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On A Donkey's Hurricane Deck

<h3>CHAPTER XLIV. Swim two rivers in Utah</h3> TOC BY PYE POD. <div class="poembox"> "Dost not hear the neighing of horses, the blare of the trumpets, the beating of the drums?" "I hear nothing," said Sancho, "but a great bleating of ewes and wethers." And this was true, for the two flocks had now come up near them.<cite>—Don Quixote.</cite> </div> The great K ranch welcomed us just before dark. My animals were generously fed, and we men soon joined the Indian policemen at supper in the house. When, next morning, the foreman saw us pack the donkeys, he expressed surprise at my traveling with such a luxurious camp outfit. The folding table and chairs, awning, many blankets and other articles were condemned as disgraceful by this experienced plainsman; so, my sensibilities being shocked by such a criticism, I abandoned a hundred pounds of luggage, giving the table, chairs and superfluous blankets to the ranchman, and selling him the awning; then we resumed the journey. Green River was twenty-five miles to the west. The journey was even more monotonous than that of the previous day. The powdered alkali rose in our faces and penetrated our eyes and throats, compelling us almost constantly to sip from our canteens, wrapped in wet cloths to keep the water cool. Frequently my dog would jump at the larger canteens in the panniers and bark for a drink. I loved to watch him lie down in the narrow shade of a donkey, and, resting his chin on the rim of the basin, slowly lap the frugal measure of water I was able to spare him. We reached Green River by five, and waited until the ferryman awoke from his daydream to guide the flat-boat across the stream for us. He charged me only two dollars. I thought it very decent of him, as the river was too deep to be forded and he controlled the only ferry; our only alternative was to swim this treacherous stream. Several overland travelers with prairie schooners were in camp on the opposite shore, eastward bound. I paid a dollar to graze my animals in an alfalfa field for the night, but when we left for Vernal next morning every donkey had the stomach-ache. They grunted and groaned on the march until noontime, and deplored their gluttony with sundry brays that were grating on the nerves. Vernal is a veritable oasis in a desert, nestling in a broad and fertile valley, which, irrigated from the numerous springs in the mountains forming a rampart round it, is a garden of vivid green. Farmhouses dot the orchards and meadows everywhere, and the village itself is splendidly shaded. Honey is a leading industry; one can see bee-hives in almost every door yard. After a good supper with a stranger who offered his hospitality, we two strolled about the flower-scented streets in the cool evening air, until we retired to a downy bed in his apartment that made me wish my trip at an end. Here were no mosquitoes. The fruits of this valley are prolific and delicious, and haven't a blemish; the water is pure, and the climate healthful and exhilarating; surely Vernal received its name from Nature. The frontier post, Fort Duchesne, lay twenty-eight miles to the south, across a desert waste. A few miles beyond Vernal we entered the Uintah Indian Reservation. Further on we saw the shacks and teepees of the Utes, and once we passed a party of this treacherous tribe on their ponies. Apparently taking us for desperadoes, they veered off to some distance in the sage and gave us a "wide berth." The strength and humility of their little steeds was surprising. Several of them carried four and five people, the buck sometimes with a boy in front of him and his squaw astride behind him with a papoose strapped to her back, and a boy or girl behind her. When they saw Damfino with her towering pack they, too, perhaps, did some wondering. We crossed the bridge spanning the Uintah River just before sunset, and reached the guardhouse of the fort just as the bugle sounded retreat parade. To my surprise and delight the officer of the day, Lieut. Horne, was adjutant and chief commissary, and better still, an old classmate. And when, after parade, I saw the popular officer crossing the parade ground to meet me, I wondered if the changes wrought in our appearance by the lapse of thirteen years would make us both unrecognizable. Our meeting was amusing. The orderly ushered me into the officer's presence, and I advanced and grasped my old friend's hand in a manner to convince him that I knew him; but while we shook hands vigorously and playfully punched each other in the shoulders, the puzzled man could not speak my name. "You old fool! Don't you know me?" I asked, still shaking his hand. "You disgraceful old vagabond! Of course I know you; but blast me if I can place you," he returned grinning all over. "Who are you for heaven's sake? Where 're you from, and how did you get here? Speak, man! Relieve me of suspense, if you don't want to get shot by a colored regiment of United States troopers." "Why," I asked, "is it possible that you do not recollect your old classmate; the famous pillow fight at S—'s Hotel? The mock fight with our old chum, Mike H—n, in my room, when you frightened the boy from West Virginia half to death with—?" "Pod! Blast me, if it ain't Pod!" exclaimed the Lieutenant. "Well, well, if this doesn't beat me. Sit down and tell me about it. I am glad to see you. But you do look rough. Prospecting? Or fighting Indians? Or what?" I explained. My animals, I