BOOTS AND SADDLES CALL.
[Illustration: Music]
In nearly all lifetimes and in nearly all undertakings, there will occur
seasons which severally try not merely one's faith and courage, but
one's power of physical endurance as well; seasons when one's spirits
are fagged and stand in need of a reveille, or "Boots and Saddles" call.
The march of our little company during these mid-July days, with their
privations and sufferings, could scarcely have been maintained, but for
the notes of cheer which, by memory's route, came to us from out the
silent places of the past, or, on the wings of hope, alighted among us
from off the heights of the future.
The Humboldt River, which by this time had become to us quite a
memorable stream, was winding and crooked after coming out of the canon,
and could be traced through the desert only by the willows that grew
along its banks and around its shallow pools. Our route lay on the left
bank all the way down to the "sink."
It was the middle of July, with never a cloud in the sky, not a tree or
shade of any kind. The ground was heated like an oven and covered more
or less by an alkali sand, which parched our lips while the sun was
blistering our noses.
The river from here down to its sink is like all desert streams in the
dry season. It does not have a continuous current, but the water lies in
pools, alternating with places where the bed is dry and bare. In its
windings it averaged about twenty-five miles from one bend to another,
the trail leading a straight line like a railroad from one point to
another. These points were our camping-places. As it was useless to stop
between them we had to make the river or perish.
The willows were already browsed down to mere stubs, consequently there
was little or no feed for the stock. Wherever we could find any grass,
there we took the animals and tended them until they got their fill.
There was no game to be seen nor anything that had life, except horned
toads and lizards. The former could be seen in the sand all day. They
were of all sizes, ranging from a kernel of corn to a common toad, each
ornamented with the same covering of horns, beginning with a Turk's
crescent on the tip of the nose. As to the lizards, none could be seen
during the day, but at night there would be a whole family of them lying
right against one, having crept under the blankets to keep warm, I
suppose, as the nights were quite cool. Upon getting up in the morning
we would take our blankets by one end and give a jerk, and the lizards
would roll out like so many links of weinerwurst.
About midway to the river we began to get uncomfortably short of
provisions, having only some parched coffee, a little sugar, and a few
quarts of broken hardtack. We had neither flour nor meat for more than
two weeks. But of all our sufferings the greatest was that of thirst. It
was so intense that we forgot our hunger and our wearied and wornout
condition. Our sole thought was of water, and when we talked about what
amount we would drink when we came to a good spring no one ever
estimated less than a barrel full, and we honestly believed we could
drink that much at a single draught. We had, in a degree, become "loony"
on the subject, particularly in the middle of the day, when one could
not raise moisture in his mouth to even spit. For about ten days the
only water we had was obtained from the pools by which we would camp.
These pools were stagnant and their edges invariably lined with dead
cattle that had died while trying to get a drink. Selecting a carcass
that was solid enough to hold us up, we would walk out into the pool on
it, taking a blanket with us, which we would swash around and get as
full of water as it would hold, then carrying it ashore, two men, one
holding each end, would twist the filthy water out into a pan, which in
turn would be emptied into our canteens, to last until the next
camping-place. As the stomach would not retain this water for even a
moment, it was only used to moisten the tongue and throat.
One afternoon we noticed on the side of a mountain spur off to our left
a green spot part way up its side. We looked at the spot and then at the
bend to which we were going, and as each seemed to be about
equi-distant we concluded to go to the mountains, believing we would
find water.
Well, if any of you have had any experience in travelling toward a
mountain you, as did we, probably under-estimated the distance. We left
the trail at 3 o'clock and tramped until nearly sundown before we began
to make the ascent, always keeping our eyes on that green spot. About an
hour after dark we came into the bed of a dry creek, and believing that
it would eventually lead us to water, we followed it up until about
midnight, when we came to water in a ditch about two feet wide and a few
inches deep.
Ourselves and animals being nearly exhausted, we just laid down in that
stream, and I guess each one came pretty near drinking his barrel of
water. We pulled off the packs and let the animals go loose in the feed,
which was very good, while we were soon stretched out and sound asleep.
When we woke in the morning the sun was well up and sending down its
scorching rays into our faces. We made some coffee, drank it and felt
better. We stayed there until noon, as the animals were still getting
good feed, and we--well, we were getting all the water we wanted. We
filled our canteens with it, and after making necessary preparations
started to strike the river again, which we could plainly see from our
mountain perch, also slow moving trains, as they plod their weary way
over the plain.
