BY PYE POD.
"Dost not hear the neighing of horses, the blare of the
trumpets, the beating of the drums?"
"I hear nothing," said Sancho, "but a great bleating of ewes
and wethers." And this was true, for the two flocks had now come
up near them.--_Don Quixote._
The great K ranch welcomed us just before dark. My animals were
generously fed, and we men soon joined the Indian policemen at
supper in the house.
When, next morning, the foreman saw us pack the donkeys, he
expressed surprise at my traveling with such a luxurious camp
outfit. The folding table and chairs, awning, many blankets and
other articles were condemned as disgraceful by this experienced
plainsman; so, my sensibilities being shocked by such a criticism,
I abandoned a hundred pounds of luggage, giving the table, chairs
and superfluous blankets to the ranchman, and selling him the
awning; then we resumed the journey.
Green River was twenty-five miles to the west. The journey was
even more monotonous than that of the previous day. The powdered
alkali rose in our faces and penetrated our eyes and throats,
compelling us almost constantly to sip from our canteens, wrapped
in wet cloths to keep the water cool. Frequently my dog would jump
at the larger canteens in the panniers and bark for a drink. I
loved to watch him lie down in the narrow shade of a donkey, and,
resting his chin on the rim of the basin, slowly lap the frugal
measure of water I was able to spare him.
We reached Green River by five, and waited until the ferryman
awoke from his daydream to guide the flat-boat across the stream
for us. He charged me only two dollars. I thought it very decent
of him, as the river was too deep to be forded and he controlled
the only ferry; our only alternative was to swim this treacherous
stream. Several overland travelers with prairie schooners were in
camp on the opposite shore, eastward bound.
I paid a dollar to graze my animals in an alfalfa field for the
night, but when we left for Vernal next morning every donkey had
the stomach-ache. They grunted and groaned on the march until
noontime, and deplored their gluttony with sundry brays that were
grating on the nerves.
Vernal is a veritable oasis in a desert, nestling in a broad and
fertile valley, which, irrigated from the numerous springs in the
mountains forming a rampart round it, is a garden of vivid green.
Farmhouses dot the orchards and meadows everywhere, and the
village itself is splendidly shaded. Honey is a leading industry;
one can see bee-hives in almost every door yard.
After a good supper with a stranger who offered his hospitality,
we two strolled about the flower-scented streets in the cool
evening air, until we retired to a downy bed in his apartment that
made me wish my trip at an end. Here were no mosquitoes. The
fruits of this valley are prolific and delicious, and haven't a
blemish; the water is pure, and the climate healthful and
exhilarating; surely Vernal received its name from Nature.
The frontier post, Fort Duchesne, lay twenty-eight miles to the
south, across a desert waste. A few miles beyond Vernal we
entered the Uintah Indian Reservation. Further on we saw the
shacks and teepees of the Utes, and once we passed a party of this
treacherous tribe on their ponies. Apparently taking us for
desperadoes, they veered off to some distance in the sage and gave
us a "wide berth." The strength and humility of their little
steeds was surprising. Several of them carried four and five
people, the buck sometimes with a boy in front of him and his
squaw astride behind him with a papoose strapped to her back, and
a boy or girl behind her. When they saw Damfino with her towering
pack they, too, perhaps, did some wondering.
We crossed the bridge spanning the Uintah River just before
sunset, and reached the guardhouse of the fort just as the bugle
sounded retreat parade. To my surprise and delight the officer of
the day, Lieut. Horne, was adjutant and chief commissary, and
better still, an old classmate. And when, after parade, I saw the
popular officer crossing the parade ground to meet me, I wondered
if the changes wrought in our appearance by the lapse of thirteen
years would make us both unrecognizable. Our meeting was amusing.
The orderly ushered me into the officer's presence, and I advanced
and grasped my old friend's hand in a manner to convince him that
I knew him; but while we shook hands vigorously and playfully
punched each other in the shoulders, the puzzled man could not
speak my name.
"You old fool! Don't you know me?" I asked, still shaking his
hand.
"You disgraceful old vagabond! Of course I know you; but blast me
if I can place you," he returned grinning all over. "Who are you
for heaven's sake? Where 're you from, and how did you get here?
Speak, man! Relieve me of suspense, if you don't want to get shot
by a colored regiment of United States troopers."
"Why," I asked, "is it possible that you do not recollect your old
classmate; the famous pillow fight at S--'s Hotel? The mock fight
with our old chum, Mike H--n, in my room, when you frightened the
boy from West Virginia half to death with--?"
"Pod! Blast me, if it ain't Pod!" exclaimed the Lieutenant. "Well,
well, if this doesn't beat me. Sit down and tell me about it. I am
glad to see you. But you do look rough. Prospecting? Or fighting
Indians? Or what?"
