LOST IN THE BLACK HILLS. DEVIL'S GATE. WHY A MOUNTAIN SHEEP DID NOT
WINK. GREEN RIVER FERRY.
At Fort Laramie we left the Platte River, and, bearing northwesterly,
entered the Black Hills, a region of low, rolling uplands, sparsely
grown with scrubby pine trees; the soil black, very dry; where little
animal life was visible, excepting prairie dogs.
There may be readers who, at the mention of prairie dogs, see mentally
a wolf or other specimen of the _genus canis_, of ordinary kind and
size. The prairie dog, however, is not of the dog species. It bears
some resemblance to a squirrel and a rat, but is larger than either.
It may be likened to the canine only in that it barks, somewhat as do
small dogs. Prairie dogs live in holes, dug by themselves. Twenty to
fifty of these holes may be seen within a radius of a few yards, and
such communities are known to plains people as "towns." On the
approach of anything they fear the little fellows sit erect, look
defiant and chatter saucily. If the intruder comes too near, the
commanding individual of the group, the mayor of the town, so to
speak, gives an alarm, plainly interpreted as, "Beware; make safe;
each man for himself;" and instantly each one turns an exquisite
somersault and disappears, as he drops, head downward, into the hole
beside him.
John L. Maxwell had made the trip over the plains from the Missouri
River to California in 1854, returning, via Panama, in 1856, to take
his family to the West, accompanying the train of his elder brother,
Dr. Kennedy Maxwell. He was of great service to us now, by reason of
his experience and consequent knowledge of the country traversed. He
was therefore elected to act as pilot of the company, with the title
"Captain John," which clung to him for many years.
The emigrant trail in some parts of the way was well marked. In other
places there was none, and we had to find our way as best we could,
not always without difficulty. Often Captain John and others would
ride ahead of the train a considerable distance, select routes for
passage through places where travel was hard or risky, choose
camp-sites, and, returning, pilot the train accordingly.
At various times, despite every care in selecting the route, the train
went on a wrong course, and at least once was completely astray. This
was one morning as the company was passing out of the Black Hills
country. Information had been received that at this place a short-cut
could be made which would save fifteen or twenty miles. There were no
marks on the ground indicating that any train ahead had gone that way,
but the leaders decided to try it. This venture led the company into a
situation not unlike the proverbial "jumping-off place."
Directly in our course was a declivity which dropped an estimated
depth of sixty to one hundred feet below the narrow, stony flat on
which we stood, down into a depressed valley. Abrupt ridges of broken
stone formation were on our right and left, inclosing us in a small
space of barren, waste earth. The elements had crumbled the rocks down
for ages, until what perhaps had been once a deep canyon was now a
narrow flat, a mass of debris, terminating at the top of the steep,
ragged cliff that pitched downward before us. The high, rocky ridges
on both sides were wholly impassable, at least for the teams. A search
finally disclosed, at the base of the ridge on our right, a single
possible passage. It was narrow, slightly wider than a wagon, and led
downward at a steep incline, into the valley below, with rocks
protruding from both its side walls, its bottom strewn with stones
such as our vehicles could not pass over in an ordinary way.
We were confronted with the problem how to get the wagons down that
yawning fissure; the alternative being to retrace our steps many
miles.
At the bottom of this cliff or wall that barred our way could be seen
a beautiful valley, stretching far and wide away to the northwest; a
scene of enchanting loveliness, a refreshing contrast to the dry and
nearly barren hills over which we had traveled during the many days
last past. A short distance from the foot of the wall was a small
stream of clear water, running over the meadow-flat. Rich pasture
extended along the line of trees that marked the serpentine course of
the brook which zigzagged its way toward the southwest. Every man,
woman and child of our company expressed in some way the declaration,
"We _must_ get into that beautiful oasis." It looked like field, park
and orchard, in one landscape; all fenced off from the desolate
surroundings by this wall of stone. Like Moses viewing Canaan from
Nebo's top, we looked down and yearned to be amidst its freshness.
