“That’s right,” Platte said. “The plan is to rough-lock the hind wheels on all wagons and keep them locked all the way down to the dugway. If we only cross-lock the wheels on this grade, they might break loose.w In addition, we’ll tie a couple of ropes on the back of each wagon and put about ten men on each rope to help hold the wagon back as you take that first pitch. The biggest challenge will be to not overrun the teams with the wagons.”
Their captain stopped and nodded at a man whose hand was up. David saw that it was Stanford Smith from Cedar City, a man the McKennas knew well. “What about using our animals to help hold the wagons back?” he asked. “As you know, I’ve got big Nig. He’s old and tired, but he’s half as big as a house.”
“Twice as big as our house,” a woman’s voice called. That broke the tension, and there were titters and snickers all around. David saw that Arabella Smith, or Belle, as everyone called her, was standing beside her husband. She had a six-month-old baby in her arms and two small children clinging to her skirts. She was a wisp of a woman, but with more spunk than any two women in the company, according to Sarah.
“You can try it,” Platte answered with a chuckle. “Every bit will help.” He turned back to the crowd. “Don’t worry about your loose stock. Once the camp from Fifty Mile is down, the drovers will bring everything down and across the river. Which brings us to our final question. Whose wagon will be the first down? Bishop Nielson and I recommend that Ben Perkins be given that privilege. In a way, this is his road. We feel he ought to lead the way.”
There were instantly cries of approval and support. David’s father cupped his hands to his mouth. “’E sure e’nuff made the rock an’ dirt fly these past weeks.”
“All in agreement?” Platte called.
Hands shot up everywhere. This man was not only greatly respected for his work on the road but beloved for his quick sense of humor, his ability to dance the shoes off of anyone in the company, and his never-failing cheerfulness. “Any who disagree?”
As one hand came up, there was another ripple of laughter. The hand belonged to Ben Perkins. “Ah wud lek ta put forth the name of me brother Hyrum ta go first,” he said.
“Sorry,” Platte said. “Get your outfit up here, Brother Perkins. You will lead the way.”
Ben moved up to stand beside the captain. He whispered something to him, and when Platte nodded, Ben turned to the crowd. “Ah be ’onored ta go first. But as ye awl know, Ah be a blower and a blaster, not a teamster. So Ah’ve asked Brother Kumen Jones ta drive me wagon down this wee ’ill. An’ he be usin’ ’is team. Mine be a little skittish.”1
“Now, there’s a wise choice,” David murmured, as Kumen waved a hand.
As people began to stir, their captain raised his hand once more, and they quickly quieted.
“Brethren and sisters, this is the day we have been waiting for. We are moving on at last. We have asked for the Lord’s help in our morning prayer service this morning, but I would suggest another prayer at this point is in order. I’ve asked Bishop Nielson if he would offer that.”
Hats came off, heads bowed, eyes closed. As the sonorous voice with its rich Danish accent echoed softly off the cliffs, every heart added a silent, fervent prayer of its own.
By the time the McKennas pulled their four outfits into line, they were about halfway back. On David’s signal, they got down and the whole family came together near the second wagon. Patrick laid a hand on Billy Joe’s shoulder, but spoke to all of his family. “David and John and I will be helping with the ropes, holding the first wagons back. The teams will be fine here long enough for you to go up and watch the first wagon go down. After that, you’d better come back here and stay with the teams. All right?”
They each nodded. The earlier excitement had now given way to a deep somberness.
“We’re going to be kept pretty busy,” he went on, “but you’ll know when it’s your turn to bring the wagons forward to the chaining area.”
David spoke. “With Carl gone, that unfortunately leaves us a driver short for going down the hill. So here’s the plan. Dad and I will take the first two down all the way to the ferry and across the river. We’ll have to get them out of the way once we’re down. But then we’ll come back up and help drive down the other two.” He looked at Abby. “Unless you’ve got a hankering to take it down by yourself.”
She shook her head, the relief palpable on her face.
“I feel exactly the same,” Patrick said.
