With the farewells done, everyone stepped back as James helped his wife up into the wagon seat, then lifted little Johnnie up to her. As he joined them and took the reins, she turned and looked back. David was driving their second wagon and letting Eddie help bring along the cattle. Emily and Jimmie were on the seat beside him. David was showing Jimmie how to hold the reins, while Emily begged him to let her try it too. Just behind them, Eddie sat on Tillie, proud as punch that David was trusting him with his beloved horse.
Mary smiled at her husband. “I think the children are even more excited than I am.”
He snapped the reins. “I don’t think anyone in the world could be more excited than you, dear.”
Saturday, June 28, 1879
By Saturday, Jim Decker was quite worried. There was still no sign of the two men they had left behind, and they were rapidly approaching the area where they had confronted Po-ee-kon earlier. Decker was very reluctant to enter his land without having all of them together, and so he called for a halt. They nooned at one of the rock tanks. The water was almost gone, and by the time the last of the cattle finished drinking, it was little more than a mud hole.
After a quick consultation among the men, it was decided that they would make camp here and wait for the other two to catch up. Decker then took Parley Butt and rode ahead to try to learn if the bad-tempered Navajo was still around. He left David and Eddie in charge of the cattle and Jim Davis and his family gathering enough firewood to last for a couple of days.
To their immense relief, Decker and Butt came riding back into camp a couple of hours later, leading the two missing horses! They had gone only a few miles up the road when they came across two young Navajo braves who just happened to be riding the missing animals. Though it galled him greatly to pay out precious cash for what was rightly theirs, Decker wisely decided it wasn’t worth riling up the Indians, especially so close to Po-ee-kon country.
Parley Butt got a fresh mount, then, leading the two horses, started back for Moenkopi to find Niels Dalley and Ham Wallace. The others settled uneasily into camp to wait for their return.
“David?”
He looked up in surprise. He was standing night guard on the herd, seated on a dead cedar stump, thinking of Molly and his father. There was a half-moon, and in its light he saw two figures approaching. The voice was that of Jim Davis. “Over here,” he called.
They made their way over, Mary cradling her stomach with one hand and holding onto Jim’s arm with the other. “Mind if we join you?” Mary asked.
“Love the company,” he said, standing up and brushing off the stump for her. She smiled and gratefully sat down. Jim came up and stood behind her. “Kids asleep?” David asked.
“Except for Eddie. He’s talking with Brother Decker about what our new home will be like.”
“Hot,” David said shortly. “But that probably comes as no surprise.”
“No,” Mary groaned. “I thought St. George was hot, but this is terrible.”
They fell silent for a moment, watching the shifting shapes of the cattle and hearing the low sounds they made as they bedded down. Then Jim spoke. “Mary has a question for you.”
“All right.”
She gave her husband a quick look, but he nodded his encouragement, and so she began. “Is it true that this Po-ee-kon is the one who killed Apostle George A. Smith a few years back?”
David was not greatly surprised by the question. He had watched Mary’s face every time they had spoken of their experience with the Navajo on their way through the first time. He didn’t want to add to her anxiety, but he decided she had a right to know.
“Yes and no,” he said. “No because, according to Silas, it wasn’t the Apostle, it was his son George A. Smith, Jr. He was an Indian missionary down here with Jacob Hamblin and others almost twenty years ago now. But yes, according to the reports, it was Po-ee-kon who actually pulled the trigger. From what we’ve heard, the little group of missionaries were confronted by a rather hostile band of Indians. While Hamblin and the others were trying to placate them, George A.’s horse wandered off and he made the mistake of going after it alone. Po-ee-kon and a couple of others followed. When they were alone, Po-ee-kon asked George A. if he could look at his pistol. Not wanting trouble, the boy took it out and handed it to him. Po-ee-kon walked around behind him, then shot him in the back three times.”2
“How awful!” Mary exclaimed.