It was not decreed that we should not enter in. A little distance to
the south, near the other ridge, we discovered another opening,
through which the animals could be driven down, but through which the
wagons could not pass. This was a narrow, crooked ravine, and very
steep; running diagonally down through the cliff; a sort of dry
water-way, entirely bridged over in one part by an arch of stone,
making it there a natural tunnel or open-ended cave; terminating at
the base of the cliff in an immense doorway, opening into the valley.
The teams were unhitched from the wagons, the yokes taken off the
oxen, and all the cattle, horses and mules were driven through the
inclined tunnel into the coveted valley. The women and children
clambered down, taking with them what they could of the camp things,
for immediate use, and soon were quite "at home" in the valley, making
free use of the little creek, for whatever purposes a little creek of
pure, cold, fresh water is good, for a lot of thirsty, dust-covered
wayfarers.
The puzzle of getting the wagons down next engrossed the attention of
our best engineers. The proposition to unpack the lading, take the
wagons apart, and carry all down by hand, appeared for a time to be
the only feasible plan. Captain John, however, suggested procuring
rope or chain about one hundred feet in length, for use in lowering
the wagons, one at a time, through the first-mentioned passage.
Sufficient rope was brought, one end fastened to the rear axle of a
wagon, the other end turned around a dwarf pine tree at the top of the
bluff; two men managed the rope, preventing too rapid descent at the
steeper places, while others guided the wheels over the stones, and
the wagon was lowered through the crevice, with little damage. Thus,
one by one, all the wagons were taken into the valley before the sun
set.
[Illustration: "The wagons were lowered through the crevice"]
It was a happy camp we had that night; though every man was tired.
There was wood for fire, and a supply of good water and pasture
sufficient for dozens of camps. Some one ventured the opinion that the
Mormon pioneers had overlooked that spot when seeking a new location
for Zion.
Except that it was very pleasant to inhabit, we knew little of the
place we had ventured into, or its location. How we were to get out
did not appear, nor for the time being did this greatly concern us;
and soon after supper the camp was wrapped in slumber, undisturbed by
any coyote duet, or, on this occasion, even the twitter of a night
bird.
We did not hurry the next morning, the inclination being to linger
awhile in the shady grove by the brookside. With a late start, the
day's travel took us some twelve miles, through and out of the
valley, to a point where we made the best of a poor camping place, on
a rough, rocky hillside. The following day there was no road to
follow, nor even a buffalo trail or bear path; but by evening we
somehow found our way back into the course usually followed by
emigrants, not knowing whether the recent detour had lessened or
increased the miles of travel, but delighted with the comfort and
diversion afforded by the side-ride. Thinking that others, seeing our
tracks, might be led into similar difficulties, and be less fortunate
perhaps in overcoming them, two of our young men rode back to the
place of divergence, and erected a notice to all comers, advising them
to "Keep to the right."
Another freak of Nature in which we were much interested was the
"Devil's Gate," or "Independence Rock," where we first came to the
Sweetwater River, in Wyoming. This is a granite ridge, some two
hundred feet in length, irregular in formation and height, resembling
a huge molehill, extending down from the Rocky Mountain heights and
being across the river's course; the "Gate" being a vertical section,
the width of the stream, cut out of a spur of Rattlesnake Mountain. If
his Satanic majesty, whose name it bears, had charge of the
construction, apparently he intended it only as a passage-way for the
river, the cut being the exact width of the river as it flows through.
The greater part of the two walls stand two hundred and fifty feet
high, above the river level, perpendicular to the earth's plane,
facing each other, the river between them at the base. Many names had
been cut in the surface of the rock, by passing emigrants.
We stopped for half a day to view this extraordinary scene. Some of
the boys went to the apex, to see if the downward view made the rock
walls appear as high as did the upward view: and naturally they found
the distance viewed downward seemed much greater. Our intention was to
stand on the brink and experience the sensation of looking down from
that great height at the river. The face of the wall where it
terminates at the top forms an almost square corner, as if hewn stone.
