BY PYE POD.
You may nail it on the pailing as a mighty risky plan
To set your judgment on the clothes that cover up a man;
It's a risky piece of business, for you'll often come across
A fifty-dollar saddle on a twenty-dollar hoss. --_Old Saw._
We reached Glenwood Springs the week of the annual races, and I
piloted my outfit to a prominent corner in town. At once a crowd
gathered. After making a few remarks about my trip and promising a
lecture before leaving town, I inquired for the leading hotel.
"The Colorado," answered a chorus. Then a man in shirtsleeves,
sombrero, and high boots edged to my side, and whispered, "Prof,
there's a dollar house t'other end of town. The tax is five
dollars a day at the Colorado."
"How much can I make at the dollar house?" I asked.
My informant shrank into his clothes. "I don't believe you can
make your salt," he answered.
I left my outfit, and rode Mac to the post office. I had not been
indoors long before I heard loud cheers and laughter in the
street. I rushed out, thinking somebody was making sport with my
donkey, and was surprised to see Don leading by the reins that
incorrigible flirt, Mac A'Rony, up-street toward the post office.
He had strolled to the next corner to make the acquaintance of a
prepossessing donk of the opposite sex, and my faithful dog,
conscious of his responsibilities, was doing his duty.
The town is situated on the east bank of the Grand River; across,
some distance from the water, stands the Hotel Colorado. An iron
bridge spans the stream, and across it I led my caravan to the
hotel in time for dinner. As I dismounted, the guests on the
veranda hurried to the railing and whispered to one another; I
paid no heed, but, giving my valet instructions to care for my
animals, hurried in. The clerk extended his hand in greeting.
"Just on time," said he. "Lunch is awaiting you."
I shall never forget the sensation I caused when I entered the
dining room. A sweeping glance detected every eye upon me. I sat
at the nearest table opposite two dudes who almost choked to death
when I reached for the menu card. Even the pretty waitresses
stopped as if struck. One of the poor girls dropped a tray of
dishes. Every countenance said plainly, "How did it drift in?"
Several pretty girls at the next table, seasonably gowned in silks
and muslins, whispered and giggled audibly.
Presently the dudes considered there wasn't room for us three at
the table, and changed their seats so precipitately that one of
them stumbled over the legs of his chair and broke his fall by
first breaking a cup. As they now faced the pretty girls, their
prospect was more inviting, if not picturesque. My hair and beard
were long, one of my coat-sleeves threatened to come off with the
slightest cough or sneeze; I looked like one who had experienced
hardship and rough traveling.
This is a treat, I thought, as I divided my interest between the
diners opposite and my menu card. I was famished. The waitresses
kept aloof from me.
Suddenly my ear caught the words spoken by one of the dudes, "He
acts as if he owned the dining room, and had first bid on the
hotel." I smiled. Just then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and
recognized the head-waiter, who, a moment before, had left the
room probably to see the hotel clerk. He was all smiles, as he
asked if I was being waited upon. I said I was not.
"I-I-I beg your humble pardon," he stammered, and off he danced. The
next minute a half dozen waitresses were assailing me for my order.
Finally I was lavishly served; then there was dissatisfaction at the
next table. The dudes began to complain because that "hobo" received
every attention while they were neglected.
Having received an invitation to the races, I did not tarry longer
than necessary. I was sure things would be different when I
returned for dinner. And such a change as there was! I was
assigned to a table at which was a bevy of girls and two or three
gentlemen. My seat had evidently been reserved for me by request.
I didn't have to wait for the waitresses to pass me things, the
girls did that. I was treated like a hero, and almost embarrassed
with attentions. When I retired to dress for the ball given in my
honor by the young women of Glenwood, I fell in a chair and
laughed till my sides ached. What fun the study of human nature
does afford!
The evening paper stated that the famous donkey traveler,
Professor Pythagoras Pod would be the guest of the evening, and
was expected to appear in traveling clothes, spurs, and belt guns.
And so I attired myself, arriving at the hall at eight-thirty, and
was at once introduced to one and all of the fair gathering. I
danced myself completely out. When supper was announced I was
glad. Had I traveled thirty miles that day I couldn't have felt
more fatigued. It was almost eleven o'clock when I set out for my
hotel.
One of the attractions at the Colorado is the great out-of-doors
natatorium, between the river and the hotel. I had hardly crossed
the bridge when I heard Mac's bray issuing from that quarter. The
darkness and thick foliage obscured the view, but I heard
splashing of water, and laughter, and another wild bray, and
concluded some mischief was on the boards among the college
students who were guests of the hotel. Quickening my pace, I stole
through the shrubbery to the reservoir, and beheld a sight to
cause me fright. There was a high chute beside the natatorium, and
a staircase for the bathers to climb to the top "to shoot the
chutes." There, almost at the top of the stairs, was my misused
donkey, being carried to the source of the water raceway by
several young men, the donkey braying and kicking frantically, the
men struggling in the throes of smothered laughter as well as with
their asinine burden. By the time I had collected my senses, Mac
was deposited on the platform.
