The Awakening of the Desert

Walking the length of this gallery back and forth, I found no point where below it there was not a sheer, perpendicular precipice of more than a hundred feet in height. At each of its ends the gallery narrowed to a point against the cliff which extended far down beneath. Nature had here failed to carry out the general architectural plan of the bluff's structure. I felt earnestly that the terraces should have been constructed with more rigid uniformity. The discovery was now made that the branch ravine which my eyes had been following bore off in its upward course round this cliff and was lower than I had supposed.

To return was impossible, for the smooth cliffs down which I had dropped, being absolutely vertical, afforded no better footing than would the side of a perpendicular brick wall. I was on the opposite side of the bluffs from the road which our train had followed, and miles from it. The last glimpse of our wagons showed them moving far away in the distance to the westward. A shot from my revolver would not be heard a tenth of the distance. Even though I should be searched for, it would be practically impossible for friends to follow my tortuous course down those cliffs over which probably no idiot before had dropt himself, and I should not be hunted until missed at night, for we often left the train for long side trips. The bluffs had already been named from one starving unfortunate, but I had no desire to add my own name to its history. As I walked back and forth along that gallery, looking upward and downward for some line of escape, the prospect was not cheerful. I suddenly became both hungry and thirsty.

A long, dry, cedar log lay upon the hard floor of the gallery, and I wearily sat upon it for a brief period of silent meditation. The broad landscape to the south stood out clear and beautiful in the sunlight, and far beneath, at the foot of the cliffs, the dark cedars in the shade were in mild contrast with the dull gray of the steep, clayey cliffs to which they clung on either side; but the landscape seemed at that time to have lost much of its interest, although it produced a lasting impression. The cedar log was a straight, slender, tapering shaft possibly fifty feet in length. It was hardly more than eight inches in diameter at its butt. Being without bark, it had doubtless rested there for many years, and was thoroughly dried out as was nearly everything else in that climate, which was arid the greater part of the year. Taking hold of one end of the log, and without any definite idea why I did it, I was surprised to discover how light it had become through seasoning. Either end of it could be lifted without great effort.

At the western end of the gallery upon which I stood, and far below it, was the ravine, which from that point seemed to be continuous, and made a rapid descent to the foot of the mountain. It was comparatively narrow, and two or three tall cedars on its opposite side sprang out from a little ledge in the cliff. Some limbs in one of the cedars were hardly more than thirty or thirty-five feet distant from the wall of the rock upon which I stood, and on a lower level. A practical thought finally came into my mind. Carefully breaking from the log the stubs of limbs and twigs which remained upon it all of which were found to be very brittle, I planned to slide this log over the edge of the gallery, so that the smaller end, which happened to be in the right direction, would find a lodgement somewhere in the limbs of the live cedars across the ravine, leaving the larger end supported on the gallery, thereby constructing a bridge.

I spent considerable time in calculating this problem, for I certainly believed that my life depended upon the success of the plan. I slowly moved the log along so that it projected beyond the gallery, and then carefully considered the proper direction for pushing it further. Laying aside revolver and field glass, I prepared for the one supreme effort. All the strength at my command was put behind the log as I balanced and then vigorously pushed it onward beyond the brink. Surveying the result, I was gratified after the first effort to discover that it had not fallen into the depths below and that the end had caught upon a small limb, which proved strong enough temporarily to support it. Another push and a careful turn of the log left its end apparently secure near the junction of a small limb and the main trunk of the tree near its top.

The bridge, such as it was, being completed, I again strapped on my revolver, and taking the field glasses, sat astride the log and carefully crept along it to avoid any unnecessary jarring, my only doubt in accomplishing the task being in the strength of the old log and of the small limb which supported it. The distance beneath me had no more terrors than forty feet would naturally have, but when I laid my hands upon the slender trunk of the live cedar I breathed a sigh of relief. "Shinning" down a tree was a simple matter, with which any youth would be familiar. After reaching the base of the tree I found other trees and shrubs that aided in the further descent, although there were a few other terraces or perpendicular cliffs twelve or fifteen feet in height over which I dropped with ease and safety.

