In a running brook I washed my hands and wiped them partly on my clothes, using a soiled handkerchief that had begun to simulate alarmingly the likeness of an old map of Africa, but still discharged in some measure the duty of detergence. Having parted my hair with my pocket comb and being now ready for the feast I strolled round the little log cabin, which to me was invested with almost as much interest as the Yildiz Kiosk when it was the home of Abdul Hamid. A voice at the door announced that supper was ready, and I responded with alacrity. There were eight seats at the table, two on each side, and all were speedily occupied. The dishes with the food served had all been placed upon the bare table, to be passed round. The luxury of a linen spread was not to be expected in an out of the way western mountain cabin, and what with hot tea, brown sugar and milk, cold meat and bread, all seemed appetizing enough.
I soon learned that the family were Mormons, but did not ascertain definitely to what extent that cult had brought them under the sway of one husband, though it appeared probable that three of the young women were still free to form matrimonial alliance.
Women were present in number sufficient to give continuity to the conversation, in the course of which I glanced round at the berths in the room and finally asked where, in case I should remain for the night, they would put me. To them the problem presented no difficulty. In fact, it was not uncommon on the frontier in early days for several families to be sheltered over night in a single room almost as satisfactorily as is now done in a Pullman sleeper, and with as little disturbance from sonorous slumberers who sometimes unwittingly throw their neighbors into a panic. I was present on one occasion when Costello, the well-known rancher in South Park, on a stormy night entertained forty-six sleepers—men and women—in three rooms. He said he believed he could handle two or three more, but it might make it a little crowded.
"Is there another cabin not far away, where the man of the house is likely to be at home?" I asked, when the supper was over. After a little thought one of the women stated that about a mile down the canyon there lived an old fellow, at what was known as the toll gate.
"O yes," said another, "you mean the Scotchman."
The suggestion afforded an opportunity for retreat. Thanking the women, I paid for my supper and received definite instructions concerning the path, as the darkness of evening had begun to settle on the valley. I reached the other little hut, recognizing it first by the firelight shining through the small window. My approach to the cabin was proclaimed by the deep-toned barking of dogs from within. A "hello" brought the keeper to the door. Driving back the animals, and commanding them to shut up, he gave me an opportunity through the half open door to ask his permission to stay all night with him, which request was granted as a matter of course. Having arranged for some feed for my horse, we entered the hut. The Scotchman, who (I learned later) was well known by many Mormon people, was the sole occupant of the cabin, except that three huge mastiffs shared his company. On entering I took a seat in an uneasy chair before the fire, and the Scotchman, who was uncommunicative and not especially hospitable, soon stretched himself out upon the only bench in the room, wrapped himself up in his blanket, and fell asleep. The dogs, with half-opened eyes directed toward me as they were stretched before the fireplace, had become reconciled to my presence. The flickering firelight, which enabled me to write a few sentences in my note book, also exposed a dirty earth floor not covered at any point with boards. I had no blanket and the prospect for repose was dismal. As a diversion I wandered out into the night toward the place where my horse had been hitched, near which I had noticed a small pile of fresh straw, four or five feet in height. It occurred to me that this pile exactly met my requirements, and compared with it the Scotchman's dirt floor was not to be considered for a moment. The sky was now clear, and the air was still. In the distance here and there arose the occasional yelp of timber wolves, doubtless on their regular nocturnal patrol as scavengers. Investigation revealed the presence of pigs, which had burrowed out a comfortable nest in the straw stack. After a few punches, two animals with many grunts of reluctance consented to vacate their bed. I immediately crawled, feet first, quite out of sight into the nest. It was a far better bed than the soldiers had been accustomed to sleep in, during the Civil War. The cares of the day were soon forgotten in slumber, but early in the morning I was suddenly awakened by the jumping of heavy animals upon the straw pile above me and by the angry barking of dogs, the deep baying of which came through the passage to my nest. Their noses were soon thrust into the straw at the entrance. The three big mastiffs in the Caledonian's lodge on the previous night had been turned loose for their morning airing and had scented the presence of an intruder in the straw pile. Every word that I spoke to them served but to augment their savage howls and barking. I had often run badgers and other burrowing animals into their holes, but had never before so fully realized the deplorable straits to which I had reduced them.
I managed to extricate my revolver from the belt but remembered that its flash would set the straw on fire, nor did I care to incur the hostility of the surly Scot by shooting one of his dearest friends and protectors. Already I had had trouble enough. The Highlander's attention was finally attracted by the excited conduct of his dogs and naturally believing that they had covered some big game in the straw pile he urged them on and returned to the cabin for his gun. My voice was smothered and muffled by the straw pile and drowned in the incessant howling and barking of the three dogs, and still I would not shoot until they should make an attack. Yelling at the top of my voice I finally made the Scotchman aware that the sound proceeded from a human being and that the import of my entreaty was that he call off his dogs, else I must shoot, and that I was the fellow whom he received the night before. His response inspired me with hope. Laying aside his gun he took one and then another of the savage mastiffs by the tail, pulled them back and fought them off, until at length he got between them and the hole under the straw stack. As I emerged, the vicious beasts made another plunge, but in some way I struggled to my feet, when possibly the excited animals recognized me as the guest of their master and their interest subsided, though for some time they maintained close watch, apparently ready on the slightest hint to renew hostilities. The Scot informed me that his dogs were great on wolves and were well-trained. Nothing in addition to my recent observations was necessary to convince me that the dogs were great on any game.
