Fool's Gold

by Steve Stroble

Island. He went back to California before the gold strike when he couldn’t convince the prophet to settle out there instead of here. Now some say he’s an apostate for not sending the tithes he collects out there back here to Salt Lake.”

  Not even Brigham Young’s exhortations to the departing faithful that they were bowing the knee to Baal and deserting God’s Zion in the desert were enough to dissuade them the farmer said in conclusion. Rudolph wondered why Jim had left this incident untold. Maybe he was trying to convert me. He determined from then on to always talk to more than one adherent of any faith before converting.

  As it turned out Dan’s insurance policy of helping the Mormon family to travel from Ft. Laramie to Salt Lake City was unnecessary. During 1849 over 10,000 gold seekers would pass through there on their way to California. Contrary to what Dan had been told the Argonauts were able to buy or barter for tools, mules, horses, oxen, wagons, clothing, food, and drink from the Mormons. While Ft. Bridger had been a disappointment and Ft. Laramie a slight taste of civilization, Salt Lake City was as heaven on earth for those who passed through it even if they did not convert. True entrepreneurs, the 5,000 plus Mormons there offered every convenience that was lacking along the trail. There were dances with pretty Mormon girls aplenty. After months of little to no female companionship most of the men were beside themselves. A few carnal ones even decided to convert based on the available women rather than the faith’s doctrines. Those weary of sleeping inside of or under wagons could rent a room or even an entire house. Best of all there was food as good or better than what they had tasted back home. Fifty cents bought a large meal.

  When the company returned to the quarantine station it had transformed from a wagon train into a mule train. Its sole remaining wagon brought forth a new argument. Dan wanted to barter off the wagon; Smithton would have none of it.

  “But we need it for any sick, wounded, or injured. I’ve heard that the Indians in the desert are much more fierce than the ones on the Plains.” Smithton gestured wildly.

  “It’ll slow us down.” Dan again pointed out his number one objection to taking wagons through the desert.

  Smithton turned his pleas to the company. “You remember how he told us that mule trains can’t carry any sick?” His voice rose. “They all get left behind to die. Mr. Beaverman is more concerned about oxen dying out there in the desert than us dying.” He pointed at the over 600 miles of desert that stretched to the west.

  The sweat pouring from his face and accompanying wild-eyed gaze drove home his contention. A murmur of agreement swept through the company. Sensing that his continued reasoning was as if he were beating a dead horse, Dan shrugged and walked away.

  “All right, all right. You win. Bring the dang wagon if it makes you feel better. Only don’t be bellyaching to me when it slows down the mules. You can go whine to Mr. Smarty-pants. It’s a good thing we left two extra teams of oxen with you ‘cause they were too wore out to go on to Salt Lake. That gives you eight oxen for yer dang wagon. You’re gonna need them when they start dropping like flies.”

  Smithton wiped the sweat from his face with one of the lace handkerchiefs that his wife had embroidered for the trip and smiled in triumph. He had waited many a mile for such a victory over the guide. Sure of himself, he called to his allies to help him bring the oxen to hitch up to the wagon.

  I’m holding all of the cards now. Not only do I have the moccasins to trade for water, I have meat on the hoof also. Four of the oxen are mine. So what if they die? I’ll sell off the meat to the highest bidder.

  The 100-mile Mormon Cutoff ultimately proved to be an easier route than traversing the desert south of the Salt Lake via the Hastings Cutoff would have been. There were creeks along the first part of the Mormon Cutoff, the last being Box Elder Creek. Next was a desolate waterless plain until they rejoined the California Trail at Cathedral Rocks. Here they met wagon trains that had bypassed Salt Lake City by going to Ft. Hall to the north.

  “It was terrible.” One of their guides told Dan. “Those running Ft. Hall were hoping to buy supplies from us. They were out of just about everything. That made everyone in my train madder than hornets being smoked out of their nests. They’ve been complaining about how far we went out of the way for nothing. You fare any better at Salt Lake?”

