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Updated: June 28, 2025
"Remember that night up in the Kootenay when the blizzard struck us and we lost the road?" "Pleasant time to recall it!" rejoined Lord James, with a shiver. "But come on. I'm keen to meet your Mr. Griffith." They reached the great office building on Dearborn Street, red-faced and tingling from the whirling drive of the powdery snow.
"What you keep behind your teeth," was a favorite maxim with the Superintendent, "will harm neither yourself nor any other man." They were on the old Kootenay Trail, for a hundred years and more the ancient pathway of barter and of war for the Indian tribes that hunted the western plains and the foothill country and brought their pelts to the coast by way of the Columbia River.
Ben would not stay long after that. He said he had to leave on the 4:30 train. He was relieved when he got away from the old man's thanks and questions. Ben did not find it easy to answer some of the latter. When he was out of sight of the house he sat on a fence and counted up his remaining funds. "Just enough to take me back to the Kootenay and then begin over again, I s'pose.
"Why, it was the year o' the Kootenay rush, ye mind? No, ye don't mind, ye weren't born then, were y'? Damn't," and a punctuation in tobacco. "Wall, 'twas in the early days 'fore we had steam hoists an' things." Guess the shaft was about hundred feet down straight down, an' we was gettin' in the pay streak, bringin' up barrels o' rock showin' more color every load.
They did not in any way compare as pests with the mosquitoes on the lower Mississippi, the New Jersey coast, the Red River of the North, or the Kootenay. Back in the forest near Corumba the naturalists had found them very bad indeed. Yet on the vast marshes they were not seriously troublesome in most places.
The Kootenay Indians were encamped on the Kootenay plains preparatory to their winter's hunt, and Thompson persuaded some of them to accompany him back over the mountains to Rocky Mountain House on the North Saskatchewan. This was the beginning of the trade between the Kootenays and white men.
Miners, missionaries, prospectors, Indians, settlers, gamblers, outlaws, had one and all turned out, for they liked young Wingate, and they adored his loving wife and dainty child. But the search was useless. The wild shores of Kootenay Lake alone held the secret of their resting-place. Young Wingate faced the East once more.
He's never been there, but he tells a good story, and shows a map I heard of when I was in the Kootenay country years ago. I'd like to have you go along; but he's a strange one, and swore point-blank to throw it up if anyone was brought in.
It might have been if we three boys had still all been with him. If I were a father, I would prefer at all costs that my sons should be men. What good comrades we've always been, and what long years of happy times we have in memory all the way down from a little boy in a sailor-suit to Kootenay! I fell asleep in the midst of this. I've now got to go out and start the other gun firing.
"Yes, after the big Kill to-morrow," sighed the Bull mournfully, "I shall want to trail somewhere. Across Kootenay River is good feeding-ground, but there the accursed Long Knives are filled with the very devil of destruction, and kill even such as I am, though my hide is not worth the lifting. I, who am an Outcast, and have lost all pride, know this I am worthless."
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