The reader may recall that I had an understanding with Captain Whitmore that the wagon train would proceed to Salt Lake City as rapidly as possible, to deliver merchandise that had been long in transit. As the grade from the head of Parley's Canyon to the city was steadily downward, this could be accomplished without the service of the missing cattle, but I was to remain in the mountains and recover them, if possible. The next two days were devoted to this work, and having ascended one ravine after another, late on the afternoon of October 8th I emerged from the mountains with all the missing cattle in a herd before me. We came out over the high bench by the upper road, which has since been abandoned, and from which elevation against the light of the setting sun could be seen the Jordan Valley and the western mountains beyond. There were reasons for self-congratulation on reflecting that the cattle hunt was so near a successful termination. It was in the early twilight, and hardly two miles separated the truant oxen from the city corral, when for no cause apparent to me all the cattle suddenly stopped, wheeled from the road and with heads and tails in the air started in various directions at the top of their speed. My horse sharing in the panic became almost unmanageable, but with him I started in pursuit.
It appears that in the preceding year a firm possessed of more enterprise than business acumen had imported from the Orient a herd of camels, intending to use them for the transportation of freight across the arid country south of Salt Lake.
In the dusk of evening the stock under my care had caught a glimpse of this herd of grotesque long-necked beasts approaching them. It was a sight the like of which they probably had never before beheld. Escaping hurriedly with my frightened horse I was carried through what I believe was an irrigating ditch into the rough ground beyond, whence for the first time I discerned in outline the swaying towering heads of the awkward camels that had caused the stampede. Then the pursuit of the panic-stricken oxen was renewed, my hope being that they might be brought back into the road before the darkness of the on-coming night should make it impossible to follow them. Racing at night on horseback over rough and unknown grounds, under the leadership of a frightened steer, may be conducive to health, but when at eight o'clock all the oxen were brought up near the gate of the corral in the City of the Saints, I was happy to call for help and turn over the 'whole bloomin' outfit' to the care of fresh herders.
IT was long after the time of which we are writing that Conan Doyle led his readers into some of the secrets of detecting crime by the observance of circumstances devoid of significance to the ordinary searcher for clues. It is also true that the legal devices by which the guilty are now-a-days generally enabled to escape punishment had not been brought to their present high state of perfection.
In the corral in Salt Lake City where our wagons and stock were temporarily cared for, there were also other outfits having drivers concerning whose character our captain had little knowledge, but the conduct and general appearance of some of them led him to believe that they were not quite incapable of disregarding on occasion the artificial distinction between mine and thine.
One morning three mule trains said to be bound for Montana pulled out from the corral, and on the same day it was discovered that several articles were missing from our wagons. This interesting synchronism led our men generally to believe that our property had accompanied one of those trains, which were soon beyond the jurisdiction of Salt Lake officers. A Sherlock Holmes might have discerned some further hint pointing to the authors of the larceny, but we could find none. We decided to rely upon general suspicion as sufficient ground for action and to proceed accordingly.
In the Western territories, and especially outside any of the few settlements, according to the unwritten law, horse stealing was treated as a capital offense. Therefore, if it had been a horse that was stolen from us, a posse comitatus would doubtless have been at once put upon the trail, fully equipped to execute the conventional punishment, but the saddles, bridles, and blankets that formed a portion of our loss, though equine accoutrements and exceeding in value an average horse, still left the crime in the rank of mild offenses, along with other misdemeanors forbidden by the decalogue. For some reason that no one could ever even guess, it was urged that I, even I, should pursue the trains and ascertain, if possible, if the stuff was under their care. I consented, perhaps foolishly, to make the venture. A search warrant was secured, which purported to invest me with authority to detain and examine the trains in question, in other words assigning to me the duties of deputy sheriff or detective, I hardly knew which; but I was well aware of the fact that the instrument given me really had no legal force beyond the city limits, and I doubted if it had much value anywhere, but it was quite a good-looking and impressive piece of paper, and with it I started very early the next morning for the North.
As my duties had seldom brought me to the corral, I expected to be a stranger to all the freighters whom I was pursuing, but had seen enough of them on one brief visit to be convinced that among them were a number of tough characters, yet I saw no reason why, as an officer of the law, I should not receive permission to examine the wagons, if the wagon master himself should be innocent.
It was sometime after noon when a mule train was observed in the distance, and on reaching it I learned from one of the drivers that the name of the owners was upon the search warrant. The captain of the train, on horseback in the lead, stopped as requested, and the paper was read to him. After a little consideration the captain said "Do you intend, young man, to stop my train here and go through all these wagons?" I replied, "That is what I came all the way from Salt Lake City to do," but I would be as expeditious as possible and desired his personal assistance. "Well," he replied, "if there is any stolen property in this outfit I don't know it, but suppose you can look through the wagons." He ordered the train to halt. Calling an assistant, he said, "Hold this officer's horse." Accompanying me to the head wagon I made as thorough a search there as possible, repeating the process through each wagon, the captain, who appeared to be a fair man, keeping in close company. Some of the men seemed somewhat averse to an examination of their private effects under such peculiar circumstances, but a regard for the dignity of the law, and the presence of the captain of the train who had assented to the search, doubtless prevented any serious opposition.