David nodded. “According to our guide, it happened within just a few hundred yards from where we were camped that night before we ran into him ourselves. Back then, Po-ee-kon was a young brave and maybe trying to prove his manhood. Now he’s kind of a sub-chief under his father, Kacheenay. He has a nasty reputation for hating white men.”
“You didn’t see him as you came back through, did you?” Jim asked for Mary’s benefit.
David shook his head. “We were traveling a lot at night by then to beat the heat, and there were only five of us and a packhorse.” He was watching Mary closely. “But you can bet that by now those two Navajos who had our horses have told him exactly where we are, exactly how many cattle we have, and exactly how many of us there are.”
She swallowed hard. “So you think there’ll be trouble?”
“I hope not anything serious. Po-ee-kon was the only one who had a rifle last time. He’s full of bluster and blow, and he may try to pick a fight, but we’re all carrying rifles and pistols. He’ll think twice about going up against that kind of firepower.”
“Well,” Jim said, “we’ll add two more to that. Both Eddie and James have their own rifles.”
“James!” Mary cried.
“I’m not talking about them fighting,” he said stubbornly, “but if it comes to that, having a couple more rifles in evidence won’t hurt.”
David reached out and touched her arm. “Jim’s right, Mary. The more guns he sees, the more likely it is he’ll keep a lid on that temper of his.”
“You think a thirteen-year-old and a nine-year-old are going to frighten an Indian chief?”
He shrugged. “You have to remember, by the time Navajo boys are nine, they are taking a herd of sheep out by themselves. They are taught to scare away coyotes, to drive a wolf or mountain lion off. No, if Po-ee-kon sees your boys with rifles, he won’t think of them as boys.”
“What if they attack at night? You said you had to camp there because of the water.”
Her husband answered that. “The settlers at Moenkopi told me that the Navajos have a great reverence for the sun. They believe the sun can see what they do and then tells the Great Spirit. If the sun can’t see them do something, then the Great Spirit cannot know about it, so they don’t like to fight at night. Is that true?”3
“Not sure, but that’s essentially what Silas said too.”
That seemed to relieve her a little, so he shared something else he had learned. “They also say that the Indians, including the Navajos, are superstitious about hurting or killing Mormons.”
“Really?”
“That’s what Silas told me. I guess our people have done a lot to help the Indians. And they’ve seen some of the missionaries give healing blessings. They think we have strong medicine, which makes it bad medicine for them to hurt us. I guess the idea of good and bad medicine is very big in their beliefs.”4
She squinted up at him. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
He straightened to his full height, then pulled a finger quickly across his chest twice. “Cross my heart and hope to die; stick a finger in my eye; if I ever tell a lie.”
She tipped her head back and laughed. “No wonder Emmy adores you. You’re a bigger imp than she is.” Then she got to her feet. “I know I shouldn’t worry,” she sighed. “I just can’t seem to get this knot in my stomach untied. And I can’t tell if the feelings I’m having are from the Lord, or just my natural tendency to worry.”
“Sorry,” David said, smiling to take away any sting. “I don’t know much about feelin
gs from the Lord. I’d have to go with the worry option.”
She gave him a quizzical look. “Yes,” she mused. “That’s what Abby said too.”
His head snapped up. “Abby?”
Jim was giving her a warning look, and she quickly tried to change the subject, but David wouldn’t let her. “What did Abby say? And when did you talk to her?”
She feigned a great yawn. “Put me to bed, James,” she said. “I’m suddenly very tired.”
Monday, June 30, 1879
Fully expecting that Parley Butt, Niels Dalley, and Ham Wallace would catch up with them soon, Jim Decker had them break camp about nine o’clock on the morning of the second day and start moving forward at a leisurely pace. His estimate proved to be accurate; the three men caught up with them as they were nooning. It was a great relief to all of them to be back up to full strength. Decker hurried them along, and they were moving east again by half past twelve.