"Heigh, there!" I yelled at the top of my voice. "Drop that
donkey, you ruffians!" They dropped him. And down he came,
tobogganing over the slippery, watery chute, over and over, and
landing in the pond, flat on his back. It didn't take long for Mac
to finish his bath. When he rose to the surface he snorted and
brayed louder than ever, and in swimming about to find a place he
could climb out he chased every bather on to land. One of the men
got a rope, and, several others assisting, pulled the frightened
animal out. Without stopping to discuss the affair, I led Mac to
his corral.
The following morning a committee persuaded me to deliver a
lecture to the guests of the hotel. A notice was posted,
announcing Pod's lecture to be delivered at 2 p. m. on the broad
veranda in front of the hotel office.
I talked in my happiest vein. The interest manifested by my fair
auditors would have inspired any lecturer.
[Illustration: "_And floated on Salt Lake._"]
[Illustration: "_Skull Valley desert; we stopped to feed and
rest._"]
I concluded with these words: "It is very gratifying for me to
know so many are interested in Mac A'Rony's welfare. I hope to
take him through with me to the Pacific. I do not like it to
appear that I, while a guest of the hotel, am taking undue
advantage of its privileges, but if there are any among you who
desire a souvenir of our novel trip I have a few pictures which
may be procured at twenty-five cents each. I now formally bid you
all adieu."
The souvenirs went like hot cakes. Presently a sweet girl who had
purchased three pictures, with beaming eyes and a winsome smile,
asked, "Oh, Mr. Pod, won't you please put your autograph on these
photos?"
"Certainly," I replied, "but each signature will cost twenty-five
cents extra." I said it, just to see how it would take.
"Of course, I'll be glad to pay for the autographs," the maid
returned, and handed me the photos to sign. And I was kept busy
signing pictures until my hand ached.
My last afternoon in Glenwood was a busy one. I decided to heed
the admonitions of many Westerners I had met, to avoid the Green
River desert, a barren waste of shifting sands, utterly devoid of
water, stretching a hundred and thirty miles and more, and,
instead, to trail northwesterly via Meeker, White River, and the
Ute Reservation. On the Meeker route I was promised fair grazing
and ample water supply every twenty or thirty miles of the
distance to the Mormon City.
It was five in the p. m. when Coonskin brought my caravan to the
hotel, and saluting me, said, "Professor, your donkeys are ready
and packed for the journey." The guests of the hotel, with few
exceptions, were assembled to witness the start, and my dog in
appreciation of the compliment strode grandly among the ladies
and kissed their hands, and I believe bade every one an
affectionate farewell.
I thought this a good time, for once on my trip, to put on stylish
"airs." I had never called upon Coonskin to exercise the duties of
a valet, in the strictest sense. As soon as he buckled the guns on
the saddles, I dropped my ragged canvas leggings at his feet, put
forth a foot, and gave him a significant look. Immediately the
gallant "Sancho" knelt down on one knee and proceeded to lace the
leggings on me, creating much amusement. I then made a short
farewell address, got into Mac A'Rony's saddle, and gave the word
to start. Such a cheer as arose from the ladies that lined the
veranda! I'll bet there wasn't one who would have missed the event
for a five dollar note.
Hugging the Grand River (the only hugging I had done in that
section) until after dark, we trailed through the sage until ten
o'clock, when, discovering a fair grazing place, I ordered camp.
My donkeys had just rested two days, so next day, the 28th day of
August, I made them trail fast and far, in spite of the heat. It
was five o'clock when we pitched camp near the Scott Ranch.
I had observed a cow and several hens about the ranch. If I
couldn't get milk, I might still obtain fresh eggs, and vice
versa. Not waiting to unpack for a can, I set out for the house
and knocked at the back door.
"Come in," called a female voice.
I entered the kitchen with hat in hand and politely said, "How to
do?" The sober-faced housewife did not pause in her duties as she
welcomed me to be seated.
"I came to purchase some milk and eggs," I said presently.
"Ain't got no eggs er milk to spare jest now," she replied; "cows
all dried up." My face reflected my disappointment.
"Are all your hens dry also?" I asked, as the woman deluged a big
white cochin with a pan of dish-water.
