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.
CHAPTER XLV.
Initiated to Mormon faith
BY MAC A'RONY.
O, that he were here to write me down an ass! but, masters, remember that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am made an ass.—Much Ado About Nothing.
My sojourn in the famous Mormon Capital was too short for my taste. I shall remember it as long as I have bra'in's. I am proud to say that I was initiated into the Mormon faith and took unto myself no less than eleven wives; and I would have outrivaled Brigham Young in connubial conquests if Pye Pod had not bribed the Elders and put an end to my marital ambitions.
While a guest at the Tithing House, I found it well stored with asinine and equine luxuries. The Bishop and many charming lasses brought me bread, cake, apples and jam, and some genial fellow of a convivial turn tapped a bottle of rum punches. After imbibing a few "balls," I was quite ready to tipple Cheese, Damfino and Skates, and right here let me say, that of all skates I ever knew or heard about, the last named takes the palm as an artist in "high-jinks." While she gave a clever exhibition of an inebriated athlete, the rest of us donks lay stupidly on a bunch of hay, which was one-tenth of some Mormon's harvest, and reveled in day dreams.
Skates had reached that stage of her circus where she was burlesquing a Shetland pony cavorting on two legs, when Coonskin announced it was time to start. None of us stirred, except Skates. She showed the man how superbly she could pirouette on her left legs around the corral; then, suddenly, she toppled over in front of him, and reached for the bottle lying at his feet. Coonskin grabbed the bottle, smelt of it, eyed each one of us distrustfully, flung it over the fence, and prodded us all on to our feet. You can bet he had a hard job to keep two of us standing, let alone all four of us. He looked disgusted, turned on his heel, and made for the gate at once.
When Coonskin returned, he bore a pail of water in each hand. Indeed, the forgiving old soul, I thought, is going to refresh us and wash that dull, brown taste out of our mouths. Staggering to my feet, I advanced to meet him. Damfino and Cheese were almost dead to the world, but Skates made for the man on a lop-sided trot, arriving at one pail just as I reached the other. Into the liquid we dipped our nozzles, and as quickly jerked them out. What strange tasting water!
"Water from a mineral spring," observed Skates. "No, it's a bromo-seltzer," said I. Then each drank about a fourth of a pailful, and would have drunk more, but Coonskin snatched the pails away, and, it seems, transposed them.
Again we fell to drinking. But, so help me Balaam! soon something began to boil and sizzle inside of me. I thought I had swallowed a school of swordfish, but immediately a geyser raged within, and, like a shot, spouted out of my mouth, spraying Coonskin's face; and almost simultaneously Skates played another fountain in the man's eyes.
"Seidlitz powders!" I gasped, trying to catch my breath, which seemed to have left me forever. And didn't that man curse the whole race of jackasses! Dropping the pails, he ran for a pump.
Presently Coonskin returned. "You infernal scapegraces!" he exclaimed, as he eyed me and picked up the pails.
My recent experience had quite restored me to a rational donkey, and, remembering that "a soft word turneth away wrath," I said, "You are too eager to fix the blame on an innocent creature, Master Coonskin. The recent episode which was so distasteful to us three, and most exasperating to you, points a good moral. Never become so absorbed in the virtues of a cure that you are blind to its possible effect upon your patient."
The man left us, shaking his head and talking to himself, and administered the dose to Damfino and Cheese.
When Coonskin first visited us it was eleven o'clock. Damfino did not sound eight brays to announce the sun's meridian and the hour for barley, but we donks were considered sober enough to be packed by one o'clock, although in poor condition to travel. It was an effort for me to walk, an impossibility to walk straight. My asinine comrades grunted and groaned from nausea, and Cheese complained that we had been cheated of our mid-day meal.
When we arrived at the Hotel, Pod had just finished his luncheon. Damfino looked into the hotel portal and brayed. Then Pod came out, got into my saddle, and amid great applause from the assembled citizens, piloted our caravan down the broad thoroughfare, out of the lovely poplared streets and hospitable, home-lined avenues, past orchard and field and cottage and windmill, over the road to Garfield Beach, on "that mysterious inland sea," a few miles from the city. Once or twice, as I wabbled across the level and luxuriant valley, I turned my head for "one last, lingering look behind," though I confess I did so timorously, with a feeling intermixed with superstitious foreboding, as I recalled the story of how Lot's wife turned into a pillar of salt. It suggested itself to my reason that if there was one spot on earth indigenous to such a dire transformation it was right in that Salt Lake valley.
There, above and behind us, and across the majestic towers of the Temple, lay Fort Douglas, the gem frontier post of America, its white painted fences and barns glistened like meerschaum in the sunshine, with lovely drives and walks, and smooth-cut foliage, and sleek-broomed lawns of emerald, and fountains (not charged with seidlitz), and blooming flowers. And beyond towered the rugged, snow-crowned summits of the "eternal barrier" which holds the fort below, and guards with loving care the "Land of Promise" and that so-called "modern Zion" at their feet, like a dog guards his bone when threatening elements are wagging his way.
We arrived at Utah's Coney Island, Garfield Beach, late in the middle of the afternoon. This famed resort, named after the martyr President who was the victim of an assassin, is a very pleasant retreat on the lake shore. It is accessible by railroad train, horse and buggy, or donkey engine, although few people accept the latter mode of conveyance, as Pod did, I observed.
