“Yes, Mama.” He had to turn away from the intensity of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
Only about an hour later, Mitch saw Lemuel Redd coming down the street. Since their wagon was the last place of occupancy on the west edge of town, Mitch wondered if Brother Redd was coming to see them. When he saw Mitch, Lem raised an arm and waved. Waving back, Mitch turned his head. “Pa? I think we’ve got company.”
His father was sitting on the wagon tongue, mending some broken harnessing. When he saw who it was, he got to his feet. “Mother?” he called softly. A moment later she poked her head out of the wagon. “Lem Redd’s coming. Looks like he may be coming to see us.”
Mitch had learned on that trip to Elk Mountain that Lemuel Redd was a man of few words, so it didn’t surprise him that the preliminaries were cordial but brief. After inquiring how things were with the family, he got right to it. “I’m here on assignment from Bishop Nielson. The bishopric has decided to occupy the cabins that were left empty today. Those still living out of wagons or tents get first priority. If you have a mind to, you can move into the Johnson cabin.”
“Really?” Martha blurted. “We get to live in a cabin?”
“You do,” Lem drawled. “And you can move in as soon as it’s convenient for you. Today, if you wish.”
One hand flew to Gwen’s mouth. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He smiled. “You’re welcome, but I’m just the messenger.” He replaced his hat. “Well, I’ve got to tell the others, so I’ll be off.” He took about three steps and then turned back. “You’ll find that the Johnsons left a hand-hewn table with two chairs and a couple of stools. There’s a small dish box in the corner for storing things and some slats that made up their bed.” He looked at Arthur. “It’s going to need some repairs.”
“We can do that.”
“Oh, and they left their stove as well. It’s all yours.”
Gwen was overcome. “Thank you, Brother Redd. And thank Bishop Nielson.”
He smiled and lifted a hand. “I will.” He turned and walked away.
Gwen turned and clapped her hands, blinking hard to hide the tears. “Well, come on, children. What are you standing around for? We’ve got a home now.”
Chapter 5
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Fall, 1884—Bluff City, Utah Territory
The best thing about being in a cabin, tiny as it was, was that it gave some peace to Mitch’s mother. The cabin was still drying out, so they had to leave the door open during the day or the smell of mold and mildew became overpowering. That brought the flies, in thick, black swarms. Mitch’s father finally told Johnny and Martha that he would pay them a nickel each for every quart bottle of dead flies they could produce. But as much as Gwendolyn hated the smell and the flies, she never once complained. Mitch decided that was a trait he needed to learn from her. He found that he could feel deep gratitude for something, such as what had happened up on Elk Mountain, but all too soon the feeling faded and he found himself griping about trivial things again.
For those in Bluff, the informal treaty Lem Redd had worked out with the Utes for grazing rights on Elk Mountain brought some relief. Both the Navajo and the Utes were showing signs of becoming more cooperative with the Mormons.
This led Bishop Nielson to declare that the settlers no longer needed to confine themselves to living in the one large block that constituted Fort Bluff. They decided not to spread out into new settlements until they heard from Salt Lake, but Bishop Nielson did say that they could leave the fort and begin to settle anywhere in the narrow valley that ran along the north banks of the San Juan River. This announcement was met with much rejoicing.
Mitch never heard anyone else in the community condemn those who left. Those who had come through the Hole in the Rock with that first company often talked about the remarkable sense of harmony and cooperation they had experienced during that very difficult six-month trek. So when some of them left, the attitude of those staying seemed to be, “They came, didn’t they? And they stayed for four years. It’s not our place to judge.”
Gradually, Mitch came to understand. He apologized again to his mother and vowed to himself that he would not judge what others did. But in his heart, he grew more and more determined that he would not be one who left, even if his own family decided to go. Even if the Brethren from Salt Lake said it was all right to go. If they closed Bluff, then he would find another settlement. If his parents refused to let him go, then he would return with them to Beaver, but as soon as he could choose his own path, he would be back. He had been here only a few months, but San Juan felt more like home to him than Beaver ever had. Here he would make something of himself. Of that he was sure.
