larger"Coonskin and I took shelter behind our donkeys."
"Coonskin and I took shelter behind our donkeys."
TOC
BY PYE POD.
Here, brother Sancho, we may dip our hands up to the elbows in what they call adventures. But take note, though thou seest me in the greatest danger on earth, thou must not set thy hand to thy sword to defend me, unless thou shouldst perceive that they who assail me are rabble and low people, in which case thou canst come to my aid.—Don Quixote.
Here, brother Sancho, we may dip our hands up to the elbows in what they call adventures. But take note, though thou seest me in the greatest danger on earth, thou must not set thy hand to thy sword to defend me, unless thou shouldst perceive that they who assail me are rabble and low people, in which case thou canst come to my aid.—Don Quixote.
It was early evening, October 5, at Green's ranch. The somber quiet of the place seemed to indicate a deserted estate, but a dim light in the window invited me to knock. At once I heard feet shuffle across the floor, and a bolt slide in the door.
"Who be you?" called a woman, distinctly.
I introduced myself through the key-hole and was admitted. Mrs. Green extended me a left-handed greeting while holding a sixshooter in her right hand. It was a most interesting reception.
"What are you going to do with that?" I inquired, smiling. The idea that a frontier woman should be so easily frightened seemed ridiculous.
"Haven't you heard?" she returned. "Why, the whole country is up in arms looking for two desperate outlaws. They shot a sheep-herder last night in Telegraph Canyon, and after robbing the fellow of four dollars, left him for dead. Mr. Green went to Egan Canyon this afternoon for the mail, and hasn't returned. He ought to be back by now. It is only three miles away." Here the somewhat perturbed woman glanced at the clock, which indicated 8:00.
I conversed with Mrs. Green a few moments, and she invited us men to supper and told me to feed my animals from the hay-stack. I said we were well provided with food and fire-arms, that she might feel quite safe from the brigands. Now Coonskin called for me and said our evening meal was under way. So, I bade Mrs. Green a good night.
Coonskin, whose chief literary diet had been dime novels, listened to the news with rapt attention, and suggested that I cook while he prepared camp for a sudden attack.
"Gee! Wouldn't I like to capture 'em, though!" he said enthusiastically.
"I would like to see you try it," I returned; "you have been 'spoiling' for a scrap with an Indian, or a desperado, or some wild beast ever since we crossed the borders, and I shouldn't wonder if this were your opportunity. Something tells me that we'll meet these outlaws."
Supper over and dishes washed, we retired. Our bed, only separated from the earth by a single canvas, never was more comfortable. The night was cool and a gentle breeze was blowing, but there was no sound, save the braying of the donks. Suddenly I heard Don, who was on guard, growl, then a sound of wheels and a horse's whinny.
"Will your dog bite, Mr. Pod?" called Mr. Green.
I rushed out barefoot and dispelled his fears, and, after shaking hands, questioned him how he knew who I was.
"Oh," he chuckled, "anybody would know you by your outfit; besides, everybody along the trail has been expecting you, even two desperadoes."
This was interesting. But I explained that his wife had told me all, whereupon he invited us men to breakfast, and was escorted by Don to a point which he considered the limit of his master's domain.
While at breakfast I learned that the Salt Lake newspapers, containing illustrated accounts of my prosperity, had subscribers all along the trail; that the shooting at Telegraph Canyon was the first in that section for sixteen years; that no pay-boxes were expected at the Egan mill, where a half dozen men were working; and that, what was of more importance than the rest, it was the prevailing opinion that Pye Pod was the man the outlaws were laying for.
"Griswold is the unfortunate man's name," said Green. "The outlaws pretended to be friendly, lunched with him, and started off on their horses. But Griswold had no sooner turned his back than the strangers ordered him to throw up his hands. They took all his funds, shot him, and galloped away with his good horses, leaving their jaded ones. The poor fellow regained consciousness, and managed by morning to crawl six miles to a ranch. Resolute men hurriedly saddled their horses, and soon thirty were after the outlaws. I hear Griswold is with them, he having recovered. But they say at Egan that some of the boys this afternoon gave up the chase, because it was getting too warm for them; they felt pretty near the game."
Mr. Green gave me a second-handed description of the desperadoes and their outfit, and directing me on my route, wished us Godspeed.
I felt that my route forced me to overtake rather than to meet by chance two men who set but little value on other men's lives, and even less on their own; therefore having everything to gain and nothing to lose, they put up the best kind of a fight.
We soon arrived at Egan, where we were kindly received. The men showed us about the works, allowing me to take photographs, and gave me a more accurate description of the outlaws, and the long trail of a hundred miles to Eureka. At three points only should we find water, at Nine Mile Spring, Thirty Mile and Pinto Creek, the latter being seventy miles away. No habitation would we see; only an occasional coyôte, or a band of wild horses, or possibly some prairie schooner, or the outlaws, or some of the possès.
By trailing through Egan Canyon we cut the backbone of the mountain range and now, at an altitude of several hundred feet above the plain, were climbing higher and higher the rugged plateau, until we reached Nine Mile, and unpacked. The spring was in a grassy spot, and Coonskin first replenished our canteens, then released the donkeys.
It was noon. Accustomed as we were to travel on two meals a day, I could set no regular hour for them. It was twenty-one miles to Thirty Mile Spring. So we cooked here.