About five hours later, they reached the area where the desert gradually gave way to low ground, which was mostly a swampy marsh with one large, muddy pond. It was surrounded by thick stands of reeds, cattails, and a few clumps of willow. The cattle, having gone all day without water, rushed forward to drink from the pond, and the drovers let them run. They wouldn’t leave this place without being driven.
They took the two wagons on past the pond for a short distance, where Decker pronounced they would stop until morning, even though there were still a couple of hours of daylight left. They quickly dug two or three shallow wells and found good water, though they had to let the mud settle out of it first.
While Mary was with the children, David quietly told Jim that this was the very place they had seen Po-ee-kon before, and that he should keep the children together and his rifle close.
It wasn’t ten minutes later that they heard a cry. Where the land rose gently to the north of them, five Indians were striding toward them. The lead one was a tall and powerfully built man in faded Levi’s but no shirt. He had a rifle in one hand and a belt of ammunition around his waist. The others were similarly dressed but carried only bows and quivers of arrows.
“It’s Po-ee-kon,” David said quietly.
All of the men of the camp were already gathered in around the two wagons, but they instinctively moved in a protective circle around Mary and the family. Jim Decker immediately began speaking in a low voice. “I want every man to quietly pick up a rifle. Just keep them crooked in your arm, muzzles pointed at the ground. We don’t want them thinking we’re looking for a fight. Mary, get the two younger children and keep them with you. Eddie and Jimmie, get your rifles and stand behind your father.”
He turned. “Parley, you get over there beside the rear wagon where you can watch the cattle. Don’t want somebody running ’em off while they keep us occupied. Ham, you and Niels take a position to my left where you can watch the trail. David, you’ll be my backup.”
As everyone moved into position, he lowered his voice even more. “I’m guessing it’s just the five of them, so stay calm. Don’t let them see that you’re scared.” He flashed a quick grin. “Even if you are.”
The sun was still at least an hour from setting, but the rays were coming from low in the sky. In the sunlight, the dark skin of the five Indians glowed like burnished gold, making them look all the more frightening. As David watched them come, he had to give Po-ee-kon his due. He was a commanding and intimidating presence. His mouth was pulled back into an arrogant grimace, and his eyes were like cold pieces of obsidian.
“He’ll try to provoke us,” Decker said. “But no matter what happens, stay calm. The Navajos greatly respect courage in the face of danger. No one fires the first shot, understand?” Then he turned to face the oncoming men squarely. “Ya’at’eeh,” he called, raising one hand in greeting. “Ya’at’eeh, Chief Po-ee-kon.”
His answer was an angry bark. “Go away, Mormons. This my land! You no stay. No cows. No water. You go.”
Decker smiled and nodded as if he agreed with every word. “We come as friends. We come in peace. We have gifts.”
“You go!” Po-ee-kon shouted, his tone ratcheting up from angry to belligerent. “No want Mormons here. My land. My water.”
“We must have water,” Decker said, still speaking slowly and with great calm. He turned and pointed to the piles of dirt where they had dug. “We dig wells. You have. More water for your sheep. Free to you when we go.”
The Navajo raised his rifle and shook it in Decker’s face. “You no stay!” he roared.
As casually as though he were simply getting more comfortable, Decker shifted his rifle from his left arm to his right. The muzzle was still pointed at the ground, but, casual or not, the Indian saw the movement and understood it for exactly what it was. The white men were ready to fight.
Po-ee-kon turned, muttering and cursing, and stepped back about ten paces. He motioned for the others to gather in around him, and they began talking in low, angry tones. Decker half turned. “Mary, we’re going to go on with our supper.” Her face looked totally drained of color. “Are you up to that?” he asked quietly.
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. They were having cold mutton, sliced squash, and corn bread. As she took a carving knife and began to slice the mutton, David thought he saw her hands trembling a little, but her face was calm. She looked to her children. “Come, help me.”
