Along the Rio Grande Western Railroad
We drove into Marysvale on the morning of June 15, but did not see the
town until we were directly over it, so to speak. It lays just under a
bluff and we were literally on top of it before we could see it. We
had expected to find a much larger place, as it is the terminal of the
Rio Grande Western Railroad, but it is a rather dilapidated looking
town of only three hundred population, set down in a basin. The
location is ideal. Swiss mountains with snow caps to the north and
east, a swift little river on the edge of the town, and high
tablelands to the south protect it from the winds. It could be made a
charming place and may be some day, but it held nothing of interest
for us except the postoffice, and so after getting our mail and some
provisions we started for Salina, which we understand is about
seventy-five miles north of here on the railroad.
The trail took us across the river and over the Sevier Range of
mountains into Poverty Flat, which we reached at 2 P. M. The pull over
the Sevier Range was short, but steep. It was only thirteen miles, but
the first eight seemed to be straight up. If the road had not been
very good, it would have been impossible for us to have made it even
with three horses, but having reached the top we had a magnificent
view, and we enjoyed looking down at the town and river and over the
mountains, while the horses were getting their lungs into working
order again, before dropping down to Poverty Flat.
At a ranch we obtained permission to put our horses in the corral and
give them a good feed of alfalfa, and, as they had done a day’s work,
we decided to stay here until the next day. We got a bit of family
history and some local traditions from the man at the ranch. His name
I have forgotten, but that is immaterial. He did not belong to the
Race Suicide Club. He had ten children; two were married. He and his
family live in the town of Monroe near here in the winter, and the
children go to school. They come out here and farm in the summer. We
understood Monroe was called “Monkeytown,” and it seems that both the
town and the mesa were nicknamed by an Irishman years ago, who
probably was quite a wit, and the names still stick. Two or three
different parties had tried to make a living on the mesa and had been
starved out, so he called it “Poverty Flat.” He evidently was a man
who had ideas of his own, and, believing most of the folks in town to
be only imitators, he conceived a great dislike for them, and when he
went away from home, which he did quite frequently, if any one asked
where he was from he would say, “From Monkeytown.” So, while it is
“Monroe” on the map, it is still “Monkeytown” to the surrounding
country.
The next morning we drove past Elsenor and on to Monroe, which we
found to be quite a good-sized town with telephone and electric light,
and it seemed quite up to date for a town away from the railroad. From
Monroe we went on ten miles farther to Richfield, a town of two
thousand population, on the railroad, where we mailed some letters,
leaving at 3:30 P. M. for Salina. We made twenty-five miles this day
and passed through three Mormon towns, all seeming prosperous, and the
country well irrigated. Just north of Richfield we saw a new
irrigation ditch which, when completed, will take care of about a
thousand acres. The Sevier Valley here reminded us of Southern
California, but the orange trees were lacking. The day was fine, but
the snow still lay in patches on the mountains and the air had a chill
in it.
We camped at night on the desert side of the valley, and just as we
were about to turn in the wind came up, the sky was overcast, and it
began to rain. So we put down our wagon cover and made the bed inside,
but just as we got inside, much to our disgust, the moon came out and
it was all over. We were inside, so we stayed, but did not sleep as
well as usual.
Friday morning, the seventeenth, we drove the twelve miles into
Salina, over a very dusty road. That short sentence seems an easy way
over twelve miles of horrible road, but it could not be helped. It was
the only road, and we had begun to find that in this country the roads
were all dusty that were travelled much, and those that were not
travelled much were practically impassable, because they were not
roads at all--just trails. This seemed to be the dryest year in the
history of this country and the farther along we went the more
complaints we heard. We had not seen any rain since starting and,
except for the false alarm of the night before, we were to travel a
good many miles more before getting rained on.
Reaching Salina, where we expected to leave the railroad and go east
to Green River, we made a few purchases in the provision line and then
inquired as to the trail over into Castle Valley. We were surprised
when told we couldn’t get up Salina Canyon into the valley, and that
if we were going to Green River we would have to go north about a
hundred miles, and that while it probably was one hundred and fifty
miles farther that way, we could make it easily enough, but with our
outfit we couldn’t possibly make the canyon trail because it was
washed out. As this was not the first time we had been told we would
have to depart from our straight line and go around, we decided not to
be easily discouraged, and so began to look about for some one who
knew absolutely the condition of the trail.
We were not long in finding a young fellow who had come over a few
days before, and he walked out and took a look at our outfit. He
looked quite a while at the wide tires and the wagon top and finally
said, “I believe I could make it with my team, but I would advise you
fellows not to try it.”
I said, “Do you mean that your team could take that wagon over, or do
you mean they could take your wagon?”
“I mean I could drive them over with that wagon, but they are used to
the mountains and rocks, and I don’t think that team can do it.”
“All right,” I said, “over we go. I think this team is as good as
yours, and if you can do it, I can.”
So we started, but I had occasion several times to think he was right
before we got there, as you will see, but I had begun to believe in
those horses and in my ability to drive them anywhere with that big
wagon, except up a tree.