A few bushes grew a short distance from the edge, and as we approached
the brink there was a sense of greater safety in holding onto these
bushes. But while holding on we could not see quite over to the water
below. We formed a chain of three persons, by joining hands, one
grasping a large bush, that the outer man might look over the edge--if
he would. But he felt shaky. He was not quite sure that the bush would
not pull up by the roots, or one of the other fellows let go. For
sometime no one was willing to make a real effort to look over the
edge, but finally "Jack" said he would save the party's reputation
for bravery, by assuming the role of end-man. He made several bold
approaches toward the edge, but each time recoiled, and soon admitted
defeat. "Boys," said he, "I'm dizzy. I know that 'distance lends
enchantment'; I'll get back farther, take the best view I can get, and
preserve the enchantment." To cover his discomfiture, he started for
camp, whistling:
"Ulee, ilee, aloo, ee."
The next excursion off the route in search of novelty was on a clear
afternoon a few days after passing the "Devil's Gate," when three
young fellows decided to take a tramp to the rock ridge lying to our
right. We hoped to find some mountain sheep. From the Sweetwater River
to the ridge was apparently half a mile, across a grassy flat. We knew
that the rare atmosphere of that high altitude often made distances
deceiving, and determined to make due allowances. Having crossed the
river and being ready for a sprint, each made a guess of the distance
to the foot of the rock ridge. The estimates varied from two hundred
yards to three hundred. Off we went, counting paces. At the end of
three hundred we appeared to be no nearer the goal than when we
started. The guesses were repeated, and when we were about completing
the second course of stepping, making nearly six hundred yards in all,
one of the boys espied a mountain sheep on the top of the ridge,
keeping lookout, probably, for the benefit of his fellows, feeding on
the other side, as is the habit of these wary creatures.
With head and great horns clearly outlined on the background of blue
sky, he was a tempting target. Without a word, the three of us leveled
guns and fired. Mr. Mountain Sheep stood perfectly still, looking down
at us. We could not see so much as the winking of an eye. Making ready
for another volley, we thought best to get nearer; but as we started
the head and horns and sheep disappeared behind the top of the ridge.
Further stepping proved that we had shot at the animal from a distance
of at least half a mile. Our guns were good for a range of two hundred
yards, at most.
Much of the time, especially while in the higher mountains, we were in
possession of little knowledge of our position. There were no marks
that we observed to indicate geographical divisions, and we had no
means for determining many exact locations, though some important
rivers and prominent mountain peaks and ridges were identified. We
knew little, if anything, then of territorial boundaries, and thought
of the country traversed as being so remote from centers of
civilization--at that time but little explored, even--that we could
not conceive any object in attempting to determine our location with
reference to geographical lines; nor could we have done so except on
rare occasions. Our chief concern was to know that we were on the best
route to California.
We crossed the summit of the Rocky Mountains by the South Pass. Though
it was July, the jagged peaks of the Wind River Mountains bore a thick
blanket of snow. Sometime after leaving the "Devil's Gate" we passed
Pacific Springs. There we gained first knowledge that we had passed
the summit, on observing that the streams flowed westerly. Patient
plodding had now taken us a distance of actual travel amounting to
much more than one thousand miles and, from time to time, into very
high altitudes. About four miles west of Pacific Springs we passed the
junction of the California and Oregon trails, at the Big Bend of the
Bear River.
Green River, where we first came to it, was in a level bit of country.
There this stream was about sixty yards wide; the water clear and
deep, flowing in a gentle current. For the accommodation of emigrants,
three men were there, operating a ferry. Whence they came I do not
remember, if they told us. We saw no signs of a habitation in which
they might have lived. The ferrying was done with what was really a
raft of logs, rather than a boat. It was sustained against the current
by means of a tackle attached to a block, rove on a large rope that
was drawn taut, from bank to bank, and was propelled by a windlass on
each bank. When a wagon had been taken aboard this cable ferry, the
windlass on the farther side was turned by one of the men, drawing the
raft across. After unloading, the raft was drawn back, by operation of
the windlass on the opposite shore, where it took on another load. The
third man acted as conductor, collecting a toll of three dollars per
wagon. All the horses, mules and cattle were driven into the river,
and swam across.
The company passed along the shore of the Green River, down the Big
Sandy River and Slate Creek, over Bear River Divide, then
southwestward into Utah Territory.