This course led me into a ravine, which, like nearly all such erosions in that country, had abrupt sides, averaging thirty or forty feet in depth, which I discovered later led to the Platte River, gradually increasing in width and depth as it descended. Some miles distant it was crossed by a bridge over which the traffic by that trail passed. Following the bottom of this ravine, or dry run, until I reached a point slightly outside the higher walls of the bluffs, I there came upon a huge pile of fossil bones. Skeletons, half exposed, projected from the steep sides of the deep run in great numbers. Many lay strewn upon the bottom of the ravines where they had been left stranded since the last rains in quantities enough to load many wagons. My knowledge of osteology was very limited, but it was sufficiently definite to enable me to determine that none of them were the bones of creatures like any with which I was then acquainted. It was a strange, weird sight.

Being somewhat weary I dropped down in the shady side of the ravine to rest and gazed up and down at the mute records of the past which were scattered around me. It seemed as if the monsters whose bones lay there were suddenly reincarnated. A group of Titanotheria seemed to be assembled in a vast body; the Rhinoceros, Oreodon, and diminutive horse such as lived in those parts, were gathered around, each apparently ready to tell its tale of events which no man ever had heard before. A Titanotherium Robustum, smacking its huge jaws, turned its dull eyes upward to the summit of the great bluff 700 feet above where I was resting, and then turning its gaze toward me, said, "What are you? You are the first specimen of your genus that has ever passed this way. How old are you?" "A score or two of years," I replied. There was a roar of grunts doubtless intended for laughter which echoed up and down the ravine, and the pachyderm looked at the oreodon and smiled. Continuing, the Titanotherium said, "Do you see the top of that lofty bluff?" I nodded yes. "Well, that is young, and it is not more than three or four decillion years since this country was pushed up and has been washing down the river. Before that, it was under water for nearly as long a period, because it was mighty slow work filling in all that 1,500 perpendicular feet of clay out of which all the layers of these bluffs are made."

The Rhinoceros then grunted out his reminiscences, to the effect that all that occurred long after his day, because he was doing business before the beginning of that vast cycle when the country was so deep under water, and before these deposits were made. Continuing, he added, "Away back in those times a very bad spell of wet weather and floods occurred, when we all were caught and stuck in this swamp which finally dried up on all this great crowd of companions of a bygone age. Since we were washed out by the last winter and spring rains which swept down this gully we have seen nothing, and you are the first two-legged creature we ever saw, except a few dinosaurs, and but very few of them lived in these parts."

After this dreamy colloquy I woke up from my little rest, and the shadows of the prehistoric pachyderms vanished, but the thousands of bones were still protruding from the walls of the deep ravine.

"The waters stood upon the mountains;At Thy rebuke they fled;He uncovereth deep things out of darkness,And bringeth out to light the shadow of death."

I picked up a massive femur, and put it upon my shoulder to show to the boys as a trophy, but it soon became too heavy, and I dropped it behind me, perhaps to be moved along a little further toward the Platte River by the next spring flood. In time it doubtless found another resting place in those soft river sands, possibly to be exhumed in some future geological period, to lead the finder into some wild chain of reasoning concerning its history. I reached the train, which was camped six miles west, and told my story to the boys, and after supper fell asleep.

The year after the discovery of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, it was my pleasure personally to furnish Professor Powell with a careful description of the location of these remarkable deposits of fossils in Scott's Bluffs, which he and others investigated later. At that time I believe no investigation of those fossil beds had been made by scholars qualified to classify them.

