Skip to main content

Full text of "Saddle and camp in the Rockies; an expert's picture of game conditions in the heart of our hunting country"

See other formats 


DILLON  WALLACE 


y&xt&zv&tb  to 

3%  |Itbrarg 

of  itjc 

Ibtoewttg  of  Toronto 

b2 


Herbert  Otto  Frind,  Esq, 


£2 

g  2 

o  w  ^ 
*  sS 

°  ^" 

a  G  3- 

'   5.  ° 

?l 

a.         i 

M    —         ] 
'<    3" 
ft 

n        O 


ft        — 

vi   -< 

ft  a. 
—  2 

ft         3         £: 

SI  ft 

ft   3 

3G 

a- 

o  _ 

05  = 

to 

— .  ft 

3 
05   * 

O 
3"j  n 
<   *r 

<t  v: 


a 


SADDLE  AND  CAMP 
IN  THE   ROCKIES 

An  Expert's  Picture  of  Game  Conditions 
in  the    Heart  of  our  Hunting  Country 


BY 

DILLON   WALLACE 

AUTHOR  OP 

"THE  LURE  OF  THE  LABRADOR  WILD,"  "  THE  LONG  LABRADOR  TRAIL," 
"  BEYOND  THE  MEXICAN  SIERRAS,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED   WITH  PHOTOGRAPHS 


NEW  YORK 

OUTING    PUBLISHING   COMPANY 

MCMXI 


F 
131 

Wl? 


Copyright,  191 1,  by 
OUTING  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 
All  rights  reserved 


£SITY  OF  T0V>0V 


8 1)  6  0  S 


TO  THE  MEMORY 

OF 

MY   FATHER  AND   MY   MOTHER 


INTRODUCTION 

FOR  several  years  it  had  been  my  desire 
to  see  intimately  some  of  the  wilder  sec- 
tions of  the  Rocky  Mountain  region, 
and  personally  observe  the  big  game  ranges  and 
game  conditions.  In  the  spring  of  1910  I  was 
so  fortunate  as  to  be  in  position  to  complete  ar- 
rangements for  the  trip,  which  I  planned  to 
make  with  saddle  and  pack  animals,  starting 
in  Arizona  and  proceeding  northward  across 
intervening  States  into  Montana,  a  total  dis- 
tance of  nearly  two  thousand  miles.  Not  only 
would  the  journey  take  me  through  some  of 
the  best  big  game  country  in  the  United  States, 
but  it  promised  unusual  interest  in  many  other 
ways.  It  would  carry  me  into  what  we  may 
call  the  remnant  of  our  frontier,  over  big  cattle 
ranges,  through  Apache,  Navajo,  Hopi,  and 
Paiute  Indian  country,  across  desert  reaches, 
and  would  give  me  a  view  of  many  of  the  nat- 
ural wonders  in  which  our  West  i$  so  rich. 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

As  suggested,  however,  the  chief  object  of 
this  journey  was  to  study  at  first  hand  the  big 
game  conditions;  to  estimate  as  nearly  as  pos- 
sible the  amount  of  game  still  remaining  in  the 
regions  traversed;  to  learn  something  of  the 
adequacy,  in  practical  operation,  of  present 
game  laws  to  protect  game  and  work  for  its  in- 
crease; to  observe  the  methods  in  various  sec- 
tions of  enforcing  and  administering  the  game 
laws;  and  to  observe  the  methods  in  vogue  of 
protecting  game  inhabiting  public  lands  and 
forest  reserves,  including  those  unsettled  areas 
under  Federal  control  where  some  species  of 
game  animals  have  been  practically  extermi- 
nated. 

As  a  natural  result  of  indiscriminate  slaugh- 
ter, game  animals  in  the  United  States  have 
so  diminished  in  numbers  that  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  few  remaining  is  to-day  a  serious 
problem.  This  diminution,  indeed,  has  already 
gone  so  far  that  the  early  extinction  of  some 
species  is  threatened.  It  was  to  be  expected 
that  civilization  would  displace  the  wild  game 
in  agricultural  and  populated  regions,  for  wheat 
fields  and  buffalo  herds  cannot  co-exist;  ante- 
lope and  elk  cannot  feed  in  city  streets. 

But  destruction  has  gone  beyond  the  con- 
fines of  settled  areas.    It  has  extended,  and  in 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

some  instances  very  completely,  to  the  still  un- 
inhabited wilderness.  The  wild  creatures  have 
failed  to  find  refuge  even  in  the  most  remote 
mountain  fastness  or  arid  desert.  In  the  Rocky 
Mountain  region,  on  the  great  Colorado  Pla- 
teau, and,  in  fact,  throughout  the  whole  United 
States,  are  wilderness  areas,  some  of  them  of 
vast  extent,  which  are  neither  adapted  to  agri- 
culture, nor  capable  of  any  development,  so 
far  as  we  know  at  present,  but  which  would 
support  great  numbers  of  valuable  so-called 
game  animals.  The  most  inaccessible  and 
rugged  mountains  are  the  natural  habitat,  for 
instance,  of  mountain  sheep.  Likewise,  there 
are  unpeopled  regions  adapted  to  antelope,  elk, 
moose,  or  other  valuable  species,  as  well  as 
many  of  the  fur-bearing  animals. 

Were  these  animals  permitted  to  propagate  in 
sufficient  numbers  in  those  sections  unavailable 
for  settlement  or  development,  they  would  un- 
doubtedly prove  a  valuable  national  resource. 
But  it  was  only  in  recent  years  that  our  Fed- 
eral and  some  of  our  State  governments  took 
cognizance  of  the  fact  that  wild  animals  were 
of  value  and  might  well  be  reckoned  among 
our  national  resources.  In  an  age  and  country 
where  the  accumulation  of  wealth  is  the  first 
consideration  of  the  people,  anything  that  ap- 


x  INTRODUCTION 

peals  to  legislators  must  possess  immediate  in- 
trinsic or  money  value,  and  the  value  must 
be  patent  and  easily  seen.  So  long,  therefore, 
as  legislators  insisted  that  conservation  was  a 
theory  of  sentimentalists,  and  declined  to  see 
the  practical  side  of  it,  nothing  under  the  wide 
dome  of  heaven  could  induce  them  to  offer 
legal  protection  to  either  forests  or  game  ani- 
mals, and  this  shortsightedness  has  directly 
led  to  profligate  waste. 

It  was  a  long  and  tedious  undertaking  to 
educate  our  lawmakers  to  appreciate  the  fact 
that  deer,  elk,  mountain  sheep,  and  other  game 
animals  really  are  of  intrinsic  value  and  might 
prove  of  decided  profit  to  the  State.  Hardly 
yet  have  the  legislators  of  many  of  our  States 
come  to  a  full  realization  of  the  fact  that  wild 
tracts  of  country  not  capable  of  agricultural 
development,  or  not  at  present  so  utilized,  may 
support  game  animals  that  will  be  of  the  same 
relative  value  to  the  State  as  cattle  are  to  the 
individual  ranchman. 

In  consequence  of  this  lack  of  legislative  in- 
terest, in  spite  of  the  long  educational  campaign 
in  game  protection,  our  game  laws  are  still  in 
the  crude  formative  or  partially  developed 
stage,  and  game  protection  is  largely  a  matter 
of  political  juggling  and  political  favor;  and 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

so  it  will  be  until  the  State  departments  estab- 
lished for  the  supervision  of  game  are  divorced 
from  politics,  and  commissioners  and  wardens 
are  appointed  because  special  training,  rather 
than  political  preferment,  qualifies  them. 

Winter  after  winter,  for  many  years,  persis- 
tent reports  have  come  out  of  the  Jackson's 
Hole  country  in  Wyoming  of  an  appalling  mor- 
tality among  the  elk  of  that  region,  due  to  star- 
vation, and  by  a  visit  to  Jackson's  Hole  I  hoped 
to  learn  something  of  the  true  extent  of  the 
mortality. 

In  the  spring  of  1910  I  received  a  personal 
report  that  great  numbers  of  elk  had  also 
starved  to  death  during  the  previous  winter  in 
the  National  Forest  Reserves  in  Montana,  just 
north  of  and  adjoining  the  Yellowstone  Na- 
tional Park.  These  were  animals,  it  was  said, 
belonging  to  herds  reared  in  the  Park  in  sum- 
mer, but  which  naturally  resort  in  winter  to 
the  lower  altitudes  of  the  forest  reserves,  when 
snow  becomes  too  deep  in  the  Park  for  them 
to  forage  a  living  there. 

These  reports,  it  seemed  to  me,  should  be 
investigated,  and  I  proposed  to  visit  the  region 
in  question  with  that  in  view.  Every  individual 
in  the  United  States  has  a  personal  interest  in 
the  animals  inhabiting  our  national  parks,  and 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

if  reasonable  precaution  is  not  taken  for  their 
maintenance  and  care,  and  if  they  are  permit- 
ted to  starve  by  wholesale,  the  fact  should  be 
known  If  every  citizen  has  an  interest  in  our 
public  parks  and  the  animals  which  they  con- 
tain, the  responsibility  also  falls  upon  him  to 
see  'that  his  interest  is  properly  looked  after. 
He  should  turn  such  influence  as  he  may  pos- 
sess in  this  direction.  He  should  do  his  utmost 
to  compel  those  in  authority  to  offer  the  fullest 
possible  protection  in  winter  to  the  dumb  crea- 
tures which  we  rear  and  protect  in  summer. 

It  is  difficult  for  us  of  the  East  to  realize 
the  geographical  extent  of  our  West.    We  are 
too  self-centered.     Our  average   Easterner   is 
a  provincial  of  the  most  pronounced  type.     It 
is  not  easy,  for  example,  for  the  typical  New 
York  City  man  to  understand  that  New  York 
City  is  not  the  United  States,  but  is  simply  one 
of  the  doorways  of  a  great  land,  made  up  of  a 
good  many  important  States,  several  of  which 
are  larger  than  Great  Britain,  Spain,  or  Italy, 
one  larger  than  the  German  Empire  and  the 
States  of  New  York  and  Connecticut  combined. 
It  is  hard  for  us  to  realize  that  we  each  have 
an   individual   interest   in    the   whole    of    this 
great  land,  in  its  wilderness  regions,  and  in  its 
wild  animals. 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Taking  to  the  Trail 1 

II.  Into  the  Wilderness 16 

III.  Among  the  Mountains 26 

IV.  A  Sportsman's  Eden 38 

V.  In  Apache  Land 47 

VI.  Pigeons  and  Bear 59 

VII.  Over  the  Mogollon  Mesa 71 

VIII.  Across  the  Desert 90 

IX.  In  the  Land  of  Hopi  and  Navajo         ....  109 

X.  Good-Bye  to  Arizona 126 

XI.  Poplar  Trees  and  Mormon  Beards      ....  143 

XII.  Where  Packhorses  were  Unknown      ....  163 

XIII.  Colorado's  Disappearing  Game 178 

XIV.  The  Frontier  Once  More 197 

XV.  Into  Wyoming 216 

XVI.  A  Land  of  Tragic  Memories 229 

XVII.  The  Great  Question  in  Jackson's  Hole     .       .       .  239 

XVIII.  Wyoming's  Responsibility  for  Dead  Elk    .       .       .  250 

XIX.  How  the  Elk  May  Be  Saved 264 

XX.  Sheep,  Antelope,  and  Moose 275 

XXI.  The  End  of  the  Trail 288 


Xlll 


TABLE   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PAGE 

A  Woodland  Idyl Frontispiece 

We  bivouacked  beneath  the  pine  trees 14 

Here  we  pitched  our  tents  at  an  altitude  of  more  than  8,000  feet  14 
The  Apaches  are  good-natured  and  fond  of  a  joke    ....  30 
Flocks  of  bleating  sheep  in  charge  of  silent,  listless,  Mexican  shep- 
herds    34 

A  hogan,  the  summer  dwelling  of  the  Apache 34 

Mr.  Chester  Houck,  the  only  living  ex-sheriff  of  Navajo  county, 

Arizona 42 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  Apache  Indian  policeman        ....  58 

Moulded  into  fantastic  shapes  by  ages  of  erosion     ....  58 
Flocks  of  sheep  and  goats  form  the  chief  sources  of  livelihood  for 

the  Navajo 50 

The  overflow  of  one  of  the  springs  that  supply  Tuba       ...  66 

A  Hopi  Indian  pueblo 66 

A  Navajo  blanket  weaver  and  her  loom 74 

A  Navajo  Indian  policeman 74 

We  were  treated  to  a  weird,  uncanny  spectacle        ....  98 
Looking  down  the  canon  from  Limestone  Tanks — Echo  Cliffs  are 

seen  in  the  distance 106 

We  found  ourselves  and  our  outfit  safely  landed  on  the  North 

Bank  of  the  Colorado 110 

Vermilion  Cliffs 126 

Alongside  the  lines  of  dancers  and  directing  them  were  uncostumed 

old  men 126 

Watering  at  McClellan's  Tanks 130 

House  Rock  from  which  House  Rock  Valley  takes  its  name        .   130 
At  Limestone  Tanks  we  replenished  our  canteens      ....   138 

Kanab  Dam,  300  feet  long,  50  feet  high,  built  by  ranchmen,  holds 

Kanab's  prosperity 138 

America's  best  big  game 174 

Rapidly  disappearing  denizens  of  the  wild 190 

XV 


TABLE  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PAGE 

The  big  cats  are  deadly  enemies  of  our  big  game  .  .  .  .194 
Lunching  on  the  shore  of  Bear  Lake  near  the  Utah-Idaho  State 

Line 194 

Charles  Neil's  cabin  on  Buffalo  Fork 202 

It  was  a  United  States  Geological  Survey  camp 202 

Nearly  four  inches  of  snow  had  fallen  during  the  night  .  .  .206 
Remarkable  hot  springs  in  the  lower  Star  Valley,  Wyoming  .  .  206 
Below  the  Preuss  Ranch  I  crossed  the  line  into  Wyoming       .       .  218 

The  destroyers 218 

Booth's  Ferry 222 

Deposit  from  the  Star  Valley  hot  springs 222 

Too  many  elk  and  too  little  forage  in  Jackson's  Hole  .  .  .  226 
Seventy  elk  died  around  this  hay  crib  in  the  winter  of  1911  .  .  234 
One  fourth  of  the  original  herd  had  starved  to  death  when  this 

photograph  was  taken  in  midwinter 242 

Within  the  shelter  of  some  friendly  bush  the  starving  elk  lie  for 

days 250 

The  result  of  a  slide  on  the  Gros  Ventre 258 

Looking  toward  mountain  heights  into  the  valley  of  the  Gros 

Ventre 258 

Elk  in  Jackson's  Hole  in  the  early  fall 270 

I  approached  within  fifty  yards  before  they  noticed  me    .        .        .   286 

The  mountain  on  the  right  is  gradually  sliding  down,  damming  the 

Gros  Ventre  River    ...  .  .  292 

Antelope  living  in  alfalfa  fields  in  Gardiner,  Montana       .        .        .300 

Young  elk  too  weak  to  drag  itself  across  the  fence  .         ...   300 


XVI 


SADDLE  AND  CAMP  IN 
THE  ROCKIES 

CHAPTER  I 

TAKING  TO  THE  TRAIL 

IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  June  twenty- 
sixth,  19 10,  when  I  arrived  at  Holbrook, 
Arizona,  where  I  was  to  begin  my  long 
horseback  journey  through  the  big  game  coun- 
try. I  had  chosen  Holbrook  as  my  outfitting 
and  starting  point,  because  of  its  central  loca- 
tion between  the  largest  primeval  forest  in  the 
United  States  and  the  Apache  Indian  country 
to  the  southward,  and  a  wide  stretch  of  arid 
but  interesting  desert,  including  the  Navajo, 
Hopi,  and  Paiute  Indian  reservations  to  the 
northward. 

With   saddle   and   pack  horses   as  means  of 
transportation,   I  was   first  to  turn  southward 

1 


2  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

through  the  great  forests  into  the  White  Moun- 
tains, then  westward  through  the  Apache 
country,  and  finally  in  a  general  northerly 
course  recross  the  railroad  at  Winslow,  traverse 
the  arid  reaches  lying  between  it  and  Utah, 
cross  the  State  of  Utah,  and  a  corner  of  Idaho, 
turn  into  Wyoming,  and  thence  proceed  north- 
ward through  Yellowstone  National  Park  and 
into  Montana,  which  I  hoped  to  reach  in  early 
November  before  heavy  winter  snows  blocked 
the  trail. 

This  journey  would  carry  me  through  the 
heart  of  some  of  the  largest  unsettled  areas  of 
the  West.  It  would  afford  me  a  more  or  less 
intimate  view  of  some  of  our  best  game  country, 
bring  me  in  contact  with  hunters,  settlers  and 
Indians,  and  give  me  an  opportunity  not  only  to 
study  the  condition  of  the  game  itself,  but  to 
learn  a  good  deal  of  local  sentiment  and  the 
operation  of  game  laws  in  widely  separated  sec- 
tions. Incidentally  I  should  see  some  of  the 
large  cattle  ranches,  the  cowmen,  the  sheep  and 
the  sheepherders,  and  a  good  deal  of  Nature's 
Wonderland. 

Probably  because  it  was  not  customary  for 
the  Limited  to  stop  at  Holbrook,  the  usual  as- 
semblage of  curious  town-folk  were  not  at  the 
station  to  meet  the  train  when  I  arrived,  and 


TAKING   TO   THE   TRAIL  S 

the  sandy  street  that  leads  northward  past  the 
station  was  quite  deserted.  While  I  stood  un- 
certain in  which  direction  to  turn,  two  young 
men,  spurred  and  booted,  in  shirt  sleeves  and 
wearing  jaunty  sombreros,  observing  my  per- 
plexity from  a  corral  opposite  good-naturedly 
came  to  my  assistance. 

"I  reckon  you  want  a  hotel,"  said  one  of  them, 
taking  possession  of  my  suitcase  without  further 
introduction  and  with  a  self-reliance  and  air  of 
proprietorship  quite  refreshing. 

"I  reckon  I  do,"  I  assented,  as  we  turned  up 
the  street  to  the  northward. 

"Buyin'  broncs?"  he  asked. 

"No." 

"Steers?" 

"No." 

"Wool  agent?" 

"No.    I  just  came  to  look  around." 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  yards,  then  expressed 
his  opinion  of  my  visit  in  accents  of  disgust. 

"This  is  a  hell  of  a  place  to  come  to  just  t' 
look  around.  Reckon  you've  had  time  since  the 
train  left  t'  see  most  all  there  is  t'  see  here.  It's 
a  plumb  lonesome  town." 

We  turned  through  a  gateway  over  which 
swung  a  signboard  bearing  the  legend  "Zuck's 
Hotel"  and  into  the  open  door  of  a  cottage. 


4  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

Here  he  deposited  my  suitcase  in  the  middle  of 
a  living  room  with  the  remark: 
"Make  yourself  t'  home.    Somebody'll  show 

up  pretty  soon." 

I  offered  him  a  quarter.    "What's  that  for?" 

he  asked. 

"For  your  services,"  I  replied. 

"Nope.  Not  me.  You  don't  owe  me  nothin'. 
That  ain't  Arizony  way.  Just  make  yourself 
t'  home." 

I  thanked  the  young  men  and  expressed  my 
appreciation  of  their  hospitality. 

Presently  Mrs.  Zuck,  proprietress  of  the  ho- 
tel, "turned  up"  and  established  me  in  a  com- 
fortable room.  She  told  me  she  was  an  Eastern 
woman  and  had  come  West  some  twenty  years 
before  for  her  health.  She  was  very  glad  al- 
ways to  meet  people  from  the  East,  for  they 
seemed  like  "home  folks." 

"What  part  of  the  East  are  you  from?"  I 
asked. 

"Kansas  City,"  she  replied. 

Few  of  the  hotels  in  these  small  Southwestern 
towns  have  dining  rooms  connected  with  them, 
but  every  town  has  its  Chinese,  Japanese,  or 
Mexican  restaurants.  Holbrook  has  its  full 
quota  of  them,  and  at  "Chinese  Charley's"  es- 
tablishment, reputed  the  best,  I  found  the  serv- 


TAKING   TO    THE   TRAIL  5 

ice  very  good  indeed  as  to  quantity.  Charley's 
clientele  was  typically  Southwestern,  and 
seated  about  the  tables  were  Mexicans,  cow- 
punchers,  wool  freighters,  and  ranchmen. 

Holbrook  is  the  county  seat  of  Navajo  county, 
and  though  its  population  is  but  five  hundred, 
it  is  a  town  of  considerable  importance.  As 
towns  go,  in  this  thinly  settled  section  of  the 
territory,  it  holds  a  position  here  similar  to  that 
of  a  city  of  a  hundred  thousand  people  in  our 
more  thickly  populated  East.  Winslow,  on  the 
western  border  of  the  county,  with  a  population 
of  two  thousand,  is  the  largest  town  in  the 
county,  and  the  only  one  that  exceeds  Holbrook 
in  size.  Large  railroad  shops  are  situated  at 
Winslow,  however,  and  a  considerable  propor- 
tion of  its  inhabitants  are  men  employed  in  the 
shops  and  their  families,  and  they  are  not,  there- 
fore, as  are  the  people  of  Holbrook,  perma- 
nent residents.  The  entire  population  of 
Navajo  county,  including  Mexicans  and  a  good 
many  Indians,  is  somewhat  less  than  ten  thou- 
sand, and  its  area  is  considerably  greater  than 
the  combined  areas  of  the  States  of  Massachu- 
setts and  Rhode  Island. 

Holbrook  is  the  center  of  an  extensive  cattle 
and  sheep  country.  Great  cattle  and  sheep 
ranges    lie    contiguous    to    it,    stretching   over 


6  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

the  semi-arid  or  forest  lands  that  surround  it  in 
a  radius  of  a  hundred  miles  or  more.  For  the 
most  part  the  cattle  ranges  are  smaller  to-day 
than  they  were  ten  years  ago,  but  many  of  them 
are  still  very  large.  The  yearly  shipment  of 
steers  from  Holbrook  Station  alone  is  between 
10,000  and  15,000  head;  of  sheep,  between 
60,000  and  75,000;  and  the  annual  shipment  of 
wool  reaches  $1,500,000  in  value. 

This  region  was  the  scene  of  many  gun  fights 
in  the  romantic  days  of  not  long  ago,  and  sur- 
vivors of  this  wild  period — the  gun  men  of  yes- 
terday— are  still  to  be  met  at  every  turn.  In- 
deed the  majority  of  them  have  not  advanced 
beyond  middle  age.  Even  yet  a  new  type  of 
rifle  is  examined  with  an  eye  to  its  qualities  as 
a  "man  getter,"  and  back  from  the  railroad 
it  is  not  uncommon  to  meet  men  with  big 
six-shooters  hanging  in  holsters  from  their 
belts. 

It  was  in  Holbrook  that  the  famous  fight 
took  place  between  Sheriff  Commodore  Owens 
(Commodore  was  his  Christian  name,  not  a 
title)  and  the  notorious  Blevens-Cooper  gang 
of  desperadoes,  ending  in  the  downfall  of  the 
latter  and  the  general  discouragement  of  bad 
men  within  the  county  presided  over  by  Owens. 
Fearless  men,  handy  with  the  gun,  were  always 


TAKING   TO    THE    TRAIL  7 

chosen  here  for  the  office  of  sheriff.  Owens 
possessed  these  qualifications  to  a  high  degree. 
The  Blevens-Cooper  gang,  consisting  of  four 
members,  had  been  boldly  terrorizing  the 
county  for  some  time.  Every  one  seemed  afraid 
of  them.  Finally  they  became  so  bold  as  to 
take  up  their  quarters  in  Holbrook,  the  county 
seat,  and  made  it  their  base  of  operations. 

Sheriff  Owens  happened  in  town  one  day  and 
learned  of  their  presence.  "I've  got  warrants 
for  those  fellows,  and  I  think  I'll  go  get  them," 
said  he.  There  were  no  volunteers  to  assist 
him  in  his  forlorn  hope,  but  many  warnings 
that  the  desperadoes,  who  were  known  to  be 
good  gun  men,  would  surely  kill  him  if  he  at- 
tempted to  arrest  them. 

He  carried  a  rifle  when  he  knocked  at  the 
door.  One  of  the  gang  opened,  attempted  to 
slam  the  door  when  he  saw  the  sheriff,  and  at 
the  same  time  sprang  back  for  his  six-shooter 
lying  on  a  table,  but  died  before  he  reached  it. 
Another — the  youngest  of  the  gang — took  a  pot 
shot  at  the  sheriff  from  a  doorway,  missed,  and 
he,  too,  immediately  ceased  to  exist.  The  other 
two  tried  to  escape,  but  the  sheriff  saw  them, 
and  while  one  could  count  two,  both  were  down. 
One  of  these  was  only  wounded.  He  recovered, 
served  a  sentence  in  prison,  and  is  still  living 


8  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

in  the  neighborhood,  a  peaceable  citizen.  It  is 
said  that  during  the  fight  Sheriff  Owens  never 
once  lifted  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  but  fired 
every  shot  from  his  hip. 

Another  notorious  gang  that  infested  this  sec- 
tion not  many  years  ago  was  known  as  the 
Smith  gang.  Several  murders  were  laid  at 
their  door.  Finally,  after  killing  a  deputy  sher- 
iff and  a  ranchman,  who,  with  two  other  ranch- 
men, had  cornered  them,  they  left  the  country, 
and  are  supposed  now  to  be  in  Sonora,  Mexico, 
though  I  was  told  by  men  who  claimed  to  know 
them  that  they  had  seen  two  members  of  the 
gang  in  Wyoming  during  the  summer  of  1909. 

Holbrook  has  several  saloons,  one  church,  a 
school,  and  a  weekly  newspaper.  The  pro- 
prietor of  the  paper,  who  is  also  its  editor  and 
publisher,  sets  the  type  and  prints  it  by  hand 
with  the  aid  of  one  assistant.  The  printing 
office  was  in  the  front  room  of  a  three-room, 
unpainted  frame  building,'  while  the  editor  oc- 
cupied the  rear  rooms  as  living  quarters.  The 
editor  was  absent  at  the  time  of  my  visit,  and  a 
native  told  me  he  had  just  "corralled  a  wife 
somewheres  south." 

Mr.  W.  H.  Clark,  local  United  States  Emi- 
gration Agent,  was  good-naturedly  editing  and 
publishingthe  paper  while  the  editor  was  absent, 


TAKING   TO   THE   TRAIL  9 

incidentally  satisfying  long  pent-up  literary  am- 
bitions. He  was  indeed  making  his  mark  as  edi- 
tor pro  tern.  Every  issue  of  the  paper  during 
his  incumbency  contained  items  uncompliment- 
ary to  the  absent  editor  and  some  really  remark- 
able editorials  upon  various  matters,  as  well 
as  startling  and  bold  comments  on  local  people 
and  local  affairs.  I  never  heard  what  hap- 
pened when  the  editor,  who  had  a  good  deal 
of  pride  in  the  dignity  of  his  paper,  returned 
to  resume  his  chair. 

Upon  Mr.  Clark's  recommendation  and  with 
his  assistance  I  engaged  as  guide,  John  Lewis, 
a  former  United  States  forest  ranger  and  a  man 
particularly  well  acquainted  with  the  wilder- 
ness which  I  proposed  to  traverse.  Lewis  lived 
on  his  ranch  near  Pinedale,  a  small  settlement 
fifty  miles  to  the  southward,  and  it  was  ar- 
ranged that  he  should  meet  me  in  Pinedale 
two  days  later,  endeavoring  in  the  meantime  to 
secure  the  horses  necessary  for  our  journey. 

On  the  day  following  my  arrival  at  Holbrook 
the  country  was  visited  by  a  terrific  thunder- 
storm, accompanied  by  high  wind  and  a  three 
hours'  downpour  of  rain.  Before  the  storm 
the  bed  of  the  Rio  Puerco,  which  joins  the  Lit- 
tle Colorado  River  here,  was  as  dry  as  ashes; 
when  the  rain  ceased  it  was  flowing  three  feet 


10  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

deep,  though  I  was  told  that  two  rainless  days 
would  turn  it  again  into  a  dry,  dusty,  sand  wash. 
This  was  the  first  shower  for  many  weeks,  and 
the  whole  country  was  parched  and  burned  be- 
fore its  advent.  The  rainy  period  is  expected  to 
begin  in  the  first  week  in  July,  and  in  normal 
seasons  one  may  then  look  for  almost  daily 
showers  until  its  close. 

Warm  as  the  days  may  be,  the  evenings  are 
always  cool  in  central  and  northern  Arizona. 
The  shower  left  the  atmosphere  clear  and 
balmy,  the  clean-washed  trees  and  foliage  in 
the  door  yards,  nurtured  by  irrigation,  per- 
fumed the  evening  air,  the  mocking  birds  sang 
tempestuously,  and  far  out  over  the  western 
stretch  of  sand  the  sun  sank  in  a  bed  of  misty 
yellow. 

Surrounding  Holbrook  is  a  tract  embracing 
several  thousands  of  square  miles  of  uninhabi- 
ted and  for  the  most  part  arid  territory.  This 
desert  was  formerly  the  feeding  ground  of 
large  herds  of  antelope,  and  a  few  years  ago 
the  traveler  riding  over  it  in  nearly  any  direc- 
tion was  very  certain  to  encounter  considerable 
numbers  of  them.  Nowadays  one  is  particu- 
larly fortunate  to  see  two  or  three,  or  perhaps 
half  a  dozen,  stragglers  in  the  course  of  several 
days'  ride.    Hunters  destroyed  them  when  they 


TAKING   TO   THE   TRAIL        11 

were  plentiful,  without  regard  to  needs,  and 
until  quite  recently  the  law  offered  the  animals 
no  protection.  Even  now,  though  antelope  are 
perpetually  protected  by  law,  not  many  natives 
will  let  pass  an  opportunity  to  kill  them. 

I  had  engaged  a  man  to  take  me  to  Pinedale, 
and  at  eight  o'clock  on  the  morning  following 
the  storm,  in  a  light  rig  drawn  by  a  pair  of  able 
horses,  we  turned  into  the  road  across  the 
southern  desert.  The  sun  was  fearfully  hot,  the 
country  through  which  we  drove  a  gently  rising 
plain  of  sand  and  sagebrush,  with  no  other  visi- 
ble life  than  rapidly  moving  lizards  and  chame- 
leons, sluggish  horned  toads,  or  an  occasional 
jack  rabbit,  which  scurried  away  at  our  ap- 
proach, or  sat  in  fancied  safety  behind  a  bit 
of  low  brush,  his  long  ears  overtopping  his 
hiding  place  and  betraying  his  presence.  Once 
or  twice  heavily  laden  freighters  were  met,  with 
cargoes  of  wool  from  distant  ranches,  slowly 
and  toilsomely  winding  their  way  to  the  rail- 
road. Each  outfit  consisted  of  two  ponderous 
wagons,  one  hitched  behind  the  other,  drawn  by 
six  jaded  horses,  urged  forward  by  a  driver 
mounted  upon  the  off-wheel  animal. 

I  was  glad  indeed  when  Snowflake,  a  small 
Mormon  settlement,  a  green  oasis  in  the  desert, 
was  sighted  shortly  after  noon,  for  here  we  were 


12  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

to  halt  for  an  hour  to  feed  our  horses  and  re- 
fresh ourselves. 

Upon  leaving  Snowflake,  juniper,  scrub  oaks 
and  stunted  pine  brush  were  encountered,  and 
with  each  mile,  as  we  proceeded,  this  scrubby 
growth  increased  in  size  until  presently  it  at- 
tained the  dignity  of  trees,  suggestive  of  the 
forest  we  were  approaching  and  were  soon  to 
enter. 

At  Taylor,  another  small  Mormon  settlement, 
five  miles  beyond  Snowflake,  we  were  fortunate 
enough  to  discover  for  sale  a  plump  little  six- 
year-old  sorrel  saddle  pony,  weighing  about 
eight  hundred  pounds,  warranted  sound,  tough 
enough  to  carry  me  over  rough  trails  indefi- 
nitely, and  thoroughly  tamed.  This  last  qualifi- 
cation was,  in  my  estimation,  by  no  means  the 
least  of  the  pony's  virtues.  I  had  heard  much 
of  the  bucking  broncos  of  Arizona  and  had  en- 
tertained a  fear  of  being  sent  sprawling  down 
some  rocky  trail  by  an  ill-broken  or  over-play- 
ful animal;  and  I  was  never  ambitious  to  dis- 
tinguish myself  as  a  "bronco  buster." 

Many  times  I  had  been  warned  to  beware  by 
men  who  had  innocently  and  unwittingly  been 
lured  by  practical  jokers  to  mount  broncos  ad- 
dicted to  bucking.  Therefore,  on  a  level  road 
I  tried  the  pony  out,  even  mounting  him  with 


TAKING   TO    THE    TRAIL        13 

nothing  but  a  rope  around  his  neck  and  without 
bit.  Amiable  as  he  appeared,  the  white  showed 
very  prominently  in  a  corner  of  each  eye,  and 
this  led  me  to  be  suspicious  that  he  might  pos- 
sess questionable  traits.  He  proved,  however, 
to  be  active,  fearless,  and  gentle  as  a  kitten,  and 
I  purchased  him. 

Button  was  my  pony's  name.  It  developed 
that  he  had  a  great  deal  of  individuality,  and  I 
shall  refer  to  him  again,  for  we  became  very 
much  attached  to  each  other  and  were  constant 
companions  during  my  entire  journey.  Like  all 
the  horses  of  this  region,  he  began  life  as  a 
wild  horse  on  the  open  range,  and,  until  he  was 
roped  and  made  captive,  foraged  his  living, 
winter  and  summer,  without  the  care  of  man 
and  as  free  as  the  wild  deer  of  the  hills  he 
roamed. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  evening  we  entered  the 
quaint  little  frontier  village  of  Pinedale — a 
day's  drive  of  nearly  half  a  hundred  miles. 
Pinedale  has  a  population  of  seventy-seven. 
With  the  exception  of  one  roomy  frame  dwell- 
ing, the  houses,  scattered  among  the  pines,  are 
primitive  log  cabins,  with  immense  stone  chim- 
neys plastered  with  mud. 

The  frame  dwelling  is  the  home  of  Mormon 
Bishop  E.  M.  Thomas,  and  here  I  found  wel- 


14  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

come  and  entertainment  for  the  night,  with  one 
other  guest,  a  Mr.  Searle,  a  young  geologist 
making  scientific  studies  in  the  vicinity,  with 
a  view  to  the  location  of  underground  water 
supplies  that  might  be  utilized  for  irrigation. 

Shortly  after  our  arrival,  John  Lewis,  my 
guide,  appeared.  He  had  arranged  with  a 
nearby  ranchman  to  bring  horses  to  the  village 
the  next  morning  for  our  inspection,  but  when 
at  the  appointed  time  this  ranchman  and  an- 
other came  in  with  animals,  the  prices  asked 
were  so  exorbitant  that  Lewis  declined  to  con- 
sider them.  The  men  had  learned  of  my  com- 
ing and  my  need  and  had  decided  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  opportunity  to  reap  a  harvest 
from  a  tenderfoot. 

Fortunately  I  had  secured  "Button,"  and  as 
Lewis  had  a  fine  young  saddle  horse  of  his  own, 
we  required  but  one  other  as  a  pack  animal ;  for 
our  entire  outfit,  including  tent,  bedding,  and 
food,  did  not  much  exceed  one  hundred  pounds 
in  weight.  A  consultation  was  held,  and  it  was 
decided  to  retreat  to  Taylor  in  the  hope  of  se- 
curing a  suitable  pony  in  that  more  populous 
settlement. 

It  was  past  noon  when  Taylor  was  reached. 
A  canvass  of  the  town  was  made,  and  presently 
a  clownish  little  white  pony  was  offered  us  at 


We  Bivouacked  Beneath  the  Pine  Trees. 


Here  We  Pitched  Our  Tents  at  an   Altitude  of  More  Than  8,000  Feet. 


TAKING   TO    THE   TRAIL        15 

a  reasonable  price.  We  were  uncertain  of  the 
pony's  powers  of  endurance,  but  finally  pur- 
chased him  with  the  hope  that  he  would  answer 
our  purpose  until  we  reached  the  Apache  reser- 
vation, where  John  felt  certain  we  could  secure 
a  better  qualified  animal.  This  pony  had  a 
large  "W"  branded  on  his  left  shoulder,  which 
suggested  to  John  that  "William"  would  be  an 
appropriate  name  for  him,  and  this  he  was 
dubbed,  though  he  quickly  learned  to  answer 
to  Bill  and  Billy  as  well. 

Thus  our  outfit  was  completed,  and  at  five 
o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  June  thirtieth  we 
rode  out  of  Taylor,  glad  to  be  finally  in  the 
saddle  and  on  the  trail. 


CHAPTER  II 

INTO  THE  WILDERNESS. 

OUR  evening's  ride  carried  us  through 
the  characteristic  arid  land  lying  be- 
low the  timbered  region,  the  greater 
part  of  it  incapable  of  agricultural  develop- 
ment because  of  no  known  water  supply  for 
irrigation.  It  is  said  that  not  much  more  than 
five  per  cent  of  Arizona  is  adapted  to  agricul- 
ture, because  of  insufficient  water  to  irrigate, 
but  it  is  probable  that  much  of  that  now 
deemed  practically  valueless  will  some  day  be 
watered  and  tilled  through  the  discovery  of  sub- 
terranean springs. 

At  sunset  we  rode  into  Shumway,  a  little  fron- 
tier settlement  lying  in  a  depression  in  the  hills, 
where  the  water  of  a  small  brook  irrigates  two 
hundred  or  so  acres  of  land  which  the  settlers 
have  brought  under  a  high  state  of  cultivation. 

16 


■*~ 


INTO   THE   WILDERNESS         Vt 

Shumway,  like  nearly  all  of  the  far-scattered 
hamlets  and  villages  in  this  part  of  Arizona, 
is  a  Mormon  settlement  and  derives  its  name 
from  a  family  named  Shumway,  who  emigrated 
here  from  Long  Valley,  in  southern  Utah,  nearly 
thirty  years  ago.  To  the  traveler  of  to-day, 
this  seems  a  frontier,  far  from  civilization,  but 
thirty  years  ago,  before  the  railroad  was  built, 
it  was  indeed  a  frontier,  and  the  emigrants  who 
came  in  prairie  schooners  traversed  many  hun- 
dreds of  miles  of  burning  naked  desert  to 
reach  it. 

We  drew  up  before  the  largest  and  most  pre- 
tentious of  the  half  dozen  cabins  that  make  up 
the  hamlet,  and  were  greeted  by  Mr.  W.  G. 
Shumway,  one  of  the  original  pioneers  of  the 
place.  Mr.  Shumway  knew  John  and  offered 
us  the  hospitality  of  his  home  and  forage  for 
our  horses  for  the  night.  The  open  range  lying 
about  the  settlement  gave  small  promise  of  pas- 
ture for  the  animals,  and  we  were  glad  to  ac- 
cept. 

That  evening  Mr.  Shumway  told  us  of  the 
privations  of  the  settlers  during  the  first  winters 
— how  they  had  come  into  the  country  with  de- 
pleted stores,  and  hunted  deer  and  antelope 
while  building  their  cabins,  that  they  might 
vary  with  venison  an  otherwise  continuous  diet 


18  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

of  barley,  filled  with  dirt  and  grit,  the  only 
food  they  possessed,  which  they  ground  in  mor- 
tars for  bread,  or  sometimes  cooked  whole. 

"But  times  have  changed,"  said  he,  "since  the 
railroad  came.  The  young  folks  don't  appre- 
ciate it.  They  think  they've  got  it  hard.  We 
used  to  have  to  drive  the  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  miles  to  Albuquerque  to  get  anything 
we  couldn't  raise  or  make  ourselves,  and  then 
weren't  sure  of  getting  it,  and  we  never  had  a 
newspaper.  Now  we've  got  the  railroad  right 
at  our  door,  down  to  Holbrook,  and  we  can  get 
most  anything  there.  All  we  got  to  do  is 
hitch  up  and  drive  over.  And  they  print  a 
paper  there  once  a  week  that  gives  us  the  news." 

Holbrook  is  fifty  miles  away!  But  in  this 
country  fifty  miles  is  not  far,  and  a  settler  so 
near  a  railroad  considers  himself  fortunate. 

"Deer  were  always  plentiful  here  until  with- 
in two  or  three  years  ago,"  said  Mr.  Shumway. 
"Until  then  we  frequently  saw  them  from  the 
cabin  door,  and  we  could  get  a  piece  of  meat 
almost  any  time.  But  recently,  for  some  reason, 
they  rarely  come  down,  and  it's  necessary  to  go 
to  the  mountains  to  hunt  them." 

A  dozen  miles  beyond  Shumway  we  rode 
through  Show  Low,  a  collection  of  miserable 
log  and  adobe  cabins,  very  parched  and  pov- 


INTO  THE   WILDERNESS        19 

erty  stricken  in  appearance.  Down  through  the 
little  valley  in  which  the  village  stands  flows 
Show  Low  Creek,  whose  waters  are  diverted  to 
irrigate  the  small  surrounding  ranches.  Some 
twenty  years  ago  Show  Low  formed  part  of  the 
one-time  extensive  cattle  ranch  and  range  of 
Cooley  and  Huning,  and  here  the  main  ranch- 
house  was  situated.  The  village  and  creek  re- 
ceived their  names  from  a  game  of  seven-up 
played  between  the  partners  with  the  ranch  as 
the  stake.  Later  I  met  Mr.  Cooley,  and  he  told 
me  the  true  story  of  this  memorable  game  of 
cards. 

"Huning  and  I  were  playing  a  game  of  seven- 
up,"  said  he,  "to  see  who  should  make  bread  for 
supper  and  wash  the  dishes,  for  we  had  no  cook 
at  the  time.  We  stood  five  to  six  in  Huning's 
favor.  Seven,  you  know,  is  the  game.  Dia- 
monds were  trumps.  On  the  last  hand  I  drew 
the  ace  and  the  tray.  I  banked  on  the  deuce 
being  still  in  the  deck,  the  ace  counted  one,  and 
if  Huning  didn't  hold  the  deuce  the  tray  was 
low  and  the  game  was  mine. 

"  'Make  the  game  worth  while,'  says  I.  'Let 
it  be  ten  thousand  dollars  or  the  ranch.' 

"  'It's  a  go,'  said  Huning. 

"I    covered    the    center    spot    on    my    tray. 

Now,'  said  I,  'show  low  and  it's  yours.' 


<<  i 


20  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

"And,  damn  him,  he  showed  the  deuce  and 


won  ': 


Huning  later  disposed  of  the  land  in  small 
parcels  to  Mormon  settlers,  and  the  hamlet  grew 
up  around  the  old  ranchhouse.  It  is  now  a  post- 
office,  on  the  mail  stage  route  to  Fort  Apache, 
the  latter  ninety  miles  from  Holbrook,  the  near- 
est railway  point. 

The  sun  beat  down  with  an  intense  heat  and 
the  sand  through  which  the  horses  plodded  fet- 
lock-deep reflected  the  rays  with  dazzling 
brightness.  Chameleons  scurried  away  into  the 
sage  brush  as  we  passed,  and  now  and  again  a 
frightened  jack  rabbit  scampered  across  the 
trail.  We  halted  to  eat  our  luncheon  under  the 
shade  of  a  small  tree  by  the  muddy  waters  of 
an  irrigation  ditch  in  Show  Low,  and,  our 
horses  and  ourselves  refreshed,  rode  forward  on 
a  steadily  rising  grade,  presently  to  enter  the 
great  pine  forests  higher  up. 

Here  was  delightful  contrast  to  the  sandy, 
parched  desert  through  which  we  had  been  pass- 
ing. The  trees  stood  tall  and  straight,  reaching 
up  toward  the  blue  and  cloudless  heavens  and 
casting  a  grateful  shade.  Beneath  lay  an  even 
carpet  of  pine  needles,  unobstructed  by  brush 
or  thicket,  and  the  atmosphere  was  sweet  with 
forest   perfumes.    Innumerable  gray   squirrels 


INTO   THE   WILDERNESS        21 

darted  here  and  there,  or  sat  up  to  watch  us  as 
we  passed.  Once  some  cowboys  hailed  us,  and 
we  stopped  to  chat  for  a  few  moments  where 
they  were  dismounted  in  a  shady  nook. 

At  sunset  we  entered  Pinetop,  a  small  collec- 
tion of  log  cabins  scattered  among  the  pines,  and 
halted  to  let  our  ponies  drink  while  we  filled 
our  canteens,  and  added  a  few  simple  necessi- 
ties to  our  supply  of  provisions  at  the  village 
store,  for  this  was  the  last  outpost  of  civiliza- 
tion that  we  should  encounter  for  many  days. 
We  were  to  turn  now  into  the  broken  region  of 
the  White  Mountains. 

Good  forage  was  found  for  the  horses  a  mile 
beyond  Pinetop,  and  here  we  bivouacked  be- 
neath the  pine  trees.  The  horses  were  hobbled 
and  turned  loose.  The  canteens  furnished  water 
for  coffee,  and  its  appetizing  odor,  mingled  with 
that  of  frying  bacon — a  combination  of  odors 
that  surpasses  anything  else  in  the  realm  of  out- 
door cookery — was  soon  suggesting  a  delicious 
meal.  And  then,  in  the  twilight,  we  sat  by  the 
camp-fire,  cozy  and  comfortable  as  the  evening 
chill  came  on,  and  smoked  and  chatted,  or  lis- 
tened to  the  night  sounds  of  the  wilderness.  At 
this,  our  first  camp,  we  did  not  trouble  to  pitch 
a  tent — we  rarely  did  on  the  trip — but  spread 
our  beds  under  the  open  sky,  where  we  could 


M  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

lie  and  watch  the  stars,  so  low  that  tall  pine 
tops  seemed  almost  to  touch  them,  until  sleep 

claimed  us. 

When  we  arose  at  daybreak  John's  horse  and 
Billy  were  grazing  nearby,  but  Button  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  Everywhere  we  searched  for 
him,  but  he  had  vanished.  We  saddled  the  two 
horses  and  rode  back  to  Pinetop  to  inquire 
whether  anyone  had  observed  the  runaway  pass- 
ing through  the  settlement.  No  one  had  seen 
him  and  the  man  who  kept  the  little  store  as- 
sured us  that  he  had  certainly  not  passed  that 
way. 

Then  John  resorted  to  woodcraft  and  pro- 
ceeded to  search  for  tracks  of  a  hobbled  horse. 
Presently  he  discovered  the  trail  where  Button 
had  cut  around  the  village  to  avoid  detection 
and  turned  into  the  main  trail  again,  some  dis- 
tance below.  This  trail  he  followed  for  several 
miles  and  finally  overtook  Button,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  "hitting  out  for  Taylor  as  though  the 
devil  was  after  him." 

Button's  escapade  delayed  us  half  a  day,  and 
it  was  well  in  the  afternoon  when  we  reached 
the  Cooley  ranch — the  Cooley  of  Show  Low 
fame.  The  ranch  is  a  large  one,  situated  on  the 
Apache  Indian  reservation.  Mr.  Cooley  has 
an  Apache  wife,  and  through  this  connection 


INTO  THE   WILDERNESS        23 

with  the  tribe  enjoys  the  special  privilege  of 
ranching  within  reservation  bounds.  Cooley 
himself  has  long  held  a  strong  influence  over 
the  Apaches.  At  the  time  of  the  Geronimo  war 
he  induced  considerable  numbers  of  them  to  re- 
frain from  going  on  the  warpath.  These  neu- 
trals he  drew  together  on  his  ranch  and  kept 
them  there  in  peace  until  the  war  was  ended. 

Now  and  again,  as  we  rode,  prowling  coyotes 
were  seen,  innumerable  gray  squirrels  ran  hither 
and  thither,  and  an  occasional  startled  rabbit 
dashed  away.  Though  this  is  an  excellent  deer 
countrv  in  the  autumn,  the  deer  had  now  re- 
tired  to  better  watered  regions,  and  no  fresh 
signs  were  observed. 

Our  trail  led  us  gradually  into  higher  alti- 
tudes and  through  a  well-timbered  forest  of 
magnificent  pine,  with  now  and  again  wide, 
grassy  open  spaces.  These  grass-covered  parks 
are  natural  feeding  grounds  for  elk,  and  for- 
merly this  whole  region  was  well  stocked  with 
them.  This  was  one  of  the  ranges  of  Merriam's 
elk  (Cervus  merriami).  Merriam's  elk  had  an- 
tlers straighter  at  the  tips,  and  a  broader,  more 
massive  skull,  than  either  the  Cervus  canadensis, 
the  elk  now  inhabiting  Wyoming,  Montana,  and 
Idaho,  or  the  Cervus  occidentalis,  found  in 
northern  California,  Oregon,  and  Washington, 


U  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

with  darker  nose  and  redder  head  and  legs  than 
the  former,  but  not  so  dark  as  the  latter.  Hunt- 
ers in  the  White  Mountain  region — cattlemen, 
sheepmen,  Indians  armed  with  modern  repeat- 
ing rifles — have  played  sad  havoc  with  these 
elk,  but  it  was  said  a  band  of  them  still  inhabited 
the  region. 

I  wished  to  ascertain  whether  any  in  fact  sur- 
vived, and,  if  so,  how  many,  and  to  gather  some 
estimate  of  the  ranges  still  open  to  them,  both 
for  winter  and  summer  feeding.  While  elk 
formerly  roamed  over  the  Mogollon  Mesa,  as 
well  as  here,  I  was  well  aware  that  the  Mogol- 
lon Mesa  elk  had  either  migrated  or  all  been 
killed,  and  that  if  any  remained  in  Arizona  they 
were  to  be  found  in  the  White  Mountains.  We 
were  now  coming  upon  magnificent  ranges,  in 
perhaps  the  finest  and  most  admirably  adapted 
country  for  elk  on  the  continent — wild,  secluded, 
and  beyond  the  probability  of  settlement  for  a 
long  while  to  come,  and  had  high  hopes  that 
some  indication  of  the  presence  of  elk  might  be 
observed. 

Two  days  after  leaving  Pinetop  we  turned 
into  a  gulch  through  which  flows  the  head 
waters  of  the  west  fork  of  the  White  River, 
and  here  pitched  our  tent.  We  were  now  well 
up  in  the  mountains,  at  an  altitude  of  more  than 


INTO  THE   WILDERNESS        25 

eight  thousand  feet,  and  the  water  was  clear  and 
cold.  John  assured  me  that  this  was  one  of 
the  best  trout  streams  in  Arizona,  and  we  deter- 
mined to  try  our  luck. 


CHAPTER  HI 

AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS 

OUR  tent  was    pitched  upon  a  level  spot, 
with  a  thinly  timbered  grassy  slope  ris- 
ing behind.    Before  us  the  cold,  clear 
river,  winding  through  a  deep  gulch,  poured 
down  with  much  noise  over  a  rocky  bed.     On 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river— it  was  only  a 
creek  here,  for  we  were  not  far  from  its  head— 
a  steep,   forest-clad   mountain    rose   from    the 
water's  edge.    The    atmosphere,    dry   and    in- 
vigorating, at  an  altitude  of  above  eight  thou- 
sand feet,  was  redolent  with  the  perfume  of  the 
great  pine  wilderness,  stretching  far  away  in 
every  direction,  and,  with  the  noisy  stream,  of- 
fered delightful  contrast  to  the  waterless  and 
barren  tracts  we  had  traversed  in   the  lower 
country. 
Our  horses  hobbled  and  turned  into  knee-deep 

26 


AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS       W 

grass  and  all  made  snug  about  camp,  we  de- 
termined upon  trout  for  supper,  if  trout  were 
to  be  had,  and  John  had  given  me  his  assurance 
that  the  river  was  "plumb  full  of  them."  His 
enthusiasm,  indeed,  had  prepared  me  for  some 
of  the  most  wonderful  trout  fishing  of  my  ex- 
perience. 

John  had  never  used  artificial  flies  and  he 
examined  mine  with  critical  interest  and  undis- 
guised skepticism  as  to  their  probable  adequacy 
in  luring  trout.  Finally  he  found  one  that 
"looked  as  though  it  might  fool  the  fish,"  and 
accepted  it.  His  faith,  however,  was  pinned  to 
grasshoppers,  and  to  insure  success,  in  case  the 
fly  failed  him,  he  selected  some  snelled  hooks. 
Then  cutting  himself  a  "pole,"  he  turned  down- 
stream, while  I,  with  my  steel  fly  rod,  ascended 
the  river. 

From  the  first  pool  in  which  I  cast  I  landed 
three,  with  a  brown  hackle;  from  the  next  pool 
three  more.  That  was  all.  Pool  after  pool  I 
whipped  and  tried  nearly  every  fly  in  my  col- 
lection, but  not  another  rise  could  I  get.  I  re- 
membered John's  suggestion  as  to  grasshoppers, 
but  determined  to  take  no  fish  I  could  not  lure 
with  an  artificial  fly,  for  I  was  angling  for  sport 
rather  than  numbers. 

The  sun  had  dropped  behind  the  hills,  and 


28  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

the  dusk  of  evening  was  gathering  when  I  re- 
turned to  camp,  to  find  John  by  the  river  side 
cleaning  his  afternoon's  catch,  which  numbered 
eighteen. 

"I  tried  that  made-up  fly,"  he  explained,  "but 
it  wouldn't  go.  They  wanted  grasshoppers,  and 
I  gave  'em  grasshoppers.  I'd  have  caught 
more,"  he  added  apologetically,  "but  after  I'd 
been  out  half  an  hour  I  felt  in  my  bones  some- 
thing was  going  plumb  wrong  in  camp,  and  I 
came  up  to  look  the  outfit  over.  That  little  devil 
Button  was  gone.  I  caught  him  a  mile  away, 
hitting  it  up  for  Taylor  like  a  spark  out  of  hell. 
I  brought  him  back  and  picketed  him  to  a  stake, 
and  before  I  was  out  of  sight  he  had  pulled 
the  stake  up  and  was  off  again.  Now,  I've  got 
him  picketed  to  a  pine  that  I  reckon  he  won't 


move." 


Button,  the  little  rascal,  picketed  with  a  lasso 
to  a  pine  tree,  looked  very  forlorn  and  restless. 
Evidently  he  was  to  prove  a  source  of  annoy- 
ance, with  his  tendency  to  return,  upon  every 
opportunity  that  offered,  to  his  old  home.  Un- 
less forage  is  very  good  indeed,  a  picketed  horse 
will  not  find  sufficient  food  within  the  compass 
of  a  rope  length  to  keep  him  in  working  condi- 
tion for  long,  and  naturally  we  desired  our 
horses  to  have  free  range,  for  if  they  were  to 


AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS       29 

make  the  journey  we  had  planned  for  them  it 
was  requisite  that  they  should  feed  well. 

Bright  and  early  the  following  morning  we 
were  on  the  stream  again.  The  trout  were  now 
ravenous  for  flies,  and  in  less  than  two  hours  I 
returned  to  camp  with  a  long  string,  averaging 
between  eight  and  twelve  inches  in  length.  I 
concluded  that  John  would  do  equally  well  with 
his  favorite  grasshoppers  and  that  we  should 
have,  with  our  combined  catch,  all  that  we  could 
use.  He  had  gone  beyond  a  beaver  dam  a  mile 
below  camp. 

It  was  noon  when  John  appeared,  loaded 
down  with  trout.  We  had  so  many  between  us, 
in  fact,  that  to  save  them  we  were  compelled 
to  split  the  largest  and  dry  them  by  suspending 
them  over  a  smudge.  In  the  dry  atmosphere  of 
Arizona  fish  may  be  cured  in  a  few  hours  by 
this  method,  without  salting,  and  will  remain 
sweet  and  good  indefinitely.  The  trout  which 
we  dried  proved  a  very  welcome  relish  later, 
when  we  were  in  arid  regions  farther  to  the 
westward. 

From  the  West  Fork  our  trail  carried  us  with 
a  gradual  rise  through  mountain  glens  and  ma- 
jestic pine  forests,  across  an  open  range  where 
cattle  grazed  in  hundreds,  and  once  past  thou- 
sands of  bleating  sheep  in  charge  of  silent,  list- 


30  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

less  Mexican  shepherds.  Although  these  latter 
appeared  to  be  lounging  away  an  existence  with- 
out occupation,  they  nevertheless  had  the  sheep 
under  their  watchful  eyes,  keeping  them  within 
bounds  and  guarding  them  against  coyotes, 
which  we  frequently  saw  in  the  distance,  skulk- 
ing for  prey,  or  jaguars,  inhabiting  mountain 
ravines  and  canons,  which  one  never  sees  but 
which  silently  steal  out  in  the  night  to  destroy 
cattle  and  sheep.  Once  we  saw  some  cowboys 
in  the  distance  with  pack  horses  laden  with  camp 
supplies,  trailing  in  from  St.  Johns. 

A  noon  halt  was  made  one  day  by  a  spring 
that  bubbled,  cool  and  refreshing,  near  the  top 
of  a  gentle  slope  and  sent  a  rivulet  flowing  down 
through  a  wooded  glen  into  a  valley  below.  A 
hundred  yards  above  the  spring,  at  the  edge  of 
the  timber,  a  wide,  grassy  plain  stretched  far 
away,  to  the  eastward.  A  few  hundred  yards 
south  of  the  spring,  on  a  bit  of  rising  ground, 
was  a  large  corral,  now  disused  and  falling  into 
decay  The  corral  once  belonged  to  a  great 
cattle  ranch,  and  the  grassy  plain  was  part  of 
the  range. 