I explained. My animals, I said, were waiting outside in the care
of my valet. Horne rose in astonishment.
"Traveling overland with a valet!" he exclaimed. "You are a
beautiful looking swell. I have often read about you, but, blast
me! if I ever once suspected it was my old chum making the famous
trip. Show me the jackasses." Forthwith I escorted the laughing
Lieutenant out and presented Mac A'Rony.
I spent two enjoyable days at Fort Duchesne, as the guest of my
friend. One of the first to call upon me was the genial Colonel
commanding. He asked me to lecture to the residents of the post.
Accordingly, I gave my talk that evening to a large audience, and
at its conclusion I was introduced to many ladies and officers of
the post and afterwards entertained at the army club.
The following day, at one o'clock, my outfit was ready to start.
The donkeys were in fine fettle, and Don frisked about gayly,
eager for the journey. My friend regretted I could not spend a
month with him, and tucked a package in my saddle-bag by which to
remember him, and many officers and ladies joined with him in
wishing me God-speed. Then we waved an adieu and climbed the
long, sage-covered mesa, toward Heber City, a hundred and
thirty-mile march without a habitation in view.
Fort Duchesne was still in sight when a hailstorm struck us. The
donkeys were compelled to close their eyes and turn their backs to
the fearful charges of the merciless elements, while we men pulled
our hats over our eyes, put our hands in our pockets, and crouched
under our animals; still we were severely bruised, and our necks
and arms were black and blue. When the hail ceased, the leaden
clouds poured down a cold rain, which beat in our faces and
greatly impeded travel. The trail was soon converted into a
veritable torrent; the sand or rock-waste soil softened into mire
many inches deep, causing the stubbornly faithful burros to slip
and stumble and labor as they never did before.
We had journeyed only sixteen miles when, at eight o'clock, we
pitched camp on the banks of the swollen Lake Fork River. The
night was black. What a nasty predicament! No bottom to the soil
anywhere; the mud and water reached to my boot-tops. Before
unpacking we cut sage brush and trampled it into a large square
bed two feet deep, on which to place our packs. Then, picketing
the animals, we tried to kindle a fire with water-soaked brush
sprinkled with coal oil; but failed. Soon a ranchman arrived
leading his horse, and said he had almost lost his steed while
fording the river and narrowly escaped drowning. He joined us in a
cold supper of canned meat and corn, whiskey and water, then rode
away in the pouring rain.
Our bed that night was anything but inviting. We could not pitch
the tent. The soaked sage and the rain saturated our canvas
sleeping-bag and dampened our clothing. How I regretted having
disposed of those "superfluous" blankets at the K ranch. We were
not only wet, but cold, rolled in two blankets and a quilt. When
I awoke in the morning I even wrung the water out of the underwear
I had slept in, and, also, my trousers and coat before I could get
them on, and then in the still pouring rain ate a cold breakfast,
saddled, packed, and resumed the trip.
That day we made twenty miles, and "ran" as terrible a gauntlet of
thunderbolts as I ever witnessed. Next day it became necessary to
swim Lake Fork. Mac said it was his Rubicon as well as mine.
The current was swift, and roared and foamed like a mountain
torrent. My donkeys, brought to the water's edge, reared and
wheeled and rushed intractably into the willows, scraping off
their packs on the miry banks; it required a half hour to replace
and securely cinch the luggage on the beasts so that it might not
be washed away. Then, with stout willow goads and howling
invectives, we drove the braying animals into the flood and
followed them, fording or swimming across the river. Cheese was
carried down stream and almost drowned.
Gaining the nether bank we tramped through storm and mire all day,
making eighteen miles, and after dark camped with the party of a
prairie schooner at the foot of a hill, where we found seasoned
cedar stumps for fuel, and built a roaring fire. The soil there
was more solid, the land gently sloping, and we pitched the tent
near the wagon and fire, staked the donkeys, and joined hands with
our chance acquaintances to provide the evening meal. The good
woman of the party gave us a pie, a can of beef and a loaf of
bread; these luxuries, together with boiled potatoes and hot
coffee, put our bodies in prime condition for a sound night's
sleep in wet garments and bedding. My provisions were not only
quite spoiled by the rain and river water, but were insufficient
to last us through.
Rising early, we breakfasted in the rain, and traveled only
fifteen miles, swimming the Duchesne River once and fording it
twice that day. The stream was somewhat deeper than Lake Fork, but
the current less swift, and at every crossing my donkeys rebelled.