Amid all the intricacies of the ravines that run down the bluff sides, it would be difficult to indicate any locations there with exactness, but certain landmarks make this one to which I now refer comparatively easy to describe. A professor and students from one of our universities made later investigations of this particular deposit on information given as to its nature. The recent marvelous agricultural development of this country as the result of an irrigating ditch cut near these bluffs is a revelation to those who first saw it as a barren area, a part of what was well named the Bad Lands. These once barren clay lands near the foot of Scott's Bluffs are now, strange to relate, highly productive. If any one of the young ranchers now engaged in the development of that country would care to follow the ravine crossed by the bridge over the old trail and with a ladder would ascend a few cliffs that will be encountered as he proceeds along the ravine, and then climb up until he reaches the high precipice, he will find the old cedar log still lying across the chasm and resting on the tree top, for no one would have made the effort to remove it, and nothing decays in that pure air.

CHAPTER XIV

The Peace Pipe at Laramie

Leaving the fossil beds, a six-mile tramp was made to a point beyond Fort Mitchell, where the train was reached. The course lay across a dry clay land which, though in appearance hopelessly sterile, was dotted with small clumps of sage brush, that ubiquitous bush which grows almost everywhere in those western alkaline soils both on the plains and on the mountain slopes. Useless as that gnarly, stubby, stunted shrub may seem to be, it has been the salvation of thousands of travelers for whom it furnished the exclusive fuel along hundreds of miles of their pilgrimage. The scant foliage of this species of Artemisia has a color, taste, and odor similar to that of the ordinary sage, and all of these qualities especially the flavor, were imparted in some degree to the sage hens, which fed in numbers upon the plant.

At Fort Mitchell there was stationed a company of soldiers to impress upon the Indians the idea that the strong military arm of the U. S. Government extended over the West. As we learned later, three score soldiers were but a feeble menace to the thousands of dissatisfied warriors, who were then roaming over the plains, awaiting some assurance from our authorities that the last of their ancient hunting grounds would not be invaded and traversed by the whites.

Eight miles further on we camped for the night on the banks of the North Platte River, where, finding clear water and good forage for stock, we planned a day of rest. Near that point first loomed upon our view in the west the dark summits of Laramie Peak and the serrated line of jagged pinnacles in the less prominent range beyond. No snow was visible upon them, and the somber mountain pines presented but little contrast to the shadowy gorges, while the peaks like "splinters of the mountain chain stood black against the sky."

Crossing Horse-Shoe Creek, our trail led us at once into what was then Dakota Territory, but which in 1868 became Wyoming Territory, and in July, 1890, the State of Wyoming. This state has now become renowned as a grand museum of Nature's wonders, and possibly presents the most numerous and remarkable varieties of interesting scenery and freaks of Nature, known to exist anywhere.

Its lofty mountain chains and matchless canyons; its spectacular geysers and fountains of unending diversity in quality, and every degree of temperature from boiling springs to those which are said to produce ice by chemical processes; its beautiful mountain lakes and magnificent cataracts, all combine to make it a land of marvels. All these forms of Nature's works I have seen in camp life in Wyoming.

Possibly because of its location and the abundance of its game, it became the final stronghold of the Indians. Its entire white population, at the time of my first visit, was probably exceeded by thousands of western villages, and but a small percentage of the number were women. There were enough of the latter, however, to secure the adoption of woman's suffrage by the first legislative assembly of the state, and social conditions then gave rise to the oft-repeated couplet,

"Baby, baby, don't get in a fury,Your mamma's gone to sit on the jury."

As indicating that the spirit of woman's freedom was in the very atmosphere of that country long before her rights were established by legislative enactment, I state it as a fact that our first camp in that territory was made near a pool of alkaline water, in which each member of our party personally and simultaneously laundered his flannels and silk handkerchiefs, a purification that was greatly needed.

It was an inspiring if not "a sublime sight," to see eight stalwart men diligently scrub their garments in the margin of the pool, and hang them to dry upon the stiff branches of the sage bushes in that bright, pure sunlight. The pool proved to be the home of insect life, for the early evening brought myriads of "fair insects … with thread-like legs spread out, and blood-extracting bill and filmy wing," which tortured us until the morning dawned, when we decided to move onward, and fly possibly to other evils that we knew not of.