Here,  at  the  edge  of  the  timber,  above  the 
spring,  one  of  the  nerviest  gun  fights  in  the 
history  of  Arizona  took  place  some  five  or  six 
years  ago.     For  several  years  two  well-known 


The  Apaches  are  Good-Natured  and  Fond  of  a  Joke. 


AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS       31 

cattlemen  had  held  the  range  in  common.  They 
were  very  good  friends  until  one  day  a  misun- 
derstanding led  to  hard  words  and  ended  in 
the  two  opening  fire  upon  each  other  at  close 
range  with  30-30  rifles.  One  of  them  fell,  but 
continued  firing,  at  the  same  time  crawling  be- 
hind a  pine.  The  other  emptied  his  rifle  into 
the  tree,  in  the  hope  that  the  bullets  would  pass 
through  it  and  reach  the  man  behind  it,  whose 
rifle  had  been  emptied.  Then  he  advanced, 
broke  his  rifle-stock  over  the  head  of  the  man 
on  the  ground,  staggered  back,  and  sitting  down 
where  he  could  see  his  apparently  dead  antago- 
nist, exclaimed: 

"You   got   me,   you   

,  but  I  got  you,  too,"  and  in 


a  few  minutes  died.  He  had  two  soft-nosed 
30-30  bullets  not  an  inch  apart  and  just  under 
his  heart,  and  they  were  evidently  the  first  two 
shots  fired  by  the  other,  whose  aim  after  he  was 
down  had  gone  wild. 

The  assembled  cowboys,  believing  both  dead, 
put  them  into  a  wagon  and  started  for  St. 
Johns  with  the  bodies.  Presently  the  one  with 
battered  head  showed  signs  of  life.  In  spite 
of  bullets  and  battering,  he  recovered  and  is 
still  living  in  the  country.  I  met  him  during 
my  journey  and   found   him  one  of  the   most 


32  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

genial,  hospitable  gentlemen  it  has  been  my  for- 
tune to  know  in  all  the  West.  He  spoke  of  the 
fight  incidentally  and  told  me  that  while  the 
other  man  was  a  splendid  fellow  normally,  he 
had  a  fearful  temper,  was  an  old-time  gunman, 
too  quick  and  ready  to  shoot,  and  "when  it 
came  to  a  showdown  I  was  forced  to  use  my 
gun  in  self-defense  or  be  killed." 

It  was  not  far  from  here  that  the  Smith  gang 
of  outlaws  had  a  battle  with  a  deputy  sheriff 
and  three  cowboys.  The  sheriff  and  his  party 
had  been  looking  for  the  Smiths  all  day.  It 
was  twilight  when  they  topped  a  ridge  and  dis- 
covered the  outlaws  cooking  supper  in  a  ravine 
on  the  opposite  side.  The  Smiths  saw  the  dep- 
uty sheriff's  party  at  the  same  time,  and  all  hands 
took  to  rocks  for  cover.  The  men  below  had 
the  advantage,  for  they  were  in  a  hollow  and 
in  a  shadow,  while  the  others  were  on  the  crest 
of  the  ridge  which  stood  in  sharp  silhouette 
against  the  sky. 

Presently  the  deputy  sheriff  indiscreetly 
showed  his  head  and  was  killed,  and  a  few  min- 
utes later  one  of  the  cowboys  fell.  The  odds 
were  hopelessly  against  the  two  remaining  ones, 
Peterson  and  Barrett  by  name,  and  they  with- 
drew. The  following  day  a  new  posse  was  or- 
ganized to  follow  the  outlaws,  but  they  escaped. 


...... 


AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS       33 

Barrett  was  later  killed  in  a  duel,  but  Peterson 
still  lives  in  the  neighborhood  of  St.  Johns. 

Previous  to  this  encounter  Barrett,  a  fearless 
gun  fighter,  received  warning  that  one  of  the 
Smiths  would  shoot  him  on  sight.  A  few  days 
later  at  a  turn  of  the  trail  he  came  face  to  face 
with  two  of  the  Smiths,  one  the  man  that  had 
sent  him  the  warning.  They  drew  their  horses 
up  a  few  yards  apart. 

"Well,"  said  Smith,  "I  suppose  you  got  my 
message?" 

"I  did,"  replied  Barrett,  "and  here  I  am. 
Now  if  you  gents  want  to  shoot,  go  ahead.  May- 
be two  of  you  can  get  me,  but  I'll  sure  get  one 
of  you  " 

Barrett  had  a  reputation  for  quick  and  accu- 
rate work  with  his  six-shooter  and  the  Smiths 
knew  it. 

"Hell!"  exclaimed  the  man  that  had  sent  the 
challenge,  and  they  rode  on. 

One  of  our  night  camps  was  on  the  head- 
waters of  the  Little  Colorado  River,  clear,  cold, 
and  alive  with  jumping  trout.  The  traveler  who 
has  seen  this  stream  winding  its  way  across  the 
Navajo  desert,  thick  with  mud  and  so  foul 
horses  will  not  drink  its  waters,  would  scarcely 
believe  it  a  pure  and  beautiful  stream  at  its 
source.     But    like    all    the    streams    rising    in 


34  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

springs  fed  by  the  snowbanks  of  these  rugged 
peaks  of  the  White  Mountains,  this  is  the  case. 
We  were  here,  on  the  lower  rises  of  Ord  and 
Thomas  Peaks  (the  latter  locally  known  as  "Old 
Baldy") ,  at  an  altitude  of  9,500  feet.  At  timber 
line,  reaching  up  on  the  bald  summit  of  Baldy, 
the  snowbanks  lay,  gradually  melting  under  the 
heat  of  a  July  sun.  We  could  see  them  con- 
stantly during  the  days  we  were  circling  the 
mountain  and  often  halted,  sweltering  in  the 
terrific  midday  heat  below,  to  look  longingly 
toward  them,  reaching  far  up  above  the  timber 
line. 

Big  Lake,  which  is,  in  fact,  a  rather  small  lake, 
lies  not  far  to  the  southeast  of  Ord  and  Thomas 
Peaks,  and  here  we  loitered  nearly  a  day  re- 
connoitering  the  surroundings.  Big  Lake  is  a 
breeding  place  for  ducks  and  was  literally  alive 
with  mother  birds  and  their  young,  chiefly  mal- 
lards and  teal,  though  there  were  other  varieties 
as  well.  The  lake  was  very  low,  and  a  wide 
expanse  of  grass-covered  mire,  which  separated 
it  from  the  mainland  and  was  too  deep  and  soft 
to  cross,  prevented  close  observation,  though 
with  the  assistance  of  binoculars  we  were  able 
to  see  the  ducks  very  well  from  the  solid  shore. 
I  was  told  that  in  early  spring  and  late  autumn 
a  great  many  geese  are  to  be  seen  here  also. 


Flocks  of  Bleating  Sheep  in  Charge  of  Silent,   Listless,   Mexican  Shepherds. 


A  Hogan,  the  Summer  Dwelling  of  the  Apaches. 


AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS       35 

Big  Lake  lies  at  an  altitude  of  nearly  nine 
thousand  feet  above  sea  level  and  has  practically 
a  northern  Canadian  climate.  Even  at  this  mid- 
summer season  we  experienced  hoar  frost  the 
night  we  camped  upon  its  shores.  Directly  sur- 
rounding the  lake  is  a  semi-barren  stretch,  punc- 
tured with  innumerable  prairie-dog  holes,  over 
which  could  be  seen  many  prowling  coyotes 
looking  for  prey. 

Here  was  the  headquarters  of  the  one-time 
famous  S.  U.  outfit,  an  immense  cattle  ranch, 
and  on  the  east  side  of  the  lake  rise  two  knolls 
known  as  the  S.  U.  knolls.  The  ranch  buildings 
and  corrals  have  fallen  to  decay. 

This  is  not  far  from  the  territorial  boundary 
line  between  Arizona  and  New  Mexico,  and 
directly  east  of  us  rose  the  San  Francisco  range 
and  north  of  us  the  rugged  and  picturesque  Es- 
cudilla  Peaks.  Our  trail  carried  us  to  the  edge 
of  the  Prieto  Plateau,  then  northward  again  into 
a  magnificently  timbered  and  well-watered  re- 
gion, where  we  rose  from  pine  to  spruce  and 
quaking  aspens.  Here  were  innumerable  fresh 
deer  tracks,  and  once  we  came  upon  the  newly 
made  track  of  a  large  bear.  Spruce  grouse,  too, 
are  quite  plentiful  after  one  reaches  the  line 
of  spruce  trees,  and  many  turkey  feathers  told  us 
we  were  in  a  wild  turkey  country. 


36  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

Our  trail  turned  down  the  bed  of  a  dry  brook- 
let, which,  fed  by  springs,  presently  became  a 
running  rivulet  and  at  length  a  creek.  We  were 
upon  the  headwaters  of  Black  River,  a  tributary 
of  Salt  River.  It  derives  its  name  from  the 
fact  that  the  flowing  water  appears  as  black  as 
ink,  though  upon  dipping  a  cupful  it  was  found 
to  be  as  clear  as  crystal.  Mineral  deposits  have 
stained  the  boulders  and  sand  of  the  creek  bed 
black.  Near  Thomas  Peak  are  great  lava  beds, 
said  to  be  a  full  three  thousand  feet  in  thickness. 

Our  trail  several  days  before  had  carried  us 
out  of  the  White  River  Apache  Indian  Reserva- 
tion, but  here  we  entered  it  again  as  we  circled 
Thomas  Peak  and  cut  across  to  Reservation 
Creek,  where,  while  we  halted  for  a  noon  rest, 
we  caught  our  dinner  of  trout.  In  our  search 
for  elk  and  other  game  signs,  we  wished  to  work 
well  in  upon  Old  Baldy.  With  this  in  view 
we  turned  northwesterly,  and  presently  found 
ourselves  entangled  in  a  series  of  ridges,  deep 
gulches,  and  rugged  canon  defiles,  every  ridge 
covered  with  such  a  maze  of  fallen  timber  that 
it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  we  were  able 
to  maintain  our  course  or  maneuver  our  horses. 

Steadily  we  rose  to  higher  altitudes,  working 
our  way  through  the  network  of  fallen  tree 
trunks,  over  rocks,  and  ascending  slopes  where 


AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS       37 

it  seemed  at  times  impossible  that  the  horses 
could  keep  their  equilibrium;  or  dropping  over 
what  seemed  almost  sheer  walls,  John  in  the 
lead  carefully  picking  the  way.  At  length, 
when  we  had  attained  an  altitude  of  upwards 
of  twelve  thousand  feet,  we  had  a  practically 
unobstructed  view  of  the  Baldy's  summit  and 
were  very  close  to  the  snow  banks. 

For  two  days  we  had  observed  smoke  rising 
over  the  peaks.  Here  at  this  high  point  we  were 
near  enough  to  a  forest  fire  to  see  tongues  of 
flame  sweep  up  tall  trees  to  the  eastward  and 
below  us;  and  over  the  ridges  great  clouds  of 
smoke  hung,  dark  and  ominous. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  SPORTSMAN'S  EDEN 

OUR  course  was  now  directed  toward  Fort 
Apache.  We  had  made  an  almost  com- 
plete circuit  of  Ord  and  Thomas  Peaks 
and  seen  much  of  the  adjacent  wilderness  since 
reaching  the  West  Fork  of  the  White  River. 
As  a  result  of  our  observations  and  inquiries 
among  cowmen,  forest  rangers,  soldiers,  and  In- 
dians who  visit  the  region,  I  may  say  most  posi- 
tively that  in  spite  of  what  was  told  me  at  Hol- 
brook  and  elsewhere,  not  one  elk  remains  in 
the  White  Mountains  of  Arizona,  and  I  am 
satisfied  that  not  one  wild  elk  remains  in  Ari- 
zona, for  it  is  conceded  that  there  are  none  on 
the  Mogollon  Mesa.  From  the  information 
which  I  gathered,  there  is  no  doubt  the  last  elk 
was  killed,  or  the  last  remnant  of  the  herds  that 
once  occupied  the  region  migrated  eastward, 

38 


-;:'.!ilsi* 


_ 


A    SPORTSMAN'S   EDEN  39 

never  to  return,  five  or  six  years  ago.  No  elk 
and  no  signs  of  elk  have  been  seen  here  within 
that  period,  according  to  reputable  native  ob- 
servers. 

And  what  a  shame  this  is!  Here  lie  thou- 
sands of  square  miles  of  country  admirably 
adapted  to  elk,  in  addition  to  other  game  ani- 
mals, capable  of  maintaining  large  herds,  and 
yet  unutilized.  This  is  an  example  of  our 
thoughtless  waste  in  the  past  and  our  heedless- 
ness of  the  future.  Had  the  government  taken 
moderate  care  to  preserve  the  animals,  there 
might  still  have  been  here  a  permanent  herd  suf- 
ficiently large  to  supply  an  annual  increase  that 
would  permit  a  reasonable  open  hunting  sea- 
son each  year. 

Even  yet  it  would  not  seem  too  great  a  task  to 
restock  these  ranges  with  a  small  nucleus  herd, 
but  it  would  be  quite  useless  to  do  so  unless 
the  government  were  to  establish  a  stricter  sur- 
veillance than  at  present.  There  is  practically 
no  restraint  upon  poaching  in  Arizona.  Ani- 
mals and  birds  are  killed  out  of  season,  and 
those  who  kill  them  have  little  or  no  fear  of 
punishment  and  rarely  are  punished. 

It  was  particularly  gratifying  to  discover  un- 
mistakable evidence  that  a  small  band  of  moun- 
tain sheep  still  inhabits  Baldy.     I  was  also  as- 


40  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

sured  by  several  men  who  claimed  to  have  seen 
them  a  few  months  before  my  visit  that  moun- 
tain sheep  also  survive  in  the  Four  Peaks,  on 
the  Arizona-New  Mexico  line,  south  of  Ord 
Peak,  though  probably  few  in  number.  These 
mountains  are  well  adapted  to  this,  the  finest  of 
our  game  animals,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
poachers  will  permit  them  to  increase. 

Other  species  of  game  are  fairly  plentiful 
here.  There  are  a  good  many  deer,  chiefly  black 
tail,  but  also  a  few  white  tail,  and  a  few  silver 
tip  bears,  as  well  as  the  small  black  or  brown 
bear. 

Wild  turkeys  are  very  plentiful  in  the  region 
west  of  the  two  peaks.  On  a  single  morning  we 
saw  three  large  flocks  within  a  period  of  two 
hours.  Turkey  feathers  were  common  at  every 
turn.  A  superstition  prohibits  the  Apaches 
from  killing  turkeys,  and  they  are  therefore 
only  interfered  with  by  white  hunters,  though 
of  course  many  of  them  are  destroyed  by  the 
big  cats. 

Predatory  animals,  such,  for  instance,  as  cats 
and  mountain  lions,  are  over  numerous,  and  they 
undoubtedly  prey  to  a  very  large  extent  upon 
game  animals  and  birds.  To  hunt  them,  how- 
ever, or  to  hunt  bears  successfully  in  this  broken 
country,  one  must  have  the  assistance  of  a  good 


HMMtM— — _. 


A    SPORTSMAN'S   EDEN  41 

pack  of  well-trained  dogs,  as  well  as  be  pre- 
pared to  do  some  rough  work  on  horseback. 

This,  indeed,  is  one  of  the  most  attractive  re- 
gions for  the  sportsman  in  the  United  States. 
An  ample  open  season  is  offered,  and  for  deer 
and  turkey  hunting  it  is  unsurpassed,  while 
every  stream  of  the  White  Mountains  is  abun- 
dantly stocked  with  trout.  The  fish  are  com- 
paratively small,  to  be  sure,  but  they  are  plenti- 
ful enough  to  satisfy  the  most  ambitious  angler. 
A  superstition  similar  to  that  which  prevents 
Apaches  killing  turkeys  also  prevents  their  kill- 
ing fish,  though  the  younger  generation  of  In- 
dians is  breaking  away  from  it  and  some  of 
them  angle  for  trout. 

Our  trail  led  us  across  many  canons.  Each 
canon  has  its  stream,  and  all  of  them  are  trout 
streams.  Among  these  may  be  mentioned  Para- 
dise, Apachita,  Little  Bonita,  and  Big  Bonita 
creeks,  to  say  nothing  of  numerous  unnamed 
brooks,  all  tributaries  of  the  Black  or  White 
Rivers.  At  midday  and  evening  they  supplied 
us  with  our  meals. 

Referring  to  the  Apache  superstition  against 
catching  fish — and  I  may  add  against  killing 
any  bird  that  catches  fish — and  the  fact  that 
the  younger  generation  is  breaking  away  from 
the  superstition,  we  met  a  party  of  five  mounted 


42  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

bucks,  all  young  fellows,  bound  for  the  Big  Bo- 
nita  on  an  angling  expedition.  These  Apaches 
were  the  first  human  beings  we  had  seen  in  six 

days. 

This  is,  indeed,  a  magnificent  stretch  of  rug- 
ged wilderness,  and  the  remembrance  of  my  ex- 
periences in  its  great  primordial  pine  forests, 
untouched  by  lumberman's  ax,  its  scenery  un- 
surpassed for  variety  and  tone,  its  invigorating 
air,  its  rushing  streams,  its  days  and  nights  of 
marvelous  beauty,  will  remain  with  me  as  some- 
thing worth  while. 

On  the  morning  that  we  met  the  Apaches  we 
had  come  upon  a  blazed  trail,  which  the  In- 
dians informed  us  led  directly  to  Fort  Apache, 
which  they  estimated  as  eighteen  miles  distant. 
An  hour  after  meeting  them,  when  we  halted 
at  noon  on  Little  Bonita  creek,  I  took  occasion 
to  bathe,  shave,  and  don  clean  clothing  in  antici- 
pation of  our  entrance  that  evening  upon  the 
semi-civilization  of  the  fort.  But  our  hopes,  as 
always  when  one  pins  one's  faith  upon  an  In- 
dian's estimate  of  distance,  were  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment. 

We  rode  steadily  until  the  afternoon  was  half 
spent,  when  suddenly  we  broke  out  upon  a  high 
point,  below  which  the  trail  dropped  abruptly 
into  a  deep  canon,  and  from  a  rocky  bluff  had 


Amimm 


Mr.  Chester  Houck,  the  Only  Living  Ex-Sheiiff  of  Navajo  County, 

Arizona. 


A    SPORTSMAN'S   EDEN  43 

our  first  view  of  Kelly's  Butte,  a  remarkable 
landmark  to  the  westward  of  Fort  Apache. 
From  the  pine-clad  wilderness  where  we  stood 
we  looked  down  upon  a  wide  range  of  country, 
with  stretches  of  verdureless,  sand-piled  desert, 
the  picturesque  landscape  meeting  the  sky  far 
to  the  westward  in  an  opalescent  haze. 

Kelly's  Butte  did  not  seem  far  away.  The 
uninitiated  in  Arizona  travel  would  scarcely 
have  estimated  it  at  more  than  five  miles,  but 
distances  in  this  transparent  atmosphere  are  very 
deceptive  and  one  cannot  judge  them  by  ordi- 
nary methods.  I  have  seen  mountains  here  that 
did  not  seem  ten  miles  away,  but  were,  in  fact, 
a  full  fifty;  and  others  that  I  should  scarcely 
have  placed  at  more  than  twenty,  but  were  as 
a  matter  of  fact  more  than  a  hundred.  One 
may  travel  toward  a  given  object  all  day  and 
apparently  not  diminish  its  distance  in  the  least. 

We  descended  into  the  canon  and  presently 
came  upon  a  forest  rangers'  cabin  near  a  brook. 
The  rangers,  D.  B.  Rudd  and  Benton  Rogers, 
typical  Arizona  frontiermen  and  two  of  the 
tallest,  lankiest  men  I  have  ever  seen,  greeted  us 
cordially,  after  the  manner  of  wilderness  dwell- 
ers, and  invited  us  to  camp  with  them.  The 
stream,  they  informed  us,  was  Rock  Creek,  and 
fifteen  miles  from  the  fort.      To    reach    Fort 


44  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

Apache  that  night  was  quite  out  of  the  question, 
and  we  accepted  the  invitation. 

We  had  traveled  full  fifteen  miles  after  meet- 
ing the  Indians.  This  was  a  repetition  of  my 
experience  with  northern  tribes.  Indians  are 
absolutely  incapable  of  estimating  distance  by 
the  white  man's  standard.  A  mile  means  noth- 
ing to  them,  and  their  maps,  as  a  gauge  of  dis- 
tance, are  absolutely  unreliable. 

Our  horses  hobbled  and  turned  loose  to  graze 
in  the  canon — this  was  in  fact  the  junction  of 
three  canons — we  joined  Rudd  and  Rogers  at 
the  door  of  their  rude  quarters.  It  was  a  single 
room  affair  constructed  by  the  men  themselves 
with  no  other  implements  than  a  hammer  and 
axe,  and  of  no  other  materials  than  those  to  be 
found  in  the  surrounding  forest. 

Presently  an  open  fire  was  lighted  and  in  a 
little  while  a  delicious  supper  of  hot  biscuits — 
baked  in  a  "Dutch  oven" — bacon,  potatoes, 
canned  tomatoes,  and  coffee  were  steaming  on  a 
table  under  the  trees.  To  John  and  me  these 
were  luxuries,  for  since  leaving  Shumway  our 
diet  had  consisted  of  trout,  bacon,  and  squaw 
bread. 

The  meal  disposed  of  and  dishes  washed,  we 
sat  under  the  tall  pines  around  the  camp-fire 
smoking  and  chatting  while  a  gorgeous  Arizona 


A    SPORTSMAN'S  EDEN  45 

sunset  faded  into  twilight  and  a  million  stars 
were  born  to  light  the  heavens.  We  told  the 
rangers  of  the  forest  fire  on  Baldy,  and  while 
we  spread  our  beds  upon  the  ground  they  made 
preparations  for  an  early  morning  start  to  fight 
the  Baldy  fire. 

Forest  rangers  furnish  their  own  saddle  and 
pack  horses  and  as  a  general  rule  have  excel- 
lent animals,  well  cared  for  and  particularly 
adapted  for  the  rugged  mountain  work  that 
they  are  called  upon  to  perform.  The  ranger's 
equipment,  when  he  is  on  more  or  less  extended 
duty,  consists  of  tents,  blankets,  several  days' 
provisions,  cooking  utensils,  axes,  ropes,  a  rifle, 
and  usually  a  six-shooter.  Each  man  has  one 
pack  horse  besides  his  saddle  horse.  When  he 
is  on  light  patrol  duty,  however,  all  his  equip- 
ment and  rations  are  taken  on  his  saddle,  and 
he  is  able  to  carry  several  days*  rations  in  this 
way,  for  he  eliminates  tent  and  all  equipment 
not  absolutely  essential,  for  comfort  must  often 
be  sacrificed  to  weight  and  speed. 

We  left  Rudd  and  Rogers,  packing  and  sad- 
dling up,  shortly  after  daybreak  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  wound  our  way  down  Rock  Creek 
Canon  and  across  country  to  White  River 
Canon,  following  the  river  down  as  its  canon 
widened  into  a  valley. 


46  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

The  previous  day  we  were  riding  in  forests  of 
spruce  and  quaking  aspens.  Our  descent  had 
carried  us  through  pines  and  live  oaks,  where 
foliage  and  climatic  conditions  were  as  different 
as  though  separated  by  a  thousand  miles.  In 
the  White  River  valley  fields  of  Apache  corn, 
wheat,  and  alfalfa  filled  all  the  space  capable 
of  irrigation.  Government  farmers  are  teach- 
ing the  Indians  agriculture  and  instructing 
them  in  irrigation,  with  the  result  that  some 
of  them  are  fairly  successful  in  raising  crops. 
Here  and  there  were  groups  of  hogans,  with 
children  playing  around  them,  women  were 
working  in  cornfields,  and  now  and  again  a 
mounted  buck,  watching  his  cattle,  dashed  along 
at  a  canter.  This  is  the  Indian's  pace — always 
a  canter,  keeping  the  pony  to  it  with  a  quirt. 

Bill  became  very  weary  under  his  pack,  and 
we  were  compelled  to  travel  at  a  slow  walk  to 
suit  his  gait.  Once  he  lay  down,  and  it  seemed 
unlikely  that  we  should  be  able  to  reach  Fort 
Apache  that  day  with  him.  But  we  plodded 
on  and  at  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  had  the 
satisfaction  of  entering  the  post. 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  APACHE  LAND 

THE  Fort  Apache  military  post  is  situated 
a  little  north  and  east  of  the  center  of 
the  White  Mountain  Apache  Reserva- 
tion, ninety-five  miles  from  Holbrook.  A  daily 
mail  and  passenger  stage  in  either  direction  con- 
nects the  two  points;  each  stage,  starting  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  and  making  no  stops  ex- 
cept to  change  horses,  is  due  to  arrive  at  the 
other  terminal  at  eight  o'clock  the  next  morn- 
ing. At  the  time  of  our  visit  Troops  F  and  H 
of  the  Eighth  Cavalry  were  stationed  here,  with 
a  captain  as  post  commander. 

The  post  is  maintained  rather  for  its  moral 
influence  upon  the  Indians  than  because  of  any 
danger  of  warlike  outbreaks,  and  it  has  become 
a  question  with  the  military  authorities  whether 
the  expense  of  its  maintenance  is  longer  war- 


48  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

ranted.  The  government,  in  fact,  has  done  little 
or  nothing  toward  improvement  of  late  years 
and  has  expended  only  enough  in  the  way  of  re- 
pairs upon  the  old  barracks  and  buildings  to 
keep  them  in  habitable  condition,  doubtless  an- 
ticipating the  abandonment  of  the  post  at  a  not 
far  distant  day.  There  is  a  general  feeling, 
however,  among  soldiers  stationed  here  and 
among  civilians  living  in  and  near  the  reserva- 
tion that  were  the  restraint  of  troops  withdrawn 
the  Indians  would  become  restless  and  perhaps 
commit  depredations  upon  neighboring  ranches. 

The  White  Mountain  Reservation  is  divided 
into  two  agencies,  the  White  River  Agency  in 
the  north,  and  the  San  Carlos  in  the  south,  and 
embraces  a  territory  ninety-five  miles  from  its 
northern  to  its  southern  boundary,  and  seventy 
miles  from  its  eastern  to  its  western.  The  San 
Carlos  Agency  in  the  south  has  a  population  of 
approximately  three  thousand,  while  the  White 
River  Agency,  according  to  the  1910  census,  has 
twenty-eight  hundred. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  in  this  connection  that 
the  previous  census  showed  a  population  of  only 
2,425  Indians  in  the  White  River  Agency.  The 
latest  census  therefore  discloses  an  increase,  since 
the  previous  census,  of  2J$.  This  refers  to  In- 
dians alone.    Thus,  while  our  Indians  in  general 


IN  APACHE   LAND  49 

are  decreasing,  excepting  the  Navajos,  who 
are  increasing  rapidly,  the  White  River  Agency- 
Indians  prove  a  decided  exception  to  the  rule. 

This  increase  is  not  the  result  of  accessions 
from  other  agencies  or  reservations,  but  the  nat- 
ural excess  of  births  over  deaths  and  is  doubt- 
less largely,  if  not  wholly,  due  to  the  fact  that 
the  Indians  here  live  practically  in  the  open, 
still  clinging  to  their  old-time  hogans  for  such 
shelter  from  the  elements  as  they  require — habi- 
tations that  permit  always  of  free  circulation  of 
air.  When  the  time  comes,  as  it  doubtless  will 
sooner  or  later,  when  they  adopt  the  white  man's 
closed  cabin,  tubercular  infection  will  come  to 
carry  them  off,  as  in  the  case  of  so  many  of  the 
other  tribes.  Our  overzealous  and  paternal  gov- 
ernment has  in  some  instances  endeavored  to 
"raise"  the  Indian  to  this  level  of  civilization, 
and  where,  under  this  paternal  direction,  the 
Indians  have  abandoned  their  wigwams  for 
cabins,  tuberculosis  has,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
developed  to  kill  them  off  rapidly. 

In  southern  Utah  the  government  once  built 
some  cottages  for  Paiutes,  at  considerable  ex- 
pense. This  was  doubtless  with  the  object  not 
only  of  sheltering  the  poor,  unhoused  savage 
from  pitiless  winter  blasts,  and  thus  proving  to 
him  by  concrete  example  the  superiority  in  com- 


50  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

fort  of  the  white  man's  habitation  over  the  In- 
dian's tepee,  but  incidentally  to  induce  him  to 
remain  permanently  in  one  spot  and  till  the 
land  after  the  manner  of  civilized  folk,  and  thus 
advance  him  in  the  human  scale.  But  the 
Paiutes  were  well  aware  that  their  health  and 
existence  demanded  open  air  living.  Their 
lungs  were  not  suited  to  the  more  or  less  dead 
atmosphere  of  closed  rooms.  From  ancestors 
who  had  only  known  and  lived  in  the  open  they 
had  inherited  a  physical  apparatus  that  de- 
manded a  similar  mode  of  life,  and  so  sudden 
a  change  of  habits  would  doubtless  have  proved 
fatal  to  them.  Perhaps  they  did  not  reason  the 
question  out  in  this  way,  but  their  conclusion 
was  sound  and  to  the  point. 

They  looked  the  cottages  over,  pronounced 
them  "No  good  for  Indian;  good  for  horse," 
pitched  their  tepees  alongside  the  cottages, 
stabled  their  horses  in  the  cottages,  and  them- 
selves continued  to  live  in  the  tepees.  They 
never  did  move  into  the  cottages,  it  is  said, 
thereby  showing  that  they  knew  much  more 
about  hygienic  living,  for  Indians  at  least,  than 
did  the  paternal  government.  This  paternal 
government  has  labored  always  under  the  delu- 
sion that  it  could  raise  the  red  man  in  one  gen- 
eration from   the  barbaric   state   to  that  of   a 


> 


o 
o 


■■J 

5 
o 


U 


o 


o 

O 


</) 


IN  APACHE  LAND  51 

highly  developed  civilization.  In  other  words, 
the  Indian  was  expected  to  do  in  one  genera- 
tion what  the  white  man  required  centuries  to 
accomplish.  But  traditions  cannot  be  forgot- 
ten, or  habits,  inherited  from  a  long  line  of  an- 
tecedents, changed  over  night. 

Mr.  Crouse,  the  agent  for  the  White  River 
district,  has  had  wide  experience  with  Indians 
and  has  made  a  life  study  of  them,  their  needs, 
and  characteristics.  He  keeps  his  Apaches  well 
in  hand  and  at  the  same  time  places  no  further 
restrictions  upon  them  than  are  necessary  to  in- 
sure their  good  behavior,  while  striving  for  their 
material  advancement.  For  instance,  govern- 
ment farmers  are  engaged  in  teaching  them 
agriculture  and  thrift.  Women  work  the  fields, 
for  the  "noble  red  man"  could  not  with  self- 
respect  stoop  to  this  menial  employment.  Some 
of  the  Apaches  have  considerable  herds  of  cattle 
and  own  many  horses.  Herding  livestock  is  not 
deemed  beneath  a  man's  dignity,  and  they  make 
good  herdsmen.  Stock  raising,  therefore,  is  en- 
couraged. 

Apaches,  I  learned,  are  not  slow  at  driving 
bargains.  This  is  one  of  the  accomplishments 
in  which  they  have  had  instruction  and  have 
proved  apt  pupils.  At  the  time  of  our  visit  all 
the   country  contiguous   to   Fort  Apache   was 


m  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

dried  and  parched,  and  no  forage  was  to  be  had 
for  horses  on  the  open  range.  After  much  diffi- 
culty we  found  an  Indian  with  some  alfalfa  hay 
to  sell.  He  offered  it  to  us  at  two  dollars  a 
hundred — forty  dollars  a  ton.  We  accepted  the 
terms  with  enthusiasm  and  considered  ourselves 
fortunate,  though  we  were  paying  more  than 
twice  the  highest  market  price  outside  the  mili- 
tary post.  We  had  to  have  it,  and  the  Indian 
knew  it.  After  our  acceptance  of  his  terms  he 
regretted  that  he  had  not  demanded  more. 

I  learned  that  the  government  pays  exorbi- 
tant prices  for  all  kinds  of  forage.  It  may  be 
easily  understood  that  high  prices  paid  Indians 
for  farm  products  tend  to  encourage  them  to  in- 
creased tillage  of  the  toil,  and  the  custom  was 
initiated  with  this  commendable  object  in  view. 
But  the  high  prices  are  not  confined  to  Indian 
farmers.  Contracts  are  made  with  outside  white 
ranchers  for  oats  and  other  provender  at  several 
times  as  much  as  the  same  ranchers  would  be 
glad  to  sell  the  same  goods  for  in  open  market. 

The  Indian  schools  on  the  reservation  will 
doubtless  ultimately  influence  the  rising  genera- 
tion to  a  higher  standard  of  thought,  though  ex- 
perience with  Indians  sent  to  distant  schools  to 
be  educated  is  not  thus  far  reassuring.  Those 
who  have  returned  to  their  old  haunts  have  al- 


IN  APACHE   LAND  53 

most  without  exception  dropped  into  the  old 
mode  of  life  as  naturally  as  though  they  had 
never  left  it.  They  refuse  to  speak  any  but  their 
native  tongue  and  very  frequently  are  less  trac- 
table and  less  inclined  to  physical  endeavor 
than  their  brothers  who  have  not  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  education. 

While  I  met  several  Apaches  who  I  knew 
understood  everything  I  said  to  them,  I  met  but 
two  of  the  school  product,  save  government  In- 
dian scouts  and  policemen,  who  would  admit 
that  they  could  speak  English.  This  is  doubt- 
less due  to  an  inborn  desire  to  shut  out  all  in- 
truders from  their  country  and  to  traditional 
resentment  against  the  white  man.  Tradition, 
handed  down  from  father  to  son,  reaching  back 
to  the  days  of  the  early  Spanish  invaders  and 
strengthened  later  as  other  white  men  came,  has 
taught  them  to  look  upon  the  white  man  with 
suspicion — as  an  enemy  watching  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  take  advantage  of  them  and  injure 
them. 

None  of  our  Indians  have  been  more  unjust- 
ly maligned  or  misunderstood,  perhaps,  than  the 
Apaches.  The  Apaches  do  not  admit  to-day 
that  they  have  any  fear  or  stand  in  awe  of  our 
soldiers.  They  claim  that  man  for  man  they 
have  never  been  beaten  by  white  troops  and 


54  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

that  their  final  subjugation  was  only  accom- 
plished by  treacherous  Indian  scouts  leading 
soldiers  to  their  retreats  and  through  the  de- 
struction by  the  white  men  of  the  game  upon 
which  they  depended  for  sustenance.  This  is 
the  Apache  point  of  view  and  their  delusion. 
Holding  it,  they  have  stouter  hearts  to  meet 
their  changed  manner  of  living,  and  it  is  well, 
for  a  broken  spirited  people  is  a  dead  people 
and  an  encumbrance. 

The  Apache's  summer  hogan,  or  lodge,  is 
usually  constructed  of  poles  fixed  in  the  ground, 
the  upper  ends  bent  to  the  center  and  lashed  to- 
gether. This  framework  of  poles  is  thatched 
with  branches  and  grass,  or  covered  with  canvas. 
The  fire  is  built  in  the  center,  after  the  fashion 
general  among  Indians,  and  an  opening  at  the 
top  where  the  poles  are  joined  permits  the  smoke 
to  escape.  In  the  winter,  dugouts  in  banks  make 
more  comfortable  quarters. 

The  Apaches  are  not  handsome  of  face, 
though  muscular,  alert,  and  well  set  up  of  body, 
and  as  a  rule  they  are  exceedingly  careless 
about  their  personal  appearance.  They  rarely 
wear  ornaments.  In  these  respects  they  are 
quite  in  contrast  with  their  brothers,  the  Nava- 
jos,  farther  north.  When  one  sees  Apache  moc- 
casins, for  example,  covered  with  beads,  one 


IN  APACHE  LAND  55 

may  be  certain  they  were  never  made  for 
Apache  wear,  but  for  sale  to  tourists.  Attached 
to  Fort  Apache  is  a  detachment  of  enlisted 
Apache  scouts,  and  these  men,  trim  and  neat  in 
the  khaki  uniform  of  the  army,  were  fine  look- 
ing, sinewy,  alert,  active  men. 

Native  Indian  policemen,  acting  under  the  In- 
dian agent,  armed  with  rifle  and  revolver,  patrol 
the  reservation.  They  are  the  peace  officers  of 
the  country  and  are  chosen  from  the  best  and 
most  reliable  of  the  young  men.  Some  of  them 
have  been  educated  in  Indian  schools.  One  of 
their  duties  is  to  ferret  out,  and  destroy  when 
found,  stores  of  the  native  tulapai,  an  intoxicant 
made  by  the  Apaches  from  fermented  corn. 
Tulapai  leads  to  many  internal  fights  among  the 
Indians,  and  not  a  few  murders  during  the  past 
year  or  two  have  been  directly  traced  to  its 
effect.  In  consequence  of  this  tendency  to  in- 
jure one  another  the  agent  has  ordered  all  In- 
dians to  turn  in  their  firearms  to  the  agency  dur- 
ing seasons  when  hunting  is  prohibited.  Medi- 
cine dances  are  also  prohibited,  for  at  these 
dances  the  Indians,  with  the  aid  of  tulapai,  work 
themselves  into  a  high  state  of  frenzy,  which  is 
very  likely  to  end  in  bloodshed. 

In  spite  of  rules  and  prohibition,  however, 
much  tulapai  is  made  and  consumed,  many  In- 


56  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

dians  do  not  turn  in  their  arms,  and  medicine 
dances  are  held.  The  Indian  policemen  drink 
tulapai  like  other  Apaches,  and  they  are  in 
sympathy,  as  a  matter  of  course,  with  the  medi- 
cine dances.  They  close  their  eyes  to  the  dances, 
which  they  cannot  fail  to  know  take  place,  and 
of  which  in  the  nature  of  things  the  agent  and 
his  aids  are  unlikely  to  learn,  and  policemen 
only  destroy  tulapai  when  it  is  so  notoriously 
in  evidence  that  the  authorities  will  in  all  proba- 
bility learn  of  its  existence  and  discipline  them 
for  lack  of  attention  to  duty  if  they  do  not  de- 
stroy it.  The  policeman  still  remains  an 
Apache,  with  all  the  Apache  traits  and  tastes, 
even  though  he  is  clothed  with  authority,  and 
he  drinks  as  much  tulapai  and  as  often  as  he 
likes — in  secret,  so  far  as  his  superiors  are  con- 
cerned. 

We  spent  a  day  and  a  half  at  Fort  Apache, 
and  while  there  I  rode  over  to  the  White  River 
Agency  house,  met  Mr.  Crouse,  the  agent,  and 
received  from  him  a  permit  giving  John  and 
myself  freedom  of  travel  on  the  reservation. 
This  may  not  have  been  necessary,  but  it  is  al- 
ways well  for  the  traveler  here  to  have  a  pass. 

Several  old  Indian  women  were  seated  on  the 
shady  side  of  the  agency  building,  and  a  young 
Indian  policeman  suggested  that  I  photograph 


IN  APACHE  LAND  57 

them.  The  moment,  however,  that  I  turned  my 
camera  upon  them  they  scattered  like  leaves 
before  the  wind.  My  friend  the  policeman  en- 
deavored to  persuade  them  to  return,  but  to  no 
avail.  They  believed  the  camera  lens  an  evil 
eye.  A  half  mile  below,  however,  at  a  trader's 
store,  three  young  women,  dressed  in  their  finest, 
asked  me  to  photograph  them,  and  I  did  so. 
Their  request,  of  course,  was  by  signs.  The  fear 
of  the  camera,  so  noticeable  among  the  older 
women,  was  not  generally  shared  by  the  younger 
ones.  Nor  did  the  men  as  a  rule  object  to  be- 
ing photographed.  On  the  contrary,  the  younger 
men  were  usually  quite  desirous  of  posing  for 
me. 

Bill  had  exhibited  so  many  indications  of  be- 
coming leg  weary  that  I  had  resolved  to  trade 
him  off  at  the  first  opportunity  for  a  larger  ani- 
mal. With  this  in  view  I  made  some  strenuous 
endeavors  at  Fort  Apache  to  effect  a  trade,  ex- 
patiating, with  John's  help,  upon  Billy's  beauty 
and  accomplishments,  but  every  would-be  trader 
laughed  when  he  saw  Bill,  with  hanging  under 
lip  and  pompadour  bang  and  mane.  No  one 
would  consider  a  trade  after  one  look  at  the 
little  beast.  They  seemed  to  consider  the  sug- 
gestion a  rare  joke,  though  John  and  I  with 
serious  faces  resented  their  attitude,  and  John 


58  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

told  some  of  the  scoffers  that  "the  trouble  with 
them  was  they  didn't  know  a  real  good  cayuse 
when   they   saw   one,    and    they    acted    plumb 

locoed." 

However,  a  fine  black-brown  pony  was  offered 
me  at  a  reasonable  price,  and  I  purchased  him. 
He  was  a  four-year-old  and  a  little  beauty,  with 
tail  sweeping  to  the  ground  and  a  colt's  face — 
the  most  innocent  face  and  expression  I  ever  saw 
upon  a  horse.  He  was  apparently  gentle  as  a 
kitten  and  rubbed  his  head  against  me  and  tried 
to  put  his  nose  in  my  pocket,  when  I  looked  him 
over.  "Shorty"  was  his  name,  and  I  felt  very 
proud  of  him.  Shorty  had  traits  that  did  not 
show  on  the  surface,  but  found  expression  later. 

Fort  Apache  possessed  more  of  the  ordinary 
brand  of  house  flies  than  any  place  I  ever  was  in. 
They  settled  in  clouds  upon  everything  and  one 
could  not  avoid  them.  The  post  itself  is  about 
as  unattractive  and  dreary  as  a  place  can  be, 
forage  was  hard  to  get,  and  we  were  glad  to 
pack  and  saddle  up  on  the  second  morning  after 
our  arrival,  and  at  seven  o'clock  rode  out  upon 
the  desert. 


Theodore  Roosevelt,  Apache  Indian   Policeman. 


Moulded  into  Fantastic  Shapes  by  Ages  of  Erosion. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PIGEONS  AND  BEAR 

OUR  trail  led  over  a  parched  desert,  sup- 
porting only  miniature  sage  brush  and 
greasewood.  We  had  intended  to  visit  a 
remarkable  salt  spring  to  the  southward,  but 
this  would  have  consumed  a  day  and  carried  us 
into  a  region  nude  of  forage  for  the  horses. 
Therefore  it  was  decided  to  pass  on  and  head 
directly  for  Cedar  Creek,  eighteen  miles  from 
Fort  Apache,  and  the  nearest  available  water. 
Kelly's  Butte  and  many  other  smaller  but 
picturesque  buttes  and  formations  peculiar  to 
the  desert,  as  well  as  several  striking  peaks, 
were  passed,  or  stood  out  against  the  sky  line 
in  the  distance.  The  sun  beat  down  upon  the 
naked  sand  in  blinding,  blistering  intensity  and 
dust  rose  in  dead  clouds  to  choke  us. 

Billy,  quite  rested  and  apparently  as  fresh 

59 


60  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

and  active  as  the  day  he  began  the  journey, 
seemed  imbued  with  a  new  lease  of  life  and 
doubled  energy.  I  rode  Shorty,  my  new  pony, 
and  we  made  such  good  speed  that  at  twelve 
o'clock  the  eighteen  miles  were  behind  us,  and 
we  dismounted  and  unpacked  at  Cedar  Creek, 
under  the  shade  of  a  large  cottonwood  tree.  We 
found  the  creek  dry,  but  not  far  from  our  tree 
a  spring  of  clear,  cold,  refreshing  water  bubbled 
out  of  the  hot  sand. 

Several  Indians  were  camped  near-by,  and 
one  of  them,  "General  Jim  Crook,"  came  down 
to  our  bivouac  to  pay  his  respects.  General 
Crook  is  a  famous  character  among  the  older 
Apaches.  He  was  one  of  the  Indian  scouts 
who  acted  in  conjunction  with  our  troops  in  the 
years  when  the  Apaches  were  restless,  and  on 
active  duty  with  the  army,  during  the  Geronimo 
wars,  was  wounded  in  the  Mexican  Campaign. 
Old  Jim  Crook  is  desperately  poor  now,  and 
though  he  gave  the  best  of  his  life  to  the  service 
and  was  wounded  in  the  performance  of  duty, 
he  receives  no  pension. 

Normally  the  rainy  season  begins  in  Arizona, 
with  almost  certain  regularity,  during  the  first 
week  of  July,  but  thus  far  no  welcome  shower 
had  come  to  cool  the  parched  sand  since  my  de- 
parture from  Holbrook.    This  delay  in  the  rains 


PIGEONS  AND  BEAR  61 

was  responsible  for  unusually  poor  forage  from 
Cedar  Creek  onward.  Not  a  blade  of  grass  re- 
lieved the  sage  brush  here,  and  to  our  regret  we 
were  compelled  to  tie  the  horses  up  unfed  while 
we  cooked  our  own  luncheon  and  rested  for  two 
hours  in  the  shade  of  the  cottonwood. 

We  were  scarcely  through  eating  when  black 
clouds  loomed  up  in  the  western  sky  and  in  an 
incredibly  short  time  a  terrific  thunder  storm 
was  upon  us.  The  lightning  was  sharp,  the 
thunder  jarred  the  earth,  and  for  an  hour  rain 
fell  in  torrents.  As  suddenly  as  the  storm  came 
it  passed,  every  vestige  of  cloud  dissolved,  and 
though  the  sun  shone  again  with  unabated 
brilliancy,  the  atmosphere  was  cooled  and  the 
afternoon  balmy  and  delightful. 

No  water  was  to  be  had  between  Cedar  Creek 
and  the  Carrizo  Canon,  twelve  miles  beyond, 
but  here  we  found  a  murky,  ill-smelling  stream 
coursing  down  between  the  canon  walls.  The 
canon  was  bare  of  forage,  and  when  the  animals 
and  ourselves  had  slaked  our  thirst  at  the  brook 
we  climbed  to  the  farther  rim,  hobbled  and 
turned  the  horses  loose  to  feed  in  sparse-grow- 
ing grass,  while  we  made  our  bivouac  under 
a  scraggy  cedar  tree. 

When  we  arose  at  daybreak  all  the  horses  save 
Button  were  feeding  quietly  not  far  away,  but 


62  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  An  examination  of 
the  tracks  disclosed  the  fact  that  he  had  prob- 
ably only  tarried  the  previous  night  sufficiently 
long  for  us  to  fall  comfortably  asleep,  and  then 
without  danger  of  detection  had  turned  into  the 
canon  and  made  off. 

While  John  prepared  breakfast  I  saddled 
Shorty  and  tracked  the  runaway  Button  down 
the  slope  and  a  mile  to  the  eastward.  His  trail 
showed  plainly  that  he  had  kept  steadily  going, 
never  once  halting  for  a  moment  to  graze,  and 
that  he  had  doubtless  headed,  by  a  short  cut, 
toward  his  old  home  at  Taylor. 

John,  with  long  experience  in  trailing  run- 
away horses  through  the  Arizona  wilderness,  had 
often  boasted  to  me  that  no  horse  had  ever 
escaped  him.  I  therefore  deemed  it  wise  to  re- 
turn to  camp  for  breakfast  and  let  him  take  up 
Button's  trail  and  follow  it  down. 

"I'll  get  him!"  said  John,  as  he  rode  away, 
"if  the  Injuns  don't  find  him  first  and  hide 
him  from  me." 

Three  hours  later  he  appeared  riding  the  de- 
serter Button,  with  his  own  horse  in  lead. 

''Where  was  he?"  I  asked. 

"Plumb  six  miles  away,"  said  John.  "When 
he  saw  me  coming  he  laid  back  his  ears,  flagged 
me  with  his  tail,  and  hit  out  for  Taylor  like  a 


PIGEONS  AND  BEAR  63 

bat  out  of  hell,  and  I  had  to  ride  like  a  drunk 
Injun  to  catch  him." 

This  was  Button's  last  attempt  to  leave  us. 
John  accredited  him  with  a  degree  of  intelli- 
gence little  short  of  human  and  insisted  that  he 
had  been  waiting  a  long  while  for  a  favorable 
opportunity  to  desert  and  that  he  "reckoned 
Button  had  about  decided  we  were  a  hard  outfit 
to  shake." 

John's  horse,  a  young  dapple  gray,  had  be- 
come leg  weary  and  now  developed  unmistak- 
able signs  of  giving  out.  He  was  in  such  bad 
shape  that  upon  leaving  Carrizo  Canon,  John 
saddled  Shorty,  while  I  rode  Button,  and  we 
permitted  the  poor,  fagged  animal  to  jog  along 
unburdened.  The  hard  mountain  trails  that  we 
had  traversed,  together  with  rather  long  marches 
and  continuous  work,  had  proved  too  much  for 
him,  and  in  addition  to  general  weariness  he  had 
gone  lame.  He  was  a  more  finely  bred  animal 
than  either  Button  or  Billy,  but  he  did  not 
possess  the  toughness  and  vigor  of  the  ponies 
and  was  not  nearly  so  good  a  forager  as  they. 
Button  was,  if  anything,  in  better  shape  than 
when  we  left  Taylor. 

Large  horses  are  not  so  well  adapted  to  either 
desert  or  mountain  work  as  ponies,  when  they 
are     compelled     to     forage     for     themselves. 


64  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

Cavalrymen  at  Fort  Apache  told  me  that  when 
they  returned  from  hard  practice  marches  in 
the  mountains,  their  fine  big  horses  were  pretty 
certain  to  be  fagged  and  jaded,  while  the  native 
ponies  ridden  by  the  Indian  scouts  that  accom- 
panied them  returned  to  the  post  fresh  and  ac- 
tive, though  they  performed  just  as  much  and 
often  more  work  than  the  cavalry  horses,  and 
on  these  marches  foraged  their  own  living, 
while  the  cavalry  horses  were  well  grained. 

From  the  Carrizo  our  course  was  directed 
over  the  Cibicue  Mountains,  in  a  northwesterly 
direction.  Here  I  saw  the  first  of  perhaps  seven 
or  eight  wild  pigeons — the  true  passenger 
pigeon — that  I  met  with  in  this  section  of  Ari- 
zona. After  a  continuous  march  from  early 
morning  we  halted  one  mid-afternoon  to  make 
camp  some  thirty  yards  from  a  spring  on  the 
western  slope  of  the  Cibicue  range.  When  all 
was  snug,  our  coffee  made  and  bacon  frying, 
and  we  had  seated  ourselves  for  luncheon,  John 
exclaimed: 

"Look  there!  Wild  pigeons!" 

Three  birds  had  just  alighted  in  a  tall  dead 
tree  close  by  the  spring.  The  tree  was  void  of 
all  foliage,  the  limbs  bare,  and  the  birds  were  in 
excellent  position  to  observe.  With  my  binocu- 
lars I  took  a  position  less   than  twenty  yards 


PIGEONS  AND  BEAR  65 

from  them  and  watched  them  for  some  time. 
They  were  the  true  passenger-pigeon  (Ecto- 
pistes  migratorius) .  I  have  no  doubt  whatever 
of  this,  for  every  possible  opportunity  was  of- 
fered for  observation.  Later  on  two  occasions 
I  saw  passenger-pigeons  in  this  section,  and  John 
told  me  that  he  had  sometimes  seen  them  when 
riding  range,  in  small  flocks  of  four  or  five 
birds. 

This  is  in  all  probability  the  only  region 
where  the  wild  pigeon,  once  so  numerous,  is  to 
be  found  to-day  in  the  United  States.  So  far  as 
North  America  is  concerned,  it  is  practically 
an  extinct  species.  The  mourning  dove,  how- 
ever, is  quite  plentiful  throughout  the  West, 
and  these  I  saw  in  considerable  numbers  and 
in  many  sections  during  my  journey. 

At  noon  one  day  we  forded  Cibicue  Creek 
and  drew  up  at  the  ranch  house  and  store  of 
Mr.  Prime  T.  Coleman,  Indian  trader  and  old- 
time  cattleman.  We  had  made  the  visit  merely 
to  replenish  our  supply  of  provisions,  but  with- 
in ten  minutes  after  our  arrival  Coleman,  with 
true  Western  hospitality,  had  invited  me  to  re- 
main a  day  or  two  and  accompany  him  on  a 
mountain  lion  hunt  and  I  had  accepted.  Cole- 
man, an  enthusiastic  hunter  of  mountain  lions 
and  bears,  had  at  the  time,  in  conjunction  with 


66  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

James  Hinton— reported  the  greatest  bear 
hunter  in  Arizona— a  fine  pack  of  trained  dogs. 
While  I  was  a  visitor  at  the  ranch  Hinton  paid 
us  a  visit,  and  he  told  me  that  not  long  before 
on  a  single  hunt,  extending  over  a  period  of 
one  month,  he  had  killed  eighteen  bears  and 
three  mountain  lions.  He  had  no  record  of 
how  many  of  these  animals  he  had  destroyed 
during  his  lifetime  as  a  hunter. 

The  Cibicue  Indians,  and  those  living  along 
Oak  Creek,  have  the  reputation  of  being  the 
worst  Apaches  on  the  reservation,  though  Cole- 
man assured  me  they  are  mere  children.  He 
has  lived  his  whole  life  among  the  Apaches, 
and  his  experience  has  taught  him  that  so  long 
as  they  are  dealt  with  honestly,  treated  as  hu- 
man beings,  left  by  themselves  so  far  as  condi- 
tions will  permit,  and  tulapai  manufacture  is 
restrained,  as  at  present,  they  will  remain  en- 
tirely harmless  and  peaceable. 

Like  children  they  have  a  keen  sense  of  jus- 
tice and  injustice.  When  they  desire  anything 
that  is  denied  them  by  the  agent,  they  accept 
the  ruling  as  a  child  accepts  the  ruling  of  a  par- 
ent. But  when  anything  is  promised  them,  or 
any  agreement  made  with  them,  they  expect 
the  promise  or  the  agreement  to  be  fulfilled  lit- 
erally.   Mr.  Coleman  believed,  in  the  light  of 


The  Overflow  of  One  of  the  Springs  that  Supply  Tuba. 


A  Hopi  Indian  Pueblo, 


PIGEONS  AND  BEAR  67 

his  lifelong  experience,  that  so  long  as  this  pol- 
icy is  maintained,  which  is  the  policy  of  the 
present  exceptionally  competent  Indian  agent, 
troops  are  wholly  unnecessary  on  the  reserva- 
tion and  there  will  be  no  fear  of  the  Apaches 
committing  depredations  or  going  on  the  war 
path.  Not  fear  of  the  white  man,  but  just  and 
honorable  treatment  of  them  by  the  white  man, 
will  keep  them  contented  with  their  lot. 

Coleman  reiterated  what  I  had  already 
heard  in  reference  to  the  harmful  effect  upon 
the  Indian  of  tulapai,  the  native  liquor,  men- 
tioned elsewhere.  While  here  I  saw  some  chil- 
dren whose  mother  was  shot  and  killed  a  short 
time  before  by  their  intoxicated  father. 

I  made  some  purchases  in  Coleman's  store, 
and  in  change  received  a  government  check 
made  out  in  favor  of  an  Indian  who  could  not 
write.  It  is  required  in  cases  of  this  kind  that 
the  endorsement  be  made  with  the  endorser's 
"mark,"  witnessed  by  two  signatures.  This  In- 
dian had  wet  his  thumb  with  ink  and  pressed  it 
upon  the  back  of  the  check,  as  his  endorsement 
mark,  which  to  my  astonishment  was  witnessed 
by  no  less  famous  personages  than  "Theodore 
Roosevelt"  and  "Hoke  Smith." 

"Are  these  signatures  genuine?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,    yes,"    answered    Coleman.      "Teddy 


68  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

Roosevelt  will  be  in  to-morrow,  and  you'll 
have  an  opportunity  to  meet  him." 

Sure  enough  Teddy  came,  bandanna  hand- 
kerchief around  his  neck  and  all.  He  was  an 
Apache  Indian  policeman.  Another  check  was 
shown  me  upon  which  the  endorsement  was 
witnessed  by  Abraham  Lincoln  and  Oliver 
Cromwell,  and  still  another  which  bore  the 
name  of  George  Washington. 

While  here  I  visited  with  Coleman  an  In- 
dian school  where  an  official  was  engaged  in 
taking  the  census.  A  mass  of  Indians,  men, 
women  and  children,  old  and  young,  were  gath- 
ered about  the  building.  In  addition  to  a  name, 
each  Indian  has  a  letter  and  number  by  which 
he  is  designated  by  the  agent.  For  example, 
the  head  of  a  family  is  known  as  A  i,  and  the 
various  members  of  his  family  as  A  2,  A  3,  A  4, 
and  so  on.  The  head  of  another  family  would 
accordingly  be  known  as  B  1,  and  the  various 
members  of  his  family  as  B  2,  B  3  or  B  4. 
Those  who  own  stock  brand  it  with  their 
number. 

On  the  morning  following  my  arrival  at 
Coleman's  Logan  Jaques,  a  young  sheep  ranch- 
man, rode  in  from  his  camp  to  join  us  in  our 
hunt.  Long  before  daylight  Coleman,  Jaques 
and  I  were  up.    I  was  very  ill  from  assimilat- 


PIGEONS  AND  BEAR  69 

ing  too  much  alkali — "alkalied,"  as  the  people 
say  here — and  could  eat  no  breakfast,  but  was 
determined  not  to  miss  the  hunt,  which  I  had 
looked  forward  to  with  much  anticipation.  At 
dawn  we  were  of!  with  the  pack,  all  mounted 
upon  strong,  able  horses  from  Coleman's  ranch. 