Soon after the last fording, the sun broke through the clouds, and
gave us an opportunity to dry ourselves and freight. A patch of
wild meadow enabled my animals to fill their empty stomachs with
grass, while some giant sage brush soon dried in the broiling sun,
allowing us to spread our blankets and soaked apparel thereon. We
unpacked, and cooked, and when our clothes were dry enough to feel
comfortable and shrunken enough hardly to be got on, we resumed
the march. Our supplies were in a mess. Our only can of coal oil
was broken, and the contents had seasoned every eatable not
canned. The forgotten boxes of honey had been smashed, and
everything was gummed with it; every pack smelled like a bee-hive.
The honey I rolled in our underwear, diluted with the water of the
several fords, had permeated the raiment so thoroughly that now
the heat of our bodies began to warm it up, and my clothes were
soon glued to my skin.
That night we camped on Current Creek, after fording the stream. A
bear appeared, but scampered grunting into the thicket, my dog not
inclined to give chase. Once I was awakened by the cry of a
mountain lion, and Coonskin said the yelps of wolves kept the dog
growling and snarling half the night through.
It appeared that we were experiencing the fall equinox. Wearily
traveling through another day of rain, we camped for the night
near a bunch of dwarf cedars. Now the rain ceased for a couple of
hours, and enabled us to kindle a fire and cook before lightning
played on every hand and the rain descended again. Our largest
canteen leaked from some accident it had received, and our
surprise and despair on discovering the emptied receptacle may be
imagined. What should we do for drinking water? I had not more
than asked the question than my eye discerned several small basins
in the table rocks close by. These basins were filled, but were so
shallow that only by dipping the water with a saucer could we
obtain a two-quart can of the precious liquid; next morning we
secured another frugal supply for the ensuing day's journey.
Our luggage was placed under two cedars for protection from the
storm. During the night we were awakened by the terrific crash of
a thunderbolt, which struck so near as to shock us. In the morning
I saw that one of the trees had been struck. But our packs were
uninjured, save the whiskey bottle, which was broken and its
precious contents lost. Thus the sympathy existing between "Jersey
lightning" and Utah lightning. Another day's tramp over a muddy
trail, and a night camp on another roaring stream, Red Creek; our
supplies quite exhausted, we boiled some onions and ate them with
the last of our honey. I felt as if I were eating diphtheria
medicine. Next morning we breakfasted on a turkey buzzard shot by
Coonskin, and that afternoon my jaded caravan crossed the summit
of the plateau, and descended into the beautiful Strawberry Valley
in the glow of a gorgeous sunset. Soon after, we met two
sheep-herders on horseback, looking for two comrades, and, when
crossing the broad, verdant valley, we saw two great flocks of
sheep, one grazing up the valley, the other down. We camped near
Strawberry Creek. The four sheep-herders rode up presently and
having a wagon full of supplies, said if I would lend them my
tent-poles they would string up a lamb and divide. I gladly
consented. Two of the herders rode off to mill up the flocks for
the night, while the other two butchered a sheep, built a fire and
cooked.
If the scene of that highland camp could have been painted with
true color and detail, it certainly would have made the artist
famous. A few feet from the flaming fire stood my tent-poles like
a tripod, and from their apex was suspended, head down, a fat
mutton; on bended knee with hunting knife in hand, one of the
herders was taking its woolly pelt. The coffee-pot and frying-pan
were on the fire with a kettle of boiling potatoes, and, while the
shepherd-cook was preparing bread for my Dutch oven, two herders
gathered sage for a reserve supply of fuel.
Some fifty feet way the horses were picketed, and across the
stream the donkeys grazed on the juicy grass, untethered but none
the less secure in the novel corral of twenty thousand sheep which
the faithful shepherd dogs promised to keep milled round us all
throughout the black, chilly night. The camp-fire sent flashlight
beams on the surrounding scene, and etched weird pictures on the
darkness. The silhouetted heads and backs of the horses and
donkeys moved fantastically against the starry sky like animated
mountain peaks on the distant horizon; the vast field of wool
encompassing us and the bleating of its contented life seemed like
the troubled waters of some highland lake imprisoning us on its
one small island; and away across the vale and again just above us
towered the barrier of mountains against the sparkling heavens,
forming banks and pillows for stray clouds to sleep upon.
At a late hour we hungry men sat down to a tasty supper of fried
mutton, potatoes, hot bread and coffee. The air soon rang with
laughter. Later when we brought forth our companionable pipes and
began story-telling round the cozy fire, I felt a delight which
seemed a full compensation for the hardships we had suffered
during the last week. Suddenly the cry of a mountain lion set the
collies barking, but the report of a herder's rifle silenced the
prowler and sent him back, no doubt, into the hills. The lions and
wolves are a constant menace to the flocks in that popular valley.
It was midnight when we retired. Storm-clouds had gathered and
shut out the light of the stars; it looked and felt like snow. The
shepherds, learning that we travelers were short of bedding,
brought us two heavy woolen blankets; so we rolled ourselves
together and were soon asleep, and in the morning awoke, covered
with snow an inch deep. By seven o'clock we were ready to resume
our journey and the shepherds had saddled their mounts for their
day's duties.