Having completed the examination which required little more than an hour, and thanking the captain for his assistance, I announced that the property did not appear to be in the possession of any of his men and that all was satisfactory.
By proceeding again more rapidly, another train was reached quite late in the afternoon, and a thorough search was made through the merchandise in each wagon, all of which was accomplished without serious opposition, but none of the missing property was found. It was evident that the third train could not be overtaken and searched that evening, but I pressed on Northward and darkness came on quite early.
At the right near by to the East, the Wasatch range of mountains paralleled the old Montana road and the shore of Great Salt Lake, which lay to the West. Snow storms had been falling in the mountains for several days, and the white mantle extended well out over the foothills and upon the higher slopes of the valley through which the road led. The night was chilly, and I hastened on rapidly, hoping soon to find some cabin in which to spend the night, but for many miles no habitation was visible. The road traversed a long stretch of arid land, which then offered no attraction to a settler, although it is now well cultivated. It had become quite dark and from the direction of the mountains there came the frequent yelping of wolves. This brought to mind the information that had come to Captain Whitmore the preceding day, that a herd of our cattle which had been pasturing in the mountains had since the first snowfall been stampeded by wolves and driven for many miles. Four of the oxen had been bitten by the sharp teeth of the pursuing wolves until they were unable to go further. The term used by the herders in these cases is that the cattle were "hamstrung," the tendons of the legs being severed. One of the weaker oxen was killed and partly eaten before the herders were able to come to the rescue. It was evident that the wolves were now becoming hungry and were coming down to the lower land away from the snow for food. For a time I gave little attention to the howling, as it was not unusual in many parts of the West, but as I jogged along I observed that the noises were becoming much more distinct and continuous, and it soon became evident that the wolves were gathering in considerable numbers and were following closely. My horse was becoming disturbed and started off at good speed, but the wolves had no difficulty in keeping the pace. I had with me two Colt revolvers, one in the holster of the saddle and one in my belt. The principal danger was that if the wolves came nearer, they might nip the legs of the horse and cripple him. It was impossible to see them distinctly, but on catching the first outline of their forms a few feet behind the horse I issued a warning in the form of a flash from the pistol and a bullet to suggest that some of them were liable to get hurt. Their noises were then so frequent that I was not certain if one had been hit. Startled somewhat perhaps by the report of the pistol, they dropped back for a moment but again renewed the chase and continued their disagreeable yelps. It appeared evident that the safest plan was to keep going. My horse seemed fully to concur in this opinion. The ammunition must be used only in emergencies, when the persistent creatures crowded too close on the horse's heels. The firing was repeated a number of times as they closed in upon me. The chase was continued for several miles, until the pursuers, which may have scented some accessible carrion, after one of the pistol shots abandoned the chase to the eminent satisfaction of both horse and rider.
It was nearly nine o'clock when there appeared the welcome light of a candle shining through the little window of a cabin on the west side of the road. To my call from outside the gate, as I rode up, a man soon answered by coming to the door. Having announced the fact I had suspected for several hours, that I was very hungry and that my horse must be in a similar condition, I asked permission to enjoy the hospitalities of his cabin for the night, to which he promptly replied, "Sartain! you go right in, and wife will get you some supper, and I'll take care of your horse," which by that time I had led through the gate. Turning to the woman who stood near him, and who had been an interested observer, he asked her to prepare a supper. While this work was proceeding in the room where I was sitting by the fire, I quietly and expectantly enjoyed the fragrance of coffee and fried bacon. I was about to take seat at the table, when the head of the household again entered and reported that he had waited a little for the horse to cool off, and then had watered and fed him. As I was transferring the first slices of bacon to my plate, the gentleman opened the conversation by the question, "Where are you from?"
"I just came up from Salt Lake City to-day. I left there this morning. Your wife tells me that your name is Childs," I added, and then gave him my name.
"Yes," he replied, "my name is Childs, but I presumed that you were from the States. Is Salt Lake your home?"
"No. I have spent three or four months there. My home is in Wisconsin."
"I had a brother once who lived in Wisconsin," said Mr. Childs.
"Oh, yes. I know him very well."
"You know him?" exclaimed my host. "Why do you think you know him? I haven't even told you his name or where he lived."
"His name is John Childs," said I, starting in on a second cup of coffee.
The man and his wife gazed at each other with expressions of surprise. The fact was that I did well know a prominent farmer, an old and esteemed settler in Wisconsin, whose name was John Childs, and as he was the only man I did know who bore that family name, I took a flyer in jest, and it happened to hit the mark.
"Where did the John Childs that you know live?" asked my host. "In Lima, Wisconsin," was my prompt answer.
"Then he is probably not my brother. My brother went to Whitewater."
"Oh, that's all right," said I, "but you are mistaken in the supposition that your brother lives in Whitewater. He lives in the town of Lima, but the villages are only six miles apart. The railroad station is known as Child's Station."
This statement on my part was not so remarkable as it would appear to be, because I was familiar with the situation.