We  rode  several  miles  through  a  compara- 
tively level  stretch  of  barren  country,  then  en- 
tered a  rough,  thinly  wooded  region  broken  by 
gulches  and  canons,  up  and  down  over  trailless 
hills,  until  the  dogs  at  length  took  a  scent  in 
a  rocky  canon  and  were  off. 

We  followed  at  a  good  pace,  keeping  well 
within  hearing  of  the  working  dogs.  "It's  a 
bear,"  said  Coleman  at  length,  and  sure  enough 
on  the  side  of  a  canon  opposite  us,  high  up 
near  its  rim,  we  presently  saw  the  animal  for  a 
moment — a  big  brown  fellow.  Coleman  and 
Jaques  each  took  long  range  shots  with  their 
30-30's,  but  missed. 

Then  the  chase  began  in  earnest.  At  a 
lope  we  pushed  our  horses  through  thick  brush, 
over  rocks,  up  and  down  canon  sides,  where  I 
doubted  the  ability  of  the  animals  to  keep  their 
footing,  until,  at  last,  scratched  and  bruised 
from  contact  with  brush  and  rocks,  we  heard 
the  dogs  baying,  and  knew  they  had  treed  the 
bear, 


70  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

We  found  the  animal  high  up  in  a  pine  tree. 
One  shot  from  my  rifle  brought  it  down,  but 
the  bullet  had  hit  it  too  far  back  of  the  ear, 
and  it  charged  the  dogs  with  considerable  vi- 
tality. I  approached  and  photographed  it,  then 
put  a  bullet  in  its  head.  I  have  called  this  a 
brown  bear,  but  it  was  of  the  black  bear  species. 

It  was  a  disappointment  that  we  had  not 
found  a  mountain  lion,  the  game  that  we  had 
set  out  for.  But  our  animals  were  too  weary 
to  continue  the  hunt  that  day,  and  our  limited 
time  forced  me  to  continue  my  journey  north- 
ward without  the  coveted  lion. 

John  had  traded  his  worn-out  horse  to  Cole- 
man for  a  white  fellow  very  much  scarred  on 
shoulder  and  flank  with  a  heart-shaped  brand 
which  won  him  the  name  "Heart."  With  this 
improvement  in  our  outfit  and  our  horses 
rested  and  in  good  condition,  we  resumed  the 
trail  leading  up  to  the  Mogollon  Mesa. 


CHAPTER  VII 

OVER  THE  MOGOLLON  MESA 

LOGAN  JAQUES,  the  young  sheep 
ranchman,  who  had  several  herds  of 
sheep  pasturing  in  what  is  known  as 
Grasshopper  Valley,  some  eighteen  or  twenty 
miles  from  Coleman's  ranch  on  the  Cibicue, 
invited  us  to  spend  a  night  at  one  of  his  camps 
as  we  passed  en  route  to  the  old  Verde  trail. 
His  herds  were  in  charge  of  Mexican  shep- 
herds, for  in  Arizona  and  New  Mexico  only 
Mexicans  are  employed  in  the  work  of  herding 
sheep,  though  farther  north,  in  Idaho,  Wyo- 
ming, and  throughout  the  Northwest  generally, 
a  Mexican  shepherd  is  a  rarity. 

In  Arizona  and  New  Mexico  the  shepherds 
live  in  tents  and  transport  their  camp  equip- 
ment by  pack  train,  using  burros  for  pack  ani- 
mals  and   the    native   cayuse   for   the   saddle, 

71 


72  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

Northward  the  shepherds  camp  in  a  canvas- 
covered  wagon,  fitted  up  as  a  snug  kitchen  and 
sleeping  room,  with  a  bunk  amply  wide  for  two 
in  the  rear,  a  small  cook  stove  forward,  a  fold- 
ing table  that  may  be  removed  when  not  in 
use,  and  ample  storage  room  for  provisions  and 
personal  belongings.  It  is  a  comfortable  habi- 
tation even  in  severe  weather. 

Individual  sheep  ranchers  usually  own  sev- 
eral flocks,  and  each  flock,  numbering  from  sev- 
eral hundred  to  five  or  six  thousand  animals, 
is  placed  under  the  care  of  two  and  sometimes 
three  men.  It  is  the  custom  when  grazing 
flocks  upon  the  public  range  to  confine  them  to 
a  certain  area  until  it  is  denuded  of  all  grass 
and  browse.  The  sheep  accomplish  this  very 
completely  and  thoroughly  in  a  few  days  and 
are  then  moved  on  by  the  shepherds  to  another 
area. 

We  had  hoped  to  leave  Grasshopper  Valley 
behind  us  before  our  night  halt  was  made,  but 
a  late  start  brought  us  at  nightfall  near  Jaques's 
last  camp,  and  here  we  drew  in  and  bivouacked 
alongside  the  tent  of  the  Mexican  shepherds, 
and  accepted  their  invitation  to  a  supper  of 
mutton  and  a  breakfast  of  chili  con  came. 

There  were  two  men  allotted  to  this  camp — a 
cook  and  a  herder.     As  day  faded  into  twilight 


OVER  THE  MOGOLLON  MESA    73 

the  latter  massed  his  flock  close  to  the  tent,  ate 
his  supper,  spread  his  bed  in  the  open  not  far 
from  John  and.  me,  and  presently  to  the 
tune  of  bleating  sheep  and  snoring  shepherds 
we  fell  into  light  slumber.  I  had  not  slept 
long  when  a  revolver  shot  roused  me.  It  was 
followed  by  several  other  shots  in  quick  suc- 
cession. For  an  instant  I  believed  the  sheep 
men  were  engaged  in  a  gun  fight,  then  that  the 
shepherd  was  firing  at  some  animal  attacking 
the  sheep,  but  finally  ascertained  that  the  shoot- 
ing was  done  to  turn  the  flock  farther  out,  for 
the  animals  had  crowded  almost  on  top  of  us. 

Our  trail  from  the  Cibicue  to  Grasshopper 
Valley  carried  us  over  a  rolling  country, 
sparsely  wooded.  Here  we  crossed  Oak  Creek 
Canon,  where  the  most  secluded  of  the  Apaches 
live.  Many  of  this  branch  of  this  tribe,  John 
assured  me,  have  never  reported  at  the  Indian 
office,  and  he  also  assured  me  that  they  were 
the  only  Indians  in  the  country  he  would  hesi- 
tate to  travel  among  alone.  Even  they,  I  ven- 
ture to  say,  are  peaceable  enough  when  not  un- 
der the  influence  of  tulapai.  In  nearly  every 
instance  where  Apaches  have  committed  mur- 
der in  recent  years,  the  awakening  of  the  homi- 
cidal instinct  has  been  directly  traceable  to 
tulapai. 


74  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

Water  was  scarce,  muddy,  and  unpalatable. 
Even  Grasshopper  Spring,  locally  famous  for 
its  cold  sparkling  water,  had  been  reduced  by 
the  unusually  dry  season,  to  a  mud  hole.  It 
was  a  delightful  sound,  therefore,  when  we 
turned  out  of  the  valley  and  into  a  canon  and 
heard  the  roar  of  a  brook,  pouring  down  over 
its  rocky  bed  from  the  heights  above,  and  discov- 
ered a  stream  of  clear  cold  water.  Good  water 
was  a  luxury,  and  this  was  the  first  good  water 
that  we  had  found  since  leaving  the  spring  at 
Cedar  Creek. 

Our  trail,  which  followed  the  brook  up  the 
canon,  presently  faded  and  at  length  disap- 
peared entirely  among  the  underbrush.  Here 
began  the  ascent  of  the  Mogollon  Mesa.  The 
mountainside  rose  at  a  fearful  angle,  and  at 
several  points  our  advance  seemed  cut  off  by 
perpendicular  cliffs,  but  at  length  slopes  were 
negotiated,  cliffs  circumvented,  and  the  gentle 
rise  to  the  summit  attained. 

Shorty  was  my  saddle  horse  on  this  occasion. 
I  was  leading  him,  and  when  we  reached  the 
first  level  spot  he  began  bucking  in  the  most 
approved  fashion  as  a  decided  protest  against 
further  climbing.  He  succeeded  in  shedding 
saddle-bags,  camera,  and  everything  not  tightly 
fastened    to    the    saddle.      After    purchasing 


A   Navajo  Blanket  Weaver  and  Her  Loom. 


A  Navajo  Indian  Policeman. 


OVER  THE  MOGOLLON  MESA    75 

Shorty  I  had  been  told  that  he  once  had  a  repu- 
tation as  a  bucker.  The  first  "buster"  that 
mounted  him  after  he  was  taken  wild  from  the 
range  was  thrown  and  nearly  killed  and  another 
was  unceremoniously  dismounted  before  he  fi- 
nally succeeded  in  "staying  with"  Shorty.  But 
with  me  he  had  been  gentleness  itself,  until 
now,  save  on  one  occasion  when  we  met  some 
Indians  whose  appearance  he  did  not  approve 
of  and  he  made  an  attempt  to  bolt,  but  I  had 
felt  he  was  entirely  justified  in  his  desire  to 
avoid  those  particular  Indians. 

We  were  now  on  the  summit  of  the  Mogol- 
lon  Mesa  and  our  ascent  had  carried  us  into 
a  great  pine  forest.  Now  and  again  wide  views 
of  desert,  mountain,  and  valley  appeared  to  us 
from  cliffs  or  bared  eminences.  Old  Baldy  and 
the  White  Mountains  towered  in  the  distance 
in  majestic,  rugged  splendor  and  seemed  higher 
than  any  mountains  I  had  ever  seen.  Sombrero 
Butte  stood  out  against  the  southern  sky,  a 
striking  landmark,  and  before  us  lay  an  expanse 
of  marvelously  blended  colors — red,  green, 
white,  purple,  gray — a  mighty,  shimmering 
ocean  of  light  and  shadow. 

Our  course — for  a  time  we  followed  no  defi- 
nite trail — carried  us  over  undulating  upper 
ridges  and  across  ravines  and  gulches.     Deer 


76  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

tracks  were  everywhere  and  many  wild  turkeys 
were  seen.  Water  was  the  one  thing  lacking 
to  make  the  region  an  ideal  wilderness.  Our 
canteen,  which  had  been  lost  at  Fort  Apache, 
was  sorely  missed.  One  should  never  travel  in 
Arizona  without  a  canteen.  Night  camps  were 
made  by  the  side  of  muck  holes,  generally  not 
above  thirty  yards  in  width,  which  John  called 
"lakes."  The  water  in  these  was  thick  with 
decayed  vegetable  matter  and  sometimes  so  bad 
that  the  horses  scarcely  sipped  it.  One  of  them 
was  so  vile  that  the  animals  refused  to  drink 
from  it  at  all,  though  they  had  had  no  water 
for  several  hours.  We  utilized  it  for  coffee, 
however,  for  one  may  feel  perfectly  safe  in 
drinking  contaminated  water  after  it  has  been 
boiled. 

We  made  diligent  search  for  Blue  Lake,  a 
pool  famous  in  the  region,  but  failed  to  find  it, 
though  John  had  visited  it  once  several  years 
before.  He  described  it  as  filling  a  circular  de- 
pression, approximately  three  hundred  feet  in 
diameter  and  probably  an  ancient  crater.  Its 
waters  are  said  to  be  blue  and  transparent  and 
of  great  depth.  A  party  of  cowboys  once  tied 
two  lasso  ropes  end  to  end  and  with  a  heavy 
stone  to  weight  the  line  attempted  to  sound  the 
depth,  but  failed  to  find  bottom. 


OVER  THE  MOGOLLON  MESA     77 

The  Verde  Trail  was  formerly  the  military 
road  connecting  Fort  Apache  and  Camp 
Verde,  over  which  stores  were  hauled  from  the 
former  to  the  latter  post.  After  the  abandon- 
ment of  Camp  Verde  the  trail  fell  into  disuse. 
We  turned  into  it  near  the  place  where  Blue 
Lake  was  supposed  to  be  and  followed  it  west- 
ward for  many  miles.  Innumerable  aspen 
trees  along  the  old  trail  bear  names  and  dates 
cut  in  the  bark  by  soldiers  who  traversed 
it  in  the  days  when  it  was  a  military  road. 
Some  of  these  bear  the  regiment  number  and 
troop  of  the  soldier  that  cut  them.  Dates  went 
back  into  the  early  70's,  and  I  believe  one  or 
two  as  early  as  1869. 

Desire  for  water  led  us  to  deviate  once  and 
descend  a  steep,  rocky  road  which  dropped  to 
the  head  of  Canon  Creek,  directly  above  the 
point  where  the  canon  "boxes"  with  perpen- 
dicular walls  on  either  side  several  hundred 
feet  high.  Suddenly,  as  we  descended,  a  beau- 
tiful green  basin,  enclosed  on  all  sides  by  pre- 
cipitous mountains,  opened  before  us,  and  pres- 
ently we  came  to  the  clear,  fine  waters  of  Canon 
Creek,  pouring  down  over  a  rocky  bed  to 
course  through  the  creek's  picturesque  canon, 
later  to  join  Salt  River. 

Here   we   found    Ramer's   cattle   ranch — lo- 


78  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

cally  known  as  the  "O  W  outfit" — said  to  be 
the  best  kept  ranch  in  Arizona.  There  is  a 
log  cook  and  bunkhouse  and  a  log  office,  from 
which  Mr.  Ramer  manages  his  business  and 
where  he  has  his  sleeping  quarters.  He  was 
not  there  at  the  time,  but  the  foreman  invited 
us  to  turn  our  horses  loose  in  a  pasture  while 
we  had  dinner.  The  ranch  folk  had  eaten,  but 
the  cook  set  the  table  and  prepared  another 
dinner  for  us. 

This  visit  to  Ramer's  ranch  left  with  me 
one  of  the  very  pleasant  memories  of  Arizona 
travel — the  green  hollow  among  towering  pine- 
clad  mountains,  the  roaring  creek,  singing 
birds,  and  the  unstinted  hospitality  of  the  ranch 
folk. 

Our  last  camp  along  the  Verde  Trail,  at  the 
head  of  Chevion's  Canon,  was  made  memorable 
by  the  most  terrific  electric  storm  I  have  ever 
experienced.  We  were  sleeping  in  the  open 
when  the  first  rumblings  of  heavy  thunder 
roused  us.  The  night  was  black  as  ink  and  rain 
was  imminent.  We  lighted  a  pitch-pine  torch, 
and  in  ten  minutes  our  tent  was  stretched  be- 
tween two  small  black-jack  pines  and  our  things 
snug  under  cover.  The  rain  fell  in  torrents, 
the  thunder  roared  and  reverberated  down  the 
canon  in  quick  succession  of  terrific  and  ter- 


OVER  THE  MOGOLLON  MESA     79 

rible  crashes  that  set  the  earth  a-tremble,  and 
the  lightning  flashed  with  a  blinding  brilliancy 
beyond  description. 

John  and  I  both  felt  electric  thrills  on  sev- 
eral occasions,  but  we  had  no  fear,  for  we  had 
taken  the  precaution  to  select  low  trees  under 
which  to  pitch  the  tent.  The  higher  trees  in 
this  region  are  frequently  struck  by  lightning. 
During  the  day's  ride  I  had  noted  many  bear- 
ing marks  of  lightning,  and  at  one  point  four 
within  as  many  rods.  In  every  case,  however, 
it  was  the  tall  yellow  pine  that  suffered. 

Like  the  White  Mountain  region,  the  Mo- 
gollon  Mesa  once  held  herds  of  elk,  but  the 
last  of  them  were  killed  many  years  ago. 
There  is  no  reason  why  elk  should  not  thrive 
here  now,  though  the  ranges  would  be  less  ex- 
tended than  in  the  White  Mountains.  How- 
ever, the  Mogollon  Mesa  could  well  support 
some  good-sized  herds. 

This  is  one  of  the  best  deer  and  turkey  coun- 
tries that  I  have  ever  seen.  Deer  signs  were 
exceedingly  numerous.  I  was  informed  that 
bear,  too,  were  fairly  plentiful,  though  per- 
sonally I  saw  but  few  signs  of  them.  As  was  to 
be  expected  where  deer  and  turkeys  are  plenti- 
ful, jaguars  and  cats  are  also  quite  too  nu- 
merous. 


80  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

We  continued  on  the  Verde  trail  for  a  few 
miles  west  of  Chevion's  Canon,  then  turned 
from  it  in  a  northerly  course  toward  Winslow 
and  presently  began  to  drop  to  lower  altitudes, 
leaving  behind  us  the  tall  pines,  the  aspens, 
balsam  fir,  spruce,  and  flowering  juniper. 

Another  terrific  thunderstorm  and  deluge  of 
rain  overtook  us  as  we  were  passing  the  locally 
famous  Hart  and  Campbell  ranch,  a  sheep 
ranch  upon  which  it  is  said  at  least  three  men 
began  the  accumulation  of  wealth  which  made 
of  them  multi-millionaires.  We  turned  under 
the  cover  of  a  friendly  shed  to  await  the  passing 
of  the  storm  and  a  man  connected  with  the 
ranch  joined  us. 

In  discussing  the  menace  of  hydrophobia 
skunks  with  this  ranchman,  he  informed  us  that 
six  weeks  earlier  a  homesteader,  sleeping  on 
the  floor  of  the  cookhouse  with  open  door,  was 
bitten  on  the  head  by  one  of  these  animals. 
Some  time  later  while  in  Winslow  he  was  at- 
tacked by  rabies  and  died  in  great  agony.  One 
of  the  doctors  attending  the  man  was  scratched 
by  him  and  was  then  in  the  Pasteur  Institute  in 
Los  Angeles,  undergoing  treatment. 

Formerly  it  was  believed  that  only  a  species 
of  small  skunk  inhabiting  this  region  was  given 
to  attacking  men  in  their  sleep,  but  the  one  that 


OVER  THE  MOGOLLON  MESA    81 

wounded  the  homesteader  was  of  the  larger 
species  well  known  throughout  the  United 
States.  Another  skunk,  since  the  above  occur- 
rence, bit  a  collie  dog  on  the  ranch  and  the  dog 
developed  rabies  and  died. 

In  much  of  the  territory  through  which  I 
passed  skunks  are  a  real  menace,  not,  I  may 
say,  in  the  open  wilderness,  but  in  the  vicinity 
of  old  ranch  buildings  which  they  infest.  I 
heard  of  several  cases — I  should  say  at  least  a 
dozen — where  sleeping  men  had  been  attacked 
by  them  and  had  later  developed  rabies  and 
died.  The  people  bitten  are  almost  invariably 
poor  sheep  herders  or  homesteaders,  unable  to 
pay  their  expenses  to  Chicago  or  Los  Angeles, 
the  nearest  points  at  which  Pasteur  Institutes 
are  now  located,  and  even  if  they  had  the 
money  to  meet  these  expenses  they  are  usually 
from  three  to  four  days'  travel  from  the  rail- 
road when  the  accident  occurs,  which  with  two 
or  three  days  by  train  from  the  nearest  railroad 
station  to  the  institute  combines  to  make  so  long 
a  delay  that  treatment  is  generally  ineffective. 

So  far  as  I  know,  the  only  regions  in  the 
United  States  where  skunks  with  rabies  are 
found  are  Arizona,  New  Mexico,  and  a  section 
of  Texas.  The  many  cases  of  death  from  them 
of  which  I  heard  were  all  within  a  compara- 


82  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

lively  narrow  area  and  in  a  thinly  populated 
region.  Is  it  not  within  the  province  of  the 
government  to  take  some  steps  to  relieve  the  in- 
habitants of  this  constant  dread?  A  Pasteur 
Institute  established  say  in  Albuquerque  would 
place  treatment  quite  near  enough  to  be  avail- 
able. 

In  this  connection  let  it  be  said  that  Arizona 
pays  a  bounty  of  ten  dollars  each  upon  bears 
killed  within  the  territory,  and  one  dollar 
bounty  on  skunks.  No  one  will  skin  a  skunk 
for  a  dollar  and  go  through  the  red  tape  neces- 
sary to  claim  the  bounty.  The  Territorial  gov- 
ernment has  paid  many  dollars  bounty  on  black 
and  brown  bears,  one  of  our  noble  game  ani- 
mals that  does  absolutely  no  harm  in  this  moun- 
tain region  which  it  inhabits.  Pennsylvania 
and  Michigan  both  protect  their  black  bears. 
Even  the  silver  tip,  at  one  time  destructive  to 
stock,  has  been  so  reduced  in  numbers  and  is 
so  timid  now-a-days  and  so  rarely  attacks  ani- 
mals, that  bounty  on  it  should  be  discontinued. 
It  would  seem  that  the  time  has  come  when 
we  should  extend  protection  to  every  spe- 
cies of  bear  inhabiting  the  United  States.  Oth- 
erwise they  will,  in  the  course  of  a  very  few 
years,  become  extinct. 

The  rain  area  was  limited  and  an  hour's  ride 


OVER  THE  MOGOLLON  MESA    83 

beyond  it  brought  us  into  a  parched  dry  dis- 
trict. We  passed  Necessity  Brook  some  miles 
before  halting  for  the  night,  and  when  we  did 
halt  finally  could  find  only  enough  thick,  red 
muddy  water  in  the  hollow  of  a  stone  to  make 
our  tea.    There  was  none  for  the  horses. 

The  ranchman  had  advised  us  to  take  a  new 
freighters'  road  to  Winslow.  He  assured  us 
it  was  well  watered  and  we  decided  to  profit 
by  his  advice,  though  John  knew  the  old  road 
well  and  not  the  new  one  and  had  some  hesi- 
tancy about  riding  untried  trails. 

We  had  passed  from  pines  to  pinons  and 
stunted  cedars,  and  finally  into  a  treeless,  sandy 
desert  supporting  no  other  growth  than  sage 
brush  and  greasewood,  and  inhabited  only  by 
lizards,  chameleons,  rattlesnakes,  and  an  occa- 
sional rabbit.  One  old  rattler  buzzed  his  warn- 
ing close  to  the  trail  and  we  dismounted  and 
killed  him.  John  shot  a  cottontail  for  our  din- 
ner, dressed  it,  and  tied  it  to  the  top  of  Billy's 
pack,  where,  under  the  terrific  heat  of  the  sun, 
it  became  jerked  rabbit  within  two  hours. 

Mile  after  mile  we  traveled,  and  drier  and 
drier,  if  possible,  grew  the  country.  Even  rab- 
bits were  no  longer  to  be  seen.  Dust  filled  our 
nostrils  and  our  mouths  were  parched  and  filled 
with  grit.    The  horses  had  drunk  nothing  since 


84  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

the  previous  noon  and  were  evidently  suffer- 
ing from  thirst  even  more  than  ourselves. 

In  the  distance  we  could  see  the  smoke  from 
locomotives  at  Winslow.  It  seemed  very  near, 
but  John  assured  me  it  was  fully  forty  miles 
away. 

Between  us  and  the  Toltec  Divide,  which 
shimmered  through  the  heat  waves  to  the  west- 
ward, lay  Clear  Creek,  running  down  across 
the  desert  to  empty  its  waters  into  the  Little 
Colorado  not  far  from  Winslow.  We  knew  it 
was  there,  though  nothing  on  the  expanse  of 
sand  and  sage  brush  indicated  its  presence. 

The  horses  showed  such  evidences  of  suffer- 
ing and  our  own  physical  beings  called  so 
loudly  for  water  that  we  turned  from  our  trail 
in  a  short  cut  to  the  creek.  At  length  we  came 
suddenly  to  the  rim  of  a  deep  canon.  This  was 
Clear  Creek  Canon,  but  nothing  suggested  its 
presence  until  we  were  within  a  few  yards  of  it. 
It  was  simply  a  deep,  crooked  gash  with  per- 
pendicular walls  cut  down  into  the  sagebrush 
desert.  We  peered  into  its  depth,  only  to  dis- 
cover the  bed  of  Clear  Creek  at  its  bottom  dry 
as  ashes. 

Then  we  turned  back  to  the  trail  and  pushed 
on.  Once  a  bunch  of  six  antelopes  scurried 
away.    At  length  we  glimpsed  cattle  and  knew 


OVER  THE  MOGOLLON  MESA    85 

that  water  was  near,  and  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
evening  came  upon  some  hollow  rocks  holding 
pools  of  half  putrid,  cow-defiled  rainwater. 
The  horses  drank  and  we  drank  and  made  our 
camp. 

It  was  past  noon  the  following  day  when 
we  rode  into  Winslow,  and  a  great  relief  it  was 
for  the  poor  horses'  sake,  for  since  leaving 
Ramer's  Ranch  they  had  eaten  little.  Our  first 
care  was  to  place  them  in  a  convenient  corral, 
feed  them  well  on  rolled  barley  and  good  al- 
falfa hay,  and  then  seek  quarters  for  ourselves. 
We  were  to  stay  here  several  days  to  give  the 
animals  ample  time  to  recuperate  and  get  in 
condition  to  cross  the  three  hundred  miles  of 
desert  lying  between  Winslow  and  Kanab, 
Utah. 

We  registered  at  the  Navajo  Hotel,  said  to 
be  the  best  in  town,  excepting  of  course  Har- 
vey's Railroad  Hotel.  We  were  too  fough 
looking  for  the  conventional  guests  at  Harvey's. 
Without  coats,  for  instance,  one  is  not  admitted 
to  his  dining  room,  though  no  question  is  raised 
in  connection  with  the  lunch  counter  at  the 
station.  The  Navajo  Hotel,  however,  had  very 
comfortable  rooms,  well  cared  for,  and  a  bath- 
room, and  we  were  well  content  to  stop  there. 
Several    unique   signs   were   posted   here    and 


86  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

there  throughout  the  house.  One  on  the  main 
entrance  door  read,  "Closed  on  account  of  wind. 
Pass  through  the  office  and  if  the  clerk  objects, 
kick  him." 

There  was  no  dining  room  attached  to  the  ho- 
tel, and  we  took  our  meals  at  one  of  the  Japan- 
ese or  Chinese  restaurants.  There  are  no  other 
restaurants  in  Winslow,  save  the  Harvey 
House.  We  did  very  well,  for  we  had  long 
since  passed  the  particular  stage.  John  did 
find  some  fault,  however,  when  a  steak  was 
served  him  with  a  spider  as  large  as  his  thumb 
nail,  its  legs  nicely  spread  out,  and  a  large 
horse  fly  fried  brown  and  greasy  on  top.  He 
said  he  could  stand  one  at  a  time,  but  two  on 
one  piece  of  steak  was  too  much. 

Winslow  is  said  to  be  the  liveliest  town  of 
its  size  in  Arizona.  It  has  some  two  thousand 
residents  who  are  irrigated  by  eleven  busy  sa- 
loons. The  day  after  we  arrived  there  a  gun 
fight  took  place  in  the  Mexican  quarter  but  no 
one  was  seriously  injured.  The  day  we  left 
town  the  bartender  in  the  Wigwam  saloon  had 
a  misunderstanding  with  the  gentleman  who 
presided  over  the  bar  in  the  Mission  saloon  and 
the  former  ceased  his  earthly  activities.  The 
gentleman  of  the  Mission  saloon  was  too  handy 
with  his  gun. 


OVER  THE  MOGOLLON  MESA    87 

I  had  the  good  fortune  and  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  here  Mr.  Chester  Houck,  the  only  liv- 
ing ex-sheriff  of  Navajo  County.  It  was  the 
custom  in  Navajo  County  until  recently — it  is 
said  to  be  no  longer  necessary — to  choose  for 
the  important  office  of  sheriff  some  one  of 
known  merits  as  a  gun  man.  Commodore 
Owens,  previously  mentioned,  was  a  notable  in- 
stance of  this,  and  Mr.  Houck  can  manipulate 
his  six  shooter  with  an  ease  and  readiness  that 
rendered  him  exceptionally  well  qualified  for 
the  position.  However,  as  he  told  me,  he  had 
to  kill  only  one  man  while  he  was  sheriff. 

This  happened  some  four  or  five  years  ago. 
One  of  the  saloons  in  Winslow  had  a  gambling 
layout.  Two  strangers  held  it  up  one  night  and 
got  away  with  a  pretty  good  amount  of  cash. 
Sheriff  Houck  pressed  into  service  as  deputy  a 
man  named  Pete  and  in  company  with  Pete 
traced  the  pair  to  Canon  Diabolo  and  came 
upon  them  in  the  open.  The  sheriff  engaged 
one,  Pete  the  other,  and  a  pretty  gun  fight  be- 
gan with  the  result  that  the  sheriff's  antagonist 
was  killed  and  Pete's  badly  wounded,  while 
Sheriff  Houck  had  only  a  slight  scratch  from 
a  .45  bullet. 

Some  time  later  this  same  Pete  had  a  mis- 
understanding with   a   bartender   in   Winslow 


88  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

and  shot  him  dead.  The  sheriff  arrested  his  old 
partner,  but  did  not  lock  him  up.  "I  knew 
he'd  show  up  for  the  trial,"  the  sheriff  told  me, 
"and  I  wouldn't  lock  up  a  man  that  had  stood 
up  in  a  fight  with  me.  Here  in  Arizona  men 
don't  run  away,  just  because  they  may  be 
hung."  Pete,  it  is  needless  to  say,  was  on  hand 
on  the  day  set  for  trial  and  got  twenty  years  at 
hard  labor.  He  is  now  serving  his  sentence  in 
the  Arizona   penitentiary. 

We  had  planned  traveling,  for  a  time  at 
least,  with  an  outfit  that  had  come  up  from  the 
Gila  Valley,  bound  for  Oregon.  There  were 
two  men,  two  women,  and  two  children  in 
prairie  schooners.  Their  crops  had  failed 
them  through  dry  weather  and  they  were  look- 
ing for  a  new  land  of  promise.  They  were  not 
quite  ready  to  start,  however,  when  we  saddled 
up  "on  Tuesday  morning,  and  I  never  saw  them 
again. 

Northward  from  Winslow,  Arizona,  to  Ka- 
nab,  Utah,  winds  the  old  Mormon  emigrant 
trail — traversing  a  desolate  sand-drifted  desert, 
with  long  reaches  between  the  few  water  holes. 
This  old  trail,  for  many  years  fallen  into  dis- 
use and  much  of  it  obliterated  by  sand  piled 
by  the  wind  into  great  drifts  like  snow,  might 
tell  stories  of  hope,  ambition,  misery,  tragedy, 


OVER  THE  MOGOLLON  MESA    89 

and  crime  could  its  miles  of  burning  desolation 
but  speak.  Seven  times  John  had  traversed  its 
length,  each  time  vowing  that  he  would  never 
venture  upon  it  again.  The  first  time  was  as  a 
boy  of  eleven  when  his  parents  were  emigrating 
from  Utah  to  Arizona;  the  last  time,  fourteen 
years  ago,  with  his  young  wife.  He  knew  its 
desolation  intimately  and  he  dreaded  it  as  I, 
who  had  never  traveled  its  wastes,  did  not.  I 
was  anxious,  in  fact,  for  the  experience. 

This  is  the  land  of  the  Navajo  and  the  Hopi, 
the  pagans  of  the  desert,  the  land  of  pictur- 
esque buttes,  of  gorgeously  colored  cliffs  and 
pinnacles,  of  marvelous  canons,  of  wonderful 
mirages.  Three  hundred  miles  of  this  land, 
repellant  and  fascinating,  lay  between  us  and 
Kanab,  when  we  rode  out  upon  it  at  eleven 
o'clock  one  August  morning. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

ACROSS  THE  DESERT 

THE  sun  beat  down  upon  us  with  scorch- 
ing effect;  the  hot  sand  reflected  back  its 
rays  to  dazzle  the  eyes;  visible  heat 
waves  shimmered  and  quivered  over  the  dead 
sea  of  sand  and  sage — a  vast,  billowing  sea  of 
ever-changing  opalescent  tints,  greens,  purples, 
and  blues.  To  the  west  rose  the  rugged  sum- 
mits of  the  San  Francisco  peaks,  to  the  north- 
east the  sky  line  was  cut  by  Chimney  Butte, 
Castle  Butte,  the  Moqui  Buttes,  and  Pottery 
Hill;  between  them  and  us  was  a  low  line  of 
gray  clay  and  sand  cliffs  which  mark  the  basin 
where  flows  the  Little  Colorado. 

Anticipating  that  the  desert  would  offer  poor 
forage  to  the  animals,  we  were  packing  two 
hundred  pounds  of  grain  on  Button.  Bill  car- 
ried our  camp  equipment  and  provisions.  John 

90 


ACROSS   THE  DESERT  91 

rode  his  white  horse,  Heart,  while  I  rode 
Shorty.  Shorty  had  behaved  very  well  since 
his  escapade  on  the  mountainside  above  Grass- 
hopper Valley,  but  his  rest  at  Winslow  had  re- 
vived his  sportive  tendencies  and  inclined  him 
to  do  unseemly  things.  Several  times,  on  slight 
provocation,  he  jumped  and  reared,  and  once 
when  I  drew  my  pocket  handkerchief  from  my 
hip  pocket  he  began  to  buck. 

Presently,  however,  he  settled  down  to  sober 
plodding,  a  pretense  of  reformation  that  caught 
me  unawares.  I  had  drawn  him  up  to  a  walk, 
while  I  lighted  my  pipe  and  then  lifted  my 
foot  from  the  stirrup  to  adjust  the  shoe  lace. 
That  was  all.  What  happened  next  came  so 
suddenly  and  unannounced  that  I  never  did 
know  how  it  came  about.  I  only  knew  that  I 
was  sitting  in  the  sand,  still  smoking  my  pipe, 
while  Shorty  circled  around  me,  doing  the 
prettiest  bucking  act  I  have  ever  witnessed — 
"hogging  it,"  as  the  cowboys  would  express  it. 
I  had  experienced  no  shock,  was  uninjured, 
and  my  only  sensation  was  that  of  surprise  and 
an  inclination  to  laugh  at  Shorty's  maneuvers. 
He  bucked  the  rifle  out  of  its  boot  and  the 
camera  off  the  horn,  and  then,  failing  to  dis- 
lodge anything  else,  ran  off  to  join  some  wild 
horses  a  mile  or  so  away. 


92  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

John  cantered  after  him,  and  the  little  rascal 
made  no  effort  to  elude,  but  stopped  and  looked 
at  John  in  the  most  innocent  manner,  as  though 
he  did  not  realize  that  he  had  been  doing  any- 
thing undignified  or  out  of  the  ordinary.  He 
exhibited  no  symptom  of  fright  or  fear  and 
when  John  returned  with  him  rubbed  his  nose 
against  me  in  his  most  affectionate  manner.  I 
remounted  him  and  we  proceeded  as  though 
nothing  extraordinary  had  occurred  to  disturb 
our  progress. 

We  traveled  at  a  jog  trot,  and  before  one 
o'clock  a  beautiful  lake  of  clear  water  appeared 
in  the  distance,  apparently  not  more  than  two 
miles  ahead  and  to  the  southeast  of  some 
broken  ledges  of  rock.  The  lake  was  sur- 
rounded by  green  fields  that  offered  splendid 
forage  for  the  horses,  and  beautiful  groves  of 
trees  reached  down  to  the  lake's  edge,  which 
the  placid  waters  reflected  like  a  mirror.  The 
appearance  of  a  lake  here  came  as  a  pleasant 
surprise,  for  I  had  never  heard  before  of  its 
existence.  I  suggested  to  John  that  it  might  be 
well  to  make  our  midday  halt  in  the  shade  of 
one  of  the  groves  and  let  the  horses  graze  for 
an  hour  in  the  good  green  pastures. 

"There's  no  lake  ahead,"  said  he.  "I  see 
what  you   mean,    and   I've   seen   many,    many 


ACROSS   THE  DESERT  93 

lakes  and  green  fields  when  I've  been  travel- 
ing through  this  country  and  my  horses  have 
been  plumb  tired  out  and  their  tongues  hang- 
ing from  thirst,  and  I've  rode  and  rode  for 
'em,  but  never  reached  'em.  This  is  hell  and 
that's  just  one  of  the  devil's  ways  of  tantalizing 
folks  that  are  fools  enough  to  come  here. 
There's  nothing  but  sage  brush  and  greasewood 
and  sand  out  there  where  we  see  water  and 
grass.  The  ledge  of  rocks  is  there  all  right, 
though,  and  I  was  counting  on  stopping  by  'em 
for  dinner.  There's  some  shade  under  'em. 
I've  nooned  under  'em  before." 

And  he  was  right.  It  was  a  mirage,  the  most 
tantalizing  mirage  that  can  possibly  appear  to 
one  in  this  parched  land.  We  halted  under  the 
friendly  rocks  to  feed  the  horses  rolled  barley 
and  to  eat  our  own  luncheon  beneath  the  shade 
of  a  great  overhanging  boulder  and  in  an  hour 
were  on  our  way  again,  to  see  more  lakes  and 
more  green  fields  which  we  never  reached. 

The  nights  always  bring  blessed  relief  from 
the  burning  heat  of  day.  With  sunset  the  heat 
waves  give  place  to  an  atmosphere  balmy  and 
deliciously  cool,  and  when  bedtime  comes 
warm  blankets  are  not  a  burden. 

And  what  sunsets!  What  blendings  of  color! 
Not  the  glorious  reds  and  highly  brilliant  col- 


94  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

orings  of  the  far  North,  but  milder  purples  at 
the  horizon,  quickly  giving  way  to  amber, 
which  shades  off  softly  into  a  paler  transpar- 
ent yellow,  finally  to  blend  and  fade  into  the 
blue  above.  As  darkness  settles  and  the  stars 
appear  with  the  wonderful  sparkle  of  high  al- 
titude, definite  forms  melt  into  indefinite,  buttes 
stand  out  in  somber  outline,  eroded  rocks 
are  transformed  into  spectral,  fantastic  beings, 
and  one  feels  the  witchery  and  the  mystery  of 
the  desert  as  one  can  never  feel  it  under  the 
glare  of  open  day. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  passed  Leupp, 
where  the  government  maintains  an  Indian 
school,  and  in  mid-afternoon  reached  the  In- 
dian mission  of  Tolchaco.  It  had  been  our  in- 
tention to  continue  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Lit- 
tle Colorado  to  the  old  emigrant  ford  known 
as  Wolf  Crossing  and  there  pass  to  the  east- 
ward, but  the  missionary  at  Tolchaco  told  us 
that  the  old  ford  was  quite  impassable  and  ad- 
vised us  to  take  an  Indian  crossing  opposite  the 
mission. 

The    Little    Colorado     is     an    exceedingly 
treacherous   stream.     To-day   it   is   down,   to- 
morrow a  surging  torrent,  depending  upon  the 
rains  hundreds  of  miles  above,   at   its  source, 
and  its  bed  is  largely  quicksand.    At  this  time 


ACROSS   THE  DESERT  95 

it  was  low,  and  acting  upon  the  missionary's 
advice  we  made  the  passage  in  safety,  though  I 
barely  escaped  a  ducking  in  the  muddy  cur- 
rent through  Shorty's  unseemly  plunging  at  a 
critical  point. 

Thence,  with  no  definite  trail  to  follow,  we 
turned  down  along  the  east  bank  of  the  river, 
marked  by  a  straggling  line  of  Cottonwood, 
past  pink  and  gray  cliffs  which  rose  to  the  east- 
ward, to  the  old  Wolf  Crossing  where  the  one- 
time emigrant  trail,  now  nearly  obliterated  by 
great  sand  drifts,  was  again   resumed. 

A  traveler  through  the  Navajo  country  does 
not  long  go  unobserved  by  its  dusky  dwellers. 
We  had  unpacked  on  a  sandy  promontory  for 
the  night.  Our  horses  were  hobbled  and 
turned  adrift,  our  supper  cooked  over  a  fire 
which  a  single  friendly  stick  of  driftwood  had 
supplied,  and  we  were  sitting  down  to  eat  when 
the  silence  was  broken  by  the  whoops  and 
shrieks  of  an  approaching  Indian.  It  was  quite 
dark  at  this  time  and  we  could  see  nothing  be- 
yond the  circle  illumined  by  our  little  blaze, 
but  presently  the  Indian  rode  up,  reined  his 
pony  to  a  stop  within  the  fire  glow,  exclaimed 
"Huh!"  and  sat  silent  and  stiff  as  a  statue. 
John,  who  was  dishing  some  stew,  did  not  raise 
his  eyes,  but  remarked: 


96  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

"Bill,  you  sound  like  you  was  plumb  locoed. 
Set  in  and  have  some  grub." 

The  Indian  still  sat  immovable  and  silent, 
giving  no  intimation  that  he  heard. 

"He  don't  understand  our  lingo,"  said  John. 
"I'll  try  him  with  his  own." 

With  two  or  three  words  of  Indian  from 
John,  which  were  quite  unintelligible  to  me, 
the  Indian  slid  from  his  horse,  squatted  by  the 
fire,  and  proceeded  to  devour  everything  that 
was  offered  him.  Then  he  sat  for  half  an  hour 
and  smoked,  and  finally,  having  spoken  less 
than  a  dozen  words,  which  were  of  course  in 
Navajo,  remounted  and  silently  disappeared. 
Where  he  came  from  or  whither  he  went  we 
did  not  know,  but  the  following  day  he  joined 
us  some  miles  beyond,  apparently  springing 
out  of  the  sand,  and  offered  some  blankets  for 
sale.  I  purchased  a  small  one,  and  we  left  him, 
sitting  on  his  pony  on  the  summit  of  a  knoll, 
gazing  into  the  distance. 

Thenceforward  other  Indians  rode  into  our 
night  camps,  sometimes  whooping  to  announce 
their  approach,  but  usually  appearing  like  ap- 
paritions, seldom  seen  or  heard  until  we  dis- 
covered them  sitting  bolt  upright  and  silent  on 
their  ponies,  looking  down  at  us  in  the  fire- 
light. 


ACROSS   THE  DESERT  97 

In  the  White  Mountains,  far  to  the  south- 
east, we  had  caught  trout  in  the  headwaters  of 
the  Little  Colorado  River.  There,  fed  by 
banks  of  perpetual  snow,  it  was  a  sparkling 
crystal  brook,  rushing  down  over  a  rocky  bed 
through  a  great  primeval  forest  of  pine  and 
spruce  and  balsam  fir.  Here  in  the  Navajo 
desert  it  had  been  transformed  into  a  sluggish 
river  thick  with  yellow  mud,  flowing  heavily 
northward  in  a  winding  course  through  banks 
of  drifted  sand,' past  pink-and-red  and  gray- 
blue  buttes  of  sandstone  and  limestone,  molded 
into  fantastic  shapes  by  ages  of  erosion.  Now 
and  again,  close  to  the  river  bank,  were  scat- 
tered stunted  cottonwood  trees,  struggling 
bravely  for  existence,  the  only  green  break  in 
the  expanse  of  wide,  arid  desert. 

The  old  emigrant  trail  followed  the  general 
course  of  the  river,  until  trail  and  river  finally 
parted.  By  the  general  course  of  the  river  I 
mean  that  while  we  were  sometimes  within  a 
few  hundred  yards  of  its  banks,  the  larger 
bends  were  cut  off  by  short  cuts,  and  when  this 
occurred  we  were  often  three  or  four  miles  to 
the  eastward  of  it,  crossing  gulches,  dry  ar- 
royos,  and  low  sand  ridges  and  mesas. 

We  halted  for  a  noonday  rest  at  the  Black 
Frlls,  a  point  where  the  river  with  a  swift  cur- 


98  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

rent  pours  its  yellow,  mud-laden  waters  down 
over  lava  beds.  Here  the  red  sandstone  and 
limestone  are  overspread  with  great  rivers  of 
black  lava,  bits  of  petrified  wood  lie  about, 
above  the  surrounding  desert  vari-colored 
buttes  and  mesas  rise,  the  former  cut  by  ero- 
sion into  picturesque  and  striking  shapes. 

On  the  summits  of  the  mesas  are  scattered 
ruins  of  ancient  pueblos,  built  out  of  blocks  of 
lava  and  stone.  At  their  foot  in  sand-filled 
pockets  in  the  lava  beds  are  the  burial  grounds 
of  the  people  who  built  the  ruined  pueblos. 
Very  little  has  yet  been  done  in  the  way  of  in- 
vestigation and  research  among  the  ruins  in  the 
vicinity  of  Black  Falls,  though  it  is  believed 
that  long  before  the  coming  of  the  Spaniards 
they  were  occupied  by  tribes  of  the  Hopi  In- 
dian family,  who  deserted  them  and  the  Black 
Falls  country  at  a  much  earlier  date  to  take  up 
their  abode  in  a  more  hospitable  region.  Spec- 
imens of  pottery  unearthed  here,  however,  are 
coarser  and  less  finished  in  workmanship  than 
those  found  in  ruined  pueblos  in  other  districts. 
Such  ruins,  it  may  be  said,  are  found  north- 
ward half  way  across  Utah  and  far  to  the  south- 
ward. One  of  the  most  interesting  of  those 
that  have  been  investigated  lies  some  three 
miles  from  Winslow. 


_4J 

re 

4) 

p 

I/} 

re 


i— 
H 


ACROSS   THE  DESERT  99 

At  Black  Falls  we  lunched  beneath  the  un- 
certain shade  of  a  cottonwood  tree  close  to  the 
river,  while  the  horses  grazed  upon  scant  tufts 
of  desert  grass  nurtured  by  the  river  moisture. 
This  was  a  favorite  camping  ground  of  the 
Mormon  emigrants  from  Utah  who  took  so 
large  a  part  in  the  settlement  of  Arizona,  and 
while  we  rested  and  smoked  through  the  burn- 
ing heat  of  midday,  John  told  me  of  one  of  his 
own  experiences  some  twenty  years  before  at 
this  very  point.  He  was  a  young  fellow  then, 
seventeen  or  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  was 
going  home  to  Arizona  from  southern  Utah, 
where  he  had  been  engaged  in  carrying  mail 
on  horseback  between  outlying  wilderness 
settlements.    His  outfit  consisted  of  three  horses. 

At  Kanab,  Utah,  he  had  fallen  in  with  a 
young  man  and  his  wife,  emigrating  to  Arizona 
in  a  covered  prairie  schooner,  and  thence  to 
Black  Falls  he  kept  their  company.  Here 
they  camped  over  night  near  the  spot  where  we 
were  resting.  All  the  horses  were  hobbled  and 
turned  loose  in  the  usual  manner,  the  man  and 
wife  retired  for  the  night  to  their  wagon,  and 
John  rolled  in  his  blankets  under  the  sky  and 
was  soon  close  wrapped  in  the  sound  and 
dreamless  sleep  of  youth. 

At  dawn  he  awakened,  conscious  that  some- 


100  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

thing  had  happened  while  he  slept.  He  sprang 
up  and  looked  about  him,  to  discover  that  all 
the  horses  had  disappeared.  He  roused  the 
others,  and  a  short  search  disclosed  the  fact 
that  "rustlers"  had  stolen  the  animals.  He  and 
his  friends  were  marooned  in  the  desert. 

A  consultation  was  held  and  it  was  decided 
that  while  the  others  remained  with  the  outfit 
at  Black  Falls  and  awaited  his  return,  John 
should  trail  the  horse  thieves  on  foot  to  the 
southward,  and  without  delay  he  began  his 
weary  tramp  over  the  sand  stretches.  He 
tracked  them  to  the  old  Wolf's  Crossing  where 
the  trail  crossed  the  Little  Colorado.  Here  it 
became  evident  that  his  efforts  would  prove 
fruitless  and,  turning  back,  he  reached  Black 
Falls  the  following  evening  to  find  the  place 
abandoned. 

His  friends  had  secured  horses  somewhere 
and  with  the  entire  outfit  had  retreated  toward 
Moen  Ave.  He  followed  them  and  the  next 
day,  his  feet  so  swollen  by  the  hot  sand  he  could 
hardly  walk,  overtook  them.  It  proved  that 
some  horsemen  had  come  upon  them  at  Black 
Falls,  and  the  emigrants,  panic  stricken,  had 
implored  the  men  to  take  them  back.  They 
were  too  frightened  even  to  wait  for  John's 
return,  though  they  were  aware  he  was  with- 


ACROSS   THE  DESERT         101 

out  food.  What  John  said  to  them  was  never 
recorded,  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  relieved 
his  pent-up  feelings  in  the  picturesque  style  of 
an  irritated  frontiersman. 

In  the  days  when  emigration  here  was  at  its 
height,  "rustling"  was  not  uncommon.  In  fact, 
even  now  we  were  duly  warned  at  Winslow  to 
be  on  our  guard  against  it.  These  rustlers  were 
not  Indians,  but  white  renegades  who  made 
horse  stealing  a  business  in  the  desert  country. 

Beyond  Black  Falls  the  country  is  arid  and 
desolate  in  the  extreme.  We  found  the  trail 
buried  under  great  drifts  of  sand,  which  for 
long  distances  covered  even  greasewood  and 
sage.  This  condition  makes  traveling  hard  for 
horse  and  tedious  for  rider.  Almost  invariably 
an  afternoon  wind  rises  to  drive  the  sand 
against  one's  face  with  the  sensation  of  pin- 
pricks, and  to  fill  one's  eyes,  but  dies  away  with 
the  setting  sun,  as  balmy  evening  displaces  the 
scorching  day  and  cool  and  exhilarating  night 
settles  down  with  its  calm  and  deathlike  quiet. 

A  day's  march  beyond  the  Black  Falls  we 
halted  near  midday  to  permit  our  horses  to 
browse  on  bunch  grass,  and  while  thus  engaged 
a  large  herd  of  Navajo  goats  and  sheep  on  their 
way  to  the  river  and  water  were  driven  over  a 
knoll  by  a  young  Indian  woman  and  boy.    Af- 


102  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

ter  crossing  the  river  at  Tolchaco  we  had  en- 
countered several  of  these  herds.  The  Nava- 
jos  are  a  pastoral  people,  and  their  flocks  of 
sheep  and  goats  are  their  chief  source  of  live- 
lihood. The  wool  is  manufactured  by  the 
women  into  the  famous  Navajo  blankets, 
though  the  Indians  are  now  selling  large  quan- 
tities of  wool  to  traders,  and  doubtless  a  few 
years  hence  blanket  making  will  be  a  lost  art 
among  them.  This  was  the  last  herd  which  we 
met  on  our  journey. 

At  the  point  where  the  trail  leaves  the  Little 
Colorado  we  found  some  pools,  the  water  yel- 
low with  adobe  dirt.  Here  our  canteens  were 
filled  and  the  horses  were  watered  for  the  last 
time  before  reaching  the  Tuba  oasis.  Not  far 
beyond  this  point  the  old  emigrant  trail  joins 
the  mail  road  from  Flagstaff  to  Tuba,  and 
thenceforward  we  found  traveling  much  im- 
proved. The  junction  of  the  trails  is  ninety 
miles  from  Winslow  and  thirty  miles  from 
Tuba.  The  latter  is  a  government  station  and 
Indian  school,  situated  upon  the  mesa  rising 
above  the  Moen  Copie  Canon  on  the  north  side. 

The  scenery  between  the  Little  Colorado  and 
the  Moen  Copie  is  exceedingly  picturesque. 
Pink-and-gray  cliffs  cut  the  skyline  with  ser- 
rated ridges,  and  from  the  higher  points  along 


ACROSS   THE  DESERT  103 

the  trail  one  has  magnificent  views  of  the  arid 
desert  with  its  rolling  sand  hills  and  buttes, 
bounded  on  the  southwest  by  the  high  and  rug- 
ged peaks  of  the  San  Francisco  mountains. 

At  midforenoon  the  following  day  we  crossed 
the  Moen  Copie,  the  water  resembling  in  smell 
and  appearance  that  of  a  city  sewer.  The 
stream  was  turbulent,  and  a  few  feet  below  the 
fording  point  tumbled  over  a  fall  with  a  roar. 
I  was  riding  Shorty,  and  he  objected  strongly 
to  entering  the  water,  but  finally,  after  some 
plunging  and  rearing,  answered  to  the  spurs. 
On  the  opposite  side  we  mounted  a  bank  and 
had  our  first  view  of  the  green  cornfields  at 
the  foot  of  the  mesa  below  Tuba,  and  one  hour 
later  dismounted  at  the  government  farmer's 
station,  to  enjoy  the  first  drink  of  cool,  clear 
water  we  had  had  for  several  days. 

This  station  is  maintained  by  the  govern- 
ment, and  is  in  charge  of  scientific  farmers,  who 
are  employed  to  instruct  the  Indians  in  agricul- 
ture and  irrigation.  For  ten  miles  below  and 
sixty  miles  above  Tuba,  springs  gush  out  of  the 
cliffs  on  the  north  side  of  the  Moen  Copie 
Canon,  wThich,  near  Tuba  for  a  short  distance, 
widens  out  into  a  basin  varying  from  a  quarter 
to  a  half  mile  in  width,  and  farming  is  made 
possible  in  the  limited  area  at  the  mouth  of  the 


104  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

canon  by  water  drawn  from  the  springs  to  irri- 
gate the  land. 

A  half  hour's  ride  from  the  farmer's  station 
up  a  trail  cut  in  the  steep  cliff  sides  brought  us 
to  Tuba  itself. 

This  oasis,  with  its  green  orchards  and  gar- 
dens, its  lawns  and  rows  of  stately  Lombardy 
poplars,  appeals  to  the  traveler,  set  here  in  the 
midst  of  desolation,  as  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful spots  on  earth. 

The  place  was  formerly  known  as  Tuba  City, 
and  was  originally  settled  by  the  Mormon  elder 
John  D.  Lee  and  his  followers.  Lee  was  the 
leader  of  the  band  of  Mormons  and  Indians  that 
attacked  at  Mountain  Meadows,  September 
22,  1857,  a  caravan  of  emigrants,  who  were 
crossing  the  Mormon  country  en  route  to  Cali- 
fornia. Men,  women,  and  children — even  lit- 
tle children  that  would  hardly  have  been  old 
enough  to  tell  the  story  of  what  they  saw — 
were  slaughtered  indiscriminately  and  without 
mercy.  The  story  of  this  cold-blooded,  utterly 
heartless  butchery  is  too  horrible  to  describe. 
After  the  massacre  the  horses  and  cattle  belong- 
ing to  the  emigrant  caravan,  as  well  as  all  else 
of  value,  were  taken  possession  of  by  the  band 
of  murderers,  who  fled  southward  into  the 
desert,  and   for  many  years  Lee   hid  himself 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT         105 

from  government  officers,  using  the  Tuba  City 
oasis  as  his  chief  rendezvous.  It  was  during  the 
period  following  the  massacre  that  he  estab- 
lished Lee's  Ferry  across  the  Colorado  River, 
at  the  head  of  Marble  Canon,  and  blazed  the 
southern  trail  over  which  John  and  I  were 
traveling. 

There  was  a  long-drawn-out  controversy  as 
to  the  extent  of  the  responsibility  of  the  Mor- 
mon church  in  the  massacre.  The  church  then 
did  and  ever  since  has  denied  all  connection 
with  it,  and  denies  also  that  Lee,  or  those  asso- 
ciated with  him,  acted  with  the  authority,  con- 
sent, or  knowledge  of  the  church  officials.  In 
those  days  there  were  many  adherents  of  the 
Mormon  church,  however,  who  were  fanatics 
in  a  high  degree,  and  possessed  of  a  species  of 
religious  frenzy  that  led  them  to  the  belief  that 
to  kill  a  Gentile  was  to  do  the  work  of  God  and 
to  take  forcible  possession  of  a  Gentile's  prop- 
erty and  apply  it  to  the  work  of  the  church 
was  to  win  special  favor  in  the  Lord's  sight. 

It  was  this  same  species  of  religious  frenzy 
which  led  to  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew's 
Eve;  to  the  sacrifice  of  our  early  martyrs;  to 
the  putting  to  death  of  supposed  witches;  to  all 
the  terrible  deeds  that  have  been  committed  in 
the  name  of  religion  since  the  world  began. 


106  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

But  religion  passes  through  its  periods  of  evo- 
lution. The  younger  generation  of  Mormons 
has  risen  above  the  fanaticism  that  swayed  their 
elders.  They  are  good  Americans,  with  as  high 
a  sense  of  morality  as  one  finds  in  other  Chris- 
tian denominations.  They  contemplate  with 
regret  and  horror  the  Mountain  Meadows  mas- 
sacre and  the  many  other  bloody  deeds  of  those 
pioneer  days  and  denounce  unreservedly  the 
perpetrators  of  them. 

A  few  years  ago  the  government  purchased 
Tuba  from  the  Mormon  church  for  a  consid- 
eration, I  was  informed,  of  forty  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  erected  the  present  magnificent 
school  buildings  of  red  sandstone. 

The  firm  of  Babbit  &  Preston,  who  have  a 
concession  to  trade  here  with  the  Indians, 
maintain  a  large  store  in  a  circular  stone  build- 
ing. Mr.  Preston  of  the  firm  lives  on  the  prem- 
ises and  manages  the  business  personally. 
Many  Indians  were  lounging  about  when  we 
drew  up  before  the  door  and  were  welcomed  by 
Mr.  Preston  and  a  young  man  named  Fleming, 
his  clerk  and  chief  assistant.  Mr.  Preston  is 
an  old-time  frontiersman  and  Indian  trader 
and,  like  all  men  who  have  lived  long  on  the 
frontier  and  in  seclusion,  exceedingly  hospit- 
able.   He  opened  his  stables  for  our  horses  and 


D 
U 

c 


0) 

x: 


c 


oo 


U 

o 

x: 
u 


/"' 


I  -J 


wmm 


c 
n 

c 
o 

-♦-» 
V) 
<L) 

E 


c 
o 
>> 

c 
w 

U 

<u 


o 
Q 

bn 
c 

15 
o 
o 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT         107 

invited  us  to  dinner,  where  we  met  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton and  spent  some  delightful  hours.  During 
our  conversation  I  asked  Mr.  Preston  if  he  did 
not  find  Tuba  a  charming  place. 

