The Real Thing in Deserts
It is almost impossible to describe the country we found ourselves in
as we started out from Daggett on the afternoon of May twentieth,
because, to use a home-made expression, “it does not sound at all as
it looks.” We are to follow the Mojave River Valley until we get
through the Mojave Canyon, then go north around the base of the Soda
Mountains, etc., as per directions. Now the above sounds easy. It
makes one think of water running down hill, and with water the
mountains should have trees among the rocks, as a canyon suggests a
rocky country.
[Illustration: PROVISIONED FOR THE DESERT]
The real picture, however, which presented itself to us that afternoon
was a desolate, wind-swept country; the valley looked like a wide
rolling stretch of desert, flanked by bare hills, with no sign of a
river. It was so cold that even with our coats on we were none too
comfortable. The wind blew so hard we had to take the canvas off the
wagon, and after going about ten miles we made camp for the night at a
place where the trail took us close to a deserted railroad section
house, which had a well. These railroad wells are really cisterns, but
instead of being built to catch rain water, are designed to hold the
water that the Salt Lake R. R. hauls in tank cars and distributes
regularly to the section men. These section houses were located about
twenty or thirty miles apart and about every other one had a well. The
others had a few barrels, so, as we afterwards found out, if one came
to the railroad track he knew that by following it fifteen or twenty
miles he would probably find a deserted section house with a few pails
of water left in a barrel, or perhaps a well with a few barrels of
water, and possibly a section crew that had not been laid off. In the
latter case you could find out how far it was to the next water. The
water in the railroad wells was very good, but where the company found
enough water to fill the big tank cars they evidently sent over the
line when the road was running, no one seemed to know. We concluded,
however, that it came from Kelso, California, or Las Vegas, Nevada,
where we found out later they had water tanks and plenty of good
water. We had met no one since leaving Daggett who could tell us about
the trail ahead, but with plenty of water we felt cheerful enough and
expected to make a good many miles the next day, so turned in to get
an early start.
Saturday morning, May twenty-first, we found we had lost our canteen.
It was so cold and windy the afternoon before that we hadn’t needed
the canteen and in taking the sheet off the wagon we must have pulled
it off, but where and when we didn’t know. Having plenty of water to
start with we concluded we could pick up another canteen or improvise
one, so we did not go back far to look for it, but started out to get
over as much ground as possible.
There was no air stirring; it warmed up early and later got hot. The
sand made it hard pulling and finally, at 11 A. M., we reached another
deserted section house. There was a well and bucket, and, while there
was no shade and the heat was intense, we managed to keep fairly
comfortable by lying under the wagon and recalling how cool it had
been the day before. Our dog, Tuck, seemed to feel the heat more than
we did, or the horses, but it was principally because we had hard work
keeping him in the wagon. If he saw anything move, from a coyote to a
lizard, he would jump out of the wagon and undertake to catch it. The
lizards would disappear in the sand and the coyotes in the distance,
and Tuck would be hot for an hour or two afterward.
About 2 P. M. we started on again, this time driving spike, as the
sand was getting harder to pull through and it took all three horses
to do it. By evening we had reached what is called the canyon of the
Mojave River. Here we camped in the bed of the river, which at this
place was a mere rivulet. The river bed, however, was about two
hundred yards wide, full of gravel and stones, with occasionally a big
boulder. Willows grew in patches on the banks, and here and there a
cottonwood. On each side the bare mountains had edged up to the bank,
and we had a shut-in feeling. The river, however, small as it was at
this time, no doubt rushed through here at times, carrying a large
volume of water out into the desert beyond.
Having picked out a place to camp, where there were no rocks, we
proceeded to get supper, while Tuck raced up and down in what little
water there was in the river and had a glorious time. We were tired
with the heat and sand, and so were the horses, but after supper we
decided to take a swim; at least that is what we said, but the reader
can imagine we did not swim much in a stream four feet wide and three
inches deep. It was quite a grotesque sight to see three men trying to
take a bath in such a stream by the light of the moon. In fact we
laughed a great deal ourselves, but we were so long at it, and it grew
cold so fast, that we were shivering before we got back to the wagon.
Such is the difference in temperature between night and day in this
country.