We reached the river about sundown and as we looked against the western
horizon, began to see quite distinctly the snow-capped range of the
Sierra Nevada Mountains. They looked grand and formidable to us, knowing
that we must climb up and over them before we could reach our journey's
end. They held no terror for us, however, for we knew that we should
suffer neither from heat nor thirst during our trail over their broad,
friendly sides.
For a couple of days we had been trying the experiment of camping during
the day and travelling at night, but we soon got enough of that way of
getting along. The traveling at night was all right, but to camp all day
with a scorching sun overhead and a burning sand under our feet was more
than we could endure, so we again worked by day and slept at night.
There was no fuel along here except willows, and they were so green it
was impossible to coax them into a blaze. We finally resorted to a
willow crane, which we made by sticking a couple of willows into the
sand, arching them over toward each other and tying them together,
hanging our coffee-pot between them, underneath which we made a fire of
dead grass tied in knots. For a long time we laid on the sand and fed
that fire with knotted grass, but _boil_ the coffee would not.
We had now reached the sink of the Humboldt, which was a small lake,
perhaps ten or twelve miles long and two or three miles wide. The upper
half was quite shallow, with soft, miry bottom covered with flags and
rushes. The lower half was clear, open water, rounding off at its lower
end with a smooth, sandy beach, making it a very pretty thing to look
at, but its water was so brackish as to be unpalatable for drinking
purposes.
We camped for the night near its flags and rushes, a large quantity of
which we cut and brought in for the animals, which seemed to give them
new life and ambition. We also cut as many bundles as we could carry
away bound to the backs of our loose stock, for we still had forty-two
miles more of desert, without wood, water or grass, before reaching the
Carson River. While camping in this vicinity two pelicans sailed around
and lighted in the clear lake, beyond reach of rifle-shot. These were
the first birds of the kind I had ever seen outside of a showman's cage,
and I was determined to have one of them if possible; so, with rifle in
hand, I waded out till the water came up under my arms, and, not being
able to go any farther, I fired, but without avail.
In looking about me as I waded back, I saw a little white tent a short
way off, just on the edge of the lake. Going to it, I found a lone man
about half drunk. I asked him what he was doing there, and he said he
had some alcohol to sell at five dollars a quart. I bought a quart, my
canteen full, and went back to camp. We succeeded in making coffee of
the strongest kind and enough of it to fill our six canteens. We divided
the alcohol equally among us and mixed it with the coffee. This
arrangement was an experiment, but we found upon trial that one swallow
of this mixture would make a person bat his eyes and step about quite
lively, while two of them would make a man forget most of his troubles.
I remember that it was about mid-afternoon when we finally packed and
left the Humboldt River for the last time, which we did with but few
regrets. It was our intention to make as much as possible of the
Humboldt desert during the night.
A few miles out the trail forked, the one to the right being "Trucke
Route" and the other "Carson Route"; we decided upon the latter. Near
the forks were some campers, two sets of them, who were quarreling as to
which route was the better. They finally began to shoot at each other
and were still at it when we passed out of hearing, not knowing or
caring how the duel might end. Toward sundown we came to the salt wells,
twelve miles from the sink, the water in them being as salt as the
strongest brine. This was the last salt water we saw on our journey.
About midnight we came to some tents, wagons, and a corral of stock; we
were then nearly half the distance across the desert.
At the tent water was sold at the very low price of "six bits" a gallon.
We bought one gallon apiece for each of the animals and as much as we
needed to drink at the time for ourselves. We did not care to dilute the
contents of our canteens. We gave the stock a feed and moved on. The
night was moonlighted, very bright and pleasant, but awfully still,
rendered so seemingly by the surroundings, or perhaps by the lack of
surroundings, for there could be heard no rushing of waters, no
murmuring of forests no rustling of grasses. All of Nature's
music-pieces had been left far behind. There was nothing but sand, and
it was at rest except as our footfalls caused it to vibrate. The broad
and barren expanse, the white light of the full moon full upon it, the
curvings and windings of the trail upon the sand, the steady onward
march of our caravan, all combined to make a subject worthy the brush of
a Millet.
We travelled in silence mostly. There was reverence in the atmosphere
and we could not evade it. We did not even try.
Akin to this scene must have been the one which inspired Longfellow to
write:
"Art is the child of Nature; yes,
Her darling child, in whom we trace
The features of the mother's face,
Her aspect and her mien."