to the rest.
“I wish,” said Bessie, “that I could run up to that next corner. The view would be splendid.”
Kittie and the rest were just starting downward. Mr. Selborne heard the Captain’s remark, and instantly was at her side.
“Come on,” he said. “We can do it and catch up with the rest before they reach the hotel.”
Bessie, remembering her experience on Mount Washington the year before, hesitated. But the opportunity was too tempting.
“I’ll go,” she said hastily, “if you’ll hurry, please. Mother will worry about me if I stay up here too long.”
Aided by a strong hand and arm, she clambered up over the bowlders which lay along the mountain slope in a confused mass.
“There!” she exclaimed, in the same tone of triumph with which she had announced the success of her fire on the shores of Nipissing, “we’ve done it, haven’t we?”
After all, it was hardly worth the climb, for the newly gained position only disclosed further reaches, each promising a better outlook than the next below. Rossiter glanced at the gathering clouds.
“Perhaps we’d better start, Miss Bessie,” he said, “if you’ve got your breath.”
If truth be told, Bess would have liked a little longer rest; but she did not like to confess the fatigue she felt. Besides, it was all down hill now, so she held out her hand to her companion without misgiving.
Before they had gone twenty yards, moving cautiously down from bowlder to bowlder close beside the ice, the air darkened and a fine rain set in.
“That will hurry the rest along,” thought Bessie, “for they’re already in the easy part of the path, and they can run.” But she said nothing to distress her escort, who was already troubled enough by the prospect.
“Be careful!” he called suddenly, as he saw Bessie spring over a mimic chasm, and barely miss losing her balance on the further side. “The rain makes these rocks slippery, and” —
He was interrupted by a cry from Bess. She sank down on a bowlder and lifted a white face to him.
“My ankle,” she said. “I’ve turned it, and it hurts – dreadfully!”
“Let me help you, dear.”
He was used to calling his sister that, you know.
Bessie clung to his arm and tried to rise, but sank back with a sharp little moan of pain.
“It’s no use,” she gasped. “I can’t stand. You’ll have – to go – and send somebody up – for me.”
She looked so white that he thought she was going to faint. But the little Captain had no idea of giving way, if she could possibly help it.
“Go, please,” she repeated, clutching the rough rim of the rock to control herself.
Rossiter looked around, above, below. Not a living creature was in sight. It was no use to call for help, in that grim solitude. The rain drifted across the black forest in gray columns.
“Won’t you leave me?” pleaded Bessie again.
For reply he stooped, and lifting her in his arms as if she were a child, began to pick his way downward, slowly and cautiously.
At the end of half a dozen rods his breath was gone. He placed his burden gently on the rocks.
“O, Mr. Selborne!” cried Bess, with quivering lips, “it’s hurting you worse than me. Please” —
But he had rested enough, and just smiling for reply, started along the path once more.
It was now raining heavily, and the traveled way became more and more difficult to distinguish in the gathering dusk. Bessie was a strong, healthy young girl, and no light weight for a man to carry.
The bridge was reached at last, and, narrow and slippery as it was, stretching above a deep and swift mountain stream, crossed in safety.
In a few moments they were at the edge of the forest; but Rossiter, little used in late years to active sports or athletic exertion of any kind, felt his strength leaving him. Great beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, though the air was bitter cold and the rain like ice.
He staggered and saved himself with difficulty from falling, with Bessie in his arms. As he placed her on the ground at the mossy foot of a huge tree, he spoke to her, but she did not answer. This time she had fainted in earnest.
But it is time to return to the solitary representative