"That one ain't," she returned, smiling at her play on a word and
a hen. The incident, trifling as it was, served to break the
"ice." I introduced myself and explained my journey; the woman was
interested; she had read about me. She told me to make myself "at
home," and, admitting that one cow still gave milk and she could
spare me a little, she went to the creamery. When she handed me a
pail of milk, I offered to pay for it, and persuaded her to sell
me a loaf of bread. But I had hardly started for camp with my
precious purchases than I was surrounded by a swarm of yellow-jackets
which proceeded to alight on the rim of the pail and my
hand. I dropped the milk instantly, if not sooner. The woman's
exclamation of indignation embarrassed me. I explained and
apologized, while my kind "hostess" tried to convince me of the
docility of those yellow-jackets; from her account one might
suppose they were merely a dwarf species of canary birds. But
finally she forgave my indiscretion, refilled the pail, and
handing it to me, told me the insects were perfectly harmless, and
were not known to sting anybody, unless they were harmed. I
thanked the woman for her exceptional generosity and rare treatise
on "insectology" and again started for my tent, resolved to
preserve that milk at any cost. But I soon wavered from my
resolve; the pail wavered, too. I couldn't change it from one hand
to the other fast enough to elude those docile yellow-jackets.
Then I hit upon a new idea; it looked practical enough. I spilled
some milk on the ground, and after weaning many hornets from the
pail, I lifted the latter, covered it with my hat, and made for
camp.
Now once in a while a babe is found hard to wean; the same may be
said of a yellow-jacket. One buzzing fellow, doubtless young and
feeble, and being tired from long flight, sat on my bald pate to
rest, there to die a violent death. On that spot, although his
remains were removed, was soon reared a monumental mound, sacred
to his memory. I yelled before I remembered it was not manly to do
such a thing, and the good madam hastening to my aid, if not
relief, carried the pail of milk to my tent, also bringing with
her a can of jam. Her kind, forgiving disposition mentally
paralyzed me. My own unprecedented conduct almost made me hang my
sore head with shame.
We men dined on bread and milk, and at seven o'clock struck out
for Meeker. We had passed through the village of Newcastle when
some fifteen miles from the Springs; and there were invited into a
peach orchard to delight our palates with some delicious fruit,
but no other village did we thread on our route to White River.
The last twenty miles of the journey led us across a series of
divides, mesas or benches, variously called, and between these
miniature watersheds trickled occasional rivulets which either
lost themselves in the parched soil, or struggled on till they
joined with a larger stream to reach a river. As the tired eye
wanders over this sun-scorched wilderness, strewn with what
appears to be volcanic matter, he imagines he sees on the black,
rock-strewn butes the craters of long-extinct volcanos, which the
ravages of time and the elements have almost leveled. And over
these charred piles and the intervening plains of white and yellow
sage one sometimes sees a solitary horse or steer standing
bewildered, as if before impending doom, or else trending by
animal instinct some tortuous, obscured trail to a hidden spring.
Meeker takes its name from a family, massacred by the Indians in
the 70's. Four or five hundred inhabitants to-day compose this
quiet and now law-abiding community, whose chief pursuits appear
to be the pursuit of wild steers, horses, fish and game. White
River flows past the town on its picturesque way to the Grand, the
latter further on joining forces with the Green to form the
Colorado.
The hills about Meeker abound with large game--mountain lions,
bear, bobcats, and, when the snow comes, deer and elk. I was
informed from authentic sources that in early winter the deer are
driven by the snow down the river in to Grand Junction valley in
such numbers that ranchmen have had to stand guard over haystacks
with guns and pitchforks. One woman told me with modest candor
that she had actually seen her husband catch and hold a deer in
his arms.
After leaving Meeker the scenic views from the trail down and
along White River for seventy miles are magnificent and imposing.
Rising sheer and bold from the west bank of this deep stream, is a
lofty ridge of brown and barren mountains, whose mural crests of
red and yellow sandstone and limestone formed in my imagination
the walls and watch-towers of castles of a prehistoric race, while
the placid river at their base appeared to be a mighty moat to
protect the towering battlements from menacing foe.
White River City lies some twenty miles south of Meeker. It has
great possibilities. If another house were erected there, and it
domiciled as many people as the one habitation then standing did,
the population of the place would be increased 100 per cent. Even
a part of that house was converted into a post office and a
general store. About twenty-five miles from White River City is
Angora, another town containing a single house. We arrived at
sunset. The proprietor of this goat ranch invited me to pitch camp
on his meadow lot, where my animals could find some feed, and
treated me to a leg of goat. He possessed a herd of about two
hundred Angoras, and derived his chief livelihood from their hair,
hides, and "mutton," as he called it. I found the meat sweet and
tender; it was hard to distinguish it from lamb; possibly because
I had forgotten how lamb tasted. My host visited my camp-fire and
entertained me with many interesting tales of adventure.
Occasional gardens and fields of alfalfa are seen on the east
bank, all due to irrigation. Great water-wheels, turned by the
river current, raise cans of water ten feet and more and empty
them in troughs, so conveying the water to ditches.
Ranchmen had cautioned me to give Rangely, the next settlement, a
"wide berth." I was told it was a den of outlaws and desperate
cowboys, who lived by "rustling" cattle and rebranding them,
hunting mavericks, (unbranded calves) and following other
nefarious pursuits. Instead of frightening me away, these accounts
interested me.
At four in the afternoon we came to a trail branching and leading
to a large log house a half mile away. That was Rangely; and we
headed for it.