said, were waiting outside in the care of my valet. Horne rose in astonishment. "Traveling overland with a valet!" he exclaimed. "You are a beautiful looking swell. I have often read about you, but, blast me! if I ever once suspected it was my old chum making the famous trip. Show me the jackasses." Forthwith I escorted the laughing Lieutenant out and presented Mac A'Rony. I spent two enjoyable days at Fort Duchesne, as the guest of my friend. One of the first to call upon me was the genial Colonel commanding. He asked me to lecture to the residents of the post. Accordingly, I gave my talk that evening to a large audience, and at its conclusion I was introduced to many ladies and officers of the post and afterwards entertained at the army club. The following day, at one o'clock, my outfit was ready to start. The donkeys were in fine fettle, and Don frisked about gayly, eager for the journey. My friend regretted I could not spend a month with him, and tucked a package in my saddle-bag by which to remember him, and many officers and ladies joined with him in wishing me God-speed. Then we waved an adieu and climbed the long, sage-covered mesa, toward Heber City, a hundred and thirty-mile march without a habitation in view. Fort Duchesne was still in sight when a hailstorm struck us. The donkeys were compelled to close their eyes and turn their backs to the fearful charges of the merciless elements, while we men pulled our hats over our eyes, put our hands in our pockets, and crouched under our animals; still we were severely bruised, and our necks and arms were black and blue. When the hail ceased, the leaden clouds poured down a cold rain, which beat in our faces and greatly impeded travel. The trail was soon converted into a veritable torrent; the sand or rock-waste soil softened into mire many inches deep, causing the stubbornly faithful burros to slip and stumble and labor as they never did before. We had journeyed only sixteen miles when, at eight o'clock, we pitched camp on the banks of the swollen Lake Fork River. The night was black. What a nasty predicament! No bottom to the soil anywhere; the mud and water reached to my boot-tops. Before unpacking we cut sage brush and trampled it into a large square bed two feet deep, on which to place our packs. Then, picketing the animals, we tried to kindle a fire with water-soaked brush sprinkled with coal oil; but failed. Soon a ranchman arrived leading his horse, and said he had almost lost his steed while fording the river and narrowly escaped drowning. He joined us in a cold supper of canned meat and corn, whiskey and water, then rode away in the pouring rain. Our bed that night was anything but inviting. We could not pitch the tent. The soaked sage and the rain saturated our canvas sleeping-bag and dampened our clothing. How I regretted having disposed of those "superfluous" blankets at the K ranch. We were not only wet, but cold, rolled in two blankets and a quilt. When I awoke in the morning I even wrung the water out of the underwear I had slept in, and, also, my trousers and coat before I could get them on, and then in the still pouring rain ate a cold breakfast, saddled, packed, and resumed the trip. That day we made twenty miles, and "ran" as terrible a gauntlet of thunderbolts as I ever witnessed. Next day it became necessary to swim Lake Fork. Mac said it was his Rubicon as well as mine. The current was swift, and roared and foamed like a mountain torrent. My donkeys, brought to the water's edge, reared and wheeled and rushed intractably into the willows, scraping off their packs on the miry banks; it required a half hour to replace and securely cinch the luggage on the beasts so that it might not be washed away. Then, with stout willow goads and howling invectives, we drove the braying animals into the flood and followed them, fording or swimming across the river. Cheese was carried down stream and almost drowned. Gaining the nether bank we tramped through storm and mire all day, making eighteen miles, and after dark camped with the party of a prairie schooner at the foot of a hill, where we found seasoned cedar stumps for fuel, and built a roaring fire. The soil there was more solid, the land gently sloping, and we pitched the tent near the wagon and fire, staked the donkeys, and joined hands with our chance acquaintances to provide the evening meal. The good woman of the party gave us a pie, a can of beef and a loaf of bread; these luxuries, together with boiled potatoes and hot coffee, put our bodies in prime condition for a sound night's sleep in wet garments and bedding. My provisions were not only quite spoiled by the rain and river water, but were insufficient to last us through. Rising early, we breakfasted in the rain, and traveled only fifteen miles, swimming the Duchesne River once and fording it twice that day. The stream was somewhat deeper than Lake Fork, but the current less swift, and at every crossing my donkeys rebelled. Soon after the last fording, the sun broke through the clouds, and gave us an opportunity to dry ourselves and freight. A patch of wild meadow enabled my animals to fill their empty stomachs with grass, while some giant sage brush soon dried in the broiling sun, allowing us to spread our blankets and soaked apparel thereon. We unpacked, and cooked, and when our clothes were dry enough to feel comfortable and shrunken enough hardly to be got on, we resumed the march. Our supplies were in a mess. Our only can of coal oil was broken, and the contents had