The desperadoes formed the chief topic of discussion, even Don showed the bloodhound in him, and, ever since leaving Egan, showed unusual excitement and was more vigilant. We must have crossed the tracks of the outlaws, or were following them unwittingly. Taking everything into consideration, we were in a fair mood to be startled when the dog sprang to his feet, and growled. Then three men, heavily armed, galloped up and dismounted. I was relieved when I saw one of the riders wearing a bandage round his head; it must be Griswold.
The strangers left their steeds standing, each tying a rein to a stirrup, then introduced themselves. We had just finished lunch and were smoking when the possè arrived; but now Coonskin cooked for our friends, while I did all the honors and gleaned all the information essential to our interests. They were affable fellows and resolute, but had set out hardly equipped for the chase. One picked up a two-quart canteen, saying good-naturedly that he reckoned he would have to rustle it. I said they were welcome to anything I could spare.
Before separating on our several missions, Coonskin photographed the party, and Griswold repeated his description of the outlaws. Couriers had been dispatched to Ely, Hamilton, Eureka, and other points; these men were bound for Hunter, seven miles over the mesa. Before leaving they asked me if I would blaze a sage-brush fire that night should I reach Thirty Mile and discover any evidence of the bandits. They also admonished me to hold up and shoot without considering an instant any two mounted men of the description given, else we two would never live to tell how it happened.
With this parting injunction, unofficial though it was, the riders loped away, and my nervous troop, at half-past two, "hit the trail" in lively form. I was glad the country was clear and open. Only an occasional dwarf cedar stood in dark relief against the sage. About midnight the grade began perceptibly to grow steeper, and in consequence of the clouds which had gathered the darkness was dense. I felt we must be near to Thirty Mile. The idea of passing the spring and having to trace our steps next morning was not to be entertained. Seeing a bunch of cedars some distance to the right, I headed for them. And there we camped. Behind the screen of three small trees and the darkness we spread our blankets, lunched on bread and cold meat, and went to sleep. The donkeys were picketed still another hundred yards back, so as not to be seen from the trail; we did not light a fire.
By ten o'clock next morning we had breakfasted, and were trailing toward the summit of the plateau. Three miles further on was Thirty Mile. Here again I unpacked the animals for an hour's grazing on the grass by the spring.
The noon hour found us weary travelers reclining on a heap of blankets. To the east, some fifty feet away, stood a tub, obscured by pussy willows, and brimming with cool water furnished by a cedar trough which reached from the bubbling spring. The overflow streamed down a tiny gorge in the hard soil, under cover of the willows, and finally sank in the earth.
"I'm afraid the fellows ain't going to bother us after all," said Coonskin disappointedly, at length. "I'd give a farm to get a whack at them."
He had no sooner uttered the words than he turned pale, and I turned to behold two small moving dots on the horizon, some two miles down the trail. "Jove!" he added, "I believe the outlaws are coming."
Indeed, I could make out two men, mounted on a dark and a light-colored horse respectively, slowly approaching. Assigning to my valet the shot-gun and the Smith & Wesson double-action revolver, I loaded two extra shells with buckshot, tested the locks of my Winchester and single-action Colt revolver, gave Coonskin explicit instructions, and awaited events.
When the strange riders rode to within a half mile of us they stopped and dismounted. It was plain they were cinching their saddles, probably preparing to do some rough riding. The dark horse appeared to be somewhat darker than the one described by Griswold, but I was cautioned that they might exchange a horse for one on the range in order to mislead their pursuers. They and their outfit in all other respects tallied with the description given to me.
My companion in arms, who of late had evinced such courage, now showed signs of weakening. He protested that it would be better not to attempt to hold up the fellows until we were sure we were right, and when I said that I proposed to get the drop on them the first opportunity offered, and to shoot if necessary, and should count on him to aid me, he was speechless. Don seemed to understand, and stationing himself some ten feet before us, watched the strangers eagerly. I assured Coonskin that if our dog allowed those horsemen to enter camp, we could rest easy, but if, when I hailed them, Don uttered a protest, we could mark them as the outlaws. "Don't let them corral us," I cautioned; "if they get us between them, the game is up."
Those were anxious moments for me, as well as for the young man who was ten years my junior. I was seated on our packs, my Winchester lying across my knees, cocked; Coonskin sat on the ground at my right, with shot-gun in hand. Our revolvers were in our belts. Our bearded and sun-burned faces, long hair, and generally rough attire, added to our unfriendly attitude, must have puzzled the approaching horsemen. When they had come to a hundred feet from us, I called roughly, "Helloa, boys! come in. You're just in time for grub."
Instantly Don leaped to his feet, and with tail straight out and body trembling from rage he uttered a savage growl of defiance. He identified the desperadoes.
Instantly reining their steeds, one of them slung some simple questions at me, designed, no doubt, to throw us off guard.
"Purty nice lot of burros you've got," he began.
"Pretty fair," I replied disinterestedly.
"Which way you traveling?"
"West. Where 're you bound?" I inquired.
"Just lookin' round. Which is the trail to Hamilton?"
I did not answer. Then the man asked: "How far is it?"
"I don't know, and I don't care a d——," I answered coarsely, with bravado, as if I considered it wasting time to talk.
The smiling outlaw now looked grave, and turning to his comrade asked, loud enough for me to hear: "Shall we go in and cook?"
"No, better water our horses and go on," said the partner.
Then, quite as I anticipated, while the more slender man rode direct to the tub of water, to the right of us, the other guided his horse to our left, to hem Coonskin and me in between them.
