THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS.
A YEAR has passed, and we have determined to resume the exploration of
the canyons of the Colorado. Our last trip was so hurried, owing to the
loss of rations, and the scientific instruments were so badly injured,
that we are not satisfied with the results obtained; so we shall once
more attempt to pass through the canyons in boats, devoting two or three
years to the trip.
It will not be possible to carry in the boats sufficient supplies for
the party for that length of time; so it is thought best to establish
depots of supplies, at intervals of 100 or 200 miles along the river.
Between Gunnison's Crossing and the foot of the Grand Canyon, we know of
only two points where the river can be reached--one at the Crossing of
the Fathers, and another a few miles below, at the mouth of the
Paria, on a route which has been explored by Jacob Hamblin, a Mormon
missionary. These two points are so near each other that only one of
them can be selected for the purpose above mentioned, and others must
be found. We have been unable up to this time to obtain, either from
Indians or white men, any information which will give us a clue to any
other trail to the river.
At the headwaters of the Sevier, we are on the summit of a great
watershed. The Sevier itself flows north and then westward into the
lake of the same name. The Rio Virgen, heading near by, flows to the
southwest into the Colorado, 60 or 70 miles below the Grand Canyon. The
Kanab, also heading near by, runs directly south into the very heart
of the Grand Canyon. The Paria, likewise heading near by, runs a little
south of east and enters the river at the head of Marble Canyon. To the
northeast from this point, other streams which run into the Colorado
have their sources, until, 40 or 50 miles away, we reach the
290
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
southern branches of the Dirty Devil River, the mouth of which stream is
but a short distance below the junction of the Grand and Green.
The Paunsa'gunt Plateau terminates in a point, which is bounded by a
line of beautiful pink cliffs. At the foot of this plateau, on the west,
the Rio Virgen and Sevier River are dovetailed together, as their minute
upper branches interlock. The upper surface of the plateau inclines to
the northeast, so that its waters roll off into the Sevier; but from the
foot of the cliffs, quite around the sharp angle of the plateau, for a
dozen miles, we find numerous springs, whose waters unite to form the
Kanab. A little farther to the northeast the springs gather into streams
that feed the Paria. Here, by the upper springs of the Kanab, we make
a camp, and from this point we are to radiate on a series of trips,
southwest, south, and east.
Jacob Hamblin, who has been a missionary among the Indians for more
than twenty years, has collected a number of Kai'vavits, with
Chuar'-ruumpeak, their chief, and they are all camped with us. They
assure us that we cannot reach the river, that we cannot make our way
into the depths of the canyon, but promise to show us the springs and
water pockets, which are very scarce in all powell-canyons-180.jpg
MARY'S VEIL; THE UPPER FALL ON PINE CREEK, A SMALL TRIBUTARY OF THE
SEVIER.
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS.
291
this region, and to give us all the information in their power. Here we
fit up a pack train, for our bedding and instruments and supplies are to
be carried on the backs of mules and ponies.
September 5, 1870.--The several members of the party are engaged in
general preparation for our trip down to the Grand Canyon.
Taking with me a white man and an Indian, I start on a climb to the
summit of the Paunsa'gunt Plateau, which rises above us on the east. Our
way for a mile or more is over a great peat bog, which trembles under
our feet, and now and then a mule sinks through the broken turf and we
are compelled to pull it out with ropes. Passing the bog, our way is up
a gulch at the foot of the Pink Cliffs, which form the escarpment, or
wall, of the great plateau. Soon we leave the gulch and climb a long
ridge which winds around to the right toward the summit of the great
table.
Two hours' riding, climbing, and clambering bring us near the top.
We look below and see clouds drifting up from the south and rolling
tumultuously toward the foot of the cliffs beneath us. Soon all the
country below is covered with a sea of vapor--a billowy, raging,
noiseless sea--and as the vapory flood still rolls up from the south,
great waves dash against the powell-canyons-181.jpg
PILLING CASCADE, THE LOWER FALLS ON PINE CEEEK.
292
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO. powell-canyons-182.jpg
ABORIGINAL LADDER.
foot of the cliffs and roll back; another tide comes in, is hurled back,
and another and another, lashing the cliffs until the fog rises to the
summit and covers us all. There is a heavy pine and fir forest above,
beset with dead and fallen timber, and we make our way through the
undergrowth to the east.
It rains. The clouds discharge their moisture in torrents, and we make
for ourselves shelters of boughs, only to be soon abandoned, and we
stand shivering by a great fire of pine logs and boughs, which the
pelting storm half extinguishes.
One, two, three, four hours of the storm, and at last it partially
abates. During this time our animals, which we have turned loose, have
sought for themselves shelter under the trees, and two of them have
wandered away beyond our sight. I go out to follow their tracks, and
come near to the brink of a ledge of rocks, which, in the fog and mist,
I suppose to be a little ridge, and I look for a way by which I can go
down. Standing just here, there is a rift made in the fog below by some
current or blast of wind, which reveals an almost bottomless abyss. I
look from the brink of a great precipice of more than 2,000 feet;
but through the mist the forms are half obscured and all reckoning of
distance is lost, and it seems 10,000 feet, ten miles--any distance the
imagination desires to make it.
Catching our animals, we return to the camp. We find that the little
streams which come down from the plateau are greatly swollen, but at
camp they have had no rain. The clouds which drifted up from the south,
striking against the plateau, were lifted up into colder regions and
discharged their moisture on the summit and against the sides of the
plateau, but there was no rain in the valley below.
September 9.--We make a fair start this morning from the beautiful
meadow at the head of the Kanab, cross the line of little hills at the
headwaters of the Rio Virgen, and pass, to the south, a pretty valley.
At ten o'clock we come to the brink of a great geographic bench--a line
of
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS.
293
cliffs. Behind us are cool springs, green meadows, and forest-clad
slopes; below us, stretching to the south until the world is lost in
blue haze, is a painted desert--not a desert plain, but a desert of
rocks cut by deep gorges and relieved by towering cliffs and pinnacled
rocks--naked rocks, brilliant in the sunlight.
By a difficult trail we make our way down the basaltic ledge, through
which innumerable streams here gather into a little river running in
a deep canyon. The river runs close to the foot of the cliffs on the
right-hand side and the trail passes along to the right. At noon we rest
and our animals feed on luxuriant grass.
Again we start and make slow progress along a stony way. At night we
camp under an overarching cliff.
September 10.--Here the river turns to the west, and our way, properly,
is to the south; but we wish to explore the Rio Virgen as far as
possible. The Indians tell us that the canyon narrows gradually a few
miles below and that it will be impossible to take our animals much
farther down the river. Early in the morning I go down to examine the
head of this narrow part. After breakfast, having concluded to explore
the canyon for a few miles on foot, we arrange that the main party
shall climb the cliff and go around to a point 18 or 20 \ miles below,
where, the Indians say, the animals can be taken down by the river, and
three of us set out on, foot.