Very soon after the announcement about leaving the fort, new homes started to spring up all around. Mitch rejoiced in that. He welcomed any sign that Bluff was not going to be abandoned. He was thinking about that one day when he and his father went out to Butler Wash to check on their cattle.
“Pa?”
“Yes, son?”
“Are you and Mama thinking about starting a new home?”
It clearly caught his father by surprise, which Mitch assumed was his answer. But after giving his son a long look, Arthur shook his head. “Not at this time.”
“What do you mean, not at this time?”
“I mean, not at this time.”
And then Mitch got it. “You mean not until we know whether or not—”
“I mean,” he said tartly, “not at this time.”
Mitch was wise enough to drop the subject and not bring it up again. Nor did he ever share his thoughts about staying in Bluff with his parents, or anyone else for that matter. He was afraid if he did that word would get back to his mother.
Mitch had watched his mother through the summer with growing concern. The cabin was a great blessing, but life was still hard. She put on a brave face and forced herself to smile, but that couldn’t hide the strain that was slowly wearing her down. Without being asked, Mitch suggested that he and John continue to sleep in the wagon until the weather turned cold. It was parked right next to the cabin and could serve as a temporary bedroom.
Each night he would take his two siblings outside as soon as the supper dishes were done. They would play games, or he would read to them, or they would go down to the Swing Tree and gather with the other young people of the town. Sometimes the three of them would just lie in the wagon and talk until Martha got sleepy and went inside.
Martha and Johnny seemed to understand why they were doing this and never complained. His mother never openly acknowledged that she recognized what he was doing, but he could see the gratitude in her eyes, and that was enough for him.
If anyone had asked Gwen how she felt about being in a cabin, she would have been very warm in expressing her gratitude, but in her own mind, the cabin only marginally simplified their lives. Life along the San Juan was just plain hard, and there was nothing to be done for it. Their closest neighbor had a well and allowed them to draw drinking water from it, but it still tasted like the river smelled. So once a week, Mitch and his father took the wagon to Cow Wash and filled a barrel with water from the spring there. But that took nearly a full day, and they had to carefully ration each week’s water until the next trip.
For cooking purposes they brought water from the river in buckets. But it was so muddy and hard with minerals that they had to put the hot ashes from the stove in each bucket and let it stand overnight before the ashes would be strained out and the water could be used. Mitch was certain that for as long as he lived, he would have the taste of ashes in his mouth.
His mother went down to the river with the other women once a week to do the laundry. By summer, the river was no longer muddy brown as it had been in the spring, but there was still so much silt in it that even when you put on “clean” clothes, you could feel the grit against your skin. If you perspired a lot, which everyone did in the heat, the sand in your armpits turned into a thin, gritty p
aste that rubbed you like sandpaper and left a red rash.
Gwen hated the sand almost more than the flies. It was everywhere, in everything, and impossible to avoid. Sandstorms were a common and constant plague. When the winds began to blow, even the most conscientious homemaker accepted that the fine sand would be everywhere, in and on everything. It came in underneath the doors, through cracks in the logs, through loosely fitted windows.
The stove proved to be a mixed blessing for Gwen. It was much easier to prepare their meals than it had been. There even was a small oven in which she could bake biscuits or a loaf of bread once or twice a week. But this was midsummer, when daytime temperatures often hovered as high as 110 degrees. In the confines of a one-room cabin, the heat became stifling. So, on many mornings, she didn’t build a fire. She would soak their cracked wheat in water, put a little sugar or molasses on it, and let that do for breakfast.
