The Awakening of the Desert

Huldah had been a stranger to the Pratt family until they were brought together on this pilgrimage across the plains, and now the day after the burial, the train was expected to reach the forks of the road at Green River, and Huldah, with her parents and other friends, was to proceed on the Oregon trail, while Mr. Pratt was to continue under the protection of Scofield's train along the new Mormon trail. Pratt was heart-broken. Huldah was sympathetic and helpful to the last moment.

A new light began to dawn upon Pratt, and a new emotion rose within him. If anything was to be done in response to this newborn inspiration it must be done quickly. During the hours of the only evening whose shadows fell after the burial, and before the expected separation, Pratt and Huldah were engaged in earnest converse. This brief courtship was concluded by summoning the Thompson family and Mr. and Mrs. Scofield to a midnight conference on the bank of the Big Sandy. The Thompsons finally yielded to the inevitable, and the definite approval of all members of the little party was given to the plans proposed. The morrow was to be a day of unusual activity with the emigrants because of transfers of loads and teams to be made on dividing the train, and hence the night after the burial presented the last opportunity to solve the delicate problem then before the little group which had convened. It must be now and forever or never.

There being no officer of the law and no clergyman in all that broad wilderness who was authorized to perform the marriage rites, Huldah without further ado and in the presence of the witnesses there gathered at midnight on the bank of Big Sandy River consented then and there to become Mrs. Pratt. On the following day the train reached Green River, where Mrs. Pratt bade adieu to her father and mother and proceeded with her husband on a honeymoon trip toward California, with many months of travel still before her, along a route where possibly not even a hut would be seen after passing the new Mormon settlement near Great Salt Lake, at which point it was hoped that supplies would be obtained.

Although other emigrants who continued with the Scofield train failed to reach the Eldorado of the West, Pratt and his wife, Huldah, with their family, made the trip with safety and became a part of the remarkable civilization that characterized the early California settlements.

We also had camped at Big Sandy, a stream varying in volume, but now about three feet in depth and easily forded. A dozen Confederate soldiers, then loyally in the service of the United States Government, were temporarily stationed there, to afford a nominal protection to the few trains then passing that way. In the evening, Ben, who was fresh from his army life, led the veterans to recitals of many of their recent experiences on southern battle-fields. One more day of travel brought us to Green River. The country traversed is a barren clay land, inhospitable, and apparently sterile, presenting hardly a blade of grass to relieve the monotony of the scenery. The young people who had saddle horses, caring little then for scenery, rode leisurely in advance of the train and planned somewhat for the future.

A rough looking old frontiersman had established a ferry at Green River, which, in conjunction with trapping wolves, and selling whiskey and other necessaries, enabled him to earn a livelihood. His tattered garments and the exterior of his hut and its surroundings left us with the impression that he was not enjoying great prosperity. His charges for ferrying seemed to be somewhat excessive, but the stream being very swift and the water at points being ten feet in depth, we concluded negotiations for the portage and camped on the further shore of the river.

As it is our purpose to describe some of the movements that led to the development of the West, we must here and there secure glimpses of the emigrants who undertook that work, even though it be through eyes other than our own. I find in a diary written by a member of the Mormon pioneer train, that when that party reached Green River, to which we have just referred, the company was there met by one Samuel Brannan who, with other Mormons, had sailed round Cape Horn to Yerba Buena (now San Francisco) intending to establish a colony on San Joaquin River. Knowing of the proposed emigration of the Saints, he started eastward with two companions, hoping to meet Young and his party. The diary states that on his course Brannan and his party passed a camping ground where nearly fifty emigrants had perished from storm and famine, there being but one survivor, a German, who had subsisted several weeks on human flesh.

We return now to our night near the banks of the Green River. As it was my watch from midnight and we were to roll out at daybreak, I retired early with a few words of farewell to those from whom we were to separate, leaving others to enjoy the later hours, as parting friends are apt to do. It may be stated now that some of the boys later made a visit to Montana, but for a time this thread in our story is broken. It was in the gray light of the morning that each member of our party was roused to his respective service. The teams were rushed in while the breakfast was being prepared, and at sunrise all were off for the still further West. The main train turned to the right, and our party to the left. After a mile or more of travel we halted upon a hilltop, before descending out of sight, and from the distance we heard the last shouts of good-bye from the other train, accompanied by waving of hats and handkerchiefs, after which our now very small party moved on alone.