The Indian name of the canyon is Paru'nuweap, or Roaring Water Canyon.
Between the little river and the foot of the walls is a dense growth of
willows, vines, and wild rosebushes, and with great difficulty we make
our way through this tangled mass. It is not a wide stream--only 20 or
30 feet across in most places; shallow, but very swift. After spending
some hours in breaking our way through the mass of vegetation and
climbing rocks here and there, it is determined to wade along the
stream. In some places this is an easy task, but here and there we come
to deep holes where we have to wade to our armpits. Soon we come to
places so narrow powell-canyons-183.jpg
ANOTHER STYLE OF LADDER.
294 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
that the river fills the entire channel and we wade perforce. In many
places the bottom is a quicksand, into which we sink, and it is with
great difficulty that we make progress. In some places the holes are
so deep that we have to swim, and our little bundles of blankets and
rations are fixed to a raft made of driftwood and pushed before us. Now
and then there is a little flood-plain, on which we can walk, and we
cross and recross the stream and wade along the channel where the water
is so swift as almost to carry us off our feet and we are in danger
every moment of being swept down, until night comes on. Finding a little
patch of flood-plain, on which there is a huge pile of driftwood and
a clump of box-elders, and near by a mammoth stream bursting from the
rocks, we soon have a huge fire. Our clothes are spread to dry; we make
a cup of coffee, take out our bread and cheese and dried beef, and enjoy
a hearty supper. We estimate that we have traveled eight miles to-day.
The canyon here is about 1,200 feet deep. It has been very narrow and
winding all the way down to this point.
September 11.--Wading again this morning; sinking in the quicksand,
swimming the deep waters, and making slow and painful progress where the
waters are swift and the bed of the stream rocky.
The canyon is steadily becoming deeper and in many places very
narrow--only 20 or 30 feet wide below, and in some places no wider, and
even narrower, for hundreds of feet overhead. There are places where
the river in sweeping by curves has cut far under the rocks, but still
preserves its narrow channel, so that there is an overhanging wall on
one side and an inclined wall on the other. In places a few hundred
feet above, it becomes vertical again, and thus the view to the sky is
entirely closed. Everywhere this deep passage is dark and gloomy and
resounds with the noise of rapid waters. At noon we are in a canyon
2,500 feet deep, and we come to a fall where the walls are broken down
and huge rocks beset the channel, on which we obtain a foothold to reach
a level 200 feet below. Here the canyon is again wider, and we find a
flood-plain along which we can walk, now on this, and now on that side
of the stream. Gradually the canyon widens; steep rapids, cascades,
and cataracts are found along the river, but we wade only when it is
necessary to cross. We make progress with very great labor, having to
climb over piles of broken rocks.
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 295
Late in the afternoon we come to a little clearing in the valley and
see other signs of civilization and by sundown arrive at the Mormon town
powell-canyons-184.jpg
ENTRANCE TO PARU'NUWEAP.
of Schunesburg; and here we meet the train, and feast on melons and
grapes.
September 12.--Our course for the last two days, through Paru'nuweap
Canyon, was directly to the west. Another stream comes down from the
north and unites just here at Schunesburg with the main branch of the
Rio Virgen. We determine to spend a day in the exploration of
this stream. The Indians call the canyon through which it runs,
Mukun'tu-weap, or Straight, Canyon. Entering this, we have to wade
upstream; often the water fills the entire channel and, although we
travel many
296
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
miles, we find no flood-plain, talus, or broken piles of rock at the
foot of the cliff. The walls have smooth, plain faces and are everywhere
very regular and vertical for a thousand feet or more, where they seem
to break back in shelving slopes to higher altitudes; and everywhere, as
we go along, we find springs bursting out at the foot of the walls, and
passing these the river above becomes steadily smaller. The great body
of water which runs below bursts out from beneath this great bed of red
sandstone; as we go up the canyon, it comes to be but a creek, and
then a brook. On the western wall of the canyon stand some buttes,
powell-canyons-185.jpg
TOWERS ON THE RIO VIRGEN.
towers, and high pinnacled rocks. Going up the canyon, we gain glimpses
of them, here and there. Last summer, after our trip through
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 297
the canyons of the Colorado, on our way from the mouth of the Virgen to
Salt Lake City, these were seen as conspicuous landmarks from a distance
away to the southwest of 60 or 70 miles. These tower rocks are known as
the Temples of the Virgen.
Having explored this canyon nearly to its head, we return to
Schunesburg, arriving quite late at night.
Sitting in camp this evening, Chuar'ruumpeak, the chief of the
Kai'vavits, who is one of our party, tells us there is a tradition among
the tribes of this country that many years ago a great light was
seen somewhere in this region by the Paru'shapats, who lived to the
southwest, and that they supposed it to be a signal kindled to warn them
of the approach of the Navajos, who lived beyond the Colorado River
to the east. Then other signal fires were kindled on the Pine Valley
Mountains, Santa Clara Mountains, and Uinkaret Mountains, so that all
the tribes of northern Arizona, southern Utah, southern Nevada, and
southern California were warned of the approaching danger; but when the
Paru'shapats came nearer, they discovered that it was a fire on one of
the great temples; and then they knew that the fire was not kindled
by men, for no human being could scale the rocks. The
Tu'muurrugwait'sigaip, or Rock Rovers, had kindled a fire to deceive the
people. So, in the Indian language this is called Tu'muurruwait'sigaip
Tuweap', or Rock Rovers' Land.
September 13.--We start very early this morning, for we have a long
day's travel before us. Our way is across the Rio Virgen to the south.
Coming to the bank of the stream here, we find a strange metamorphosis.
The streams we have seen above, running in narrow channels, leaping and
plunging over the rocks, raging and roaring in their course, are here
united and spread in a thin sheet several hundred yards wide and only
a few inches deep, but running over a bed of quicksand. Crossing the
stream, our trail leads up a narrow canyon, not very deep, and then
among the hills of golden, red, and purple shales and marls. Climbing
out of the valley of the Rio Virgen, we pass through a forest of dwarf
cedars and come out at the foot of the Vermilion Cliffs. All day we
follow this Indian trail toward the east, and at night camp at a great
spring, known to the Indians as Yellow Rock Spring, but to the Mormons
as Pipe Spring; and near by there is a cabin in which some Mormon
298
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
herders find shelter. Pipe Spring is a point just across the Utah line
in Arizona, and we suppose it to be about 60 miles from the river. Here
powell-canyons-186.jpg
MUKUN'TUWEAP CANYON.
the Mormons design to build a fort another year, as an outpost for
protection against the Indians. We now discharge a number of the
Indians, but take two with us for
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 299
the purpose of showing us the springs, for they are very scarce, very
small, and not easily found. Half a dozen are not known in a district
of country large enough to make as many good-sized counties in Illinois.