"No,"  said  he,  "it's  right  on  the  edge  of 
hell." 

"You're  wrong,"  broke  in  John;  "it's  right 
in  the  center  of  it." 

During  the  afternoon  I  strolled  up  to  the 
government  buildings  and  fell  in  with  a  gen- 
tleman who  introduced  himself  as  Dr.  W.  H. 
Harrison,  temporarily  detailed  here  to  minis- 
ter to  the  health  of  the  Indians.  Dr.  Harrison 
and  I  became  friends  at  once,  and  he  and  Mr. 
George  H.  Kraus,  financial  clerk  at  the  agency, 
arranged  for  a  room  for  John  and  myself  in 
one  of  the  dormitories. 

The  doctor  piloted  me  over  the  Tuba  gar- 
dens and  up  to  the  springs  that  supply  the 
buildings  and  irrigate  the  grounds.  There  are 
two  of  these  springs,  one  furnishing  a  sufficient 
supply  of  water  for  the  buildings  has  an  over- 
flow requiring  two  three-inch  pipes  to  carry 
the  waste  water,  off.  The  other,  known  as  the 
Boiling  Springs,  a  hundred  yards  distant  from 
the  former,  is  even  larger.  This  spring  throws 
its  water  up  in  a  column  nearly  two  feet  high. 
There  is  a  theory  that  the  water  supplying  these 


108  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

springs,  as  well  as  all  those  along  the  Moen 
Copie,  is  brought  between  strata  of  rock  from 
the  San  Juan  River,  some  two  hundred  miles 
to  the  northeast.  The  springs  supplying  Tuba 
are  situated  on  the  very  summit  of  the  mesa — 
the  highest  point  in  the  vicinity. 

We  had  intended  resuming  our  journey  after 
a  night's  rest  at  Tuba,  but  upon  learning  from 
Dr.  Harrison  that  the  first  of  the  August  rain 
dances,  an  important  religious  ceremony  of  the 
Hopi  Indians,  was  to  be  held  at  a  near-by 
pueblo  the  following  day,  I  determined  to  re- 
main and  witness  it. 


CHAPTER   IX 

IN  THE  LAND  OF  HOPI  AND  NAVAJO 

THE  Hopi  pueblo  or  village,  where  the 
rain  dance,  known  as  a  kachina  dance, 
was  in  progress,  lies  two  miles  from 
Tuba.  Fleming  volunteered  to  accompany  me, 
and  in  early  forenoon  we  saddled  our  horses 
and  rode  to  the  pueblo.  Many  Indians  had 
gathered  to  witness  the  ritualistic  work,  among 
them  a  considerable  sprinkling  of  Navajos,  who 
made  no  concealment  of  their  amusement  and 
lost  no  opportunity  to  jeer  at  the  ceremony  of 
their  Hopi  neighbors.  Ponies  were  tethered 
everywhere,  and  the  settlement,  a  mass  of  mov- 
ing color  and  unique  costumes,  bore  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  gala  day. 

In  the  distance,  as  we  approached  the  pueblo, 
we  heard  the  chant  of  the  dancers  and  upon 
mounting  the  pueblo  walls  were  treated  to  a 

109 


no  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

weird  and  uncanny  spectacle.  Below  us  two 
long  lines  of  dancers,  wearing  hideous  masks, 
some  with  bare  arms  and  portions  of  the  naked 
body  painted  in  yellow  and  black,  keeping  time 
to  their  chant,  were  moving  up  and  down  the 
enclosed  street  with  the  dance  step  peculiar  to 
Indians.  One  row  was  blanketed,  the  other 
was  not.  The  dancers  wore  anklets  of  tortoise 
shells  with  dangling  deer  hoofs  so  arranged 
that  with  each  step  the  hoof  struck  the  tortoise 
shell  with  a  loud  tap-tap-tap.  Alongside  the 
lines  of  dancers,  and  directing  them,  were  un- 
costumed  old  men.  The  masks,  the  painted 
bodies,  the  kachina  symbols,  and  the  ceremony 
were  fantastic  in  the  extreme. 

Up  and  down  the  street,  facing  now  one  way, 
now  another,  they  danced,  but  always  the  same 
dance  in  constant  repetition  and  apparently 
with  no  variation.  This  ceremony,  I  was  in- 
formed, was  to  be  continued,  with  occasional 
half-hour  intermissions,  for  two  days  and  two 
nights,  when  the  performers  would  be  quite 
exhausted  through  fasting,  lack  of  sleep,  and 
practically  incessant  dancing  and  chanting. 

The  Hopi  religion  is  mainly  a  worship  of  the 
powers  of  nature.  From  Earth,  the  mother, 
and  the  Sky  God,  the  father,  sprang  man  and 
all  living  things.    Mother  Earth  is  believed  to 


o 
U 


o 

;z 


(A 


o 


3 
D 


o 


LAND  OF  HOPI  AND  NAVAJO  ill 

be  infinite — she  has  existed  always,  she  will 
always  continue  to  exist.  From  the  Grand 
Canon  of  the  Colorado,  the  sipapu — the  great 
opening — man  emerged;  into  the  earth,  by  way 
of  the  same  great  opening,  the  spirits  of  the 
dead  return  to  enjoy  an  eternal  existence.  What 
the  nature  of  this  existence  may  be  the  Hopi 
does  not  venture  to  inquire  and  concerns  him- 
self with  it  not  the  least.  He  has  no  concep- 
tion of  punishment  hereafter.  For  him  there 
is  no  hell. 

When  a  Hopi  Indian  dies  the  nearest  relative 
carries  the  body  of  the  deceased  to  the  grave 
prepared  for  it,  places  it  in  a  sitting  posture 
always  facing  the  Grand  Canon,  erects  a  long 
pole  between  the  legs,  locks  the  fingers  of  the 
deceased  around  the  pole,  and  fills  the  grave. 
To  the  top  of  the  pole,  protruding  above  the 
ground,  one  end  of  a  string  is  fastened,  while 
the  other  end  is  stretched  out  in  the  direction 
of  the  Grand  Canon.  It  is  believed  that  after 
a  lapse  of  four  days  the  soul  leaves  the  body, 
climbs  the  pole,  and  with  the  string  to  guide 
it  goes  to  its  eternal  home  in  the  Canon. 

While  definite  nature  powers,  such  as  the 
Sky  God  and  Mother  Earth,  are  the  great  gods 
and  goddesses  of  the  universe,  there  are  innu- 
merable lesser  personages  to  whom  are  ascribed 


112  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

supernatural  powers,  not  the  least  of  whom  are 
clan  ancestors.  These  are  known  as  kachinas. 
At  the  ceremonial  dances  masked  and  painted 
men  represent  the  kachina  to  whom  appeal  for 
favor  is  made,  or  to  whom  ritualistic  honor  is 
done. 

To  each  kachina  is  ascribed  certain  indivi- 
dual and  distinctive  powers  and  characteristics 
and  each  is  distinguished  by  a  variety  of  sym- 
bolic colors,  numbering  at  least  six.  The  cere- 
mony which  we  witnessed  was  an  appeal  to  the 
kachinas  holding  power  over  the  clouds  to  send 
the  autumn  rains  necessary  to  mature  and  ripen 
the  crops. 

The  several  clans  of  which  the  tribe  is  com- 
posed work  their  various  rituals,  either  in  the 
seclusion  of  the  kiva  or  in  the  open  streets  of 
the  village,  in  accordance  with  the  demands  of 
each  particular  ritual.  Some,  but  not  all,  of 
those  worked  in  the  kiva  are  held  in  darkest 
secrecy.  No  visitors,  and  only  those  of  the  clan 
itself  who  are  particularly  qualified,  are  ever 
permitted  to  be  present  at  the  performance  of 
these  very  sacred  and  secret  rituals.  I  am 
aware  that  some  investigators  claim  to  have 
witnessed  all,  even  the  most  sacred  of  them, 
but  these  men  have  been  deceived,  or  have  de- 
ceived themselves.    There  are  certain  rites  they 


LAND  OF  HOPI  AND  NAVAJO  lis 

most  positively  have  never  witnessed  nor  re- 
corded. 

Visitors  are  admitted  to  some  of  the  rituals 
worked  in  the  kiva  and  to  all  of  those  in  the 
open  street,  such  as  that  witnessed  by  Fleming 
and  me.  It  happened  that  we  were  the  only 
white  men  present  at  this  ceremony,  but  not 
the  slightest  restriction  was  offered  us,  and  I 
was  permitted  to  enter  the  street  itself  and 
photograph  the  performers  at  close  range. 

The  Hopis  are  an  agricultural  people  living 
in  pueblos,  or  permanent  villages.  Their  chief 
occupation  is  tilling  the  soil  and  raising  maize, 
which  is  their  food  staple,  together  with  sec- 
ondary crops  of  fruits  and  vegetables.  They 
are  also  skilled  makers  of  ceremonial  kilts, 
sashes,  and  blankets,  which  are  produced  in 
various  weaves  and  are  of  durable  quality. 
These  products  of  the  loom,  as  well  as  embroid- 
ery and  the  fine  basketware  for  which  they  are 
famous,  show  a  well  developed  sense  of  the 
artistic.  Formerly  their  pottery  was  of  a  high 
standard  of  workmanship  and  artistic  merit, 
but  of  late  years  has  deteriorated,  though  even 
yet  the  people  of  Haus  turn  out  some  excellent 
pottery. 

Hopitu-Shinumu,  meaning  "peaceful  peo- 
ple," is  their  own  name  for  themselves.     Hopi 


114  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

is  a  contraction  of  Hopitu.  Moki  or  Moqui, 
the  name  by  which  they  are  popularly  known, 
means  in  the  Hopi  dialect  "dead,"  though  the 
name  as  applied  to  them  as  a  tribe  is  probably 
of  foreign  origin  and  a  contraction  of  some 
word  alien  to  their  language.  It  may  have  ori- 
ginated in  a  contraction  of  the  Spanish  word 
Mojiganza,  meaning  mummery,  masquerade. 
The  explorer  Coronado  while  at  Zuni  in  the 
year  1540  first  heard  of  the  Hopi  Indians  and 
sent  Pedro  de  Tobar  and  Fray  Juan  de  Padilla 
into  Tusayan  to  investigate  them. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  Spaniards  first 
learned  from  the  Hopis  of  the  existence  of  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado,  which  plays  so 
considerable  a  part  in  their  religious  belief. 
These  and  later  Spaniards,  visiting  their  vil- 
lage, doubtless  witnessed  the  ritualistic  work  of 
some  of  the  many  clans,  such  as  the  kachina, 
the  snake  and  other  public  dances,  and  saw  the 
performers  painted  and  masked  enacting  their 
curious  rites.  It  might  well  be  that  the  Span- 
iards characterized  such  performances  as  mum- 
mery and  masquerading. 

The  Hopi  is  devoted  to  his  religion  and  is 
forever  worshiping  in  the  kiva,  or  working  rit- 
uals in  the  open  village  streets.  Whether 
through  natural  instincts,  or  because  of  his  re- 


LAND  OF  HOPI  AND  NAVAJO  115 

ligious  teachings,  he  is  peaceable,  as  his  name 
implies,  honest,  truthful  to  a  degree,  and  in- 
dustrious. Indeed  a  Hopi  that  steals  is  rare 
and  one  that  lies  is  ostracized.  He  never  in- 
vented an  intoxicant  and  there  are  no  oaths  in 
his  language. 

But  he  is  a  pagan  and  he  clings  to  his  pagan- 
ism with  the  utmost  tenacity.  For  many  years 
missionaries  of  various  denominations  have 
worked  assiduously  among  the  Hopis  and  the 
Navajos,  but,  though  the  missionaries  are 
treated  with  consideration,  never  has  one  Hopi 
been  truly  converted  to  Christianity,  nor  has  the 
firm  foundation  of  his  old  pagan  faith  been 
shaken.  One  missionary  near  Tuba  stated  that 
he  had  spent  the  best  efforts  of  ten  years  of  his 
life  among  the  Hopis  and  Navajos,  but  he 
could  not  honestly  say  that  his  work  had  been 
productive  of  a  single  convert. 

To  the  unbiased  observer  it  would  seem  that 
the  Hopis  have  no  need  of  a  new  religion. 
Christianity  would  in  no  way  raise  their  moral 
standard,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  even  though 
they  were  led  to  renounce  their  pagan  beliefs 
they  would  not  accept  a  new  faith,  though  like 
other  Indians  they  might  outwardly  profess  to 
do  so;  and  robbed  of  faith  in  a  religion  that 
holds  them  closely  to  a  high  standard  of  moral 


116  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

living,  and  failing  to  accept  at  heart  the  new, 
they  would  unfailingly  fall  into  degeneracy, 
for  it  is  an  axiom  that  when  any  people  is 
robbed  of  a  religion  that  guides  and  holds  to 
upright  living,  that  people  falls  into  moral  de- 
generacy, and  it  may  be  said  of  our  Indians 
that  when  their  faith  is  once  shaken  in  the  re- 
ligion of  their  ancestors,  it  is  the  end  of  their 
faith  in  any  religion.  Outwardly  they  may  ac- 
cept Christianity,  but  in  their  hearts  they  do 
not.  This  is  the  basis  of  the  decadence  of  the 
North  American  Indian  as  a  man,  of  his  loss  of 
self-respect  and  his  degeneracy.  It  is  deplor- 
able but  it  is  true. 

The  Hopi  is  a  monogamist  and  rarely  does 
one  remain  unmarried.  Husband  and  wife  are 
true  and  devoted  to  one  another  and  to  their 
children.  I  was  unable  upon  diligent  inquiry 
to  learn  of  any  instance  where  husband  and 
wife  had  separated  for  any  cause.  Might  it 
not  be  well  for  Christians  to  take  instruction 
from  Hopi  Indians  in  moral  conduct  and  the 
matrimonial  relationship?  Their  moral  living, 
pagans  as  they  are,  is  certainly  preferable  to 
the  Sodom  and  Gomorrha  condition  of  too 
many  of  our  Christian  civilized  communities. 

Some  Hopi  and  Navajo  Indians  are  annually 
sent  away  by  the  government  to  Eastern  schools 


LAND  OF  HOPI  AND  NAVAJO  117 

to  be  educated,  but  invariably  they  return  to 
the  old  life  and  old  superstitions — those  of  them 
who  do  not  die  of  tuberculosis,  and  a  large  per- 
centage of  those  taken  away  do  contract  it. 
One  of  these  Indians  educated  in  an  Eastern 
school  lives  in  the  Hopi  village  near  Tuba.  In 
discussing  the  banishment  of  a  missionary  from 
another  Hopi  village  the  year  before,  he  re- 
marked in  all  seriousness: 

"The  missionary  attempted  to  stop  our  peo- 
ple holding  the  rain  dance.  Without  the  dance 
there  would  be  no  rain,  the  corn  crop  would  be 
a  failure,  and  the  people  would  starve.  What 
could  they  do  but  drive  the  missionary  away? 
They  were  quite  right." 

This  Indian,  in  spite  of  his  Eastern  education 
and  Christian  teaching,  had  never  swerved  from 
his  absolute  faith  in  the  kachinas  and  their 
powers. 

Though  the  Hopi  and  the  Navajo  Indians 
live  side  by  side,  they  belong  to  different  lin- 
guistic families  and  are  quite  dissimilar  in 
customs,  habits  of  life,  and  religious  beliefs. 
The  former  belong  to  the  Shoshonean;  the  lat- 
ter, like  the  Apaches,  to  the  great  Athapascan 
family.  They  differ  also  in  physical  appear- 
ance, though  the  Navajo  type  is  less  definite 
and  pronounced  than  the  Hopi.    Indeed  it  may 


118  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

be  said  there  is  no  well-defined  Navajo  type 
representative  of  the  tribe  as  a  whole.  In  gen- 
eral, however,  the  Navajo  is  taller,  his  features 
cleaner  cut,  and  he  is  handsomer  than  the 
Hopi. 

This  lack  of  definiteness  in  type  is  undoubt- 
edly due  to  mixture  of  race.  Anthropologists 
who  have  studied  their  legends  and  traced  their 
migrations  conclude  that  small,  disconnected 
groups  or  families,  wandering  into  New  Mex- 
ico and  Arizona,  formed  the  nucleus  of  the 
tribe.  Some  of  these  stocks  were  Athapascan, 
but  there  were  also  accessions  of  Tanoan,  Yu- 
man,  Shoshonean,  Keresan,  and  Aryan  stocks, 
and  finally  numerous  clans  from  the  Pacific 
coast,  undoubtedly  of  the  Athapascan  family, 
joined  them  and  influenced  their  language  to 
such  an  extent  that  the  conglomerate  people, 
now  thoroughly  welded  into  one,  adopted  an 
Athapascan  dialect.  This  mixture  of  Indian 
races  naturally  resulted  in  a  more  or  less  in- 
definite type,  and  though  the  Navajo,  like  the 
Apache,  speaks  an  Athapascan  dialect,  he  bears 
a  much  closer  resemblance  to  the  Pueblo  In- 
dian than  to  the  Apache. 

Navajo  legends  tell  us  that  the  gods  created 
the  first  clan,  in  Arizona,  some  five  hundred 
years  ago.     Previous  inhabitants  of  the  earth 


LAND  OF  HOPI  AND  NAVAJO  119 

had  been  destroyed  by  giants  or  demons.  This 
story  of  creation  doubtless  indicated  the  migra- 
tion into  Arizona  of  the  nucleus  clan.  Dr.  F. 
W.  Hodge,  the  noted  American  anthropolo- 
gist, has  shown  that  the  Navajo  legend  of  the 
beginning  of  the  tribe  is  substantially  correct, 
though  he  places  the  date  at  less  than  five  hun- 
dred years. 

Before  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century 
the  Navajos  had  grown  into  a  powerful  tribe 
and  developed  warlike  tendencies.  Early  set- 
tlers in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona  were  con- 
stantly harassed  by  them.  Col.  Alexander  W. 
Doniphon  led  an  expedition  against  them  in 
1846  and  concluded  a  treaty  of  peace  with  them 
in  the  autumn  of  that  year,  but  they  very 
quickly  broke  it  and  returned  to  the  warpath. 
In  1849  Col.  John  M.  Washington  led  another 
expedition  against  them  and  forced  them  into 
the  peace  treaty  of  Canon  de  Chelly  on  Septem- 
ber ninth  of  that  year.  Again  they  broke  their 
treaty,  and  in  1863  Kit  Carson,  with  a  consid- 
erable force,  moved  against  them,  determined 
to  put  an  end  to  their  wars.  He  reduced  them 
to  the  point  of  starvation  by  wholesale  destruc- 
tion of  their  sheep  and  finally  succeeded  in  tak- 
ing the  greater  part  of  the  tribe  prisoners  to 
Fort  Sumner.    The  government  held  them  in 


120  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

captivity  until  1867,  when  they  were  returned 
to  their  original  country  and  liberated,  and 
flocks  of  sheep  were  given  them  by  the  govern- 
ment. They  have  never  since  gone  upon  the 
warpath. 

The  tribe  numbered  7,300  at  the  time  they 
were  liberated.  In  1900  they  had  increased  to 
upwards  of  20,000,  and  in  1910  to  approxi- 
mately 35,000.  This  large  increase  in  numbers 
is  undoubtedly  due  to  the  fact  that  they  have 
been  permitted  to  remain  in  their  original 
country  and  to  maintain  their  normal  habits 
and  methods  of  life,  in  a  wide  and  ample  ter- 
ritory. Their  reservation,  chiefly  desert  land, 
lying  at  an  average  altitude  of  6,000  feet  above 
the  sea,  has  little  or  no  attraction  to  the  white 
settler.  It  includes  an  area  of  9,503,763  acres, 
practically  no  part  of  which  is  adapted  to  agri- 
culture. It  offers,  however,  fair  pasturage  for 
sheep  and  goats,  in  which  animals  the  Navajos 
are  rich  and  from  the  sale  of  wool  and  blankets 
enjoy  a  regular  income,  which  enables  them  to 
live  comfortably  and  without  privation. 

It  is  said  that  in  a  raid  upon  an  early  Span- 
ish settlement  on  the  Rio  Grande,  they  secured 
their  first  flock  of  sheep.  Pueblo  women  doubt- 
less taught  them  the  art  of  weaving  blankets 
from  the  wool,  and  thus  they  developed  the 


LAND  OF  HOFI  AND  NAVAJO  121 

blanket  for  which  they  are  celebrated;  from 
this  beginning  the  Navajo  became  a  pastoral 
people. 

They  are  true  Bedouins  in  their  habits,  con- 
stantly moving  from  place  to  place  with  their 
flocks,  living  in  hogans  and  defying  civiliza- 
tion. Some  of  them,  where  water  is  sufficiently 
plentiful  to  irrigate  small  areas  of  land,  raise 
maize,  fruit,  and  melons,  but  agriculture  is  sec- 
ondary to  sheep  herding,  and  once  their  crops 
are  gathered  they  move  and  continue  to  move 
until  planting  time  comes  again. 

The  Navajo  is  exceedingly  fond  of  personal 
adornment.  He  dresses,  when  he  can  afford  it, 
in  velvet,  and  bedecks  himself  in  ornaments  of 
turquoise  and  silver.  Some  of  their  silver- 
smiths, working  with  the  crudest  implements, 
fashion  necklaces,  bracelets,  and  other  jewelry 
of  real  artistic  merit.  Their  pottery,  however, 
is  of  very  indifferent  quality,  as  is  also  their 
basketware. 

Like  most  of  our  North  American  Indians, 
the  Navajos  are  found  to  be  talkative,  joviil, 
and  good-natured  on  acquaintance,  though 
silent  and  apparently  sullen  in  the  presence  of 
strangers.  They  say  that  the  supremest  crea- 
tion of  the  Great  Spirit  was  the  Navajo  Indian; 
the  next  lower  the  Paiute ;  then  the  Hopi ;  and, 


122  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

lowest  and  meanest  of  all  in  the  scale  of  human 
creation,  the  white  man.  They  are  inveterate 
gamblers,  and  at  the  same  time  very  fond  of 
sports  and  games  that  call  for  physical  prowess. 
Their  runners  are  famous  for  endurance  and 
the  rapidity  with  which  they  can  cover  long 
distances,  and,  possessing  many  ponies,  both 
sexes  ride  from  earliest  childhood. 

They  are  an  industrious,  progressive  people, 
ever  ready  for  employment  that  will  yield 
them  remuneration.  The  women  hold  a  high 
social  position  in  the  tribe  and  are  treated  with 
great  consideration.  Descent  is  on  the  mother's 
side,  and  a  son  belongs  to  his  mother's,  not  his 
father's,  clan.  When  he  marries  he  must 
choose  a  wife  from  another  clan  than  his  own. 

Recent  investigations  prove  the  Navajo  a 
deeply  religious  people.  They  possess  a  wealth 
of  myths  and  legends.  Their  religious  ritual 
embraces  a  vast  number  of  prayers.  Their 
musical  compositions  bear  a  strong  resemblance 
to  our  own.  The  many  divinities  of  the  Navajo 
are  principally  animal  and  nature  gods,  of 
whom  the  chief  is  the  Goddess  Estsanatlehi 
(woman  who  changes).  This  goddess  doubt- 
less represents  Nature,  blooming  forth  in 
beauty  in  spring,  fading  in  autumn,  withering 
in  winter,  to   burst  forth  with  new  life  and 


LAND  OF  HOPI  AND  NAVAJO  123 

beauty  again  with  each  return  of  spring — never 
dying,  like  mankind,  but  passing  from  youth 
to  old  age  to  rejuvenate  herself  and  live  over 
again  her  life,  year  after  year,  into  infinity. 

Religious  ceremonies  are  held  at  irregular 
intervals,  the  prime  incentive  of  all  these  cere- 
monies being  to  heal  the  sick.  Their  intricate 
rituals  usually  require  nine  days  in  perform- 
ance, and  sachems  or  priests,  personators  of 
gods,  are  called  upon  to  repeat  a  vast  number 
of  prayers,  interspersed  with  songs.  All  must 
be  done  with  absolute  exactness,  and  prepara- 
tion for  the  work  calls  for  all  but  superhuman 
memories  on  the  part  of  the  performers.  The 
medicine  lodge  and  the  sweat  house  are  used, 
with  paraphernalia  of  ceremonial  rugs,  baskets, 
medicine  tubes,  and  costumes. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  features  of  these 
ceremonies  is  the  wonderful  sand  paintings,  ex- 
ecuted by  the  artist  priests  with  colored  sand, 
representing  mythical  beings  or  occurrences. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  the  sand  painting  por- 
tion of  the  Navajo  rituals  was  drawn  from  sim- 
ilar paintings  and  work  of  the  Pueblo  Indians 
and  has  been  modified  by  the  Navajo  to  suit  the 
requirements  of  his  religion.  Gaming,  horse 
racing,  and  foot  racing  are  held  in  conjunction 
with  the  nine-day  religious  ceremonies. 


124  SADDLE  AND  CAME 

Unlike  the  Hopi,  the  Navajo  is  exceedingly 
superstitious  about  handling  dead  bodies.  He 
believes  that  the  evil  spirit  that  kills  a  person 
hovers  about  the  hogan,  or  lodge,  awaiting 
other  victims,  and  a  hogan  in  which  a  death 
occurs  is  never  again  occupied.  Navajo  hogans 
are  always  built  with  the  entrance  facing  the 
east,  and  when  a  death  takes  place  in  one  of 
them  another  opening  is  invariably  made  in 
the  north  side.  Therefore,  when  one  sees  a 
hogan  with  an  opening  to  the  north,  one  may  be 
certain  that  some  one  has  died  in  it  and  that  it 
has  been  abandoned. 

Thus  the  Navajos  live  the  free,  pastoral,  no- 
madic life  for  which  nature  has  designed  them, 
with  an  ample  reservation  over  which  to  range. 
They  are  industrious  and  progressive,  enjoying 
the  good  health  insured  them  by  a  free,  wild 
life  in  the  region  to  which  they  are  acclimated. 
This  is  why  they  are  increasing  in  numbers. 
They  are  industrious  and  progressive  because 
they  have  a  religious  faith  that  holds  them  to  a 
high  standard  of  morality  and  permits  them  to 
maintain  their  self-respect. 

Our  visit  at  Tuba  was  all  too  short,  and  with 
regret  we  turned  our  back  upon  this  charming 
oasis,  and  its  interesting  people,  to  renew  our 
trail  over  the  desert  to  Utah  and  the  north. 


LAND  OF  HOPI  AND  NAVAJO  185 

Note. — In  compiling  the  material  in  this  chapter  relative  to  the 
Hopi  and  Navajo  Indians,  I  have  drawn  largely  upon  the  reports  of 
such  noted  anthropologists  as  Dr.  F.  W.  Hodge,  Dr.  Washington  Mat- 
thews, and  James  Stevenson,  and  upon  the  publications  of  the  American 
Bureau  of  Ethnology,  and  have  endeavored  to  verify  by  undisputed 
authority  all  of  my  personal  observations  and  investigations  made  upon 
the  ground. — D.  W. 


CHAPTER   X 

GOOD-BYE  TO  ARIZONA 

TEN  miles  northwest  of  Tuba  is  Willow 
Spring.  Between  Tuba  and  Willow 
Spring  is  Lee's  Ranch,  the  former  home 
of  the  renegade  Lee,  and  just  beyond  is  Moen 
Ave.  At  all  of  these  places  springs  gush  out 
of  the  cliffs.  A  missionary  resides  at  Lee's 
Ranch,  and  Navajo  Indians  have  small,  poorly 
cared  for  gardens  at  Moen  Ave.  Willow 
Spring  is  the  last  of  the  series  of  oases  border- 
ing upon  Tuba  and  the  Moen  Copie  in  the 
northerly  course  that  we  were  to  follow.  Be- 
yond are  the  Cottonwood  tanks,  McClellan 
tanks,  and  Limestone  tanks,  cavities  in  rocks  at 
the  foot  of  canons  that  catch  and  hold  rain 
water.  Sometimes  after  long  dry  periods  some 
or  all  of  these  tanks  are  empty,  as  water  evap- 
orates quickly  here.  Always  the  water  to  be 
found  in  them  is  stale. 

126 


Alongside  the  Lines  of  Dancers  and  Directing  Them  were  Uncostumed  Old  Men. 


Vermilion  Cliffs, 


GOOD-BYE   TO  ARIZONA       127 

Fifty  miles  beyond  Willow  Spring  is  Bitter 
Spring,  the  first  dependable  water,  but  no  one 
ever  drinks  it  unless  driven  to  do  so  by  extrem- 
ity, and  even  then  in  small  quantities,  for  it  is 
rank  with  ill-tasting  minerals  and  contains  a 
percentage  of  poison.  Ten  miles  beyond  Bitter 
Spring,  however,  Navajo  Spring,  pure  and 
cold,  bubbles  out  of  a  canon  in  the  Echo  Cliffs, 
and  ten  miles  beyond  Navajo  Spring  is  Lee's 
Ferry  on  the  Colorado  River. 

We  wound  down  the  trail  that  leads  from  the 
mesa  to  the  lower  level,  passed  Lee's  Ranch  and 
Moen  Ave  and  at  midforenoon  reached  Wil- 
low Spring,  watered  our  horses,  filled  our  can- 
teens, and  drank  deeply  ourselves,  for  we  real- 
ized that  this  was  the  last  good  water  we  were 
to  have  until  we  reached  Navajo  Springs. 
Then  we  turned  into  the  trail  leading  north- 
ward over  the  desert,  following  the  red-and- 
pink  walls  of  Echo  cliffs,  which  rose  on  our 
right  a  serrated  ridge  several  hundred  feet  in 
height,  while  to  the  left  lay  a  mesa  broken  with 
many  canons.  During  the  afternoon  Cotton- 
wood tanks  were  passed,  a  pile  of  stones  by  the 
side  of  the  main  trail  marking  the  by-trail 
which  led  to  the  tanks  a  mile  to  the  westward  in 
the  mouth  of  a  canon. 

All    the   country   was   naked   of   vegetation, 


128  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

save  greasewood  and  sage  brush.  It  was  a  sea- 
son of  excessive  drought,  and  where  normally 
the  traveler  might  expect  to  find  pasturage  for 
his  horses  the  sand  reaches  spread  out  quite 
bare  of  nurturing  browse.  Scarcely  a  blade  of 
grass  indeed  was  seen,  until  in  mounting  Cedar 
Ridge  a  bit  of  fairly  good  browsing  was  en- 
countered on  the  summit  among  the  straggling, 
stunted  cedars  which  cover  it.  Here  we  turned 
our  famished  animals  loose  to  forage. 

Our  fire  was  scarce  lighted  when  a  young 
Paiute  buck  rode  up,  dismounted,  and  in  the 
most  matter-of-course  way  squatted  by  the  fire 
to  await  a  share  of  the  supper  John  was  cook- 
ing. When  he  had  eaten  his  fill  he  asked  for 
tobacco,  as  though  it  were  his  right.  We  sup- 
plied his  needs  and  he  sat  with  us  and  smoked 
until  dusk.  He  spoke  very  good  English,  and 
before  mounting  his  pony  to  gallop  away,  re- 
marked: 

"Me  plenty  tobacco;  me  money;  grub  plenty; 
no  poor  Indian.  White  man  always  give  In- 
dian eat;   smoke." 

He  was  proud  and  wished  us  to  understand 
that  he  was  in  no  sense  a  beggar,  but  a  visitor. 

Usually  the  Indians  met  with  by  the  traveler 
along  this  desert  trail  are  Navajos,  with  an  oc- 
casional Paiute  north  of  Tuba.     They  are  not 


GOOD-BYE   TO  ARIZONA       129 

evil-disposed  toward  the  traveler,  and  their  vis- 
its to  travelers'  camps  are  prompted  by  a  natu- 
ral curiosity  to  see  the  white  man  and  the  white 
man's  outfit,  and  occasionally  they  come  to  bar- 
ter. But  the  main  object  is  always  the  com- 
parative certainty  of  securing  a  square  meal 
and  a  smoke.  Indians  are  ever  ready  to  eat, 
and  tobacco  is  dear  to  their  hearts. 

Some  writers  who  have  visited  the  Navajo 
country  describe  in  highly  colored,  sensational, 
and  sometimes  even  blood-curdling  terms  the 
Indians'  descent  upon  their  camps.  They  tell 
of  whooping,  screeching  Indians  riding  down 
upon  them  with  horses  at  a  run  and  then  watch- 
ing them  with  suspicious  and  sinister  looks;  and 
the  traveler  tells  us  how  his  party  keeps  vigil 
through  the  night,  hourly  expecting  to  be  at- 
tacked by  the  blood-thirsty  savages!  He  im- 
presses upon  us  how  very  brave  he  is  to  ven- 
ture into  the  territory  of  these  wild  Indians. 

All  this  is  nonsense.  The  Indian  habitually 
rides  at  a  canter.  Very  often  he  whoops  upon 
approaching  a  camp,  but  this  is  to  herald  his 
coming,  that  the  camper  may  not  be  startled 
by  his  unannounced  arrival.  He  who  feels  even 
the  least  tingle  of  fear  or  apprehension  through 
the  Indian's  visit  is  a  timid  creature  indeed. 
These    "adventures"    have    a    place    with    the 


130  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

stories  of  travelers  in  our  northern  forests  who 
endeavor  to  impress  their  readers  with  the  be- 
lief that  wild  beasts  line  the  trail,  awaiting  a 
chance  to  devour  the  unwary,  and  that  only 
the  untiring  vigilance  and  superb  bravery  of 
the  traveler-writer  saves  him  from  a  thousand 
deaths.  We  have,  let  it  be  said,  no  wilderness 
in  the  United  States  where  one  requires  as 
much  as  a  revolver  for  protective  purposes.  The 
Indians  are  quite  harmless  and  there  is  but  one 
animal  to  be  feared — the  hydrophobic  skunk 
mentioned  in  another  chapter. 

Let  me  say  also  that  danger  on  the  desert 
from  rattlesnakes  is  largely  illusory.  The  rat- 
tler lurks  in  bunches  of  sage  and  greasewood, 
and  the  traveler  must  practice  a  small  amount 
of  ordinary  caution,  but  that  is  all.  At  night 
the  snakes  are  harmless,  for  they  lie  quiet 
after  sundown  when  the  cool  of  evening  comes, 
and  it  is  quite  unnecessary  to  spread  hair  lariats 
or  other  obstacles  around  the  camp  to  keep 
them  out.  A  rattlesnake  bite  is  painful,  but  is 
by  no  means  likely  to  be  fatal  if  simple  treat- 
ment is  resorted  to  promptly.  I  have  known 
many  men  who  have  been  bitten,  but  never  one 
who  died  from  a  rattlesnake  bite.  One  soon 
ceases  to  give  the  snakes  a  thought. 

Beyond  Cedar  Ridge  we  visited  both  Mc- 


Watering  at   McClellan's  Tanks. 


House  Rock  From  Which   House  Rock  Valley  Takes  Its  Name. 


GOOD-BYE   TO  ARIZONA       1S1 

Clellan  and  Limestone  tanks.  Each  lay  a  mile 
or  more  to  the  left  of  our  trail  in  canons  cut- 
ting the  mesa.  The  government  had  enlarged 
the  former  tank  with  cement  walls,  thus  con- 
siderably increasing  its  capacity.  We  halted  at 
both  to  water  the  horses,  and  at  Limestone 
tanks — several  deep  holes  in  the  limestone 
rocks,  just  as  nature  made  them — where  the 
water  was  less  stale  than  at  McClellan  tanks, 
we  replenished  our  canteens.  The  trails 
branching  to  both  from  the  main  trail,  as  in  the 
case  of  Cottonwood  tanks,  were  marked  by 
piles  of  stones. 

The  scenery  here  is  exceedingly  picturesque. 
To  the  left  lies  the  mesa  broken  by  its  numer- 
ous canons;  to  the  right  rise  the  highly  col- 
ored Echo  Cliffs ;  to  the  north,  beyond  the  level 
stretch  of  desert,  and  at  right  angles  to  Echo 
Cliffs,  rise  the  equally  rugged  and  highly  col- 
ored Vermilion  Cliffs  beyond  Marble  Canon 
and  the  Colorado  River,  which  they  parallel. 
Deep  as  the  gash  is,  however,  through  which 
the  Colorado  flows,  no  hint  of  its  presence  is 
given  the  traveler  as  he  looks  away  over  the 
great  stretch  of  country  to  Vermilion  Cliffs. 
Indeed,  one  might  ride  almost  to  the  very  brink 
of  the  canon  before  discovering  it.  Distances 
are  vast  and  deceiving.    One  may  ride  toward 


188  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

an  observed  point  that  appears  very  near  at 
hand,  but  frequently  hours  of  steady  plodding 
will  be  consumed  before  the  point  is  reached. 

Echo  Cliffs  finally  turn  sharply  to  the  north- 
east, to  be  lost  in  a  great  mass  of  red,  yellow, 
and  gray  peaks  through  which  the  Colorado 
winds  its  way,  to  the  point  where  the  Vermilion 
Cliffs  on  the  north  side  of  the  river  have  their 
beginning.  Deep  down  among  these  peaks  lies 
Lee's  Ferry.  Bitter  Spring  is  near  the  bend  in 
Echo  Cliffs.  We  did  not  stop  here,  but  did 
halt  at  Navajo  Springs,  which  were  reached 
early  in  the  forenoon  of  the  third  day  from 
Tuba.  Onward  from  Navajo  Springs  our 
course  was  up  and  down  across  deep  gulches, 
until  near  midday  we  encountered  the  mass  of 
broken  mountain  peaks  and  the  Colorado 
River. 

The  old  emigrant  trail  led  around  and 
through  a  pass  by  a  circuitous  route  to  the 
ferry,  but  a  new  and  shorter  trail  has  been  cut 
along  the  edge  of  a  cliff  and  several  hundred 
feet  above  the  river  which  washes  the  cliff's 
base.  This  we  followed,  with  rocks  hanging 
high  above  us  and  an  almost  perpendicular 
drop  to  the  water  below.  I  was  mounted  on 
Shorty  and  was  exceedingly  glad  when  we  be- 
gan our  descent  to  the  ferry,  for  I  never  knew 


GOOD-BYE   TO   ARIZONA       133 

when  Shorty  might  take  it  into  his  fickle  head 
to  rear  or  buck.  However,  the  passage  was 
made  in  safety. 

Here  we  found  several  tents  and  an  extensive 
placer  mining  plant  in  course  of  erection.  The 
sands  at  this  point  and  for  a  hundred  miles 
above  are  rich  with  gold,  but  in  such  fine  par- 
ticles that  heretofore  it  has  not  been  found  pos- 
sible to  wash  it.  The  company  establishing 
the  present  plant,  however,  claim  to  have  se- 
cured machinery  that  will  do  the  work  profit- 
ably. 

The  ferry,  a  small  scow,  is  attached  to  a  cable 
stretched  across  the  river,  and  is  operated  by 
hand.  It  was  in  so  dilapidated  a  condition, 
and  so  dangerous  at  this  time,  that  no  charge 
was  made  for  taking  passengers  or  outfits  across, 
and  travelers  accepting  the  passage  did  so  at 
their  own  risk.  The  approach  was  in  very  poor 
condition  and  horses  could  be  loaded  only  at 
danger  of  broken  legs.  There  was  nothing  to 
do  but  attempt  it,  however,  and  two  miners  vol- 
unteered to  assist  us.  The  horses  were  unsad- 
dled and  unpacked,  our  outfit  loaded,  and  the 
animals  finally  taken  aboard  without  accident. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  this  was  a  novel 
experience  for  range  horses,  but  all  of  them  be- 
haved exceedingly  well   save  Shorty.     While 


134  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

John  and  the  miners  worked  the  ferry  across  I 
held  him  by  the  nose.  Once  he  lifted  me  clear 
off  my  feet  in  an  effort  to  rear  and  plunge,  and 
I  thought  for  a  moment  both  of  us  were  going 
overboard.  But  nothing  of  consequence  hap- 
pened, and  at  length  we  found  ourselves  and 
outfit  safely  landed  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
Colorado. 

Lee's  Ferry,  as  previously  stated,  was  estab- 
lished by  the  Mormon  elder  John  D.  Lee  a  lit- 
tle way  above  the  junction  of  the  Paria  with  the 
Colorado  River.  Not  far  from  the  ferry,  on 
the  north  side  of  the  Colorado,  is  a  small  stone 
house,  built  and  once  occupied  by  Lee  and  a 
mile  or  so  beyond,  where  the  Paria  Canon 
widens,  is  an  alluvial  flat,  embracing  thirty  or 
forty  acres,  which  Lee  cleared  and  irrigated. 
He  built  himself  a  ranch  house  here  where  he 
lived  in  hiding,  when  not  at  Moen  Ave  or 
Tuba,  and  here  he  was  found  with  his  four- 
teenth wife,  Emeline  Vaughn,  by  Major  J.  W. 
Powell,  when  Major  Powell  made  his  second 
exploratory  journey  down  the  Colorado.  Major 
Powell  describes  the  meeting  with  Lee  as  fol- 
lows: 

"In  making  a  turn  around  the  cliff,  I  was 
surprised  to  see  a  little  rude  stone  house,  and 
as  I  approached  it  a  woman  opened  the  door 


GOOD-BYE   TO  ARIZONA       135 

and  hastily  reappeared  with  a  gun  in  her  hand. 
She  was  quickly  followed  by  a  man,  also  with 
a  gun.  In  a  threatening  attitude  they  came  out 
to  meet  me;  being  unarmed  myself  I  spoke  to 
them  by  bidding  them  good-day  and  making 
some  pleasant  remark,  but  not  until  I  had 
heard  the  woman  say  to  the  man,  'Don't  shoot, 
he's  all  right.'  I  entered  into  a  conversation 
with  them  and  they  invited  me  to  eat  melons, 
which  I  did  with  a  gusto,  and  we  parted  with 
expressions  of  good  will — for  they  seemed  very 
much  interested  in  my  explorations  and  came 
down  to  the  river  to  see  me  off." 

Emeline  Vaughn  was  an  athlete  and  she  told 
Major  Powell  she  could  whip  her  "weight  in 
wildcats."  Lee  was  later  arrested  and  tried  for 
his  part  in  the  Mountain  Meadows  massacre, 
and  on  March  twenty-seventh,  1877,  was  exe~ 
cuted  upon  the  scene  of  the  massacre,  near  a 
pile  of  stones  which  marks  the  grave  of  the 
murdered  emigrants.  He  was  a  descendant  of 
General  Lee  of  Revolutionary  fame,  and  a 
blood  relation  of  the  Confederate  General  Rob- 
ert E.  Lee. 

The  ferry  became  the  property  of  the  Mor- 
mon church  and  was  held  by  the  church  until 
the  year  1910,  when  it  was  purchased  by  the 
Grand      Canon      Cattle      Company.      Navajo 


136  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

County,  Arizona,  has  since  arranged  with  the 
cattle  company  to  build  and  install  a  new  and 
safe  boat  and  make  the  approaches  safe,  and 
doubtless  these  improvements  were  completed  a 
few  weeks  after  our  passage. 

What  was  John's  surprise  to  find  one  of  his 
nieces,  her  husband,  and  her  husband's  brother 
— Johnson  by  name — in  charge  of  the  property 
in  the  interests  of  the  cattle  company.  Our 
welcome  was  royal.  Watermelons  and  musk- 
melons  from  the  irrigated  garden  and  apples 
from  the  orchard  were  set  before  us,  unex- 
pected luxuries. 

Our  bed  spread  in  the  open,  as  usual,  was, 
however,  the  most  uncomfortable  of  the  trip, 
for  here  in  the  depths  of  the  canon  the  night 
was  very  warm,  mosquitoes  were  much  too  nu- 
merous and  active,  and  we  were  glad  enough 
the  next  morning  to  wind  our  way  to  the  high 
plain  above  the  river. 

Here  we  were  on  the  Kaibab  Plateau.  The 
scenery  through  this  whole  region  is  over- 
powering in  its  grandeur.  The  highly  colored 
peaks  and  cliffs,  rising  in  rugged  confusion  on 
every  side,  the  canons,  and  the  sullen  river  be- 
low combine  to  form  one  of  nature's  wonder 
spots.  One  notable  landmark,  which  we  had 
passed  on  the  south  of  the  Colorado  River — 


GOOD-BYE   TO   ARIZONA       137 

the  Shinumo  Altar — stood  out  prominently  on 
the  landscape  and  within  our  view  for  two  days. 
On  the  plains  we  followed  for  several  days  the 
Vermilion  Cliffs,  plodding  our  way  toward  the 
Buckskin  Mountains  to  the  westward,  through 
which  the  Colorado  breaks  to  form  that  stu- 
pendous work  of  nature,  the  Grand  Canon, 
and  to  the  southwest  the  entrance  of  the  great 
gorge  was  plainly  visible. 

Fifteen  miles  from  the  ferry  we  crossed  Soap 
Creek.  A  tiny  bit  of  water  trickled  down  over 
the  sand  and  we  dug  a  hole  with  our  cups  that 
the  horses  might  drink.  The  next  water  was  at 
Jacob's  Pools,  and  twelve  miles  farther  a  vile 
sink  hole.  Beyond  that  lay  House  Rock  Spring 
and  finally  Coyote  Holes. 

On  the  third  day  from  Lee's  Ferry  we 
crossed  Jones'  buffalo  range  in  House  Rock 
Valley  and  saw  one  lone  buffalo  cow,  which 
watched  us  curiously  from  a  distance.  That 
evening  the  Escalante  Mountains  in  Utah 
loomed  ahead,  grim  and  gray.  On  our  right 
the  Vermilion  Cliffs  still  held  their  place,  and 
very  near  now  on  our  left  lay  the  blue-gray 
Buckskins.  It  was  that  night,  near  dark,  that 
we  reached  the  Coyote  Holes  and  camped  near 
them,  for  a  day's  march  lay  between  them  and 
the  next  water. 


138  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

Here  we  had  the  first  rain  since  leaving  the 
Mogollon  Mesa,  far  south  of  Winslow.  All 
night  it  poured.  We  did  not  pitch  our  tent, 
but  drew  it  over  us  and  were  very  snug  and 
comfortable  as  we  slept. 

Another  day  carried  us  over  the  end  of  the 
Buckskins  with  their  scanty  growth  of  scrubby 
cedars  and  pinons,  though  farther  southward 
lies  a  great  forest  of  pine.  This  region  is  in- 
cluded within  the  Grand  Canon  Forest  Re- 
serve, and  on  a  lonely,  scrubby  cedar  in  the 
midst  of  sagebrush  and  far  from  timber  an 
active  ranger  with  a  sense  of  humor  had  posted 
a  warning  against  forest  fires. 

At  four  o'clock  on  Saturday  afternoon,  Au- 
gust 13th,  we  rode  into  the  little  Mormon  ham- 
let of  Johnson,  on  the  edge  of  the  desert,  and 
were  welcomed  and  entertained  for  the  night 
by  John's  oldest  sister,  Mrs.  Young,  whom  he 
had  not  seen  for  many  years.  On  Sunday  we 
continued  to  Kanab,  fourteen  miles  below 
Johnson,  and  here  John  met  his  mother.  He 
had  not  seen  her  in  fourteen  years,  and  she  did 
not  recognize  him  when  he  presented  himself 
to  her.  The  meeting  was  most  affecting.  John, 
the  frontiersman,  could  not  repress  his  tears  as 
he  took  his  old  mother  in  his  arms.  She  was  a 
sweet  old  lady,  born  in  Cambridge,  Mass.,  sev- 


At  Limestone  Tanks  We  Replenished  Our  Canteens. 


+3f 


Kanab   Dam,    300  Feet  Long,   c,o  Feet  High,   Built  by  Ranchmen, 
Holds  Kanab's  Prosperity. 


GOOD-BYE   TO  ARIZONA       139 

enty-eight  years  before,  of  an  old  New  Eng- 
land family. 

"My  oldest  child,"  she  said  with  pride,  "is 
a  daughter  sixty  years  old.  John  is  my  baby. 
I  have  two  hundred  and  three  living  descend- 
ants, and  one  hundred  and  one  great  grand- 
children.   That  isn't  race  suicide,  is  it?" 

Kanab  lies  just  north  of  the  Arizona  line,  in 
Kane  County,  Utah.  In  crossing  the  line  I  had 
left  Arizona  behind  me,  and  my  trail  thence 
was  to  carry  me  through  the  entire  length  of 
Utah,  from  its  southern  to  its  northern  bound- 
ary. In  reaching  this  point  we  had  traversed 
a  full  eight  hundred  miles  of  Arizona  mountain 
and  desert  trails  and  passed  through  some  of 
the  Territory's  best  game  and  fish  country.  In 
the  course  of  this  journey  I  was  impressed  with 
the  fact  that  Arizona's  wild  game  is  receiving 
scant  attention  and  protection.  The  system  of 
wardenship  appeared  to  me  most  inadequate. 
Everywhere  men  spoke  most  unreservedly  of 
killing  deer  and  antelope  in  and  out  of  season, 
and  few  had  any  realization  of  the  necessity  of 
protecting  these  animals,  or  possessed  any  sense 
of  an  obligation  to  respect  the  game  laws.  To 
a  certain  extent  this  is  perhaps  a  condition 
bound  to  prevail  in  every  sparsely  settled 
region,  but  the  game  regions  of  Arizona  could 


140  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

be,  with  small  expense,  ~nd  most  assuredly 
should  be,  better  patrolled  and  the  game  laws 
more  stringently  enforced  than  at  present. 

This  lack  of  protection  has  already  resulted 
in  the  extinction  of  elk  in  Arizona.  Antelope, 
once  so  numerous  on  the  open  plains,  are  near- 
ing  extinction.  Mountain  sheep,  which,  as  in 
the  case  of  antelope,  now  have  perpetual  pro- 
tection by  law,  are  few  in  number  and,  like  an- 
telope, are  killed  in  spite  of  law,  because  there 
are  too  few  and  in  some  sections  practically  no 
wardens  to  watch  the  hunters  and  enforce  the 
law. 

In  the  nature  of  the  case  it  is  extremely  dif- 
ficult, I  may  say  impossible,  to  estimate  with 
any  degree  of  accuracy  the  amount  of  game  in- 
habiting so  wide  an  area  as  that  embraced 
within  the  bounds  of  Arizona.  There  is  a  small 
band  of  mountain  sheep  in  the  Four  Peaks  in 
the  southeast,  probably  some  fifteen  or  twenty; 
another  small  band  of  ten  or  perhaps  fifteen  on 
Ord  and  Thomas  Peaks,  another  band  in  Artil- 
lery Peak  in  the  west,  with  the  larger  bands  in 
the  Grand  Canon  region.  It  has  been  claimed 
that  a  small  number  inhabit  the  San  Francisco 
Peaks  near  Flagstaff. 

I  visited  Flagstaff  and  interviewed  hunters  at 
Winslow,  who  are  familiar  with  these  moun- 


GOOD-BYE   TO  ARIZONA       141 

tains,  with  the  hope  of  verifying  this,  but  the 
reports  were  most  indefinite  and  unsatisfactory. 
I  could  find  not  one  man  who  could  say  posi- 
tively that  he  had  seen  so  much  as  a  single 
sheep  here  in  several  years,  and  others  declared 
that  there  were  none.  This  leads  me  to  the  re- 
gretful conclusion  that  the  last  mountain  sheep 
to  inhabit  the  San  Francisco  Peaks  was  killed 
a  few  years  since.  As  a  result  of  this  personal 
observation,  as  well  as  information  obtained 
through  correspondence,  I  am  led  to  estimate 
the  number  of  mountain  sheep  in  Arizona  at 
approximately  four  hundred,  and  it  is  certain 
that  this  is  an  exceedingly  liberal  estimate. 

In  the  White  Mountains,  in  the  Mogollon 
Mesa,  and  in  the  Buckskin  Mountains,  as  well 
as  elsewhere,  there  are  still  a  great  many  deer, 
but  it  would  be  quite  useless  even  to  attempt  to 
approximate  their  number.  Bear,  too,  are  still 
fairly  plentiful,  though  rarely  now,  it  may  be 
said  never,  does  one  hear  of  their  depredations 
upon  ranches,  and  the  time  has  undoubtedly 
come  when  some  protection  should  be  extended 
to  them.  It  is  certain  that  the  bounty  on  them 
should  be  discontinued. 

Predatory  animals,  chiefly  jaguars  and  coy- 
otes, are  plentiful  and  are  a  large  factor  in  the 
destruction    of    game.      The    jaguar    doubtless 


112  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

plays  a  larger  part  than  the  huntsman's  rifle  in 
diminishing  and  gradually  but  surely  pushing 
to  extinction  the  small  herds  of  mountain  sheep 
still  left  to  Arizona. 

Here  at  Kanab  John  and  I  were  to  part,  he  to 
return  to  Pinedale,  I  to  continue  alone  on  the 
trail  to  the  northward. 


CHAPTER   XI 

POPLAR  TREES  AND  MORMON  BEARDS 

KANAB  village  lies  in  the  center  of  a 
small  area  irrigated  by  the  waters  of 
Kanab  Creek,  which  is  dammed  to  make 
a  reservoir  where  the  mountains  above  the  set- 
tlement close  in  to  form  the  upper  canon. 
Stretching  out  below  Kanab  on  either  side  of 
the  creek,  or  wash,  as  it  is  locally  called,  is  a 
desert  area  over  which  cattle  roam  and  some- 
how subsist  and  thrive  upon  exceedingly  scant 
pasturage.  On  the  east  of  the  creek  the  desert 
reaches  down  to  the  forest  covered  region  of 
the  Buckskin  or  Kaibab  Plateau,  the  game 
region,  where  jaguar,  deer,  and  bear  are  plenti- 
ful, while  to  the  west  of  the  creek  lies  the  Ka- 
nab Plateau.  Not  far  below  Kanab  the  creek 
passes  through  a  gorge  which  soon  grows  into 
a  mighty  and  picturesque  canon,  with  walls  of 

143 


144  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

vari-colored  rock  rising  four  thousand  feet 
above  the  creek,  where  it  joins  the  Colorado 
River  in  the  Grand  Canon. 

A  year  before  our  visit  the  dam  above  Kanab 
gave  way  and  left  the  settlement  without  water, 
either  to  irrigate  its  fields  or  for  household 
purposes.  This  was  so  great  a  calamity  to  the 
settlement  that  for  a  time  it  was  a  question 
with  the  people  whether  it  would  not  be 
cheaper  for  them  to  abandon  Kanab  and  their 
homes  permanently  than  to  rebuild  the  dam,  a 
course  which  would  have  meant  to  the  ma- 
jority a  loss  of  their  all.  It  was  finally  decided, 
however,  to  rebuild.  A  spring  was  tapped  in 
the  mountains  and  the  water  piped  to  the  set- 
tlement for  household  use.  Until  this  was  ac- 
complished all  water  had  to  be  hauled  several 
miles  in  barrels. 

This  provision  of  necessity  made,  the  settlers 
turned  with  the  will  of  pioneers  to  the  task  of 
constructing  the  dam.  It  was  a  tremendous 
undertaking  to  build  a  sufficient  and  efficient 
dam  across  the  canon  without  the  assistance  of 
machinery  or  modern  apparatus,  but  every  man 
and  boy  capable  of  handling  pick  or  shovel,  and 
every  horse  in  the  settlement,  went  to  the  work, 
and  at  the  end  of  a  year  this  all  but  superhuman 
task  had  been  completed. 


TREES  AND  MORMON  BEARDS  145 

During  this  period  no  gardens  were  planted 
and  no  crops  raised,  for  nothing  will  grow  in 
this  arid  region  without  the  assistance  of  arti- 
ficial irrigation.  When  we  were  in  Kanab  the 
fields  were  dry  and  dead  and  the  leaves  on 
orchard  and  shade  trees  withered  and  falling 
like  frost-killed  leaves  in  late  autumn. 

The  dam  was  finished,  however,  the  water 
behind  it,  forty  feet  deep,  was  almost  high 
enough  to  turn  into  the  sluiceways  that  feed  the 
irrigation  ditches,  and  it  was  expected  that 
within  a  week  the  fields  would  be  watered,  with 
still  an  ample  season  to  grow  one  crop  of  al- 
falfa before  winter  set  in.  We  found  the  peo- 
ple, with  deliverance  from  long  drought  at 
hand,  hopeful  and  jubilant  and  in  high  spirits, 
over  the  prospects. 

Kanab  is  the  center  of  a  stock  region,  but 
much  fruit  of  a  high  quality  is  grown  in  its 
limited  irrigated  area.  Westward,  in  Washing- 
ton County,  Utah,  some  two  days'  journey  by 
wagon  trail  from  Kanab,  lies  the  famous  Dixie 
fruit  region,  in  the  Rio  Virgin  Valley.  The 
valley  there  is  sunken  low  between  the  moun- 
tains and  particularly  adapted  to  fruit  growing. 
A  variety  of  seedless  raisin  grape,  peculiar  to 
Dixie,  is  unsurpassed  in  the  world,  and  the  na- 
tives assert  that  California  has  never  produced 


•  ■■     -      --  '       -    ■■■•-■ '■     ■—- — —    ■■         ■-  -.~"^.w-^.-yA-i^;V*n—  <*.<■. ~^.4HMfa^:.*.--     ~»—  , 


146  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

a  pear  or  peach,  or  any  fruit  in  fact,  of  higher 
quality  or  flavor  than  the  fruit  of  Dixie. 