[Illustration: ENTERING THE MOJAVE CANYON]
Sunday, the twenty-second, we started early so as to get through the
canyon and out into the open desert before it should get too hot. It
was a hard drive of six miles over rocks and through sand down the
river bed, which, very soon after starting, we found had lost even the
small stream of water which had been so welcome at our camp site. The
walls of the canyon became quite rocky and in spots sheer walls of
stone, and in the narrowest place we found the railroad track above us
passing through tunnels and over bridges, as this canyon through which
the river flows (when it does flow) is the only way the railroad could
get through these mountains at this point. We supposed they were part
of what is called the Soda Mountains.
At this point in the canyon we saw a section house and climbed up to
see if they had any water. We found a man and his wife and daughter.
They had only about half a barrel of water fit to drink, but allowed
us what we wanted for that purpose. They also had two canteens, and
after a parley sold us one. After our previous experience in losing
two canteens, we were careful not to lose this one and luckily brought
it all the way through. Besides being kind enough to let us have the
canteen, they told us that the Company was now running a train each
day between Las Vegas and Daggett, and that there was a tank car
containing a little water on a spur track in the desert about five
miles from there, so we started on much encouraged. We had a canteen
and were only five miles from a tank car with water in it!
Within a mile we emerged from the canyon, the mountains receded to the
north and south, and we surveyed a vast plain of sand. There was no
sign of a trail, however, so we pushed out into the sand, which seemed
to have no bottom. The wheels of the wagon, although having wide
tires, sank to such a depth that at times we were “four spokes in the
sand,” and a hundred yards was about as far as the horses could pull
the wagon at a time. The Doctor and Bob walked to lighten the load,
and it wasn’t very long before we began to realize that we were up
against it hard. The heat was intense, and the sun on the white sand
would have blinded us soon if we had not put on our smoked glasses.
[Illustration: EMERGING INTO THE DESERT]
After plodding along at a snail’s pace for an hour or two, the Doctor
said, “Well, I can see our finish unless we get out of this pretty
soon,” and Bob suggested that we turn back. To turn back, however,
meant miles to water, and we had just sighted the tank car. It lay off
south of us about a mile and, although we still had some water in our
barrels, we needed more if we were to go back or forward, either one.
It was cruel to ask the horses to pull the wagon even two miles
farther than necessary, through heat and sand, so the Doctor and I
volunteered to take two pails each and see if there really was any
water in the car. It seemed foolish to expect to find water in that
car out there in the burning sandy waste, and the nearer we came to it
the more unreasonable it appeared. We did find water in it, however,
and although it was hot, it was good water, and after filling our four
pails we managed to get back to the wagon and add this much to our
supply.
From here we were supposed to follow the trail north around the base
of the Soda Mountains, but as yet there was no trail, so we had to
decide on some plan at once. There seemed to be three things we might
do: The first was to go back. This we refused to do. The second was to
go south to the Salt Lake Railroad and follow it east. This was
Knowles’ advice to us and, as we had declined to take it before, we
stood pat. The third and only thing left for us to do was to go north,
which we did, looking for the trail the old prospector told us was
there somewhere, and which would take us around to a spring above Soda
Lake.
So slow was our progress through the sand that we soon grew nervous
over it. In fact, I think we all became somewhat alarmed over the
situation. It was very hot and we seemed getting farther from
anywhere, so that when we stopped for lunch and had not yet found any
signs of a trail, we decided to make a “B” line for the mountains with
the hope that we might at least find better going, if we didn’t find
the trail.
Before starting, however, I decided to go over and climb the nearest
foothill and see if I could see Soda Lake. It was probably only a
mile, but I had to stop several times and lie down to get my head in
the shade of a bush, of which there were quite a number growing in the
sand near the mountains. Arriving at a small sand hill, I climbed up
to where a bush was growing and lay down with my head under it, and
surveyed the mountains ahead and the desert at the south, but no sign
of a lake or trail did I see. Then I saw through a gap in the
mountains a valley, with a lake in the centre and two tents on the
bank. This, I concluded, was a mirage. I looked away and tried to
assure myself that when I should look again the valley would be gone;
but it was still there when I looked again, and I could see a trail
winding down to it. I went to examine the trail, which was real
enough, so I was sure I had seen Soda Lake, although it seemed to be
in the wrong place. I immediately returned to the wagon to find I had
been gone two hours and the boys were afraid I was overcome by the
heat and were coming to look me up.