There are no running streams, and these springs and water pockets are
our sole dependence.
Starting, we leave behind a long line of cliffs, many hundred feet
high, composed of orange and vermilion sandstones. I have named them
"Vermilion Cliffs." When we are out a few miles, I look back and see
the morning sun shining in splendor on their painted faces; the salient
angles are on fire, and the retreating angles are buried in shade, and I
gaze on them until my vision dreams and the cliffs appear a long bank of
purple clouds piled from the horizon high into the heavens. At noon we
pass along a ledge of chocolate cliffs, and, taking out our sandwiches,
we make a dinner as we ride along.
Yesterday our Indians discussed for hours the route which we should
take. There is one way, farther by 10 or 12 miles, with sure water;
another, shorter, where water is found sometimes; their conclusion was
that water would be found now; and this is the way we go, yet all day
long we are anxious about it. To be out two days with only the water
that can be carried in two small kegs is to have our animals suffer
greatly. At five o'clock we come to the spot, and there is a huge water
pocket containing several barrels. What a relief! Here we camp for the
night.
September 15.--Up at daybreak, for it is a long day's march to the next
water. They say we must "run very hard" to reach it by dark.
Our course is to the south. From Pipe Spring we can see a mountain, and
I recognize it as the one seen last summer from a cliff overlooking the
Grand Canyon; and I wish to reach the river just behind the mountain.
There are Indians living in the group, of which it is the highest, whom
I wish to visit on the way. These mountains are of volcanic origin, and
we soon come to ground that is covered with fragments of lava. The way
becomes very difficult. We have to cross deep ravines, the heads of
canyons that run into the Grand Canyon. It is curious now to observe the
knowledge of our Indians. There is not a trail but what they know; every
gulch and every rock seems familiar. I have prided myself on being able
to grasp and retain in my mind the topog-
300 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
raphy of a country; but these Indians put me to shame. My knowledge is
only general, embracing the more important features of a region that
remains as a map engraved on my mind; but theirs is particular. They
know every rock and every ledge, every gulch and canyon, and just where
to wind among these to find a pass; and their knowledge is unerring.
They cannot describe a country to you, but they can tell you all the
particulars of a route.
I have but one pony for the two, and they were to ride "turn about"; but
Chuar'ruumpeak, the chief, rides, and Shuts, the one-eyed, barelegged,
merry-faced pigmy, walks, and points the way with a slender cane; then
leaps and bounds by the shortest way, and sits down on a rock and waits
demurely until we come, always meeting us with a jest, his face a rich
mine of sunny smiles.
At dusk we reach the water pocket. It is in a deep gorge on the flank
of this great mountain. During the rainy season the water rolls down the
mountain side, plunging over precipices, and excavates a deep basin in
the solid rock below. This basin, hidden from the sun, holds water the
year round.
September 16.--This morning, while the men are packing the animals, I
climb a little mountain near camp, to obtain a view of the country. It
is a huge pile of volcanic scoria, loose and light as cinders from a
forge, which give way under my feet, and I climb with great labor; but,
reaching the summit and looking to the southeast, I see once more the
labyrinth of deep gorges that flank the Grand Canyon; in the multitude,
I cannot determine whether it is itself in view or not. The memories of
grand and awful months spent in their deep, gloomy solitudes come up,
and I live that life over again for a time.
I supposed, before starting, that I could get a good view of the great
mountain from this point; but it is like climbing a chair to look at a
castle. I wish to discover some way by which it can be ascended, as it
is my intention to go to the summit before I return to the settlements.
There is a cliff near the summit and I do not see any way yet. Now down
I go, sliding on the cinders, making them rattle and clang.
The Indians say we are to have a short ride to-day and that we shall
reach an Indian village, situated by a good spring. Our way is across
the spurs that put out from the great mountain as we pass it to the
left.
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS.
301
Up and down we go across deep ravines, and the fragments of lava clank
under our horses' feet; now among cedars, now among pines, and now
across mountain-side glades. At one o'clock we descend into a lovely
valley, with a carpet of waving grass; sometimes there is a little water
in the upper end of it, and during some seasons the Indians we wish to
find are encamped here. Chuar'ruumpeak rides on to find them, and to say
we are friends, otherwise they would run away or propose to fight us,
should we come without notice. Soon we see Chuar'ruumpeak riding at full
speed and hear him shouting at the top of his voice, and away in the
distance are two Indians scampering up the mountain side. One stops;
the other still goes on and is soon lost to view. We ride up and find
Chuar'ruumpeak talking with the one who had stopped. It is one of
the ladies resident in these mountain glades; she is evidently
powell-canyons-187.jpg
THE WITCHES' WATER POCKET.
302
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
paying taxes, Godiva-like. She tells us that her people are at the
spring; that it is only two hours' ride; that her good master has gone
on to tell them we are coming; and that she is harvesting seeds.
We sit down and eat our luncheon and share our biscuits with the woman
of the mountains; then on we go over a divide between two rounded peaks.
I send the party on to the village and climb the peak on the left,
riding my horse to the upper limit of trees and then tugging up afoot.
From this point I can see the Grand Canyon, and I know where I am. I
can see the Indian village, too, in a grassy valley, em -bosomed in the
mountains, the smoke curling up from their fires; my men are turning out
their horses and a group of natives stand around. Down the mountain I go
and reach camp at sunset. After supper we put some cedar boughs on the
fire; the dusky villagers sit around, and we have a smoke and a talk.
I explain the object of my visit, and assure them of my friendly
intentions. Then I ask them about a way down into the canyon. They tell
me that years ago a way was discovered by which parties could go down,
but that no one has attempted it for a long time; that it is a very
difficult and very dangerous undertaking to reach the "Big Water."
Then I inquire about the Shi'vwits, a tribe that lives about
powell-canyons-188.jpg
WUNAVAI GATHERING SEEDS.
THE RIO VIRGEN AKD THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 303
the springs on the mountain sides and canyon cliffs to the southwest.
They say that their village is now about 30 miles away, and promise to
send a messenger for them to-morrow morning.
Having finished our business for the evening, I ask if there is a
tugwi'nagunt in camp; that is, if there is any one present who
is skilled in relating their mythology. Chuar'ruumpeak says
Tomor'rountikai, the chief of these Indians, is a very noted man for his
skill in this matter; but they both object, by saying that the season
for tugwi'nai has not yet arrived. But I had anticipated this, and soon
some members of the party come with pipes and tobacco, a large kettle
of coffee, and a tray of biscuits, and, after sundry ceremonies of pipe
lighting and smoking, we all feast, and, warmed up by this, to them,
unusually good living, it is decided that the night shall be spent in
relating mythology. I ask Tomor'rountikai to tell us about the So'kus
Wai'unats, or One-Two Boys, and to this he agrees.