Pod stopped to swim and float on Salt Lake. Then we went on and brought up at a delicious fresh-water well, in front of the Spencer Ranch-house, where I led my asinine quartette in the song of the "Old Oaken Bucket." An audience at once gathered. Mr. S—— invited us all to tarry for the night, and when the Prof. accepted, we donks gave three "tigers" and a kick, which struck the ranch dog as being most extraordinary. Landing on the other side of the fence, he yelped himself into the house without further assistance.
CHAPTER XLVI.
Typewriting on a donkey
BY PYE POD.
There are braying men in the world, as well as braying asses; for what's loud and senseless talking and swearing any other than braying?—Sir Roger L'Estrange.
We set out early from Spencer ranch, refreshed by a good night's sleep. The weather was mild, but the trail dusty, and the country uninteresting. I found Tooele to be a sociable town that, from appearances, subsisted mainly on sympathy and fruit. Some of its denizens own outlying ranches or fruit-farms, and the remainder, those who don't, have sympathy for those who do. There appears, however, betwixt these two outcropping extremes to be ample means with which to provide the more modest comforts of life—wives and children: for such are known to exist, under any conditions, all over the world.
No sooner had I entered the village, than a gentle-eyed siren coyly approached, and said her papa wished me to put my jacks in his stable. While I was trying to please that man, a squatty youth scraped across the road in his elder brother's breeches to say that his mother would like to have me spend the night at her house. "Sociable people all right," my valet remarked, while I said to the boy, "Kid, you run and tell your good mother that I have a man with me, and, if she can accommodate us both, I will be glad to compensate her liberally for the hospitality."
But these Mormon beaux esprits, while followers of the Prophet, reverence old Bacchus as though he were Young.
As soon as my animals were provided for, Coonskin and I were called to supper and greeted at the gate by Mr. and Mrs. Noah and the children. I was hungry and tired. It occurred to me that in all probability my hosts had drawn heavily on their larder to provide a generous repast, and would yet have to pluck all their drakes and ganders before they could make our beds down.
That evening, on venturing in the street, I was held up by a jolly party, armed with two kegs of beer, a barrel of sandwiches, and a number of mandolins and guitars. In front of my donkey's quarters was a spacious, grass-grown area, where they spread their feast; there I met my fête. The serenade, if not the banquet, was in honor of the whole party, biped and quadruped. Although my dog whined at the harmony to frighten the performers, Mac and Damfino applauded the classic selections vociferously, while all four donks availed themselves of standing-room only, rest their chins on the top corral rail, and audibly discussed the exercises.
As soon as my entertainers departed, Coonskin and I sought our hostess. It was a beautiful September night. No air was astir. The sky was darkly clear and the myriad stars were winking with insomnia.
Startled from sound sleep at early dawn by a blast from a "busted" fish-horn, I rolled out of bed in the presence of Noah, instead of Gabriel, as I was frightened to expect.
The next thing was to wash and dress. A half vinegar barrel stood at the back door abrim with water. I was told it was soft, but I found it hard enough to wash in. A few feathers floated on the surface, and the soft water looked like soft soap. Old Noah was one ahead of me and dipped in. His wife, sons, and dog made their ablutions in turn, while the Shanghai hens and a pet magpie had doubtless rinsed their fowl beaks in it.
I watched the exhibition reflectively, and, concluding it would not show proper respect to appear at table before taking a dip, and that more than likely I should have to drink worse water before I had crossed the desert, I ducked my head, paddled my fins, then dried them in the sun, for I couldn't "go" that towel. The scrambled pigs' feet at breakfast was a new dish to this epicure, though my versatile valet observed with an inflated appetite, that he had often made pigs' feet scramble back in Wisconsin.
In spite of a late start, we reached Stockton before noon. My first duty was to hunt up an opulent resident, whom I had met at the soiree in Tooele, and who had promised me a burro.
We at once unpacked the donkeys, to give them a restful nooning, and piled the luggage in front of a store. It was here that my philanthropic friend found me smoking. At once, he sent a lad to chase up a good, strong burro to make good his promise; next he offered me the freedom of the town.
"I'm kind of tired, my good sir," I said gratefully, "but—how—how far is the town."
The donor of Coxey blinked his eyes and felt of his goatee, then, straightening back, said, "Not fer, it's right here. Can't you see it all round ye? Ye didn't cal'luate ter find a New Yirk er New Orlins, did ye? This is jest plain unadulterated Stockton, and it's glad ter welcome ye. Now, if ye're trim ter go about a piece, I'll guide ye."
"Thanks, awfully," I replied, rising. "Take me to a smith the first thing; I want all my donks' feet examined and put in condition for the desert."
Then leaving an order for supplies at the store, I had Coonskin ride my new burro to the blacksmith.
After a two-and-a-half-hour sojourn in Stockton, my caravan was wending its way to the next and last town we would visit in Utah, St. Johns. The next after that would be one hundred and seventy-five miles away. Here and there along the trail a ranchman's shack stood alone, the glistening window panes flashing like a lighthouse tower in that sea of sage. An occasional horse or steer would loom above the brush; once or twice a jackrabbit bounded across the trail, or a weary buzzard careened in the air overhead, as though figuring for me a fatal horoscope.