"Do you mean to say that he is now living?" asked Mr. Childs, as he drew very close to me at the table, while his wife also took a seat and listened intently.
"Living? He was living six months ago and weighs fully 200 pounds. I know nearly every man in all that country."
Mr. Childs of Utah paused a moment and then said to his wife, "Send over to the boys to come here at once, and we will wait until they arrive, for I wish them to hear all about this matter." Turning to me he added, "I have two brothers who live in the two houses beyond here, and I wish them to hear all that you will say." I then turned the subject to the purpose of my trip North. I told him of the lost property and of the improper conduct of the wolves back in the desert. He then informed me that one of his brothers was the constable for that township.
The brothers having arrived, Mr. Childs introduced them and then narrated to them the conversation which had passed between us concerning their brother, John, to which they listened with profound interest. Turning to me he said "We all lived in St. Lawrence County, New York. We three brothers who are here became converted to the Mormon doctrines while we lived in New York state and soon came to Utah with others of our faith, but John and other relatives were not reconciled to our action. John, as we understood, went to Wisconsin and settled in Whitewater. We wrote him a letter but he never made reply, and since that time no tidings from him have reached us."
"Your communication doubtless went to the Dead Letter office," said I. "Although John is well known and is perhaps thirty years older than I am, a letter addressed to the wrong post-office might not have reached him if written before he was as well known as he is now. How long is it since you heard concerning him?"
"About twenty years. We supposed that even if living he was still unwilling to renew friendly relations with us, and all because of the fact that he did not agree with us in our religious belief."
Thus had the Scripture been fulfilled, and families and peoples been divided, all the way down through generations. That evening by the big open fire was an occasion of great interest. The family was told of their brother's prosperity and high social position, and that he was a man of recognized honor. We separated at a late hour, and I retired leaving the brothers still conversing. In the morning, having learned that I would soon return to Wisconsin they asked me to send for the brother on my arrival there and tell him of my meeting with his Mormon brethren and that the information given might be full and definite they showed me their farms, stock and harvested grains. Mr. Childs declined to accept anything for my entertainment.
The sequel of this incident may as well be related here before pursuing further the events of this horseback ride. Several weeks after spending the night with the Childs brothers in Utah, and after again reaching Wisconsin, I addressed a note to John Childs, of Lima, requesting an interview. The request was promptly granted, the meeting to take place in a quiet business office with which we were both familiar. Mr. Childs, who was perhaps the most prosperous and honored man in his neighborhood, was usually addressed even by many of his younger friends as John, so that after we had met as arranged, and he had anchored his large frame in an easy chair, and I was comfortably adjusted in another, I said, "John, did you not have some brothers back in York state?"
He replied in the single word "Yes," with a rising inflection, as if about to ask, "Why do you wish to know?" but he did not continue.
"Well, John, do you know what became of them?"
After a little hesitation he told briefly of the belief that prevailed with other members of the family, that they enlisted for the Mexican war, but their friends had failed to obtain any definite trace of their movements and all trace of them was lost in that campaign.
"Could you not secure information concerning them through the records of the war department?" I asked.
"Nothing definite, except that there was a suspicion at one time that they might have gone up into Utah, but we tried to locate them, and have never heard a word from them, or of them, to this day, and I suppose they were lost in some adventure."
It was evident that while John had not yet told all that he knew of his brothers, his belief was that they were not living, as he had never been able to obtain any tidings concerning them. When, however, I recited the full names of his brothers, also the date and place of their birth, and some other data of family interest and asked if they fitted the case, it was then that John Childs awoke to the fact that I had some information to impart, that might be of interest. Without further delay I stated to him that all his brothers were living and prosperous. The word came to him as a voice from the long ago, and was seemingly as startling and unexpected to him as if coming from another world. I told him of my night spent with the brothers in Utah, of their story of the family separation and of their effort to effect a reconcilation by a letter addressed to the wrong post-office. John stated that he had never received a line from them, but suspecting that they might be in Utah he had addressed them at Salt Lake, which was quite natural, though that city, it appears, was forty miles from their home. That letter also failed to reach its destination, and all parties believed that the old bitterness was still alive. The situation was now perfectly clear, whereupon John at once wrote letters that brought friendly replies as promptly as the overland stage mail could transmit them, bringing the first direct word that had passed in twenty years.
As already stated, one of the Childs brothers was constable. In discussing the matter of my search for stolen property he was emphatic in his advice that the pursuit of the other train would involve a great hazard. It was traveling with light loads, evidently going North to winter on some of those ranges, and before it could be overtaken it would be outside the limits of Utah. If the property was with it, the men would certainly resist the intrusion of an unaccompanied searcher, and an unequal fight would be the result. It was a lonely, wild, and tough country at best, they all declared, with a "don't try it" as their final word of admonition.
"All right, fellows," said I, "and possibly you are right. I have seen some of this country and will return South."
After breakfast and some pleasant farewell words I started on my return to Salt Lake. Some distance in advance, I noticed a solitary horseman riding in the same direction I was going. As the country was unsettled, the prospect of companionship led me to hasten until he was overtaken. He proved to be a Mormon pioneer, and after some preliminary conversation as we rode along side by side he informed me that his name was James S. Brown.