The long winter evenings of an Indian camp are usually devoted to the
relation of mythologic stories, which purport to give a history of an
ancient race of animal gods. The stories are usually told by some old
man, assisted by others of the party, who take secondary parts, while
the members of the tribe gather about and make comments or receive
impressions from the morals which are enforced by the story-teller, or,
more properly, story-tellers; for the exercise partakes somewhat of the
nature of a theatrical performance.
THE SO'KUS WAI'UNATS.
Tumpwinai'rogwinump, He Who Had A Stone Shirt, killed Sikor', the Crane,
and stole his wife, and seeing that she had a child and thinking it
would be an incumbrance to them on their travels, he ordered her to kill
it. But the mother, loving the babe, hid it under her dress and carried
it away to its grandmother. And Stone Shirt carried his captured bride
to his own land.
In a few years the child grew to be a fine lad, under the care of his
grandmother, and was her companion wherever she went.
One day they were digging flag roots on the margin of the river and
putting them in a heap on the bank. When they had been at work a little
while, the boy perceived that the roots came up with greater ease than
was customary and he asked the old woman the cause of this,
304 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
but she did not know; and, as they continued their work, still the reeds
came up with less effort, at which their wonder increased, until the
grandmother said,
"Surely, some strange thing is about to transpire."
Then the boy went to the heap where they had been placing the roots, and
found that some one had taken them away, and he ran back, exclaiming,
"Grandmother, did you take the roots away?"
And she answered,
"No, my child; perhaps some ghost has taken them off; let us dig no
more; come away."
But the boy was not satisfied, as he greatly desired to know what all
this meant; so he searched about for a time, and at length found a man
sitting under a tree, and taunted him with being a thief, and threw mud
and stones at him until he broke the stranger's leg. The man answered
not the boy nor resented the injuries he received, but remained silent
and sorrowful; and when his leg was broken he tied it up in sticks and
bathed it in the river and sat down again under the tree and beckoned
the boy to approach. When the lad came near, the stranger told him he
had something of great importance to reveal.
"My son," said he, "did that old woman ever tell you about your father
and mother?"
"No," answered the boy; "I have never heard of them."
"My son, do you see these bones scattered on the ground? Whose bones are
these?"
"How should I know?" answered the boy. "It may be that some elk or deer
has been killed here."
"No," said the old man.
"Perhaps they are the bones of a bear"; but the old man shook his head.
So the boy mentioned many other animals, but the stranger still shook
his head, and finally said,
"These are the bones of your father; Stone Shirt killed him and left him
to rot here on the ground like a wolf."
And the boy was filled with indignation against the slayer of his
father.
Then the stranger asked,
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS.
305
"Is your mother in yonder lodge?"
"No," the boy replied.
"Does your mother live on the banks of this river?"
"I don't know my mother; I have never seen her; she is dead," answered
the boy.
"My son," replied the stranger, "Stone Shirt, who killed your father,
stole your mother and took her away to the shore of a distant lake, and
there she is his wife to-day."
And the boy wept bitterly and, while the tears filled his eyes so that
he could not see, the stranger disappeared. Then the boy was filled
with wonder at what he had seen and heard, and malice grew in his heart
against his father's enemy. He returned to the old woman and said,
"Grandmother, why have you lied to me about my father and mother?"
But she answered not, for she knew that a ghost had told all to the boy.
And the boy fell upon the ground weeping and sobbing, until he fell into
a deep sleep, when strange things were told him.
His slumber continued three days and three nights and when he awoke he
said to his grandmother:
"I am going away to enlist all nations in my fight."
And straightway he departed.
(Here the boy's travels are related with many circumstances concerning
the way he was received by the people, all given in a series
of conversations, very lengthy; so they will be omitted.)
powell-canyons-189.jpg
TERRACE FIREPLACE AND CHIMNEY OF SHUMOPAVI.
306
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
Finally he returned in advance of the people whom he had enlisted,
bringing with him Shinau'av, the Wolf, and Togo'av, the Rattlesnake.
When the three had eaten food, the boy said to the old woman:
"Grandmother, cut me in two!"
But she demurred, saying she did not wish to kill one whom she loved so
dearly.
"Cut me in two!" demanded the boy; and he gave her a stone ax, which he
had brought from a distant country, and with a manner of great authority
he again commanded her to cut him in two. So she powell-canyons-190.jpg
A SWEAT HOUSE.
stood before him and severed him in twain and fled in terror. And lo!
each part took the form of an entire man, and the one beautiful boy
appeared as two, and they were so much alike no one could tell them
apart.
When the people or natives whom the boy had enlisted came pouring into
the camp, Shinau'av and Togo'av were engaged in telling them of the
wonderful thing that had happened to the boy, and that now there were
two; and they all held it to be an augury of a successful expedition to
the land of Stone Shirt. And they started on their journey.
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 307
Now the boy had been told in the dream of his three days' slumber, of a
magical cup, and he had brought it home with him from his journey among
the nations, and the So'kus Wai'unats carried it between them, filled
with water. Shinau'av walked on their right and Togo'av on their left,
and the nations followed in the order in which they had been enlisted.
There was a vast number of them, so that when they were stretched out in
line it was one day's journey from the front to the rear of the column.
When they had journeyed two days and were far out on the desert, all the
people thirsted, for they found no water, and they fell down upon the
sand groaning and murmuring that they had been deceived, and they cursed
the One-Two.
But the So'kus Wai'unats had been told in the wonderful dream of the
suffering which would be endured, and that the water which they carried
in the cup was to be used only in dire necessity; and the brothers said
to each other:
"Now the time has come for us to drink the water."
And when one had quaffed of the magical bowl, he found it still full;
and he gave it to the other to drink, and still it was full; and the
One-Two gave it to the people, and one after another did they all drink,
and still the cup was full to the brim.
But Shinau'av was dead, and all the people mourned, for he was a great
man. The brothers held the cup over him and sprinkled him with water,
when he arose and said:
"Why do you disturb me? I did have a vision of mountain brooks and
meadows, of cane where honey dew was plenty."
They gave him the cup and he drank also; but when he had finished there
was none left. Refreshed and rejoicing, they proceeded on their journey.
The next day, being without food, they were hungry, and all were about
to perish; and again they murmured at the brothers and cursed them. But
the So'kus Wai'unats saw in the distance an antelope, standing on an
eminence in the plain, in bold relief against the sky; and Shinau'av
knew it was the wonderful antelope with many eyes which Stone Shirt
kept for his watchman; and he proposed to go and kill it, but Togo'av
demurred and said:
308 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
"It were better that I should go, for he will see you and run away."