“I know it looks frightening,” David went on, “but in actuality, having the wheels locked and men holding us back, it shouldn’t be too bad. Once Ben takes that first wagon down, we’ll better know how it’s going to work.”
He took a breath, glancing at his father, who nodded his encouragement. “However, as Dad and I have talked about it, sometimes you can’t always predict how things will go in an operation as complicated as this. Therefore, we would recommend, Patrick, that you and Abby ride down with us in the first two wagons as far as the dugway. If for some reason something happens that we don’t make it back up, you’re going to have to take them down. It will be helpful to watch how it’s done.”
“No, David,” Molly cried. “They can’t.”
David didn’t look at her. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Abby?”
All color had drained from her face, and she was biting her lower lip, but she nodded. “Yes.”
“That first pitch is the worst, and, like Platte said, you can’t tip a wagon over in it.”
“If I do, do I get extra points?”
He laughed, grateful that she could still joke about it. “But Dad and I will be back.” He looked around at them. “Sarah, we’ll have you pull the last two wagons out of line until we come back for them. Abby and Patrick will stay with the teams, but we’ll let you start walking just before we take the first two down. Okay?”
She too was pale and her eyes were frightened, but there was a quick nod.
“What about you, Molly?” Abby asked. “Were you serious about staying in the wagon?”
“I’m riding,” she answered without hesitation. “Either way terrifies me, but if something goes wrong with the wagon, that way I can blame David.”
David smiled and nodded. “All right. Let’s make one last check of the wagons and teams. Sarah, you and Molly and Billy Joe can go on up to watch. We’ll be there in a minute.”
A minute or two later, David finished checking the contents of the last wagon to make sure everything was secure. As he jumped down, Abby came around to join him. “Everything set?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Abby,” he said, seeing the lines in her face, “try not to worry. We’ll be back.”
“For Daddy, even more than me,” she said quietly. “Mother is really worried, you know.”
“I know.”
She started away, then stopped. “David, the other day Molly went out to meet you and your father as you finished your work.”
“Yes?” he said slowly.
“When she left us, she was all happy and excited. When she came back, after you and John had returned, I could tell she had been crying. Did you say something that really hurt her?”
He was totally taken aback. “When I left her, she was happy. Said she wanted to watch the sunset and would be right along.”
Her dark brown eyes bored into him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, she was fine. She had that letter from Carl. She told me that Carl had asked her if she wanted to come back to Cedar City, and—”
She jerked forward. “He what?”
“Uh-oh,” David said. “I thought you knew. Don’t tell her I told you. Anyway, she said she wasn’t considering that at all and that was that.”
Again there was a long, searching look. “What is going on with the two of you now?”
“I . . .” Then he shrugged. “Nothing. That was our agreement.”
She blew out her breath. “Don’t you hurt her, David. Don’t you b
reak her heart.”
“The last thing in the world I want to do is to hurt your sister, but—”
She pounced on that. “But what?”
He sighed, wondering how honest to be. Then he decided it needed to be said. “I don’t think I’m the only one who’s wondering if this is going to work,” he said softly.
For a long moment, she just stared at him. Then there was a curt nod, and she turned away.
“Abby? The McKennas are the best thing that ever happened to me. I would never deliberately do anything to hurt anyone in your family.”
She came back around. Her chin came up, and he thought he saw a glint in her eyes.
“Including you,” he added softly.
Crowds of men, women, and children stood on both sides of the crest of the white sandstone ridge. Below them about ten or fifteen feet, a wagon sat right at the crest where the road turned sharply downward. Bishop Jens Nielson, his son Joe, and his son-in-law Kumen Jones were supervising the rough-locking of the hind wheels of Ben Perkins’s wagon. About twenty yards back, another group of men were doing the same thing to Hyrum’s, though they wouldn’t actually lock the wheels until he moved forward and was ready to start down. Just behind both wagons, fifteen or twenty men stood around talking. These would be the ones to hold onto the long ropes attached to the wagon and try to keep the wagon from shooting down the hill and running over the teams. David and John Draper and Patrick McKenna were among them.