One day, while his mother was baking bread, Mitch was working in the small garden alongside the cabin. He heard a noise and looked up in alarm as his mother burst out of the cabin, staggering outside. Her face was beet red. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, and there were large, wet stains beneath her arms and around her neck. She was swaying dangerously and looked like she was going to faint. Sending Martha off to find their father, Mitch took his mother to the wagon, made her lie down, and laid wet compresses on her face, neck, and arms until Martha and Johnny returned with their father.
Thereafter, they only fired up the stove two or three times a week. Instead they built a fire out back to cook on each morning.
For all the hardships, life was good, too. After the spring rains, the full heat of summer brought out the stinkweed in grand profusion. It grew as high as ten feet and formed walls on both sides of the sandy streets that ran through town. Loaded with rich, purple blooms, it filled the air with a heavy scent and attracted swarms of bees. The plants grew so tall that they provided a welcome shade in which the children often played.
For Martha and Johnny, the whole summer was a grand adventure. The pioneer company that had arrived in the spring of 1880 had been almost one-quarter children, so they had lots of friends. The children had plenty of chores to do, but there was plenty of time for fun, too, especially in the evenings. And this wasn’t limited to just the younger children.
The favorite gathering place for the pioneers of all ages in Bluff was the old “Swing Tree.” On the riverbank just to the south of town was a huge cottonwood tree with a canopy of overhanging branches that provided a deep and welcome shade. Someone had the idea to hang a rope to one of the upper limbs and tie a swing to it. Because it was so high, the swing made a long, lazy arc back and forth. Children and adults would line up to take turns on it.
For all of the hardships and challenges, there was a great sense of community in that valley of the San Juan. And children being what they are, there were the usual pranks and mischief as well.
Mitch looked up from cutting firewood one day when he heard his mother calling him. He dropped the ax and went around to the front of the cabin. “Yes, Mama?”
“Have you seen Johnny lately? I sent him to the river for water half an hour ago.”
“No. But I’ll go find him.”
Before he even reached the river, Mitch could see that no one was there. He spun on his heel and started for the home of Ben and Mary Ann Perkins. They had two boys: Dan, who was two years younger than Johnny, and one Johnny’s age, who was also named John. These three had become like peas in the same pod. You could always find them with their heads together, giggling or playing cowboys and Indians with stick guns or makeshift bows and arrows.
Mitch stuck his head in the front door of the Perkinses’ house and called in to Sister Perkins, “Know where the boys are?”
“They were out back. Check behind the barn,” she called back.
“Thanks.”
“Tell Dan I need him to check the wash and see if it’s dry. Tell them to bring it in if it is.”
“I’ll tell him.”
The Perkinses had five children, so Mitch was not surprised to see freshly laundered bedding, towels, and clothes hanging on three separate clotheslines behind their cabin. However, the boys weren’t out by the clotheslines, nor were they behind the barn. Mitch went around to the corral. Not there, either. There was a single calf in the corral and several cows out in the pasture behind the house, but no little boys.
Not sure where to look next, he started back for the street. That’s when he heard a giggle. He stopped and turned around, looking for the source of the sound.
“Make sure it’s real tight, Dan.” That was Johnny’s voice, and it sounded like it was coming from the corral. Mitch turned around and retraced his steps.
“You hold the head, John,” Dan whispered. “And don’t let go ’til I say.”
Mitch lifted his head to call to them, but something in that sentence made him suspicious. Moving quietly, he started toward the corral. And then he saw John. He was facing the calf, holding on to a rope tied to its halter. But where were the other two boys?
As he moved closer, he saw a movement behind the calf. Curious now, and careful not to make a sound, he started to circle around to get a better look.
What he saw made him stop dead. Dan and Johnny were behind the calf, bent over.
“Tie a square knot,” Dan said.
“I did,” Johnny shot right back.
“Then let’s go.”
Mitch took a step closer, still not sure what was going on. To his surprise, his brother and Dan sat down on the ground directly beneath the calf’s tail. He chuckled. That was a recipe for disaster. If that calf suddenly did his business, they would be in the direct line of fire.
