Novel 1968 - Down The Long Hills (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page A

he left for his father the Indian would see, too. The usual way to leave sign was with rocks: one or two rocks piled on top of another, with a rock beside the pile to indicate direction, or a broken branch to point the way.
    From among the trees Hardy looked ahead and saw where, a few hundred yards off, a smaller stream flowed into the river from the south. It was just what he wanted.
    Descending the bank, he found a good place to get into the water, and then rode along upstream. The water was rarely more than two feet deep, and was running swiftly. Riding along until he was opposite the inflowing stream, Hardy went on upstream a short distance farther, and then came up out of the water and, doubling back through the trees, rode a little way toward the hills.
    After he had gone a short distance, he returned to the bank of the larger stream at the spot where the smaller one entered it, and placed a broken branch in a bush beside the trail, the butt end of it pointing in the direction he had taken. There was a chance, since Hardy had not used such a method before, that the Indian might miss its significance. His father, he was sure, would be looking for such signs as they had used for each other, and this one was the most frequent.
    That night Hardy and Sue camped by a small stream near a grove of willows, and Hardy set to work to make his fish trap. First, he gathered a number of thin willow withes and tied them all together at one end with another, thinner withe. Then he made several hoops, graduated in size, and pushed the smallest hoop as far down toward the tied end as possible, and tied it to the willow withes. He placed the other hoops, each somewhat larger than the next, within the cone of willow, trying each in place. When he had the trap ready for use, he put it in the stream and returned to their camp.
    Remembering the fish trap had jogged his memory about other things, and he thought of the arrowhead, or
wapatoo,
a water plant growing in ponds and slow-moving streams. The tuberous roots could be boiled like potatoes, or roasted in hot ashes. He remembered that there had been two seasons when the potato crop failed, and he and his father had eaten the
wapatoo
instead. The Indians used to find them while wading and would pick them with their toes from under the muddy water. Hardy wished he could find some now.
    Foraging around through the brush the children found a few more nuts, which they ate as they searched, and also some chokecherries. It was not enough to satisfy their appetites, but it did help.
    The night was cold. The stars were clear and bright. The gleaming mountain peaks were crystal sharp against the sky.
    When daylight came, his fish trap had three good-sized trout in it and, baked in coals, they tasted good. For the first time neither of them felt hungry.
    The deep glen where they had taken refuge was reached by a narrow trail, long untraveled, to judge by its condition, except by wild game. They had found a spot concealed among great fallen trees, and although there was little grass, the stallion browsed off the low-growing plants and brush, and seemed content. During the day Hardy spitted several fish on sticks above the fire and smoked them as best he could, and while the fish smoked the children gathered serviceberries. It was then that Hardy found the track.
    He had never seen a grizzly bear track before, but he knew it at once by the long claw marks made by the front feet. He had heard about these from Bill Squires.
    The grizzly had apparently been gathering berries there, perhaps only the day before, and his tracks were all around. Hardy studied them with care, his scalp prickling as he thought that the bear might not be far away. Of course the grizzly might travel far in foraging for food—he might be miles away, even now. But the thought of the roasting nuts or fish…if the bear was anywhere nearby, the smell would attract him.
    Later, Hardy found more tracks on the open trail, and he was