As they finished with the chain, Ben looked up, gave his audience a jaunty wave, then climbed up onto the wagon seat. Kumen Jones hopped up beside him and took the reins. Kumen’s team was a pair of well-matched blacks. They were powerfully built, and their front shoulders were nearly as high as a man’s head.
“All right,” Kumen said, “here we go.”
He snapped the reins lightly against the horses’ backs and started them forward. The chains locking the wheels screeched in protest as they dragged across the bedrock, scoring it deeply. As the horses approached the spot where the road actually dropped away, the crowd above them hushed. This was the critical moment. The horses were already visibly agitated. They didn’t like the feeling of being on the edge of a cliff. Their heads were swinging back and forth, and they kept snuffling nervously. Behind the wagon, twenty men had pulled the ropes tight, bracing themselves to take the weight.
“Ho, boys!” Kumen called to them. “Come on. It ain’t as bad as it looks.” But even as he spoke, the horses began to snort and paw at the ground. Their heads dropped as they tried to see the road in front of them. There was nothing there, and they didn’t like that. Their eyes rolled and they began to push back against their tugs.
Kumen slapped the reins sharply across their backs. “Gee-up!” he yelled.
But the two big blacks were having none of it. Neighing loudly, they began backing up, pushing the wagon away from that terrible drop. The men behind the wagon scrambled to get out of the way.
Kumen grabbed the short whip from its holder by the wagon seat and cracked it sharply above their heads. It made no difference. The animals were almost mad with panic now and nothing could make them go forward.
Kumen reined in. “Whoa! Whoa!” They stopped, snorting and trembling, still pawing the ground. He turned to Bishop Nielson. “Dad, see if you can calm them down a little.”
Jens Nielson limped forward. He stepped in front of the horses, speaking softly to them in his lilting Danish. At the same time, he began stroking their noses. Then he reached up and took both of their bridles and pulled them forward. Instantly, the horses were fighting back, bowing their necks and swinging their heads back and forth, nearly throwing the Dane aside.
The bishop immediately released the pressure and began stroking their noses again. “Okey dokey, boys. Vee need ta get dis vagon out of da vay, so awl da rest can go down too. Understand?” He pulled on the bridle again, and again they instantly balked.
Stepping back, he looked up at his son-in-law. “Dey no be goink, Kumen. I tink vee better try anudder team.”
Joseph Barton, from Paragonah, came trotting up. “Bishop Nielson? I think I have a pair of horses that will go down that chute.”
Kumen and the bishop looked at each other and smiled. Both of them knew about Joe Barton’s team. “Perfect,” Kumen said.
It took seven or eight minutes to make the change. When Joe Barton led his team forward—a beautiful set of bays—murmurs of approval rose up from the crowd. Here was another powerfully built and well-matched team of workhorses, and they came forward with not the slightest sign of nervousness or hesitation. They clopped along behind their owner as placidly as an old hound dog on a leash.
As the pair of blacks was led away, Molly, who was just above Ben’s wagon, peered more closely at the bays. Something seemed odd. “Look at their eyes,” she whispered to her mother. “Something’s wrong.”
A man just behind her mother spoke. “They’re blind.”
Molly, Abby, and Sarah whirled. “What did you say?”
The man laughed. He was one of the Paragonah contingent. “That’s why Brother Barton volunteered them. Remember that epidemic of pinkeye we had a couple of years back? Hundreds of horses in southern Utah were blinded, including Barton’s team.” He chortled aloud, tickled with the very idea of it. “You could drive them off a cliff, and they wouldn’t balk.”2
And he was exactly right. When the team was harnessed up, Kumen and Ben Perkins climbed back into the wagon seat. Kumen picked up the reins and gently snapped them. “Gee-up, boys. Easy now. Nice and steady.”
The wagon wheels creaked, and the chains began their horrible grinding as they scraped across the rock. Kumen turned his head and yelled through the wagon to the men behind him, “Hang on, boys. Here we go.”
