SOME EPISODES IN STOCK HUNTING
In later years, through the influence of one of its ambitious citizens,
the little settlement referred to in the last chapter as Pumpkin Holler
had come to be known by the more classic if less appropriate name of
Rome. There was, however, nothing in my recollection of that sleepy
crossroads or of its alleged former citizen, Benjamin Roach, and his
friend, that would tempt me to remain longer than necessary in their
mountain fastness, nor did I invoke their aid or inform them that a
number of our cattle had strayed up the adjacent valleys. It was the
current belief that some men who lived in those parts, having no other
visible means of support, were inclined to care for stray stock, and
pursued that avocation as a pastime chiefly in their own interest. As
soon, therefore, as the Henry rifle was again in my hands, I retreated
down the mountain side through the thickets of underbrush and then up
the other side of the valley. The silk handkerchief, which had been left
on the opposite cliff as a landmark, served a good purpose as it enabled
me to reach my horse by a fairly direct course.
The lengthening shadows on the mountain slopes were a warning that I
should speedily proceed to the business of hunting cattle. It was nearly
sunset when I caught a glimpse of oxen nearly a mile distant and partly
concealed by a grove near which they were grazing. Being confident that
they were part of our missing stock I started to reach them. The steep,
rough, and rocky mountain slope which was hurriedly descended in the
quest was ill adapted to horse-back riding and the pathless groves of
underbrush proved to be serious obstructions to progress. Becoming
entangled in the unyielding branches the stock of my rifle was broken
squarely off, and a few new holes in size beyond the skill of the novice
to repair, were punched through my garments in places where additional
holes were unnecessary. On emerging into an open space, it was found
that both horse and rider had received a few scratches, and the bridle
was broken. All these mishaps were ordinary incidents to which any stock
hunter is subject if he is inclined to wander unnecessarily into new and
untrodden paths, but the big whip, the favorite artillery of the cowboy,
was saved. Our wayward oxen were finally rounded up far up a valley
where the grass grows the greenest, but with temper not unlike that of
men they evidently preferred the freedom of the mountains to a condition
of servitude. Apparently understanding my purpose they scattered in a
wild race to avoid, if possible, being again brought under the heavy
yoke, but were finally brought to the corral down the canyon.
Our troubles were not yet ended. On the following day two more wagon
wheels collapsed on a steep slope. The train was again halted. The stock
was turned out upon the range with its numerous ramifications of ravines
and thickets, and before the morning dawned many of the animals were out
of our sight.
We were not traveling on schedule time, yet this delay brought forth
some outbursts of profanity from those who were accustomed to swear, all
of which produced no effect on the cattle scattered up the valleys. On
the following morning there began another series of experiences in
hunting stock, which afforded a fair illustration of the manner in
which the Western Mountaineer of that day lived and tried to sleep.
Taking a heavy horse, which unfortunately was not adapted to mountain
climbing, I started alone southward up a long side ravine directed in
part by the tracks of the oxen. Having reached rather a high altitude,
and desiring to obtain a better view of the surrounding country, I
followed the projecting spur of a barren mountain, which on further
advance proved to be unexpectedly steep. In turning a crest of the ridge
my horse stumbled, and while I very properly landed on the uphill side,
he rolled completely over downward, and after a series of evolutions
impossible to describe, became anchored flat upon his back, tightly
wedged in against a small solitary quaking asp tree, which fortunately
stood upon the edge of an almost perpendicular declivity at whose foot,
several hundred feet below, was a wet swamp, in which was a dense
thicket of willows, possibly the source of a mountain brook. The feet of
the horse were pawing the air. After a few ineffectual efforts to
disengage himself he turned his head and cast a pathetic glance
downward, evidently realizing his dangerous and helpless position. As a
matter of fact, the situation was not pleasant either for the horse or
for him who was partly responsible for its plight.