One  feature  of  Kanab  is  its  weekly  news- 
paper, the  Lone  Cedar.  This  is  perhaps  the 
smallest  newspaper  published  in  the  United 
States.  The  editor,  Mr.  C.  H.  Townsend,  sets 
the  type  and  prints  it  himself  on  a  hand  press, 
and  I  understand  that  every  family  in  Kanab 
was  on  its  subscription  list.  It  is  pungent,  orig- 
inal, and  typically  frontier.  One  or  two  para- 
graphs quoted  from  the  issue  of  August  20th, 
1 9 10,  will  serve  as  illustrations  of  its  aggressive 
and  characteristic  style: 

"Mr.  Townson 
"Please  to  not  let  us  see  Cora  Button's  name  attacht  to  scandel 
in  the  Lone  Cedar  once  more 

"her  Freind 

"Kanab  Utah 
look  out  for  trouble  if  you 

DO" 
"Such  rot  as  this  shoved  under  an  editor's  door  never  has  nor  never 
will  gain  the  writer  of  it  any  consideration  from  a  newspaper.  The 
Lone  Cedar  will  not  be  intimidated  out  of  publishing  the  Court  News 
by  any  such  trash  especially  when  we  know  who  writes  it.  .  .  .  No 
one  ever  saw  a  word  of  scandal  in  the  Lone  Cedar.  This  is  a  newspaper 
and  the  news  will  be  printed  regardless  of  threats  of  any  character." 

Another  news  item  closes  with  the  statement 
that  "Jonn  R.  Findlay  sustained  all  the  local 
Forest  officials  without  being  shot." 

And  again, — "Altho  the  editor  cannot  go  to 


TREES  AND  MORMON  BEARDS  147 

the  Sunday  School  Convention,  we  do  the  next 
best  thing  possible,  we  send  our  wife." 

The  following  advertisement  appeared  in  the 
same  issue: 


"NOTICE 

"Before  going  to  marry,  fish  or  hunt  call 

on  the  County  Clerk  and 

get  your  license,  it  saves  trouble. 

"License  to  marry 

$    2.50 

Fish  and  Hunt,  resident, 

1.25 

"      "       "      non-resident 

5.00 

"     "       "      Alien, 

100.00" 

Whether  a  special  reduction  was  made  to  one 
taking  out  at  the  same  time  licenses  to  fish, 
hunt,  and  get  married  does  not  appear. 

It  was  necessary  that  John  have  both  a  sad- 
dle and  a  pack  horse  for  his  journey  back  to 
Pinedale,  and  we  made  a  trade  by  which 
Shorty  and  Bill  passed  into  his  possession  and 
I  acquired  his  horse  Heart,  retaining  Button. 
My  purpose  was  to  use  the  former,  which  was 
the  heavier  animal,  as  my  saddle  horse  and  to 
pack  Button.  It  was  with  much  regret  that  I 
parted  from  the  faithful  Bill.  He  was  not 
much  to  look  at,  but  he  was  all  horse;  and 
Shorty,  too,  in  spite  of  his  tendency  to  buck,  was 
an  affectionate  little  beast  and  had  endeared 
himself  to  me. 

All  of  the  animals  were  in  excellent  condi- 


•- ~  -      •  *• """"' — >■— —  -»«- 


148  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

tion,  though  they  had  crossed  eight  hundred 
miles  of  rugged  mountain  and  desert  trails; 
thanks  to  John's  experience  and  care,  they  had 
come  through  with  clean,  unblemished  backs. 
Both  Button  and  Bill  had  packed  loads  of  never 
less  than  one  hundred  and  often  of  two  hundred 
pounds  throughout  the  hot  summer,  and  it  was 
due  alone  to  John's  skill  in  adjustment  and  his 
constant  watchfulness  that  they  had  accom- 
plished it  with  never  a  resultant  gall  or  sore. 
Anyone  who  has  packed  animals  under  similar 
conditions  will  understand  that  this  was  a 
really  remarkable  performance. 

Comrades  of  the  trail,  sleeping  and  eating 
together,  enjoying  the  same  fire,  and  sharing 
the  same  discomforts,  become  closely  attached 
to  one  another  where  they  are  congenial  camp 
companions.  So  it  was  with  John  and  me,  and 
both  of  us  were  honestly  sorry  when  we  shook 
hands  and  I  rode  away.  Horses,  too,  no  less 
than  men,  form  attachments  on  the  trail,  and 
when  we  passed  the  corral  in  which  Bill  and 
Shorty  were  confined,  the  two  ran  along  the 
fence  and  whinnied.  Button  answered  them, 
and  only  stolid  old  Heart,  attending  strictly  to 
his  work,  seemed  not  to  care  that  he  was  parting 
from  them  forever  and  gave  them  no  heed  as 
he  jogged  out  into  the  dusty  canon  trail. 


TREES  AND  MORMON  BEARDS  149 

Mount  Carmel,  a  small  Mormon  settlement 
twenty  miles  north-northwest  of  Kanab,  in  one 
of  the  valleys  of  the  Rio  Virgin,  locally  known 
as  Long  Valley,  was  the  next  village  upon  my 
route.  The  road  to  Mount  Carmel  carried  me 
past  the  new  dam,  which  had  so  long  held  the 
fortunes  of  Kanab  in  suspense.  I  should  judge 
its  length,  which  is  the  canon's  width  here,  to 
be  three  hundred  feet,  and  its  height  from  the 
creek  bed  fifty  feet.  Several  hundred  feet  of 
tunnel  had  been  cut  through  solid  rock.  The 
dam  and  works,  constructed  by  hand  and  with- 
out the  aid  of  machinery,  make  it  indeed  a  re- 
markable monument  to  the  perseverance  of  the 
ranchmen  who  built  it  and  an  example  of  what 
men  may  accomplish  with  bare  hands  under  the 
spur  of  necessity. 

The  canon  road  was  very  good  to  a  point 
where  I  turned  from  it  to  cross  a  mountain 
ridge  lying  between  Kanab  Wash  and  the  Rio 
Virgin.  Here  soft,  loose  sand  made  progress 
slow  and  tedious,  and  the  horses,  sinking  deep 
at  every  step,  soon  wearied.  It  was  the  most 
tiresome  stretch  of  trail  encountered  upon  the 
whole  journey. 

The  scenery,  as  one  ascends  the  ridge,  is 
varied  and  entrancing.  To  the  eastward,  be- 
yond Kanab  Canon,  great  white  and  pink  cliffs 


150  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

puncture  the  landscape,  and  beyond  them  lie 
the  Escalante  Mountains,  rugged  and  sere. 
Above  rise  other  white  cliffs,  visible  through 
stunted  cedars.  As  I  gained  the  summit  I 
passed  very  near  these  cliffs  and  still  farther  on 
skirted  what  are  locally  known  as  the  "Washed 
Cliffs,"  the  sides  worn  into  smooth-scoured 
ridges  or  waves. 

Descending  the  west  slope  of  the  ridge,  I  was 
treated  to  a  magnificent  view  of  the  country  to 
the  westward.  The  sun  was  setting  in  an  efful- 
gence of  marvelous  colors  behind  lofty,  ser- 
rated peaks,  which  rolled  away  toward  Dixie. 
Below,  in  shadow,  lay  the  narrow  valley  of  the 
Rio  Virgin,  enclosed  by  high  ramparts  of  rock, 
which  the  sun  still  gilded.  The  river  itself,  a 
silver  thread,  wound  down  the  valley,  to  be  lost 
in  a  canon  below,  and  the  little  village  of 
Mount  Carmel  lay  snug  and  cozy,  surrounded 
by  green  alfalfa  fields  and  gardens,  in  vivid 
contrast  to  the  gray  sand  stretch  and  somber, 
towering  cliffs. 

The  sun  had  set  before  the  descent  into  the 
valley  was  accomplished  and  the  river  forded, 
and  deep  twilight  had  settled  when  I  reached 
a  ranch  at  the  outskirts  of  the  hamlet.  The 
door  of  the  little  log  ranchhouse  stood  open, 
but  the  place  was  quite  deserted  save  by  a  cat, 


TREES  AND  MORMON  BEARDS  151 

dozing  upon  the  doorstep.  A  fire  in  the  stove 
was  not  quite  dead,  and  soiled  dishes  on  a  table 
indicated  that  some  one  had  recently  eaten  and 
was  probably  not  far  away.  My  horses  were 
quite  fagged  with  their  climb  over  the  sandy 
ridge,  and  for  a  moment  I  was  undecided 
whether  or  not  I  should  turn  them  into  a  near- 
by corral,  throw  them  hay  from  a  stack  of  al- 
falfa, and  take  possession  of  the  house  myself. 
In  Arizona  I  should  have  felt  quite  free  to  do 
this,  but  as  yet  I  had  not  learned  the  temper 
of  the  people  of  southern  Utah  and  I  therefore 
remounted  and  rode  on.  A  little  way  up  the 
village  street  I  met  a  horseman  and  inquired 
of  him: 

"Can  I  get  forage  for  my  horses  anywhere 
here?" 

"There's  an  outfit  just  ahead  with  a  load  of 
hay.  It's  Bishop  Sorenson.  He'll  fix  you  out," 
he  answered.  "Why  didn't  you  stop  at  my 
ranch?" 

"Is  that  your  ranch  a  mile  back?" 

"You  bet." 

"I  stopped,  but  no  one  was  home  but  the 
cat." 

"No,  I'm  bachin'.  You  should  have  gone  in 
and  asked  no  questions.  Cat  wouldn't  ha'  said 
a  damn  word.     Sorry  ye'  didn't  stop." 


152  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

I  thanked  him  and  rode  on  to  overtake  the 
Bishop. 

Every  Mormon  settlement  has  its  bishop. 
He  is  the  local  head  of  the  church,  and  not 
only  fills  a  position  similar  to  that  of  pastor, 
but  collects  timings  and  presides  over  the  tem- 
poral interests  of  the  church  in  his  district.  He 
is  not  a  professional  theologian,  but  a  ranch- 
man or  business  man. 

Bishop  Sorenson  placed  at  my  disposal  a  cor- 
ral adjoining  a  barn,  with  hay  and  open  stalls 
for  the  horses,  with  no  other  restriction  than 
that  my  campfire  should  not  be  lighted  within 
the  corral. 

"Jake,"  he  called  to  a  tall,  lank  young  fel- 
low, "show  the  way  over  to  the  c'ral." 

Jake,  who  had  been  an  interested  and  curious 
spectator,  was  not  only  willing  but  anxious 
for  the  service.  It  gave  him  an  opportunity  to 
satisfy  his  curiosity  concerning  me. 

"Come  fur?"  he  asked  while  I  unpacked. 

"Quite  a  distance." 

"Prospectin'?" 

"No." 

"Ridin'  range?" 

'TNTo." 

"Surveying" 

"No,  just  riding  through  the  country." 


TREES  AND  MORMON  BEARDS  153 

"Come  from  St.  George?" 

"No,  Kanab." 

"Hain't  been  there  long,  I  reckon.  I  pack 
th'  mail  from  there  regular  an'  I  never  seen 
ye." 

"I  reached  there  yesterday.  I  rode  up 
through  Arizona,  and  I've  come  upwards  of 
eight  hundred  miles." 

"Across  th'  Injun  country?" 

"Yes." 

"What  fer?" 

"Oh,  just  for  a  ride." 

He  spat  contemplatively  and  was  silent 
while  I  uncinched  Button's  pack  saddle  and  re- 
moved the  blanket.  Rubbing  his  hand  down 
the  pony's  round,  smooth  back,  he  asked: 

"Where'd  you  get  th'  cayuse?" 

"In  Arizona." 

"Pack  him  all  th'  way?" 

"Rode  or  packed  him  every  day." 

"Plumb  good  packin'.  He  hain't  got  a 
scratch.  Don't  look  as  though  he  done  it,  but 
I  reckon  he  did  if  you  say  so." 

"I  reckon  so." 

"Funny  place  just  fer  a  ride,  acrost  th'  Injun 
country.  Must  ha'  been  plumb  hot  on  th' 
desert?" 

"It  was." 


154  SADDLE   AND   CAMP, 

"Was  you  alone  all  th'  way?" 

"No,  a  friend  was  with  me,  but  he  turned 
back  at  Kanab." 

Another  spit,  followed  by  another  brief 
silence. 

"Ever  wear  chaps?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  I  don't  need  them." 

"Sheriff's  lookin'  fer  two  fellers  that  rustled 
some  cayuses  over  in  Colorado.  One  of  'em 
rides  a  buckskin  an'  wears  new  leather  chaps. 
I  don't  reckon  you  seen  'em?" 

"No." 

He  stood  around  for  a  few  moments,  then 
bade  me  good  night  and  disappeared  in  the 
darkness.  I  was  very  glad  that  I  did  not  ride 
a  buckskin  cayuse  and  possessed  no  chaps.  Sev- 
eral days  later  I  met  the  sheriff  up  the  trail  and 
had  breakfast  with  him.  He  informed  me  that 
one  of  the  horse  thieves  had  been  caught  in 
Nevada  and  he  hoped  soon  to  have  the  other 
"corralled." 

The  valley  above  Mount  Carmel,  well 
watered  and  verdant,  was  a  pleasing  contrast 
to  the  parched  desert,  with  its  stifling  heat  and 
burning  sand,  so  recently  left  behind.  It  was 
good  to  drink  the  clear  cold  waters  of  the 
springs  and  lave  in  the  sparkling  river  pour- 
ing down  over  a  gravelly  bed.     The  narrow 


TREES  AND  MORMON  BEARDS  155 

valley  is  hemmed  in  by  picturesque  cliffs  of 
pink  and  white  and  gray  formation,  with  rug- 
ged, lofty  mountains  rising  above  and  rolling 
away  to  the  eastward. 

Stately  Lombardy  poplars  line  the  streets  of 
the  settlements  and  surround  the  ranchmen's 
homes,  a  characteristic  of  all  Mormon  settle- 
ments. Later  I  came  instinctively  to  think  of 
the  poplars  as  inverted  beards  of  Mormon  eld- 
ers and  to  wonder  whether  the  Mormons  chose 
this  as  their  shade  tree  because  it  so  resembled 
the  beards  of  the  aforesaid  elders,  or  whether 
the  elders  so  admired  the  trees,  or  so  wished  to 
harmonize  with  their  surroundings,  that  they 
trimmed  their  beards  to  match  the  trees. 

This  whole  region,  from  southwestern  Utah 
to  the  San  Juan  country,  is  said  to  contain 
much  iron  and  coal.  The  settlers  assured  me 
that  one  might  ride  over  the  country  for  a 
month  and  camp  each  night  on  coal — bitumin- 
ous, cannel,  and  at  some  points  anthracite.  At 
Glendale,  one  of  the  settlements  of  Long  Val- 
ley, coal  was  the  exclusive  fuel  used,  the  house- 
holders mining  sufficient  for  their  individual 
needs.  I  fell  in  at  Glendale  with  one  Charles 
Levanger,  a  Norwegian,  who  invited  me  to  in- 
spect his  coal  mine,  some  three  or  four  hundred 
yards  from  the  center  of  the  village.    Here  he 


156  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

pointed  out  to  me  his  tunnel,  run  at  grade  a 
little  way  into  the  mountainside,  cutting  a  vein 
of  what  appeared  to  be  fine,  clean  coal. 

Like  Levanger,  a  large  proportion  of  the 
Mormon  settlers,  not  only  in  Long  Valley  but 
throughout  the  Mormon  country,  are  Scandi- 
navians. Mormon  proselyting  among  the  Scan- 
dinavians, and  particularly  the  Danes,  appears 
most  productive  of  results.  Long  Valley  lies 
at  a  high  altitude,  and  the  winters  are  severe, 
with  deep  snows.  This  had  led  to  the  introduc- 
tion of  the  ski  by  the  Scandinavian  settlers. 
It  is  generally  used  in  the  region,  not  only  as  a 
means  of  recreation,  but  as  a  necessity  in  winter 
travel,  and  nearly  every  one  is  expert  in  its  use. 

Near  the  head  of  Long  Valley,  where  the 
Rio  Virgin  has  its  rise  in  many  springs  and 
brooklets,  the  timbered  region  begins,  with 
pine  and  spruce  forests  spreading  away  over  the 
hills.  Here,  at  an  altitude  of  seven  thousand 
feet,  I  found  the  ranch  of  Fred  S.  Seaman,  and 
where  a  spring  of  ice-cold  water  pours  out  of 
the  hillside,  just  below  the  ranch  house  and 
looking  down  over  long  green  meadows,  I 
made  a  bivouac,  not  troubling  to  pitch  a  tent, 
for  the  weather  was  clear  and  fine.  When  my 
coffee  was  made  and  bacon  sizzling  in  the  pan, 
Mr.  Seaman  joined  me  for  a  chat,  and  as  a 


TREES  AND  MORMON  BEARDS  157 

luxurious  addition  to  my  supper  brought  me 
a  dish  of  rich,  sweet  cream,  the  first  I  had  seen 
in  many  weeks. 

Eighteen  miles  beyond  Seaman's  ranch  lies 
Hatch,  the  first  settlement  on  the  west  fork  of 
the  Sevier  River.  This  I  aimed  to  reach  in 
half  a  day.  From  the  ranch  there  is  a  gradual 
rise  for  several  miles,  before  the  descent  is  be- 
gun. I  had  crossed  the  divide  and  was  drop- 
ping down  the  north  slope  when  I  met  a  horse- 
man. 

"How  far  is  it  to  Hatch?"  I  inquired. 

"Eight  miles;  maybe  a  little  less,"  he  an- 
swered. 

This  was  encouraging.  Two  or  three  miles 
farther  on  I  met  another. 

"How  far  to  Hatch?"  I  asked. 

"Plumb  twelve  miles,  an'  long  ones,"  he  ad- 
vised, and  my  spirits  fell. 

Presently  I  met  another,  and  still  anxious  to 
learn  what  progress  I  was  making,  I  again  put 
the  question,  "How  far  to  Hatch?" 

"Not  more'n  six  miles." 

I  was  again  hopeful  and  expectant  of  soon 
discovering  Hatch,  until  at  the  end  of  another 
two  miles  an  individual  insisted  that  Hatch  was 
still  "ten  good,  long  miles  away."  The  expla- 
nation of  these  various  and  discordant  estimates 


,■,-.■• 


158  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

is  that  unmeasured  distances  are  invariably 
gauged  by  travelers  in  accordance  with  the 
speed  of  their  mounts.  One  riding  a  good 
horse  is  certain  to  underestimate;  one  riding  a 
poor  one  as  certain  to  overestimate. 

At  length  Hatch,  a  small  village  chiefly  of 
log  and  adobe  buildings,  was  reached,  and  in 
due  course  Panguitch,  the  county  seat  and  chief 
town  of  Garfield  County,  which,  together  with 
Hatch,  lies  in  the  Panguitch  Valley.  This,  like 
the  upper  end  of  Long  Valley,  is  situated  at 
too  high  an  altitude  for  successful  fruit  culture 
— or  at  least  no  fruit  has  yet  been  successfully 
grown  here — and  the  settlers  devote  their  at- 
tention to  livestock.  It  is  well  watered,  spread- 
ing out  into  wide  and  fertile  fields  green  with 
alfalfa. 

South  of  Panguitch  the  country  may  be  desig- 
nated a  log  cabin  region.  Many  of  the  cabins 
of  the  first  settlers  still  remain  and  are  still  oc- 
cupied, though  gradually,  as  prosperity  comes, 
the  people  are  moving  into  small  but  more  pre- 
tentious homes.  Panguitch  has  a  population  of 
one  thousand,  and  with  its  comfortable  frame 
and  brick  buildings,  good  stores,  an  ice-making 
plant,  and  a  really  good  little  country  hotel,  the 
people  live  with  as  much  comfort  and  possess 
as  many  of  the  conveniences  of  conventional 


TREES  AND  MORMON  BEARDS  159 

life  as  do  the  people  of  nearly  any  country  vil- 
lage of  its  size  in  the  East.  It  can  no  longer  be 
classed  a  frontier  town,  and  upon  riding  into  it 
I  left  the  frontier  behind.  Marysvale,  two 
days'  journey  to  the  northward,  is  the  nearest 
railway  station,  and  from  there  regular  freight- 
ers with  wagons  drawn  by  four  and  occasionally 
six  horses  haul  merchandise  to  Panguitch, 
which  is  the  distributing  point  for  Hatch  and 
the  other  settlements  to  the  south. 

The  road  to  Marysvale  winds  down  Pan- 
guitch Valley  through  the  beautiful  canon  of 
the  West  Fork  of  the  Sevier,  where  it  breaks 
out  into  Round  Valley,  and  thence  passes  on 
through  Paiute  Valley.  It  leads  through  the 
village  of  Junction,  the  county  seat  of  Paiute 
County,  so  named  because  of  the  fact  that  it 
stands  at  the  junction  of  the  two  forks  of  the 
Sevier,  and  thence  the  road  crosses  a  ridge  into 
Marysvale.  This  is  a  mining  town  of  some  im- 
portance and  a  terminus  of  a  branch  of  the  Rio 
Grande  and  Western  Railroad.  Some  Chicago 
engineers  were  here,  just  returned  from  a  sur- 
vey of  a  route  for  a  new  railroad  to  the  Grand 
Canon  in  Arizona  by  way  of  the  series  of  val- 
leys through  which  I  had  ridden. 

At  the  end  of  the  lower  valley,  or  "vale," 
the  wagon   road   rises  upon   the  mountains  to 


160  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

drop  beyond  into  the  beautiful  Sevier  Valley, 
dotted  with  parks  of  green  trees  that  mark 
hamlets  and  villages,  yellow,  at  this  time,  with 
ripening  grain  fields,  interspersed  with  bright 
green  alfalfa  meadows,  combining  to  form  bril- 
liant color  effects  and  contrasts.  To  the  west- 
ward the  railroad  enters  the  valley  through  the 
river  canon. 

Halfway  down  the  northern  slope  of  the 
mountain  I  came  upon  a  small  ranch,  on  a  nar- 
row bench,  its  fields  irrigated  from  a  running 
spring.  Here  I  halted  to  water  the  horses  and 
drink  from  the  spring  myself.  As  I  was  about 
to  remount  the  ranchman  came  around  the 
house  with  a  large  pan  of  honey,  just  taken 
from  the  hive.  He  set  it  down  for  me  to  ad- 
mire, and  as  I  admired  an  angry  bee  stung  me 
on  the  outer  corner  of  my  left  eyelid  and  imme- 
diately another,  to  even  matters  up,  stung  me 
on  the  inner  corner  of  my  right  eyelid. 

The  ranchman  was  offering  his  sympathy 
when  he  was  stung  just  between  his  eyes.  Thus 
bound  by  a  common  affliction,  we  became 
chummy.  He  offered  me  honey  for  luncheon 
and  I  accepted,  and  while  the  horses  ate  oats  I 
enjoyed,  as  fully  as  circumstances  would  per- 
mit, an  ample  dish  of  honey  and  an  hour's  chat 
with  my  friend. 


MJIEM 


TREES  AND  MORMON  BEARDS  161 

Now  that  I  had  reached  the  railroad,  the 
country  grew  more  populous.  Little  towns  were 
passed  at  short  intervals  and  wagons  and 
equestrians  were  becoming  numerous.  As  I 
jogged  along  one  afternoon  I  heard  the  honk 
of  an  automobile  horn.  I  glanced  behind  and 
saw  the  car  bearing  down  at  a  terrific  pace. 
Neither  Heart  nor  Button  had  ever  seen  an  auto- 
mobile, and  I  concluded  I  was  destined  to  take 
part  in  an  impromptu  circus  performance  there 
and  then. 

One  end  of  Button's  leading  rope  was  fast- 
ened around  his  neck,  the  other  end  I  secured 
to  my  saddle  horn  and  prepared  to  hold  Heart 
and  depend  upon  the  rope  preventing  a  stam- 
pede of  Button.  A  moment  later  the  car  passed 
like  the  wind,  and  to  my  astonishment  neither 
horse  paid  it  the  slightest  attention.  They  were 
absolutely  fearless,  I  soon  learned,  of  any  mov- 
ing engine,  car,  or  noise,  and  when  later  I 
passed  through  Salt  Lake  City,  with  all  its  traf- 
fic, street  cars,  and  automobiles,  I  felt  safe  to 
leave  them  standing  in  the  busiest  street,  un- 
tethered,  while  I  entered  stores. 

This  was  doubtless  due  to  the  thorough  train- 
ing they  had  received  from  Arizona  cowboys. 
Both  were  "gunwise,"  that  is,  accustomed  to 
having  guns  fired  from  their  backs,  and  with 


162  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

nerves  thus   tuned  ^nd  drilled   they  were  not 
frightened  by  sudden  and  unusual  noise. 

I  was  now  in  Sevier  County,  and  an  hour 
after  the  automobile  passed  me  entered  Rich- 
field, the  county  seat,  a  prosperous  little  city  of 
three  thousand  people.  Very  cosmopolitan  it 
seemed  as  I  rode  down  its  long  main  street,  to 
dismount  at  the  Southern  Hotel,  where  the 
weary  horses  and  myself  were  to  enjoy  a  two 
days'  rest. 


CHAPTER   XII 

WHERE  PACKHORSES  WERE  UNKNOWN 

RICHFIELD  is  referred  to  generally  as  a 
southern  Utah  town,  though  geographi- 
cally it  is  situated  not  far  south  of  the 
center  of  the  State.  Here,  however,  the  north- 
ward-bound traveler  leaves  behind  him  practi- 
cally the  last  remnant  of  pioneer  life  and  enters 
into  that  of  conventional,  older-settled  commu- 
nities. South  of  Marysvale  one  sees  horses 
saddled  and  bridled  standing  before  every  vil- 
lage store  and  ranchhouse,  waiting  patiently  to 
serve  their  master's  instant  needs.  This  indi- 
cates a  still  remaining  pioneer  condition.  In 
a  new  country  the  settlers  walk  little  and  ride 
much,  for  distances  are  long  and  the  wagon  is 
used  far  less  than  the  saddle  horse. 

A  few  miles  north  of  Richfield  one  rarely 
sees  a  mounted  man.    Boys  ride  bareback,  to  be 

163 


164  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

sure,  as  they  do  in  the  old-settled  farming  com- 
munities of  the  East,  but  the  saddle  horse  is  no 
longer  a  means  of  practical  transportation,  but 
of  recreation  with  the  few.  The  spurred  rider, 
the  freighter,  and  the  stage  coach  are  already 
of  the  past. 

Fifty  years  ago  cattle  ranged  these  fertile 
valleys  and  the  adjacent  hills.  Here  the  cow- 
boy bloomed  in  all  his  glory. 

"We  were  a  pretty  reckless  lot,"  a  one-time 
cowboy  told  me.  "Our  typical  dress  was  a  blue 
or  red  flannel  shirt,  trousers  tucked  in  the  tops 
of  knee-high  boots,  and  often  Mexican  chaps,  a 
belt  with  one  or  two  six-shooters  hanging  from 
it  in  holsters,  Mexican  spurs  with  immense 
rowels,  a  wide-brimmed  Mexican  sombrero,  a 
cigarette,  and  a  swagger.  There  you  have  a 
picture  of  the  Utah  cowboy  of  my  day. 

"The  boys  were  generally  a  pretty  good  lot, 
but  some  were  always  going  around  with  chips 
on  their  shoulders.  We  generally  used  cayuses 
with  plenty  of  life  in  them  and  rode  hard. 
Sometimes  we'd  get  together  to  celebrate,  and 
it  wasn't  uncommon  to  dash  through  a  settle- 
ment and  shoot  it  up,  though  we  were  always 
pretty  careful  not  to  hurt  anyone.  Those  were 
good  days,  those  reckless  pioneer  days,  and  I'd 
like  to  live  them  over." 


PACKHOMSES  UNKNOWN       165 

Now  and  again  a  prospector  may  ride  into 
Richfield  leading  a  pack  horse,  but  the  younger 
generation  know  little  of  this  mode  of  travel, 
and  northward  as  one  approaches  Salt  Lake 
City  they  know  nothing  of  it  whatever.  Even 
the  horses  shied  at  Button  and  his  pack  and  the 
people — the  younger  ones — stared  at  me  as 
they  would  at  a  Bedouin  in  his  desert  garb,  or 
a  curious  being  of  another  world. 

I  recall  one  evening  particularly  that  closed 
a  long  day's  ride  over  dusty  highways,  con- 
stantly dodging  flying  automobiles.  The  horses 
were  weary,  and  I,  begrimed  with  dust,  tired 
and  out  of  patience  with  the  world,  was  having 
all  I  could  do  to  keep  the  poor  animals  to  a 
pace  above  a  slow  walk,  when  I  met  two  young 
cubs,  seventeen  or  eighteen  years  of  age,  in  a 
buggy.  They  had  never  seen  a  pack  outfit  in 
their  tender  young  lives,  but  they  had  seen 
newspapers  and  cartoons,  and  staring  at  me  in 
open-mouthed  astonishment  one  facetiously  ex- 
claimed: "Hello,  Teddy!"  They  did  not  laugh 
or  even  smile,  but  maintained  serious  expres- 
sions of  countenance.  Perhaps  they  thought  me 
The  Teddy,  wandering  unannounced  through 
their  country.  Neither  did  I  smile  nor  deign 
to  answer  them,  though  I  thought  many 
thoughts  uncomplimentary  to  them,   and  it  is 


166  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

needless  to  say  I  saw  no  humor  in  the  situation. 
Above  all  I  wished  most  heartily  to  be  back  in 
the  wilderness  and  God's  open  country  again, 
where  people  know  a  pack  outfit  when  they  see 
it. 

This  illustrates  the  evolution  of  half  a  cen- 
tury— of  much  less  than  half  a  century.  It  il- 
lustrates the  rapidity  with  which  our  country 
has  been  transformed,  how  readily  we  discard 
the  old  and  adopt  the  new,  how  quickly  we  for- 
get the  things  of  yesterday.  It  illustrates  how  a 
country  may  pass  through  all  the  stages  of  evo- 
lution within  half  the  lifetime  of  a  man. 

Fish  Lake,  famous  among  Utah  anglers  for 
its  trout,  lies  in  the  mountains  back  of  Rich- 
field. During  the  season  preceding  my  visit 
the  State  hatcheries  secured  3,650,000  trout  eggs 
from  this  lake  alone,  to  be  hatched  in  the  Mur- 
ray, Springville,  and  Panguitch  hatcheries.  It 
is  the  favorite  resort  of  anglers  of  the  valley, 
who  are  always  certain  to  be  rewarded  with 
well-filled  creels.  Utah  has  five  thousand  miles 
of  lakes  and  streams  suitable  for  game  fish,  and 
her  fish  culturists  are  devoting  themselves  to 
keeping  their  waters  stocked.  In  the  year  1910 
the  culturists  planted  4,379,010  Eastern  brook, 
German  brown,  and  rainbow  trout  fry,  and 
5,197,000  native  trout  fry,  to  say  nothing  of  their 


PACKHORSES   UNKNOWN      167 

attention  to  bass  and  other  valuable  fishes.  In 
Utah  Lake,  for  instance,  one  finds  as  good 
small-mouthed  black  bass  fishing  as  can  be  had 
in  the  United  States,  and  most  of  the  trout 
streams  are  well  stocked  and  in  excellent  con- 
dition. 

Utah  waters  are  particularly  well  adapted  to 
the  rapid  development  of  trout.  As  an  exam- 
ple, observation  shows  that  not  infrequently 
Eastern  brook  trout,  planted  as  fry,  attain  a 
length  of  eight  inches  within  a  period  of  eight 
months.  The  tributaries  of  the  Rio  Virgin,  the 
Panguitch  River,  and  other  tributaries  of  the 
Sevier,  as  well  as  the  Upper  Sevier  itself,  are 
excellent  trout  streams.  This  may  be  said  in 
fact  of  all  the  mountain  streams  of  Utah,  and 
it  may  be  said  also  that  they  are  improving, 
under  the  direction  of  the  fish  culturists  who 
are  annually  planting  these  millions  of  fry  and 
increasing  the  number  of  fry  planted  with  each 
season. 

In  planting  their  fry  in  the  season  of  1910, 
the  Utah  fish  culturists  made  a  marked  depart- 
ure from  the  almost  universal  custom  of  plant- 
ing fry  in  swift-running  water,  and  instead 
planted  it  in  shallow  waters  at  the  head  of 
streams  where  the  current  was  slight  and  where 
water  cress  and  other  growth  was  abundant  and 


■ 


168  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

harbored  insect  life,  upon  which  young  trout 
thrive.  Farther  down  the  streams  obstructing 
dams  were  erected  to  shut  out  the  larger  trout, 
which  would  otherwise  have  ascended  and  de- 
voured great  numbers  of  the  fry.  At  the  end  of 
three  months,  when  the  young  fish  had  grown 
large  enough  to  care  for  themselves,  the  ob- 
structions were  removed.  Actual  observation 
proved  that  this  method  resulted  in  a  consid- 
erably larger  percentage  of  trout  that  survived 
and  grew  to  maturity  than  results  when  the 
other  method  is  employed. 

Utah  was  once  a  magnificent  game  field,  but 
civilization,  as  elsewhere,  has  wrought  its  de- 
struction throughout  the  State.  Even  in  the 
wide  stretches  of  still  unsettled  mountain  wil- 
derness and  arid  plain  behind  the  fertile  settled 
valleys,  so  sad  a  depletion  of  wild  life  has  taken 
place  that  scarcely  a  section  remains  in  the 
whole  State  that  can  be  recommended  as  a  fav- 
orable field  for  sportsmen,  other  than  anglers, 
excepting  only  duck  shooting. 

While  in  Kanab  I  was  informed  by  men  who 
claimed  to  have  seen  them,  that  a  few  moun- 
tain sheep  inhabit  the  ridges  to  the  eastward  in 
Kane  and  Garfield  Counties,  and  also  in  the 
mountains  of  San  Juan  County  north  of  Bluff 
City.    Later  I  was  informed  by  a  man  in  Long 


PACKHORSES  UNKNOWN       169 

Valley  that  he  had  seen  sheep  in  the  Henry 
Mountains. 

There  are  mountain  sheep  in  Washington 
County,  in  the  southeast  of  Utah.  Observers 
claim  that  since  Utah  established  a  permanent 
closed  season  on  sheep,  these  herds  have  slightly 
increased  in  size  and  but  for  the  large  number 
of  predatory  animals  would  annually  show  a 
decided  increase. 

In  nearly  all  of  the  southern  counties,  as  for 
instance  Grand,  San  Juan,  Kane,  Washington, 
and  Iron  Counties,  a  few  antelope  have  sur- 
vived the  war  of  extermination  and  like  the 
mountain  sheep  are  said  to  be  increasing  in 
numbers  since  hunting  has  been  prohibited. 

Domestic  sheep  and  sheep  herders  are  the 
greatest  enemies  of  the  antelope,  as  well  as  of 
other  game  animals  and  birds  in  the  regions 
where  herders  take  their  flocks.  The  ranges 
over  which  domestic  sheep  pasture  are  denuded 
of  forage  and  stripped  of  all  growth,  and  ante- 
lope will  not  remain  upon  a  range  where  sheep 
have  been.  Sheep  herders,  too,  in  secluded 
regions  have  excellent  opportunity  to  kill  game 
without  detection.  They  make  the  most  of  the 
opportunity,  and  many  antelope  undoubtedly 
fall  before  their  rifles,  for  a  herder,  wearying 
of  a  diet  of  mutton,  is  never  over-scrupulous 


170  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

about  legal  prohibitions  when  he  may  substi- 
tute the  flesh  of  wild  animals  and  birds  for  mut- 
ton. 

Thus  the  sheep,  sweeping  clean  all  before 
them  and  leaving  the  ranges  over  which  they 
pass  unproductive,  for  several  succeeding  sea- 
sons, of  pasturage  for  either  wild  or  domestic 
animals,  together  with  the  destructive  shep- 
herds, are  the  worst  enemies  at  present  of  Utah's 
wild  game,  particularly  of  antelope,  sage  hens, 
and  grouse.  We  must  endure  sheep,  for  we 
must  have  mutton  and  wool,  but  it  would  seem 
reasonable  to  exclude  them  from  some  of  those 
ranges  where  antelope  are  striving  for  exist- 
ence and  confine  the  herdsmen  and  their  flocks 
to  other  ranges  where  wild  life  has  already  be- 
come extinct,  for  such  ranges  are  numerous  and 
available  and  the  restriction  would  entail  no 
great  hardship. 

While  the  antelope  ranges  of  southern  Utah 
have  not  yet  been  invaded  and  denuded  by  such 
great  numbers  of  sheep  as  have  swept  the  game 
fields  of  Wyoming,  Idaho,  and  Montana,  this 
fate  is  doubtless  in  store  for  them  at  no  distant 
day,  and  when  the  sheep  and  the  shepherds 
have  wrought  their  destruction,  antelope  will 
vanish.  In  Iron  County,  which  has  already 
become  an  extensive  sheep  region,  settlers  tell 


PACKHORSES   UNKNOWN      171 

us  that  before  the  advent  of  sheep  grass  grew  so 
luxuriously  that  a  yearling  calf  lying  in  it  could 
not  be  seen.  Not  only  has  the  grass  here  been 
eaten,  but  the  roots  tramped  out  and  killed  by 
the  hoofs  of  thousands  upon  thousands  of  sheep, 
and  now  wide  areas  where  not  long  since  grass 
was  so  plentiful  are  as  bare  and  desolate  as  sand 
piles. 

The  destruction  of  game  had  so  far  advanced 
in  1907  that  it  was  deemed  wise  to  prohibit  all 
hunting  of  deer,  elk,  antelope,  mountain  sheep, 
otter,  or  beaver  within  the  State  for  a  period  of 
four  years.  Section  21  of  the  Fish  and  Game 
Law  provides  that  the  penalty  for  killing,  pos- 
sessing, selling,  or  offering  for  sale  any  of  these 
animals  or  parts  thereof  shall  be  a  fine  of  not 
less  than  one  hundred  dollars  and  imprisonment 
of  not  less  than  sixty  days  for  each  offense,  and 
leaves  no  choice  between  fine  or  imprisonment. 
Consulting  a  copy  of  the  Fish  and  Game  Law 
given  me  by  the  Commissioner,  I  find  a  curious 
conflict  in  this  section  (Section  21).  In  one 
paragraph  there  is  an  absolute  prohibition 
against  killing,  shooting  at,  possessing,  etc.,  any 
deer,  elk,  and  other  enumerated  animals,  at  any 
season,  within  the  State.  The  following  para- 
graph, however,  provides: 

"It  shall  be  lawful  for  any  resident  to  kill 


172  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

deer  from  October  15th  to  November  15th," 
limiting  the  number  for  each  person  to  one 
deer  during  the  open  season.  Under  this  pro- 
vision residents  hunt  deer,  and  a  goodly  num- 
ber are  killed,  but  there  is  no  provision  by 
which  non-residents  may  be  permitted  to  hunt 
deer,  though  there  is  provision  for  a  non-resi- 
dent license.  All  male  residents,  too,  over 
twelve  years  of  age,  must  procure  a  license  to 
hunt  or  fish,  but  children  under  twelve  and  all 
"female  persons"  residing  within  the  State  may 
hunt  and  fish  without  license. 

Utah  is  very  thoughtful  in  providing  for  her 
"female  persons."  Possibly  this  discrimination 
against  "male  persons"  is  because  women  have 
the  ballot.  It  is  certain  that  the  Mormon 
church  retains  and  will  continue  to  retain  con- 
trol of  the  political  situation  in  Utah  because 
the  women  vote.  Women  are  always  more  de- 
voted to  their  religion  than  men.  Adherents  to 
the  Mormon  denomination  are  much  like  ad- 
herents to  other  Christian  denominations,  and 
Mormon  women  are  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
Let  the  First  Presidency  indicate  that  they  are 
to  vote  and  are  to  vote  a  certain  way,  and  noth- 
ing on  earth  can  deter  them  from  voting  and 
from  voting  as  the  powers  dictate. 

The  young  men,  however,  are  more  and  more 


PACKHORSES  UNKNOWN      173 

breaking  away  from  the  trammels  of  the 
church,  and  are  patriotically  acting  upon  the 
dictates  of  their  conscience  and  voting  as  they 
please,  whether  this  is  or  is  not  in  accordance 
with  the  expressed  wishes  of  the  First  Presi- 
dency, and  very  often  it  is  not.  In  the  early 
days  of  Utah  the  church  and  territorial  gov- 
ernment were  under  one  head.  It  is  very  hard 
for  the  older  Mormons  and  any  of  the  women 
communicants  of  the  church  to  realize  that  this 
is  not  the  case  to-day,  or  at  least  why  it  should 
not  be. 

Deer  are  increasing  in  nearly  all  the  wooded 
mountainous  regions,  and  Seaman  assured  me 
they  were  on  the  whole  rather  plentiful  in  the 
territory  at  the  head  of  Long  Valley. 

Bears,  too,  are  scattered  through  the  vari- 
ous wilderness  regions  of  Utah,  from  the  Rio 
Virgin  country  to  the  Idaho  line,  and  in  the 
wooded  mountains.  They  are  not  plentiful, 
however — indeed  they  are  becoming  scarce,  and 
rare  indeed  is  the  silver  tip. 

Bounties  are  paid  on  all  the  more  destruct- 
ive predatory  animals,  but  these  bounties  are 
not  sufficiently  liberal  to  induce  hunters  and 
trappers  to  devote  particular  attention  to  their 
capture.  Of  these  the  mountain  lion,  the  coy- 
ote, and  the  wildcat  are  the  most  destructive  to 


m  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

young  game  animals  and  birds.  If  they  could 
be  radically  reduced  in  number  very  doubtless, 
with  the  present  protective  laws,  game  would 
show  a  more  marked  increase,  particularly 
deer.  There  are,  too,  some  timber  wolves.  As 
a  result  of  inquiry  I  am  satisfied  that  predatory 
animals  are  steadily  increasing,  and  much  more 
rapidly  than  the  protected  animals.  This  is 
natural,  with  hunting  limited,  for  few  sports- 
men go  into  the  field  particularly  for  predatory 
animals,  though  when  in  the  field  they  may  in- 
cidentally kill  many,  and  those  who  hunt  for 
a  business  must  have  sufficient  reward  as  an  in- 
ducement. 

Northward  from  Richfield  populous  valleys 
in  continuous  succession  lead  on  to  Salt  Lake 
City,  and  only  once  in  this  stretch  of  country — 
near  Juab — did  night  find  me  between  villages, 
where  I  was  called  upon  to  lie  out  in  the  open 
sage  brush.  Nowhere  here  does  the  traveler 
find  sufficiently  good  grazing  upon  the  open 
range  for  his  horses.  Indeed  the  free  range  is 
rapidly  disappearing,  and  even  those  areas  in- 
capable of  irrigation  because  of  no  known  sup- 
ply of  water  are  being  located  as  "dry  farms," 
and  dry  farming  is  carried  on  to  no  inconsid- 
erable extent. 

On  the  dry  farm  oats  and  wheat  are  almost 


Photograph  by  A.  G.  Livingston 


America's  Best  Rig  Game, 


PACKHOBSES   UNKNOWN        175 

exclusively  the  crops.  The  method  is  to  plant 
each  alternate  year,  and  during  the  unplanted 
year  turn  over  the  soil  two  or  three  times,  and 
oftener  if  the  ranchman  finds  it  convenient. 
One  ranchman  told  me  that  he  had  sixteen  hun- 
dred acres  which  he  worked  under  the  dry 
farming  method,  which  in  normal  seasons — 
approximately  one-half  of  it  being  planted  each 
year — produced  sixteen  thousand  bushels  of 
oats.  This  was  the  season  of  harvest,  and  every- 
where I  encountered  big  steam  thrashers  and 
stackers  on  the  highway,  cumberously  moving 
under  their  own  steam  from  ranch  to  ranch, 
with  the  horse-drawn  tenders,  carrying  coal  and 
water,  trailing  behind. 

Near  Juab  I  passed  what  was  claimed  to  be 
a  new  oil  region.  So  far  as  I  could  learn  no 
oil  had  yet  been  struck,  but  they  were  erecting 
derricks  and  were  nearly  ready  to  begin  boring. 
As  is  usual  in  a  new  oil  or  mining  region,  those 
interested  were  in  high  expectation  of  making 
great  strikes  and  attaining  great  riches. 

Now  and  again  an  old  pioneer  would  stop 
me  with  the  greeting: 

"Hello,  pard.  Your  outfit  looks  good  to  me. 
Makes  me  think  of  old  times.     Come  fur?" 

"Yes,  came  up  from  Arizona,"  I  would  an- 
swer. 


176  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

"That's  some  trip.  You're  traveling  right. 
Pack  outfit's  th'  only  way." 

At  Springville  I  met  George  (Beefsteak) 
Harrison,  one  of  the  few  remaining  trail  blaz- 
ers of  the  desert,  an  early  California  pioneer, 
who  for  sixty  years  has  been  a  character  of  the 
country.  He  has  a  little  caravansary  where  I 
dined.  When  he  learned  I  had  watered  at 
Coyote  Holes,  he  left  "Mr."  off  my  name  and 
sang  me  some  local  songs;  one,  I  recall,  to  the 
tune  of  "Where  is  my  Wandering  Boy  To- 
night," ran  like  this: 

"Where  is  Blackhawk  and  Chief  Sanpitch? 
They're  having  a  big  pow-pow; 
They've  gone  to  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace — 
The  Indians  are  ticaboo  now. 

"Blackhawk  stole  cattle  from  Scipio; 
Was  known  as  a  wicked  Ute. 
He  laid  down  his  gun  and  his  bow 
When  he  could  no  longer  shoot." 

Utah  Valley  was  in  the  midst  of  its  fruit  har- 
vest and  the  air  was  redolent  with  the  perfume 
of  ripe  apples  and  peaches.  Utah  Lake  shim- 
mered at  my  left.  An  autumnal  haze  lay  over 
the  valley,  the  mountains  rose  somber  and  grim 
on  either  side,  and  the  quiet,  dreamy  beauty  of 
it  all  was  of  the  character  that  breeds  in  one  an 
indescribable  longing — a  desire  for  something 


PACKHOBSES  UNKNOWN  177 

quite  beyond  .human  grasp — something  that  is 
akin  to  homesickness. 

I  was  glad  at  length  to  round  the  point  of 
mountain,  where  the  Wasatch  Range  crowds 
down  to  separate  Utah  Valley  from  Salt  Lake 
Valley.  Here  from  the  elevated  "Point  of 
Mountain,"  as  it  is  locally  called,  old  familiar 
peaks  where  I  had  once  spent  a  summer  loomed 
into  view  and  the  lovely  valley,  reaching  away 
to  the  Great  Salt  Lake,  lay  at  my  feet. 

At  half  past  two  on  August  thirty-first  I 
drew  into  Draper,  seventeen  miles  from  Salt 
Lake  City,  and  was  greeted  by  my  old  friend 
and  former  traveling  companion  in  Mexico, 
Mr.  Wilmot  Randall.  He  was  expecting  me 
and  had  provided  for  the  care  of  my  horses, 
while  I  proceeded  by  train  to  the  big  game 
region  of  northwestern  Colorado. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

COLORADO'S  DISAPPEARING  GAME 

WHILE  Colorado  was  at  one  time  one 
of  the  best  stocked  game  States  in  the 
country,  it  may  be  said  to-day  that  the 
only  section  of  the  State  where  the  sportsman 
in  search  of  big  game  may  go  with  reasonable 
assurance  of  securing  the  trophies  sought,  is 
that  section,  including  Routt  County,  which  lies 
north  of  the  Denver  &  Rio  Grande  Railroad 
and  west  of  the  Front  and  Medicine  Bow  moun- 
tain ranges.  By  "big  game  trophies"  is  meant 
deer,  silver  tip  and  black  bears;  these  are  the 
only  big  game  animals,  aside  from  predatory 
animals,  which  under  the  present  law  may  be 
hunted  in  the  State. 

It  was  my  desire  to  visit  this  region  and  make 
as  complete  a  survey  of  the  game  condition  as 
a  brief  side  trip  could  afford.     With  this  in 

178 


DISAPPEARING  GAME  179 

view  I  had  previously  arranged  to  meet  some  of 
the  leading  guides  and  hunters  with  whom  I 
had  been  in  correspondence,  and,  my  horses 
comfortably  provided  for,  I  turned  eastward 
from  Utah. 

Twenty-four  hours  by  train  carried  me  from 
Salt  Lake  City  to  Denver,  where  I  tarried  a 
day  to  confer  with  Mr.  Thomas  J.  Holland, 
Colorado's  very  efficient  Game  and  Fish  Com- 
missioner, and  to  call  upon  others  interested  in 
the  wild  life  of  the  State,  before  continuing 
my  journey  to  Steamboat  Springs,  in  Routt 
County. 

Denver,  perhaps  more  than  any  other  city  of 
the  West,  impresses  upon  one  the  rapid  trans- 
formation of  our  country  from  an  unknown  wil- 
derness to  a  condition  of  advanced  civilization. 

Albert  D.  Richardson  describes  it  as  con- 
taining less  than  three  hundred  buildings, 
nearly  all  of  hewn  pine  logs,  when  he  and  Hor- 
ace Greeley  visited  it  in  1859.  One-third  were 
abandoned,  unfinished  and  roofless5  for  the 
early  hints  of  great  gold  deposits,  which  had 
inspired  the  first  settlers  to  locate  here,  had  not 
yet  materialized.  "There  were  few  glass  win- 
dows, or  doors,  and  but  two  or  three  board 
floors,  and  the  occupants  of  the  cabins  lived 
upon  the  native  earth,  hard,  smooth,  and  clean- 


180  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

swept.  Chairs  were  a  glory  yet  to  come.  Town 
lots  and  log  houses  were  bartered  for  revolvers, 
or  sold  for  ten  or  twenty  dollars."  That  was 
Denver  only  fifty  years  ago! 

It  is  not  difficult,  then,  for  one  visiting  this 
great  modern  city  to-day,  with  its  213,000  in- 
habitants and  its  many  tributary  cities  and 
towns,  to  appreciate  the  causes  of  diminution 
of  Colorado's  game,  for  wild  game  and  a  dense 
population  cannot  co-exist.  At  the  time  of  which 
Richardson  wrote  antelope  were  numerous  in 
the  vicinity  of  Denver,  and  herds  of  them 
flecked  the  plains  to  the  eastward,  and  the  ad- 
jacent mountains  were  abundantly  stocked  with 
deer  and  other  big  game  animals.  There  are 
some  antelope  still  not  far  away,  and  on  the 
same  plains  one  may  see  them  now  and  again 
from  the  window  of  a  railway  coach.  They  are 
few  and  scattered,  though,  protected  by  a  per- 
petual closed  season  against  hunting,  we  are  as- 
sured that  a  gradual  increase  is  taking  place. 

Colorado,  however,  still  retains  wide,  unset- 
tled areas.  It  is  a  big  State  and  naturally  con- 
tains much  territory  that  cannot  readily  be 
adapted  to  settlement.  The  game  region  of 
northwestern  Colorado  is  one  of  these  regions, 
and  because  it  is  naturally  better  suited  than 
other  unsettled  regions  of  the  State  to  a  consid- 


BIS  APPEARING  GAME       181 

erable  variety  of  game  animals,  it  has  remained 
the  best  stocked  region  in  Colorado. 

Eleven  hours  by  railway  carried  me  from 
Denver  to  Steamboat  Springs.  This  is  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  and  thrilling  railway  trips 
in  the  world.  The  train  leaves  Denver,  at  an 
altitude  of  5,170  feet,  and  at  once  begins  the 
ascent  of  the  continental  divide.  Up  and  up 
it  climbs,  doubling  and  redoubling  upon  itself, 
in  and  out  of  innumerable  small  tunnels,  skirt- 
ing precipitous  walls,  past  nile-green  lakes  nes- 
tling in  hollows  amid  fir-clad  mountains,  always 
presenting  wide  views,  entrancing  beyond  the 
grasp  of  imagination,  until,  at  the  end  of  eigh- 
teen miles,  timber  line  has  been  passed  and  the 
summit  of  the  pass  is  reached,  1 1,660  feet  above 
the  sea  and  surrounded  by  perpetual  snow. 

Then  the  descent  is  begun,  and  in  the  vast 
timbered  area  west  of  the  continental  divide 
the  big  game  country  begins,  extending  west- 
ward and  southward.  The  scenery  is  rugged  in 
the  extreme.  Now  and  again  one  glimpses 
mountain  streams,  said  to  be  alive  with  trout, 
pouring  down  over  rocks  to  join  other  streams 
in  their  course  to  the  far-away  Pacific.  This 
was  a  favorite  hunting  ground  for  the  old-time 
trappers,  and  more  than  one  profitable  and 
eventful    trapping   season    was    spent    in    this 


182  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

region  by  Kit  Carson  and  his  adventurous  com- 
panions, gathering  a  harvest  of  beaver  pelts 
while  they  maintained  an  almost  constant  war- 
fare against  the  Indians. 

There  were  several  local  sportsmen  on  the 
train,  bound  for  various  stations,  all  eager  to 
be  first  in  the  field  with  the  opening  of  the  prai- 
rie chicken  season  the  following  day.  No  in- 
troduction was  needed,  and  I  made  myself  a 
member  of  several  groups  and  obtained  some 
hints  which  served  to  verify  reports  previously 
made  me  by  guides  with  whom  I  had  been  in 
correspondence. 

Our  train  reached  Steamboat  Springs,  the 
terminus  of  the  road,  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
evening.  This  is  an  attractive  place,  sur- 
rounded by  numerous  springs  of  soda,  sulphur, 
iron,  and  other  mineralized  waters,  and  boasts 
a  comfortable  hotel.  It  is  rather  far  west  to 
meet  the  guides,  most  of  them,  in  the  Routt 
County  district,  living  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Yampa. 

The  following  morning  I  took  an  early  train 
to  Phippsburg,  in  Yampa  township,  a  few  miles 
to  the  eastward  of  Steamboat  Springs,  where  I 
met  Albert  Whitney,  a  well-known  bear  and 
lion  hunter  and  guide,  as  well  as  several  other 
of  the  local  hunters.     It  had  been  my  hope  to 


DISAPPEARING  GAME  183 

cross  the  intervening  counties  to  the  southward 
on  horseback  from  Phippsburg  to  Glenwood 
Springs,  visit  Meeker  and  Rifle,  and  meet  as 
many  guides  and  hunters  as  possible,  and  thus 
secure  as  intimate  a  knowledge  of  the  game 
country  and  conditions  as  such  a  trip  would  af- 
ford, but  this,  I  found,  would  require  more  time 
than  I  had  at  my  disposal  and  rob  me  of  time 
which  I  wished  to  devote  to  Wyoming  and 
Montana.  Though  this  was  early  September, 
snow  had  already  fallen,  a  suggestion  of  what 
might  be  expected  in  the  country  farther  north. 
Therefore,  after  two  days  in  Phippsburg,  I 
returned  to  Denver  and  proceeded  by  train  to 
Glenwood  Springs. 

This  is  the  chief  rendezvous  of  the  Colorado 
guides  and  an  excellent  outfitting  point.  Chief 
among  the  guides  here  are  Anderson  and  Bax- 
ter, who  work  together  as  partners,  and  W.  W. 
Warner.  All  of  them  were  absent,  however,  to 
my  disappointment,  save  Steve  Baxter,  a  fa- 
mous old-time  hunter  and  trapper,  one  of  the 
pioneers  of  the  region  and  a  member  of  the  firm 
of  Anderson  &  Baxter.  Steve,  who  has  hunted 
from  Montana  to  old  Mexico,  possesses  one  of 
the  finest  packs  of  bear  and  lion  dogs  in  the 
country.  He  was  with  Harry  Whitney,  the 
well-known  sportsman-author  of  Arctic  fame, 


184  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

when  the  latter  secured  a  record  grizzly  north 
of  Glenwood  Springs  a  few  years  ago. 

Previous  to  going  West  I  had  corresponded 
with  fish  and  game  commissioners,  game  war- 
dens, licensed  guides,  and  others,  in  the  States 
through  which  I  planned  to  travel  and  had  re- 
ceived from  them  estimates  of  the  amount  of 
game  still  remaining  in  the  various  localities 
with  which  they  were  familiar,  the  amount  of 
each  of  several  kinds  of  animals  killed  during 
the  previous  year,  and  the  number  of  legalized 
hunters.  It  will  be  understood  how  difficult 
it  is  to  make  a  close  estimate  of  wild  animals 
covering  a  large  spread  of  country. 

When  one  pauses  to  consider  the  vast  ex- 
tent of  territory  included,  even  in  a  single  one 
of  our  Western  States,  this  will  be  appreciated. 
There  are  several  States,  for  example,  much 
larger  than  Colorado,  but  when  we  remember 
that  Colorado  alone  has  an  area  equal  to  the 
combined  areas  of  Maine,  New  Hampshire, 
Vermont,  Massachusetts,  Connecticut,  Rhode 
Island,  New  Jersey,  Delaware,  Maryland,  and 
Hawaii,  with  enough  territory  left  over  to  make 
a  new  State  considerably  larger  than  Massachu- 
setts, some  conception  can  be  formed  of  the 
real  bigness  of  the  West. 

A  State  larger  than  Massachusetts  could  be 


DISAPPEARING  GAME  185 

made  of  Gunnison  County,  Colorado,  alone. 
With  this  in  mind,  let  us  remember  that  the 
game  estimates  I  shall  give,  though  compiled 
from  the  reports  of  the  best  observers  in  the 
localities  under  consideration,  are  only  approx- 
imate. 

Let  it  be  said  to  the  honor  of  Colorado  that 
several  years  ago  the  State  awoke  to  the  fact 
that  mountain  sheep  were  rapidly  disappear- 
ing and  that  prompt  action  was  needed  to  save 
them  from  extermination.  Absolute  protection 
was  extended  by  law  to  this  monarch  of  game 
animals,  and  they  began  to  increase  noticeably. 
My  estimate,  compiled  from  reports,  places  the 
number  at  present  within  the  State  at  approxi- 
mately 3,500,  and  I  may  say  that  this  totals 
fully  one-half  of  all  the  mountain  sheep  now  re- 
maining in  the  United  States. 