"Are you the James S. Brown who first discovered gold in California, at Sutter's Mill?" I asked.
"I was there," he replied. "There were James Marshall, H. W. Bigler, and James Berger who were with me. We had been with the Mormon Battalion sent to the Mexican war, and having been discharged we came up to Captain J. A. Sutter's ranch on the American River."
"I have read much of that ranch in John C. Fremont's records," I replied.
Continuing he said, "We were out of money and needed horses for our return trip to the Missouri River, therefore we engaged to help Sutter build a saw mill on the stream at the point where the City of Sacramento now stands. Sutter went to California from Missouri, and acquired a principality in size and value, and was the first settler. It was during that work that in January, 1848, we found gold. It had not been seen there before. As a fact we brought the first news of the discovery East, which resulted in the rush of 1849."
Mr. Brown was somewhat above the average in size but at the time of our meeting was lame as the result of some accident in his early days. His description of the hardships of his brigade in the Arizona desert, which through questioning was elicited from him, was thrilling in the highest degree.
Continuing his story from time to time after occasional digressions he told of the return of their party over the Sierras Eastward, of their troubles with the Indians and of other hardships. Although in Mr. Brown's interesting volume on the Life of a Pioneer, written in later years, he makes no mention of the circumstances, yet he told me that when his little party had arrived at the north end of Great Salt Lake in the autumn of 1848, and had determined that it would be much safer to spend the winter in that valley than to cross the mountains so late in the season, they were led by friendly Indians to understand that good forage for their horses could be found at the southern end of the Lake; whereupon, as he told me, the party traveled the same course that we were then following, along the western base of the Wasatch Mountains. At a point several miles north of the present site of Salt Lake City they unexpectedly met two of their Mormon friends, whom they had neither seen nor heard from since leaving the Missouri River two years before. They were informed for the first time that Brigham Young and many Mormons had crossed the plains and the mountains in the preceding year, and had erected a stockade and settled at the south end of the lake. One member of Mr. Brown's party was astounded to learn that his mother, having crossed with one of the trains, was at that moment but 12 miles away and that she had driven a yoke of oxen the greater part of that long, tedious course, a duty made necessary by the heavy burdens which fell upon others. This was certainly a remarkable revelation to the weary travelers, who had supposed that they were alone in the middle of the continent.
Near the close of the day Brown and I reached the ranch of Peregrine Sessions, a pioneer Mormon and a man conspicuous in Mormon history, from whom the place was known as Sessions' settlement. As we rode up to the door, Mr. Brown said to me: "It was right here that we met our Mormon brothers who informed us concerning the new Salt Lake settlement." It was arranged that we should spend the night with Mr. Sessions, who during the evening gave a brief account of the perils and privations to which they were subjected on their journey and some incidents connected with the early days in Utah. During our evening's interview Mr. Brown described his first arrival at Salt Lake settlement, where he and his party found their friends living in brush sheds and dugouts, a few only having log cabins, their general condition being most discouraging. Such was the beginning of Salt Lake City.
We may now recall the fact that the settlement of Salt Lake City by the Mormons in 1847, and the discovery of gold in California in 1848, were the prime factors in the awakening of the Far West. Salt Lake Valley was an alkali desert declared to be absolutely hopeless by the early trappers and explorers. Its reclamation and cultivation by those religious exiles made it the only supply point for provisions on the long road to the newly discovered Sacramento gold fields, and saved many from starvation, to the profit of all concerned.
Mr. Sessions arrived in Salt Lake Valley in the middle of September, 1847, having conducted a company of fifty wagons, which closely followed the first train of Mormon pioneers conducted by Brigham Young. The Deseret News is authority for the statement that "Peregrine Sessions was the father of fifty-six children,"—a patriarch indeed.
It is true that the graphic yet ingenuously told story related by one of the discoverers of gold in California, one who carried to the States the first intelligence of that discovery, gave added interest to the visit that I soon made to those gold diggings, the fame of which had incited the first tide of transcontinental migration composed of hardy and reckless adventurers willing to undergo the trials and perils incident to such an expedition. These, with the Argonauts who sailed around by the Isthmus or Cape Horn, were the ones who first roused the latent energies of our Pacific coast territory.
There were a very few, however, who were attracted not by gold but by admiration for the sublime and beautiful in nature, especially through companionship with the noble trees and towering cliffs of the Sierras; and these men aided in revealing to the world the previously unwritten history of these formations. Among them were John Muir, the shepherd, naturalist, and author, and Galen Clark, the pioneer and discoverer of the Mariposa Grove. I appreciated Galen Clark's homage for nature when, after spending a night at his cabin, built in 1857, he personally led me among those monarchs of the forest, stating the heights of various trees, and for my satisfaction assisted in measuring the trunks of many; one of them was 101 feet in circumference. He referred to them in affectionate terms, expressing the hope that they might be spared from the lumberman's axe.