Instantly I rose to my feet, and trailing the rifle over my wrist strode, eyeing him defiantly, in a line at a right angle with the course of his horse, but the rogue did not go far before turning his steed in the direction of the tub. There both men dismounted behind their steeds, took off the bridles with spade bits that their horses might drink, and regarded us tenderfeet with some respect and concern. They handled their bridles with their left hands, which left their right hands free to use the revolvers I had seen in their belts; in view of which fact, Coonskin and I took shelter behind our donkeys, three of which were lying down after rolling, and, aggressive as well as defensive, awaited our opportunity.
larger"Through Devil's Gate, their panniers scraped the walls."
"Through Devil's Gate, their panniers scraped the walls."
larger"Fired their revolvers in the air."
"Fired their revolvers in the air."
Presently the spokesman of this bandit party, inquired: "Say, fellows, have you seen three armed men mounted, looking for two fellows riding a grey horse, bare-foot, and a sorrel with a bald face, they claimed shot a man in Telegraph Canyon?"
"Not exactly," I said with a faint smile. "Don't think I ever sawthreearmed men." I waited a few seconds for my levity to produce the desired effect, then added: "There were three determined-looking fellows armed with double-barreled shot-guns who stopped here. They were man-hunting."
"That so?" queried the outlaw, quite excitably. "How long ago were they here? Where'd they go?"
"Oh just a little while ago. They took in a few cans of water," I here pointed in their direction, and said: "They were going to cook over there behind that knoll."
At once, as I hoped they would, the desperadoes were thrown off their guard and looked behind them. And as they did so I raised my rifle and whispered to Coonskin to pull on them. But "Sancho" never budged, his courage had left him. The outlaws turned their eyes upon us so quickly I think they must have overheard my whispered command. They hastily bridled, mounted, and rode southwesterly in the direction we were bound, while turning in their saddles and watching us until they were beyond range of our guns.
I was in the mood to "jump" Coonskin for not aiding me to hold up the outlaws. Our one great opportunity to distinguish ourselves on the journey was lost. "Think of the receptions we would have had if we had captured and disarmed those desperadoes, and marched them handcuffed into Ely, the county seat! And think of the handsome reward," I said.
The thought of a forfeited reward seemed to stagger the boy. I concluded my lecture with the emphasized mandate that henceforth I must not detect any unusual display of courage or prowess on his part, unless it should be solicited by me, and furthermore, I did not wish to hear any expressions of desire to attack anything more formidable than a jack-rabbit.
Our donkeys were soon packed for a twenty-mile evening tramp toward Pinto Creek. I pinned a penciled message on paper to the tub before departing, for the benefit of the possè, and my caravan was on the move again. About midnight we made a dry camp at a discreet distance from the trail, where without building a fire we made a cold lunch serve for our second meal that day, and retired.
Next morning early we resumed the journey. By two o'clock we had crossed the Long Valley Mountains and were on the margin of a sage-covered plain, still probably twenty miles to Pinto. Several times we were puzzled by forking trails, and were in doubt whether we were on the right one to Eureka.
I judged the valley to be ten miles wide. On we rode, the plucky animals swinging slowly along in that awkward yet amusing hip-movement characteristic of the burro, until I distinguished across the plain what looked to be a house. I decided to head for it. We arrived there at five o'clock, to find the place temporarily deserted, to discover a fine spring and plenty of hay. Here we cooked our evening meal and were enjoying a smoke when two men rode up with an air of conscious proprietorship. They were Mr. Robinson, proprietor of Newark Mines, and his superintendent. Both were very hospitable. Mr. Robinson invited me to help myself to anything I or my party needed, regretted that we had not waited to dine with him, and asked us to spend the evening at his house and breakfast with him.
When I told them the story of our experience with the outlaws, they were greatly interested, and it called forth many tales of adventure from both those frontiersmen. We were treated to a heaping plate of delicious apples, and it was a late hour before we sought our tents. It was a relief to feel myself well beyond the outlaws' domain.
Next day my good host directed his superintendent to guide us over Chihuahua Pass, which would save us a fifteen-mile journey around the extremity of the mountain by way of Pinto.
The climb over the pass was rich with beautiful views. After rising several hundred feet and looking back, the vista between the summits and the plains glistening in the sun was superb. The mines were a mile or two up the canyon, and to this point my kind host accompanied us, after which his man on horseback led us over the roughest and most puzzling part of the trail.
So narrow was the passage through Devil's Gate that two animals could not walk abreast, and their panniers often scraped the rough walls of the winding and rocky gate-way. Having once gained the summit, a great oval of bench-land spotted with buffalo-grass, we rested and grazed the donkeys while we lunched; then we shook hands with the good-hearted guide, and trailed down the long, pine-covered slope to Eureka.
TOC
BY MAC A'RONY.
I will feed you to bursting.—The Fair God.
I will feed you to bursting.—The Fair God.
Eureka is a good old mining town that saw its finish when Congress demonetized silver. As have some clouds, it has a silver lining; the earth beneath and the surrounding hills are rich, or rather poor, in the white metal. A few of the mines were still operating, and any one could see ten-horse teams drawing ore done up in bags, like grain, to fool any mule or donk. The night we hungry donkeys arrived in town we followed a wagon filled with bags of ore a quarter of a mile out of our course before Prof. discovered the mistake.
I observed that the populace didn't take much interest in what I had to say, so I didn't say much, but I thought lots, and stored away plenty of grain and hay, to say nothing of water. The amount I drank would make a camel envious. But I wasn't satisfied. I hadn't tasted fruit for a long time. So I got out of the corral, strolled to a grocery store, and helped myself to dried apples; I was about to nab a bacon when I was driven away to a watering-trough by a kind boy who knew a thing or two, and then led to the corral.