In  other  words,  it  is  doubtful  if  the  United 
States  possesses  to-day  more  than  seven  thou- 
sand, with  Wyoming  and  Montana  following 
Colorado  with  probably  less  than  five  hundred 
sheep  each;  both  of  these  States  still  permit 
hunting  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  animals  are 
nearing  extinction  and  that  the  ranges  in  the 
high  altitudes  and  rugged  mountain  peaks  in- 
habited by  them  are  incapable  of  supporting 
any  other  animal  of  value  save  the  mountain 


186  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

goat.  When  the  Wyoming  and  Montana 
ranges,  which  might  support  many  thousand 
sheep  under  normal  conditions,  are  finally  de- 
populated, as  they  are  sure  to  be  at  a  not  dis- 
tant date,  they  will  be  unutilized,  desolate, 
silent  wastes. 

Though  Colorado  still  has  so  large  a  pro- 
portion of  the  sheep,  her  ranges  could  easily 
support  many  times  the  present  number,  and 
to  have  the  prohibition  against  killing  sus- 
pended for  several  years  to  come  would  appeal 
to  those  interested  in  perpetuating  the  species 
as  little  short  of  a  calamity.  Some  of  the  guides 
are  exceedingly  anxious  to  have  an  open  hunt- 
ing season,  for  this  would  then  be  the  best  and 
most  available  hunting  ground  for  mountain 
sheep  in  the  country,  the  animals  could  be 
killed  with  a  comparatively  small  expenditure 
of  effort,  and  sportsmen  would  flock  here  to  se- 
cure trophies  while  they  are  to  be  had,  to  the 
increased  wealth  of  the  guides.  This  does  not 
apply,  of  course,  to  all  the  guides,  for  some  of 
the  best  of  them  are  animal  conservers,  and  I 
am  sure,  had  they  a  voice  in  the  matter,  would 
oppose  the  movement. 

Every  section  has  its  quota  of  hunters  who 
care  nothing  for  the  future  or  the  preservation 
of  species.    They  think  only  of  to-day  and  care 


BIS  APPEARING  GAME  187 

nothing  about  to-morrow.  The  animals  are 
there  and  they  believe  they  should  have  a 
chance  at  them  now.  These  are  the  people 
everywhere  who  bring  pressure  to  bear  on  local 
members  of  the  legislature  belonging  to  their 
districts,  and  the  members,  fearful  of  losing  ad- 
herents and  with  nothing  more  than  a  passing 
interest  in  the  game  themselves,  introduce  laws 
and  give  their  vote  without  regard  to  the  future 
of  the  game  and  in  accordance  with  the  wishes 
of  the  selfish  ones,  relying  upon  the  fact  that 
the  remaining  majority  have  too  little  interest 
in  the  subject  to  be  influenced  by  their  course. 

Mountain  sheep  have  three  great  enemies 
that  naturally  retard  increase,  even  when  there 
are  no  open  seasons  as  in  Colorado — the 
poacher,  the  cougar,  and  the  golden  eagle. 
These  are  the  enemies,  in  fact,  of  all  game  ani- 
mals, not  only  here,  but  throughout  the  game 
districts  of  the  West,  wherever  they  exist,  and 
unfortunately  the  poacher  is  to  be  found  wher- 
ever there  is  game,  East  and  West,  though  here 
and  there  I  found  localities  where  a  strong 
game-protection  feeling  has  grown  up  and 
poaching  is  not  common. 

Practically  wherever  I  went  I  encountered  a 
strong  feeling  of  sympathy  for  the  poacher.  In 
some  sections  ranchmen  and  mountaineers  ex- 


188  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

pressed  themselves  without  reserve  as  seeing  no 
harm  in  "getting  a  piece  of  meat"  whenever 
they  want  it.  The  sentiment  is  carried  into  ex- 
ecution in  all  secluded  sections,  and  not  a  few 
mountain  sheep,  deer,  elk,  and  wild  fowl  are 
killed  in  Colorado  by  men  who  believe  they  are 
morally  right  in  doing  so,  irrespective  of  law. 

Colorado  has  too  few  game  wardens  by  far 
to  watch  everybody,  and  some  of  them  are  not 
over-anxious  to  see  infringements,  for  reasons 
that  appeal  to  them  as  quite  sufficient.  The  best 
wardens  are  United  States  forestry  rangers,  in 
States  where  they  are  clothed  with  authority  to 
make  arrests.  They  are  usually  not  native  to 
the  localities  where  they  are  stationed  and  have 
no  preferences  or  axes  to  grind.  Local  war- 
dens, on  the  contrary,  are  frequently  appointed 
through  the  instrumentality  of  their  friends, 
and  they  hesitate  to  prosecute  those  friends 
whom  they  find  infringing  the  law.  Not  infre- 
quently to  do  so  would  mean  the  loss  of  their 
offices. 

There  are  some  instances  where  the  wardens 
themselves  are  notorious  poachers,  and  their 
appointment,  through  proper  influence,  leaves 
a  free  field  in  their  districts,  save  to  some  un- 
fortunate outsider  who  intrudes,  or  to  those 
who  do  not  belong  to  the  charmed  circle.    This 


Min 


DISAPPEARING  GAME  189 

reference  is  not  to  Colorado  alone.  Other 
States  are  equal  sinners. 

One  rank  open  case  of  poaching  came  to  my 
knowledge  in  Routt  County.  During  July, 
1910,  a  New  York  City  man,  who  lives  on  Riv- 
erside Drive  and  whose  name  and  address  I 
know,  appeared  at  Yampa  with  two  compan- 
ions. At  the  local  livery  stable  they  em- 
ployed a  guide  who  took  them  with  their  outfit 
to  a  point  in  the  Flat  Tops,  near  what  is  known 
as  the  Devil's  Causeway.  Here  the  guide  fitted 
up  their  camp,  made  them  comfortable,  and  re- 
turned to  his  duties  at  Yampa.  The  party  wras 
presumably  on  a  fishing  trip,  as  at  this  season 
there  is  no  open  season  on  any  game.  The 
guide  applied  for  and  secured  the  necessary  li- 
censes. Here  they  spent  six  weeks,  moving 
camp  a  short  distance  once. 

A  guide  who  had  a  camping  party  in  the 
mountains  observed  them  from  a  distance  and 
brought  his  party,  consisting  of  a  Chicago  man, 
another  gentleman,  and  the  Chicago  man's  wife, 
to  a  rendezvous  where,  unseen,  they  witnessed 
a  wigwag  signal  from  above  the  Devil's  Cause- 
way to  some  one  below.  The  Devil's  Cause- 
way, it  may  be  explained,  is  a  narrow  natural 
bridge  spanning  a  gorge.  Presently  shooting 
began. 


190  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

Later  the  guide  and  his  party  watched  the 
men  skinning  a  mountain  sheep's  head.  Field 
glasses  were  used  by  the  guide's  party,  though 
they  were  near  enough  to  see  very  well  with 
the  naked  eye.  The  Devil's  Causeway  is  a  reg- 
ular runway  for  sheep.  One  of  the  men  hunt- 
ing for  them  discovered  the  sheep,  on  the  op- 
posite side,  wigwagged  the  information  to  his 
friends  to  be  ready  for  them,  closed  in  above 
the  animals,  and  started  them  across  the  cause- 
way, where  they  were  shot.  How  many  were 
killed  I  cannot  say. 

Another  man,  not  connected  with  this  party 
of  observers,  walked  into  the  camp  later  and 
surprised  one  of  the  three  retreating  into  a 
tent  with  a  freshly  killed  sheep  ham  and 
claimed  he  found  evidence  that  several  elk  had 
also  been  killed.  The  guide  notified  a  game 
warden  what  had  been  seen.  The  day  follow- 
ing the  warning  the  man  who  had  taken  the 
party  in  went  for  them,  brought  them  out  to  the 
station  at  Yampa,  and  they  departed.  Their 
baggage  included  trunks  of  ample  dimensions 
to  accommodate  sheep  heads.  When  they  were 
well  away  and  safely  out  of  reach,  the  warden 
went  to  the  mountains.  There  was  nothing,  of 
course,  to  be  found. 

But  the  authorities  now  and  again  catch  the 


DISAPPEARING  GAME  191 

poachers.  I  was  in  Mr.  Holland's  office  in  the 
State  Capitol  one  day  when  a  poor  mountaineer 
guilty  of  sheep  killing  was  brought  in.  They 
had  caught  him  red  handed,  and  I  understand 
that  he  was  severely  punished  and  others  had 
preceded  him. 

In  order  that  a  game  commissioner  prosecute 
the  duties  of  his  office  satisfactorily  and  effect- 
ively not  only  he,  but  his  wardens  and  depu- 
ties, should  be  especially  qualified  for  the  posi- 
tion they  fill;  no  matter  how  well  qualified  or 
energetic  he  may  be,  he  labors  under  a  severe 
handicap  unless  his  wardens  are  also  efficient 
and  energetic  and  free  from  political  taint. 

Speaking  generally  of  all  our  States,  the  com- 
missioner himself  should  be  a  sportsman  and 
something  of  a  naturalist — a  man  who  not  only 
loves  the  wilderness  and  the  living  things  of 
the  forest,  but  knows  from  observation  some- 
thing of  the  habits  of  animals,  birds,  and  fish. 
He  should  have  sufficient  knowledge  of  these 
things  to  decide  when  a  range  is  well  enough 
stocked  to  admit  of  hunting,  or  when  and  how 
to  restock  a  depleted  range.  A  man  of  this  sort 
could  be  trusted  with  power,  under  certain  re- 
strictions, to  close  and  open  hunting  seasons  by 
proclamation,  as  necessity  demanded;  or  at 
least  to  make   recommendation  to  the  legisla- 


192  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

ture,  which  the  legislature  would  as  a  matter 
of  course  follow. 

Wardens  and  deputy  wardens  should  be  ap- 
pointed only  upon  competitive  examinations  as 
to  qualifications  and  stationed  at  points  where 
they  will  do  the  most  good,  regularly  patrolling 
their  districts.  Their  position  should  not  de- 
pend upon  the  rise  or  fall  of  the  political  party 
to  which  they  belong.  It  would  seem  that  the 
game  is  valuable  enough  to  warrant  such  addi- 
tional expense  as  this  might  entail,  and  in  all 
probability  license  fees  would  make  the  depart- 
ment, if  administered  on  business  principles, 
not  only  self-sustaining  but  very  remunerative 
to  the  State.  There  is  indeed  a  question 
whether  or  not  game  on  all  national  forest  re- 
serves should  not  come  under  Federal  control, 
as  the  migratory  habits  of  birds  and  many  spe- 
cies of  animals  make  them  to  some  extent,  at 
least,  inter-state  property.  Every  citizen  of  the 
United  States  has,  so  to  speak,  a  quasi  interest 
in  all  the  game  within  these  reserves. 

Under  the  present  methods  universally  in 
vogue  throughout  the  United  States,  the  com- 
missioner receives  his  appointment  through  po- 
litical preferment,  irrespective  of  qualification. 
He,  in  turn,  appoints  his  wardens  because  they 
are  good  party  men,  who  have  lent  their  aid  to 


DISAPPEARING  GAME  193 

the  advancement  of  party  interests.  Their 
qualification  for  the  position  does  not  enter 
very  largely  into  the  question.  I  have  no  doubt 
those  now  holding  office  under  this  plan  and 
the  politicians  who  wish  to  retain  as  many  po- 
litical plums  for  distribution  as  possible  would 
oppose  such  change  strongly  and  be  highly  in- 
dignant at  the  charge  that  the  present  system  is 
not  wholly  adequate,  but  it  is,  nevertheless,  true 
that  it  is  highly  inadequate. 

I  know  one  game  commissioner  who  it  is  gen- 
erally claimed  throughout  his  State,  does  not 
know  a  prairie  chicken  from  a  spruce  grouse. 
He  was  appointed  as  a  reward  for  activity  dur- 
ing a  political  campaign,  and  to  make  a  place 
for  him  an  unusually  competent  commissioner, 
a  man  who  had  made  a  life  study  of  animals 
and  their  habits,  was  deposed.  In  one  big  game 
section  I  asked  if  the  local  wardens  took  an  ac- 
tive and  intelligent  interest  in  the  game.  The 
answer  was  "Yes,  the  poker  game ;  but  no  other." 
This  applies  equally  well  to  many  sections. 

Returning  to  Colorado,  it  is  probable  that  a 
close  approximation  of  the  elk  would  be  two 
thousand,  and  while  they  are  scattered  over  va- 
rious sections  of  the  State,  the  greater  part  are 
in  the  northwest.  This  is  a  good  nucleus  for 
increase,  and  with  proper  care  and  preserva- 


194  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

tion  Colorado  may  in  time  have  some  good 
herds,  for  her  winter  and  summer  ranges  are 
well  adapted  to  elk. 

From  reports  received  I  find  it  impossible 
to  even  approximate  the  number  of  deer  in  Col- 
orado, or  even  to  estimate  with  any  degree  of 
accuracy  the  number  annually  killed.  The 
guides  could  tell  me  how  many  were  killed  by 
their  parties,  but  they  are  unanimous  in  stating 
that  so  many  are  secured  by  natives  hunting 
without  guides  that  the  reports  sent  me  are  no 
indication  of  the  number  actually  killed. 

With  the  exception  of  two  or  three,  however, 
all  admit  that  deer  are  noticeably  decreasing,  or 
were,  previous  to  1909.  Then  the  laws  permit- 
ted the  killing  of  does  and  fawns,  and  the 
slaughter  was  in  consequence  considerable; 
with  1909  the  season  was  shortened  to  ten  days, 
and  only  bucks  with  horns  allowed. 

Mr.  Holland  informed  me  that  eagles  were 
the  greatest  destroyers  of  young  fawns  and 
lambs  and  in  his  judgment  contributed  more 
than  any  other  factor  to  retarding  increase. 
Mountain  lions  and  lynx  also  get  their  share  of 
the  game,  and  a  very  considerable  share,  too. 
Baxter's  parties  alone  killed,  during  1909, 
twelve  lions  and  twenty-eight  lynx.  This  may 
be   taken   as   an   indication   of  how  numerous 


The  Big  Cats  are  Deadly  Enemies  of  Our  Big  Game. 


Lunching  on  the  Shore  of  Bear  Lake  Near  tire  Utah-Idaho  State  Line. 


DISAPPEARING  GAME  195 

they  are  and  the  depredation  they  must  neces- 
sarily commit. 

The  highest  estimate  I  received  of  the 
smaller  bears  in  northwestern  Colorado  was 
two  thousand,  and  the  highest  estimate  of  griz- 
zlies two  hundred.  The  next  approaching  it 
was  one  thousand  small  bears  and  one  hundred 
grizzlies,  and  from  the  information,  contained 
in  the  majority  of  reports  I  should  say  that  even 
this  could  be  cut  down  to  five  hundred  of  the 
one  and  fifty  of  the  other  as  a  very  liberal  ap- 
proximation. During  1909  Baxter  captured 
thirty-three  of  the  smaller  bears  and  one 
grizzly.  Considerable  numbers  were  killed  by 
others. 

With  very  few  exceptions  hunters  and  ranch- 
men with  whom  I  discussed  the  question 
throughout  the  West  were  in  favor  of  protec- 
tive laws  for  all  bears.  It  was  conceded  that 
these  animals  are  now  confined  to  such  remote 
localities  and  are  so  few  in  number  that  their 
destruction  of  domestic  stock  is  almost  nil.  Even 
the  grizzly  has  become  harmless,  and  the 
smaller  bears  never  were  a  destructive  factor. 

Bears  breed  so  slowly  that,  unless  steps  are 
soon  taken  to  protect  them,  the  day  of  their  ex- 
termination is  close  at  hand.  It  may  be  claimed 
by  the  materialists  that  any  plea  for  the  bear  is 


196  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

purely  sentimental,  but  who  among  nature 
lovers  would  not  feel  more  than  a  qualm  of 
sorrow  were  this  noble  animal  of  the  wilder- 
ness, which  played  so  large  a  part  in  our  child- 
ish fancy  and  dreams,  driven  to  extinction? 
Furthermore,  it  has  a  decided  value,  even  from 
the  most  sordid  standpoint,  for  its  pelt,  if  for 
nothing  else. 

Northwestern  Colorado  —  Colorado  as  a 
whole,  in  fact — is  so  interesting  that  I  turned 
westward  again  to  Salt  Lake  to  resume  the  sad- 
dle with  keen  regret  that  I  could  not  dip 
farther  into  its  wilderness  and  revel  for  a  time 
in  its  lofty,  rugged  peaks  and  marvelous 
scenery. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  FRONTIER  ONCE  MORE 

BEFORE  history  began  an  ancient  lake, 
called  by  geologists  Lake  Bonneville, 
covered  a  great  portion  of  what  are  now 
the  fertile  fields  of  northern  Utah  and  southern 
Idaho.  Lake  Bonneville  was  a  fresh  water  lake 
two-thirds  as  large  as  Lake  Superior,  a  thou- 
sand feet  deep,  with  an  outlet  to  the  north 
toward  Snake  River.  Growing  aridity  of  cli- 
mate dried  Lake  Bonneville  away  until  all  that 
is  left  of  it  now  is  Great  Salt  Lake,  the  "Dead 
Sea  of  America,"  some  eighty  miles  in  length 
and  forty  miles  in  width,  with  an  extreme 
depth  of  fifty  feet,  and  lying  4,210  feet  above 
sea  level. 

Through  Baron  La  Hontan  the  world  first 
heard  of  Great  Salt  Lake,  in  the  year  1689.  In 
1820  Mr.  Miller,  of  John  Jacob  Astor's  fur 
company,  visited  its  shores.     It  was  seen  and 

197 


198  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

reported  again  in  1825  by  Mr.  John  Bedford, 
and  again  in  1833  by  members  of  Captain 
Bonneville's  expedition.  Later,  Kit  Carson  and 
some  others  of  the  adventurous  trappers  who 
penetrated  this  far  wilderness  saw  the  lake. 
But  the  first  attempt  at  scientific  exploration 
was  made  by  Fremont,  under  the  guidance  of 
Kit  Carson,  in  1843,  when,  by  means  of  a  leaky 
folding  India-rubber  boat,  he  visited  with  Car- 
son and  some  other  members  of  his  party  what 
is  now  known  as  Fremont's  Island,  but  which 
he  himself  named  Disappointment  Island. 

This  was  a  land  of  deepest  mystery  and  ro- 
mance in  those  early  days.  Trappers  had 
brought  out  to  the  world  marvelous  tales  of  the 
wonders  of  the  great  lake.  It  was  popularly 
believed  that  it  had  an  underground  outlet  and 
where  the  waters  sank  was  a  great  and  fearful 
whirlpool. 

The  old  myths  have  been  dispelled;  the  old 
trappers  and  their  romantic  lives,  Pocatello 
and  his  marauding  Indians,  the  struggling  pi- 
oneer and  settler,  have  all  given  way  to  the  new 
reality — comfortable  living  and  civilization. 
Salt  Lake  City  stands  on  what  was  once  the 
bottom  of  Lake  Bonneville,  whose  foam-crested 
waves  rolled  a  thousand  feet  above  her  present 
street^ 


THE  FRONTIER  ONCE  MORE  199 

The  abundance  of  game  that  was  found  in 
northern,  as  in  southern,  Utah  by  the  pioneer 
has  largely  gone,  also,  and  the  sportsmen  of  to- 
day are  greatly  interested  in  the  preservation  of 
what  remains,  and  not  only  the  city,  but  every 
town  and  hamlet  in  the  valley  has,  in  proportion 
to  the  population,  an  unusually  large  number  of 
men  devoted  to  rod  and  gun.  For  example, 
Salt  Lake  City  has  an  organization  known  as 
the  "Hot  Air  Club,"  formed  to  discuss  and  de- 
vise means  for  the  better  protection  of  the  di- 
minishing game.  The  members  of  this  asso- 
ciation are  well-informed  business  and  profes- 
sional men  intensely  interested  in  game  pro- 
tection, who  believe  that  the  preservation  of 
game  and  fish  should  be  taken  out  of  the  realm 
of  politics  and  established  on  a  scientific  basis. 
When  they  first  came  together  the  politicians 
facetiously  dubbed  them  the  "Hot  Air  Club." 
The  club  promptly  adopted  the  name  and  bear 
it  with  honor. 

There  are  some  eleven  game  protective  asso- 
ciations spread  out  over  the  State,  which  are 
more  or  less  closely  allied  with  each  other.  A 
large  proportion  of  the  members  of  these  allied 
clubs  have  been  sworn  in  as  deputy  game 
wardens,  to  serve  without  pay,  and  through 
them  many  violators  of   the  game  laws  have 


200  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

been  apprehended.  Their  efforts,  however, 
have  been  chiefly  directed  toward  the  education 
of  the  people  in  the  preservation  and  conserva- 
tion of  game  and  fish. 

Not  alone  are  the  members  of  these  allied 
associations  working  in  conjunction  with  the 
State  Department  to  protect  and  propagate 
fish  and  game  and  exerting  their  influence  with 
the  legislature — an  influence  recognized  by  the 
politicians — to  pass  adequate  laws,  but  they  are 
devoting  themselves  to  the  education  of  the  in- 
dividual members  of  the  communities  in  which 
they  reside.  They  have  no  big  meetings,  they 
do  not  indulge  in  pyrotechnic  oratory,  they  dis- 
tribute no  livid  literature.  They  get  down  to 
the  ground  and  do  work  that  tells.  In  this  edu- 
cational feature  they  are  doing  more  really 
beneficial  protective  work  than  any  other  body 
of  allied  sportsmen  in  the  country.  And 
through  the  interest  they  have  awakened  in  the 
subject  they  have  built  up  their  power. 

But  in  spite  of  this  poaching  exists,  as  it  is 
sure  to  exist  in  every  country  where  there  is 
game,  and  many  poachers  escape.  In  Utah, 
just  as  in  other  States,  I  met  men  who  believed 
that  any  legal  restriction  of  hunting  was  an  en- 
croachment upon  personal  rights,  and  I  learned 
of  several  instances  where  such  individuals  had 


THE  FRONTIER  ONCE  MORE  201 

killed  prairie  chickens  and  grouse  unlawfully. 
Heavy  fines,  however,  and  a  large  number  of 
deputy  wardens,  paid  and  unpaid,  are  resulting 
in  an  increase  of  deer,  and  let  us  hope  of  moun- 
tain sheep,  in  the  southwestern  part  of  the 
State. 

The  sportsmen  of  Utah  were  greatly  agitated 
over  an  epidemic  among  ducks  and  other  water 
fowl  on  the  marshes  contiguous  to  Great  Salt 
Lake.  It  was  estimated  that  at  least  a  quarter 
million  ducks,  as  well  as  innumerable  geese, 
plover,  snipe  of  various  species,  and  even  some 
sea  gulls,  lay  dead  on  these  marshes,  and  they 
were  still  dying  by  thousands.  I  visited  the 
lake,  and  the  stench  at  some  points  from  the 
putrefying  flesh  of  birds  can  only  be  described 
as  awful.  The  gun  clubs  were  not  to  open,  and 
no  shooting  was  to  be  done  during  the  season. 

Some  of  the  dead  ducks  were  sent  to  the  Di- 
vision of  Pathology,  of  the  Bureau  of  Animal 
Industry,  at  Washington,  D.  C,  and  Dr.  J.  R. 
Mohler,  Chief  of  the  Division,  reported,  after 
an  examination  of  the  specimens,  that  death  was 
due  to  intestinal  coccidiosis.  Dr.  Mohler's  re- 
port stated  that  the  ducks  were  in  good  flesh 
and  the  viscera  apparently  normal,  except  the 
intestines,  which  presented  throughout  the  en- 
tire length  more  or  less  extensive  areas  of  in- 


202  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

flammation.  Microscopic  examination  of  the 
intestinal  contents  revealed  immense  numbers 
of  coccidia  in  various  stages  of  development. 

There  were  many  theories  as  to  the  source  of 
infection,  but  the  one  generally  accepted,  and 
undoubtedly  the  true  one,  was  this:  The  Jor- 
dan River  is  the  depository  of  Salt  Lake  City 
sewage.  Near  the  point  where  it  empties  into 
the  lake  it  spreads  out  into  a  wide  and  shallow 
mouth.  The  season  had  been  an  unusually  dry 
one,  the  river  was  low,  and  wide  mud  areas  had 
been  left  partially  uncovered  and  strewn  with 
sewage  upon  which  large  numbers  of  ducks 
were  constantly  feeding. 

The  fact  that  ducks  fly  long  distances  in  a 
few  hours  probably  accounts  for  the  fact  that 
many  ducks  were  dying  in  other  sections,  north 
and  south  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake.  If  this  was 
in  fact  the  source  of  infection,  the  remedy  is 
undoubtedly  to  dredge  the  channel  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Jordan.  This  would  carry  all 
sewage  directly  into  the  lake,  instead  of  spread- 
ing it  over  the  mud  flats,  as  at  present. 

Heart  and  Button  were  fat  and  frisky  and  in 
splendid  shape  when  I  saddled  Heart,  packed 
Button,  and  turned  northward,  en  route  to 
Idaho  and  Wyoming.  My  course  took  me  di- 
rectly through  Salt  Lake  City  and  Ogden.    Og- 


Charles  Neil's  Cabin  on   Buffalo  Fork. 


It  was  a  United  States  Geological  Survey  Camp 


THE  FRONTIER  ONCE  MORE  203 

den  Canon,  with  high,  perpendicular  walls, 
rushing  river,  and  wood-clad  corners,  is  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  spots  in  northern  Utah. 
At  one  point  a  stream  of  water  gushes  out  of  the 
rocks  several  hundred  feet  above  the  river  and 
is  lost  in  mist. 

But  the  canon  is  too  near  civilization  to  be 
permitted  to  retain  its  wild  and  primitive  natu- 
ral beauty  undefiled.  Painted  and  plastered 
over  the  walls  of  Ogden  Canon  one's  eye  meets 
such  legends  as,  "Use  Pillbox's  Sure  Cure  Rem- 
edies;" "Walkfast  shoes  give  comfort;"  "For 
elegance  of  form,  wear  Madam  Fuzzyhead's 
Corsets;"  "Learn  to  dance  at  Professor  Little- 
wit's  Academy,"  and  so  on,  ad  infinitum. 

Ogden  River,  a  turbulent,  beautiful  trout 
stream,  pours  down  through  the  canon  and 
westward,  to  empty  its  waters  into  Great  Salt 
Lake.  It  was  on  the  banks  of  this  river  that  one 
of  Captain  Bonneville's  men,  coming  upon  two 
Shoshone  Indians  peacefully  fishing,  ruthlessly 
and  without  provocation  shot  one  of  them  to 
death  and  threw  his  body  into  the  water.  It 
was  also  on  this  river  that  Bonneville's  party 
fired  into  some  peaceful  Shoshones  and  killed 
twenty-five  of  them,  though  the  Indians  had 
offered  no  hostility  and  even  after  the  massacre 
made  no  attempt  at  retaliation.    This  was,  how- 


204  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

ever,  but  one  instance  of  the  white  invaders' 
treatment  of  the  Indians,  and  there  is  small 
cause  to  wonder  that  our  pioneer  settlements 
later  were  subjected  to  Indian  raids  and  hos- 
tilities. 

It  was  October,  and  the  warm  sun  shone 
down  upon  the  valley  beyond  Ogden  Canon 
through  an  Indian  summer  haze.  Here  lay  the 
little  village  of  Huntsville  and  some  scattered 
ranches.  The  near-by  mountains,  where  they 
spread  to  make  room  for  the  valley,  were 
splotched  with  green  and  yellow,  where  they 
draw  together  again,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
valley,  the  intervening  autumn  haze  had  tinged 
them  a  delicate,  opalescent  blue  and  purple. 

Though  the  days  were  filled  with  balm  and 
sunshine,  the  nights  were  growing  cold,  and 
every  morning  now  the  ground  was  stiffened 
with  frost.  Hoar  frost  lay  thick  upon  every- 
thing, sparkling  in  the  first  rays  of  the  rising 
sun,  when  I  rode  out  of  Huntsville  in  early 
morning.  My  trail  led  up  the  valley  and  into 
Beaver  Creek  Canon,  en  route  to  Bear  Lake, 
Idaho.  At  Salt  Lake  City  I  had  been  warned 
that  I  should  find  the  country  around  Bear 
Lake  covered  with  snow,  and  the  frosty  air  at 
this  lower  altitude  gave  strength  to  the  proph- 
ecy as  to  the  country  farther  on. 


THE  FRONTIER  ONCE  MORE  205 

Presently  ranches  were  left  behind,  and  the 
trail  turned  into  the  wooded  mountains  to  wind 
up  a  narrow  defile  down  which  Beaver  Creek, 
a  magnificent  trout  stream,  tumbled  over  a 
rocky  bed.  Here  in  a  turn  in  the  trail  I  sud- 
denly came  upon  a  cowboy  riding  a  jaded  horse, 
and  driving  three  or  four  loose  ones  ahead. 

"Hello,  Stranger,"  he  said,  "got  some  to- 
bacco? I'm  plumb  dyin'  and  famished  for  a 
smoke." 

While  he  rolled  a  cigarette  from  my  tobacco 
he  remarked  that  he  had  lost  his  pouch  the  day 
before,  and  I  was  the  first  person  he  had  met 
since. 

"Come  down  from  Bear  Lake?"  I  asked. 

"Yes.  Been  punchin'  with  an  outfit  in  Idaho, 
and  I'm  headin'  for  Ogden  to  sell  these  cayuses. 
Reckon  you're  ridin'  range?" 

"No,  just  looking  the  country  over.  I'm 
going  to  Jackson's  Hole." 

"Hell  of  a  country  to  go  through,"  he  vol- 
unteered. "It's  plumb  skinned  of  feed  between 
here  and  the  lake.  Sheep's  et  everything  clean 
and  it's  a  damn  outrage.  It  ain't  likely  you'll 
strike  any  feed  this  side  of  Star  Valley." 

This  was  the  report  everywhere,  and  this  lack 
of  forage  for  horses,  due  to  the  ravages  of  sheep, 
is  the  one  great  obstacle  placed  in  the  way  of 


206  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

present-day  travelers  through  unsettled  regions 
of  the  West. 

Beaver  Creek  has  considerable  volume  where 
the  trail  enters  the  mountains,  but  ascending 
the  gorge  it  gradually  shrinks  into  a  mere  rivu- 
let, trickling  from  scattered  springs.  Beyond 
this  the  diminishing  trees  disappear,  and  pres- 
ently, above  the  gorge  and  on  the  summit  of  a 
ridge  dividing  two  water  sheds,  even  willows 
and  shrubs  gave  way  to  sage  brush. 

The  main  road  here  is  a  wood  road,  which 
drops  over  the  ridge  and  sends  branches  into 
some  three  or  four  canon  lumber  camps.  The 
direct  road  for  Bear  Lake  turns  to  the  left  and 
is  little  used.  An  hour  before  I  met  the  cow- 
boy on  Beaver  Creek,  I  had  passed  an  outfit 
consisting  of  a  teamster  with  a  heavily  loaded 
wagon  of  lumber-camp  supplies  and  a  man  in 
a  buggy.  The  latter  was  a  lumberman  named 
Lewis,  the  former  one  of  his  men,  on  the  way  to 
Lewis's  camp  in  Skunk  Creek  Canon.  Mr. 
Lewis  invited  me  to  spend  the  night  at  his  camp, 
where  he  told  me  forage  could  be  had  for  my 
horses. 

The  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west  behind  a 
bank  of  threatening  clouds  when  I  reached  the 
Bear  Lake  trail,  over  which  the  cowboy  had 
come.      His   description   of   the   naked   region 


Nearly  Four  Inches  of  Sr.ow  Had  Fallen   During  the  Night. 


Remarkable  Hot  Springs  in  the  Lower  Star  Valley,  Wyoming. 


THE  FRONTIER  ONCE  MORE  207 

through  which  the  trail  lay,  with  no  probability 
that  the  horses  could  forage  their  supper,  de- 
termined me  to  search  for  Lewis's  camp,  and  I 
therefore  turned  into  the  other  trail  in  the  hope 
that  good  luck  would  lead  me  to  Skunk  Creek 
Canon.  The  several  branching  trails,  each 
leading  into  a  canon,  rendered  the  selection  of 
the  right  one  uncertain,  but  presently  I  came 
upon  a  brook  and  decided  to  follow  it  a  rea- 
sonable distance  up  the  narrow  mountain  defile 
from  which  it  emerged,  and,  if  nothing  devel- 
oped, bivouac  for  the  night. 

Twilight  was  fading  into  darkness  when  I 
reached  the  brook,  and  soon  it  grew  so  dark  in 
the  narrow  canon  that  I  was  compelled  to  rely 
upon  Heart's  instinct  to  keep  the  trail.  For- 
tunately we  had  proceeded  not  much  above  a 
mile  when  a  camp-fire  glimmered  through  the 
trees,  and  a  few  minutes  later  I  rode  into  the 
circle  of  its  light,  where  three  men  lounged 
with  their  pipes.  It  proved  to  be  Lewis's  camp, 
and  I  received  a  hospitable  greeting. 

Lewis's  lumber  camp  was  situated  in  a  na- 
tional forest  reserve,  and  the  government  had 
ordered  all  tree  cutting  stopped.  Some  logs  of 
a  previous  year's  chopping  were  still  on  the 
ground,  and  Lewis  had  established  this  tem- 
porary camp  to  clean  them  up  and  discontinue 


208  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

operations  in  accordance  with  the  terms  of  the 
edict.  His  loggers  were  just  coming  in  to  haul 
the  logs  already  cut  to  a  portable  sawmill  which 
the  three  men  with  whom  I  stopped  were  then 
engaged  in  setting  up.  The  only  buildings  yet 
erected  were  a  makeshift  barn,  a  small  shack, 
and  an  open  shed. 

The  sky  was  heavily  clouded  when  Lewis  and 
his  teamster  joined  us  at  nine  o'clock  that  even- 
ing, and  a  little  later  a  gale  was  sweeping  up 
the  canon.  I  spread  my  blankets  under  the 
open  shed,  and  before  I  fell  asleep  felt  the  first 
flakes  of  a  coming  snowstorm  on  my  face. 
When  I  arose  at  dawn  the  following  morning  a 
thick  blanket  of  snow  covered  me,  and  nearly 
four  inches  had  fallen  during  the  night.  The 
storm  had  passed,  however,  though  the  morn- 
ing was  raw,  with  fleeting  clouds  scudding  over 
the  sky  and  a  cold,  penetrating  wind  blowing, 
a  chilliness  that  even  the  dazzling  sunlight  that 
followed  did  not  modify  appreciably  as  I 
pushed  up  the  canon. 

Travelers  over  the  mountain  ridge  are  rare 
at  any  time,  and  all  day  long,  beyond  the  lum- 
ber camps,  I  picked  my  way  over  unbroken 
trails  through  snow-hung  firs,  up  and  down  ra- 
vines or  across  wind-swept  open  spaces,  and  saw 
no  sign  of  human  life — or  any  kind  of  life,  in 


THE  FRONTIER  ONCE  MORE  209 

fact,  save  a  fox  track  or  two,  a  few  rabbit 
tracks,  and  now  and  again  a  squirrel.  This 
disappointed  me,  for  there  are  deer  here,  and 
the  lumbermen  told  me  I  should  in  all  proba- 
bility see  some  of  them,  or  at  least  their  signs, 
in  the  fresh  snow.  Bear,  too,  were  said  to  be 
fairly  numerous,  and  I  had  hoped  to  see  a  track, 
for  they  were  still  abroad. 

Beyond  the  ridge  somewhere  in  a  valley  was 
the  little  settlement  of  Woodruff,  and  with 
neither  compass  nor  definite  trail  to  guide  me, 
I  took  the  general  course  in  which  my  map — 
a  very  imperfect  map,  I  had  discovered — said 
Woodruff  lay,  avoiding,  as  best  I  could,  gulches 
and  canons.  Now  and  again  magnificent  views 
of  the  snow-clad  country  to  the  northward  op- 
ened before  me — timbered  areas,  wide  stretches 
of  valley  and  plain,  and  lofty  mountain  peaks. 

In  mid-afternoon  I  crossed  a  wind-swept 
reach  of  the  open  country  and  then  began  a 
gradual  descent.  Presently  the  snow  was  left  be- 
hind, to  the  relief  of  myself  and  the  horses. 
Here,  as  we  dropped  into  the  head  of  a  narrow, 
rugged  canon,  several  prairie  chickens  were 
started.  Following  the  canon  to  its  mouth,  I 
passed  an  abandoned  ranch,  on  the  banks  of  a 
brook  which  coursed  down  a  narrow  valley 
into  which  the  canon  opened,  and  near  sunset 


210  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

glimpsed  a  group  of  tents  which  I  recognized 
as  a  government  outfit.  I  rode  up  to  them  and 
halloed,  and  two  or  three  men  answered  the 
call.  It  was  a  United  States  Geological  Sur- 
vey camp,  they  told  me,  and,  in  answer  to  my 
inquiries,  said  Woodruff  was  six  miles  away, 
straight  ahead,  too  far  to  go  that  evening,  and 
invited  me  to  stop  with  them  for  the  night. 

The  camp  was  in  charge  of  A.  E.  Murling, 
a  veteran  in  the  department,  and  with  him  and 
his  assistants  the  evening  spent  here  was  a  par- 
ticularly pleasant  one.  They  were  making  the 
first  geological  survey  of  the  region.  The  day 
before  my  arrival  they  had  descended  from  the 
higher  altitudes  and  had  thus  escaped  the  snow 
that  I  had  encountered. 

All  of  these  forest-covered  mountains,  with 
open,  grassy  parks,  were  formerly  richly 
stocked  with  elk,  deer,  antelope,  and  bear.  A 
few  elk  remain,  but  all  the  antelope  have  been 
killed;  deer,  while  increasing,  are  not  plentiful, 
although  bears  are  said  to  be  fairly  numerous. 
I  did  not  see  one  deer  track  in  the  fresh  snow. 
The  surveyors  told  me  that  they  had  seen  some 
earlier  in  the  fall,  as  well  as  bears. 

It  is  claimed  that  mountain  sheep  still  in- 
habit the  higher  and  more  rugged  mountains 
of  northern  and  northeastern  Utah,  but  I  could 


THE  FRONTIER  ONCE  MORE  211 

find  no  trace  of  them.  Close  questioning  of 
the  hunters  and  mountaineers,  from  Huntsville 
to  Bear  Lake,  satisfies  me  beyond  a  reasonable 
doubt  that  sheep  in  northern  Utah  have  become 
extinct.  Therefore  Utah's  only  remaining 
mountain  sheep  are  in  the  south.  It  is  exceed- 
ingly difficult  to  estimate  the  number  with  any 
degree  of  accuracy,  but  from  the  reports  which 
I  gathered  through  personal  inquiry  among  of- 
ficials and  hunters,  and  through  correspondence, 
I  should  place  the  number  at  not  far  from  three 
hundred,  and  should  say  also  that  they  are 
slowly  increasing  under  the  protective  laws 
which  prohibit  all  hunting  and  provide  an  ade- 
quate and  severe  penalty  for  infringements. 

As  for  the  birds,  the  natives  about  Hunts- 
ville and  in  that  region  generally  believe  pro- 
tective laws  are  unjust  and  that  they  have  a 
moral  right  to  shoot  when  they  please;  and 
they  do  shoot  a  great  many  chickens,  and  some- 
times other  game,  out  of  season.  Several  of 
them  boasted  to  me  of  having  done  so,  and  one 
showed  me  a  chicken  he  had  just  killed.  Utah 
is  particularly  well  adapted  to  game  birds,  and 
in  a  few  isolated  sections  they  are  fairly  plenti- 
ful, but  wide  areas  are  not  stocked  at  all  and 
others  are  very  poorly  stocked. 

The  brook,  the  headwaters  of  which  I  came 


212  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

upon  in  the  valley  where  the  engineers  were  en- 
camped, was  Birch  Creek,  emptying  a  little 
way  below  the  engineers'  camp  into  Twelve- 
mile  Creek,  a  tributary  of  Bear  River.  I  fol- 
lowed these  creeks  down  to  Woodruff,  thence 
turned  northward  along  Bear  River  to  Ran- 
dolph over  a  high  ridge,  and  down  Laketown 
Canon  to  the  little  settlement  of  Laketown,  at 
the  canon's  mouth  and  at  the  head  of  Bear 
Lake. 

Practically  the  only  settlements  that  have  yet 
found  foothold  in  Rich  County  are  Woodruff, 
Randolph,  Laketown,  Meadowville,  and  Gar- 
den City,  the  last-named  village  lying  on  the 
west  shore  of  Bear  Lake,  close  to  the  Utah- 
Idaho  State  line.  Randolph,  with  a  population 
of  six  hundred,  is  the  county  seat  and  the  larg- 
est and  most  important  settlement  in  the  county. 
The  houses  are  chiefly  of  hewn  logs,  and  this  is 
the  construction  used  in  Rich  County  generally. 

While  the  county  is  large  in  area,  it  is  for  the 
most  part  mountainous,  and  the  land  adapted 
to  agriculture  is  practically  confined  to  Bear 
River  Valley.  The  crops  are  almost  exclu- 
sively hay  and  grain.  Isolated  from  railroads, 
it  still  flavors  of  the  frontier,  and  the  traveler's 
imagination  is  not  taxed  very  greatly  in  an  at- 
tempt to  picture  it  as  it  appeared  in  the  days  of 


THE  FRONTIER  ONCE  MORE  213 

the  early  fur  trappers,  when  Mr.  Miller  of  the 
Astor  Fur  Company  and  his  companions 
trapped  beaver,  only  to  be  robbed  by  Indians 
and  set  afoot  naked  and  without  arms  in  the 
unknown  wilderness,  and  rescued  later  by  Mr. 
Stuart,  who  found  them  in  a  most  pitiable  con- 
dition on  the  banks  of  the  Snake  River;  when 
Captain  Bonneville  spent  a  winter  here  living 
in  plenty,  with  thousands  upon  thousands  of 
buffalo  feeding  about  him;  when  Kit  Carson 
and  his  companions  trapped  beaver  along  Bear 
River,  and  chased  Indians  into  the  mountains. 
The  valley  lies  at  a  mean  altitude  of  6,500  feet 
above  sea  level.  Its  climate  is,  therefore,  too 
cold  for  successful  fruit  culture  or  general 
farming,  and  to  this,  no  doubt,  is  due  its  tardy 
development. 

One  of  the  most  delightful  surprises  of  my 
journey  met  me  just  before  emerging  from 
Laketown  Canon,  when  suddenly,  at  a  turn  of 
the  road,  Bear  Lake,  stretching  away  between 
rugged  mountains  as  far  as  eye  could  reach, 
and  the  little  settlement  on  the  lake  shore  in  the 
foreground,  surrounded  by  green  and  framed 
by  canon  walls,  flashed  up  before  me  as  sud- 
denly as  a  lantern  view  appears  upon  the  can- 
vas. 

There  is  a  road  on  either  side  of  the  lake. 


214  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

That  on  the  west  leads  to  Garden  City  and 
Idaho  settlements  beyond;  that  on  the  east  is 
little  traveled.  The  latter  is  the  nearer  route 
to  Star  Valley,  Wyoming,  and  I  chose  it,  both 
because  of  this,  and  because,  as  I  looked  down 
the  lake,  it  appealed  to  me  as  the  more  attrac- 
tive, with  precipitous  mountains  crowding  it 
on  the  one  side,  the  waves  of  the  lake  washing 
it  on  the  other. 

On  the  shore  of  Bear  Lake  I  crossed  the 
State  line  into  Idaho,  though  there  was  nothing 
to  indicate  its  position.  Since  leaving  John  at 
Kanab  I  had  traversed  the  entire  length  of  the 
State  of  Utah,  passing  through  Kane,  Garfield, 
Paiute,  Sevier,  San  Pete,  Juab,  Utah,  Salt  Lake, 
Davis,  Weber,  Cache,  and  Rich  Counties  on 
horseback.  In  the  course  of  this  journey  I  had 
seen  intimately  a  wide  expanse  of  country  and 
had  met  and  interviewed  many  of  the  leading 
sportsmen,  the  humble  hunters  and  ranchmen, 
the  State  Game  and  Fish  Commissioner,  and 
many  of  his  deputies,  and  felt  that  this  had  re- 
sulted in  a  fairly  comprehensive  estimate  of  the 
game  conditions  of  the  State — a  much  better 
estimate  than  could  possibly  be  had  from  casual 
railway  visits  to  separated  centers. 

I  was  passing  now  into  a  new  region,  physi- 
cally   different   and   populated    by    additional 


THE  FRONTIER  ONCE  MORE  215 

species  of  animals.  The  arid  desert  stretches 
and  the  thickly  populated  valleys  were  behind 
me.  A  well  watered  region,  with  its  great  for- 
ests, lay  before  me,  in  pleasant  anticipation.  I 
had  again  entered  the  country  of  the  pack- 
horse  and  Button  with  his  pack  was  quite  in 
fashion.  All  about  me  tumultuous  mountains 
raised  snow-capped  peaks,  a  warning  that  win- 
ter was  at  hand. 


CHAPTER   XV 

INTO  WYOMING 

BEAR  LAKE  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
lakes  in  the  West,  and  therefore  in  the 
world.  The  water  has  a  greenish  tinge 
and  is  so  clear  as  to  be  perfectly  transparent. 
The  pebbly  beaches  reach  down  with  a  gentle 
slope  and  are  washed  white  by  the  pure  waters. 
Innumerable  wild  fowl  hover  above  or  float 
contentedly  upon  the  bosom  of  the  lake.  Trout 
by  thousands  may  be  seen  where  streams  empty 
into  it.  Had  the  sage  brush  on  the  mountains 
paralleling  it  on  either  side  been  fir  trees,  it 
would  have  been  a  counterpart  of  some  of  the 
Labrador  lakes  that  I  have  known. 

Morning  came  frosty,  with  a  cloudless  sky, 
and  was  followed  by  a  day  perfect  beyond  com- 
pare. My  ride  down  the  shore  of  Bear  Lake 
atoned  fully  for  every  disagreeable  feature  of 
the  trip  that  had  gone  before. 

216 


INTO  WYOMING  217 

It  is  twenty-four  miles  from  Laketown  ham- 
let at  the  upper  end  to  a  little  ranch  at  the 
lower  end,  where  the  east  shore  trail  which  I 
followed  joined  the  turnpike  from  Garden  City 
leading  on  to  Montpelier.  At  the  little  ranch 
at  Turnpike,  which  I  reached  at  half  past  four 
in  the  afternoon  and  where  I  halted  for  the 
night,  hot  sulphur  springs  boil  out  of  the  moun- 
tain base  and  the  water  runs  down  in  steaming 
brooks  to  join  the  lake. 

With  a  native  of  the  ranch  I  walked  along 
the  beach  sands  to  see  the  sun  set  in  sublime 
effulgence  of  red,  purple,  and  yellow  beyond 
the  mountains  on  the  opposite  shore.  The  man 
was  a  poet  and  a  dreamer.  He  had  a  most  de- 
liberate manner  of  expression,  which  accentu- 
ated his  peculiarities.  He  had  spent  his  life  in 
this  region;  beyond  a  bit  of  the  surrounding 
mountains  and  near-by  wilderness,  he  had  seen 
nothing  of  the  world. 

"Every  evenin'  I  come  down  here,"  said  he, 
"t'  see  th'  sun  go  down  an'  th'  sky  light  up  with 
bright  colors,  an'  I  think  I'd  like  t'  see  th' 
other  countries  th'  sun  lights  when  it  leaves  us. 
They  must  be  lands  of  great  beauty  t'  reflect 
such  colors  in  th'  sky,  for  th'  sky,  I  takes  it,  is 
just  a  big  mirror.  Maybe,  though,  it's  not 
earthly  lands,  but  heaven,  that's  reflected.    An' 


218  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

what  wonderful  people  must  live  there,  for  they 
sure  must  be  fit  for  th'  land,  or  th'  Almighty 
wouldn't  let  'em  stay." 

We  walked  down  to  the  beach  again,  at  his 
suggestion,  to  see  the  lake  by  the  light  of  a  bril- 
liant moon.  The  mountains  threw  black  shad- 
ows upon  the  near-shore  waters,  while  beyond 
them  rippling  waves  glistened  and  sparkled  to 
the  base  of  rising  shore  line  opposite,  while  far 
up  the  lake  the  star-sprinkled  sky  came  down 
to  meet  the  sparkling  waters.  The  only  sound 
was  the  lap  of  waves  at  our  feet  and  the  bark 
of  coyotes  on  the  hills  behind  the  ranch. 

"I  often  wonder,"  said  my  friend,  "what  the 
world  is  like  outside  of  this,  and  th'  big  ocean 
with  waves  as  high  as  these  mountains.  I've 
never  seen  none  of  th'  world  exceptin'  some  of 
these  hills  and  canons  and  Montpelier.  Mont- 
pelier's  a  big  place,  an'  they  have  all  sorts  of 
contraptions  there.  You'll  hit  th'  town  to-mor- 
row. I  don't  care  much  about  it.  Th'  folks 
seem  different. 

"I  was  some  interested  in  wagons  that  run 
without  horses — watcher  call  'em?  I  don't  re- 
member. One  of  'em  tried  to  run  down  here  in 
th'  summer  an'  got  stuck  just  above  in  th'  sand. 
I'd  like  t'  go  an'  see  what  there  is  in  th'  world, 
for  I  expect  there's  a  heap  bigger  places  than 


Below  the  Preuss  Ranch  I  Crossed  the  Line  Into  Wyoming. 


The  Destroyers. 


INTO  WYOMING  219 

Montpelier,  with  a  heap  of  strange  things  they 
don't  have  there.  But,"  he  added,  after  a 
pause,  "I  expect  I'll  never  see  anything  but  just 
this  round  here,  an'  it  ain't  so  bad,  I  reckon, 
with  its  sunsets  and  moonlights." 

From  Montpelier,  the  seat  of  Bear  Lake 
County,  Idaho,  and  a  local  metropolis  with 
2,500  population,  I  turned  to  the  northeast, 
through  Montpelier  Canon,  past  Thomas's 
Forks — not  a  town  but  a  fork  in  the  river; 
there  are  no  settlements  here — and  thence  across 
the  Preuss  Range  of  mountains.  At  Montpe- 
lier I  had  crossed  the  railroad  and  there  left  it 
behind  me.  Montpelier  is  the  nearest  railway 
point  for  the  settlements  in  Star  Valley,  Wy- 
oming, across  the  Preuss  Range,  the  first  one 
fifty  miles  away  and  some  of  them  a  full  hun- 
dred miles. 

Supplies  are  hauled  over  the  mountains  to 
the  settlements  by  freighters  driving  two,  four, 
and  sometimes  six,  horses.  Comparatively 
light  loads  are  necessarily  carried,  for  the 
mountain  grades  are  steep — at  some  points  even 
precipitous — and  the  road  is  not  always  good. 
In  the  canon  I  met  two  of  the  freighters  and 
beyond  the  ridge  several  others. 

This,  too,  is  the  route  of  the  mail  stages.  A 
station   is   maintained   by   the   stage   company 


220  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

some  two  miles  beyond  the  summit  of  the  pass 
and  high  up  in  the  mountains,  where  tired 
horses  are  changed  for  fresh  ones  by  passing 
stages.  This  is  known  as  Halfway  House,  and 
a  stage  driver  is  always  in  charge.  Travelers 
are  not  entertained  here  with  beds  or  food,  but 
one's  horses  will  be  cared  for  if  one  is  prepared 
to  pay  three  or  four  times  the  charge  usually 
made  for  hay  and  grain  in  settled  localities. 
Such  excessive  charge  is  justified  by  the  neces- 
sarily large  expense  incurred  in  hauling  forage 
so  far.  It  was  at  Halfway  House  that  I  planned 
to  halt  for  the  night. 

Well  up  the  canon  are  some  abandoned  min- 
ing claims  and  cabins,  though  each  year  the 
owners  visit  them  for  a  short  period  and  do 
the  assessment  work  required  by  law  to  hold 
them.  Poor  men,  most  of  them  are,  and  for 
lack  of  funds  they  have  never  been  able  to  de- 
velop their  claims  sufficiently  to  put  them  on  a 
paying  basis.  Some  time  in  the  hazy,  mystic 
future  they  believe  the  holes  they  have  dug 
will  reward  them  richly. 

Each  believes  that  King  Solomon's  mines, 
with  their  fabulous  wealth,  were  nothing  to 
what  his  will  prove  to  be  some  day,  for  the 
prospector  is  an  optimist.  I  never  yet  met  one 
who  was  not  quite  certain  he  was  destined  to 


INTO  WYOMING  ««l 

"strike  it  rich."  The  last  of  these  before  begin- 
ning the  steeper  ascent  of  the  pass  is  a  tumble- 
down cabin  and  barn,  where  some  one  had  un- 
successfully attempted  ranching  and  mining  in 
conjunction.  It  is  known  as  "Giveout" — very 
suggestive  and  appropriate. 

Close  to  Giveout  I  encountered  a  great  herd 
of  sheep,  which  the  shepherds  told  me  they 
were  taking  to  Boise  for  the  winter.  In  their 
course  over  the  pass  they  had  swept  all  grass 
and  browse  before  them,  making  it  quite  impos- 
sible for  the  traveler  to  find  a  suitable  place 
for  his  horses  to  graze  for  even  so  much  as  a 
single  night. 

A  grassy  park,  this  year  capable  of  support- 
ing many  animals,  will  be  transformed  by  a 
bunch  of  sheep,  in  a  very  short  space  of  time, 
into  a  verdureless,  barren  waste.  This  destruc- 
tion applies  not  only  to  grass,  but  to  small 
shrubs,  and  when  the  heavy  rains  come,  the 
soil  of  hillsides,  swept  clean  of  grass  and  shrubs 
and  loosened  by  a  thousand  hoofs,  the  top  soil 
is  washed  away,  and  the  land  is  left  unproduc- 
tive permanently,  or  for  an  indefinite  period. 

This  is  what  is  taking  place  in  all  of  our  for- 
est reserves,  and  the  price  of  wool  and  the  price 
of  lamb  and  mutton  are  going  up.  The  sheep 
barons  hold  the  situation  in  the  palm  of  their 


222  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

hands.  The  government  charges  them  a  nomi- 
nal price  for  the  privilege  of  grazing  herds  on 
public  lands;  they  have  grown  to  feel  that  they 
own  these  lands  and  send  up  a  cry  of  horror  at 
any  hint  that  their  privileges  be  curtailed. 
Many  of  the  wealthy  sheep  men  of  to-day  be- 
gan a  dozen  years  ago  with  practically  nothing. 
They  grew  rich  at  the  expense  of  the  public. 
In  many  instances  the  government  had  better 
have  voted  them  a  competence,  for  large  over- 
stocking has  ruined  the  ranges  for  many  years 
for  any  purpose,  where  a  moderate  stocking 
would  have  resulted  in  little  or  no  damage  and 
preserved  their  value. 

Not  only  have  wide  territories  in  Idaho,  Wy- 
oming, and  Montana  been  thus  rendered  value- 
less for  either  cattle  or  sheep  grazing,  but  ab- 
solutely uninhabitable  for  antelope  and  elk. 
Had  reason  governed  the  sheep  men  and  gov- 
ernment officials  concerned  in  this,  wide  areas 
that  to-day  will  not  support  a  grasshopper 
might  have  still  held  herds  of  domestic  sheep, 
as  well  as  wild  antelope  and  elk.  This  applies 
to  much  of  the  public  land  in  national  forest 
reserves  through  which  I  rode,  from  southern 
Utah  to  Montana. 

Beyond  Giveout  the  road  rises  steadily,  and 
at  last  abruptly,  to   the  summit  of   the  pass. 


Booth's  Ferry. 


Deposit  From  the  Star  Valley  Hot  Springs. 


INTO  WYOMING  MS 

Quaking  aspens,  pines,  and  firs  cover  the  moun- 
tain sides,  and  the  air  is  sweet  with  forest  per- 
fumes. From  the  summit  one  has  a  magnificent 
view  of  surrounding  mountains,  overtopped  by 
snow-capped  peaks. 

Halfway  House  lies  in  a  romantic  hollow,  at 
the  head  of  Crow  Creek,  a  tributary  of  Salt 
River,  which  waters  Star  Valley  and  finally 
joins  its  waters  with  Snake  River,  in  its  tumul- 
tuous rush  to  the  Columbia  and  the  Pacific. 
There  are  three  log  stables,  a  cabin  where  the 
stage  driver  lives,  and  another  log  cabin  where 
travelers  camp.  There  is  no  woman  within 
many  miles  of  the  place.  I  stabled  and  fed  my 
horses,  cooked  my  supper,  and  then  spread  my 
blankets  on  the  earthen  floor  of  the  unoccu- 
pied cabin. 

There  are  really  two  Star  Valleys,  the  Up- 
per Valley  and  the  Lower.  Between  the  two 
the  hills  crowd  in  to  form  a  short  canon.  These 
valleys  are  devoted  almost  wholly  to  cattle  rais- 
ing. The  altitude  is  too  great  and  the  climate 
too  cold  for  any  other  than  hay  and  grain  farm- 
ing. Here  below  the  Preuss  Range  I  crossed 
the  line  into  Wyoming,  in  the  Upper  Valley. 
Crow  Creek,  where  it  enters  the  valley,  has 
developed  into  a  broad  stream  of  considerable 
volume. 