It was still later when I first visited Muir's haunts in the Yosemite; George Anderson, a Scotch ship-carpenter, had spent the summer in drilling holes into the granite face of the upper cliff of the great South Dome, driving in it iron pins with ropes attached. Two or three persons were tempted to scale with the aid of these ropes the heights, which are nearly a perpendicular mile above the valley. I, too, was inclined to make the venture. I proceeded in advance, followed by Anderson, who had in tow a young San Franciscan with a connecting rope around the young man's waist. It was a dizzy but inspiring ascent and I was pleased to reach the top twenty minutes in advance of my pursuers. While spending an hour upon the summit, I discovered on its barren surface, a lady's bracelet. On showing it to Anderson, he said: "You are the third party who has made this ascent. I pulled up a young woman recently but she never mentioned any loss except from nausea." Returning to Merced, I observed a vigorous young woman wearing a bracelet similar to the one I had found. The lady proved to be Miss Sally Dutcher of San Francisco, who admitted the loss and thankfully accepted the missing ornament. A letter to me from Galen Clark states that he assisted in Miss Dutcher's ascent, Anderson preceding with a rope around his waist connecting with Miss Dutcher; also that she was certainly the first and possibly the last woman who made the ascent. These ascents are now forbidden, but the natural attractions of the State of California have drawn to it a vast revenue from transient nature lovers.
But to return to the hospitable home in Utah.
After spending the night with Mr. Sessions and his varied household, Mr. Brown and I on the following morning proceeded on our way to the City.
Experienced detectives have spent years in their efforts to apprehend a single criminal and then failed; moreover a discreet officer will sometimes avoid being shot, as that is a high price to pay for success. Experts sometimes accomplish no more and have a less enjoyable ride than I did; and being but a novice I had no grounds for regret. Cool reflection convinced us all that the lost property was of little value and not worth bringing back at best, while some optimists maintained that it was really very good riddance.
IN the past few months we had crawled many hundred miles with a slow moving ox train. Several weeks had the writer spent with a few intimate associates, while convoying a small horse-train.
Possibly a thousand miles had he covered on horseback, often quite alone, with much opportunity for silent contemplation and an occasional resultant desire for better company than himself. Nearly two weeks had been passed in the heterogeneous but interesting companionship of the boarding-house mule train, with its peculiar vicissitudes.
A time having arrived when return to the States seemed desirable, I decided, like many travelers, to conclude the season of travel on the highest scale of elegance possible, and incidentally to profit by the experience of still another form of transportation. Having at command the two hundred and fifty dollars required for the purchase of a ticket to the Missouri River, and possibly a sufficient margin to pay for the meals at the various stations, I booked by the swift-going Ben Holliday coaches, patronized generally, as I was informed, only by the wealthy, or by those whose business was sufficiently important to justify the outlay.
To reach Denver, the first town on the route, required seven days and six nights of continuous travel with no avoidable stops except for meals and relays of horses. Naturally for this long ride the choice of seats was a matter of much importance. Any human being, in whom there remains any life whatever, desires now and then to change his position, also to secure an occasional doze without the risk of having his neck broken by a sudden jolt, while sleeping. The back seat with its ample head rest was, therefore, the first choice. I was compelled to take the middle seat, the least desirable. There being nine passengers, the three inside seats were occupied each by three persons, opportunity, however, being left for riding at times with the driver.
At exactly eight-thirty o'clock on the morning of Thursday, October 25th, the driver was on his seat of the coach in front of the Salt Lake House. The baggage and mail had been carefully strapped into the boot on the rear, and the passengers were in their assigned places within.
As was the invariable custom, a crowd of onlookers thronged the sidewalk, to watch the outgoing coach. The spirited horses, such as usually were selected for the runs into and out from stations where they were much observed, were fresh and eager. A few grand flourishes of the driver's whip ended by sending the lash out over the lead-horses with a sharp crack, and the team was off in grand form. As the outfit speeded down the street, it was a dress parade, advertising Ben Holliday's stage line. The first mile of this travel may be compared with the alluring picture advertisements with which modern railroad companies attract summer tourists. The real thing in tourist travel is better seen when one walks through a car crowded with weary, perspiring, dust-begrimed recreation-seeking passengers, who bear little resemblance to the fine and jauntily dressed figures paraded in the beautiful booklets. And so, when an hour later we traveled slowly up the long ascending grade and muddy roads in Parley's Canyon, which were saturated with melting snow, our plight seemed to be in striking contrast with our spectacular start.
There was but one woman among the passengers, and she with her husband occupied the front seat, facing me. Everybody "got acquainted" very quickly, after the manner of the West, and each told of the many prominent people in their home state, with whom they were intimate, and by four o'clock, at which time the eating station known as Kimball's was reached, each had become convinced that he was one of a party of distinguished and agreeable travelers.
It was after dusk, when with a fresh team we were whirling down the steep curves of Silver Creek Canyon with horses on a full run, urged on by the Jehu on the box. We were making up lost time, for the roads had been heavy. At our right we were following the tortuous brink of dizzy precipices, the bottoms of which were lost to sight in the gloom of the mountain shadows.