Then Mitch did a double take. They weren’t sitting on the ground; they were sitting on the lid of one of Mary Ann’s large laundry kettles, which had a rope tied to one of its double handles, and to which Johnny and Dan were clinging with both hands.
Mitch gave a low cry. And the rope was tied to the calf’s tail!
Two things happened simultaneously then. Mitch shouted, “No!” just as Dan shouted, “Let her go, John!”
With a loud bawl, the calf lunged forward, nearly knocking John down. The rope snapped taut. The pan lid, which was now serving as a makeshift sled, shot forward. Dan and Johnny whooped with joy as their heads jerked back.
Mitch stopped, utterly dumbfounded. In a wild panic now, the calf darted to the left, which snapped their sled sharply to the right. Johnny lost his grip with one hand and nearly rolled off, but he recovered quickly. “Yahoo!”
The panicked calf bucked and snorted and kicked back at the rope as it dashed wildly around the corral, which only tightened the knot all the more.
Mitch couldn’t help himself. He exploded with laughter. This was a sight to behold. “Ride ’em, cowboys!” he yelled.
The corral was not a large one, so the running room for the calf was limited. It darted to the right, whipping the sled in the opposite direction. This time it was Dan who lost his grip. The lid bounced a foot in the air as it hit a dried cow pie, and he went flying.
The laughter died in Mitch’s throat. Dan rolled over and over like a tumbleweed in a windstorm and bowled into his brother, mowing him down like a giant scythe. John screamed, then started to howl.
Mitch whirled around and cupped his hands. “Johnny. Let go! Let go!” Whether he heard that or finally saw the danger, Mitch wasn’t sure, but as the calf headed straight for the fence, his brother let go and went bouncing across the ground.
In three leaps, Mitch was yanking open the corral gate. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the lid bounce upward. There was a loud WHANG! as it hit one of the rails and left a two-inch gash in the wood. He darted into the corral, waving his arms and shouting. Seeing an escape, the calf burst through the gate at full speed, the lid bouncing wildly behind it.
“Are you all right?” Mitch yelled as he came up to Dan and John. John was still crying. Dan’s face
was white, and he had an abrasion over one eye. But both were okay. He turned toward Johnny, but just then he heard something. It sounded like the twang of a bow.
He spun around just in time to see the terrified calf plow straight into the bedsheet hanging on the first line. One horn hooked on the fabric. The clothesline bowed sharply, and then, as the calf jerked free, it snapped back. The calf whirled and plowed into the line filled with women’s and girls’ dresses. This time the rope did not hold. It snapped in two, and the whole line went down onto the sandy ground.
Hearing the noise, Mary Ann came bursting out of the house just in time to see the calf get tangled in the second line. Trussed up like a pig, the poor animal went down, taking two clotheslines and all the freshly laundered clothes down with it, eyes wild, bawling like its very life had been taken.
Mitch got to his feet, gaping at the havoc. Mary Ann Perkins came forward, her hands to her mouth. Then she whirled around. “Daniel!” she screeched. “John!”
Hearing a sound behind him, Mitch swung around in time to see three little boys running as hard and fast as they could as they ducked around the barn and disappeared.
Mitch turned back as Sister Perkins came slowly across the yard, clearly in shock. And then, Mitch couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh. In moments, he was doubled over, holding his stomach to stop it from hurting.
And then, after a moment of dazed bewilderment, Mary Ann Perkins sat down and did the same.
Note
The descriptions of Bluff and daily life in that small, isolated community come from several sources (see History of San Juan County, 72–73; Saga, 66–67; Lariats, 50, 64). The account of the boys who caught a ride on a dishpan lid tied behind a half-grown calf was shared by Mary Ann Perkins (Lariats, 54). Obviously, Johnny Westland is a fictional character and was not part of the original story. Also, the calf did not pull down the wash on that day, but that happened in an account of another child’s prank. The two are combined here to show another dimension of life on the frontier.
Only the Brave Page 8