After carefully crawling down to where he was held as in a vise, I
unloosed his saddle girths and supporting myself partly by the little
tree and partly by the rock beneath it, seized the horse by his foretop
and slowly swung him round until his head turned up the slope, and then
assisted him to roll upon his face as a preliminary to an effort to rise
upon his feet. He took one more solemn thoughtful look downward toward
the gulf beneath him, and then began his struggle for life in the
effort to gain a safe footing up the mountain side, to which effort I
gave some assistance from my anchorage. I put my trust in the quaking
asp and held to it firmly until the loose stones which the horse
dislodged in his scramble had rolled by, and then dragging the saddle, I
slowly crawled up by the same pathway and found the animal quietly
awaiting my arrival, with an expression upon his countenance that seemed
to indicate a desire to give thanks for what was really a narrow escape
from a disastrous plunge. He was again saddled, but was not again
mounted until we reached a safer footing. Finding myself at a point from
which it seemed that the summit of the mountain could now be reached,
and led as is the average young man by an irrepressible desire to
descend into the deepest hole or reach the top of the highest hill at
any time within the range of vision, I determined to complete the ascent
and take a look down upon that part of the world. On nearing the summit
I observed a dense mist slowly creeping along the eastern slope of the
mountain and bridging the ravine with soft billowy folds upon which the
bright sunlight rested. When it had risen to within a few hundred feet
of my course, the cloud became luminous for an instant. The flash was
quickly followed by a sharp report like the discharge of a piece of
artillery at hand and the detonation combined with its echo back from
another mountain side in one single sharp response. This was quickly
repeated three or four times with startling effect. As I have often
observed, when thunder storms among mountain peaks float beneath the
observer, there is no prolonged roar and rumbling, as when the
deep-toned thunder reverberates above lower levels. The prospect of
being wrapped in the cold and wet embrace of the rising storm clouds,
when upon a difficult and untried mountain pathway, was not cheering.
The sky overhead had been clear, and the bright light intensified the
grandeur and beauty of the soft billows below, which seemed as sharply
outlined as the waves of the ocean, but there came some scurrying clouds
in a higher stratum above the summit which later sent down driving snow
flakes, all of which melted in the air on nearly the level where I
stood, on coming into contact with the warmer current near the storm
below. The lower storm did not rise to the mountain top, but
majestically moved onward somewhere by a course the eye could not
follow, and on its fleeing skirts was painted a beautiful rainbow, as
welcome in its promise of hope as any I have ever seen. The complete
arch, perfect in every detail, its bright hues radiant against the dark
background, rested in the deep valley far beneath. The sky had again
cleared and in many directions the bright sun lit up the sides of the
surrounding mountains, and slowly the coveted view of the extensive
landscape of mountain and valley unfolded. That storm was a glorious
spectacle never to be forgotten. The mountain slopes as revealed when
the clouds rolled by were seen to be scarred by narrow ravines dark and
gloomy in the path of the retreating storm and in striking contrast with
the little patches of glistening snow on many of the northern slopes,
relics perhaps of some less recent snow fall. The view from any mountain
top inspires the most phlegmatic with some emotion, but on this Utah
peak the sense of cold and hunger began in time to assert itself.
I was supposed, also, to be hunting stock, and not even the dullest ox
would go to a rocky barren mountain top to feed. I ventured to attempt a
descent by a course other than that first taken and leading down
another valley. After a few miles of travel I was surprised by the
welcome sight of a little log cabin, the first human habitation
discovered during the day. The little home seemed to offer a much
desired protection for the coming night. My thoughts upon the subject
were frankly expressed to a woman having slightly gray hair, who stood
in the open door as I approached. She invited me to hitch my horse and
come in. Accepting a proffered chair, I soon found myself in the
presence of five comparatively young women, none but the one already
mentioned being apparently more than twenty-five years of age. The
women, some of whom remained standing, gathered round in a rather
expectant attitude, as if desiring to see and hear all that might
transpire. Although not a close observer of women's apparel, a single
glance showed me that there was a striking similarity in the material
and style of their dresses and sun-bonnets.
"Are all these young women members of your family?" I asked.
"Yes, there are seven of us here."
"A fine large family, indeed," said I, "but is the man of the house
here?"
"No," replied the older woman, "he is down at Provo with some cattle."
"And you women are up here alone, and I suppose it is your husband who
is at Provo," I added with the hope that the answer might shed some
daylight upon the relationship which the women held one to another. Some
of the women quietly glanced one at another, until one of them replied
in the affirmative. Here then the remarkable Scripture had had a
remarkable fulfilment: "In those days it shall come to pass that seven
women shall lay hold upon one man."
Two of the seven, who during our preliminary conversation had been
outside, now entered the room from the rear, apparently aware that there
was a caller in the house. Visits not being frequent events in their
secluded home, they would naturally desire to share the interest of any
new face, be it welcome or otherwise.