But the So'kus Wai'unats told Shinau'av to go; and he started in a
direction away to the left of where the antelope was standing, that he
might make a long detour about some hills and come upon him from the
other side.
Togo'av went a little way from camp and called to the brothers:
"Do you see me!"
They answered they did not.
"Hunt for me."
While they were hunting for him, the Rattlesnake said:
"I can see you; you are doing so and so," telling them what they were
doing; but they could not find him.
Then the Rattlesnake came forth declaring:
"Now you know that when I so desire I can see others and I cannot be
seen. Shinau'av cannot kill that antelope, for he has many eyes, and is
the wonderful watchman of Stone Shirt; but I can kill him, for I can go
where he is and he cannot see me."
So the brothers were convinced and permitted him to go; and Togo'av went
and killed the antelope. When Shinau'av saw it fall, he was very angry,
for he was extremely proud of his fame as a hunter and anxious to
have the honor of killing this famous antelope, and he ran up with the
intention of killing Togo'av; but when he drew near and saw the antelope
was fat and would make a rich feast for the people, his anger was
appeased.
"What matters it," said he, "who kills the game, when we can all eat
it?"
So all the people were fed in abundance and they proceeded on their
journey.
The next day the people again suffered for water, and the magical cup
was empty; but the So'kus Wai'unats, having been told in their dream
what to do, transformed themselves into doves and flew away to a lake,
on the margin of which was the home of Stone Shirt.
Coming near to the shore, they saw two maidens bathing in the water; and
the birds stood and looked, for the maidens were very beautiful. Then
they flew into some bushes near by, to have a nearer view, and were
caught in a snare which the girls had placed for intrusive birds.
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS.
309
The beautiful maidens came up and, taking the birds out of the snare,
admired them very much, for they had never seen such birds before. They
carried them to their father, Stone Shirt, who said:
"My daughters, I very much fear these are spies from my enemies, for
such birds do not live in our land."
He was about to throw them into the fire, when the maidens besought
him, with tears, that he would not destroy their beautiful birds; but
he yielded to their entreaties with much misgiving. Then they took the
birds to the shore of the lake and set them free.
When the birds were at liberty once more they flew around among the
bushes until they found the magical cup which they had lost, and taking
it up they carried it out into the middle of the lake and settled
down upon the water, and the maidens supposed they were drowned.
powell-canyons-191.jpg
AN INTERIOR LODGE.
The birds, when they had filled their cup, rose again and went back to
the people in the desert, where they arrived just at the right time to
save them with the cup of water, from which each drank; and yet it was
full until the last was satisfied, and then not a drop remained.
The brothers reported that they had seen Stone Shirt and his daughters.
310
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO. powell-canyons-192.jpg
HALVED AND PINNED TRAPDOOR FRAME OF ZUÑI KIVA.
The next day they came near to the home of the enemy, and the brothers,
in proper person, went out to reconnoiter. Seeing a woman gleaning
seeds, they drew near, and knew it was their mother, whom Stone Shirt
had stolen from Sikor', the Crane. They told her they were her sons,
but she denied it and said she had never had but one son; but the boys
related to her their history, with the origin of the two from one, and
she was convinced. She tried to dissuade them from making war upon Stone
Shirt, and told them that no arrow could possibly penetrate his armor,
and that he was a great warrior and had no other delight than in killing
his enemies, and that his daughters also were furnished with magical
bows and arrows, which they could shoot so fast that the arrows would
fill the air like a cloud, and that it was not necessary for them to
take aim, for their missiles went where they willed; they thought the
arrows to the hearts of their enemies; and thus the maidens could kill
the whole of the people before a common arrow could be shot by a common
person. But the boys told her what the spirit had said in the long dream
and that it had promised that Stone Shirt should be killed. They told
her to go down to the lake at dawn, so as not to be endangered by the
battle.
During the night the So'kus Wai'unats transformed themselves into mice
and proceeded to the home of Stone Shirt and found the magical bows and
arrows that belonged to the maidens, and with their sharp teeth they cut
the sinew on the backs of the bows and nibbled the bow strings, so that
they were worthless. Togo'av hid himself under a rock near by.
When dawn came into the sky, Tumpwinai'ro-gwinump, the Stone Shirt man,
arose and walked out of his tent, exulting powell-canyons-193.jpg
WOODEN PIVOT HINGES OF A ZUÑÍ DOOR.
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 311
in his strength and security, and sat down upon the rock under which
Togo'av was hiding; and he, seeing his opportunity, sank his fangs into
the flesh of the hero. Stone Shirt sprang high into the air and called
to his daughters that they were betrayed and that the enemy was near;
and they seized their magical bows and their quivers filled with magical
arrows and hurried to his defense. At the same time, all the nations
who were surrounding the camp rushed down to battle. But the beautiful
maidens, finding their weapons were destroyed, waved back their enemies,
as if they would parley; and standing for a few moments over the body
of their slain father, sang the death song and danced the death dance,
whirling in giddy circles about the dead hero and wailing with despair,
until they sank down and expired.
The conquerors buried the maidens by the shores of the lake; but
Tumpwinai'rogwinump was left to rot and his bones to bleach on the
sands, as he had left Sikor'.
There is this proverb among the Utes: "Do not murmur when you suffer in
doing what the spirits have commanded, for a cup of water is provided";
and another: "What matters it who kills the game, when we can all eat of
it?"
It is long after midnight when the performance is ended. The story
itself is interesting, though I had heard it many times before; but
never, perhaps, under circumstances more effective. Stretched beneath
tall, somber pines; a great camp fire; by the fire, men, old, wrinkled,
and ugly; deformed, blear-eyed, wry-faced women; lithe, stately
young men; pretty but simpering maidens, naked children, all intently
listening, or laughing and talking by turns, their strange faces
and dusky forms lit up with the glare of the pine-knot fire. All the
circumstances conspired to make it a scene strange and weird. One old
man, the sorcerer or medicine man of the tribe, peculiarly impressed me.
Now and then he would interrupt the play for the purpose of correcting
the speakers or impressing the moral of the story with a strange
dignity and impressiveness that seemed to pass to the very border of the
ludicrous; yet at no time did it make me smile.
The story is finished, but there is yet time for an hour or two of
sleep. I take Chuar'ruumpeak to one side for a talk. The three men who
left us in the canyon last year found their way up the lateral gorge, by
which
312
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
they went into the Shi'wits Mountains, lying west of us, where they met
with the Indians and camped with them one or two nights and were finally
killed. I am anxious to learn the circumstances, and as the people of
the tribe who committed the deed live but a little way from these people
and are intimate with them, I ask Chuar'ruumpeak to make inquiry for me.
Then we go to bed.
September 17.--Early this morning the Indians come up to our camp.
powell-canyons-194.jpg
A POULTRY HOUSE OF SICHUMOVI RESEMBLING AN OVEN.