CHAPTER XXII

The Banditti of Ham's Fork

BEFORE our little outfit rolled out from Nebraska City, Captain Whitmore gave us many suggestions concerning our route, and instructions as to where long drives must be made along which no water would be found. Among other words of warning he said, with some earnestness, "Now, boys, if you take the South Pass route keep a close watch when near Ham's Fork. I lost some stock there and am confident that it was stolen, for I have learned that a gang of thieves and outlaws are located near that crossing." Now it happened that early in the afternoon of the 4th of August, while riding in advance of our train in search of a suitable place to camp for the night, I descended to a very large and rapidly flowing stream, thirty or forty feet in width and about two feet in depth. I forded, and located a very satisfactory camping place near the west bank. Having signaled our approaching drivers to cross the little river and camp at a point indicated, I rode upstream along the banks for further reconnoitering.

On reaching the crest of a low ridge there came into view in the distance to the left some outline of what proved later to be a solitary good-sized log cabin, situated in a sequestered valley. After traversing the last few hundred miles of our course, along which we had discovered only the few huts to which reference has already been made, this hospitable looking cabin seemed wonderfully attractive. Led on by curiosity I turned directly to the building and soon observed a tall, athletic figure standing erect in the open door. It proved to be a swarthy, black-haired man, attired in a red flannel shirt and leather breeches, the bottoms of which were tucked into his long topped boots. Having a revolver strapped to his waist, he was equipped to fit well the rude setting in which he was placed. I addressed the stranger with a "Hello," as I assumed to pass by. "Hello, where in h – l are you bound for? Ain't you lost?" was his cheerful greeting. This rough form of salutation, then so common among frontiersmen in the West, may read in print as if it implied the speaker's familiarity with the nether regions to which he referred, and that my course led to some department of the Devil's domain. In manner the greeting was thoroughly cordial, and the words that conveyed it had no more significance than the conventional "How do you do?" to which no specific reply is expected. The greeting led me to turn my horse near to the door and, having been riding for several hours, I dismounted and threw the bridle reins over a post. An invitation to come in and sit down was accepted, for I felt a desire to see the interior of a cabin that was so remarkably situated, for it was not a location that a trader or trapper would naturally select. My reply concerning the object of my ride was reasonably frank and apparently satisfactory. Immediately after my entrance to the cabin three men, also wearing leather breeches, straggled in from another room, and in time there was a larger gathering than I had hoped to meet. Some members of the party took a half-reclining position on bunks built along the sides of the room, others straddled rough wooden chairs, a number of which, when I entered, surrounded a table on which lay a pack of cards. The man who first addressed me continued the conversation during which, while facing me, he stood with feet somewhat apart and his hands thrust deep into his trousers' pockets. The sombre effect of his heavy black mustache, stubby beard, and swarthy complexion was somewhat relieved by the good-natured manner in which he conversed, and by his cordial request that I join with him in a drink from a black bottle that he took from a cupboard, an invitation which was interpreted as being an evidence of his benevolent impulses. The black-haired man seemed to be astounded when I declined to drink his good whiskey. The fact that my newly-found friend and some of his companions carried revolvers in their belts signified but little, because even I, a peaceful traveler, had carried my rifle, as was our usual custom where there was any hope of finding game.

"What kind of a gun have you got?" asked the rancher, as he stopped and took it from my hands.

"It's a Henry." The men gathered around and one by one carefully examined the rifle.

"Sixteen shooters, ain't they?" asked one.

"Yes, 32 calibre."

While the weapon was commanding the undivided attention of the men in the room, an occasion was afforded me to take a more careful survey of the furnishings, among which were a few guns, saddles, and other trappings for horsemen.

I was what might properly be termed, in the parlance of the country, an innocent tenderfoot, and yet an innocent on observing the interior of a home cannot fail to form some impressions concerning the type of people who occupy it.

"This stream off here is a branch of Green River, is it not?" I propounded the question partly to get my bearings and partly to hasten the examination of the rifle.

"Yes," replied one, without raising his eyes from the gun, "it's Ham's Fork, – but does this gun throw the spent cartridge all right when the hammer comes up?"

"Yes, it works all right. Is there much game along the stream?"

"Wa'al, there's right smart of game round here sometimes," – which response was a shibboleth that betrayed the speaker as having come from Indiana. Something, for the first time since we left the Missouri River, brought to my mind the spirit of Whitmore's admonition, "Beware of Ham's Fork."