I was silent a long time before Coonskin reminded me that I had neglected my weekly letter to the papers.
Said he, "It's a good time to cultivate the acquaintance of Samantha Jane, that typewriter you got at Salt Lake."
"Can't you suggest something more sensible?" I replied. "How can I manage the machine while riding a jackass?"
"Easy enough," said Coonskin. "Lash it on Damfino, and seat yourself as you would to play solitaire."
Great idea! The neglected typewriter was at once introduced to my party for the first time, and secured in a comfortable position on the broad-backed donkey. Then I seated myself vis-à-vis, and opened up a somewhat spirited conversation on the journey.
It was not with the best of grace that Samantha Jane consented to be my amanuensis. She held the sheet of paper very mechanically, and appeared utterly devoid of animation. I first tried to date my letter. I shot my finger at the S key and struck the L just as Damfino nabbed at a sage bush. I'll correct the spelling afterward I thought, and tried to hit the letter E, but rapped A full in the face. "Don't joggle so!" I yelled at my steed, and, drawing a bead on P, literally knocked down Z, as Damfino stubbed her toe. Next, in vexation, I shot at T quite recklessly, and punched Y's face close by. The effort had overtaxed me, and snatching the paper from my typewriter, read aloud L-A-Z-Y. Mac grinned from ear to ear, and Coonskin laughed loudly. The donkey remarked that practice is a good remedy for incompetence, even if it does not cultivate patience.
Again and again I tried to write the abbreviation "Sept.," but at length called "Coonskin, I'm going to discharge this typewriter, and stow her away till we get to Eureka."
"Your courtship is amusing. Keep it up, you'll understand each other in time," he replied.
"I have my doubts," brayed Mac, "when she won't even let him make a date with her."
I resolved to begin the letter anew, and to write at least a paragraph, date or no date. This is how it looked when I had finished.
"Talo hab$ getoch-Tho forntnigs ate erut%wsot
pirowigs og owhym, dyl swelboka swice, bomblastnig
wisj thu cleg pry) wet dnpenting tresgd wobm -&a
wihng rubpint dor a Togues Cruop; % ro mi Noty gni-
leek befort dajosty ga eht5 safey haschimb she boj o rew
laim$."
It was extremely encouraging, to find but four correctly-spelled and distinctly English words in all that jumble of dialects. I thought it a good paragraph to practice on, and would have tried it over, but Coonskin called to me that we were approaching town and, from appearances, the villagers were going to give us a hearty welcome. So I stopped Damfino, and hastily tucked Samantha Jane away in time to avoid a scandal.
CHAPTER XLVII.
Pod kissed by sweet sixteen
BY MAC A'RONY.
Very good; well kissed! an excellent courtesy.—Othello.
By the time our caravan reached St. Johns, Pye Pod was bewailing his failure to discover the key to his typewriter's character, the non-production of his newspaper letter, and the forfeiture of the check it would have brought him; besides, he was borrowing trouble by deploring his prospective desert journey ere it had begun.
"What a sleepy old hamlet in which to bid farewell to earth!" he muttered dejectedly, as we passed the first house. "I'll bet 13 to 1 that there isn't a soul in the whole settlement to welcome us. The great and only Pythagoras Pod, D. D. (donkey driver), passeth through with his stately train and entereth the seared and thorny purgatory of the desert without the perfume of a single rose to waft to him its balm of comforting sympathy."
Suddenly a happy cheer greeted our ears in the distance. The sound was sweetly feminine, and Pod said that to his sensitive ear the angelic chimes swelled and died and softly returned, like the tender notes of the nightingale in an echo vale. (Pod is often swelled by the divine inflatus). At this time not a soul beyond our outfit was visible, but soon we discovered in the foreground of a kennel-shaped schoolhouse a bevy of girls, all clad in white and garnished with flowers and delicate vines. As we drove near, the whole band of pretty maidens, led by the tallest of them, approached and surrounded us. I knew not whether Pod was frightened or elated; he fell off my back in an effort to dismount gracefully.
The pretty chieftess made a bow, and looked at the sky, and played nervously with her skirt, and turned side-ways, and finally began to intone her "Him of the Asinine Pilgrimage."
"Noble and valorous courtier," she began softly—and a donk of the party brayed, "Speak louder!"—"we daughters of St. Johns, Queen of the Desert, come to greet you with kind and admiring hearts." (Coxey brayed boisterously, "Here, Here!") "We hail your brilliant achievement, as the planets hail the sun"—("What a Venus that middle one," I confided to Pod)—"Your courage, your fortitude, your manly sacrifice of the associations of your nativity and of the affectionate kisses of dear ones left behind you. These, we deem, should be recognized. Therefore, having learned that you and your stately caravan were coming by this highway and that your trusty charger, Mac A'Rony, was still standing faithfully by you" (I bowed at the compliment)—"and your poultroon of long-eared cavalry"—"For Balaam's sake! What's that she calls us?" I questioned my mute master. "She means 'Platoon,' not 'poultroon,'" he explained—"St. Johns has befittingly chosen the flowers of her desert garden—thirteen comely virgins—to be presented to you on this momentous occasion. And so, in honor of your famous exploits," continued the chieftess, composedly, "we now come to meet the lion fearlessly in his desert haunts. Here, take these flowers" (she handed Pod a bunch) "and wear them. They will prove a talisman to conduct you and your party in safety to the farther desert shore." And with the most exalted, sweet-scented nerve Pod accepted the bokay. He smelled of it, and examined it, and then disappointedly yet courageously replied: "I see no tulips among the flowers, and I love two-lips so much."