seasoned every eatable not canned. The forgotten boxes of honey had been smashed, and everything was gummed with it; every pack smelled like a bee-hive. The honey I rolled in our underwear, diluted with the water of the several fords, had permeated the raiment so thoroughly that now the heat of our bodies began to warm it up, and my clothes were soon glued to my skin. That night we camped on Current Creek, after fording the stream. A bear appeared, but scampered grunting into the thicket, my dog not inclined to give chase. Once I was awakened by the cry of a mountain lion, and Coonskin said the yelps of wolves kept the dog growling and snarling half the night through. It appeared that we were experiencing the fall equinox. Wearily traveling through another day of rain, we camped for the night near a bunch of dwarf cedars. Now the rain ceased for a couple of hours, and enabled us to kindle a fire and cook before lightning played on every hand and the rain descended again. Our largest canteen leaked from some accident it had received, and our surprise and despair on discovering the emptied receptacle may be imagined. What should we do for drinking water? I had not more than asked the question than my eye discerned several small basins in the table rocks close by. These basins were filled, but were so shallow that only by dipping the water with a saucer could we obtain a two-quart can of the precious liquid; next morning we secured another frugal supply for the ensuing day's journey. Our luggage was placed under two cedars for protection from the storm. During the night we were awakened by the terrific crash of a thunderbolt, which struck so near as to shock us. In the morning I saw that one of the trees had been struck. But our packs were uninjured, save the whiskey bottle, which was broken and its precious contents lost. Thus the sympathy existing between "Jersey lightning" and Utah lightning. Another day's tramp over a muddy trail, and a night camp on another roaring stream, Red Creek; our supplies quite exhausted, we boiled some onions and ate them with the last of our honey. I felt as if I were eating diphtheria medicine. Next morning we breakfasted on a turkey buzzard shot by Coonskin, and that afternoon my jaded caravan crossed the summit of the plateau, and descended into the beautiful Strawberry Valley in the glow of a gorgeous sunset. Soon after, we met two sheep-herders on horseback, looking for two comrades, and, when crossing the broad, verdant valley, we saw two great flocks of sheep, one grazing up the valley, the other down. We camped near Strawberry Creek. The four sheep-herders rode up presently and having a wagon full of supplies, said if I would lend them my tent-poles they would string up a lamb and divide. I gladly consented. Two of the herders rode off to mill up the flocks for the night, while the other two butchered a sheep, built a fire and cooked. If the scene of that highland camp could have been painted with true color and detail, it certainly would have made the artist famous. A few feet from the flaming fire stood my tent-poles like a tripod, and from their apex was suspended, head down, a fat mutton; on bended knee with hunting knife in hand, one of the herders was taking its woolly pelt. The coffee-pot and frying-pan were on the fire with a kettle of boiling potatoes, and, while the shepherd-cook was preparing bread for my Dutch oven, two herders gathered sage for a reserve supply of fuel. Some fifty feet way the horses were picketed, and across the stream the donkeys grazed on the juicy grass, untethered but none the less secure in the novel corral of twenty thousand sheep which the faithful shepherd dogs promised to keep milled round us all throughout the black, chilly night. The camp-fire sent flashlight beams on the surrounding scene, and etched weird pictures on the darkness. The silhouetted heads and backs of the horses and donkeys moved fantastically against the starry sky like animated mountain peaks on the distant horizon; the vast field of wool encompassing us and the bleating of its contented life seemed like the troubled waters of some highland lake imprisoning us on its one small island; and away across the vale and again just above us towered the barrier of mountains against the sparkling heavens, forming banks and pillows for stray clouds to sleep upon. At a late hour we hungry men sat down to a tasty supper of fried mutton, potatoes, hot bread and coffee. The air soon rang with laughter. Later when we brought forth our companionable pipes and began story-telling round the cozy fire, I felt a delight which seemed a full compensation for the hardships we had suffered during the last week. Suddenly the cry of a mountain lion set the collies barking, but the report of a herder's rifle silenced the prowler and sent him back, no doubt, into the hills. The lions and wolves are a constant menace to the flocks in that popular valley. It was midnight when we retired. Storm-clouds had gathered and shut out the light of the stars; it looked and felt like snow. The shepherds, learning that we travelers were short of bedding, brought us two heavy woolen blankets; so we rolled ourselves together and were soon asleep, and in the morning awoke, covered with snow an inch deep. By seven o'clock we were ready to resume our journey and the shepherds had saddled their mounts for their day's duties. Trailing out of the valley, and through Daniel's Canyon, we traveled some twenty-five miles down to the lowlands, and at