I had already lingered longer than I had intended to do, for I wished to find a spot where our horses could be pastured for the night. I accordingly told the man that my party was doubtless already encamped near the ford, and I must return to supper. After returning the rifle, all the men walked with me to my horse, and as I mounted expressed wishes for my good luck, and other favorable conditions too numerous to recall. I slowly traveled up the gentle ascent, taking a view from time to time of the general surroundings. On reaching the camp I reported my observations to the boys and reminded them of Captain Whitmore's experience and advice.

Instead of seeking a remote place for pasturing our horses we picketed them within sight of the camp and maintained an extra guard during the night.

It is possible that no reference would have been made herein to the unimportant episode in this interesting cabin, had it not been for the experience that befell Whitmore and his men with our ox train, which followed us over this road some weeks later.

As stated by the Captain and some of his men, they arrived at Ham's Fork, crossing late in the day after a difficult drive. Their stock, consisting chiefly of oxen, were driven off to a range some distance from the camp, to feed for the night. In the early morning the herders reported to the Captain that eight oxen were missing and that they had been unable to track them in any direction. Whitmore at once suspected the cause of the trouble. After sending out scouts for two or three miles in various directions on horseback in search of the lost stock, he himself made some survey of the country upstream. The men returned and reported that the stock was not found. This was all accomplished before eight o'clock. At about that time Whitmore called his men close around him, gave his opinion of the situation, and asked them if, in view of all the circumstances, they were ready for a fight. The fact was that every man was anxious for some excitement. Of the forty odd men in the outfit more than one half of them had seen active service in the Civil War just ended, and there was a good rifle for nearly every man. No better, braver, or more vigorous body of men could easily be found.

"All right," said Whitmore, "I'm going to get those oxen before I leave Ham's Fork. I am going to take one man with me over to the ranch beyond the hill yonder. I want all of you to get your guns and lie down out of sight on this side of a slope which lies off north, and where two or three of you can, at all times, see me. Now, you see this old, red silk handkerchief. If I should pull that out, it would be a signal that I want every one of you to come down in a rush with your guns and surround that d – d den over there, and I'll boss the job when you get there. And if it's a fight shoot to kill, because I know they are a hard crowd. I've heard of 'em before now."

These brief instructions seemed to be well understood. Whitmore had selected his companion, a strong, cool, hardy young man, who had served in the Iron Brigade during the war, and the two, without rifles, but with pistols at their sides, started on foot for the ranch. Before they reached its open door the men connected with the train were lying concealed along and near the crest of the ridge ready for service. The two were met at the door of the ranch by two or three of the occupants of the cabin. Whereupon, Whitmore, without any circumlocution, said to them, "I want my oxen." The reply, as might have been expected, was embodied in a few vigorous curses, and the question, "What the h – l have we got to do with your oxen?" Whitmore was a man who had seen much of western life and in emergencies had command of a vigorous vocabulary in common use in that country. He also knew that the men whom he was now confronting were part of a band of the banditti of the plains, who were likely to kill on the slightest provocation. He was also conscious that the least evidence of timidity would render his mission fruitless, if not fatal. He accordingly and in very emphatic language informed his auditors that they must promptly deliver to him the missing stock. This announcement brought to the front a number of tough-looking men, who emerged from an adjoining room attracted by the pointed conversation at the front of the ranch, and all were apparently enraged because of Whitmore's assertion that they were thieves. Thus far the interview had been simply a war of words, but now the ranchers declared that they would kill him instanter if the demand should be repeated. At that point Whitmore had occasion to wipe the perspiration from his brow, which he did with his big red handkerchief, which he flourished as he stood near the door. This was the agreed signal, and forty men, armed with rifles, suddenly came rushing down the slope, completely surrounding the ranch. The demonstration was undoubtedly a surprise to the gang of the cabin. Whitmore hardly moved from his tracks, but quietly said, "I have just one more word to say to you fellows. We mean business. Two of you men may go outside of our lines to get my oxen. You may tell me which men you wish to have to go. If another man attempts to leave he will be shot. If those oxen are not delivered here by six o'clock tonight, we'll blow your d – d old ranch to – the infernal regions. I know you fellows from away back. Now how does that strike you?" The declaration was duly emphasized with appropriate epithets, such as are supposed to add force and lucidity to such a statement, as legal terms often do in arguments made in courts of justice.

Some explosions of bluff and braggadocio from the ranchers followed Whitmore's announcement, until one of the gang, who had been engaged in a private conversation with another inside the ranch, came out and said with more calmness, "Now your oxen have probably strayed off, and if you wouldn't make such a d – d fuss about it, mebbe we might help you find 'em. We know the ranges pretty well, but we won't stand any of your insinuations." Whitmore cast a glance at his men, who all appeared to be perfectly serene. Their Henry repeating rifles, recognizable by their bright brass mountings, were in hand ready for business.