"Indeed? Well, then you shall not be disappointed," said the pretty speaker; and, s'help me Balaam! If that girl didn't step forward and give my surprised master her two lips. And every one of the dozen others, except the last one, gave hers too, or drown me in an alkali pond. The last girl sensibly boxed his ears. Pod just kissed every mouth of them, from the eldest to the youngest, save the one. The touching ceremonies over, I rather expected my master to respond eloquently in a few well-chosen words, but he was speechless. "Speech!" cried Cheese, and every donkey of us repeated, "Speech, Speech!" Then Pod found his tongue and began:
"Beautiful and spicy sage-flowers," he bungled; and the maidens' sweet faces colored,—"I am completely overcome with this splendid ovation. As frogs dive into a crystal pool, you have disturbed the morbid surface of my present feelings with radiating ripples which shall widen and cease to fade into oblivion only when I shall have reached the desert's opposite strand. The honey you have left on my lips shall sweeten my ertswhile bitter hours, and the milk of your human kindness will quench my thirst when the last drop in my canteen has evaporated. Now I must bid you all a fond and affectionate farewell."
At once the silver-tongued orator went down the line again, kissing each and every one of the dozen he had sampled before; then he got into my saddle. The thirteen foolish virgins backed sorrowfully against the barbed wire fence with handkerchiefs to their eyes; the blushing, crimson sun hid his phiz behind the distant mountains; a dumb weathercock tried to crow as he tucked himself to roost on a neighboring barn; and our caravan moved on toward the desert waste.
"A complete triumph," remarked the Professor, swelled with pride; "but for that eldest prude who slapped my face."
"The incident points a moral," I returned. "Don't attempt to pet every cat that purrs."
CHAPTER XLVIII.
Last drop in the canteen
BY PYE POD.
Rocky Mountain canaries were singing their lullabys and Bridget (the clock) had just called eleven o'clock when the house of St. Joer loomed in the darkness. A hush was upon it and all the out-buildings. Though nobody greeted me, still I knew where I was by the odd-looking arch over the corral gate. Mr. St. Joer was at the soiree in Tooele, and had made me promise to tarry with him a night before braving the desert; so we camped in the corral. We were awakened early by the genial ranchman, and escorted in to breakfast with him and a guest, a young man from Salt Lake City, who had just ridden horseback from Granite Mountain, where he had been inspecting some lead mines.
It was a treat for me to sit again at a meal not cooked by myself; all four of us ate with genuine relish. The stranger was about thirty, of light complexion, tall and slender, and was dressed in a nobby riding-suit, with leather leggings and spurs.
"If you take the Granite Mt. trail to Redding Springs," suggested my host, turning to the young engineer for his indorsement—"but no, that's too risky," he corrected.
"Save forty miles and more," commented the engineer. "I can give the Professor a diagram of the desert and all the trails to Fedora Spring in Granite Mt.; the trail from there to Redding is not confusing, I understand."
I said I would take the risk to save forty miles, a two days' journey. My first intention had been to go south of the desert by Fish Springs, the route generally traveled by emigrant schooners.
Three hours later, we were climbing the rocky summit of the range that hid the great desert beyond, and threading the jagged causeway called the Devil's Gate.
They rose sheer and craggy high above us—immutable witnesses of that sundering catastrophe of nature when the earth's mighty convulsions of a prehistoric age converted an obstacle into a convenient pass. When out on the western side and I beheld the broad expanse of sun-tanned desert reaching from that sage mottled slope to the parallel-stretch of mesa, some twenty miles away, the intervening Skull Valley lost for me its legendary terrors. But it was a forlorn-looking prospect; only two things made up the perfect picture of a despised Nature—alkali and sage.
About noon, when we had proceeded some distance into the Skull Valley desert, we stopped to feed and rest an hour before resuming the march. As we seemed to have abundance of water and provisions, this glaring solitude with such a lugubrious name caused me no dread sensations, for when supplied with the necessities of life, it is difficult for one to realize the dying man's agonies of starvation or thirst.
By six we had crossed Skull Valley. The last mile of trail wound up a slight grade to a grassy bench, where stood a low-roofed, log shack; it was the deserted Scribner's Ranch. A few moment's reconnoitering resulted in our finding the spring.
Then we unpacked and picketed the animals, excepting Mac A'Rony, who was usually allowed to roam at will; for when tied, he was forever tangling himself in a snarl that required time and patience to unravel.
Our tent was pitched a hundred feet from the shack, whose dusky contour, wrapped in the sombre veil of night, on the mesa above us and against the sparkling firmament, looked cold and repelling indeed.