David turned his attention back to the Navajos. They were working themselves into a lather. Po-ee-kon kept shooting the whites threatening looks. David saw him staring at Mary as she moved to Eddie and started to fill a plate. He turned to the others, sneering. His hand moved back and forth in front of his stomach, emulating the shape of her pregnancy. There was a burst of raucous laughter from the others. Fortunately, Mary had her back to him and didn’t see it.
“Heap that plate up pretty full,” Decker suggested. “Put on lots of corn bread.”
When she brought it to him, he set his rifle against the wagon, took it from her, then walked forward a few steps. “Food,” he called. “Come. Eat. We be friends.”
None of the five Indians moved, so Decker set the plate on a rock and stepped back again. Po-ee-kon stared at it for a moment, then savagely kicked at the ground in front of it. A spray of dirt and sand flew into the air, covering the food.
“Just ignore him,” Decker said, backing up slowly. “Keep those plates coming.”
“Sit down in a circle,” David added. “Let’s eat as though they weren’t here. And no matter what, don’t let them provoke you. Just keep cool.”
Eddie brought David the second plate. He stood his rifle against the wagon wheel, where it was within easy reach, and took the plate. The boy’s eyes were wide and his hands were trembling too. “Easy, Eddie,” David said softly, smiling broadly as he did so.
As Eddie walked back to his mother, David sat down on the wagon tongue. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Po-ee-kon was watching him, so he reached down with one hand and adjusted his gun belt, pulling the holstered pistol a little more to the front. Again, it was not meant to threaten, just to remind them that he was still armed. Then he began to eat with gusto.
Po-ee-kon took three long steps and stood over David, glowering down at him. “You hitch horses,” he shouted. “Go now.”
David took a bite, not even bothering to look up. Again the Indian gave a savage kick, and again his moccasins sent sand spraying across David’s plate. Without so much as a blink, David took another bite, chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then turned his head and spat out a few grains of sand. He turned to Mary. “Very good,” he called.
Mary had laid the carving knife on the small wooden folding table she was using to serve the food. Po-ee-kon, seething now, left David and went to the table. Mary drew back, moving closer to her husband. Po-ee-kon snatched up the knife and started hammering it against the table, trying to break off the blade. When that didn’t work, he moved to a rock and tried again. Hands stole toward pistol butts. Po-ee-kon stared aro
und the circle for a moment, then flung the knife aside. He pulled a hunting knife with a long steel blade from a scabbard on his side.
He waved it in the air, turning slowly so as to face them each in turn. He stopped, looking directly at Mary. Though he was a good ten or fifteen feet from where she and the children were, David didn’t like the way this was going. He set his plate down and picked up his rifle, laying it across his knees, his eyes never leaving the Indian. So far, the other four braves were letting their chief take the lead. That was good. They didn’t seem anxious to start something yet.
“Steady, Mary,” Decker called. “He’s just trying to frighten you.”
She gave him a bright smile. “It’s working,” she said through clenched teeth.
Jim Davis moved over closer to his wife and motioned the children to gather in with him. He handed them plates, then beckoned for them to begin eating. Watching all of this, his face almost a mottled purple now, Po-ee-kon took a step forward. “Hey, squaw!” he shouted. “You take children. Go home. Or you die.” He brought the hunting knife up to his throat, then pulled the knife across it, the blade less than an inch from the flesh.
She never even looked up, and David felt a thrill of pride at her courage.
“You hear me, squaw? You go or you die.” The knife flashed again.
David jerked forward. Standing just behind his father, young Jimmie Davis had moved. His face was white and his hands were trembling violently, but the muzzle of his rifle was lifting. His father saw it too, and half turned his head. “No, Jimmie. Don’t you be the one to shoot first. Just stand still.”
That was enough. David got to his feet. Moving lazily, he walked toward the family, holding his rifle in both hands, the muzzle pointed to one side. He was pleased to see Jim Decker moving too. Then Niels and Ham were coming up behind him. One by one they moved over and stepped between the raging Indian and Mary Davis.
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