I remembered having eaten less than two quarts of apples, but before ten minutes were gone I easily believed I had eaten ten bushel. To look at me you would have sworn I had swallowed a barrelful, barrel and all. Most of the day, I spent rolling round the corral in pain. For the first time in my life I knew what it was to be really tight.
The kind boy stood innocently by, and a companion of his dared him to go up first. "Up where?" asked the kind boy.
"Up in the balloon, yo' big idiot!" said the other. "Jest got ter tie a basket to his tail, and git in, and hang on. Fillin' fast, he'll rise purty soon."
That mockery was more than I could stand while lying down, so I rolled on to my feet and made both boys scarce. And if a horse-doctor hadn't stabbed me, the kind boy would have needed a balloon to save himself.
That evening saw me well again, but my cravings took a different turn. I had a taste for a newspaper. Finally a man threw one to me. Among its contents, I ran across the following squib, and smiled:
"MAC TEMPTED AND DRIVEN OUT.Some vixen let out one of Pye Pod's burros—it happened to be his pet jack—then drove him to Pete Dago's open-air lunch counter, where the ass helped himself to that diet which would go farthest, yet take up the least room—dried apples. It's a sad story, but the worst is over, and save a small doctor's bill, and a grocer's bill, and a five dollar bill, and the small boy, Bill, who has been placed in the coop for the night, no other bill figures in the case. The distinguished party leave in the morning, also the nigh extinguished party (meaning me). Adam was the first ass to be tempted to eat of forbidden fruit, but not the last. Adam blamed Eve. Mac blames a kind boy. Adam deserved some commiseration for having perhaps sampled apples too green, for we know what it is to be a boy, but no compassion can be tendered the 'narrow-gage mule' that is such an ass as to pack away a hundred pounds of evaporated apples, gulp down a cistern, and expect to fly."
"MAC TEMPTED AND DRIVEN OUT.
Some vixen let out one of Pye Pod's burros—it happened to be his pet jack—then drove him to Pete Dago's open-air lunch counter, where the ass helped himself to that diet which would go farthest, yet take up the least room—dried apples. It's a sad story, but the worst is over, and save a small doctor's bill, and a grocer's bill, and a five dollar bill, and the small boy, Bill, who has been placed in the coop for the night, no other bill figures in the case. The distinguished party leave in the morning, also the nigh extinguished party (meaning me). Adam was the first ass to be tempted to eat of forbidden fruit, but not the last. Adam blamed Eve. Mac blames a kind boy. Adam deserved some commiseration for having perhaps sampled apples too green, for we know what it is to be a boy, but no compassion can be tendered the 'narrow-gage mule' that is such an ass as to pack away a hundred pounds of evaporated apples, gulp down a cistern, and expect to fly."
During his sojourn Pod wrote his weekly letter, discussed the desperadoes with the sheriff, photographed some crippled, dried-up Piute Indians, and doctored the sick dog, for Don had on the trail imbibed too freely of alkali water.
We left town the morning of October 11th, and arrived at the Willows about midnight, after a long forced march through a wilderness. There Pod pitched camp. Neighing broncos disturbed my dreams, and daylight revealed a bunch of cowboys on a round-up, also a bale of hay, which set us all braying so loudly that we awoke the men in time to start for Austin before the sun got scorching hot.
The cowboys were a jolly lot. They gave an exhibition of rough riding which nearly frightened Damfino into epileptics and Don into hydrophobia. Then the whole lot of 'em fired their revolvers in the air and skooted through the sage, yelling like mad.
Our next stop was the Blackbird ranch, twenty-five miles further on, whose hospitable proprietor showed greater interest in the novel tent than in anything else. Coonskin took it down with one hand, pitched it with two feet, and while the wondering spectators pulled their whiskers, bound up the canvas and tied the rope with his teeth.
The seventy-five mile journey from Eureka to Austin was accomplished in three days. There, the Professor lectured to an immense audience.
Austin is another mining town that had seen more prosperous times; its people, like those of Eureka, were cordial and generous. When Pod and I led the troop out of town, he was considerably enriched in pocket and mind.
Twelve mile ranch is twelve miles from the town. Same, I suppose, as October thirteenth is the 13th of the month. Here was a large stock ranch, and the thrifty proprietor did his best to persuade my stubborn master to remain over night, at least until the threatening storm had passed. He would not tarry, but hustled us on in a drizzling rain.
By nightfall we began to climb a canyon winding over the Shoshone Mountains, I think, and about midnight reached the summit in a blinding snow squall. The wind blew at half a hurricane gait, and the men were mad because they couldn't light a match to look at the compass and get their bearings, and Damfino laid down on the dog that had lain under the donkey to get out of the ice-shod wind, and the men wasted twenty minutes searching for the right trail.
You see, my biped friends, that another range of mountains met the Shoshones at right angles at this point, and it was dollars to nutmegs that the men would miss the trail in the dark, which happened; as the result, two hours later, our outfit slid into camp for the rest of the night some two half miles from the plain. Breakfast was served at ten. Menu: sage brush for five.
We were on the north side, and the wrong side, of the range, plain enough. Pod said it was Coonskin's fault, Coonskin claimed the Prof. was to blame, and the dispute would have ended in the blessings of the pipe of peace if Coxey and Cheese had not chewed up the only bag of tobacco while the men were feeding.
We were now in what was, I believe, the Sinkarata Valley. It stretched many miles to the north, and appeared to be twenty miles wide at the narrowest point. No sign of habitation could we see. All day long we trailed through that desolation parallel with the range until we came to a cross-trail leading to the mountains. Here the men examined the compass, and headed for the hills.
