Where Trails Run Out

By Anna Prince Redd

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Chapter 6

Synopsis: A company of twenty-four young men and two families — James L. Davis, his wife Mary, and their four children; Henry H. Harriman, his wife Elizabeth, and their five children — are called to explore a route from Cedar City, in Southern Utah, to San Juan County. The two families are to remain in San Juan and, at a point where the Montezuma Creek comes into the San Juan River, are to establish an outpost and prepare for the coming of the main company of settlers, members of the San Juan Mission. The twenty-four scouts are to return to their homes and report their findings. The purpose of the mission is to cultivate and maintain peaceful and friendly relations with the Indians, who are almost the sole occupants of the large isolated county.

While driving her team at night, across a sultry, menacing desert, Elizabeth has a frightening experience with a mysterious Indian. She feels that she will see the Indian again and that he will know if she needs help. The company travels over rough and dangerous country and after much suffering, finally reaches Moenkopi, an Indian outpost and a supply point for traders and pioneers. The Davis family remains at Moenkopi and the others go on toward the San Juan. The white man’s “water magic,” in the form of more well digging, saves the lives of the company. Moving steadily onward, building their road as they go, the company halts while scouts explore for water, and a way out of a box canyon. The scouts, almost unconscious from thirst, get back to camp and report that there is no water. A strange, long-drawn cry portends a warning, and the company is filled with misgiving.

The long night hours wore on. Restless and feverish, the suffering company saw the sun come up, and prayed for respite.

Bad as the night had been, with its cold stars and its dry winds, it was preferable to the glare of the sun and the blistering sand that freighted the air. The guards came down from the lookout points and new ones took their places, to scan the horizon for a sight of the other water scouts, now long overdue.

What was the strange, long call they had heard from the ledge the night before? Was it human? No one could say. And all that the guards knew was that it seemed to come from a crevice in the rocks, near where they stood. Yet they had seen no one. There had been a quality to the call that made it seem to come from a long way off, yet everyone in camp was convinced that it came from someone— or something— near. The uncertainty of it increased the tension that gripped the company, and made their thirst and inactivity harder to bear.

What had happened to the water scouts? Did the strange long call have anything to do with them? In the minds of the leaders, it was unthinkable to move far in any direction without a report from the water scouts that water was to be found, for, without water, the company would surely die. The exertion of travel would exhaust what little reserve strength the teams and stock had, and gain nothing. There was no alternative but to wait for the scouts.

“Can you see the water scouts, Henry?” Elizabeth asked. “Surely, surely we have not come this far only to fail in our mission. This is a lonely place to die.”

“I can see nothing but heat waves,” Henry answered. “And I can hear nothing but the wailing of the squaws and their papooses.”

“If the scouts had found water they would have come back to tell us,” Elizabeth decided. “They’d have been back long ago.”

“Look, Elizabeth!” Henry pointed to the guards that were just going on duty. “They are signalling something to the camp! It’s the water scouts!” he cried, and ran toward the two human figures that had staggered over a knoll, not far from the camp.

The guards began firing their guns— three salutes— the signal that the scouts were in.

A shout went up. “The scouts are in! The scouts are in!”

But the scouts had sunk to their knees. They were crawling, and falling by turns toward the camp.

“They have not found water!” Elizabeth sobbed, and she began to pray. Her arms went out to her children, holding them in a sadly frightened little group, against her skirts. “Oh, heaven help us!” she prayed. “What will become of us now!”

The men raced toward the knoll where the scouts had fallen. Strong arms lifted them and carried them to the camp. And she, the only woman, could not cry out. Yet she could not bear the agonizing conviction that the scouts had failed.

“Darlings, be quiet,” she hushed her children. “Wait with mother. When your father comes, then we will pray.”

It was she, the woman, who sparingly bathed the faces and parched lips of the water scouts. She who put clean shirts on their bodies and shaded their eyes from the sun. It was she, the woman, who waited while the leaders of the company talked in guarded tones, weighing the report of the thirsty scouts.

“No water — none anywhere. Three days travel— you will not find any water,” they had gasped.

“No water … no water . . .” The words were burned into their eyes, and they kept repeating it.

“We cannot live three days longer,” Elizabeth said to herself again and again, as she worked over the scouts. “We cannot travel, and we are dying here.” But to the scouts she kept repeating that President Smith and her brother would find a way to save the company and the mission. And as she repeated the words, they took on meaning for herself, as well as for the water scouts.

“There is no way, Lord,” she prayed. “No way except it be a miracle. Let the Indians’ prayers be heard, too, Lord, we are all thy children.”

For days the Indians had sent up prayers to their rain-gods, and sung and danced for the rain to come. But often their praying and dancing had been interrupted by imprecations against the white men, whom they held responsible for their suffering. It was the white men who had made the rain-gods angry. It was the white men, the pale-faces, who should be punished.

“This is a desperate situation, George,” Silas murmured. “We have got to try digging for water again, though it may cost us our lives. The Indians are in no mood to see us fail.”