Day had advanced two hours when we awoke. The broad desert to the west gleamed at white heat. While I cooked breakfast, Coonskin saddled the animals, to save time; then, the meal over, we quickly packed and started for the scorching sands. The trail was as hot and level as a fire-brick floor. As far as the eye could reach in three directions, the blue, curved dome of heaven and the glistening desert met in a gaseous haze, hiding the horizon, but in time, far to the west, as we proceeded gradually, rose a bluish-gray pyramid, which we know to be Granite Mountain; while, to the rear, the distant hills, where stood the deserted cabin, looked to be mere dust-heaps at the base of Nature's architecture—the towering rocks of the Cedar Mountains through which we trailed the morning before.
Every few minutes we had to tap our canteens; the powdered alkali dust rose in our faces and swelled our eyes and tongues; no amount of water would alleviate our pangs of thirst. Besides, the evaporation of the water in our cloth-wrapped canteens and basket-covered demijohn was frightfully great; I feared lest the supply would not last us through to Fedora Spring. I gave Don frequent drinks, yet his eyes were blood-shot and his tongue hung out foaming and swollen. As a precaution against any sudden freak of madness on his part, I held my revolver in readiness to dispatch the dear fellow should it become necessary.
On the other hand, my donkeys strode along quietly, without complaint or seeming discomfort, as if in their native element.
Not a living thing could we see beyond our caravan. No jack-rabbits ventured into the desert; no more would a water-spaniel breast a scalding sea. The only living thing we met with in that gigantic kiln was a horned toad, which was existing as a hermit and was apparently content. We captured it, and Coonskin named it Job, because the horns which covered it looked like the extinct craters of once boiling boils. Our water was vanishing so rapidly by noon that I decided not to tarry for lunch and rest, but to hasten to the spring; but at five, when the sun was nearer the horizon and evaporation less, I ordered a dry camp, and the donkeys were unpacked and grained with the last of the barley generously presented by St. Joer. We men lunched on cold meat and crackers and canned fruit, and sparing draughts of warm water; after which we reclined and smoked until the sun set. Then we repacked before darkness set in to confuse us. How the donkeys did enjoy rolling in the alkali! When they had finished their dry ablutions they looked like negroes who had been hit with a bag of flour.
Just before resuming the march, we men poured a few drops of citric acid into our two quart canteens, whose tepid water was only an aggravation of our thirst; the acid made it palatable. Soon afterward I discovered our great error. The acid so worked on the tin that the water became, in time, unfit to drink; fearing lest it would poison us, we both had to throw the precious liquid away.
About mid-way that afternoon I saw my first mirage. It was simply magnificent, wonderful! A snow-crowned mountain rose out of the desert, and on top of it, turned bottom-side up, rested its counterpart, both phantom peaks remaining a while immovable; then they appeared to crush into each other and dissolve. The spectacle was bewildering. Like mammoth icebergs in a glistening sea, they seemed to melt and leave on the arid waste a great lake of crystal water. At sundown they reappeared with still grander effect.
The sun threw a crimson, fiery mantle over the under mountain, which produced the effect of flowing lava down its snow-white slope to a flame-red lake on the desert, while above, on the upper mountain, reflected and danced shadows of rose-color and pink, as if reflected from flames within the crater of a volcano underneath. Then, as the sun sank below the horizon, the upper mountain gradually rose toward the zenith and opened wider, like a great fan, tinted with all the colors of a rainbow, until it faded into radiating webs of gossamer, and disappeared.
One other time we saw plainly the skeletons of a man and a horse glistening several hundred feet from the trail, but I was too incredulous to put faith in the old proverb, "Seeing is believing," and passed on. Just before dark the huge Granite Mountain looked to be only a couple of miles away. Still we traveled till midnight before we passed the edge of the dusky pile, so deceiving are distances in that rarified air.
The evening in that cooling oven of baked sand and alkali was oppressively long, dull and wearisome. Every trail branching toward Granite Mountain had to be checked off my diagram, for we had seen no sign-board. True, the heavens lent a little cheer with their sparkling lights, but the temperature fell from far above the 100 degree mark to 70 degrees by eight o'clock, and to 48 degrees before we pitched camp. We had passed three trails not on the diagram, and I began nervously to speculate whether the sign-board had been taken by some overland voyager for fuel and we had passed the trail to Fedora Spring.
The clock pointed to one. A few moments later a well-beaten trail curved southward toward the towering pyramid of rock. I called a halt to reason with my man on the advisability of following it.
"We'll chance it," I said; and we trailed toward the mountain. Narrower, rockier and steeper grew the trail for two miles, before I discerned the sloping sides of the canyon we were in, when I ordered camp. The donkeys were securely picketed to the roots of giant sage with our longest ropes, to enable them to find sleeping places among the rocks; I knew they must be very thirsty, and would try to break away in search of water. Then we made our bed in the trail, and with lantern went to find the spring; but we searched in vain and returned to our camp-fire discouraged. Evidently we had taken a wood-trail into a dry canyon.