  Most of those heading to California that year came to the Nevada Desert sometime between the end of July to the end of August, which was also the hottest time of year to cross it. Waiting for the weather to cool off could mean ending up trapped in the Sierra’s heavy winter snowfall. So they pressed on into the desert. Crossing the mountains to Goose Creek, the wagon drivers found that the road was so steep that they attached small trees to them to slow them down. Other drivers locked the rear wheels to slow their descent. The more cautious ones locked all four wheels.

  The stretch of trail from Goose Creek to the Humboldt River belied what lay ahead. It even caused the optimistic to remark that the desert was not as bad as they had feared. For the next five days small streams supplied water and grass. Gone were the bear and deer. Only a few antelope and coyotes, lizards, snakes, waterfowl, and rabbits replaced them. Gone also were the tribes earlier encountered. Now there were Shoshones, Ute, Bannocks, and Paiute. All were nicknamed Diggers by those passing through because these tribes would dig up roots for food to survive in the hostile environment.

  At the headwaters of the Humboldt River the water was tepid but clear and the abundant grass satisfied the grateful livestock. By now the Digger Indians were stealing horses, mules, cattle, and oxen. The settlers and their livestock had blocked the Diggers from the Humboldt River, which they depended on for water, plants, fish, and animals to survive. Stealing from the invaders appeared to be only fair to the regions’ residents. For the next 365 miles of the trail along the Humboldt, the Diggers were a constant irritation to the Argonauts.

  The company occasionally was able to bag ducks, rabbits, and sage hens to vary the monotonous meals of beans and corn meal. By now the wagon trains and livestock ahead of the company had trampled or eaten most of the grass along the river. Sand, rock, and sagebrush remained. After the first 80-mile stretch along the Humboldt, they reached Stony Point. Here the water was so alkaline that even the mules did not like it. Dan told the company what to do.

  “Look for lizards, snakes, frogs, and any other critters down by the river. That’s where the water is good enough to drink.”

  The trail of dead livestock thickened now. More gruesome were the human skulls and bones that remained from the corpses dug up and eaten by wolves and coyotes. Buzzards devoured whatever they left. There seemed to be more graves everyday. Everyone grew weaker. After coming over 1500 miles their bodies and souls were breaking down and mirages and hallucinations became common. These misinterpretations of reality caused more than a few of them to question their sanity. They were tired of the bland food, the heat, the Diggers, but most of all this monotonous stretch of trail. Then, as if in answer to their grumbling, one day the Humboldt River became the Humboldt Sink, a checkerboard of ponds, meadows, marshes, sloughs, and alkali lakes.

  “This must be where the damned make their way to hell.” One of the more pessimistic seekers of gold noticed that the surrounding terrain all sloped downward into the sink.

  Now came a long stretch of waterless sand, rock, and sparse vegetation. Those who headed across the Forty Mile Desert from the north end of the sink would reach the Truckee River; those who did so from the south end of the sink, the Carson River, if they made it. After much discussion Dan convinced them that they stood a better chance if they traveled to the Carson River and then took the Carson Pass by using the road blazed by the Mormons the year before. The Forty Mile Desert was known to take its toll in lives lost. Numerous wagons were abandoned, livestock left to die, and graves dug for those who succumbed to heat stroke or disease. One of its crossers suggested that the hellish stretch be renamed Vulture Ville because the birds’ presence was ensured by the constant sup
ply of dead flesh.

  The strategy taken by Dan was to travel straight through it. He estimated that it would take between 20 to 30 hours. Only a few short rest stops were to be allowed. To stop any longer was considered too risky by all whom he had consulted, including Jim, the one who had crossed it from west to east with his fellow Mormons a year ago. In preparation seven containers were filled with water at the sink and loaded into Smithton’s wagon. He had only been able to barter six pairs of his moccasins for water thus far but he calculated that the heat of the 40-Mile Desert floor would cause more of the men’s feet to blister through the thin leather hole ridden soles of their boots. Then they would gladly make the trade. For him making the deal had become even more desirable than drinking the water for which he traded.

  After a day’s rest the company left about eight p.m. as the sun dipped below the Sierra to the west. At the halfway mark was Salt Creek. Its waters were deadly. Dan stood guard at the creek, his rifle leveled while he threatened anyone who slowed and headed toward it to drink. The company’s remaining six oxen pulled Smithton’s wagon and had averaged about two miles an hour till now. They