“We’re dying of thirst as it is,” George answered. “I’ve been thinking about a conversation I overheard yesterday. It was about a lost spring. Peogament has been hunting furtively for it for two days. He says his forefathers told him it was here.” George paused and a sort of a desperate grin came over his face. “And you know, Silas, that forefathers do not lie. Peogament says the rain gods took the spring away because he was angry with his people, the red men. He says the rain-god is angry now, angry because the Indians are letting white men come into Indian country. He will not show him, the great Peogament, where the lost spring is.”

“Let’s start digging, George. Anywhere, just to dig. The other water scouts may come in with a favorable report from the direction they have explored. The digging will pacify Peogament until we hear from the scouts.”

“Where shall we start?” George asked, more to encourage thinking than because he expected an answer. “Let’s try it— let’s see.” His eyes ranged over the ground around the camp. “Let’s try digging between those two big lava rocks. The sand around there is coarse and whiter than it is anywhere else. Funny I didn’t notice that before!”

“You don’t suppose—” Silas began, and then he stopped abruptly. “It seems to me that I’ve seen that spot a hundred times without noticing that the sand looked washed, even polished! I don’t usually dig wells by hunches, but this one is goin’ to be. It’s the most unlikely place to dig a well, but— call the well diggers!” Silas cried. “We’ll make these wailing Piutes shut up or dance at our funeral.”

The diggers went to work, but without any enthusiasm. Hobbs watched the upthrown sand. “Dig close to the rocks, fellows,” he suggested.

“Would through them do just as well?” one of the diggers grumbled, showing his disgust by trying to split the rock with the blade of his shovel. “There you are!” he sneered. “A nice deep well of clear, cold water!”

“You’ve a right to be irritable, fellows,” George replied. “I guess that’s the way we all feel. But, just to humor me, dig under the rocks, since you can’t dig through them.”

Fed to the point of good nature, the Indians had left off their wailing and had come to watch the well digging—always a point of fascinating interest for them. They laughed and pointed their fingers at the well diggers and pushed the dirt back into the hole with their scuffling feet.
Suddenly George leaned forward. The hole was about five feet deep. “Dig to the right!” he cried. “Dig fast! Silas, wave your arms above this rock. Do something to frighten the Indians. Do it, man! Hurry! Do something that will impress these redskins.”

Silas looked at George with quick comprehension. He raised his arms above his head, solemnly faced the Indians, and began to pray. Not just to impress the Indians, but from a full heart. And as he prayed, the miracle of water gushed forth … Lost Spring was found again!

* * *

That night Elizabeth and Henry sat a long while before their campfire, listening to the singing and chanting in the camp of the Indians not far away.

“It’s a strange way to give thanks,” Elizabeth said. “It’s a heathen sound, but it is music to my ears.”

“The finding of the spring was a miracle, Bethy.” Henry looked into the fire, searching for words with which to express himself. “It couldn’t just have been an accidental thing.”

“Oh, of course it is a miracle, Henry!” Elizabeth exclaimed. ‘I wish that Mary had been here to witness it. When will the Davis family join us, Henry?”

“Possibly not until after we reach San Juan. But that will not be long now, and scouts have already been chosen to go back for them.”

“I wonder if Mary is well,” Elizabeth mused.

“That is another blessing, Bethy. Mrs. Davis has improved in health ever since she undertook this trip. People said she would die on the way, and reproached James for accepting the call.”

“Yes, even her brother told James that he was an inconsiderate fanatic.”

“James Davis is a good man, Bethy. I’d not ask for a better.”

“Nor a finer woman than Mary,” Elizabeth added. “I can hardly wait to see her and the children. Her new baby will be born almost as soon as they reach San Juan.”

“Don’t expect them too soon, Elizabeth,” Henry cautioned. “It’s a long way back, over the roughest country out of doors. And traveling with the stock will be slow. But I pray they reach San Juan in time for the coming of the baby.”

“Henry,” Elizabeth stopped thoughtfully, then continued, trying to phrase her thoughts. ‘Henry, when I think of a big company coming to San Juan the way we have, it frightens me. We have had enough trouble, but a big company would have more.”

“Yes, that may be so, Elizabeth. They will have to start in the fall or there will not be any water. And fall is pretty close to winter. I’d hate to try crossing a country like this in a snowstorm. Landmarks are hard to find and harder to follow. I never saw such a maze of canyons in my life. It takes more than human wisdom to find such a way.”

“Yes. Just as it took more than human wisdom to find Lost Spring. I’ll never get over the way the Indians looked at President smith and George when the water gushed forth.”

“It was pretty wonderful for all of us. As if Moses had again struck the rock,” Henry answered.

“Henry,” Elizabeth hesitated, then went on in a determined voice, “I felt rebellious about coming away out here. We had just got things fixed so nice at home. But when I saw that water gush forth from Lost Spring, my heart seemed to burst with gratitude that we had been chosen to receive such blessings.”

“You are a good wife, Bethy.” Henry smiled fondly. “And you are a good woman to have in such a company as this.”