The horses went over the crest first, snorting a little as they felt the ground turning suddenly downward, then planting their big hooves carefully on the rock as they adjusted to the pitch. A moment later, the wagon followed. As soon as the back wheels went over the top, the wagon lurched forward sharply, nearly jerking the men behind it off their feet. The men gripped the ropes and hauled back, digging the heels of their boots against the rock to get a grip. But, to their astonishment, the ropes went slack almost immediately.
David bent down and looked beneath the wagon to see what was happening. In one instant, he understood. When the road builders had blasted out the road through the sandstone cliff, angling it down to the base of what had once been a fifty-foot cliff, they had created a lot of loose dirt and rock. They had used that loose material as fill to provide a more even grade from the top of the pitch to the bottom. Over the last few weeks, the rain and snow and the countless trips of the builders up and down the slot had packed the dirt and gravel down until it made a passable roadway.
But the weight of a man wasn’t quite the same as the weight of the wagon. As soon as the front wheels came off the slickrock crest and hit that softer dirt and gravel, they sank to the hubs. Instead of shooting down the hill with twenty men hanging on for dear life, both axles were suddenly pushing dirt and gravel ahead of the wagon. It was like a snowplow, and the wagon slowed to a crawl. The rough-locked wheels in back only added to the drag, and suddenly, instead of holding back the wagon to stop it from overrunning the team, Kumen was snapping the reins to keep the team moving. They were actually going to have to pull the wagon down that impossible descent.
Kumen was standing in the wagon box now. “Hyaw!” he shouted, snapping the reins hard. “Gee-up!” Behind him, David and the others, feeling quite useless now, held onto their ropes, but only to keep them from dragging along the ground. They followed the wagon down until it reached the bottom of that first bad grade.
When they stopped, both Kumen and Ben Perkins climbed down and came around back. They stared in amazement at the new “road” they had just created beneath Ben’s wagon. “Well, Ah’ll be,” Ben breathed. “An’ Ah thought Ah might be wettin’ me pants aboot now.”
But
Kumen wasn’t quite so delighted. He looked at the men on the ropes. “We’ll need you for the rest of the way,” he said. Then he turned and looked up. “And this . . .” He shook his head. “This is going to be a problem. Take ten or fifteen more wagons down this grade and all that dirt is gonna be here at the bottom.”
David had already come to the same conclusion. “Leaving nothing but naked rock and a steeper grade.”
Ben Perkins grunted. “Sumbody better go back up and warn Platte. This be a challenge.”
When Patrick, David, and John approached their wagons back up on top about an hour and a half later, covered with dirt and dust and walking very slowly, the waiting McKenna women saw instantly that something was wrong. “What is it?” Sarah cried. “What’s the matter?”
“Did someone get hurt?” Molly cried.
“No,” Patrick said. “We just have a complication.”
John came in. “Ev’rythin’ is goin’ purty good so far. We crushed a couple of empty water barrels agin the sides of the cliff, an’ sumbody lost a cage of chickens.” He grinned. “Ya got chickens scattered up an’ doon the canyon noow, cacklin’ an’ flyin’ aroond ev’ry time a wagon approaches. But they be easy e’nuff ta catch later. But no, naw even a tip-over so far.”
“Ten wagons are down past the notch now,” Patrick said. “Things are going pretty smoothly, but . . .”
“Oh,” Molly said in a low voice. “Don’t say that.”
David explained the situation quickly. They had predicted it exactly right. The first hundred and fifty feet of the roadway were no longer covered with fill. That had all been pushed to the bottom, and all that was left was solid rock that looked like it went straight down. There was only one bright spot. The dirt was deep enough at the bottom that it didn’t matter how fast the wagon came shooting down. If they could keep it from running up and over the teams, when it hit the bottom, the deep soil provided a natural braking system.
“So,” David concluded, “Dad and I will take the first two wagons down as agreed.” He looked around and saw that the other two wagons were about fifty yards off to the side, out of the way of the others. “We’ll get back up here as quickly as possible to take the others down.”
The Undaunted : The Miracle of the Hole-In-The-Rock Pioneers Page 69