Cheered with my report of water and camps in sight, we all felt
encouraged, and pushed the horses as fast as possible through the gap
and down to the lake, where we found a man, a few chickens, a dog, and
a mule. The man was raising vegetables. Just think of it, in a valley
in the Soda Mountains! The lake was not Soda Lake after all, but Lake
Crucero. He told us Soda Lake was dry, that it was seven miles east,
and that there was no way to get there except through the deep sand,
and that when we got there we would be nowhere.
When we asked him about the trail the prospector had told us of he
said that it had been abandoned years ago; the water holes had dried
up and, unless we were camels, we could never get through that way to
Las Vegas. We were not surprised at this; in fact, we had begun to
think that something was wrong with our old prospector’s directions,
as it did not seem possible any sane person would ever attempt such a
desert. This man was not very talkative, but on being pressed to
advise us how he would go to Las Vegas he answered that he wouldn’t
go, which reminded me very much of the old saying, “If you ever go to
Arkansas, don’t go.” We tried another more sensible question and asked
him how it would be possible to go by wagon, and in reply he said that
it would be possible, if our team held out, to drive southeast about
seven miles to the Salt Lake Railroad and follow it to Kelso, about
thirty miles. We could get water at the section houses and if we could
make thirty miles he thought we would be through the worst of the
sand. As there was nothing else to do, unless we went back, we took
his advice, and, after watering the horses and filling our barrels, we
retraced our trail about three miles and camped at 7 P. M. in the open
desert again, under a full moon. If we had not been so tired we could
have enjoyed the night, but we were worn out by the heat and sand,
and, thankful for the cool evening, we turned in and slept soundly.
Monday morning, May twenty-third. “Seven miles southeast over the sand
to a section house on the railroad,” were our last instructions of the
night before, and I am sure it was all of that, for although we
started early, it was noon before we got there. The horses were worn
out, our water was gone, and yet it was surprising how we cheered up
when we came in sight of the section house, and how soon we forgot all
our troubles after we had filled ourselves and animals with water and
eaten our lunch.
After filling our barrels with water and looking at the railroad track
and section house, we felt we were safe for the time being at least.
Then it was we thought of Knowles and his advice to stick by the
railroad track and if we could not pull through the sand to drive on
the railroad track. Should we try it? There seemed to be no other
alternative. It was about twenty-three miles to Kelso and our team was
tired out. The last day and a half had taken all the life out of them.
Our feed was running short and we couldn’t possibly get to the next
water station unless we did try it.
Up we went, and an odd sight we must have presented driving over the
ties, bumping along at a snail’s pace, but at that we managed to make
about five miles when we came to a few bunches of Grama grass growing
in the sand, and we promptly drove off the track. We had two reasons
for doing this. One was on account of the feed this afforded the
horses, and the other was that we figured the train we had been told
of was due about this time, as it went up to Las Vegas at night and
back in the morning, and we had to pick out a favorable place to get
off the track, which was more desirable than being pushed off by the
cars.
Here we turned our horses loose for the first time, thinking they were
too tired and hungry to leave the bunch grass, and we were right. They
didn’t leave that grass, and when it came time to turn in I just
hobbled Dixie to be on the safe side. After this we hardly ever tied
up our horses unless we were near a town or in a stock country where
they might be enticed away by other horses, but before our trip was
over even this was unnecessary, as we found they could not be driven
very far away from the wagon. In fact, any horse we were not using
would follow the wagon like a dog.
[Illustration: A DESERT CAMP]
Our camp was in sight of three immense sand hills in a section of the
desert called the Devil’s Playground. We were told these hills moved
about and that sand storms were of frequent occurrence here. After
supper, although it was nearly as light as day, the wind sprung up and
we were doubtful about the advisability of turning in, but finally did
so.
The heavens were a wonderful sight. The stars seemed to hang low and
were more brilliant than usual. A comet with a long tail was plainly
seen in the west, and the moon was rising over the sand hills. We
began to speculate on the comet and, as the moon got above the sand
hills and the wind freshened, the most remarkable thing happened--the
sand hill began to move toward us! It kept getting closer, obscuring
the moon, until it had moved up far enough to shut the moon from our
sight entirely. We jumped up and each one of us was about to take a
horse and ride for his life, when the Doctor laughed and said, “It is
an eclipse of the moon. Don’t you see it’s coming out on the lower
side again?” and we rolled over laughing at our fright, each claiming
that he had known it was an eclipse all the time.