They have concluded to send out a young man after the Shi'vwits. The
runner fixes his moccasins, puts some food in a sack and water in a
little wickerwork jug, straps them on his back, and starts at a good
round pace.
We have concluded to go down the canyon, hoping to meet the Shi'vwits
on our return. Soon we are ready to start, leaving the camp and pack
animals in charge of the two Indians who came with us. As we move out
our new guide comes up, a blear-eyed, weazen-faced, quiet old man, with
his bow and arrows in one hand and a small cane in the other. These
Indians all carry canes with a crooked handle, they say to kill
rattlesnakes and to pull rabbits from their holes. The valley is high
up in the mountain and we descend from it by a rocky, precipitous trail,
down, down, down for two long, weary hours, leading our ponies and
stumbling over the rocks. At last we are at the foot of the mountain,
standing on a little knoll, from which we can look into a canyon below.
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 313
Into this we descend, and then we follow it for miles, clambering down
and still down. Often we cross beds of lava, that have been poured into
the canyon by lateral channels, and these angular fragments of basalt
make the way very rough for the animals.
About two o'clock the guide halts us with his wand, and, springing over
the rocks, he is lost in a gulch. In a few minutes he returns, and tells
us there is a little water below in a pocket. It is vile and our ponies
refuse to drink it. We pass on, still descending. A mile or two from the
water basin we come to a precipice more than 1,000 feet to the bottom.
There is a canyon running at a greater depth and at right angles to
this, into which this enters by the precipice; and this second canyon is
a lateral one to the greater one, in the bottom of which we are to find
the river. Searching about, we find a way by which we can descend along
the shelves and steps and piles of broken rocks.
We start, leading our ponies; a wall upon our left; unknown depths on
our right. At places our way is along shelves so narrow or so sloping
that I ache with fear lest a pony should make a misstep and knock a man
over the cliffs with him. Now and then we start the loose rocks under
our feet, and over the cliffs they go, thundering down, down, the echoes
rolling through distant canyons. At last we pass along a level shelf for
some distance, then we turn to the right and zigzag down a steep slope
to the bottom. Now we pass along this lower canyon for two or three
miles, to where it terminates in the Grand Canyon, as the other ended
in this, only the river is 1,800 feet below us, and it seems at this
distance to be but a creek. Our withered guide, the human pickle, seats
himself on a rock and seems wonderfully amused at our discomfiture, for
we can see no way by which to descend to the river. After some minutes
he quietly rises and, beckoning us to follow, points out a narrow
sloping shelf on the right, and this is to be our way. It leads along
the cliff for half a mile to a wider bench beyond, which, he says, is
broken down on the other side in a great slide, and there we can get to
the river. So we start out on the shelf; it is so steep we can hardly
stand on it, and to fall or slip is to go--don't look to see!
It is soon manifest that we cannot get the ponies along the ledge. The
storms have washed it down since our guide was here last, years ago. One
of the ponies has gone so far that we cannot turn him back until we
314
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
find a wider place, but at last we get him off. With part of the men, I
take the horses back to the place where there are a few bushes growing
and turn them loose; in the meantime the other men are looking for some
way by which we can get down to the river. When I return, one, Captain
Bishop, has found a way and gone down. We pack bread, coffee, sugar, and
two or three blankets among us, and set out. It is now nearly dark, and
we cannot find the way by which the captain powell-canyons-195.jpg
THE HUMAN PICKLE.
went, and an hour is spent in fruitless search. Two of the men go away
around an amphitheater, more than a fourth of a mile, and start down
a broken chasm that faces us who are behind. These walls, that are
vertical, or nearly so, are often cut by chasms, where the showers run
down,
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 315
and the top of these chasms will be back a distance from the face of the
wall, and the bed of the chasm will slope down, with here and there a
fall. At other places huge rocks have fallen and block the way. Down
such a one the two men start. There is a curious plant growing out from
the crevices of the rock. A dozen stems will start from one root and
grow to the length of eight or ten feet and not throw out a branch or
twig, but these stems are thickly covered with leaves. Now and then the
two men come to a bunch of dead stems and make a fire to mark for us
their way and progress.
In the meantime we find such a gulch and start down, but soon come to
the "jumping-off place," where we can throw a stone and faintly hear it
strike, away below. We fear that we shall have to stay here, clinging
to the rocks until daylight. Our little Indian gathers a few dry stems,
ties them into a bundle, lights one end, and holds it up. The others do
the same, and with these torches we find a way out of trouble. Helping
each other, holding torches for each other, one clinging to another's
hand until we can get footing, then supporting the other on his
shoulders, thus we make our passage into the depths of the canyon.
And now Captain Bishop has kindled a huge fire of driftwood on the
bank of the river. This and the fires in the gulch opposite and our
own flaming torches light up little patches that make more manifest the
awful darkness below. Still, on we go for an hour or two, and at last
we see Captain Bishop coming up the gulch with a huge torchlight on his
shoulders. He looks like a fiend, waving brands and lighting the fires
of hell, and the men in the opposite gulch are imps, lighting delusive
fires in inaccessible crevices, over yawning chasms; our own little
Indian is surely the king of wizards, so I think, as I stop for a few
moments on a rock to rest. At last we meet Captain Bishop, with his
flaming torch, and as he has learned the way he soon pilots us to
the side of the great Colorado. We are athirst and hungry, almost to
starvation. Here we lie down on the rocks and drink, just a mouthful or
so, as we dare; then we make a cup of coffee, and spreading our blankets
on a sand beach the roaring Colorado lulls us to sleep.
September 18.--We are in the Grand Canyon, by the side of the Colorado,
more than 6,000 feet below our camp on the mountain side, which is 18
miles away; but the miles of horizontal distance represent but
316 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
a small part of the day's labor before us. It is the mile of altitude
we must gain that makes it a Herculean task. We are up early; a little
bread and coffee, and we look about us. Our conclusion is that we can
make this a depot of supplies, should it be necessary; that we can pack
our rations to the point where we left our animals last night, and that
we can employ Indians to bring them down to the water's edge.
On a broad shelf we find the ruins of an old stone house, the walls of
which are broken down, and we can see where the ancient people who lived
here--a race more highly civilized than the present--had made a garden
and used a great spring that comes out of the rocks for irrigation. On
some rocks near by we discover some curious etchings. Still searching
about, we find an obscure trail up the canyon wall, marked here and
there by steps which have been built in the loose rock, elsewhere hewn
stairways, and we find a much easier way to go up than that by which we
came down in the darkness last night. Coming to the top of the wall, we
catch our horses and start. Up the canyon our jaded ponies toil and
we reach the second cliff; up this we go, by easy stages, leading the
animals. Now we reach the offensive water pocket; our ponies have had
no water for thirty hours, and are eager even for this foul fluid. We
carefully strain a kettleful for ourselves, then divide what is left
between them--two or three gallons for each; but it does not satisfy
them, and they rage around, refusing to eat the scanty grass. We boil
our kettle of water, and skim it; straining, boiling, and skimming make
it a little better, for it was full of loathsome, wriggling larvae, with
huge black heads. But plenty of coffee takes away the bad smell, and so
modifies the taste that most of us can drink, though our little Indian
seems to prefer the original mixture. We reach camp about sunset, and
are glad to rest.