It was sundown ere we began the ascent, and ten o'clock when we went into camp half-way to the summit. The air was chill, and we thirsty animals were left unguarded while the men built a fire. I smelt snow on the mountain peak, so did my comrades. My instinct told me that in a moment more we all would be picketed for the night. Our mouths were parched; but the men had only enough water in their canteens for themselves.
Self preservation is the first law of nature, I reflected, and to think was to act. I whispered to Damfino, she passed the word to Coxey, and all five of us desperate donks stole away unnoticed in the darkness and followed our noses as fast as our weary legs could take us in the direction of the peak. The air was so rarified I could hear the least sound, and the slow-kindling fire flamed more plainly instead of more dimly as we widened the breach of confidence between us and our masters.
"Rather hard on the fellows for us to run off with their water," observed Cheese, stopping for breath.
Sure enough, the men were left without supplies, water or food. Not a thing had been unpacked. I loved the Professor, for he had many times made sacrifices for me, and the thought made me stop and look back. The men were talking and gesticulating excitedly. Presently one started up the trail, and the other down, and were soon lost to view. They had set out on the wrong scent. With some misgivings I hastened to catch up with my comrades.
TOC
BY PYE POD.
Then, looking down at the great dog, he cried, with a kind of daft glee:"Up an' waur them a', Quharrie,Up an' waur them a', man;There's no a Dutchman i' the packThat's ony guid ava, man—Hooch!"—The Raiders.
Then, looking down at the great dog, he cried, with a kind of daft glee:
"Up an' waur them a', Quharrie,Up an' waur them a', man;There's no a Dutchman i' the packThat's ony guid ava, man—Hooch!"
"Up an' waur them a', Quharrie,
Up an' waur them a', man;
There's no a Dutchman i' the pack
That's ony guid ava, man—Hooch!"
Never before was I in such a desperate plight, nor was I ever more frightened than now. I knew not where, but believed we were in the De Satoyta Mountains, possibly on the trail to pass between Indian Peak and Mt. Atry. We had kindled a fire, warmed our hands, and were about to unpack when Coonskin exclaimed, "For God's sake! Pod, the donks are gone!"
Often had I exercised the importance of Coonskin's picketing the beasts before leaving them, but now was no time to scold. I directed him to take matches and examine the ascending trail, while I retraced our steps and did likewise. Luckily our revolvers were in our belts, and it was agreed that the first to discover traces of the deserters should shoot until hearing a shot in answer. Don went with Coonskin. The lighted lantern was left by the unreliable fire.
It was difficult in the wind to keep a match lighted long enough to be of value, even when protecting it with my hat, as I knelt on the hard trail or on the softer earth in the sage, and strained my eyes to detect the shoe prints of my runaways. Every few steps I stopped to listen for a signal shot, and deplored our dire predicament without food or water.
I had about concluded that the only resort left us was an all-night tramp over the pass, perhaps to be followed by an all-day hunt in the next valley for a habitation and spring, when I heard the welcome signal from Coonskin. Presently through the still air came the sound of Don's barking, then I knew the fugitives were captured. With a lighter heart I now gathered sage preparatory to cooking, for we had traveled all day without a bite.
Our animals that night were securely roped both to the iron tent-pins and the tent, so that they could not slip away during the night without taking us with them.
When I opened my eyes next morning, Mac stood with his head inside the tent-door, wistfully eyeing the canteen by my pillow. My heart was touched, but I thought, "Self-preservation is the first law," and knew that, if turned loose, all five donkeys would have the asinine instinct to find a spring in time to save themselves, whereas a man might fall a hundred feet from a spring and die in ignorance of it.
One hour after sunrise the breakfast dishes had been cleaned with a rag, in the absence of water, and the donkeys were standing to be packed for the disheartening journey. A heap of ashes smothered some fragile hot coals of sage, which, from all appearances, were most inviting to any donkey to roll in. While cinching the pack on Coxey, I observed Mac to steal to the ash heap, look at it wistfully a moment, circle round it two or three times, and, kneeling down, flop over on his side, plumb in the middle of the warm, gray ashes, and still warmer coals. It was his custom to roll over several times, but he didn't do so this morning. He didn't roll at all. If he had fallen on a huge rubber ball, he couldn't have bounded on to his feet with more alacrity.
When Mac once had his balance, he shook himself vigorously and brayed, then eyed the ash heap as if it were a nest of rattlesnakes. The air smelled of singed hair. The donkey reached around and licked his side a moment, then he backed away. When one donkey rolls and his fellows do not follow suit, you can mark it as most significant.
Two hours later my caravan had crossed the summit and were marching down the western slope of the range.
Nevada is the home of the wild horse, and now we saw bunches of these wary creatures grazing in the distance, or running like deer for the hills at the sight of my outfit, although five and more miles away.
It was 2 o'clock when, rounding a bend, my searching eye discerned across the valley, close to the base of the Augusta range, a building or hay-stack. My heart leaped with joy. Our canteens were empty, but ere long we might slake our thirst at a ranch well and give our faithful animals a treat.
On we pressed until, passing the stack, we reached a trail leading into the canyon. A few moments more, and I saw a wreath of smoke ascending not far up the pass. My intuition told me it was the Maestratti ranch. And it was.
We received a hearty welcome. Don, poor thing, was so weak from a prolonged siege of dysentery that he could scarcely creep to the house; but, while Coonskin and I unpacked and watered the donkeys, my faithful dog was fed scalded bread and milk by our hostess, who ordered a hearty meal for us men.