nine in the evening pitched camp near where, next morning, we discovered a ranchhouse and haystack. Heber City lay five miles away; arriving there we were royally entertained. Friday we started for Provo. The trail lay through a picturesque canyon, along the bank of Provo River, where the mountains rose sheer and barren to a great height on either hand. Numerous waterfalls pour their loveliness over steep declivities; patches of crimson and yellow verdure showed in the crevices of the gray summits; and now and then a terraced vineyard or orchard or an irrigation ditch, hugging the steep slopes, indicated a habitation was hidden somewhere near in leafy bower or vine-covered trellis. Once we crossed the river on a new iron bridge replacing an old stone structure which avalanches had demolished. Passing the night in Provo, I rode Skates six miles to Springville, through a beautiful, verdant valley, where rows of poplars lined the fields and orchards, reminding one of Normandy. There I was greeted by a newspaper editor and a school principal, the latter inviting me to dinner. Returning to Provo I found my outfit ready for trail. Making a brief stop in Lehi, we reached Pleasant Grove about eight, and camped in a peach orchard adjoining a hotel. The landlord welcomed us to a hot supper, in spite of the late hour, then offered us a downy bed, which we declined, preferring the pure, crisp outer air. I boarded the early morning train for Salt Lake City to attend Sunday service at the Tabernacle and hear the famous organ and choir. Coonskin remained behind to care for our animals. Without my donkeys to identify me, my rough, unkempt and most eccentric person caused a sensation at the Mormon capital. I kept aloof from everybody, and nobody was inquisitive enough to inquire my name, errand, and previous condition of servitude. I strolled about the beautiful city, and then went to church. <div class="figcenter"> larger <ANTIMG src="images/i336a.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="344" alt="" /> <div class="caption">"The last and only drop."</div> </div> <div class="figcenter"> larger <ANTIMG src="images/i336b.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="342" alt="" /> <div class="caption">"Just finished lunch when the posse arrived."</div> </div> An usher with a charitable heart led me half way down the aisle to a pew in the midst of that fashionable congregation. Every one was dressed better than Pod. But I did not feel ill at ease; on the contrary, I felt at home. A great many true churchmen and churchwomen should have kept their eyes on their hymnals instead of watching me try to chant "I want to be a Mormon and with the Mormons stand." Presently my sensitive nerves were irritated by successive coughing across the aisle. I looked to see what kind of a mortal was suffering so, and beheld a vision of loveliness! Instantly I remembered a small box of cough drops in my pocket, and felt it my duty as a gentleman to summon the courage to cross the aisle and offer the soothing remedy. Soon with palpitating heart and crimson face, I stepped with quaking limbs across the aisle and reached the box to the fair cougher. I remember her look, as she lifted the lid of the—empty box. I knew plenty of people in my lifetime who had fainted; I regretted never having taken lessons from them. My head reeled, the Tabernacle was going round, and with difficulty I retreated to the pew in front of my hat, which I looked for, but couldn't find. I needed fresh air, I wanted to go out. Strange to say the lady stopped coughing. It was the shock that cured her, but the congregation were not aware of that. Some of them saw her look into the mysterious pasteboard box and turn red-beet color, and cease her convulsions. That was why several spoke to me, and asked if I were a magician, or healer, as they had read of such people. When I had once escaped into the airy street, I wondered how that box became emptied; then, suddenly, I recollected that, before retiring the night before, Coonskin asked if I had some cough drops left, and helped himself. After dinner I felt better. I visited the Jubilee Museum, where was exhibited an interesting collection of Mormon relics of pioneer days, and then took a car for Fort Douglas, about three miles from the city on the mountain side, and was invited to tea with an officer of the post, my old friend Lieut. K——n. It was late when I reached Pleasant Grove. The following day my party covered nearly twenty-five miles, and about two o'clock on the succeeding afternoon marched into the Mormon capital. There a well known pioneer made a speech and welcomed me to the city; and after I had responded in fitting words, he presented me to leading citizens, among them bishops, presidents and elders of the Mormon church. The presiding bishop, an affable old gentleman, asked the privilege of caring for my animals at the Tithing House; another prominent citizen invited me to be his guest. I declined the latter kindness, preferring to be a free lance and to make the most of my sojourn. I was next introduced to Governor Wells. That same evening Coonskin and I were invited to the theater, and next day, besides delivering many lectures, I contracted with S——& Company, prominent silversmiths, to make a full set of silver shoes for Mac A'Rony, to be sent to Oakland, Cal., and there to be set for his triumphant entry into San Francisco. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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