Only half a two-quart canteen of water was left us. We ate a cold lunch, and drank sparingly; after which I took charge of the canteen for the night. Coonskin remonstrated at once, saying he was thirsty. I said I was, too, and that when I should drink, he could, but not otherwise. We were in desperate circumstances, and I must exercise my authority. So we crawled into our blankets, on the hard and narrow trail under the glittering canopy of heaven, and were soon asleep. But, before lying down, with a realizing sense that we were lost and without the water to keep us alive half the distance either to Skull Valley or to Redding Springs, I knelt in fervent prayer to God to guide us out of that awful wilderness to water in time to save us from the death that seemed to be in store for us on the morrow. The beaming planets, also voyagers on a limitless sea of mystery and doubt, looked down, cold and unsympathetic. Coonskin was first asleep; when I was sure, by his breathing, I quietly rose and gave my faithful dog a few drops of water in the wash basin. He was grateful indeed, and tried to be content; he seemed to realize the situation, and licking my cheek, lay down close to my side.
The sun shone over the walls of the canyon and awoke us frightfully late. We stretched and yawned. Now, I thought, if I had only taken Mac's suggestion to lay in a store of carrots and turnips, the water in the vegetables would have sufficed in emergency, and the donkeys had feed.
As my hopeful outfit tramped and slipped and tumbled down to the shining plain, I almost felt I could see my finish on that sun-scorched lime-hued gridiron which faded away into a gaseous nothingness in three directions. When we came to the main desert trail, I halted my caravan to debate with my despondent valet as to what would be the wisest move. Should we go east or west?
"Flip a penny," said Coonskin, "Heads, west; tails, east!" and he at once threw the coin whirling in the air, and caught it, tails up.
"West we have been traveling, and west we shall continue to go," I said positively; and gave the command to move on, adding: "If we fail to discover the sign-board after passing beyond the mountain, then we'll come back and search to the east."
We had proceeded a mile and a half when Coonskin went crazy, or had a fit, and I emptied the canteen in his mouth. This revived him. He had partially undressed and was trying his best to frighten me and the dog. The sun beat down furiously; the sky wasn't the only thing that looked blue. I raised the canteen to my lips and drained it of the last and only drop. My tongue hung out swollen, and my palate and throat burned. Another half mile, and I should have despaired, when, suddenly, a small white board, nailed to a short stake, loomed up ahead of us. I knew intuitively it marked the branch trail to the coveted spring. No two happier mortals ever lived than Coonskin and I. We threw our hats in the air; we shouted, and hurrahed, and sang; and turned handsprings and somersaults on the white, dusty floor of the desert. An hour later my little caravan had climbed the canyon to its fountain, and there we men fell on our stomachs with my dog, under the heels of the five donkeys which crowded about the cool, delicious waters, and drank until seized by the collar and dragged away from the spring by a man and boy.
Near by stood prairie schooners, and some yards beyond were their horses, nibbling on the tops of sage brush. The party was bound east, and did us a kindness by preventing our drinking to excess in our condition.
The man was kind enough to caution me before departing to mark well the sky and the wind, for should we be caught in a rain in that dreaded Red Desert, whose soil is so tenacious, we would "pass in our chips" without doubt.
At one o'clock we struck out. The afternoon's march was just as tedious, and uncomfortably hot, and thirst-provoking as that of the previous day. But, with the exception of a fright we received late in the day when a few drops of rain fell from a passing cloud, there was nothing to mar the serenity of the journey to Redding Springs. The long-traveled trail was worn to a depth of twenty inches and more for many miles. We men, especially I, had to sit our animals Turkish-fashion to avoid being drawn out of the saddles by our dragging feet. The march after sunset to two in the morning was the most wearisome. Finally, when we were still three or four miles to Redding, I heard a dog bark ahead in the darkness, and thought we were almost there. Yet we traveled an hour and a half before the buildings of the ranch loomed in the darkness. Soon we had supped, and were wrapped in slumber.
Redding Springs is a great oasis in the Salt Lake Desert. Three springs, varying from fifty to one hundred and fifty feet in diameter, overflow the reeded banks and irrigate a wide area of what otherwise might be an arid spot. An Italian owns this cattle-ranch and grows most of the necessities of life; he seemingly is content, though far removed from the cheerful and busy world. He believed that two of the springs were bottomless, and had some subterranean outlet. A steer once attempted to swim across one pond, and was drawn under by the suction and never seen again. To prove the Italian's theory, these two ponds, or springs, contained fish whose blindness indicates they must have lived in underground channels where eyesight was not required, soon losing their optics altogether.
Mac A'Rony observed, when I had related to him the dago's story that in all probability the steer had undertaken an underground voyage to join a herd of sea-cows in the Pacific.
Our much-needed day of rest was a delightful one.
It was a twenty-eight mile journey to Deep Creek. My outfit was in readiness to start at 7 a. m. next day. The nine miles across the sage-covered plain to the mountains was accomplished in a little over three hours; then my animals began slowly to climb the ascent over a rough but well-beaten trail.
By carrying out the directions given me by the Italian, at ten that night my fatigued caravan was straggling along the western slope of the broad-shouldered Deep Creek range. The sky was clouded, the air heavy with mist; a shower was imminent. I strained my eyes to ferret out a habitation of some sort from among the distant and faintly twinkling lights, but when I had selected one for our objective point and gone a hundred yards or so, it suddenly went out, and I had to single out another one. Again we were disappointed. Evidently it was the bed-time hour; soon all the lights would be extinguished.