Trailing out of the valley, and through Daniel's Canyon, we
traveled some twenty-five miles down to the lowlands, and at nine
in the evening pitched camp near where, next morning, we
discovered a ranchhouse and haystack.
Heber City lay five miles away; arriving there we were royally
entertained.
Friday we started for Provo. The trail lay through a picturesque
canyon, along the bank of Provo River, where the mountains rose
sheer and barren to a great height on either hand. Numerous
waterfalls pour their loveliness over steep declivities; patches
of crimson and yellow verdure showed in the crevices of the gray
summits; and now and then a terraced vineyard or orchard or an
irrigation ditch, hugging the steep slopes, indicated a
habitation was hidden somewhere near in leafy bower or
vine-covered trellis. Once we crossed the river on a new iron
bridge replacing an old stone structure which avalanches had
demolished.
Passing the night in Provo, I rode Skates six miles to
Springville, through a beautiful, verdant valley, where rows of
poplars lined the fields and orchards, reminding one of Normandy.
There I was greeted by a newspaper editor and a school principal,
the latter inviting me to dinner.
Returning to Provo I found my outfit ready for trail. Making a
brief stop in Lehi, we reached Pleasant Grove about eight, and
camped in a peach orchard adjoining a hotel. The landlord welcomed
us to a hot supper, in spite of the late hour, then offered us a
downy bed, which we declined, preferring the pure, crisp outer
air.
I boarded the early morning train for Salt Lake City to attend
Sunday service at the Tabernacle and hear the famous organ and
choir. Coonskin remained behind to care for our animals.
Without my donkeys to identify me, my rough, unkempt and most
eccentric person caused a sensation at the Mormon capital. I kept
aloof from everybody, and nobody was inquisitive enough to inquire
my name, errand, and previous condition of servitude. I strolled
about the beautiful city, and then went to church.
[Illustration: "_The last and only drop._"]
[Illustration: "_Just finished lunch when the posse arrived._"]
An usher with a charitable heart led me half way down the aisle to
a pew in the midst of that fashionable congregation. Every one was
dressed better than Pod. But I did not feel ill at ease; on the
contrary, I felt at home. A great many true churchmen and
churchwomen should have kept their eyes on their hymnals instead
of watching me try to chant "I want to be a Mormon and with the
Mormons stand." Presently my sensitive nerves were irritated by
successive coughing across the aisle. I looked to see what kind of
a mortal was suffering so, and beheld a vision of loveliness!
Instantly I remembered a small box of cough drops in my pocket,
and felt it my duty as a gentleman to summon the courage to cross
the aisle and offer the soothing remedy. Soon with palpitating
heart and crimson face, I stepped with quaking limbs across the
aisle and reached the box to the fair cougher.
I remember her look, as she lifted the lid of the--empty box. I
knew plenty of people in my lifetime who had fainted; I regretted
never having taken lessons from them.
My head reeled, the Tabernacle was going round, and with
difficulty I retreated to the pew in front of my hat, which I
looked for, but couldn't find. I needed fresh air, I wanted to go
out. Strange to say the lady stopped coughing. It was the shock
that cured her, but the congregation were not aware of that. Some
of them saw her look into the mysterious pasteboard box and turn
red-beet color, and cease her convulsions. That was why several
spoke to me, and asked if I were a magician, or healer, as they
had read of such people. When I had once escaped into the airy
street, I wondered how that box became emptied; then, suddenly, I
recollected that, before retiring the night before, Coonskin asked
if I had some cough drops left, and helped himself.
After dinner I felt better. I visited the Jubilee Museum, where
was exhibited an interesting collection of Mormon relics of
pioneer days, and then took a car for Fort Douglas, about three
miles from the city on the mountain side, and was invited to tea
with an officer of the post, my old friend Lieut. K----n.
It was late when I reached Pleasant Grove. The following day my
party covered nearly twenty-five miles, and about two o'clock on
the succeeding afternoon marched into the Mormon capital. There a
well known pioneer made a speech and welcomed me to the city; and
after I had responded in fitting words, he presented me to leading
citizens, among them bishops, presidents and elders of the Mormon
church. The presiding bishop, an affable old gentleman, asked the
privilege of caring for my animals at the Tithing House; another
prominent citizen invited me to be his guest. I declined the
latter kindness, preferring to be a free lance and to make the
most of my sojourn. I was next introduced to Governor Wells.
That same evening Coonskin and I were invited to the theater, and
next day, besides delivering many lectures, I contracted with
S---- & Company, prominent silversmiths, to make a full set of
silver shoes for Mac A'Rony, to be sent to Oakland, Cal., and
there to be set for his triumphant entry into San Francisco.