Mr. Maestratti invited us to a bed in his house, but I declined it, preferring my own blankets; and now, as I strode wearily to it, I called affectionately to my dog. Something told me I was going to lose him, my devoted friend during three thousand miles and many months of travel. I missed the loving pressure of his face against mine, his warm tongue on the back of my hand, his gay antics and playful bark when in his happier moods, and anticipated the grief I should soon feel. I paused at the tent door and whistled.
"Don has stolen away to die," said Coonskin, feelingly. "That's just what dogs do. Let's take the lantern and try and find him." So saying, the man lighted up, and we began the search.
We found him. He was lying beside a stalk of sage a hundred feet from camp, uncomplaining, weak, and breathing irregularly. The flare of the lantern aroused him, and he turned his bloodshot eyes to mine, as much as to say, "Leave me, kind master, I shall soon be out of misery. Do not mourn."
Then I thought of his identification of the outlaws at Thirty Mile, and of his attack on the cowboy in Nebraska who had playfully lassoed me at my request. I remembered the chill nights in Iowa barns when he crept over and nestled against me in the hay that the heat from his great, warm body might keep me comfortable. I could not restrain my tears. My best friend must not die in the brush alone. We persuaded him to return with us, and made him a comfortable bed in a corner of the tent, patted his head, and retired. But soon the poor fellow stole out into the frosty night.
It was not the rising sun or a donkey's bray that awoke me, but a woman calling, "Breakfast!" I intended first before answering the demands of my stomach, to look at my dead friend's face, but to my surprise and delight I saw the dog lying in the sun, his head up and his tail wagging, very much alive. He had passed the crisis of his illness during the night; I had hopes that he would soon be well.
A fortunate circumstance threw us in the company of a stranger journeying westward in a wagon. Like everybody else, he showed great interest in my travels, and when he saw the condition of my dog, he offered to convey him over the mountains.
We arrived at the summit of the pass by ten o'clock. There we rested an hour and fed our animals. The journey down the western slope, while apparently as trying to the donkeys as the ascent had been, was more inviting to the convalescing dog, and he on the way surprised us by leaping out of the wagon and making after a jackrabbit.
At two o'clock Don's Good Samaritan drove away to the south, and at four we arrived at the Donaldson Ranch. Many courtesies were extended us here and we were half persuaded to remain over night with these hospitable people. We cooked dinner early, gave our animals a liberal mess of barley, filled our canteens, packed and departed at seven with the well-wishes of all and a fifty-pound bag of grain, which was donated to Mac A'Rony.
Darkness had set in. Although cautioned about two diverging trails which we would reach before ascending the mountain, before an hour had passed I realized we were going in the wrong direction. The night was chill and pitch dark. Quickly changing the saddle from Mac to my fleet-footed Skates, I rode back to the ranch. No light shone through the windows of the house, and I knew that every one had retired. I could see no expedient left me other than to arouse somebody to set me straight. Feeling my way to the house, I shouted with all my might, and soon awoke Mr. Donaldson, Jr., who came good-naturedly to my relief, saddled a horse, and insisted on guiding my party to the summit. We did not arrive there until midnight.
The noonday saw me at Horse Creek, and midnight, at Sand Spring, where we camped. At dawn, a sweeping glance from my tent door revealed the most desolate of surroundings. To the west was a great barren desert, while on every hand were massive sand dunes, some of them towering a hundred feet.
A breeze had sprung up during the night. After purchasing a peck of pine nuts from some Piute Indians who had camped close by for the night, and were now starting out on the home trail, I tied the door flaps as tightly as possible to keep out the drifting sand, then went back to bed. In spite of my precautions the sand forced an entrance, coated our blankets an inch thick, and scattered seeds of unkindness in our nostrils, ears and hair. When I awoke and saw the sides of the tent bended inward and half way up the walls an uneven horizon, where, through the canvas, the sand and sunshine met, I roused my companion and we dressed. In a few moments more we might have been buried alive.
How we were to cook breakfast was a serious question. On unfastening the door, we were immediately blinded with sand and alkali dust; and it was only with the greatest difficulty that I could find the ruins of the old restaurant of '49, which at early dawn I had discovered only two hundred feet away. The floor of this structure had long since gone to provide camp-fires for many a traveler, but I kicked off a piece of siding. Then I tried to find the tent. I groped and stumbled in the blinding storm, and only by calling to Coonskin and keeping him constantly answering did I hold to my bearings and succeed in reaching camp.
Saturating a few sticks with coal oil, I got them a-blazing, and then under cover of our water-pail I ventured out of the tent and built a fire sufficient to boil coffee. Our bread when buttered looked as if veneered with sand-paper. Coonskin, gulping down a half cup of coffee, echoed my sentiments when he remarked, "It takes plenty of grit to cross these plains."
How we ever packed and drove our half-crazed animals out of that sandy hurricane is beyond my power to describe. Blinded and choked with the sand themselves, they could scarcely be made to walk to the well. Having washed out their throats, Skates was persuaded to move, and the others followed reluctantly out of range of the warring elements.
As soon as we were clear of the sand belt, we stopped and made our toilet. All day long while crossing that broad desert my eyes smarted and swelled, and they did not cease paining me until we reached the first habitation, where I procured witch-hazel.