"As I said a minute ago," continued Whitmore, "all I ask of you is that you get the oxen, and you have got to get 'em d – d quick, and the quicker you get 'em the better for you. I'll give you just about five minutes to settle what you will do, but mind you, only two men can pass our lines without a fight."

Now this was one method for securing justice, practicable only under peculiar circumstances. There were no courts, no constables, and the practice of bluff was sometimes worked to the limit. Sometimes the bluff would fail and often a desperate fight would follow.

"Well, pard," said one of the leaders, after a private parley with some members of his party, "we ain't here to hunt other people's stock, and we ain't afraid of nobody, but mebbe there is some misunderstanding about this thing and we are willin' to see if we can't find your oxen. Now, what do they look like?" "You bring me eight good oxen," replied Hill, "and I reckon they'll be mine."

In a little time two men, wearing leather breeches, might have been seen riding northward and disappearing in the distance. At the same time the men from the train fell back to a respectful distance, many resting upon the ground prepared for a protracted vigil. In about three hours the riders returned, driving all the missing stock before them. The battle was declared off, and after lunch the train promptly pulled out for Green River.

Having seen the old rendezvous of Jean Lafitte, the dreaded pirate of the Gulf, situated far back near the swampy shore and protected in the rear by impenetrable canebrakes, also the bolder structure said to have been the castle of Gilles de Rais, the French Buccaneer in the Danish Islands, in the light that history and romance have thrown round them, I have endeavored in imagination to repeople them with the characters, both men and women, who once inhabited those now deserted strongholds, yet I have never pictured a band that would more perfectly suit that service nor have I ever seen a body of men who in manner and appearance were more perfectly adapted to such a vocation than the gang who infested the cabin at Ham's Fork.

CHAPTER XXIII

Through the Wasatch Mountains

FRED, who one afternoon had been riding in advance, was observed toward the close of the day waving his old hat and shouting, "Hurrah, here is water!" We had been traveling many hours across a desolate, barren country that lay silent and apparently lifeless beneath a bright sun, and the announcement that water was in sight was received with great satisfaction. We soon descended toward a swift-running stream, along which there strolled a solitary man, the only person we had seen during the day. He paused at the ford, awaiting our arrival.

"What stream is this?" we asked the stranger.

"Smith Fork," was the reply.

"This appears to be a good place to camp," remarked Fred.

"You'll go a long way before you find another," said the stranger as he drew nigh to our horsemen.

"Do you live in these parts?"

"Yes, I have a ranch down below here, and I'd like to have you come and see me."

We promised to respond to his invitation, as soon as our stock could be properly picketed on the range. An hour later Ben, Fred, and I sauntered down the stream and were soon at the door of a good-sized cabin, in which stood our new acquaintance ready to receive us. He was a strong, fine-looking fellow, with a genial face, and he welcomed us most cordially. The room into which we were immediately ushered, although simple in its appointments, as was to be expected in the cabin of a frontiersman in such a wilderness, nevertheless had an air of comfort. The attractive arrangement of various little articles indicated that woman was the presiding genius; for there is an indescribable something that is imparted even to the rudest cabin by a woman's hands.

In a short time a young lady of engaging appearance entered the room, whom our host introduced to us as his wife, Clara. The boys all rose instantly to take the hand of this Queen of the valley of Smith Fork. When we resumed our seats, the rancher asked the usual questions concerning our destination. Learning in addition to other facts that one of our party, Paul Beemer, had with him in his wagon a stock of jewelry which he was taking West to sell, the mountaineer requested that some of the articles be brought over to the cabin, so that the women might see them.

All is not gold that glitters, and this was true of the treasures that Paul possessed, which had been packed away in attractive packages in his wagon. He was perfectly willing to present for inspection a few choice samples, which he believed would interest the ladies of Smith Fork, whoever they might be. The society of that entire valley as far as we could learn, was centered in this one cabin, but we knew nothing of the character of the household.

In response to the rancher's request, Paul soon appeared bearing a few packages containing his choicest jewels, which were soon opened upon a table in the room where we had been received.

In anticipation of the pleasure in store for them, two other young women soon came rushing into the room in high glee. To our surprise, these also were introduced as wives of the host.

They were all certainly very attractive in personal appearance, and none of the three seemed to be more than twenty-three years of age. The husband was a comparatively young man.

"With such a fine family we may safely conclude that you are a Mormon," said Ben.