Presently rain began to fall. I took it as a timely warning, and ordered camp. We pitched our tent in the trail, the only place in which we could spread our bed, and crawled under cover just as the rain poured down with a vengeance.
We had not more than closed our eyes than Don uttered a growl of warning, and I heard the sound of galloping hoofs approaching. I sat up. Then I heard the trampling of sage to one side of the trail, and looking out, saw a man on horseback. "Hello there! Who be you? Travelin' er goin' somewhere?" called a voice. I liked the tone; the words were genial, even cheery. When I answered, he gave us an urgent invitation to pack up and go on with him to his cabin a half mile distant, as his guests until the storm abated.
"I thought you were drunken Injuns at first," said he. "Not common for white men to camp in the trail. My horse was so frightened he nearly spilt me, shying into the chaparral."
I laughed good-naturedly, and promised to arrive at his house in time for breakfast, explaining that it would not be worth our while to dress and pack in the rain, since we were perfectly comfortable. Soon a hush fell upon the scene, and the beating rain on the canvas lulled us sweetly to sleep.
When we arose in the morning, everything was dripping and a furious gale blowing. The rain appeared to be over, but no sooner had we packed up than down again it came. We hustled our animals up the muddy incline, and soon rode into the door-yard of the only cabin on the trail, and commenced unpacking. Soon our midnight acquaintance, Murray, and his chum, an old man who went by the cognomen of Uncle Tom, came out and welcomed us; both our hosts were effusive in their hospitality. One stabled and fed the donkeys, and the other ushered us into the cabin where we were provided with dry raiment and a hot breakfast. The fire in the stove roared in triumph and scorn at the scudding rain and wind without, while I smiled in gratitude.
The men brought us books and tobacco, and couldn't do enough for us. The storm soon assumed the character of a hurricane; and I tried to fancy my little party struggling in the throes of those merciless elements to make headway across the valley and up the western mesa. The gale waged all day and night, but on the following morning the sky was clear and the wind had died considerably. It was a relief to get out of the stuffy house into the free and open air. I took the axe and exercised myself with chopping wood for an hour, which display of energy greatly pleased Uncle Tom, who, I assumed, provided the fuel for the camp.
Murray was to start at eight on a round-up; so I resumed my pilgrimage at the same time. Before good-byes were said he presented me with a fine hair rope, braided with his own hands, as a souvenir of the happy occasion. The place to find large hearts is out on the western plains!
Nine o'clock saw us trampling sage in a short cut down
the slope toward a small group of log houses, designated
as Deep Creek. The frontier store was kept by an Irishman,
but bossed by his wife, who tried to impress me with
her importance. Adjoining it stood another old shack,
and projecting from its front eves was a small signboard
on which was the following startling announcement:
1st. class dentestry
All kinds dun cheap. Horses a specilty.
Wimen prefured.
TERMS CASH or
credit.
I was amused at the novelty of this dentist's shingle; so was Mac A'Rony.
"Poor Damfino!" he ejaculated presently, as I rubbed his nose. "Can't you help her out of her suffering? The poor girl has had a toothache for two days."
"Most assuredly I will," I said. "Why didn't you inform me before?" And forthwith I ferreted out the frontier tooth-doctor. He, resurrected from his prolonged lethargy, hunted up a dust-covered tool-chest, and followed me impetuously to his asinine patient.
CHAPTER XLIX.
How donkey pulls a tooth
BY MAC A'RONY.
Contrary to the old saw, "Misery loves company," Damfino wished to be alone. She said she wanted to cry, but couldn't. She had the sympathy of us all. Only those who have suffered can appreciate the sufferings of others. I never shall forget my profanity and the pain that prompted it when the too considerate Prof. consented to my electric bath.
And now, with the same kind motives oozing out of his face, he introduced the sage brush dentist to Damfino. Dr. Arrowroot dropped his toolchest and seizing his patient by the upper jaw with his left hand and by the lower jaw with his right, said: "Open up, madam," and proceeded to examine her molars.
"Locate the claim, Doc?" an on-looker asked, facetiously.
The doctor said he did, but no sooner began to dig than he was ejected. Then the tooth-doctor called for volunteers to assist him; every man not valuing his life responded. Two Mexicans held the remote end of a long pole and pried Damfino's jaws apart, while several Indians and halfbreeds braced against her sides to prevent her from kicking and falling.
At length, Doc fastened his forceps on the ulcerated tooth, and, grinding his teeth and wrinkling his face, yanked with all his might. He might just as well have tried to pull a tree out of the ground. He rested a few moments, then sent for some hay wire and a lariat, and after wiring the lariat to the tooth, tied it to Damfino's hind feet. We other donks were holding our sides; I thought I would "bust." Then, when the patient was unbound—that cantankerous donkey's four legs were roped together to prevent further excavations in the local cemetery—there was performed the neatest, cleverest, most thoroughly successful piece of dental surgery that I ever heard of. That moaning "Old maid" just kicked the tooth clean out of her jaw. And, s'help me Balaam! the root of all that evil was three inches long.