2M  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

In  the  Upper  Valley  I  came  upon  a  light 
prairie  schooner  and  one  forlorn  man,  who  told 
me  that  he  and  his  partner,  who  were  looking 
for  suitable  land  to  locate  and  homestead,  had 
halted  for  noon,  picketed  one  horse,  turned  the 
two  others  which  they  had  loose,  and  while 
they  were  catching  trout  for  dinner  the  picketed 
horse  had  broken  loose  and  all  the  horses  had 
disappeared  when  they  returned  from  fishing. 

He  "reckoned  th'  hull  d outfit  had  lit  out 

fer  Ogden,"  where  they  came  from,  and  his 
"pardner  was  chasin'  'em  ahoof."  I  had  not 
seen  them. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  valley  are  some  re- 
markable hot  springs — quite  as  remarkable  as 
some  of  the  lesser  ones  in  Yellowstone  Park. 
One  group  of  them  covers  several  acres,  and 
side  by  side  are  springs  of  cold  water  and  boil- 
ing water.  Steam  escapes  from  several  fissures 
under  considerable  pressure  and  with  much 
noise. 

In  the  canon  between  the  two  valleys,  where 
the  canon  widens,  a  ranchman  has  run  some  ir- 
rigation ditches,  and  here  I  saw  a  notice  of 
which  the  following  is  an  exact  literal  tran- 
scription: 

"Parteys  or  Parson  Driven  Sheep  over  this  Ditch  and  Damas  it 
they  Will  be  Prasicute  a  carden  to  Law." 


INTO  WYOMING  225 

Afton  is  the  chief  town  of  the  Salt  River  or 
Star  valleys,  and  with  a  population  of  five  hun- 
dred assumes  a  metropolitan  air.  I  did  not 
visit  it,  for  I  was  not  searching  for  metropolitan 
centers,  though  it  lay  but  three  miles  off  my 
course.  The  other  half  dozen  settlements  are 
small  clusters  of  log  cabins  chiefly  and  stamp 
the  region  a  frontier.  In  one  of  them  I  met  an 
old  fur  trapper  named  Norwood,  who  was  as- 
sembling his  outfit  preparatory  to  a  winter 
trapping  campaign  along  John  Grey's  River 
and  among  the  rugged  mountains  of  the  region. 

Beaver,  so  plentiful  in  John  Grey's  time,  are 
now  protected  by  law,  and  Norwood  devotes 
his  attention  to  martens,  mink,  and  bear.  His 
pack  horse  was  standing  ready  for  its  load,  and 
he  was  to  have  overtaken  me  that  evening  at  a 
designated  point  a  few  miles  beyond  and  we 
were  to  have  traveled  together  to  the  junction 
of  John  Grey's  River  with  the  Snake.  But  to 
my  disappointment  he  had  not  yet  reached  the 
rendezvous  at  nine  o'clock  the  following  morn- 
ing, and  I  proceeded  alone,  never  to  see  him 
again. 

At  the  junction  of  John  Grey's  River  with  the 
Snake  River,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  Grand 
Canon  of  the  Snake,  Booth's  Ferry,  across  the 
Snake  River,  is  situated.    Jackson's  Hole  may 


ZW  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

be  entered  from  the  west  either  by  way  of  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Snake,  or  farther  north 
over  Teton  Pass.  I  chose  the  former  route  as 
the  least  traveled  and  directed  my  course  down 
the  lower  Star  Valley  to  Booth's  Ferry. 

This  was  the  third  day  after  crossing  the 
Preuss  Range,  and  all  day,  save  with  a  few 
brief  intermissions,  the  rain  fell  in  a  steady 
downpour. 

Near  midday,  thoroughly  wet  and  uncom- 
fortable, I  forded  the  strong  current  of  Salt 
River,  the  horses  girth-deep,  and  was  glad  to 
accept  the  invitation  of  two  young  Swedish 
shepherds  whom  I  met  on  the  plain  beyond,  to 
dine  with  them  in  their  dry,  warm  wagon  and 
to  tarry  under  its  shelter  until  the  heavy  down- 
pour of  rain  then  in  progress  had  passed.  They 
had  seen  me  coming,  and,  hungry  for  compan- 
ionship and  news,  would  scarcely  have  permit- 
ted me  to  pass  without  a  halt.  The  canvas 
shelter  and  stove  were  pleasant  indeed,  and  for 
an  hour  after  dinner  I  lounged  and  smoked 
with  them  to  the  tune  of  pouring  rain  on  the 
wagon  cover.  They  had  spent  the  summer 
among  the  lonely  and  rugged  mountain  tops  at 
the  head  of  John  Grey's  River  and  were  now 
heading  southward  with  their  flock  to  winter 
on  the  open  desert.    In  a  sparsely-settled  coun- 


INTO  WYOMING  227 

try  all  men  are  brothers.  Conventional  re- 
straint is  thrown  aside,  and  men  who  have  never 
before  seen  each  other  meet  as  old  acquaint- 
ances— as  members  of  one  great  family. 

The  lull  in  the  storm  was  brief,  and  as  I  rode 
forward  the  rain  resumed  and  dusk  was  set- 
tling when  I  at  length  reached  the  abrupt  and 
lofty  mountains  that  I  was  to  penetrate,  the  bar- 
rier through  which  Snake  River  forces  its  way 
in  the  depth  of  its  deep  narrow  canon,  toward 
which  I  had  been  directing  my  course  after 
crossing  the  Preuss  Range.  Here  stood  the 
lonely  tent  of  a  homesteader  and  his  family, 
who  had  not  yet  completed  the  log  cabin  which 
was  to  be  their  home.  A  mile  below  I  reached 
Snake  River  and  the  ferry.  The  ferryboat  was 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river — a  scow,  made 
fast  to  an  overhead  rope  stretched  from  shore  to 
shore.  It  was  guided  with  a  tiller,  and  the  cur- 
rent furnished  motive  power  to  propel  it.  I 
shouted,  and  presently  the  ferryman  appeared, 
crossed  the  boat  for  me,  and  carried  me  and  the 
horses  safely  over.  The  man's  name  was  Rog- 
ers, and  he  and  Booth,  two  bachelors,  lived 
here  in  a  little  log  cabin,  with  one  room  and  a 
loft.  It  was  still  pouring  rain,  and  they  in- 
vited me  to  stop  with  them.  I  accepted,  turned 
Heart  and  Button  loose  to  forage,  cooked  mjr 


228  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

supper  on  the  cabin  stove,  and  spread  my  blan- 
kets on  the  floor. 

I  had  received  many  warnings  about  the  trail 
through  the  canon,  which  was  said  to  be  partic- 
ularly dangerous.  Several  horses,  I  was  told, 
had  fallen  from  it  into  the  river,  hundreds  of 
feet  below.  Booth  and  Rogers  confirmed  these 
stories,  particularly  with  reference  to  a  stretch 
known  as  the  Blue  Trail.  A  short  time  previ- 
ously, they  told  me,  a  forest  ranger's  horse  had 
been  lost  here,  and  though  very  little  traveled, 
several  horses,  they  asserted,  were  lost  every 
year  in  attempting  to  cross  it.  It  was  described 
as  only  a  few  inches  wide,  hanging  upon  the 
edge  of  a  cliff,  and  of  blue  clay,  which,  when 
wet,  is  exceedingly  difficult  for  smooth-shod 
horses  to  keep  a  footing  upon. 

Isolated  as  they  were  and  rarely  enjoying  any 
companionship  other  than  each  other's  and  that 
of  an  amiable  dog,  my  advent  was  a  welcome 
break  in  the  monotony  of  their  life.  And  I  was 
glad  to  stay  with  them,  for  they  were  both  men 
of  the  early  frontier  type — a  type  that  one 
rarely  sees  these  days  and  only  meets  occasion- 
ally in  such  secluded  spots  as  this. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

A  LAND  OF  TRAGIC  MEMORIES 

ALL  night  rain  fell  steadily  and  it  did  not 
cease  until  mid-forenoon  on  the  day  fol- 
lowing my  arrival  at  Booth's  Ferry. 
Then  the  sun  broke  through  the  clouds  to  look 
upon  a  drenched  world.  Booth  and  Rogers 
warned  me  that  it  would  be  foolhardy  to  ven- 
ture into  the  canon  with  the  treacherous  "Blue 
Trail"  wet  and  slippery,  as  it  necessarily  was 
so  soon  after  the  storm,  and  hearkening  to  their 
advice  I  spent  the  day  with  them. 

Rogers  was  an  old  prospector  who  had  fol- 
lowed elusive  fortune  all  his  life  as  the  donkey 
followed  the  wisp  of  hay  held  before  its  nose. 
Booth  was  a  typical  Rocky  Mountain  prospec- 
tor, miner,  hunter,  and  trapper.  Fifteen  years 
before  my  visit  he  had  established  his  ferry 
and  built  his   cabin   at  the  lower  end  of  the 

239 


230  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

Grand  Canon  of  the  Snake.  Since  then  he  had 
hunted  and  trapped  in  this  and  the  canon  of 
John  Grey's  River,  which  flows  into  the  Snake 
near  the  ferry.  During  the  summer  he  and 
Rogers  operate  the  ferry  and  work  a  salt  mine 
up  Salt  River  Valley,  which  Booth  discovered 
some  years  ago. 

A  short  distance  below  the  ferry  Salt  River 
empties  into  Snake  River.  This  is  the  south 
fork  of  Snake  River,  known  to  the  old  fur 
trappers  and  traders  as  Mad  River,  as  the  north 
fork  was  known  as  Henry's  River.  It  was  here 
at  the  confluence  of  Salt  and  Snake  Rivers  that 
a  band  of  Crow  Indians  on  the  morning  of  Sep- 
tember 19th,  1 8 12,  stampeded  the  horses  of  a 
party  of  Astoria  trappers  under  command  of 
Robert  Stuart  en  route  from  the  Columbia 
River  to  the  Missouri,  leaving  Stuart  and  his 
men  afoot  in  a  vast  and  unknown  wilderness. 
Stuart  burned  his  outfit,  that  it  might  not  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  Indians,  reserving  only  so 
much  as  his  men  could  carry  upon  their  backs, 
and  boldly  set  out  to  walk  the  remaining  dis- 
tance and  to  wrest  from  the  wilderness  the  food 
necessary  to  keep  them  alive. 

It  is  easy  at  this  distance  to  criticize  them  for 
many  things  they  did,  as  it  is  always  easy  to 
criticize  when  the  critic  has  knowledge  of  facts 


A  LAND  OF  TRAGIC  MEMORIES    231 

the  actor  did  not  possess,  or  does  not  know  of 
impelling  motives.  It  is  difficult,  for  instance, 
to  understand  why  Stuart  made  a  wide  circuit 
to  the  northward  in  an  effort  to  cross  the  moun- 
tains, instead  of  passing  up  the  Grand  Cafion  of 
the  Snake,  ascending  Hoback's  River,  and 
crossing  thence  into  the  Wind  River  Valley. 
He  was  looking  for  the  trail  followed  two  years 
previously  by  Wilson  P.  Hunt,  one  of  the  As- 
toria partners  who  had  made  the  overland  jour- 
ney from  the  Missouri  to  the  Columbia.  This 
trail  they  believed  the  most  feasible  for  their 
purpose. 

Hunt  had  avoided  the  Grand  Canon  of  the 
Snake  because  he  had  found  the  river  too  tur- 
bulent for  canoes,  and  his  scouts  had  reported 
the  canon  impassable  for  horses.  Stuart  with 
his  foot  party  might  easily  have  ascended  the 
canon,  however,  and  two  days'  journey  would 
have  brought  him  to  Hunt's  trail  on  the  Ho- 
back.  But  the  course  he  took  by  a  long  and 
roundabout  route  led  him  through  a  particu- 
larly difficult  country,  resulting  in  his  men  be- 
ing driven  to  such  extremities  that  it  was  once 
proposed  to  draw  lots  to  decide  who  should 
die  that  the  others  might  eat. 

John  Grey's  River,  named  for  an  old  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  trapper,  who  spent  several 


232  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

winters  here  alone,  trapping  beaver,  brought 
vividly  to  my  mind  the  fearful  struggles  of 
those  indomitable  pioneers.  Could  they  but 
speak,  Snake  River,  the  Tetons — every  river, 
mountain  range  and  plain  in  this  region — might 
tell  of  the  heroic  deeds  and  desperate  struggles 
of  those  brave  men  of  yesterday. 

Booth's  cabin  stands  at  the  foot  of  a  high, 
barren  mountain  which  rises  well  above  tim- 
ber line.  Sometimes  mountain  sheep  are  to  be 
seen  on  this  mountain  from  the  cabin  door. 
Some  fifty,  the  remnant  of  a  once  large  flock, 
inhabit  the  heights.  Each  year  the  huntsman's 
rifle,  however,  is  diminishing  the  number,  and 
very  shortly  they  will  be  exterminated.  These 
are  the  most  available  sheep  for  the  people  of 
'Afton  and  the  other  settlements  of  Star  Val- 
ley, and  the  few  settlers  in  the  valley  below  the 
canon  depend  very  largely  upon  wild  game — 
chiefly  elk,  but  occasionally  sheep — to  supply 
their  tables  with  meat.  It  is  usual  for  settlers 
to  corn  sufficient  elk  meat  to  carry  them  over 
the  summer. 

During  the  first  years  that  Booth  lived  here  a 
herd  of  about  fifteen  hundred  elk  passed  down 
the  canon  each  autumn,  on  their  way  to  their 
winter  range  in  the  Snake  River  valley  below, 
and  regularly  returned  in  the  spring  to  their 


A  LAND  OF  TRAGIC  MEMORIES    233 

summer  ranges  in  higher  altitudes.  When  the 
settler  came  with  his  repeating  rifle  the  herd 
began  noticeably  to  diminish  with  each  annual 
migration,  until  five  years  ago  its  last  remnant, 
numbering  eighty-eight,  passed  out  of  the 
canon,  and  no  member  of  it  ever  returned. 

Booth  observed  and  counted  these  eighty- 
eight  when  they  came  down  the  canon  and  his 
curiosity  led  him  to  inquire  their  fate.  He 
learned  definitely  where  ranchmen  had  killed 
eighty-six  of  them.  The  other  two  apparently 
escaped,  but  no  elk  have  since  come  out  of  the 
canon  or  been  seen  upon  the  ancient  elk  range 
in  the  valley. 

The  rain  at  our  level  had  been  snow  in  the 
higher  altitudes.  The  weather  turned  cold  and 
the  morning  was  crisp  with  frost  when  I 
turned  into  the  canon  to  resume  my  journey. 
The  sun  shone  brilliantly,  and  the  atmosphere 
possessed  to  a  high  degree  that  tonic,  transpar- 
ent quality  so  characteristic  of  Rocky  Mountain 
regions.  These  conditions  combined  to  make 
the  day  ideal. 

While  now  and  again  the  trail  dropped  down 
close  to  the  water,  for  the  most  part  it  hung 
upon  the  edge  of  a  steep  mountainside  or  well- 
nigh  perpendicular  cliff  several  hundred  feet 
above  the  rushing  river.    It  was  not,  however,  in 


234  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

any  sense  a  dangerous  trail  for  one  using  ordi- 
nary caution,  and  I  found  it  from  end  to  end  of 
the  canon  well  beaten  and  in  good  condition. 
Once  I  met  a  cowboy  drifting  some  cattle  down 
the  canon  and  had  to  find  foothold  for  the  horses 
at  the  edge  of  the  trail  and  wait  for  them  to 
pass  me  single  file. 

My  bivouac  that  night,  at  the  edge  of  the 
pines  on  a  level  spot  above  the  Blue  Trail,  I 
recall  as  one  of  the  most  delightful  of  my  jour- 
ney. The  atmosphere  was  sweet  with  the  odor 
of  pines;  below  me  the  singing  river  sparkled  in 
the  starlight;  around  me  rose  high  canon  walls, 
dark  with  clinging  timber  and  fringed  at  the 
top  with  pine  trees  standing  out  in  silhouette 
where  sky  and  canon  rim  met.  A  cozy,  cheer- 
ful fire  gave  material  comfort,  for  the  night 
was  cold. 

The  Grand  Canon  of  the  Snake  is  peculiarly 
attractive,  and  its  wild  and  primitive  grandeur 
makes  it  one  of  the  most  inspiring  and  lovely 
bits  of  country  in  this  whole  region.  The  river 
holds  an  abundance  of  trout,  and  I  can  recall 
no  more  ideal  spot,  comparatively  easy  of  ac- 
cess, than  this  for  a  camper's  and  angler's  holi- 
day. 

Above  my  night's  bivouac  I  passed  an  aban- 
doned  placer   miner's   cabin,    not   far   beyond 


o 

Urn 


U 


H 


c 

3 
C 


0) 

> 


A  LAND  OF  TRAGIC  MEMORIES    235 

forded  the  river,  and  presently  came  upon  the 
little  log  cabin  of  Jack  Davis,  an  old  placer 
miner  who  has  lived  here  alone,  washing 
gravel,  for  more  than  twenty  years.  For 
months  at  a  time  no  human  being  passes  this 
way,  and  he  was  glad  to  see  me.  He  lives 
on  fish  and  game  mainly,  supplemented,  when 
he  has  them — and  that  is  not  always  by  any 
means — by  bacon  and  flour,  which  he  packs 
fifty  miles  on  his  back.  His  claim  has  never 
yielded  him  more  than  a  scant  living,  but  with 
the  miner's  never-failing  optimism  he  expects 
some  day  to  "strike  it  rich." 

All  the  gravel  along  the  Snake,  even  high 
up  on  the  mountain  sides,  the  length  of  the 
canon,  is  filled  with  flake  gold.  One  can  find 
"color"  anywhere,  but  the  flakes  are  too  light 
to  separate  from  the  gravel  by  any  known  proc- 
ess. Now  and  again  Jack  finds  a  small  nugget, 
however,  sufficient  to  keep  his  courage  and 
hope  alive.  And  so  he  will  continue  digging 
and  working  until  life  goes  out.  A  chance 
passer-by  will  some  day  find  his  poor  old  body 
in  the  canon,  where  he  and  his  hopes  have  died 
together.    He  is  now  seventy-seven  years  of  age. 

Old  Jack  was  frying  bacon  when  I  dis- 
mounted and  stopped  for  a  quarter  hour's  chat 
with  him.     He  urged  me  to  join  him  at  dinner. 


236  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

It  was  twelve  o'clock,  he  said,  "by  the  sun," 
and  I  "better  stop."  My  watch  verified  his 
guess,  but  I  excused  myself  on  the  plea  of  short 
days  and  the  necessity  of  taking  advantage  of 
all  the  daylight  to  travel.  I  was  well  aware 
that  he  had  little  enough  for  himself  to  eat, 
without  entertaining  strangers,  and  it  would 
have  insulted  his  sense  of  hospitality  had  I  even 
suggested  using  my  own  provisions,  for  Jack 
Davis  is  a  remnant  of  the  early  Western  fron- 
tier. 

My  trail  carried  me  thence  past  some  steam- 
ing sulphur  springs  and  to  Hoback's  River, 
which  I  forded  not  far  from  its  junction  with 
the  Snake.  This  is  the  lower  winter  range  of 
the  great  elk  herds  that  congregate  along  the 
Snake  River  valley,  through  Jackson's  Hole,  to 
the  Gros  Ventre. 

The  Hoback  is  another  river  that  brings  viv- 
idly to  our  mind  the  desperate  struggle  of  the 
party  of  trappers  under  Mr.  Hunt  in  their  over- 
land journey  to  the  Columbia.  From  the  sum- 
mit of  the  Wind  River  Range  they  had  caught 
their  first  view  of  the  giant  Tetons  which  one 
of  the  guides  assured  them  marked  the  upper 
waters  of  the  Columbia.  These  were  their 
pilots  for  many  days,  and  Hunt  named  them 
the  "Pilot  Knobs."     Their  course  thence  car- 


A  LAND  OF  TRAGIC  MEMORIES    237 

ried  them  across  the  southern  end  of  the  Gros 
Ventre  Range,  on  the  western  slope  of  which 
they  encountered  a  stream  flowing  to  the  west- 
ward. 

This  stream  Hoback  told  Mr.  Hunt  was  a 
stream  upon  which  he  had  trapped,  and  was  a 
headwater  stream  of  the  Columbia.  It  was 
hailed  with  joy,  and  following  its  rugged 
course  to  its  junction  with  the  Snake,  they  felt 
that  at  last  their  troubles  were  at  an  end.  The 
Snake,  or  Mad,  River,  as  they  afterward  called 
it,  appeared  capable  of  floating  their  canoes, 
and  they  prepared  at  once  to  abandon  their 
horses  and  navigate  the  stream.  They  forded 
the  Hoback  at  the  very  point  where  I  made  my 
fording,  camped  on  the  Snake  a  little  below 
where  timber  for  canoe  building  was  available, 
and  the  Canadian  voyageurs  set  gaily  to  work  to 
build  the  necessary  canoes.  They  had  only  be- 
gun the  work  when  two  Snake  Indians  entering 
the  camp  warned  them  that  the  river  below 
could  not  be  navigated.  Scouts  despatched 
down  the  canon  returned  to  verify  this  state- 
ment. The  river,  mad  and  wild,  rushed  down 
over  rocks  and  between  perpendicular  walls, 
and  the  canon  they  claimed  was  too  narrow  and 
rugged  for  even  the  horses  to  pass  through. 

The  animals  were  repacked,  the  party  filed 


238  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

down  past  the  sulphur  springs  to  cross  Mad 
River  at  the  fording  place  which  I  found  and 
where  I  crossed,  almost  a  hundred  years,  to  a 
day,  later,  worked  up  and  westward  over  the 
rugged  Snake  River  Range,  and  were  launched 
upon  that  fearful  journey  of  hardship  and  pri- 
vation which  cost  several  of  the  party  their 
lives. 

After  fording  the  Hoback  I  found  a  newly- 
made  wagon  road,  leading  down.  This  wound 
around  the  summits  of  the  foothills  and  from 
the  higher  points  offered  an  entrancing  view 
of  the  surroundings.  Below  wound  the  Snake, 
a  shimmering  ribbon,  and  all  about  me  rolled  a 
rugged,  tumultuous  mass  of  broken,  snow-topped 
mountains  crowned  by  the  three  mighty  Tetons 
whose  bald  and  jagged  summits  were  the  Pilot 
Knobs  of  Hunt  a  century  before. 

Descending  thence  into  Jackson's  Hole,  once 
the  resort  of  horse  thieves  and  bad  men,  now 
the  home  of  peaceful,  thriving  ranchmen,  one 
night  was  spent  at  Cheney,  which  from  its  ap- 
pearance on  the  map  I  expected  to  find  a  settle- 
ment, but  which  proved  to  be  a  single  ranch, 
and  the  following  morning  I  rode  into  the  vil- 
lage of  Jackson. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  GREAT  QUESTION  IN  JACKSON'S  HOLE 

IT  was  a  Sunday  near  dinner  time  when  I 
reached  Jackson  and  registered  at  the  lit- 
tle hotel.  Saddled  horses  stood  along  the 
streets  and  the  hotel  office  was  crowded  with 
ranchers  and  cowboys  who  had  ridden  in  to 
spend  the  day,  using  the  office  as  a  general  gath- 
ering place  and  clubroom.  After  a  very  good 
dinner,  at  which  elk  meat  was  served,  I  joined 
the  assemblage  in  the  office,  and  spent  the  after- 
noon and  evening  smoking,  listening,  and  as- 
similating such  information  as  I  could  relative 
to  the  attitude  of  the  people  toward  the  game 
situation,  and  the  game  situation  here  centers 
upon  elk. 

A  group  of  young  men  were  holding  a  lively 
argument  when  I  entered  the  hotel  office  as  to 
each  other's  relative  attainments  as  a  "bronco 

239 


240  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

buster."  At  a  recent  gathering  all  of  them  had 
been  unseated  by  a  bull  owned  by  the  hotel 
keeper,  save  one  man,  who  had  not  yet  at- 
tempted to  master  the  animal.  He  swaggered 
around  in  hairy  chaps,  high-heeled  boots,  and 
with  a  big  revolver  on  his  belt.  He  asked  them 
to  bring  the  bull  out  and  he  would  show  the  de- 
feated ones  how  to  ride  it.  For  a  time  it  seemed 
as  though  we  were  to  have  an  exhibition  of  wild 
bull  riding,  but  the  landlord  killed  our  hopes 
with  the  statement  that  the  bull  was  out  on  the 
range  and  it  would  require  several  hours  to 
bring  him  in. 

I  asked  a  quiet  man  next  me  who  the  boast- 
ful one  was. 

"Oh,  he's  a  feller  works  around.  He's  dig- 
gin'  a  well  for  a  ranchman  up  here  now." 

"Why,"  said  I,  "I  thought  from  his  outfit  he 
was  a  cowpuncher." 

"What,    him!"    exclaimed    my    informant. 
"He'd   stampede   a   bunch   o'    steers   with    his 
yawp.     He   can   bust   broncs   though.     He   is 
some  rider." 

A  young  man,  dressed  in  khaki  and  evidently 
not  a  native  of  the  valley,  had  supper  with  us 
in  the  evening,  and  I  learned  that  he  was  the 
Reverend  Robert  M.  Beckett,  an  Episcopal 
clergyman  stationed  in  Jackson.     From  him  I 


GREAT  QUESTION  IN  JACKSON'S  241 

obtained  the  names  of  leading  guides  and  chief 
citizens  of  the  country.  One  of  the  men  men- 
tioned by  him,  Mr.  S.  N.  Leek,  ranchman,  ex- 
member  of  the  State  legislature,  known  as  a 
big-game  photographer,  and  particularly  well 
known  for  his  active  efforts  in  the  interests  of 
game  protection,  I  had  already  communicated 
with,  earlier  in  the  day,  with  a  view  to  secur- 
ing his  co-operation.  That  evening  I  received 
a  telephonic  invitation,  which  I  accepted,  to 
visit  him  the  following  day  at  his  ranch,  that  we 
might  canvass  the  elk  situation  together. 

The  Jackson's  Hole  country — properly  speak- 
ing, Jackson's  Hole  is  a  restricted,  marshy 
space  near  Jackson  village — is  the  winter  range 
of  the  largest  elk  herds  on  the  American  conti- 
nent. The  whole  valley,  however,  which  for 
convenience  I  shall  refer  to  as  Jackson's  Hole, 
includes  an  area  approximately  forty  miles  in 
length  and  perhaps  ten  miles  in  breadth,  and 
the  herds  that  accumulate  here  during  early 
winter  and  remain  until  spring  thaws  free  the 
mountains  of  snow  and  ice  aggregate,  at  a  con- 
servative estimate,  thirty  thousand  animals. 

A  considerable  proportion  of  these,  though 
by  no  means  all  of  them,  are  Yellowstone  Park 
elk,  driven  down  from  the  higher  altitude  of 
the  park,  which  lies  at  an  average  of  some  eight 


242  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

thousand  to  nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea, 
when  the  heavy  snows  to  which  the  park  is  sub- 
ject make  winter  feeding  there  impossible. 
Others  of  the  elk  summer  in  the  Wyoming 
State  game  refuge,  south  of  and  adjoining  the 
park,  the  remaining  few  on  mountain  ranges 
lying  contiguous  to  Jackson's  Hole. 

It  was  my  purpose  in  visiting  Jackson's  Hole 
to  investigate  on  the  ground  the  conditions  pre- 
vailing here  among  the  animals;  to  learn  how 
far  true  were  reports  that  great  numbers 
starved  each  winter  through  lack  of  forage; 
and  if  it  should  seem  that  such  conditions  had 
not  been  overdrawn  and  that  they  actually  ex- 
isted, to  learn  the  cause  that  led  to  the  condi- 
tion, in  the  hope  that  some  remedy  might  be 
suggested. 

That  the  country  and  the  situation  may  be 
understood,  it  should  be  explained  that  Jack- 
son's Hole  is  hemmed  in  on  all  sides  by  lofty, 
precipitous  mountain  ranges,  the  most  notable 
of  which  are  the  Tetons,  to  the  west.  It  is  a 
fertile  basin,  and  the  Snake  River  and  several 
tributary  creeks  and  brooks  favor  it  with  an 
abundance  of  water.  Indeed  it  has  one  con- 
siderable marshy  area  so  wet  even  in  the  driest 
season  that  it  produces  abundant  grass  without 
artificial  irrigation. 


GREAT  QUESTION  IN  JACKSON'S  243 

Jackson's  Hole  lies  at  an  altitude  of  approx- 
imately six  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  this 
high  altitude  confines  its  agricultural  develop- 
ment mainly  to  hay  and  grain  production, 
which  makes  it  naturally  a  cattle  and  horse 
country,  though  sufficient  of  the  hardier  veg- 
etables are  grown  for  home  consumption.  Stock 
being  the  mainstay  of  the  ranchmen,  it  is  their 
custom  to  maintain  as  many  cattle  and  horses 
as  their  ranches  will  support.  The  nearest 
railroad  at  present  is  ninety  miles  from  Jack- 
son, and  during  the  winter  there  is  but  one  out- 
let— over  Teton  Pass.  According  to  the  1910 
census  the  population  of  what  is  spoken  of  as 
the  Jackson's  Hole  country  totaled  889. 

Mr.  Leek  lives  three  miles  below  Jackson  on 
his  ranch  of  four  hundred  acres.  He  came  to 
Jackson's  Hole  twenty-three  years  ago  and  was 
therefore  among  the  first  of  the  settlers  and  has 
ever  since  been  intimately  associated  with  its 
history  and  development. 

During  the  succeeding  days  I  saw  much  of 
the  lower  valley,  as  Mr.  Leek's  guest  and  under 
his  guidance,  and  met  and  interviewed  many 
of  the  people,  following  this  with  a  complete 
view  of  the  upper  valley  and  finally  visiting 
the  Gros  Ventre  region,  where  it  is  proposed 
to  establish  a  game  refuge  and  winter  range. 


244  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

Here  Leek  and  I  pitched  a  tent  and  remained 
three  nights,  spending  the  days  in  the  saddle 
riding  over  the  surrounding  mountains  and  val- 
ley. In  this  tour  I  read  the  sickening  story  of 
the  tragedy  of  the  elk,  written  in  bold  charac- 
ters on  every  field,  on  every  hill  and  mountain- 
side, and  by  every  brook.  It  was  the  one  sub- 
ject of  conversation,  and  the  traveler  through 
Jackson's  Hole  cannot  avoid  it. 

At  the  point  where  I  forded  the  Hoback  the 
first  indications  of  dead  elk  were  seen,  and  all 
along  the  trail  from  the  Hoback  to  the  Gros 
Ventre  were  scattered  bones  and  tufts  of  hair 
of  animals  that  had  starved.  Bark-stripped 
willows  and  quaking  aspens  and  twigs  and 
limbs  as  large  as  one's  fingers,  gnawed  down  by 
famished  animals  in  a  vain  attempt  to  find  sus- 
tenance in  dead  sticks,  told  the  story  of  misery 
and  suffering. 

On  the  fields  wherever  I  walked  and  through 
the  foothills  were  the  bones  of  innumerable  elk 
that  had  perished  within  two  years.  At  some 
points  the  bones  literally  lay  in  piles  about 
bunches  of  willow  with  gnawed-off  limbs  and 
groves  of  quaking  aspens  stripped  bare  of  bark. 

Leek  told  me  that  there  had  been  times  when 
he  could  walk  half  a  mile  on  the  bodies  of  dead 
elk.     Others    reiterated    this   statement.      One 


GREAT  QUESTION  IN  JACKSON'S  245 

ranchman  was  prepared  to  make  an  affidavit 
that  within  a  small  area  in  the  lower  end  of  the 
Hole  he  had  actually  counted  the  bodies  of 
sixteen  hundred  dead  elk,  in  the  spring  of  1909. 
Another  stated  that  when  the  snow  of  that 
spring  melted  two  thousand  bodies  lay  within 
a  radius  of  one  mile  of  his  house.  Another 
said  that  within  a  like  radius  at  another  point 
he  had  seen  five  thousand  bodies. 

Many  other  reputable  ranchmen,  in  describ- 
ing the  awful  stench  arising  in  early  summer 
from  the  putrefying  bodies  of  dead  animals,  as- 
serted that  several  families  had  been  compelled 
temporarily  to  abandon  their  homes,  made  un- 
inhabitable by  the  odor.  Every  one  told  of  the 
water  in  early  summer,  slimy  and  reeking  with 
decaying  elk  flesh  and  made  unwholesome  for 
man  or  beast.  One  ranchman  asserted  that 
within  a  period  of  twenty  years'  residence  in 
Jackson's  Hole  he  had  seen  upwards  of  fifty- 
thousand  elk  perish  from  starvation. 

Let  us  look  at  the  causes  that  lead  to  this 
condition.  It  is  an  unnatural  condition  and  the 
causes  are  easily  traceable,  though  the  reme- 
dies may  not  be  so  easily  administered. 

In  the  year  1872  Congress  set  aside  the  Yel- 
lowstone National  Park,  embracing  an  area  of 
approximately  thirty-six  hundred  square  miles, 


246  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

and  later  very  stringent  regulations  were  put  in 
force  restricting  the  hunting  of  any  kind  or  spe- 
cies of  animal  within  its  boundaries,  save  of 
predatory  animals  in  very  particular  cases  and 
under  strict  observation.  This  made  of  Yellow- 
stone National  Park  an  ideal  game  preserve  and 
refuge,  where,  under  military  patrol,  it  is  safe 
to  say  no  poaching  takes  place.  Thus  was 
formed  a  great  breeding  ground  for  animals  to 
which  they  could  retreat,  free  from  molesta- 
tion by  their  old-time  enemy  the  Indian,  or 
their  new  and  far  more  destructive  enemy  the 
white  man. 

The  elk  herds  of  Yellowstone  Park  and  the 
contiguous  country  were  large  and  their  annual 
increase  under  normal  conditions  is  about  one- 
third  annually.  As  previously  stated,  their 
winter  ranges  in  the  park  were  limited  to  small 
and  restricted  areas,  due  to  the  high  altitude  of 
the  park,  its  heavy  snows  and  severe  winters. 
As  the  early  snows  began  to  deepen  upon  the 
mountains  the  herds  sought  lower  levels,  the 
overflow  of  the  limited  winter  feeding  grounds 
in  the  park  drifted  out  and  spread  over  ranges 
beyond  its  borders,  those  in  the  south  working 
their  way  across  the  Tetons  into  Idaho,  into 
Jackson's  Hole,  along  the  Hoback,  the  Big 
Bend  of  the  Green  River,  and  down  to  the  Red 


GREAT  QUESTION  IN  JACKSON'S  247 

Desert.  This  wide  spread  of  country  supplied 
ample  forage  for  them  during  the  severe  win- 
ter months.  Those  in  the  north  worked  from 
the  park  into  available  ranges  in  Montana, 
where  forage  was  then  also  plentiful. 

In  time  the  Idaho  ranges,  the  Red  Desert  and 
other  outlying  ranges  were  turned  over  by  the 
Federal  authorities  to  sheep  men,  whose  flocks 
swept  them  and  keep  them  swept  clean  of  win- 
ter forage,  until  at  length  only  Jackson's  Hole 
remained  to  the  southern  herds,  exceedingly  in- 
significant and  most  inadequate,  as  compared 
with  the  one-time  extensive  and  adequate  win- 
ter ranges.  Elk  will  starve  on  any  range  that 
sheep  have  grazed.  Let  us  not  forget  the  fact 
that  with  the  elimination  of  winter  ranges  the 
elk  were  not  proportionately  reduced  in  num- 
bers. 

In  Jackson's  Hole  nothing  but  the  unyield- 
ing position  of  the  settlers,  who  are  determined 
that  the  animals  shall  not  be  robbed  of  this  last 
range,  has  kept  the  sheep  men  out.  I  have 
never  visited  a  game  country  where  the  people 
were  so  unanimously  game  conservers,  so  keenly 
alive  to  the  value  of  game  and  have  individu- 
ally sacrificed  so  much  for  its  preservation  as 
the  people  of  Jackson's  Hole. 

Their  method  of  excluding  the  sheep  man 


248  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

was  forcible  and  has  been  effective  for  a  time 
at  least.  Not  long  ago  the  Federal  authorities 
issued  permits,  it  was  said,  to  a  sheepman  to 
graze  the  open  range  of  Jackson's  Hole,  and 
the  sheepman  under  the  permits  which  he 
claimed  he  held  drifted  several  thousand  sheep 
across  Teton  Pass.  When  he  appeared  with 
his  flocks  the  settlers  called  an  indignation 
meeting  to  devise  ways  and  means  of  keeping 
him  out. 

A  committee  was  appointed  to  wait  upon 
him  and  advise  him  to  leave  quietly  and  at  once. 
He  told  the  committee  that  he  was  there  by 
Federal  license  and  intended  to  stay.  The  com- 
mittee returned  and  reported,  and  another  com- 
mittee was  appointed,  supplied  with  ropes,  and 
instructed  to  see  that  no  living  sheepman  or 
sheep  continued  longer  than  three  days  on  the 
Jackson's  Hole  side  of  Teton  Pass.  The  com- 
mitteemen waited  upon  the  sheepman  and  ad- 
vised him  and  his  herdsmen  of  their  instruc- 
tions and  their  intention  of  carrying  out  these 
instructions  literally.  The  sheepman  saw  the 
point — and  the  rope — and  discreetly  departed. 

Thus  Jackson's  Hole  was  reserved  for  the 
elk,  not  by  government  foresight,  but  by  the 
active  interference  of  the  settlers,  who  realized 
that  the  only  hope  of  preserving  the  animals 


GREAT  QUESTION  IN  JACKSON'S  M9 

from  destruction  was  the  exclusion  of  sheep 
from  this  last  remaining  range.  Sheep  would 
also  have  ruined  the  range  for  cattle. 

The  Federal  government  is,  then,  to  a  large 
degree  responsible  for  the  deplorable  present- 
day  condition  of  the  elk.  Our  government  has 
bred  and  is  breeding  animals  in  great  numbers 
in  summer,  to  turn  them  out  in  winter,  without 
provision,  to  starve. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

WYOMING'S  RESPONSIBILITY  FOR  DEAD  ELK 

THE  State  of  Wyoming  is  very  largely  re- 
sponsible for  the  wholesale  starvation  of 
elk  which  annually  takes  place  within 
her  borders.  While  the  Federal  government 
robbed  the  animals  of  the  original  ranges  to 
which  nature  adapted  them  and  which  would 
have  provided  them  with  ample  pasturage 
through  the  trying  months  of  any  ordinary  win- 
ter, Wyoming  has  adopted  all  elk  coming  with- 
in her  boundaries  as  hers,  and  whenever  it  has 
been  suggested  has  resented  Federal  or  other 
interference  tending  toward  their  protection, 
because  of  their  acknowledged  intrinsic  value 
to  her.  She  has  thus  placed  upon  herself  the 
responsibility  of  providing  them,  artificially, 
with  winter  forage.  She  has  brought  her  elk 
to  a  state  of  semi-domestication,  and  just  as  a 

250 


WYOMING'S  RESPONSIBILITY  251 

farmer  should  provide  food  for  his  stock,  she 
should  provide  food  for  her  elk. 

Very  early  Wyoming  awoke  to  the  fact  that 
her  wild  game  was  one  of  the  most  valuable 
resources  of  the  State  and  took  wise  and  praise- 
worthy steps  for  its  protection.  She  was  one 
of  the  first,  if  not  the  first,  of  our  States  to  re- 
quire non-resident  hunters  to  pay  well  for  the 
privilege  of  hunting  big  game  within  her  bor- 
ders. At  the  cost  of  fifty  dollars  the  non-resi- 
dent may  purchase  a  big  game  license  allowing 
him  to  kill  certain  designated  animals,  includ- 
ing one  elk,  and  upon  the  payment  of  an  addi- 
tional fifty  dollars,  a  second  as  a  limit. 

Laws  were  passed  providing  severe  punish- 
ment for  head  and  tusk  hunters,  the  latter  at 
one  time  invading  the  game  fields  and  killing 
great  numbers  of  bulls  for  the  tusks  alone  and 
in  no  way  utilizing  the  flesh.  They  were  about 
the  most  unconscionable  game  killers,  worse 
even  than  the  old  buffalo  hunters  who  killed 
for  hides,  and  contributed  more  than  any  other 
cause  to  the  destruction  of  elk  in  regions  where 
they  were  once  plentiful  but  are  no  longer 
found. 

I  have  known  a  pair  of  tusks,  within  a  year 
to  sell  for  forty  dollars,  and  they  were  un- 
mounted and  just  as  taken  from   the   animal. 


252  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

This  is  a  strong  incentive  for  unprincipled  men 
to  kill  for  tusks,  in  defiance  of  law.  It  would 
seem,  in  view  of  this  indisputable  fact,  that 
secret  societies  should  place  an  absolute  ban 
upon  all  members  of  the  societies  in  good  stand- 
ing wearing  tusks  as  ornaments  or  emblems  at 
any  time. 

The  restrictions  on  non-resident  hunters, 
aimed  chiefly  at  pot  hunters  from  Idaho  and 
Montana,  also  had  the  effect  intended  and  put 
an  end  to  the  indiscriminate  slaughter  that  pre- 
vailed as  long  as  non-residents  enjoyed  the  same 
privilege  as  residents.  A  limit  of  two  elk  was 
also  placed,  with  a  nominal  license  fee,  upon 
resident  hunters. 

Under  these  restrictions  the  already  large 
herds  began  to  increase,  and  Wyoming  saw 
great  possibilities  ahead.  In  his  annual  report 
of  1903,  the  State  game  warden  said: 

"If  the  State  of  Wyoming  will  properly  hus- 
band its  game  and  fish  until  the  building  of 
new  railroads  has  made  our  mountain  ranges 
and  trout  streams  easily  accessible,  the  annual 
revenue  from  these  items  of  natural  wealth  will, 
if  wisely  managed,  equal  the  income  now  de- 
rived from  our  domestic  stock." 

The  State  bent  itself  to  this  end  in  the  most 
unreasonable  and  unbusinesslike  manner  imagi- 


WYOMING'S  RESPONSIBILITY  253 

nable.  Instead  of  endeavoring  to  propagate  elk 
in  other  regions,  capable  of  supporting  consid- 
erable herds,  it  concentrated  its  attention  upon 
the  already  too  large  and  starving  herds  which 
segregated  each  year  in  the  Jackson's  Hole 
country,  bending  its  efforts  to  increase  still 
further  the  numbers,  but  making  no  provision 
to  feed  or  care  for  these  animals  in  winter  when 
their  range  was  stripped  of  forage  early  in  the 
season,  as  it  has  been  for  several  years,  through 
overfeeding. 

As  any  lad  in  the  country  could  have  fore- 
seen and  foretold,  this  in  the  natural  course  of 
events  led  to  a  largely  increased  death  rate. 
Previous  even  to  this  time  (1903)  the  elk  of  this 
region  had  become  so  numerous  as  to  starve  in 
such  alarming  numbers  that  humanitarians  had 
been  led  to  suggest  Federal  interference.  Re- 
ferring to  this,  the  State  game  warden  took  oc- 
casion to  remark  in  his  report  of  that  year: 

"It  is  to  be  hoped  that  our  non-resident 
friends  will  allow  us  to  demonstrate  our  ability 
to  protect  our  own  property." 

The  State's  method  of  protecting  its  own 
property  was  to  create  a  new  game  refuge  south 
of  and  adjoining  Yellowstone  Park,  extending 
south  from  the  south  boundary  of  the  park  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Buffalo  Fork  of  Snake  River, 


254  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

and  east  from  the  Idaho-Wyoming  State  line 
to  the  head  of  the  Yellowstone  River,  embrac- 
ing approximately  nine  hundred  square  miles 
of  territory.  In  this  refuge,  as  in  Yellowstone 
Park,  many  elk  find  summer  range  and  breed- 
ing ground,  as  they  always  have;  in  addition  to 
this,  none  of  the  elk,  and  none  of  the  elk  that  in- 
vade the  territory  in  their  autumnal  southward 
migration  from  the  park,  may  be  hunted  dur- 
ing the  open  season,  and  therefore  hunting  is 
practically  limited  to  the  territory  lying  be- 
tween the  refuge  and  the  Gros  Ventre  and  in 
the  Gros  Ventre  region,  thereby  limiting  the 
annual  kill  and  increasing  the  animals  on  the 
already  largely  overstocked  ranges. 

And  so  conditions  grew  worse;  fat,  sleek 
thousands  of  elk  surged  into  Jackson's  Hole  in 
early  winter;  a  gaunt,  spectral  band,  leaving 
hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  dead  companions 
behind  them,  staggered  back  to  the  summer 
range  in  the  spring,  but  on  the  whole  the  in- 
crease outnumbered  the  deaths. 

In  1908  the  State  game  warden  was  moved 
to  assert  in  his  annual  report  that  "These  elk 
are  the  most  valuable  livestock  in  Wyoming," 
and,  continuing,  suggested,  "It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  our  legislature  about  to  assemble  will  ap- 
preciate the  importance  of  prompt  action  and 


WYOMING'S  RESPONSIBILITY  255 

take  the  requisite  steps  to  secure  a  winter  range 
while  these  animals  are  in  prime  condition." 

The  winter  range  suggested,  which  it  was 
proposed  to  make  also  a  game  refuge,  was  the 
Gros  Ventre  River  territory,  thus  adding  to  the 
prohibited  hunting  country  a  large  part  of  the 
only  unrestricted  territory  which  these  great 
herds  now  visit  during  the  open  hunting  season. 
This  proposition  has  not  as  yet  been  put 
through,  largely  because  of  the  solid  opposition 
of  the  residents  of  Jackson's  Hole,  who  are  too 
well  aware,  not  only  of  its  inadequacy  to  re- 
lieve the  situation,  but  also  of  the  absolute  cer- 
tainty that  it  would  make  matters  even  worse 
by  practically  putting  a  stop  to  shooting,  and 
surely  result  in  leaving  those  few  annually 
killed,  which  is  far  below  the  yearly  increase, 
to  starve.  The  setting  apart  of  this  refuge, 
however,  is  still  a  live  question. 

I  rode  over  this  proposed  new  winter  range, 
and  it  appealed  to  me  as  so  palpably  unfitted 
for  the  purpose  that  I  could  only  wonder  at  the 
proposition.  Everyone  who  knew  the  country 
here  voiced  this  opinion.  At  present  some  five 
thousand  elk  attempt  to  winter  on  the  Gros 
Ventre,  but  the  mortality  among  them  is  tre- 
mendous. 

The  proposition  to  set  aside  this  territory  in- 


256  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

eluded  the  suggestion  that  the  few  ranchmen 
settled  here  could  be  induced  to  relinquish  and 
abandon  their  homesteads  for  a  gross  sum  of 
from  $40,000  to  $50,000,  and  that  the  State 
could  then  cut  and  stack  the  hay  from  the  irri- 
gated ranch  meadows,  to  be  fed  to  the  animals 
as  necessity  demanded.  It  is  probable  that  for 
a  year  or  two  this  would  carry  the  five  thousand 
elk  wintering  there  at  present  through  the  try- 
ing period  in  fairly  good  shape. 

The  proposed  Gros  Ventre  refuge  lies  at  a 
high  altitude,  however;  its  snows  are  deep,  and 
the  animals  would  have  to  be  fed  regularly  in 
yards  they  would  make  for  themselves;  at  most 
but  a  small  part  of  the  herds  could  be  cared  for 
here,  while  this  new  refuge  would  practically 
eliminate  hunting  and  to  that  extent  tend  to  in- 
crease the  number  of  animals  and  make  the 
problem  of  caring  for  them  more  difficult  each 
winter. 

Conservative  approximate  estimates  of  the 
elk  in  northwestern  Wyoming  place  the  number 
at  50,000.  Those  wintering  in  the  Jackson's 
Hole  country,  between  the  Hoback  and  the 
Gros  Ventre  rivers,  may  be  placed  conserva- 
tively at  30,000.  Snow  lies  so  deep  upon  many 
sections  of  Jackson's  Hole  that  herds  are  forced 
to   segregate   in  various   separate   and   limited 


WYOMING'S  RESPONSIBILITY  257 

areas  that  are  more  or  less  wind-swept,  and 
forage,  therefore,  to  some  extent,  is  uncovered 
and  available  while  it  lasts.  Thus  it  will  be 
seen  that  while  the  animals  have  between  sixty 
and  seventy  acres  per  head  on  the  summer 
range,  when  forage  is  green  and  plentiful,  they 
have  less  than  one  acre  per  head  in  the  winter 
when  forage  is  withered  and  of  poorer  quality 
than  in  the  summer  and  much  more  difficult  to 
be  reached. 

By  the  middle  of  January  the  elk  ordinarily 
have  the  range  eaten  pretty  clean  and  are  then 
compelled  to  turn  to  coarse  sticks  and  bark, 
which  in  the  case  of  grazing  animals  such  as 
elk  possess  small  food  value.  The  bark  is  even 
eaten  from  fence  rails.  By  February  first  the 
elk  have  grown  gaunt  and  many  of  them  have 
fallen  into  a  starving  condition;  presently  the 
weaker  ones  are  seen  lying  down,  unable  to  re- 
gain their  feet.  Thus  they  remain  one,  two, 
and  sometimes  three  or  more  days,  until  a  mer- 
ciful providence  relieves  their  sufferings. 
Thenceforward  this  pitiful  spectacle  is  con- 
stantly before  the  eyes  of  the  settlers  until 
spring  thaws  come  and  the  famished  creatures 
that  have  survived  the  period  turn  back  again 
into  the  hills  to  regain  strength  and  flesh  in  a 
season  of  plenty. 


258  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

When  the  starving  period  begins  the  ranch- 
men pitch  tents  or  make  bivouacs  near  their 
haystacks,  and  to  save  the  hay  for  their  cattle 
are  compelled  to  sleep  by  the  stacks  during  the 
severest  months  of  winter.  Sometimes  even 
then  desperate  elk  charge  the  stacks  and  get 
some  of  the  hay.  It  is  necessary  for  the  ranch- 
men to  guard  and  protect  the  hay  for  their  do- 
mestic stock,  else  the  stock  would  starve.  As 
stated  previously,  this  is  a  stock  country  and 
livestock  is  the  chief  dependence  of  the  ranch- 
men. 

Nevertheless  many  elk  feed  with  domestic 
cattle,  and  tender-hearted  ranchmen  not  infre- 
quently put  their  stock  on  short  allowance  in 
order  to  donate,  now  and  again,  a  bit  of  forage 
to  desperate  and  starving  elk.  As  an  instance, 
Mr.  Leek  fed  at  his  own  expense  twenty-one  elk 
during  the  winter  of  1910,  and  on  several  oc- 
casions animals  forced  their  way  into  the  barn 
where  he  stables  his  driving  horses.  It  is  cus- 
tomary for  settlers  when  driving  out  to  stuff  as 
much  hay  into  their  sleighs  as  can  conveniently 
be  carried  and  distribute  it  to  weaker  animals 
in  particularly  pitiable  condition  which  they 
pass  along  the  road. 

The  winter  of  1908-09  was  an  unusually  hard 
winter  here,  and  early  in  January,  1909,  Jack- 


Looking  Toward  Mountain  Heights  Into  the  Valley  of  the  Gros  Ventre. 


..  .  *-Vf.«  i  ** 


Tlie  Result  of  a  Slide  on  the  Gros  Ventre. 


WYOMING'S  RESPONSIBILITY  259 

son's  Hole  was  stripped  of  forage.  It  is  prob- 
able that  the  greater  part  of  the  herds  would 
have  perished  but  for  the  fact  that  ranchmen 
on  their  own  initiative  distributed  twenty  loads 
of  hay  daily  to  twenty  thousand  elk.  This 
barely  sufficed  to  keep  the  animals  alive.  The 
ranchmen,  to  be  sure,  were  later  recompensed 
by  the  State  for  the  hay,  but  even  so  it  was  to 
their  disadvantage  to  take  it  from  their  domes- 
tic stock,  which  they  were  compelled  to  put  on 
exceedingly  short  allowance;  and  when  they 
fed  the  hay  they  had  no  guarantee  that  they 
would  be  paid  for  it. 

Referring  to  that  season,  the  State  game  war- 
den, in  his  annual  report,  says: 

"Not  many  grown  elk  died,  but  about  fifteen 
per  cent  of  the  young  ones  perished.  Had  noth- 
ing been  done  to  relieve  the  elk,  a  frightful 
loss  would  have  been  the  result.  The  prompt 
action  of  the  settlers  in  taking  the  initiative  and 
beginning  feeding  operations  and  the  generos- 
ity of  the  legislature  in  providing  funds  deserve 
the  highest  commendation." 

The  State  game  warden  in  his  estimate  of  the 
elk  that  perished,  is  at  wide  variance  with 
every  ranchman  in  Jackson's  Hole.  I  person- 
ally interviewed  many  of  the  leading  residents 
and  obtained  estimates  from  them  of  the  pro- 


260  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

portion  of  the  herds  that  perished,  and  the  most 
conservative  placed  the  number  at  not  less  than 
seventy-five  per  cent  of  the  young,  and  ten  per 
cent  of  the  adult,  elk.  I  had  but  one  estimate 
as  low  as  ten  per  cent  of  the  latter,  the  majority 
agreeing  that  at  least  fifteen  per  cent  of  the 
grown  animals  perished. 

Again,  in  February,  1910,  many  elk  died  of 
starvation  in  Jackson's  Hole,  but  a  fortunate 
thaw  cleared  the  upper  ranges  in  early  March, 
and  not  nearly  so  many  were  lost  as  in  1909. 

In  spite  of  these  lessons  which  have  been  re- 
peated winter  after  winter  for  several  years, 
Wyoming  took  no  steps  to  protect  her  animals 
during  the  winter  of  1910-1911,  and  when  the 
spring  of  191 1  opened  the  carcasses  of  starved 
animals  in  untold  numbers  were  strewn  over 
the  valleys  and  the  hillsides. 

S.  N.  Leek  wrote  me  on  January  28,  191 1 : 

"Last  night,  coming  down  from  Jackson,  I 
passed  over  twenty  calf  elk  lying  by  the  road, 
none  of  them  dead  yet,  but  all  will  be  within 
a  few  hours.  While  traveling  in  the  road, 
where  the  snow  is  packed,  they  give  out  and 
drop  down.  We  must  drive  around  them  with 
our  teams,  and  those  who  pass  throw  out  little 
bunches  of  hay  to  them.  Some  of  them  are  seen 
lying  with  the  hay  before  them,  but  too  far 


WYOMING'S  RESPONSIBILITY  261 

gone  to  eat  it.  In  a  few  hours,  or  days  at  most, 
those  that  are  down  now  will  be  dead.  What 
you  saw  last  fall  will  not  be  a  fourth  of  what 
you  may  see  next  spring.  And  still  the  great 
State  of  Wyoming  and  the  Federal  government 
protect  them  on  a  summer  range,  averaging  sev- 
enty acres  to  each  animal,  where  all  grazing  of 
domestic  stock  is  prohibited,  and  not  one  acre 
each  is  reserved  for  them  for  a  winter  range. 

"I  took  a  photograph  from  my  barn  last 
evening,  showing  probably  fifty  elk,  part  of 
them  within  the  corral,  and  at  the  time  there 
were  fifteen  hundred  head  of  elk  within  my 
field,  all  starving.  I  could  feed  a  hundred  or 
so,  but  did  I  commence  I  should  soon  have  a 
thousand  to  feed,  and  I  haven't  the  hay  to  feed 
that  many.  I  feel  almost  like  quitting  and  let- 
ting them  all  die  and  have  the  worry  over." 

A  day  or  two  after  writing  me  the  above  let- 
ter, Leek  wrote  me  again  that  he  had  can- 
vassed Jackson's  Hole  to  learn  how  much  hay 
each  ranchman  could  in  safety  spare  from  his 
needs  for  his  domestic  stock.  The  previous 
summer  was  one  of  unusual  drought,  and  Leek 
found  less  than  fifty  tons  of  hay  available  for 
elk. 

Early  in  February,  191 1,  the  State  legislature 
so  far  aroused  itself  from  its  indifference  to  the 


262  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

conditions  as  to  vote  an  emergency  fund  of 
$5,000  to  relieve  the  elk,  in  response  to  an  ap- 
peal from  the  people  of  Jackson's  Hole.  At  the 
same  time  the  Jackson's  Hole  and  Wyoming 
sportsmen  made  a  strong  appeal  for  assistance  to 
the  Federal  authorities  at  Washington  which 
resulted  in  an  appropriation  of  $20,000  to  be 
expended  on  behalf  of  the  elk.  Had  these  ap- 
propriations been  made  last  spring  and  hay  pur- 
chased last  summer,  it  would  have  gone  far  to- 
ward saving  the  elk,  but  with  no  hay  obtain- 
able at  this  late  day,  little  could  be  done.  A 
meeting  was  called  of  all  the  settlers  before  this 
emergency  fund  was  voted  to  consider  the  feasi- 
bility of  driving  their  cattle  over  Teton  Pass 
to  Teton  Basin  in  Idaho,  where  feed  could  be 
had  for  them  and  distributing  their  hay  to  starv- 
ing elk.  To  drive  the  stock  in  winter  over  this 
trail  would  have  been  no  small  undertaking  and 
would  doubtless  have  resulted  in  considerable 
loss  of  stock. 

Let  us  summarize  briefly  Wyoming's  respon- 
sibility for  the  condition:  She  began  early  in 
her  statehood  to  work  for  the  enlargement  of 
herds  already  too  numerous  for  available  win- 
ter ranges.  Not  satisfied  with  the  annual  in- 
crease shown,  she  established  an  extensive  ref- 
uge adjoining  Yellowstone  Park  that  the  herds 


WYOMING'S  RESPONSIBILITY  263 

might  grow  as  large  as  possible,  in  order  to  net 
her  a  large  revenue  when  railroads  open  her 
game  regions  to  sportsmen.  In  spite  of  the 
fact  that  winter  ranges  are  excessively  over- 
stocked, she  proposes  to  establish  still  another 
refuge  in  the  Gros  Ventre. 