A passenger on the front seat, while holding tightly to the window frame, pushed his head outside and called at the top of his voice, "For Heaven's sake, driver, go slower." The only response was a renewed cracking of the whip and a more rapid clatter of the horses' hoofs upon the rocky road. As the coach plunged over an obstruction one passenger, who was changing his position on the back seat, was lifted to the roof of the coach by a sudden jolt and tumbled over the middle seat where he lay spread out, grasping the passengers in front for support. The horses speeded on just the same, for lost time must be made up on the down grades. All the passengers had been accustomed to travel by stages, but it was remarked that at the beginning of each journey of this character the apparent perils of rapid night riding in the mountains were more fully realized than after several days of tension. When the long up-grade of Echo Canyon was reached, and for hours the progress was slower, affairs again settled down to a peaceful condition. While some passengers maintained a desultory conversation others dropped into fitful dozes, usually brought to an end by a short, vigorous snore.
Early on the second morning, while the muddy ground was covered with white frost, we rode up to the breakfast station at Bear River, and an opportunity was given to relax the tense muscles of the legs, which had been pinioned down for the greater part of twenty-four hours. What would be their condition two weeks later?
Another night closed in upon us, accompanied by a cold, driving rain. The passengers pulled their caps down over their eyes, drew their wraps snugly about their bodies, and sank back into the most restful positions possible. By common consent nearly all of the men extended their feet to the opposite seat, to relieve their limbs from the continued confinement. The husband of my vis-à-vis negotiated for privileges on a portion of my seat for the feet of his wife, with his assurance of her full reciprocity, to which interchange I gratefully assented. The woman said that she was dying to stretch. I was quite willing to save her life by such an agreeable exchange of courtesy.
At intervals of twelve or fourteen miles the driver gave vent to a series of war-whoops, which announced his approach to some little hut where horses were to be exchanged. While this was being done by the dim light of a lantern, some passenger was sure to put his head out of the window and ask, "Where are we now?" The reply that it was Lone Tree or Salt Wells, conveyed but little information, as the stations were almost nowhere, being simply points in space marked by the stage company for convenience. Little could be seen from the coach except the stable and the vague outlines of some overshadowing hill behind it, and the men with the horses barely visible in the soft glow of the lantern.
The drizzly autumn rain continued to fall until, in the gray dusk of the early morning, while the other passengers seemed to be dozing, I became conscious of a slowly increasing dip of the coach, which continued until the vehicle rolled upon its side. Then came a brief period of profound silence, as if all were pausing to learn if the evolution was really complete, and if we were not now to roll further down into some deep ravine. In the meantime we were holding firmly one to another, but no sound of distress indicated that any one was injured.
The first voice that came to our ears was from the driver outside, who uttered a few well-assorted oaths, which were addressed to himself, in a low tone of voice, but were, however, an assurance to us that all was well and that he was in his normal condition. It was somewhat difficult for each passenger to extricate himself from the common mass of humanity with which he was implicated, and to get the several members of his own body clearly identified and segregated from those belonging to others.
One man, who was on the upper stratum, succeeded in escaping through the door, which now opened skyward, and emerged upon what had become the top of the coach, from which observatory he saw the driver standing quietly by his horses, deep in meditation, awaiting developments.
We were on comparatively level ground. The upset had been caused by a deep rut, and its ending was as gentle as could be wrought by human hands. The passengers were lifted out one by one, and with their combined assistance the vehicle was righted upon its wheels, and we rolled on to the next station at Green River, where that swift stream was forded. The bottoms of the Concord coaches were water tight, so that very deep streams could be crossed with a fair prospect in many cases of bringing the passengers through dry shod.
As a precautionary measure I took a seat on the top of the coach with a fellow traveler. In the course of our morning ride he informed me that the man in the coach, who was traveling with his alleged wife, was a professional gambler and the proprietor of a resort where was played the seductive game of poker, in which miners and frontiersmen make many hazardous ventures. We had been impressed with the spontaneous generosity with which, at every possible opportunity, he had proffered to each passenger the contents of one of the black bottles which were convenient in his satchel. It was offered as night came on as a protection against chills, and again at the dawn of day as an appetizer to stomachs already craving for food. Before fording any stream his whiskey was recommended, with the suggestion that there was danger of our coming in contact with water. After crossing the stream it was poured out as a libation in pious thankfulness that all were safely over. By the end of the third day he seemed oblivious of passing events.
After the storms had passed away and we were under bright skies and in a clear, exhilarating atmosphere, I spent the greater part of my time upon the top of the coach. The right of way was universally accorded to the coaches, because they carried the United States mail. Even in the canyons or other narrow roadways, other travelers, who were now and then passed, invariably drove out of the road, if possible, as soon as they saw the stage approaching. After the morning of the fifth day large numbers of antelope and deer as well as a few elk were seen. As each passenger had some sort of rifle, a fusillade of shots was often sent somewhat at random toward the unsuspecting animals, but usually without hurting them, for the stage was rarely halted for so trifling a reason as to enable sportsmen to aim with precision.
On the sixth day of our ride we were crossing the high Laramie plains. With three other passengers I got on to the top of the coach. The driver had six lively bronchos for his team. A stiff east gale was driving into our faces. On a smooth down grade the whip was cracked a few times over the horses' heads to urge them to the limit of their speed, and all were on a keen gallop, which is the favorite gait of the broncho. The passengers pulled their caps tightly upon their heads that they might not be blown away.
"Gimme a match," said the driver, as with one hand he filled his pipe with some of the weed that seemed to be loose in his overcoat pocket, and then inserted the pipe stem between his teeth.