Grimes' ranch at seven o'clock saw my whole party in better spirits. I declined both the invitation to remain over night and to stop for supper. Mr. Grimes telephoned to Mr. Len A——n, of Sinclair, advising him that I was on my way there and expected to arrive by nine. It was much after that time, however, when my outfit reached the ranch. When still three miles away and a full hour's march, we could see a lantern swinging, and when we got within a half mile the sound of cheers and calls of welcome greeted our ears. We answered the signals with our lantern and cheered so lustily that Mac A'Rony paused to bray and led the donkey quintette in a heartrending chorus.
The day's thirty-mile jaunt thus came to a happy end in marked contrast with its beginning. A stalwart, broad-shouldered man, with a smiling face half hidden by a beard streaked with gray, lifted his sombrero as he grasped my hand and shook it heartily.
"Welcome, welcome, my boy! Now make yourself at home," said Len A——n.
larger"Some Piute Indians who had camped close by."
"Some Piute Indians who had camped close by."
larger"Playing Solitaire on Damfino's broad back."
"Playing Solitaire on Damfino's broad back."
TOC
BY MAC A'RONY.
"A torch for me, let wantons, light of heart,Tickle the useless rushes with their heels;For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase.I'll be a candle-holder, and look on."—Romeo and Juliet.
"A torch for me, let wantons, light of heart,Tickle the useless rushes with their heels;For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase.I'll be a candle-holder, and look on."
"A torch for me, let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the useless rushes with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase.
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on."
Old Len A——n was a jolly old soul, and a jolly old soul was he; he leaped aboard in the middle of my back, and hollared to me: "Git!—Haw!—Gee!"
We donks had a great time at that little desert metropolis. Len owned the place, that is, until Pod's outfit arrived, then Mac A'Rony owned it. Pardon my seeming vanity. When the nabob of Sinclair rode me to the corral, the crowd cheered me three times three, "Hooray fer Mac A'Rony!"
Besides Len, the sturdy pioneer of '49, there were the foremen, store-keeper, blacksmith, bronco buster, justice of the peace, postmaster, cowboys, cooks, and numerous wives and daughters and cousins and aunts all willing and anxious to make our party comfortable. Pod was at once escorted to the house to entertain and be entertained by the ladies, while Coonskin unpacked, watered and fed us donks, like a good fellow. For once on my long journey, I had my fill.
Finally we were left to entertain ourselves. In less than a half hour I wanted a drink, for when we were led to the well I refused to imbibe; now I regretted it. Donks are funny creatures—regular Chinese puzzles. When you think us thirsty we ain't, and when we are we must help ourselves, or go dry.
I discovered a rope dangling from a projecting arm of a high gatepost, nabbed it, and pulled; the gate did the rest—opened. So I walked straightway to the well trough and drank, then sauntered to the house to learn how Pod was faring. S' help me, Balaam! there he sat with Coonskin at a long table, surrounded by men and women, all talking and laughing and "joshing." But I noticed the travelers kept their knives and forks busy, and wasted no time. It made me hungry to see them eat, so I returned to the corral to finish my barley; but when I got there I found it already finished. No use talking, a jackass ain't to be trusted, nohow, at any time. The only thing left for me to do was to go foraging.
Out I went, nosing around, hoping to discover a clothesline with some shirts and socks hanging on it, or to stumble over an old gunnysack or cast-off garment. After a little, I observed that the second largest house was the scene of considerable activity, and I sneaked up and peeped in the window.
The ground floor was one vast room, presumably the bunk house for those men not having homes of their own. At one extremity a ladder reached from the floor to the loft. One half of the ceiling was boarded, and the other half looked white, as if it were made of canvas or sheeting. I suppose lumber was scarce out there in the desert. Now, a donkey's curiosity ain't to be sneezed at. Fearing lest I might be discovered and locked up, I withdrew to the rear to another window, when, suddenly, I ran into a heap of bedding and other stuff. I could arrive at only one conclusion; there was to be a dance in honor of Pye Pod.
I had devoured half of a hay mattress before the guests began to arrive for the dance. They came from the various houses and cabins, clad in their finest, and among them were a fiddler and a mouth-organ grinder, who at once pitched camp in one corner of the room and tuned up.
To open the dance, the Prof. led off with the landlord's pretty daughter in a waltz, Coonskin sailed around close behind with her black-eyed companion, and soon that bunk-house was as busy as a stock exchange.
After several dances had occurred, the men excused themselves and came out to the table beside the luggage, and commenced opening several bottles of the "real article." I stood stock still at some distance in the darkness, but within smell of the refreshments, and noted that some took it straight, while others mixed it with sugar and water, or milk. Coonskin doted on punches of all kinds (except one variety reserved for obstreperous donks), milk punches, rum punches, whiskey punches, claret punches, etc., but milk punches mostly, and so this was an event for that unbridled youth. He gulped down several milk punches with great glee, and then followed the gang into the house and went at the dance again in earnest. Later on the men came out for more refreshments. At a late hour that "O be joyful dance" was brought to a sudden finish by a frightful incident, or accident.
It seems that the cowboys had to rise early to hunt up stock on the range, and therefore went up the ladder to bed before the dance was over. As Coonskin had a cot with them, he was asked to retire at the same time, so as not to disturb them. But that boy wanted just one more dance—it was one too many.