September 19.--We are tired and sore, and must rest a day with our
Indian neighbors. During the inclement season they live in shelters made
of boughs or the bark of the cedar, which they strip off in long shreds.
In this climate, most of the year is dry and warm, and during such
time they do not care for shelter. Clearing a small, circular space of
ground, they bank it around with brush and sand, and wallow in it during
the day and huddle together in a heap at night--men, women,
317 powell-canyons-196.jpg
RECENT LAVA FLOW ON THE UINKARET. powell-canyons-197.jpg
A ZUÑI WINDOW GLAZED WITH SELENITE.
318 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
and children; buckskin, rags, and sand. They wear very little clothing,
not needing much in this lovely climate.
Altogether, these Indians are more nearly in their primitive condition
than any others on the continent with whom I am acquainted. They have
never received anything from the government and are too poor to tempt
the trader, and their country is so nearly inaccessible that the white
man never visits them. The sunny mountain side is covered with: wild
fruits, nuts, and native grains, upon which they subsist. The oose,
the fruit of the yucca, or Spanish bayonet, is rich, and not unlike the
pawpaw of the valley of the Ohio. They eat it raw and also roast it in
the ashes. They gather the fruits of a cactus plant, which are rich and
luscious, and eat them as grapes or express the juice from them, making
the dry pulp into cakes and saving them for winter and drinking the wine
about their camp fires until the midnight is merry with their revelries.
They gather the seeds of many plants, as sunflowers, golden-rod, and
grasses. For this purpose they have large conical baskets, which hold
two or more bushels. The women carry them on their backs, suspended from
their foreheads by broad straps, and with a smaller one in the left
hand and a willow-woven fan in the right they walk among the grasses and
sweep the seed into the smaller basket, which is emptied now and then
into the larger, until it is full of seeds and chaff; then they winnow
out the chaff and roast the seeds. They roast these curiously; they put
seeds and a quantity of red-hot coals into a willow tray and, by rapidly
and dexterously shaking and tossing them, keep the coals aglow and the
seeds and tray from burning. So skilled are the crones in this work they
roll the seeds to one side of the tray as they are roasted and the coals
to the other as if by magic.
Then they grind the seeds into a fine flour and make it into cakes and
mush. It is a merry sight, sometimes, to see the women grinding at the
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS.
319
mill. For a mill, they use a large flat rock, lying on the ground, and
another small cylindrical one in their hands. They sit prone on the
ground, hold the large flat rock between the feet and legs, then fill
their laps with seeds, making a hopper to the mill with their dusky
legs, and grind by pushing the seeds across the larger rock, where
they drop into a tray. I have seen a group of women grinding together,
keeping time to a chant, or gossiping and chatting, while the younger
lassies would jest and chatter and make the pine woods merry with their
laughter.
Mothers carry their babes curiously in baskets. They make a wicker board
by plaiting willows and sew a buckskin cloth to either edge, and this is
fulled in the middle so as to form a sack closed at the bottom. At the
top they make a wicker shade, like "my grandmother's sunbonnet," and
wrapping the little one in a wild-cat robe, place it in the basket,
and this they carry on their backs, strapped over the forehead, and the
little brown midgets are ever peering over their mothers' shoulders. In
camp, they stand the basket against the trunk of a tree or hang it to a
limb.
There is little game in the country, yet they get a mountain sheep now
and then or a deer, with their arrows, for they are not yet supplied
with guns. They get many rabbits, sometimes with arrows, sometimes with
nets. They make a net of twine, made of the fibers of a native flax.
Sometimes this is made a hundred yards in length, and is placed in
a half-circular position, with wings of sage brush. Then they have a
circle hunt, and drive great numbers of rabbits into the snare, where
they are shot with arrows. Most of their bows are made of cedar, but the
best are made of the horns of mountain sheep. These are soaked in water
until quite soft, cut into long thin strips, and glued together;
they are then quite elastic. During the autumn, grasshoppers are very
abundant, can be gathered by the bushel. At such a time, they dig a hole
in the sand, heat stones in a fire near by, put some hot stones in the
bottom of the hole, put on a layer of grasshoppers, then a layer of hot
stones, and continue this, until they put bushels on to roast. There
they are. powell-canyons-198.jpg
A ZUÑÍ CHAIR.
When cold weather sets in, these insects are numbed and
320
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO. powell-canyons-199.jpg
AN ANCIENT CIRCULAR DOORWAY OR "STONE CLOSE" IN KIN-TIEL.
left until cool, when they are taken out, thoroughly dried, and ground
into meal. Grasshopper gruel or grasshopper cake is a great treat.
Their lore consists of a mass of traditions, or mythology. It is very
difficult to induce them to tell it to white men; but the old Spanish
priests, in the days of the conquest of New Mexico, spread among the
Indians of this country many Bible stories, which the Indians are
usually willing to tell. It is not always easy to recognize them; the
Indian mind is a strange receptacle for such stories and they are apt
to sprout new limbs. Maybe much of their added quaint-ness is due to the
way in which they were told by the "fathers." But in a confidential way,
while alone, or when admitted to their camp fire on a winter night, one
may hear the stories of their mythology. I believe that the greatest
mark of friendship or confidence that an Indian can give is to tell you
his religion. After one has so talked with me I should ever trust him;
and I feel on very good terms with these Indians since our experience of
the other night.
A knowledge of the watering places and of the trails and passes is
considered of great importance and is necessary to give standing to a
chief.
This evening, the Shi'vwits, for whom we have sent, come in, and after
supper we hold a long council. A blazing fire is built, and around
this we sit--the Indians living here, the Shi'vwits, Jacob Hamblin, and
myself.
This man, Hamblin, speaks their language well and has a great influence
over all the Indians in the region round about. He is a silent, reserved
man, and when he speaks it is in a slow, quiet way that inspires great
awe. His talk is so low that they must listen attentively to hear,
and they sit around him in deathlike silence. When he finishes a
powell-canyons-200.jpg
A GAMING RING.
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 321
measured sentence the chief repeats it and they all give a solemn grunt.