Later we found the comet we had seen was the famous Halley’s Comet and
were sorry some of our astronomers had not been with us, as probably
very few of them had an opportunity of seeing both the eclipse of the
moon and the comet under such favorable circumstances.
We go to sleep looking at the heavens and in the morning, after the
train has gone by, we start east again. We come to a section house
about a mile down the track, at which we find a section foreman. He
tells us it is twenty miles to Kelso, and the sand is “just as deep as
you can stick down a cane.” This is not very encouraging, but we keep
on the track, and finally, near time to make camp for the night, we
reach Glasgow, another section house, where we find a water car.
We had to drive off the track here to get by the switches, and pulled
through the sand up to the water car in front of the section house. We
very nearly put the horses out of business, so to speak, pulling only
a hundred yards at a time, but got all the water we wanted.
The foreman told us we could not drive on the track any farther as we
were cutting up the ties and the oil which held the sand down. We told
him that suited us; we wanted to be boarded until he could get a car
and haul us out, and that we were about out of horse feed. He admitted
that we could not pull through the sand and if we could not drive on
the track we would have to stay there, but, as the railroad was not
open for regular business and he had no facilities for feeding us, he
changed the subject by asking us if we had got what water we wanted.
When we told him we had, he said, “Why don’t you fellows go on then?”
which we promptly did, after thanking him for the water.
We made only about two miles more before camping for the night, and
were still thirteen miles from Kelso. It did not seem possible that we
could have made only about eight miles that day, but as I looked back
over the road and remembered the number of times we had driven off the
track to get around trestle work, and how hard we had labored to get
back on again, and how slow we had to go to keep from jolting our
wagon to pieces, I concluded that there was sufficient excuse and only
hoped the horses’ shoulders would not get sore with the jerking before
we could get off the railroad for good. Besides, we must get to a town
soon as we are about out of feed for the horses. With a firm
determination to reach Kelso the next day we rolled up in our blankets
and went to sleep looking at the stars.
Wednesday, May twenty-fifth. We were ready to make an early start this
morning, but did not dare drive on the railroad track until after the
train had gone by, and so had to wait until 8 A. M. Then we started
out and luckily met a section foreman who gave us some good advice. He
told us we would soon come to a wash on the north side of the track
where we would probably find easier pulling than on the track, and he
told us just how to get to it. He also told us we were only three and
a half miles from his section house and that from there the going was
better, and we would be within five miles of Kelso.
Incidentally, he said the Superintendent had dropped him a note
telling him to get our names and to order us off the track. He said he
would do neither. He was glad to see we had come that far alive and
hoped we would get through O. K. He said the first chance he had to
get out himself he would go too, and if any one had been kind enough
to tell him about the country first, he never would have come.
Thanking him for his advice we drove along until we came to the
jumping-off-place he had indicated, and after a hard pull found
ourselves in the wash where it was possible for the horses to make
fairly good headway, and soon reached Flynn, the section house. Here,
after eating lunch and while the horses rested, Doc and I did some
prospecting to find the best way into Kelso.
To follow the railroad was impossible on account of the sand, and we
could not drive on the track on account of trestle work, so we went
north to a mesa and discovered a trail coming down from above, the
first trail we had seen in about sixty miles. Climbing up we found it
well-defined, leading off down grade to Kelso, with the town itself in
sight. A hard trail, and Kelso, for a minute, was enough to make us
forget our troubles, but I knew how tired the horses were and I said,
“Doc, we can never pull that wagon over here and up this hill.” Doc
didn’t agree with me. He thought we could do it. We did by slow stages
reach the foot of the hill and, with Doc and Bob pushing, got up and
on to the trail. Here we took Dixie out of harness, as all Kate and
Bess would have to do was to walk leisurely into town (about five
miles), mostly down grade.
“Well, Doc,” I said, “you won; we got up.”
“Yes,” said Doc, still a little out of breath, “but I am not making
any more bets on this mare”--holding Kate by the head--“she is
bleeding at the nose and I believe she is going blind. What are we
going to do?”
“Any danger of her bleeding to death?” I inquired.
Now Doc is not especially strong on horse diseases but he knows
symptoms, and when he looked up and said, “No, she is just naturally
done,” I felt relieved.
“What are we going to do,” I repeated, “going to Kelso, Doc? Better
climb up and ride for a change.”