Where Trails Run Out

By Anna Prince Redd

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Chapter 8

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 prepare for the coming of the main company. The purpose of the mission is to cultivate and maintain peaceful and friendly relations with the Indians.

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, after much suffering, finally reaches Moenkopi. The Davis family remains there and the others go on toward the San Juan. Peogament, the Indian chief, continually opposes the company and causes trouble and delay, but finally, the travelers reach the San Juan. Scouts return to Moenkopi and report the arrival of the Harrimans on the San Juan.

The James L. Davis family and the scouts leave to join the Harrimans. Pearcon, a renegade Piute, and his band block the trail into the wilderness.

Evidently, Pearcon and his renegade Piutes had not seen the young cowboy leave the camp of the scouts, for they came back almost immediately, threatening vengeance for the wound the dog had inflicted in Pearcon’s leg. Yet they were obviously careful not to bring on open warfare. Content to make things as unpleasant as possible, they went swaggering about the camp, demanding this and that as pay for the dog bite.

Then, suddenly, a new figure appeared on the scene. Riding down from the knoll west of the camp, came an Indian, evidently a chief, for Pearcon cowered at sight of him and began limping off, followed by his friends. The big chief called to him, imperatively, to come back, and Pearcon returned sulkily, exaggerating his limp.

Seeing that James was the oldest one of the white men, the Indian addressed him respectfully, telling Pearcon’s angry followers to sit down. Then seeing the blood on Pearcon’s leg, an angry scowl crossed his face, and he turned to the white man for an explanation.

Speaking quickly, James called to his son to come and explain what had happened.

In clear and simple words, Ted told the chief, in his own tribal language, how Pearcon had behaved.

As a result, the chief had Pearcon sit on a high rock for a conference, and gave him a chance to answer the charges of the white men.

Pearcon, in his turn, silently pointed to his leg. He then told how he had come into the camp to have fun with the white boys and said he was only fooling, but that the white men had become angry and had set the dog on him. It was he, the proud Pearcon, who had been mistreated! Had not the white man’s dog bitten Pearcon on the leg?

Clearly puzzled, the chief told James the white scouts would have to pay for the dog bite. That was Indian justice. It would help to win Pearcon’s friendship.

Much as the scouts disliked doing so, they gave Pearcon some money, a pair of shoes, and a belt. He accepted the payment, but demanded young Smith’s ax also, as being the weapon the white man had started to use against him. The chief told James that Pearcon should have the ax.

James didn’t like the way matters were going, but he felt that they must play for time. He knew Pearcon would use the ax and the bite on his leg to get his friends to come to his aid when he wanted revenge, and so he offered Pearcon more money and another ax, but Pearcon refused the offer. James thereupon gave Pearcon the ax he wanted, but asked the chief to send Pearcon and his friends away so there would not be any more trouble. James pointed to his wagon, and had Ted tell the chief that a sick squaw was in it, and they must go on to a doctor, a white medicine man.

After a long parley, the chief sent Pearcon and his men away, telling them he was pleased with the white men’s payment for the trouble. Pearcon went grudgingly back to his camp.

The chief, however, warned the scouts to be on their guard against Pearcon. He, the great chief, would do all he could to help the white men. They must sit down there until sunup, or Pearcon would wax brave and attack them. With the coming of the sun, Pearcon would be afraid of the sun-god, and the white men would be safe.

It was a long, vigilant night. Every preparation was made for an attack. Mary lay, fully dressed, wide-eyed in the dark, listening to every twig that cracked, to every breath she and the children drew, praying that it would not be their last.

Daylight came, and no Indians. Sunup, and still no Indians.

The scouts sighed with relief. Pearcon had not attacked in the night, and now, when the sun was high, he would be afraid, for the sun-god would see his bad acts and tell the Great Spirit. Mary came out of her wagon and washed the children and combed their hair while Ted and James cooked breakfast.

While they were eating, there came a strange, long call. He men leaped to their feet in consternation. Was it Pearcon? Had he decided to avenge himself in the daylight? Drawing their guns, they stood waiting. Ted Davis led his mother to her wagon and stood beside it, his heart beating against his ribs with the violence of a trip hammer.

The call was repeated, a long, cold, faraway cry, that yet seemed strangely near.

Ted’s eyes lighted up. “Pa,” he cried, “I think I know why Pearcon did not attack last night. While I was in Moenkopi, the Indian boys told me of a human spirit that goes over the country doing good deeds. They said the Indians were afraid of the spirit, for none had ever seen it. They had only heard it call. And always the call came when bad Indians were making the Great spirit angry.”

“That is so,” Seth Tanner agreed. “I have heard the story whispered after dark. I have waited many times, hoping to hear the call, but it never came.” He scanned the horizon, but when he could see nothing, he concluded that, as usual, the mystic figure would remain a tradition, and sat down to his meal.

