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By that time the fog was pretty well dissipated, and they had a clear view of miles and miles of sea as well as of the coastline behind them and the narrow entrance to the cove. The submarine chaser was out of sight. No other craft appeared upon the open sea beyond the Sue Bridger's present anchorage. The boys threw out a little chum, and then dropped their hooks. "First nibble!" whispered Torry.
I knew that I had a sufficiently light motor in my own modification of Bridger's light turbine, but I knew too that until I had cured my aeroplane of a tendency demanding constant alertness from me, a tendency to jerk up its nose at unexpected moments and slide back upon me, the application of an engine would be little short of suicide. But that I will tell about later.
In Bridger's case, however, there was ground for doubt, inasmuch as he had a reputation for exaggeration, and the facts that he related about the wonders of the Yellowstone were considered mere fabrications. One of his most astounding stories concerned an elk.
During the Civil War his route passed through the Sioux country, a tribe that was at war with the whites, and as there were not enough troops to protect the line, it was changed from South Pass to Bridger's Pass on the Bitter Creek route, or as it was then known, "The Cherokee Trail."
They were not bad at the price, but you couldn't get a good cigar, nowadays, nothing to hold a candle to those old Superfinos of Hanson and Bridger's. That was a cigar!
"I would rather sleep in the southern corner of a little country churchyard, than in the tomb of the Capulets." This quotation came to my mind one Sunday morning two or three years ago, as I mused over Bridger's neglected grave among the low hills beyond the quaint old town of Westport.
He was especially distinguished for the discovery of a defile through the intricate mazes of the Rocky Mountains, which bears his name, Bridger's Pass.
The site of the post itself could not better have been chosen. Here the flattened and dividing waters of the Black's Fork, icy cold and fresh from the Uintah Mountains to the southward, supported a substantial growth of trees, green now and wonderfully refreshing to desert-weary eyes. "The families are coming!" Bridger's clerk, Chardon, raised the new cry of the trading post.
Yes, I had answer. They had passed this light outfit east of Bridger's post. There was one chance in a hundred they might get over the South Pass that fall, for they were traveling light and fast, with good animals, and old Joe Meek was sure he would make it through. The women?
It so happened that just as we came on to the ridge that the Indians had passed over a few minutes before, they came in sight of the train, which was then not more than half a mile away. They stopped and were looking at the train. Jim Bridger's quick eye had caught sight of them, and not knowing but it was the big band coming, he had the wagons corralled to prepare for an attack.
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