The family was now supposed to be accounted for and present except the
_pater-familias_, and to what extent the absent member was entitled to
the distinction of being a father had not yet become clear to me, nor to
what extent he was a husband.
I observed that the cabin consisted of a single room, of fairly good
size, and what appeared to be a small kitchen under a rudely constructed
lean-to, built against the rear of the cottage. On opposite sides of the
main room were berths made of balsam poles and constructed in tiers of
three, one above another. There was no ceiling or attic above the room,
which was open to the sloping roof. There being twelve berths, the
provisions for sleeping were manifestly ample, and on being informed
that I could be accommodated for the night I decided to remain at least
for supper, after which my judgment would be more enlightened. I was
fearfully hungry. They would have supper at five o'clock. An old
fashioned fall-leaf table was pulled out from the wall, the leaves were
lifted up, and the preparation was begun, when I stepped out from the
door to take an observation.
[Illustration: DEAD MAN'S FALLS, LITTLE COTTONWOOD, UTAH]
In a running brook I washed my hands and wiped them partly on my
clothes, using a soiled handkerchief that had begun to simulate
alarmingly the likeness of an old map of Africa, but still discharged in
some measure the duty of detergence. Having parted my hair with my
pocket comb and being now ready for the feast I strolled round the
little log cabin, which to me was invested with almost as much interest
as the Yildiz Kiosk when it was the home of Abdul Hamid. A voice at the
door announced that supper was ready, and I responded with alacrity.
There were eight seats at the table, two on each side, and all were
speedily occupied. The dishes with the food served had all been placed
upon the bare table, to be passed round. The luxury of a linen spread
was not to be expected in an out of the way western mountain cabin, and
what with hot tea, brown sugar and milk, cold meat and bread, all seemed
appetizing enough.
I soon learned that the family were Mormons, but did not ascertain
definitely to what extent that cult had brought them under the sway of
one husband, though it appeared probable that three of the young women
were still free to form matrimonial alliance.
Women were present in number sufficient to give continuity to the
conversation, in the course of which I glanced round at the berths in
the room and finally asked where, in case I should remain for the night,
they would put me. To them the problem presented no difficulty. In fact,
it was not uncommon on the frontier in early days for several families
to be sheltered over night in a single room almost as satisfactorily as
is now done in a Pullman sleeper, and with as little disturbance from
sonorous slumberers who sometimes unwittingly throw their neighbors into
a panic. I was present on one occasion when Costello, the well-known
rancher in South Park, on a stormy night entertained forty-six
sleepers--men and women--in three rooms. He said he believed he could
handle two or three more, but it might make it a little crowded.
"Is there another cabin not far away, where the man of the house is
likely to be at home?" I asked, when the supper was over. After a little
thought one of the women stated that about a mile down the canyon there
lived an old fellow, at what was known as the toll gate.
"O yes," said another, "you mean the Scotchman."
The suggestion afforded an opportunity for retreat. Thanking the women,
I paid for my supper and received definite instructions concerning the
path, as the darkness of evening had begun to settle on the valley. I
reached the other little hut, recognizing it first by the firelight
shining through the small window. My approach to the cabin was
proclaimed by the deep-toned barking of dogs from within. A "hello"
brought the keeper to the door. Driving back the animals, and commanding
them to shut up, he gave me an opportunity through the half open door to
ask his permission to stay all night with him, which request was granted
as a matter of course. Having arranged for some feed for my horse, we
entered the hut. The Scotchman, who (I learned later) was well known by
many Mormon people, was the sole occupant of the cabin, except that
three huge mastiffs shared his company. On entering I took a seat in an
uneasy chair before the fire, and the Scotchman, who was uncommunicative
and not especially hospitable, soon stretched himself out upon the only
bench in the room, wrapped himself up in his blanket, and fell asleep.
The dogs, with half-opened eyes directed toward me as they were
stretched before the fireplace, had become reconciled to my presence.