Before the meal was finished, a tall, strange Indian appeared suddenly in camp. He walked straight up to James Davis and greeted him. James looked around for Ted to tell him what was wanted, but the Indian said in plain English: “White man take squaw and papooses and go in wagon. Long way he must go. I will ride with him.” The men looked at each other suspiciously, thinking the Indian was leading them into a trap.

James studied the Indian thoughtfully. He was tall and very straight, neither young nor old. In his eyes was a wise kindliness. His whole bearing was one of poise and dignity.

“A man above his kind,” James thought, and felt impelled to extend his hand. He controlled the impulse, however, and, looking squarely at the Indian, inquired, “You friend?”

The Indian looked at him in surprise, but said nothing.

“What are you goin’ to do, Pa?” Ted asked. “Let Ma say what we should do. It’s Ma we care about.”

“I’m prompted to go, Son,” James Davis replied, “and I’ll follow that prompting. Get the teams to the wagons.”

To the Indian he said: “We will go.”

Ill with worry and fatigue, Mary had sat listening to their voices. She had not seen the Indian, but, at the sound of his voice, she seemed to be home again, safe, happy in her own dooryard, waiting for James and Ted to come from work. She sat for a time, trying to fix the illusion in her mind. When James asked, “You friend?” the certainty that this strange Indian had helped them before, became sure in her memory. She smiled and waited for her husband’s answer. Yes, she thought, when she heard James say that they would go, James was prompted … God is guiding us …

Before Ted had the last tug hitched to the singletrees, the Indian was on the wagon seat. “Toweenie,” he shouted. “Fast!”

James cracked his whip and the team sprang forward, but were jerked to a stop when the wagon wheels, almost buried in sand, could not turn.

Digging with their hands, the scouts cleared a trench and gave the wheels a hard push that sent them whirring out along the trail.

The Indian stood up in the seat and, shading his eyes from the sun, looked the country over anxiously. Then, apparently satisfied with what he saw— or failed to see— he sat down again.

“To Tadena,” he cried, and grabbing the whip from James’ hand, he lashed at the team.

The horses lunged forward, slowed to a brisk trot and held the pace. Mile after mile they went, not stopping. Every time the team slowed at all, the Indian jumped to the seat to scan the horizon. The pantomime was repeated for ten or fifteen miles, until the horses could go no further.

The Indian leaped upon the seat and made another careful study of the landscape. Then he jumped to the ground. “It is good,” he said. “Pearcon’s land is far behind. You go slow now. Indian custom say one Indian not attack on another Indian’s claim. It is a very strict law. Pearcon is bad. He is showing his leg to all the mean Indians around. And the ax is making them very mad. He says he will get many Indians and kill white men. I come. White man now safe.”

James looked at the Indian and solemnly offered his hand.

The Indian took the white man’s hand and shook it awkwardly. “You not know me?”

“Where you see me?” James asked in surprise. “No savvy.”

“Cedar City,” the Indian answered proudly. “Your squaw, my friend. Many times I come to house for cheese. I listen to Indian talk. I come to help white squaw.”

“White man and Indian eat together now?” James asked.

“It is good,” the Indian stated solemnly. “Will white man’s Mary be well to cook?”

“She will cook for our friend,” James answered.

There was a broad smile on the Indian’s face, and he promptly went to sleep in the sand, his face uncovered to the sun.

In the wagon, Mary whispered, “Thank thee, Lord. He even remembers my name.”

At dinner time, James presented the stately Indian to the scouts in a very formal manner, and they shook hands quite as solemnly. He ate heartily, thanked Mary with his best smile, and rode over the hill into the sunset.

“He came, he asked no reward, and he is gone,” Mary said regretfully. “There are but few men like him.”

the next ten days of the hard journey were slow and uneventful. Then, one night they camped at a place called Gulch Creek, and saw an animal whose existence they would have questioned, had they not seen it themselves. A cross between a sheep and a goat, the animal stood four feet high, had six large horns, and was covered with a mixture of yellowish wool and hair.

“What a critter,” James Davis exclaimed. ‘How in the name of common sense did it come to exist?”

“the Indians at Moenkopi told me about this place, Pa,” Ted cried excitedly. “They say it’s the water of Gulch Creek that does it. I used to laugh at the kids when they’d tell me such wild stories. But gosh, it’s true!”

“How do they account for it, Ted?”

“They say that when a goat and a sheep drink together out of this creek, a new animal is born!”

“It’s funny,” the children cried. “We want to take it with us!”

“We can’t, unless we leave you kids here,” Ted teased.

:Now, my boy Ted, you stop teasing the children,” James admonished. “Let’s be glad there is one thing to laugh about on this long journey. It will be something to tell your grandchildren.”

