Beyond the Dragon’s Teeth
Copyright© 2026 by Asa Strong
Chapter 3
The morning found Gait and me with the rising sun at our backs as we left Mountain Home. We had risen early, saddled our horses, and packed the two mules. After a hearty breakfast, we were quickly mounted and headed out of town.
We quickly found our way across the western side of the small valley and found a well-worn path that was used by trappers heading into the mountains.
We crested the gap between the mountains by mid-morning. To the west, we could see row upon row of mountains, stretching onward into the distant fog and mist.
The trail we followed grew fainter with each passing mile. By the time we reached the valley at the bottom of the mountain, it had become nothing more than a small trace leading to the north.
We followed the trace, hoping for an easy passage over the mountain to the west. By the time the sun was close to the western mountaintops, we were still searching for a way over the mountain.
Gait found a suitable clearing to pitch camp for the evening, and we stopped for the day.
We made camp. While Gait attended to the horses and mules, I went about building a small fire and began preparing our evening meal.
We ate our meal under a thousand stars, with the rustling of the wind in the trees the only sound. Gait and I sat in silence, lost in the vastness of the great forest that surrounded us.
The next twelve days were much of the same as the afternoon of the first day. We would try and find a likely trail or small game trace that would take us west, towards our destination. Often a promising path would turn to the east or even disappear entirely. Much time was lost backtracking to find another way forward. Slowly, day-by-day, we inched our way westward.
The forest around us was nearly impenetrable; giant fir and pines grew so close together that it was difficult for a man to pass between them, let alone a horse or mule. We doggedly worked our way west, one mountain ridge at a time.
Finally, we crested a ridge and were able to see the first glimpse of our nemesis. Stretching before us, to the west, were mountains of majestic size. They were snowcapped behemoths blocking from view all that lay beyond them.
We had found the Dragon’s Teeth, and they were a formidable, daunting sight to see!
We sat on our horses, neither of us saying a word. The sight before us was breathtaking and also frightening.
Gait spoke first.
“Donta, there is no way we can go over them.”
He was right; the mountains were very steep, rising to a height above where trees could grow.
Still looking at the mountains, I said, “Then we will have to find a way through them.”
Gait had an incredulous look on his face as he asked.
“I don’t understand. How do we go through a mountain?”
I tore my gaze from the sight before me, turned to him, and answered, “Not through the mountain as you are thinking. No, there has to be a pass or trail that will take us through the lower portions of the range—probably where two mountains come together.”
With a sound of uncertainty in his voice, he said, “I hope you’re right.”
The way westward eluded us. Many times we would follow a promising trail only to have it give out or end in an impossible impasse in a small valley, surrounded by impossibly high mountain peaks. Our only choice was to backtrack and try to find a different route.
Slowly we worked our way north and northwest, making insipid progress through the gaps in the mountain peaks. Essentially our route was determined by trial and error.
Mid-summer found us starting to get short on supplies. Fortunately, the woods were rife with game.
We stopped for four days to hunt and forage for early wild berries. Our arrows found several deer that we dressed and smoked. Wild berries were found in abundance. We gathered a good many and dried them on rocks.
With our supplies now replenished, we continued on, ever trying to work our way westward.
I was sitting on my horse, waiting for Gait to return from checking out a small trail we had come across. We had long ago determined it was more efficient and took less time for one of us to inspect a trail than both of us taking the path. That way we didn’t have to contend with leading the mules both ways if the path was unfound.
The day was cool and damp and I was feeling miserable. I’m sure Gait was feeling just as dejected as I was.
I was woken from my dreary thoughts by Gait’s shout as he galloped through the small clearing.
“Don’t! Come quick, you have to see this.”
Shortly, Gait arrived at my side.
“What have you found?” I asked.
In a breathless voice, he answered, “A road! At least I think it was a road at one time.”
My spirit was immediately lifted. In all the time since our journey started, not once had we come across signs of other people ever being near.
“Let’s see what you have found,” I said, as I spurred Lightfoot down the trail.
It most certainly was a road. At least, it was a road at one time. You could see the faint course of the roadbed, winding its way through the thick woods. When I dismounted and looked closer, I could see an occasional stone that once used to cover the roadbed.
With a newfound joy, I said to Gait, “My friend, we may have found a way over the mountains.”
The roadway was old and had seen no use in a very long time. No tracks or other indication of passage were seen during the next seven days, as we followed the old roadbed.
Often, the roadway would disappear and we would have to search until we found it further to the northwest. Several times, we had to forge our way across streams and small rivers, where the remains of ancient bridge stone abutments stood as silent sentinels of the mighty structures that once spanned the fast-moving streams.
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