The flickering firelight, which enabled me to write a few sentences in
my note book, also exposed a dirty earth floor not covered at any point
with boards. I had no blanket and the prospect for repose was dismal. As
a diversion I wandered out into the night toward the place where my
horse had been hitched, near which I had noticed a small pile of fresh
straw, four or five feet in height. It occurred to me that this pile
exactly met my requirements, and compared with it the Scotchman's dirt
floor was not to be considered for a moment. The sky was now clear, and
the air was still. In the distance here and there arose the occasional
yelp of timber wolves, doubtless on their regular nocturnal patrol as
scavengers. Investigation revealed the presence of pigs, which had
burrowed out a comfortable nest in the straw stack. After a few punches,
two animals with many grunts of reluctance consented to vacate their
bed. I immediately crawled, feet first, quite out of sight into the
nest. It was a far better bed than the soldiers had been accustomed to
sleep in, during the Civil War. The cares of the day were soon forgotten
in slumber, but early in the morning I was suddenly awakened by the
jumping of heavy animals upon the straw pile above me and by the angry
barking of dogs, the deep baying of which came through the passage to my
nest. Their noses were soon thrust into the straw at the entrance. The
three big mastiffs in the Caledonian's lodge on the previous night had
been turned loose for their morning airing and had scented the presence
of an intruder in the straw pile. Every word that I spoke to them served
but to augment their savage howls and barking. I had often run badgers
and other burrowing animals into their holes, but had never before so
fully realized the deplorable straits to which I had reduced them.
I managed to extricate my revolver from the belt but remembered that its
flash would set the straw on fire, nor did I care to incur the hostility
of the surly Scot by shooting one of his dearest friends and protectors.
Already I had had trouble enough. The Highlander's attention was
finally attracted by the excited conduct of his dogs and naturally
believing that they had covered some big game in the straw pile he urged
them on and returned to the cabin for his gun. My voice was smothered
and muffled by the straw pile and drowned in the incessant howling and
barking of the three dogs, and still I would not shoot until they should
make an attack. Yelling at the top of my voice I finally made the
Scotchman aware that the sound proceeded from a human being and that the
import of my entreaty was that he call off his dogs, else I must shoot,
and that I was the fellow whom he received the night before. His
response inspired me with hope. Laying aside his gun he took one and
then another of the savage mastiffs by the tail, pulled them back and
fought them off, until at length he got between them and the hole under
the straw stack. As I emerged, the vicious beasts made another plunge,
but in some way I struggled to my feet, when possibly the excited
animals recognized me as the guest of their master and their interest
subsided, though for some time they maintained close watch, apparently
ready on the slightest hint to renew hostilities. The Scot informed me
that his dogs were great on wolves and were well-trained. Nothing in
addition to my recent observations was necessary to convince me that the
dogs were great on any game.
The reader may recall that I had an understanding with Captain Whitmore
that the wagon train would proceed to Salt Lake City as rapidly as
possible, to deliver merchandise that had been long in transit. As the
grade from the head of Parley's Canyon to the city was steadily
downward, this could be accomplished without the service of the missing
cattle, but I was to remain in the mountains and recover them, if
possible. The next two days were devoted to this work, and having
ascended one ravine after another, late on the afternoon of October 8th
I emerged from the mountains with all the missing cattle in a herd
before me. We came out over the high bench by the upper road, which has
since been abandoned, and from which elevation against the light of the
setting sun could be seen the Jordan Valley and the western mountains
beyond. There were reasons for self-congratulation on reflecting that
the cattle hunt was so near a successful termination. It was in the
early twilight, and hardly two miles separated the truant oxen from the
city corral, when for no cause apparent to me all the cattle suddenly
stopped, wheeled from the road and with heads and tails in the air
started in various directions at the top of their speed. My horse
sharing in the panic became almost unmanageable, but with him I started
in pursuit.
It appears that in the preceding year a firm possessed of more
enterprise than business acumen had imported from the Orient a herd of
camels, intending to use them for the transportation of freight across
the arid country south of Salt Lake.
In the dusk of evening the stock under my care had caught a glimpse of
this herd of grotesque long-necked beasts approaching them. It was a
sight the like of which they probably had never before beheld. Escaping
hurriedly with my frightened horse I was carried through what I believe
was an irrigating ditch into the rough ground beyond, whence for the
first time I discerned in outline the swaying towering heads of the
awkward camels that had caused the stampede. Then the pursuit of the
panic-stricken oxen was renewed, my hope being that they might be
brought back into the road before the darkness of the on-coming night
should make it impossible to follow them. Racing at night on horseback
over rough and unknown grounds, under the leadership of a frightened
steer, may be conducive to health, but when at eight o'clock all the
oxen were brought up near the gate of the corral in the City of the
Saints, I was happy to call for help and turn over the 'whole bloomin'
outfit' to the care of fresh herders.