“And they won’t believe it, Papa,” six-year-old Emily said sagely, “’cause we don’t either.”

Fourteen days later the company reached the San Juan river. They crossed it at Montezuma Ford, just inside the Utah line, in the extreme southeast corner of San Juan County.

Mary cried, knowing that the nightmare trip was ended.

“Well, here we are,” James shouted. “Look across the river! There are our folks. There are the scouts in a band coming to meet us!”

“James,” Mary cried in dismay, “it’s a terrible place! We can’t stop here. There isn’t a single house – not even an Indian camp!”

“It’s good land,” James reassured her. “We’ll make a good place of it, Mary darlin’. Just you wait and see.”

“You can talk, James Davis,” Mary stormed, “talk just like men always do. But you’re not the one that’s going to have a little helpless baby, right here in the sand and sage. I can’t stand it, James. I can’t stand it!”

“There, Mary, my darlin’, don’t cry,” James pleaded. “Let me get you across the river to Elizabeth Harriman. You need a woman’s shoulder to cry upon.”

At Elizabeth’s name, Mary smiled, even while sobs were still shaking her. “I want to see Elizabeth,” she cried. “Let’s hurry and cross the river.

“My boy Ted, where are you?” James called. “You come and drive your mother’s wagon across the ford.”

“Ted will do nothing of the kind, James Davis,” Mary scolded, indignant at the mere suggestion that she could not drive across the river herself. “I’ve driven this wagon every inch of the way from Cedar City, and no one is taking the job away from me now!”

Ted looked at his father, caught the gleam of fun in his eyes, and backed away, brushing the tears from his own eyes. “I guess Ma’s the boss,” he said proudly. “She can beat us at driving any day!”

Mary drove across the ford and up the slippery bank, letting the horses lunge ahead without direction, for she was calling to Elizabeth, who was running along, beside the wagon, laughing and crying, “Oh, Mary, it’s wonderful that you are here!”

Mary swung her wagon expertly into position beside that of Elizabeth. The moment the team was stopped, Elizabeth was up and over the wagon wheel, so she and Mary could cry together.

The Montezuma scouts gathered around the Davis wagon, greeting everyone affectionately, shaking the hands of the scouts who had come in with them.

Silas Smith stood by until the excitement had died down a little, and then he said: “Let us bow our heads in prayer.”

Working unitedly, the scouts built two, one-room log cabins for Mary and Elizabeth and their children. There were no doors to hang, but there was a small window fitted with panes of glass for each house. The women had seen to that, carrying the frames in their wagons, packed with their best dishes and quilts.

“We can make our own doors,” James told Henry Harriman, “and as soon as we get settled, I’ll build us each a big fireplace.”

Ever since the main party of scouts had arrived at Montezuma settlement (as the place was called by them) they had worked tirelessly, building dams in the river, digging ditches to carry water to the homesteads, plowing acres and acres of land, and planting it in corn and wheat and oats. They had explored the country for miles around, and felt that now the two families were housed they should go home as quickly as they could. Most of them hoped secretly that they wouldn’t have to return to Montezuma when the main company came. They had built hundreds of miles of road to the new mission, and felt that their job was done.

Seeing that dissatisfaction was growing, President Smith released those who wished to go, telling them to return by a northern route, by way of the Blue Mountains of San Juan, through the scattered settlements of central Utah and down through Salina Canyon to their homes. He and his sons, and a few others, would stay on until Mrs. Davis’ baby was born and she was well again. Those who accepted the release were to wait at the Blue Mountains until President Smith could join them there. They were to explore the country and be ready to make a report of their findings.

Six miles up the river lived some prospectors, a Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, and two men who posed as trappers, but who were really looking for a fabulous, lost gold mine.

James hired Mrs. Mitchell to come to Montezuma and be with Mary during her confinement, since, except for Mary and Elizabeth, she was the only other woman within sixty-five miles.

“She’s a good woman, but no midwife,” James confided to Elizabeth. “I’m worried, but it is the best we can do.”

From the moment that confinement began, Mary was very ill.

“She’s awful sick, Mr. Davis,” Mrs. Mitchell said, coming to the door, exhausted from the long hours of anxiety and work. “I got to go huntin’ herbs. And maybe I’ll not find the kind I want. I dunno what more I kin do, Mr. Davis. I guess the pore girl’s a gonna die.”

James would have protested, but Elizabeth silenced him, waiting for Mrs. Mitchell to leave the yard. Then she said: “I’m glad to get that woman out of the house. We can pray now, James. Not that we haven’t done before, but President Smith can do more at that than we can.”

Silas went humbly to Mary’s bed, and, laying his hands upon her head, he asked God to deliver the child and spare the mother’s life. Standing beside the bed, James, Ted, Henry, Elizabeth, and George silently repeated the prayer, faith their only weapon against death.

(To be continued)