As we moved further westward, the scenery became more attractive and many objects of interest invited our attention. Among these was an apparently newly-made grave in the shade of two small and lonely trees. The earthly journey of some unfortunate traveler had been ended before it was really completed. Such a discovery will cause even the most careless wayfarer to pause and think at least for a moment on the great problems of life and death, and otherwise ponder much more than he would among a thousand graves in a potter's field. I soon noticed a card high up in the trunk of one of the trees and fastened to it by a rusty horseshoe nail. I immediately called some of the boys to see it. Upon the uncolored face of the card was printed a black figure somewhat Egyptian in outline. One after another of our party upon inspection failed to understand the significance or relevancy of the cabalistic design. Pete from a distance at once declared that it was a Jack of Spades, which in fact it was, but others were deciphering a somewhat faded epitaph written upon the margin with a lead pencil, which finally read as follows:

"He played his last trump and lost."

What could have been the meaning of this occult sentence? I think it was a soldier who informed us that a man had been killed there in a fight, and that was all the soldier knew of the matter, except that the man had been appropriately epitaphed. There was no coroner or court of justice in those parts, and every man in that country seemed to be a law unto himself. The period of the Vigilantes was hardly yet in its bloom in Wyoming, but it is interesting to hear described the manner in which justice was summarily administered by a self-appointed tribunal, which also assumed the functions of executioner. There was little complaint of the law's delays in Wyoming, and the defendant did not suffer the embarrassment of being conducted through a gaping throng to a lofty gallows. The nearest tree served the purpose. There would be no time to issue tickets, and the charge was more likely to be horse stealing than any other crime. Still, it was true that deadly encounters were often the result of quarrels over unimportant matters. It seems difficult to pass judgment upon the acts of vigorous men who, having but little self-restraint, are freed from the restraints of law. Behind the bravado and the readiness to pull a gun on the slightest provocation, there were often noble and generous impulses which, when these men were merged into a settled community, led many of them to become strong, law-abiding citizens.

A few years later than the occurrence just narrated, I chanced to spend a few days in Silverton, Colorado, when that town was in the first flush of its mining successes. As I was walking along the street one Sabbath afternoon with an old boyhood friend, Judge Montague, we passed a large and very busy gambling saloon. Its entire one-story front was wide open to the street. Scores of men were at the tables playing cards, and the long bar near the front was crowded with patrons. The Judge, calling me as usual by my old nickname, said, "I will tell you a story of this saloon," and he proceeded as follows:

"A short time ago a home missionary, Rev. Mr. P – , came to Silverton, and having learned that I had been a church attendant in the East, he called upon me, and asked if I would give him some assistance that would aid him in the establishment of a church in this mining town." Having explained the character of the community, the Judge said to the missionary, "If you will go where I shall take you, I will see what can be done." There was then no house of worship in Silverton. The missionary promptly assented. "Then," continued the Judge, "I led him at once into this gambling house and up to the bar. Calling for the proprietor, I introduced the missionary and said, 'You know we have no church in Silverton and Rev. P – desires to help us raise some money to apply toward the building of one.' 'No church in Silverton?' shouted the saloon proprietor, with apparent disgust. 'No,' I replied, 'not one!' Then with a series of oaths, vigorously emphasized by a blow of his fist upon the bar, which made the minister tremble, he declared that it was a d – d shame and showed a lack of enterprise. He added, 'If we are ever going to have a first-class town we've got to have everything that's a-going. Ye want something out of me?' 'Yes,' I replied, 'we should be pleased to have you head the subscription list, and I thought that about two hundred dollars would be about right for your place.' The young missionary gulped and held his breath. 'All right,' said the proprietor, as he inscribed his name on the paper, 'we've got to have everything that's a-goin' if we have any kind of a town. Now what'll you have with me, gentlemen?' as he firmly slammed upon the counter two or three bottles, 'and, by the way, I've got a little good, old whiskey here made before the war, that I keep back for my friends.'"