Poor Damfino was the last to realize that the trick had been accomplished, and kept on kicking till she threw off the lariat and slung the molar half way through the side of the store. When Pod showed her the tooth, she brayed for the loss of it, and as evidence of her ingratitude, the shrew turned to me and whispered: "Mac, since I pulled my own tooth, how can that brutal dentist have the nerve to ask pay for it?"
"He got the nerve from your tooth, like as not," I said. "You once told me that the Bible says, 'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,'"—and in a jiffy Damfino made for that innocent, fleet-footed tooth-doctor, before Pod could have time to settle with him.
Before long, I was leading the troop up the sage-covered mesa in step with Damfino's mutterings. When we arrived at Billy Jones' ranch, Billy was leaning on the picket fence in front of his back door. His house was once turned around, hind side foremost, by a cyclone. He was munching pinenuts, and did not budge, at first, taking us for prospectors. When Pod introduced himself, Billy almost fell to pieces with surprise. Soon Mrs. Jones came out, and Pod was almost persuaded to remain over night.
But we did not tarry. It was dark and misty; rain threatened to descend any moment. When darkness settled, it was as black as Egypt and almost impossible for me to follow the trail. After a while a light could be seen through the mist; Pod said it must be the Tibbits' ranchhouse, where he proposed to camp.
Suddenly, wwhile chuckling over a joke, we donks walked slam-bang against a barbed-wire fence, throwing the men into a rage. Then I leading the way, we followed the fence, turned a corner round a barn, and finally anchored at the back door of the house. Pod found the doorknob, and made the ranchman's acquaintance, while Coonskin pitched the tent, unpacked and picketed us donks, then both men gathered fire-wood with which to cook. Mr. T——, when once assured that Pod was neither beggar nor tramp, authorized us animals to be fed grain and hay; but his wife said it was too late to prepare supper for the men. This did not disturb Pod for he soon had one prepared.
My, that ranchman was close-fisted! Pod even had to pay for his kindling wood before starting the fire. The old man was a plain-looking ruddy-faced Englishman, as snobbish as he was penurious, but after a time he condescended to "join" the five in a post-prandial smoke. And not until it was pounded into his thick cranium, that his strange guests were traveling like princes did he affect to be hospitable.
Long before dawn, our donkey matin song awoke the natives as well as our masters, and Pod issued from the tent, half awake, hardly in presentable condition to face Madam T., who was splitting wood, while the old man looked on. He now insisted on his "guests" taking breakfast with him, and afterwards charged for the bacon, eggs, coffee and bread double the sum charged by other ranchmen previously. The bill for hay, grain and firewood was also presented and paid by the amused Prof. Coonskin was rash enough to hint to Mr. T. that by some oversight no charge had been made for water, for our party drank lots, but the Briton said no, he'd be generous.
He accompanied us horseback four miles, nearly to the base of the mountain, where we turned to cross the pass, and on the way acquaint us with the superior advantages of country life in England as compared with the disadvantages in America, and admitted that, while a squatter in the West, he had for twenty-five years declined to be naturalized.
The climb over the Antelope Mountains was slow and laborious. Across the flat valley beyond, mottled with sage and greasewood, alkali and sand spots, rose the summits of the Kern Mountains. We trailed through straggly groves of dwarf pines laden with cones, full of tiny nuts, some of which the men gathered and munched unroasted. Coonskin said they were a dandy invention, just the thing to break the monotony of talk, for they kept the jaws at work just the same; and they were so hard to gather and shuck that a fellow couldn't eat too many to crowd the stomach.
The valley was about ten miles broad; we crossed it and camped at the base of another range of mountains, near the V—— sheep ranch. The boss was away, but his genial wife and son were holding down the claim. They visited camp after supper, listened to the Professor's marvelous tales, and next morning the good woman sent her son horseback to lead us beyond the point of conflicting trails, to the entrance to the pass to Schelbourne. As the lad rode off we donks joined in that pathetic hymn: "One more mountain to cross," just as a sort of parting serenade.
The trail was smooth, but in some places almost obliterated; it was the old pony express trail of ante-railroad days. Sometimes it was steep and we donks puffed like engines. There were the charred stumps of the telegraph poles that the Injuns burned to annoy Uncle Sam, and occasional ruins of stone or adobe cabins or saloons, relics of those hot times of savages and fire-water. Every time I saw one of them I felt dry.
By 11 a. m. we had crossed the summit and were resting near the great stone barn of Schelbourne. It is built strong, with sheet-iron doors and shutters, and high enough to admit a stage coach and four. When the Injuns used to get out for a little holiday sport, the stage, freighted with passengers, mail and express, used to drive in at a two-forty gait; and I've heard tell how the iron doors would shut and give the coach a friendly boost in the nick of time to receive on their armor a hail of leaden bullets or a shower of poisoned arrows.
On reaching the plain, I heard my master tell his valet we would spend that night at Green's ranch. I was glad, for I was hungry; the savory smell of the nuts the men chewed was tantalizing. Midway the plain we were stopped to enable Pod to empty a sackful of cones, which Cheese had threshed by his wibble-wobble motion, and to refill their pockets with nuts. At length, we arrived at Green's a half-hour after dark. Here we donks were fed and watered; then Coonskin proceeded to get camp ready for the night, while Pod made a fashionable call on Mrs. Green. And—well, he will tell you what happened.