She  makes  no  provision  for  winter  feeding, 
though  regularly  every  year  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  her  elk  are  dying  of  starvation. 
She  resents  outside  criticism  and  proposed  in- 
terference on  the  part  of  the  Federal  govern- 
ment, on  the  ground  that  she  is  abundantly  able 
to  take  care  of  her  own  property,  though  past 
and  present  conditions  prove  that  she  is  utterly 
unable  or  unwilling  to  care  for  these  migratory 
animals  which  she  chooses  to  claim  as  her  own 
the  moment  they  enter  her  territory. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

HOW  THE  ELK  MAY  BE  SAVED 

IT  will  be  seen  from  the  preceding  chapters 
how  serious  the  elk  situation  of  the  Jackson's 
Hole  country  is.  How  can  it  be  relieved? 
What  is  the  remedy?  No  one  wants  to  lose  the 
last  large  herds  of  elk  remaining  to  us  if  it  is 
possible  to  save  them.  Humanity  demands  on 
the  other  hand  that  the  herds  be  reduced  in 
size,  if  they  cannot  otherwise  be  provided  for 
in  winter,  to  a  point  where  the  limited  ranges 
open  to  them  will  support  them  without  undue 
suffering.  The  question  is,  then,  can  the  pres- 
ent herds  be  kept  in  their  entirety  and  provi- 
sion be  made  against  their  suffering?  I  believe 
this  is  possible,  though  it  would  not  seem  wise 
to  permit  further  increase,  as  the  limit  of  num- 
bers, in  justice  to  the  animals,  appears  to  have 
been  reached. 

264 


HOW  ELK  MAY  BE  SAVED     265 

Though  Wyoming  claims  absolute  ownership 
of  the  elk  within  her  borders  and  puts  her 
claims  above  those  of  the  Federal  government, 
the  elk,  as  well  as  all  the  ranges  here  in  ques- 
tion, are  within  United  States  forest  reserves, 
including  Jackson's  Hole.  Wyoming  in  claim- 
ing ownership  has  also  asserted  and  reiterated 
that  these  elk  are  of  greater  economic  value  than 
all  the  domestic  livestock  in  the  State,  and  it  is 
true  that  the  elk  are  a  source  of  considerable 
revenue  to  her.  It  seems,  therefore,  but  just 
that  some  part  of  the  money  brought  into  the 
State  treasury  through  the  elk  should  be  used 
to  guard  the  animals  from  suffering,  particu- 
larly in  the  face  of  the  further  fact  that  it  has 
been  demonstrated  that  this  is  feasible.  In  view 
of  her  claims  of  ownership  and  her  high  valu- 
ation of  the  elk,  the  country  at  large  is  war- 
ranted in  expecting  her  to  act  on  ordinary  bus- 
iness principles  and  to  care  for  them  just  as  any 
farmer  would  care  for  his  stock,  by  feeding  them 
in  seasons  when  the  ranges  become  inadequate 
to  support  them.  Thus  she  might  incidentally 
prove  that  she  is  "able  to  take  care  of  her  own 
property  without  outside  interference." 

Humanity  demands  that  she  do  this,  or  in  the 
event  of  her  failure  to  do  so  that  the  Federal 
government  take  possession  of  the  herds.     In 


266  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

another  chapter  I  said  that  it  was  a  question 
whether  or  not  migrating  animals  passing  from 
a  reserve  in  one  State  to  a  reserve  in  another, 
but  still  remaining  within  the  boundaries  of  re- 
serves, should  not  come  under  Federal  control. 
The  elk  here  in  question  fall  within  the  last 
classification,  as  they  have  never  passed  out  of 
national  forest  reserves. 

Wyoming's  assumption  of  sole  responsibility 
for  the  proper  care  of  these  animals  places  her 
in  the  position  of  a  stockman,  and  a  stockman 
under  similar  conditions  would  do  one  of  three 
things:  If  a  certain  range  contained  more  ani- 
mals than  it  could  support,  he  would  obtain 
forage  from  elsewhere  and  feed  the  animals; 
or  he  would  sell  his  surplus  stock;  or  he  would 
transfer  his  surplus  to  other  ranges  that  were 
understocked,  if  he  possessed  such  ranges. 

It  is  not  only  possible  but  feasible  to  feed  the 
elk,  and  Wyoming  is  only  deterred  from  feed- 
ing because  of  the  expense  entailed,  though  it 
would  be  comparatively  small,  adopting  instead 
a  penny  wise  and  pound  foolish  policy. 

During  the  haying  season  ranchmen  in  Jack- 
son's Hole  are  willing  to  sell  the  State  consid- 
erable quantities  of  hay  at  from  four  to  five  dol- 
lars per  ton,  and  enough  could  be  had  at  this 
price,  economically  dispensed,  to  carry  the  elk 


HOW  ELK  MAY  BE  SAVED     267 

over  the  season  of  stress.  It  would  be  neces- 
sary to  arrange  with  the  ranchmen  for  the  hay 
in  summer,  that  they  might  have  ample  time  to 
drive  their  cattle  over  the  Teton  Pass,  or  make 
other  winter  provision  for  them.  It  has  been 
claimed  that  the  ranchmen  demand  of  the  State 
excessive  prices  for  hay.  I  was  assured  that 
the  price  above  named  would  be  the  limit  of 
demand,  and  surely,  with  the  average  ruling 
price  of  hay  elsewhere  throughout  the  country 
about  eighteen  dollars  a  ton,  five  dollars  can- 
not be  characterized  as  excessive.  Hay  thus 
purchased  could  be  held  in  reserve  for  time  of 
need  and  would  meet  all  requirements,  but  Wy- 
oming has  never  put  aside  one  ton  of  hay  to 
meet  an  emergency  certain  to  arise. 

In  my  description  of  Jackson's  Hole  I  re- 
ferred to  a  marshy  area  supporting  a  good 
growth  of  grass.  This  area  contains  about  three 
thousand  acres  and  is  easily  good  for  at  least 
one  ton  of  hay  per  acre.  The  greater  part  of 
the  marsh  is  owned  by  private  individuals,  but 
it  could  be  acquired  by  the  State  by  reimburs- 
ing the  owners  for  the  slight  improvements  they 
have  made  upon  it.  The  hay  thus  obtained 
would  cost  the  State  very  little  and  might  be 
held  as  a  reserve  to  meet  emergencies. 

While  under  normal  and  healthful  conditions 


268  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

the  annual  increase  among  the  elk  of  north- 
western Wyoming  should  be  considerably 
greater  than  at  present,  it  is,  conservatively 
estimated,  about  five  thousand.  The  total  num- 
ber of  elk  killed  annually  in  the  State  averages 
one  thousand.  If  the  cost  of  present  non-resi- 
dent licenses  was  reduced  from  fifty  dollars  to 
twenty-five  dollars,  allowing  the  hunter  to  kill 
one  elk,  with  an  additional  charge  of  twenty- 
five  dollars  for  a  second  elk,  it  is  probable  that 
many  more  non-resident  hunters  would  upon 
these  reduced  terms  visit  the  State,  with  the  re- 
sult that  an  additional  thousand  elk  would  be 
killed. 

This  would  in  no  case  tend  to  reduce  the  size 
of  present  herds,  but  it  would  prevent  an  an- 
nual increase  too  large  to  control,  which  would 
result  if  wholesale  starvation  were  stopped 
through  feeding.  It  would  produce  to  the 
State  a  revenue  so  considerable  that  even  in  her 
stingiest  mood  Wyoming  might  be  moved  to 
apply  a  small  proportion  of  it  to  the  purchase 
of  sufficient  hay  to  keep  the  elk  in  good  con- 
dition through  any  ordinary,  or,  for  that  mat- 
ter, extraordinary  winter. 

This  proposition,  I  am  aware,  will  be  hailed 
with  horror  by  those  who  object  under  any  con- 
ditions to  killing  wild  animals,  but  it  is  better 


HOW  ELK  MAY  BE  SAVED     269 

to  kill  the  elk  than  to  starve  them,  and  hu- 
manity here  demands  some  such  course.  No 
stockman  in  the  world  would  attempt  to  main- 
tain a  hundred  steers  on  a  range  that  would  not 
support  seventy.  We  must  not  permit  the  sen- 
timental point  of  view  to  overtop  the  practical. 

On  the  other  hand,  Wyoming  has  consider- 
able ranges  in  other  sections  of  the  State  far  un- 
derstocked. Wherever  this  is  the  case  a  perma- 
nent close  season  should  be  established  and 
maintained  until  the  ranges  are  fairly  well 
stocked.  The  idea  of  game  protection  is  to 
stock  ranges  that  are  adapted  to  animals,  but 
not  overstock  them,  and  when  conditions  war- 
rant, to  permit  hunting,  but  not  to  so  great  an 
extent  as  to  kill  each  year  beyond  the  annual 
increase. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  Wyoming  considers 
her  elk  of  greater  value  than  the  domestic  sheep 
now  occupying  the  old  desert  ranges  of  the  elk 
to  the  latter's  exclusion,  it  is  a  pity  that  the  Fed- 
eral government  ever  permitted  the  sheep  to 
ruin  the  ranges.  What  shift  the  Federal  au- 
thorities expected  their  Yellowstone  Park  elk 
to  make  when  they  did  this  is  hard  to  imagine, 
if  indeed  they  ever  gave  the  park  elk  a  thought. 

No  one  understanding  the  true  meaning  of 
game  preservation  can  be  in  the  least  in  sym- 


270  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

pathy  with  the  exclusion  of  settlers  from  terri- 
tory for  the  sole  purpose  of  propagating  game. 
This  would  retard  civilization,  and  no  one 
wishes  that.  But  if  desert  lands  not  adapted  to 
settlement  are  more  valuable  as  elk  pasture 
than  sheep  pasture,  as  Wyoming  has  asserted, 
particularly  when  other  and  ample  unoccupied 
ranges  are  open  to  sheep,  humanity  and  good 
policy  both  demand  that  elk  ranges  be  reserved 
for  elk. 

Last  year  Wyoming  took  thirty-six  domesti- 
cated elk  from  Jackson's  Hole  to  the  Big  Horn 
refuge.  This  refuge  would  accommodate  thou- 
sands, and  the  Medicine  Bow  range  also  offers 
admirable  opportunity.  The  transportation  of 
elk  has  been  proved  by  experiment  to  be  per- 
fectly feasible.  In  his  report  of  1907  the  State 
game  warden  of  Wyoming  states: 

"It  has  been  well  demonstrated  that  young 
elk  may  be  captured  in  the  Jackson's  Hole 
country — in  winter  time — with  cheapness  and 
safety.  They  are  enticed  into  enclosures  by 
means  of  hay  and  fed  until  in  suitable  condi- 
tion to  move.  In  years  past,  when  there  were 
no  restrictions  upon  the  capture  of  game,  I  have 
known  scores  of  young  elk  to  be  hauled  ninety 
miles  by  wagon,  and  then  shipped  by  rail  to 
New  York,  with  practically  no  resultant  loss." 


Li- 


ra 

UJ 


"o 


c 
o 


UJ 


HOW  ELK  MAY  BE  SAVED     271 

And  in  his  report  for  1910  he  says:  "Experi- 
ence during  the  past  two  winters  has  demon- 
strated that  it  is  entirely  feasible  to  shift  large 
bands  of  elk  from  one  locality  to  another.  In 
the  late  fall  or  early  winter,  I  am  well  con- 
vinced that  a  thousand — or  more — elk  could  be 
gradually  driven,  or  'drifted'  from  the  Buffalo 
Fork  or  Spread  Creek  country  east  to  the  heads 
of  Wind  River;  and  thence,  later,  half,  or  more 
of  them,  could  be  driven  across  the  intervening 
country  to  the  Big  Horn  Mountains.  Such 
transfer  could  be  made  at  one-tenth  the  cost  of 
capture  and  shipment,  and  would  tend  to  re- 
lieve the  Jackson's  Hole  ranges.  I  trust  that 
my  successor  will  be  authorized  to  at  least  try 
the  experiment. 

"If  elk  were  protected  for  ten  years  in  Car- 
bon County,  it  would  well  be  worth  the  cost  to 
ship  and  liberate  a  car-load  of  young  elk  in  the 
Medicine  Bow  Mountains.  This  is  an  ideal 
big  game  country,  and  with  proper  protection, 
the  elk  would  increase  rapidly,  eventually  dis- 
tributing themselves  over  the  entire  Medicine 
Bow  range." 

If  the  State  of  Wyoming  is  truly  interested 
in  the  preservation  and  propagation  of  big 
game,  as  her  State  game  warden  has  repeatedly 
asserted  in  his  annual  reports,  she  could,  with- 


m  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

out  expense  and  without  appreciable  loss  to 
herself,  permit  other  States  to  capture  young 
elk  that  would  otherwise  starve,  to  stock  adapt- 
able ranges  in  these  other  States.  The  number 
to  be  captured  and  transported  could  be  agreed 
upon,  and  it  would  be  but  just  that  the  State 
receiving  the  elk  give  Wyoming  a  guarantee  of 
a  permanent  closed  season  and  of  proper  pro- 
tection for  the  animals. 

It  is  certainly  up  to  Wyoming  to  take  some 
steps  toward  the  proper  protection  of  her  elk. 
If  she  does  not  do  so  promptly  and  continues 
to  permit  wholesale  starving,  the  Federal  au- 
thorities should  take  the  matter  in  hand.  If  an 
individual  were  to  treat  one  cow  as  cruelly  as 
Wyoming  annually  treats  thousands  of  elk,  his 
neighbors  would  raise  a  howl  of  horror  and  the 
humane  societies  would  lose  no  time  in  setting 
legal  machinery  in  motion  to  have  him  severely 
punished.  How  long  will  the  Federal  govern- 
ment permit  this  condition  to  continue?  Is  it 
not  after  all  a  condition  that  calls  for  Federal 
control?  The  bulk  of  the  elk  that  suffer  are 
nurtured  and  reared  in  Yellowstone  National 
Park  under  Federal  supervision  and  are  tran- 
sient residents  of  the  ranges  outside  the  park 
boundaries. 

Every  citizen  of  the  United  States,  therefore, 


HOW  ELK  MAY  BE  SAVED      273 

whether  a  resident  of  Wyoming  or  not,  has  an 
individual  and  personal  interest  in  their  wel- 
fare, as  he  has  in  all  wild  animals  which  in- 
habit our  national  parks  or  public  lands  outside 
the  parks.  But  we  are  inclined  to  neglect  the 
things  that  we  do  not  see.  Let  visitors  to  Cen- 
tral Park,  New  York  City,  trample  and  de- 
stroy a  bit  of  grass,  and  the  newspapers  set  up 
a  loud  cry  of  distress;  let  several  thousand  noble 
elk,  in  which  every  citizen  has  an  interest,  be 
starved  to  death  by  slow  torture  and  neglect, 
and  the  newspapers  devote  a  half  dozen  lines 
to  it.  Let  Reggie  Moneybags  wed  Miss  Gwen- 
dolyn Sillypate,  and  the  newspapers  devote  at 
least  two  columns  to  the  function,  though 
neither  of  these  twain  ever  did  a  useful  thing  in 
their  precious  lives;  and  when  they  are  di- 
vorced a  year  later  in  Reno  other  columns  are 
devoted  to  them;  and  still  other  columns  when 
they  each  choose  new  matrimonial  partners  at 
the  lapse  of  another  month  or  so. 

But  morbid  curiosity  must  be  satisfied,  even 
though  the  valuable  space  spent  in  gratifying  it 
excludes  news  of  real  importance — and  the 
wholesale  starvation  of  elk  in  February,  191 1, 
was  a  matter  of  real  importance  to  the  people 
of  the  country,  though  our  papers  gave  it  no  no- 
tice generally,  or  at  most  scant  reference.   News- 


274  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

papers  are  our  great  educators  and  moulders  of 
public  opinion.  Let  them  once  take  up  the 
matter  of  starving  elk,  and  very  quickly  public 
opinion  will  drive  our  Federal  and  State  au- 
thorities to  solve  the  question  and  stop  the 
wholesale  torturing  by  starvation  that  has  been 
going  on  for  years. 

Well-meaning  people  support  at  consider- 
able expense  hospitals  for  indigent  and  way- 
worn cats,  in  such  cities  as  New  York.  If  these 
well-meaning  people  would  chloroform  their 
indigent  Tommies  and  spend  their  money  to 
purchase  hay  for  starving  elk,  or  in  a  campaign 
to  arouse  public  opinion  in  behalf  of  the  starv- 
ing herds,  they  would  be  doing  a  worthy  serv- 
ice for  dumb  creatures. 


CHAPTER   XX 

SHEEP,  ANTELOPE,  AND  MOOSE 

LEEK  chose  a  romantic  spot  for  our  camp 
in  the  Gros  Ventre  valley  under  the  lee 
of  a  grassy  knoll,  close  to  the  river.  A 
grove  of  fragrant  fir  trees  was  at  our  back,  and 
directly  across  the  river  a  precipitous  mountain 
rose  to  lofty  heights.  Here  we  were  encamped 
for  three  nights,  spending  our  days  in  the 
saddle. 

As  previously  stated,  this  is  the  upper  winter 
range  of  the  Jackson's  Hole  elk,  and  here,  as  in 
the  lower  valley,  though  to  a  smaller  extent,  for 
fewer  elk  winter  here  than  there,  we  found  the 
remains  of  many  animals  that  had  perished. 
Leek  found  one  old  head  with  a  sixty-three-inch 
spread  and  measuring  sixty  inches  along  the 
outside  of  the  horn.  This  was  not  a  record 
head,  but  close  to  the  largest  bona  fide  head 

875 


276  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

extant,  for  it  must  be  remembered  that  some  of 
those  that  at  one  time  passed  as  record  heads  of 
enormous  proportions  had  been  spliced. 

This,  too,  is  a  good  mountain-sheep  country 
and  several  are  killed  each  year  on  Sheep 
Mountain,  on  the  mountain  opposite  our  camp, 
and  on  others  of  the  higher  peaks  near-by.  In- 
deed, an  old  buck  came  down  to  the  river  not 
more  than  four  hundred  yards  below  us  while 
we  were  camped  there. 

In  a  previous  chapter  it  was  stated  that  Wy- 
oming probably  has  five  hundred  of  the  ap- 
proximately seven  thousand  sheep  remaining  in 
the  United  States.  Of  these  five  hundred  one 
hundred  inhabit  the  Tetons.  On  the  west  side 
of  the  Tetons  domestic  sheep  are  invading  the 
lower  edge  of  the  mountain-sheep  range,  with 
the  result  that  scab  has  appeared  among  the 
latter.  The  statement  that  the  sheep  are  in- 
fected is  based  upon  reports  made  me  by  two 
sportsmen  who  killed  sheep  here  during  the 
open  season  preceding  my  visit,  both  of  whom 
had  killed  infected  animals.  It  would  seem, 
therefore,  that  there  is  no  question  that  the 
mountain  sheep  are  infected,  but  how  far  the 
infection  has  spread  it  is  at  present  impossible 
to  say.  It  is  not  difficult,  however,  to  prophesy 
the  result.    A  few  years  ago  some  of  Wyoming 


SHEEP,  ANTELOPE,  AND  MOOSE  277 

sheep  were  badly  infected,  resulting  in  con- 
siderable mortality,  but  it  was  believed  and 
hoped  that  the  disease  had  run  its  course. 

The  number  of  mountain  sheep  killed  each 
year  by  hunters  in  Wyoming,  in  conjunction 
with  those  destroyed  by  predatory  animals,  is 
beyond  doubt  considerably  in  excess  of  the  in- 
crease* and  with  the  Teton  sheep  infected  with 
scab  it  would  seem  the  part  of  wisdom  for  the 
State  to  follow  Colorado's  example  and  for  a 
few  years,  at  least,  absolutely  prohibit  hunting. 

Formerly  there  were  considerable  numbers 
of  antelope  in  northwestern  Wyoming.  Though 
the  warning  was  sounded  that  they  were  rap- 
idly decreasing  in  numbers,  hunting  was  per- 
mitted until  1909,  and  as  a  result  antelope  have 
practically  disappeared  from  northwestern  Wy- 
oming. 

The  State  game  warden  of  Wyoming  asserts: 
"Some  parts  of  the  State  show  a  decided  in- 
crease of  deer,  and  it  is  safe  to  assert  that  Wy- 
oming has  as  many — or  more — deer  now  than 
it  had  five  years  ago."  My  investigations  as  to 
deer  were  not  so  thorough  in  Wyoming  as  I 
had  hoped  to  make  them,  but  the  reports  re- 
ceived, taking  the  State  as  a  whole,  bear  out 
the  game  warden's  assertion.  There  is  no 
doubt  deer  are  fairly  numerous,  though,  scat- 


278  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

tered  as  they  are  over  a  wide  territory,  no  ap- 
proximation of  the  number  could  be  made  with 
any  degree  of  accuracy. 

What  is  known  as  the  Gros  Ventre  "slide"  is 
situated  some  two  miles  above  the  place  where 
we  were  camped.  This  is  a  section  of  mountain 
perhaps  one  mile  wide  and  extending  up  the 
mountain  side  five  miles,  which  is  gradually 
changing  its  position  and  sliding  down  toward 
the  river  gorge.  The  first  movement  was  no- 
ticed in  1907,  and  though  the  mountain  side  is 
sliding  too  slowly  to  be  noticeable  to  the  naked 
eye,  save  by  the  constant  rolling  of  pebbles,  or 
the  trickling  of  gravel  upon  slopes,  the  area 
affected  now  has  the  appearance  of  having  been 
shaken  by  a  terrific  earthquake.  Trees  have 
been  rolled  under;  crevasses  fifteen  feet  deep 
have  opened;  high  pressure  ridges  have 
formed;  in  level  places  ponds  have  been  filled 
and  other  ponds  formed;  and  the  Gros  Ventre 
River,  at  the  foot  of  the  slide,  has  been  pushed 
out  of  its  old  channel  and  against  the  base  of  a 
precipitous  mountain  opposite. 

The  slide  is  indeed  pushing  against  this  other 
mountain,  gradually  raising  the  river  and  form- 
ing a  lake  above,  where  none  formerly  existed. 
Above  the  river  gorge,  formed  by  the  slide  on 
one  side  and  the  mountain  on  the  other,  is  a 


SHEEP,  ANTELOPE,  AND  MOOSE  279 

large  basin,  and  the  prospect  is  that  this  basin 
will  ultimately  become  a  lake  of  considerable 
proportions.  The  river  is  very  muddy  below 
the  slide,  and  one  morning  while  we  were 
camped  there  we  found  it  had  fallen  nearly 
three  inches,  the  result  of  a  large  body  of  earth 
having  been  rushed  into  it  by  the  slide. 

From  our  rendezvous  on  the  Gros  Ventre  my 
route  lay  down  the  Gros  Ventre  to  Slate  Creek, 
thence  up  Slate  Creek,  over  Mt.  Leidy  ridge 
past  Leidy  Lake,  down  to  Spread  Creek,  over 
another  ridge  past  Lilly  Lake  to  the  Buffalo 
Fork,  and  thence  northward  through  the  Wy- 
oming game  refuge  to  Yellowstone  National 
Park,  which  I  was  to  enter  at  Snake  River  sta- 
tion and  traverse  its  width  northward  to  Gardi- 
ner, Montana. 

Leek  kept  me  company  to  Mt.  Leidy.  On 
Slate  Creek  we  passed  a  soldiers'  camp,  where 
Captain  Dow  and  Lieutenant  Rierdon,  with 
half  a  dozen  privates,  made  their  headquarters 
while  mapping  mountain  trails  for  military 
purposes.  Beyond  a  maze  of  fallen  timber  on 
the  slope  of  Mt.  Leidy  Leek  turned  back,  to 
return  to  his  camp  on  the  Gros  Ventre,  while  I 
rose  to  the  summit  of  the  pass,  covered  with  the 
snow  of  recent  storms.  The  last  reach  of  the 
ascent  was  abrupt  and  there  was  no  trail  to  fol- 


280  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

low,  but  once  at  the  top  I  was  treated  to  a  mag- 
nificent panoramic  view  of  the  valley  I  had 
just  left. 

Far  beneath  me  the  silver  thread  of  Slate 
Creek  wound  down  to  join  the  Gros  Ventre. 
Beyond  the  Gros  Ventre  rose  Sheep  Mountain 
with  other  mountains  and  lofty  ranges  beyond, 
in  a  mighty  tumbled  mass,  some  of  them,  like 
Mt.  Leidy,  where  I  stood,  partially  covered 
with  fir  and  the  summits  of  all  of  them  white 
with  snow. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  ridge  I  dropped 
down  past  Lake  Leidy,  a  beautiful  bit  of  water 
romantically  situated  among  the  fir-clad  peaks. 
In  the  descent  from  Leidy  Lake  to  Spread 
Creek  were  the  tracks  of  a  large  band  of  elk, 
chiefly  cows  and  calves,  with  unmistakable 
signs  that  the  animals  had  been  driven.  The 
tracks  were  fresh— not  above  a  few  hours  old. 
That  evening  I  was  startled  by  the  bugle  call 
of  an  elk.  It  surprised  me,  for  this  was  late 
in  the  season  for  bulls  to  be  bugling. 

The  weather  was  growing  cold.  Spread 
Creek,  where  the  water  was  not  too  swift,  froze 
hard  that  night,  and  the  earth  became  like  flint. 
My  course  carried  me  down  the  creek  for  some 
distance,  over  a  low  ridge,  and  thence  across 
the  north  branch  of   Spread   Creek,  which  I 


SHEEP,  ANTELOPE,  AND  MOOSE  281 

reached  during  the  following  forenoon.  I 
aimed  to  come  out  at  Lilly  Lake — which  is,  in 
fact,  only  a  small  pond — thence  cross  another 
ridge,  make  past  a  butte  Leek  had  described  to 
me,  and  strike  for  a  ford  of  the  Buffalo,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  which  is  an  old  military  road 
leading  into  the  direct  route  to  the  southern  en- 
trance of  Yellowstone  Park. 

In  emerging  from  the  timber  to  descend  into 
the  gorge  of  the  north  branch,  I  descried  some 
tents  on  a  hill  opposite  and  to  the  right,  and 
upon  riding  up  to  them  found  it  to  be  the  camp 
of  Roy  McBride,  a  Jackson's  Hole  guide,  who 
with  three  assistants,  had  an  Englishman  and 
his  wife  on  a  hunting  trip — a  "dude  outfit,"  as 
one  of  the  men  put  it. 

Travelers  here  are  classified  as  "dudes," 
"sage  brushers,"  or  "rough  necks."  Anyone 
who  travels  or  hunts  with  a  guide  is  a  "dude," 
no  matter  how  rough  or  unkempt  his  personal 
appearance.  Those  who  travel  with  wagons 
on  beaten  roads,  camping  in  more  or  less  com- 
fort with  the  paraphernalia  they  are  able  to 
carry  in  this  way,  are  "sage  brushers."  A  horse- 
back traveler,  doing  his  own  cooking  and  camp 
work,  unassisted  by  a  guide  and  in  fact  rough- 
ing it  in  the  true  sense,  is  a  "rough  neck" — that 
is,  one  traveling  as  the  people  of  the  country 


282  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

travel.  They  do  not  consider  that  a  man  is 
roughing  it  who  has  a  guide  to  care  for  him  and 
his  camp  equipment,  nor  one  who  travels  by 
wagon  on  beaten  roads.  This  classification  ex- 
tends over  Yellowstone  Park  as  well  as  the  sur- 
rounding region. 

McBride's  "dudes"  were  a  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Henderson,  who  had  come  from  England  to 
secure  elk  trophies.  I  was  introduced  to  them 
and  accepted  McBride's  invitation  to  remain  to 
dinner.  Mr.  Henderson,  as  well  as  others  of 
the  party,  informed  me  that  they  had  seen  sol- 
diers firing  indiscriminately  into  herds  of  cow 
and  calf  elk  and  were  certain  some  of  the  cows 
had  been  killed.  McBride  had  no  doubt  the 
animals  whose  tracks  I  had  seen  between  Leidy 
Lake  and  Spread  Creek  had  been  driven  by 
soldiers. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when  I  remounted  and 
turned  past  Lilly  Lake,  riding  now  in  forest, 
now  in  open,  with  no  definite  trail  but  taking 
the  general  direction  in  which,  according  to  my 
map,  the  Buffalo  Fork  lay.  Once  crossing  a 
knoll  I  discovered  some  elk  feeding  in  a  hollow. 
I  swung  behind  another  knoll  and  approached 
unobserved  within  fifty  yards  of  them  before 
they  saw  me.  Then  one  of  them  raised  its  head, 
took  a  good  look  at  me,  surprise  and  wonder  in 


SHEEP,  ANTELOPE,  AND  MOOSE  283 

his  eyes,  and  with  the  whole  bunch  broke  for 
the  cover  of  near-by  timber. 

This  was  shortly  before  sunset,  and  when 
darkness  came  I  had  not  yet  made  out  my  land- 
mark, the  butte.  A  strong  west  wind  had 
sprung  up  and  the  evening  grew  raw.  I  had 
hoped  to  make  Buffalo  Fork  before  camping 
and  rode  a  full  hour  after  dark.  The  woods 
were  so  thick,  however,  that  it  was  difficult 
to  pick  a  route  in  the  darkness,  and  when  at 
length  I  came  upon  a  grassy,  open  hollow,  I 
unpacked  in  the  lee  of  the  timber  skirting  it 
and  turned  the  horses  loose  to  graze. 

I  rarely  troubled  to  pitch  my  tent,  and  a  fire 
made  the  shelter  of  the  trees  so  comfortable 
that  after  supper  and  a  pipe  I  rolled  in  my 
blanket  under  the  sky.  Snow  on  my  face  roused 
me  during  the  night  and  I  drew  my  poncho 
over  me,  not  to  awaken  until  dawn.  Five 
inches  of  snow  covered  me,  and  I  made  coffee 
that  morning  from  melted  snow. 

Saddling  and  packing  was  but  just  accom- 
plished when  the  storm  resumed  and  the  snow 
fell  so  thick  that  I  could  scarcely  see  a  hundred 
yards.  Shortly  after  starting  I  crossed  two  elk 
tracks,  and  the  track  of  a  big  timber  wolf, 
doubtless  following  the  elk,  but  saw  nothing  of 
the  animals.    It  is  said  that  wolves  are  increas- 


284  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

ing  rapidly  in  numbers  in  the  game  refuge  just 
north  of  this,  where  all  hunting  is  prohibited. 

Presently  the  snow  ceased,  the  clouds  scat- 
tered, and  the  sun  broke  out  with  blinding,  daz- 
zling brilliancy.  At  my  feet,  and  below  the 
snow  line,  lay  the  valley  of  the  Buffalo,  beyond 
it  the  timbered  stretches  of  the  State  game  re- 
serve, to  the  westward  through  a  purple  haze 
the  majestic  Tetons,  raising  their  jagged  peaks 
high  above  the  surrounding  landscape. 

The  snow  balled  on  the  horses'  feet,  causing 
them  to  slip  and  slide  badly  in  the  descent  to 
the  valley,  and  I  was  glad  to  reach  bare  ground 
again.  They  had  been  on  short  rations  before, 
and  the  night's  snow  had  covered  the  grass  so 
deeply  that  their  breakfast  had  been  light  that 
morning.  Therefore  when  I  came  to  the  cabin 
of  Charles  Neil,  an  old  trapper,  shortly  after 
fording  the  Buffalo  and  learned  he  had  oats  and 
hay,  I  halted  for  the  day. 

Neil  has  been  a  fur  trapper  for  more  than 
thirty  years  and  for  the  early  season  had  a  good 
showing  of  fall  pelts,  indicating  that  some  fur- 
bearing  animals  still  survive  here.  Mink  and 
muskrat  were  chief  among  his  catch. 

The  road  northward  to  Yellowstone  Park 
was  through  a  romantic  and  picturesque  region. 
To  the  left  lay  the  Tetons,  rising  bleak  and  rug- 


SHEEP,  ANTELOPE,  AND  MOOSE  285 

ged,  their  glacier  stubs  gleaming  white  in  the 
sunlight,  and  the  atmosphere  bore  the  perfume 
of  the  pine  and  fir  forest  spreading  far  away  in 
every  direction. 

This  is  a  magnificent  game  cover  and  refuge. 
It  is  the  sanctuary  of  Wyoming's  moose,  num- 
bering now  about  four  hundred.  While  any 
considerable  number  of  elk  would  starve  here 
in  the  winter,  it  is  an  ideal  winter  as  well  as 
summer  range  for  moose  and  deer,  both  of 
which  are  browsing  animals,  while  the  elk  nor- 
mally is  not.  In  connection  with  Yellowstone 
Park  it  offers  a  wide  area  of  protection  to  bear, 
fur-bearing  animals,  and  game  birds. 

This  moose  herd  has  been  built  up  from  an 
insignificant  beginning  to  its  present  propor- 
tions during  the  past  ten  years.  The  close  sea- 
son will  end  in  Wyoming  in  191 2,  unless  it  is 
extended,  and  it  is  hardly  to  be  supposed  that 
the  legislature  will  do  otherwise  than  extend  it, 
for  one  year's  hunting  would  put  a  setback  upon 
the  moose  that  would  spoil  the  work  of  those 
ten  years. 

There  is  some  poaching  on  the  refuge,  but 
not  a  great  deal.  Two  weeks  before  I  passed 
through  it,  an  army  wagon  was  overturned  on  a 
rough  bit  of  road.  A  mounted  lieutenant,  with 
two   soldiers,    escorted    the   wagon.    A   forest 


286  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

ranger,  happening  along,  dismounted  to  assist 
the  driver  and  soldiers  in  righting  the  wagon 
and  to  his  surprise  discovered  in  the  cargo 
which  had  rolled  out  upon  the  ground  the  head 
and  part  of  the  carcass  of  a  freshly  killed  moose. 
The  forest  ranger  put  the  lieutenant  and  his 
men  under  arrest,  and  when  they  were  haled 
before  a  magistrate  it  developed  that  the  lieu- 
tenant was  already  under  bond  to  appear  in 
answer  to  a  charge  of  killing  ducks  within  the 
prohibited  bounds  of  the  refuge. 

The  scenery  through  this  whole  region  is 
particularly  impressive.  Since  entering  the 
Jackson's  Hole  region  the  Tetons — the  Pilot 
Knobs  of  the  fur  traders — had  remained  within 
view,  towering  above  the  surrounding  land- 
scape in  rugged  and  lonely  grandeur.  Since 
fording  the  Buffalo  Fork  my  trail  had  carried 
me  through  a  continuous  forest,  and  for  a  few 
miles  along  beautiful  Jackson  Lake,  whose 
placid  waters  reach  from  fir-clad  shores  to  the 
very  base  of  the  mighty  Tetons. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  I  passed  here,  and 
I  rode  out  upon  a  bluff  overlooking  the  water 
to  see  it  drop  behind  the  Grand  Teton  with  an 
effect  of  marvelous  beauty.  The  three  peaks 
were  enveloped  in  a  halo  of  dazzling  bright- 
ness which  presently  gave  way  to  a  flood  of 


SHEEP,  ANTELOPE,  AND  MOOSE  287 

lurid  red,  reflected  by  the  mirror-like  waters  of 
the  lake  at  my  feet.  On  the  near  side  of  the 
mountains,  between  the  fiery  glow  above  and 
the  red-stained  water  below,  lay  a  bank  of  dark 
purple,  shading  off  on  its  outer  edges  to  lighter 
hues.  Overhead  were  great  streaks  of  purple 
and  orange,  reaching  out  to  the  azure  zenith. 

At  three  o'clock  on  the  day  after  leaving 
Neil's  cabin  I  was  halted  by  a  soldier  at  the 
Snake  River  entrance  to  Yellowstone  Park. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL 

I  WAS  anxious  to  cross  the  high  altitudes  of 
the  Continental  Divide  as  quickly  as  possi- 
ble, for  winter  had  already  set  in,  and 
heavy  snows  were  now  to  be  expected.  Any 
morning  was  likely  to  dawn  with  one  of  the  ter- 
rific blizzards  characteristic  of  the  region, 
which  would  stop  all  travel  save  on  snowshoes. 
The  park's  season  for  visitors  was  closed,  how- 
ever, and  red  tape  held  me  at  the  soldiers'  sta- 
tion at  Snake  River  until  near  midday  follow- 
ing my  arrival,  when  I  was  permitted  to  pro- 
ceed. That  morning  the  thermometer  regis- 
tered twenty-two  degrees  of  frost.  The  ground 
was  covered  with  snow  of  a  previous  storm 
when  I  crossed  the  Continental  Divide  on  the 
day  I  left  Snake  River  station  and  ice  did  not 
melt  there  even  at  midday. 

288 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL     289 

The  expected  snow  began  on  the  morning  of 
my  third  day  in  the  park  and  fell  pretty  steadily 
for  a  day  and  a  half.  Hayden  Valley  was  very 
bleak,  with  snow  blowing  thick  in  my  face  and 
the  wind  cold  and  penetrating.  Once  or  twice 
I  met  mounted  troopers  and  north  of  the  Yel- 
lowstone Canon  several  freighters  with  wagon 
loads  of  material  for  the  new  hotel  at  the  canon. 
Otherwise  the  park  was  quite  deserted  save  by 
the  regular  details  of  soldiers  at  the  stations, 
where  I  halted  to  register,  and  some  emi- 
grants bound  for  Alberta,  who  were  encamped 
for  the  night  at  Norris  Basin,  when  I  passed 
there. 

Few  animals  were  to  be  seen.  Once  I  saw  a 
bear,  once  a  fearless  coyote  trotted  for  a  mile 
or  two  in  front  of  me,  innumerable  waterfowl 
lined  the  Yellowstone  River,  and  beyond  Nor- 
ris Basin  I  encountered  several  deer.  Between 
Norris  Basin  and  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  I  met 
government  scouts  McBride  and  Brown,  and 
we  dismounted  to  light  a  fire  and  discuss  for 
an  hour  the  game  situation,  and  particularly 
the  condition  of  park  game. 

Once  I  halted  to  extinguish  a  blaze,  started 
doubtless  by  transportation  company  teamsters 
who  had  stopped  for  luncheon  and  had  failed 
to  scatter  their  fire.    The  wind  had  carried  the 


290  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

embers  to  the  edge  of  a  mass  of  dead  fallen 
timber  and  but  for  my  opportune  passing  con- 
siderable destruction  might  have  resulted. 

It  was  dusk  when  I  reached  Mammoth  Hot 
Springs.  The  sky  was  heavily  clouded,  and 
when  I  entered  the  canon  below  the  Springs 
darkness  was  so  intense  I  could  not  see  Heart's 
ears  from  my  seat  in  the  saddle.  The  river 
roared  at  my  side,  but  was  wholly  invisible, 
and  I  had  to  depend  upon  the  instinct  of  the 
horses  to  keep  the  road.  When  I  dropped 
during  the  afternoon  below  7,500  feet  altitude 
I  had  left  the  snow  behind,  and  here  the  footing 
was  dry  and  hard  and  traveling,  even  in  the 
heavy  darkness,  quite  free  from  danger. 

At  eight  o'clock  I  reached  the  park  gate, 
only  to  find  it  closed.  A  soldier  on  guard  at  the 
station  declined  to  open  it  and  permit  me  to 
pass,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  against  orders 
to  open  the  gate  after  seven  o'clock.  Some  ar- 
gument, however,  finally  persuaded  him  to  do 
so,  and  half  an  hour  later  Heart  and  Button 
were  feeding  in  a  comfortable  stable  in  Gar- 
diner, Montana,  and  I  was  enjoying  my  supper 
at  a  hotel. 

Here  I  fell  in  with  Deputy  Game  Wardens 
P.  W.  Nelson  and  Henry  Ferguson,  who  had 
just  brought  in  a  poacher  charged  with  killing 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL     291 

moose.  The  next  morning,  in  company  with 
Nelson,  I  crossed  into  the  park  to  view  some 
immense  stacks  of  hay  that  had  been  standing 
here,  unused  and  rotting,  for  years,  with  the 
bones  of  elk  that  had  starved  to  death  the  previ- 
ous winter  scattered  about  the  stacks. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  I  resumed  the  trail  and 
the  following  evening,  after  dark,  rode  into  Em- 
igrant in  a  snow  squall.  The  next  afternoon  I 
saddled  Button,  left  Heart  to  rest  in  a  stable, 
and  rode  north  to  see  Henry  Lambert,  an  old- 
time  guide,  rancher,  and  pioneer,  whose  ranch 
lies  twenty  miles  from  Emigrant.  I  had  been 
directed  to  turn  into  the  first  lane  to  the  right, 
after  passing  a  small  church,  and  to  follow  the 
lane  up  a  canon.  It  was  dusk  when  I  passed 
the  church  and  found  the  first  lane,  and  dark 
before  I  reached  the  canon.  The  lane  road  had 
petered  out  into  a  path,  and  when  I  entered  the 
canon  there  was  no  indication  that  it  was  in- 
habited. Neither  trail  nor  surroundings  could 
be  seen,  and  I  turned  back  to  make  inquiries  at 
a  cottage  near  the  church.  A  clerical-looking 
individual  answered  my  knock. 

"Can  you  direct  me,"  I  inquired,  "to  Henry 
Lambert's  ranch?" 

"I  can  direct  you,  sir,"  said  he,  "but  Mr. 
Lambert's  ranch  would  be  difficult  to  find  at 


292  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

night  unless  you   are   quite  familiar  with  the 


»i 


country 

"I've  never  been  here  before." 

"Then,  sir,  you  could  scarcely  hope  to  find 
the  ranch  in  the  darkness  with  any  directions 
I  might  give  you." 

"Could  I  get  accommodations  for  the  night 
for  myself  and  pony  with  you  or  probably  at 
some  ranch?" 

"No  one  here,  sir,  accommodates  strangers 
at  night." 

At  this  juncture  a  gruff  voice  within  shouted: 
"He  kin  bunk  with  me." 

"One  of  my  neighbors  who  is  paying  me  a 
call,"  said  the  clerical  gentleman,  "offers  you 
accommodations,  sir,  with  him." 

A  tall,  powerfully  built  man  joined  us.  He 
was  rough  in  appearance  and  a  real  frontier 
type. 

"Yep,"  said  he,  "I'm  bachin'  over  here.  Glad 
t'  have  you." 

As  we  walked  over  and  I  led  Button  to  a  lit- 
tle log  cabin  not  far  away,  I  inquired,  "Are 
you  one  of  the  dominie's  parishioners?" 

"What's  them?"  he  asked. 

"Do  you  attend  his  church?" 

"Nope.  Don't  go  to  no  church.  I  ain't  much 
on  churches  and  religion." 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL     293 

When  Button  was  made  snug  we  entered  the 
cabin,  and  I  stood  in  the  door  while  he  lighted 
a  bit  of  rag  floating  in  oil  in  a  tin  dish.  The 
weird  flicker  displayed  a  very  filthy  room  with 
a  cook  stove  in  which  a  wood  fire  burned. 

"Now  make  yourself  t'  home,"  he  exclaimed. 
"Mighty  glad  to  have  you  come.  I  get  plumb 
lonesome  here  sometimes.  That's  why  I  was 
over  t'  th'  preacher's.  I  reckon  you'd  like  a 
cup  of  coffee,"  he  continued,  immersing  a  fin- 
ger in  a  tomato  can  on  the  stove  to  test  the  tem- 
perature of  the  coffee  it  contained.  "Set  up  t' 
th'  table  and  have  a  bite." 

With  a  finger  he  wiped  the  stale  grounds 
from  an  enameled  cup,  filled  it  with  coffee,  set 
out  some  bread,  and  I  accepted  his  hospitality. 
Bill,  he  told  me,  was  his  name,  and  Bill,  to  say 
the  least,  was  as  eccentric  as  he  was  hospitable. 
We  sat  until  midnight,  while  he  related  blood- 
curdling tales  of  personal  experiences  and  ad- 
ventures with  Indians  and  wild  animals. 

"Why,"  said  Bill,  waving  his  arms  in  wild 
gestures,  "maybe  you  wouldn't  believe  it,  but 
I've  spent  a  hull  year  t'  a  slap  out  on  th'  plains 
killing  buffalo  fer  hides,  without  ever  clappin' 
eyes  on  a  petticoat." 

I  had  brought  neither  blanket  nor  baggage, 
from   Emigrant,   and  my  bed   that  night  was 


294.  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

under  the  same  dirty  quilts  with  Bill,  upon  a 
dirty  mattress  on  the  floor  alongside  the  stove. 
Bill  talked  in  his  sleep,  waved  his  arms,  and 
now  and  again  gave  mighty  kicks,  but  on  the 
whole  I  slept  fairly  well. 

At  dawn  I  fed  Button,  and  when  he  had 
eaten,  bade  my  friend  Bill  adieu,  with  thanks, 
and  in  due  course  reached  Lambert's  ranch, 
where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lambert  gave  me  a  true 
Western  greeting  and  I  enjoyed  a  breakfast  of 
fried  grouse,  with  home-made  jelly.  When  I 
told  them  where  I  had  spent  the  night,  Mrs. 
Lambert  held  up  her  hands  in  horror  and  ex- 
claimed: 

"Of  all  places!  With  crazy  Bill!  Why,  he 
escaped  from  an  asylum  not  long  ago  and  he's 
hiding  up  there.     He's  a  lunatic!" 

"Never  mind,"  said  I,  "Bill  took  me,  a  stran- 
ger, into  his  cabin  and  gave  me  the  best  he  had 
— and  told  me  some  good  yarns." 

In  a  previous  chapter,  discussing  the  elk  situ- 
ation in  Jackson's  Hole,  it  was  stated  that  large 
numbers  of  park  elk  range  in  Montana,  north 
of  the  park.  Mr.  Amos  Hague,  of  Emigrant, 
who  perhaps  more  than  anyone  else  on  the 
Montana  side  has  been  active  in  efforts  to  bet- 
ter the  condition  of  the  animals,  had  written  me 
that  elk  were  starving  here  in  great  numbers 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL     295 

every  year  because  of  depleted  ranges.  Every 
one  whom  I  interviewed  hereabouts — hunters, 
guides,  game  wardens,  and  park  scouts — made 
similar  statements,  and  all  traced  the  mortality 
among  animals  to  the  one  cause — overstocking 
the  ranges  with  domestic  sheep.  This,  it  was 
asserted,  had  resulted  not  only  in  the  destruc- 
tion of  thousands  of  elk,  but  of  large  numbers 
of  park  antelope  as  well. 

"The  country  in  question,"  Mr.  Hague 
wrote,  "is  in  the  forest  reserve,  east  of  the  Yel- 
lowstone River  and  in  extent  is  seventy-five  or 
eighty  miles  long  by  twenty-five  miles  wide  and 
adjoins  Yellowstone  Park  on  the  north.  In 
this  territory  there  are  now  between  50,000  and 
60,000  head  of  sheep." 

He  also  stated  that  in  early  spring  of  that 
year  (1910)  he  passed  through  this  region  and 
saw  great  numbers  of  elk  and  deer,  which  had 
come  out  of  the  park,  feeding  in  the  valleys  and 
on  the  mountainsides.  A  few  weeks  later — in 
July — he  returned  through  the  same  region  and 
saw  not  one  elk  or  deer,  but  did  see  the  valleys 
and  mountains  covered  with  domestic  sheep. 
During  the  course  of  this  journey  Mr.  Hague 
passed  the  decaying  carcasses  of  a  large  number 
of  elk  that  had  starved  to  death.  One  of  the 
shepherds  took  the  trouble  to  count  the  elk  car- 


296  SADDLE  AND  CAMP 

casses  on  an  area  containing  somewhat  less  than 
forty  acres  and  found  seventy-five. 

Unfortunately  the  region  to  which  this  ref- 
erence was  made,  which  lies  in  the  Gallatin 
and  Absaroka  National  Forest  Reserves,  was 
covered  with  snow  when  I  reached  Montana. 
The  sheep  had  been  driven  off  for  the  winter 
and  the  carcasses  of  the  dead  elk  were  hidden 
under  the  snow.  It  was  therefore  quite  fruit- 
less for  me  to  attempt  to  learn  anything  at  this 
time  from  a  personal  inspection  of  the  ranges, 
and  I  was  forced  to  confine  my  investigation  to 
interviewing  people,  like  Mr.  Hague,  familiar 
with  the  ground  and  the  conditions. 

In  addition  to  the  charge  that  excessive  num- 
bers of  sheep  were  permitted  to  graze  where  no 
sheep  should  be  allowed,  resulting  in  wholesale 
starvation  of  animals,  the  additional  charge  was 
made  that  this  condition  was  to  no  small  ex- 
tent the  result  of  graft.  Before  a  sheepman  can 
take  his  flocks  upon  a  public  range  he  must 
make  application  to  the  Federal  authorities  for 
a  license  to  graze  a  designated  number  of  sheep 
in  a  designated  district.  It  was  charged  that 
the  sheepman  "sees"  the  forest  ranger  or  inspec- 
tor patrolling  the  district  which  it  is  desired  to 
enter;  the  ranger,  his  conscience  having  been 
duly  quieted,  reports  that  there  is  ample  pas- 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL     297 

turage  for  an  estimated  number  of  sheep  al- 
ways in  excess  of  the  number  for  which  the 
sheep  man  has  asked  license.  The  license  is 
duly  granted,  and  on  the  strength  of  it  usually 
a  greater  number  of  sheep  than  the  license  calls 
for  are  run  in,  and  not  infrequently  a  friend's 
sheep  as  well. 

The  result  can  easily  be  imagined.  The 
range  is  stripped  utterly,  before  snow  falls,  of 
every  vestige  of  grass  and  small  browse,  and 
when  the  elk  and  antelope  come  down  from  the 
park  nothing  remains  for  them  to  eat  and  they 
starve  by  thousands. 

The  unbiased  observer  is  forced  to  arrive  at 
one  of  two  conclusions.  First:  Either  the 
rangers  or  other  inspectors,  who  report  these 
ranges  capable  of  supporting  thousands  of 
sheep  without  doing  injury  to  the  park  animals 
which  rely  upon  them  for  forage,  are  grossly 
incompetent  and  unfit  for  their  positions;  or, 
second:  that  the  charge  of  graft  is  true  and  they 
are  bribed  to  report  these  favorable  conditions 
by  the  sheepmen.  If  they  are  incompetent  their 
superior  officers  who  employ  them  are  directly 
responsible  for  employing  or  keeping  in  service 
incompetent  men. 

If  this  were  the  only  unoccupied  public 
range   where   domestic   sheep   could  graze,   it 


298  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

might  be  argued  that  the  sheep  are  of  greater 
value  to  the  country  than  wild  animals.  But 
this  is  not  the  case.  There  are  thousands  of 
square  miles  of  unoccupied  public  ranges  else- 
where where  the  sheep  barons  might  take  their 
flocks  and  leave  these  ranges  to  the  animals  to 
which  they  belong,  and  this  without  the  slight- 
est loss  to  the  country  at  large.  But  it  would 
inconvenience  the  sheep  barons  to  do  this,  and 
the  Federal  authorities  with  the  utmost  docil- 
ity appear  to  have  surrendered  everything  to  the 
sheep  men. 

In  the  spring  of  191 1  the  carcasses  of  more 
than  one  thousand  elk  that  had  starved  to  death 
during  the  previous  winter  lay  along  the  Yel- 
lowstone River  within  a  distance  of  twenty-one 
miles  north  of  Gardiner.  I  have  been  unable 
to  get  even  an  approximate  estimate  of  the  large 
number  of  animals  that  perished  during  the 
winter  east  of  the  Yellowstone  and  north  of 
the  park,  but  the  starvation  rate  was  horrible. 
Reports  from  the  western  part  of  Gallatin 
County  and  in  Madison  County,  west  to  the 
Madison  River,  including  the  territory  north 
of  Henry  Lake  in  Idaho,  west  and  northwest  of 
the  park,  show  that  immense  numbers  of  ani- 
mals starved  to  death  throughout  this  whole 
region  between  January,  191 1,  and  the  opening 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL     299 

of  spring.  An  informant  wrote  me  during  the 
spring: 

"The  elk  calf  crop  of  last  year  has  suffered  a 
loss  of  about  eighty  per  cent.  The  health  offi- 
cers of  Livingston  declare  that  the  waters  of  the 
Yellowstone  River  have  been  contaminated  by 
the  decaying  bodies  of  dead  elk,  and  the  Mon- 
tana Board  of  Health  is  making  an  investi- 
gation." 

In  spite  of  this,  previous  to  April  first,  191 1, 
permits  had  been  granted  to  sheep  men  to  graze 
forty  thousand  sheep  during  the  summer  of 
191 1  on  the  Gallatin  National  Forest  Reserve. 
Doubtless  many  additional  licenses  were  later 
issued. 

It  is  unbelievable  that  a  Christian  nation 
would  permit,  to  say  nothing  of  being  responsi- 
ble for,  such  a  condition  as  exists.  Humanity 
cries  out  against  this  utterly  heartless  course. 
It  makes  me  heart-sick  now  to  remember  what 
I  saw  in  Jackson's  Hole.  Every  one  wants  to 
see  the  animals  preserved  if  they  can  be  pro- 
vided for.  No  one  wants  to  see  them  preserved, 
however,  through  one  season  only  to  be  starved 
to  death  the  next.  If  they  cannot  be  provided 
for,  let  us  kill  them  in  the  name  of  mercy,  and 
be  done  with  it  once  for  all. 

Whether  the  sheep  that  denude  the  ranges  in 


300  SADDLE   AND   CAMP 

the  Gallatin  and  Absaroka  National  Forest  Re- 
serves are  or  are  not  more  valuable  than  the  elk 
does  not  enter  into  the  question.  If  we  are  to 
keep  these  elk  which  we  have  reared  in  Yellow- 
stone National  Park,  we  must  feed  them.  I  do 
not  believe  the  people  of  the  United  States  want 
the  animals  killed. 

Hague  and  others  have  been  working  for  sev- 
eral years  to  have  the  government  take  steps  to 
exclude  sheep  from  an  ample  range  contiguous 
to  the  park.  On  the  fourth  of  March  of  the 
present  year  Governor  Norris  of  Montana 
signed  a  bill  creating  what  is  to  be  known  as 
the  Gallatin  County  Game  Preserve,  its  special 
object  being  to  provide  a  range  for  the  Yellow- 
stone National  Park  elk  moving  northward 
from  the  park.  The  Federal  government  will 
of  course  exclude  sheep  from  this  preserve  in 
which  Montana  prohibits  hunting.  But  it  is  a 
vastly  insufficient  area,  extending  but  four  miles 
northward  from  the  park  boundary  and  but 
twenty  miles  in  length.  It  is,  however,  a  step 
in  the  right  direction,  but  it  must  be  extended 
considerably  to  be  of  any  great  value  in  pre- 
venting wholesale  starvation. 

My  horseback  journey,  begun  on  the  Arizona 
desert  under  the  scorching  sun  of  June,  ended 
at  Emigrant,  Montana.    It  was  winter  now,  and 


Photograph  by  S.  N.  Leek 

Young   Elk  Too  Weak  to  Drag  Itself  Across  the  Fence. 


Antelope  Living  in  Alfalfa  Fields  near  Gardiner,   Montana. 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL     301 

the  mountains  lay  white  and  cold  under  their 
mantle  of  snow. 

It  was  a  real  hardship  to  part  from  my  faith- 
ful horses.  Button  had  served  me  as  saddle  or 
pack  pony  over  two  thousand  miles  of  desert 
and  mountain  trails  and  Heart  from  the  Cibicue 
in  Arizona.  With  no  other  companions  on 
long  reaches  of  lonely  trail  and  in  even  more 
lonely  camps,  when  I  talked  to  them  and  they 
seemed  to  understand,  my  imagination  had  im- 
bued them  with  almost  human  instincts  and 
sympathies.  They  had  been  faithful  friends 
indeed. 

Button,  who  had  lavished  his  affections  upon 
Heart,  after  our  parting  from  Shorty  and  Billy, 
had  elected  himself  Heart's  protector  whenever 
he  and  the  more  passive  Heart  were  thrown  in 
contact  with  other  animals.  At  Emigrant  I  set 
them  free  on  a  range  with  other  horses,  and 
when  I  turned  for  a  last  look  at  them  I  beheld 
Button,  his  ears  lying  back,  the  white  of  his 
eyes  gleaming,  his  mouth  open,  charging  some 
inquisitive  horses  that  had  attempted  to  ap- 
proach Heart  and  striking  viciously  at  them 
with  his  fore  feet.  Heart,  the  personification  of 
patience,  his  ears  pricked  forward,  stood  in  the 
background. 

This  was  not  a  hunting  trip.     Its  chief  ob- 


302  SADDLE  AND   CAMP 

ject  was  to  gather  information  relative  to  some 
species  of  our  big  game  animals,  the  ranges 
which  they  occupy,  the  ranges  which  they 
should  occupy,  and  the  condition  of  those  ani- 
mals remaining,  with  the  hope  that  such  infor- 
mation might  tend  to  influence  better  preserva- 
tion. 

While  I  carried  arms  and  had  ample  oppor- 
tunities to  kill,  I  fired  but  two  shots  during  the 
whole  length  of  my  journey. 


THE  END 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMOVE 
CARDS  OR  SLIPS  FROM  THIS  POCKET 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO  LIBRARY 


F 
721 

W19 


Wallace,  Dillon 

Saddle  »nd  camp  in 
Rockies. 


Ill 


ml  i 


WW  l 


""    1  •     «  I lliiln' "' 


i  11111 

■  ■  ' • 


inllBPRHil  : 

•;■■■■.■:■■ 


1 
III! 

liiililiil