In following up the history of the little Congregational Church, the genesis of which was in the heart of a missionary, at the bar of a gambler, it may be of interest to relate an incident that seems quite grotesque and further illustrates the strange blending of extremes in the characters of the West. A young minister, H. P. Roberts, was sent later to the same Silverton work, and pending the construction of a new church, services were held in a schoolhouse. On the last Christmas previous to the transfer to the new edifice, some exercises were being held for the children. Late in the evening there was sent to the schoolhouse and hung upon the Christmas tree a woman's stocking sent as a gift to the young minister by one Jim Brown, another notorious saloon-keeper. On delivering to the minister the article of wearing apparel, for which he apparently had no present need, it was found to contain a pack of cards, a box of dice, and, what was greatly needed, sixty silver dollars. It had been collected by Brown from members of his profession as his voluntary act and expression of good will. Brown was killed not long after by an old, one-armed marshal named Ward, who in turn soon met the same fate. This incident is fully verified by a recent letter from a pioneer woman who was a member of that church and was also a witness to the event at the schoolhouse. The sixty dollars may have been tainted money (if it is possible to taint a well-inspired benefaction), but the act sheds a soft ray of light upon the life of a man whose career and character were generally regarded as dark.

On the following day, after passing the grave by the two trees, we drove thirteen miles. As we were slowly moving along in the afternoon over the heavy sands and up a long but rather gentle slope, we suddenly observed two wagons with mule teams approaching from the west, the animals being driven at the top of their speed under the lash of the drivers. On discovering us, the drivers motioned in an agitated manner toward Fred and me who were riding on horseback, indicating that they wished us to halt. We accordingly stopped the train and awaited their arrival. They at once reported a large band of Indians approaching. Having seen the Indians in the distance, the drivers had quickly turned their teams, and were endeavoring to escape from possible trouble. We all deemed it prudent to remain near where we were, and await the arrival of the band which was reported to be following the trail. It soon began to appear over the crest of the hill and much to our satisfaction was evidently not a war party. It was an Indian village on horseback, consisting of several hundred Sioux with their families and the ordinary equipment of Indian lodges, which were being transported upon several hundred horses and ponies. There is ordinarily little to fear from such a body, as Indians are not inclined to make trouble when there is danger to their wives and papooses, although the average Indian squaw doubtless shared the passion of her chief in time of war and was accustomed to strife and bloodshed.

In many of their battles, when the prospect of an Indian victory seems certain, the squaws and children are placed at some point of vantage, to witness the sport and the tortures. This was notably true in the attack of Roman Nose, with one thousand warriors, on Forsythe's little band on the so-called Island of Death in the Arrikaree River, in that year. The squaws took a safe position on the bluffs, as did the matrons in the days of Rome's glory, when they witnessed the brutal contests in the Coliseum.

We had courteously driven out a short distance from the trail to give the Indians a free passage. Our horses seemed not pleased with the appearance of the strange cavalcade, for they reared and plunged in an effort to escape. Hitching our saddle horses to wagons, Ben, Fred and I stopped close to the trail, and each of us courteously and fearlessly as possible saluted one after another of this band as they passed, with the familiar word, "How." Not even a grunt or motion came in return for our salutation. Their eyes were turned toward us as they passed, but, to use a society phrase, they cut us and turned us down. All appeared to be glum, sullen and disgruntled, and we were happy to see them move on at a steady pace.

In this Indian train there was possibly material for a hundred lodges. The lodge poles were carried on the backs of ponies, an equal number on either side, the large end of the pole dragging far behind upon the ground. In many cases a little hammock-like affair, suspended between the poles behind a pony, carried a papoose, whose unshaded face looked up toward the glaring sun. Other ponies were loaded with camp material of varied kinds, on top of which in some cases were squaws and children. All the men and nearly all the squaws were mounted. There was an excellent opportunity to observe the faces of all who passed, although there was little to be learned from their expressions concerning any of their emotions, for they were solemn and undemonstrative. It required a long time for all to pass, for they did not move in a compact body but were generally in single file, except that here and there some young warrior rode beside a tawny maiden. There was no hostile demonstration, nor did they pause a single moment on their onward march.