Elizabeth sighed happily. “I guess it is time that all good people were asleep,” she laughed. “We have stayed up as late as if we were courting!”

henry stood up, and reaching for her hands, helped Elizabeth to her feet. They stood there a moment, then said goodnight, she to go to bed in her wagon with the children, and he to take his turn as night guard.

The first, long, tinted rays of the sun fell upon the gushing clear cold water of Los Spring. All night the Indians had chanted and danced, and now they lay asleep, sunlight streaming over their faces. Again they were at peace with their white brothers.

With the first stir in camp, Elizabeth took her five children to stand by the water of the spring and dip their fingers into it. “This gleaming silver water is Lost Spring,” she said. “you will never see anything more precious than this water. God gave it to us, his servants, as surely as he leads us where we are to go, if we follow his commandments. Never doubt the miracle of Los Spring.”

The children clung to each other and to their mother, almost in tears at the solemnity of her voice.

“Will it ever get lost again, Mother?” the oldest child asked, “or will Heavenly Father leave it here for the Indians?”

“I think it will be here for a long time to come,” Elizabeth answered. “And we must never forget that our lives were saved by the miracle of its waters.”

“I don’t want to go away and leave this good spring, Mother,” one of the smaller ones said. ‘Most of the water we have had tasted like medicine.”

Elizabeth smiled. “And neither do I, my dears. But since we can’t take it with us, we will fill every jug and barrel we have with this good water and take them along with us. And maybe it will be enough to last until we reach San Juan.”

Elizabeth stood silent for a time, weighing her own words. Until we reach San Juan. Her mind was traveling miles ahead. Would there be water and food and schools in the new country? Would she and Mary be equal to the task of shaping their children’s lives to good and civil ways in such a wilderness, so far from other human habitation? Would Fort Montezuma be a haven or only just an outpost where all trails would run out, leaving want, desolation, and fear?

The morning after the finding of Lost Spring, Silas Smith climbed a point three or four miles from the camp to look the country over and see which general direction it would be best to take. In the distance he saw two figures dragging along toward the camp. He surmised that they were the two other water scouts, and he was so filled with relief that they were safe that he fired his gun in the salute that had been agreed upon, even though he knew the volley would not be heard by his friends in the camp.

The scouts, Kumen Jones and Seth Tanner, had been all the way to the San Juan River. they had not had the hardships the other two scouts had experienced, because they had found people on the river, Clara Mitchell and her husband, and two trappers who lived with them. These people had fed the scouts and had treated them well.

The scouts handed over a map of a route for the company they had made, and, on May 29, 1879, the company broke camp, on the last lap to the San Juan.

The sand was heavy and travel was slow. Often they made no more than eight miles in a day. The last day they made fifteen miles, and camped at a place which the Mitchells had named Alkali Gulch. That night the stock was driven three miles to the river, and held there by the drovers. On the first of June, the San Juan Mission Exploring Company reached its destination on the San Juan River, near where Montezuma Creek empties into it.

After the heat and the sand of the desert it was like being in a new world to see green trees, clear water, and abundant feed for stock.

Men scrambled from their wagons and waded into the river, shouting and flailing their arms about in their exuberance. They went fishing, and one man caught a twenty-pound salmon. It was a gala day, and not a man in the company would do any worrying for that night at least.

But with Elizabeth, it was different. She, alone in all the miles of country that surrounded her, sat motionless in her wagon.

“It is the end of the earth,” she said. ‘This is where trails run out.”

She bowed her head and wept from sheer loneliness and disappointment.

“Oh, Mary,” she sobbed, “don’t, don’t come!”

“Bethy,” Henry’s arms went awkwardly about her. “Don’t cry, my girl. It isn’t so bad. The land is good. See how green the trees are!”

“And where will we get water for our crops?”

“Why, from the San Juan, of course,” Henry replied stoutly, astonished that she would ask the question when they were sitting on the banks of a river that was wide and full.

“Have you forgotten the Rio Virgin?” Elizabeth asked.

Henry’s jaw dropped. “The Rio Virgin is a devil incarnate, Bethy,” he said. “We’ll not have the trouble the Dixie settlers had. Getting water to our land will be an easy matter. We’ll throw a riprap out into the river, and that’s all there will be to it.”

“Oh, Henry, your faith makes you blind. Where are the settlements? Where is the fort?”

“Well, the settlements are some space away,” Henry admitted. “But we’ll make out. You’ll see that we will.”

Elizabeth climbed down from her wagon and went to the edge of the river. She stood there, listlessly, looking at the gray, slow depths of the water.

“I haven’t forgotten the giant tree that you carried on your placid, deadly surface,” she whispered. “I’ll never forget that you taunted me, by missing the ferry only by inches. I have no illusions. You are unfriendly and cruel. I hate you!”

“Aren’t you goin’ to cook us this twenty-pound salmon, Mrs. Harriman?” the men called. “We’ve got it all carved ready for the pan.”

Elizabeth turned from the river. Life would go on. Just as surely as eating and sleeping and cooking went on. And she would go with it.

“I’m coming!” she called, and went slowly toward the camp.

(To be continued)