"You don't expect to light your pipe while facing this gale," exclaimed a Hebrew, who sat behind the driver.
"Mebbe I can." This reply resulted in a proposed wager of five dollars on condition that the pipe must be lighted with the first match used, the driver to hold the six lines and the whip in his hands and to keep the horses on a run.
"I'll cover it," said the driver. The money was placed in the hands of a passenger. The lash again cracked over the horses, when the team started with renewed vigor. The driver pulled his buckskin glove from his right hand and quickly placed its fingers in his left hand, in which he also held his lines and whip. Striking the match on the sole of his boot he inserted it into the open glove into which he also poked the bowl of his pipe, and in a moment the pipe was in successful operation. He reached over to the stakeholder and closed upon the $10.00, which he shoved into the pocket with the tobacco, remarking that it was dead easy, and that he had won money the same way on nearly every trip.
At the next home-station, where our driver would ordinarily be exchanged for another, it was found that because of delays no other driver was there for relief, and although he had already been on the box for several hours he must proceed with the stage.
He was not in a contented frame of mind, and therefore swore lustily as he mounted the seat, and with six fresh bronchos rushed the team until he reached Willow Springs. It appears that at the previous station he had received from the generous passenger in the coach a flask of whiskey, to aid him in keeping up his courage. Four fresh spirited horses were now hitched to the coach for the next fifteen mile's drive. The bleak gale caused all but the driver to go inside. The driver took a fresh draught from the flask, mounted the box and applied the whip in so brutal a manner that it became evident that he was drunk. One of the lead horses led in a run and it was clear that the driver had lost control both of himself and his team. While on one down hill course we found ourselves continuously outside the road, bounding over stones, with the horses in a panic and on a dead run. We were liable to be dumped at any moment. The passengers were on their feet, calling through the windows to the driver to stop. He was too drunk to reply audibly. Being the youngest passenger and rather slender and supple I crawled through the window over to the top of the swaying coach and slid down on the seat by the driver before being observed by him. Instantly the reins and whip were wrested from his lax grasp. No other act will enrage a professional horseman so thoroughly as this. The driver made a dive for the ribbons and swore that no man should take his horses. A single light blow upon his head convinced him that he must submit. He knew that he was helplessly drunk and his horses were running away. Having had some experience in managing a four-in-hand I was soon able, by watching the course, to turn them to the right up a hillside and bring them under control for a sufficient time to enable some of the passengers to escape. Some of them tried to pacify the rearing lead horses with kind words. One strong man consented to mount the box and hold the drunken driver in subjection until the outfit could be brought into the road. The other passengers, except the gambler, walked for half a mile until convinced that it would be safe to ride, when they returned to their seats. The regular driver begged for the reins, but his guard held him in custody until we were in sight of the home-station at Virginia Dale. The intoxicated coachman had come somewhat to a consciousness of the situation and in response to his pleadings he was permitted to drive the last half mile of his run. All the passengers except the gambler abandoned the coach and walked. He who remained was true to his profession and said that he would gamble on the risk and ride. The manager at Virginia Dale said that the driver would be discharged from the service, but our opinion was that it would be only for the night.
On the seventh day we skirted along the eastern slope of the mountains and now once more upon the plains we passed numerous herds of antelope and elk. At night we arrived at the Planter's House in Denver.
It had been eight years since George A. Jackson, a trapper and companion of Kit Carson, discovered gold in Cherry Creek near the present site of that settlement. As Pike's Peak (discovered by Zebulon M. Pike in 1806) was hardly a hundred miles distant and was the nearest object bearing a name that had appeared on the maps at any time prior to the Cherry Creek discovery, the diggings were first known as Pike's Peak Gold Mines.
In the following autumn of 1858 intelligence unaccompanied by any particulars reached the States by the way of Omaha that gold had been discovered at Pike's Peak. The news vividly colored by excitable men spread like wild fire through the country. Early in the following spring I saw a small train roll out with a party of adventurers whom I well knew to be on the alluring quest for Pike's Peak gold. One wagon bore the legend which later became familiar "Pike's Peak or bust." I saw members of the party in the autumn of the same year after they had returned "busted." Their hunt was like the storied search for the bag of gold at the foot of the rainbow. Before the rumor of the discovery of the precious metal had barely had time to rouse the average fortune seeker George Scofield of Council Bluffs, who had been a successful placer miner in California in 1849, joined with his neighbors, Samuel Dillon, William Kuhn, George Ritter, and Joseph Wheeler and late in 1858, fitting out a four ox team with supplies, started immediately for Pike's Peak. As they wandered among the foothills near the mountains the snow began to fly. With the view of establishing winter quarters they moved down to Cherry Creek and built the first log house erected in that part of the territory. This was the beginning of Denver. This record with the print of the house is furnished by Ira Scofield who was in at the house warming. Thus was planted, in what was then Kansas territory, another active aggressive center of population which was to open the slumbering wealth of the hills, rouse the latent energies of the soil and carve out the new state of Colorado. The rush of fortune-seekers, the majority of whom went broke, brought to the Cherry Creek country a legion of adventurers. The town, which at the beginning represented a shifting, unstable population, was named Denver in honor of James W. Denver, then Governor of Kansas territory.