When he started to climb the ladder I held my breath; once he slipped through the rungs and only caught himself by his chin. The rest of the dancers kept their feet as busy as ever, and the fiddler had just called "Balance ter corners," and everybody looked to be in good spirits—the best of spirits was in the men—when all at once Coonskin dropped through the sheet ceiling overhead on to the floor in their midst. I was glad to see he lit on his feet like a cat, instead of on his head, as one would suppose with such a heavy "load" as it must have had. The frightened, embarrassed fellow chased himself in his shirt tail round and round that room, passing three doors at every lap, yet calling: "Where's th' door?" For a moment everybody looked paralyzed. But by the time the first of them regained his senses, Coonskin discovered a door and scooted out into the darkness, and ran plumb over me. Both of us went sprawling on the ground. It broke up the dance and everybody there. The women gathered in one corner and laughed in their sleeves, and the men ran out to look for what had dropped out of the ceiling, or sky—they seemed sort of dazed like, as if they didn't know. When I got my breath, I set out for the corral and brayed with laughter all the way.
Finally, I heard a familiar voice whispering to me in the stable door, and creeping up I discovered Coonskin shivering with a sheepskin about his shoulders.
"They're after me, ain't they?" he asked.
"Well, I reckon they are," I replied. "How did it happen?"
"Well, it was this way," Coonskin explained. "When I went upstairs to bed, I found the men had blown out the candle and left me to undress in the dark-hic-ness. I felt round till I found my cot, and undressed, all but my shirt, when I found my pillow missing. Says I, 'Where's my pillow?' One fellow says: 'There it is, over there; wese had a pillow fight.' So I started to go for it. I hadn't gone far before I sort o' felt I was treading-hic-on velvet, but I thought it was the punches and kept right on, till I struck the floor downstairs. That-hic-'s-all."
Just then the men entered the stables and finding Coonskin huddled up in wool, had a laugh, and brought him clothes to put on, and went with him to the deserted dance hall, and saw him safely to bed.
The more I thought of this accident the more sober I got, until I thought what a miracle saved Pod's valet, and wondered what he would have done without him out there in the desert. Then I tangled up my legs and went to sleep.
Next day Coonskin was the most embarrassed fellow that ever rode a donk. The good-natured host could hardly persuade him to breakfast. Everybody was silent at the table, Pod said; but finally Len began to chuckle, and remarked that he'd been West nigh on to fifty year, but last night was the first time he had ever seen the ghost dance. Coonskin said it was no ghost dance, just a new kind of breakdown.
After breakfast, Len gave Pod a look at his stock and made him stock up with all necessary provisions. He wouldn't take a cent for anything, only a few photographs to distribute to his retainers. He even said he was sorry for the hard times; he would like to give the Prof. at least a hundred dollars. I believed the generous old pioneer, for it would be just like him.
Pod began the day in fine spirits. He had been pleasantly surprised on being assigned to a room in Len's house to notice the furnishings arranged with distinctively feminine taste; so he was not surprised, when at the breakfast table he catechized Miss A——n, to draw from the lips of the blushing maiden the confession that she had resigned her boudoir to the distinguished donkey-traveler. Hence Pod had a delicious sleep in the downiest of beds. And, as a token of his appreciation for the courtesy, he presented the young lady with a silver scarf-pin which he had worn across the desert.
I shared some of my master's regrets on leaving. The women hugged me good-bye, but when the ranchman's daughter put her arms round my neck, Pod was so jealous that he jammed a spur in my side.
After a time we got started on the trail. Len not only declined pay for Pod's supplies, but gave me a hundred pounds of barley. This my comrades offered to carry provided I would divide with them.
For the three days following there was little else to see besides sand and sage and basaltic rocks. Ragtown still stands, a squatty cabin and dilapidated shed with corral adjoining, where old Ace Kenyon of questionable fame reaped a harvest from the half-starved emigrants of early days by extorting from them rewards for recovering their lost cattle, which he had had his retainers drive into the mountains in the night. Ace would place all the blame on the innocent shoulders of the Indians. He claimed that such depredations were often made by hostile tribes, and that only through the courage of his desperate cowboys could he possibly retrieve them. After the despondent emigrants had tarried several days and been forced to pay extravagant prices for provisions, and some of them induced to throw away their rags for a suit of new clothes, the cattle would be driven into camp. Then the elated travelers had to open their purses again. Ragtown, situated as it was at the extremity of the Humboldt Desert, was a sort of overland depot, and we were told that thousands of emigrants used to drift in that direction from other routes when water had given out and for miles the trail was then strewn with cast-off raiment, abandoned wagons, sometimes with oxen attached, and the skeletons of cattle and men who died from thirst. At times we could see the winding line of cotton-woods that marked the tortuous current of the Carson in the distance, and again the river would flow slowly close at hand. Pod spent most of the dull hours playing solitaire on Damfino's broad back, riding backwards.
We struck camp at the last ranch on the Carson the morning of October 18, and tried to reach Dayton the same night. Everything went well until we came to a point where three trails met. Pod had been cautioned to take the best-beaten one, so, the night being dark, Coonskin left us donks in Pod's charge and ventured to examine the trails. It was eleven o'clock. Not a thing had we had to eat or drink all day except a small measure of barley. To stand waiting for that slow boy to get his bearings was more than we donks could bear, and soon Damfino whispered to Cheese and me to slip away from the outfit and follow her lead.
The suggestion was at once acted upon. Each of us took a different course to start with, but we soon caught up with Damfino, who led us a good pace for two hours and ran us all into Six Mile Canyon about one a. m. There we lay down with saddle and packs on, and, to our surprise, discovered that faithful dog, Don, lying close by, on guard. It was not the most comfortable night I had ever passed, but it was better than standing. When Coonskin found us in the afternoon he caused me to change my ideas on that question, but on reaching Dayton, the Prof, was so glad to see me that he lavishly dined us all, watered us, and let us roll to our heart's content. So all scores were settled.
TOC
BY PYE POD.