But, first, I fill my pipe, light it, and take a few whiffs, then pass
it to Hamblin; he smokes, and gives it to the man next, and so it goes
around. When it has passed the chief, he takes out his own pipe, fills
and lights it, and passes it around after mine. I can smoke my own pipe
in turn, but when the Indian pipe comes around, I am nonplused. It has
a large stem, which has at some time been broken, and now there is a
buckskin rag wound around it and tied with sinew, so that the end of the
stem is a huge mouthful, exceedingly repulsive. To gain time, I refill
it, then engage in very earnest conversation, and, all unawares, I pass
it to my neighbor unlighted.
I tell the Indians that I wish to spend some months in their country
during the coming year and that I would like them to treat me as a
friend. I do not wish to trade; do not want their lands. Heretofore I
have found it very difficult to make the natives understand my object,
but the gravity of the Mormon missionary helps me much. I tell them that
all the great and good white men are anxious to know very many things,
that they spend much time in learning, and that the greatest man is
he who knows the most; that the white men want to know all about the
mountains and the valleys, the rivers and the canyons, the beasts and
birds and snakes. Then I tell them of many Indian tribes, and where they
live; of the European nations; of the Chinese, of Africans, and all
the strange things about them that come to my mind. I tell them of the
ocean, of great rivers and high mountains, of strange beasts and birds.
At last I tell them I wish to learn about their canyons and mountains,
and about themselves, to tell other men at home; and that I want to take
pictures of everything and show them to my friends. All this occupies
much time, and the matter and manner make a deep impression.
Then their chief replies: "Your talk is good, and we believe what you
say. We believe in Jacob, and look upon you as a father. When you are
hungry, you may have our game. You may gather our sweet fruits. We will
give you food when you come to our land. We will show you the springs
and you may drink; the water is good. We will be friends and when you
come we will be glad. We will tell the Indians who live on the other
side of the great river that we have seen Ka'purats, and that he is the
Indians' friend. We will tell them he is Jacob's
322
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
friend. We are very poor. Look at our women and children; they are
naked. We have no horses; we climb the rocks and our feet are sore. We
live among rocks and they yield little food and many thorns. When the
cold moons come, our children are hungry. We have not much to give; you
must not think us mean. You are wise; we have heard you tell strange
things. We are ignorant. Last year we killed three white men. Bad men
said they were our enemies. They told great lies. We thought them true.
Wo were mad; it made us big fools. We are very sorry. Do not think
of them; it is done; let us be friends. We are ignorant--like little
children in understanding compared with you. When we do wrong, do not
you get mad and be like children too.
"When white men kill our people, we kill them. Then they kill more of
us. It is not good. We hear that the white men are a great number.
When they stop killing us, there will be no Indian left to
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INTERIOR VIEW OF A TUSAYAN KIVA.
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 323
bury the dead. We love our country; we know not other lands. We hear
that other lands are better; we do not know. The pines sing and we are
glad. Our children play in the warm sand; we hear them sing and are
glad. The seeds ripen and we have to eat and we are glad. We do not want
their good lands; we want our rocks and the great mountains where our
fathers lived. We are very poor; we are very ignorant; but we are very
honest. You have horses and many things. You are very wise; you have a
good heart. We will be friends. Nothing more have I to say."
Ka'purats is the name by which I am known among the Utes and Shoshones,
meaning "arm off." There was much more repetition than I have given, and
much emphasis. After this a few presents were given, we shook hands, and
the council broke up.
Mr. Hamblin fell into conversation with one of the men and held him
until the others had left, and then learned more of the particulars of
the death of the three men. They came upon the Indian village almost
starved and exhausted with fatigue. They were supplied with food and put
on their way to the settlements. Shortly after they had left, an Indian
from the east side of the Colorado arrived at their village and told
them about a number of miners having killed a squaw in drunken brawl,
and no doubt these were the men; no person had ever come down the
canyon; that was impossible; they were trying to hide their guilt. In
this way he worked them into a great rage. They followed, surrounded the
men in ambush, and filled them full of arrows.
That night I slept in peace, although these murderers of my men, and
their friends, the Uinkarets, were sleeping not 500 yards away. While we
were gone to the canyon, the pack train and supplies, enough to make an
Indian rich beyond his wildest dreams, were all left in their charge,
and were all safe; not even a lump of sugar was pilfered by the
children.
September 20.--For several days we have been discussing the relative
merits of several names for these mountains. The Indians call them
Uinkarets, the region of pines, and we adopt the name. The great
mountain we call Mount Trumbull, in honor of the senator. To-day the
train starts back to the canyon water pocket, while Captain Bishop and
324
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
I climb Mount Trumbull. On our way we pass the point that was the last
opening to the volcano.
It seems but a few years since the last flood of fire swept the valley.
Between two rough, conical hills it poured, and ran down the valley to
the foot of a mountain standing almost at the lower end, then parted,
and ran on either side of the mountain. This last overflow is very
plainly marked; there is soil, with trees and grass, to the very edge
powell-canyons-202.jpg
CAVE LAKE IN KANAB CANYON.
of it, on a more ancient bed. The flood was, everywhere on its border,
from 10 to 20 feet in height, terminating abruptly and looking like a
wall from below. On cooling, it shattered into fragments, but these are
still in place and the outlines of streams and waves can be seen. So
THE RIO VIRGEN AND THE UINKARET MOUNTAINS. 325
little time has elapsed since it ran down that the elements have not
weathered a soil, and there is scarcely any vegetation on it, but here
and there a lichen is found. And yet, so long ago was it poured from
the depths, that where ashes and cinders have collected in a few places,
some huge cedars have grown. Near the crater the frozen waves of black
basalt are rent with deep fissures, transverse to the direction, of the
flow. Then we ride through a cedar forest up a long ascent, until we
come to cliffs of columnar basalt. Here we tie our horses and prepare
for a climb among the columns. Through crevices we work, till at last we
are on the mountain, a thousand acres of pine laud spread out before us,
gently rising to the other edge. There are two peaks on the mountain. We
walk two miles to the foot of the one looking to be the highest, then
a long, hard climb to its summit. What a view is before us! A vision of
glory! Peaks of lava all around below us. The Vermilion Cliffs to the
north, with their splendor of colors; the Pine Valley Mountains to the
northwest, clothed in mellow, perspective haze; unnamed mountains to
the southwest, towering over canyons bottomless to my peering gaze,
like chasms to nadir hell; and away beyond, the San Francisco Mountains,
lifting their black heads into the heavens. We find our way down the
mountain, reaching the trail made by the pack train just at dusk, and
follow it through the dark until we see the camp fire--a welcome sight.
Two days more, and we are at Pipe Spring; one day, and we are at Kanab.
Eight miles above the town is a canyon, on either side of which is a
group of lakes. Four of these are in caves where the sun never shines.
By the side of one of these I sit, at my feet the crystal waters, of
which I may drink at will.
326 powell-canyons-203.jpg
ANCIENT POTTERY FROM TUSAYAN.
327