The Undaunted

by Gerald N. Lund

  He shrugged. “So were Kumen and George.” Then, seeing her dejection, he tried to be a little more helpful. “In a way, it’s a good time. The camp’s not going anywhere. You can pretty well take care of yourselves here.”

  “If it’s any consolation,” her father said ruefully, “they’re not sending me out anywhere. I’ll be here to keep you company.”

  “And you leave in the morning too?” Abby asked David.

  “Yes. At first light.”5

  Notes

  ^1. George Decker, one of the lead drovers for the company, in an oral history given late in his life, said that the Paragonah portion of the company had already left by the time the Cedar City contingent reached the town and were camped a mile or two up the canyon. He says they did not meet up until the Cedar group reached the head of Little Creek Canyon (see George W. Decker account in Miller, Hole, 50–51). To simplify the narrative, I have them leave together.

  ^2. This vivid description of a wagon train comes from “Trail of the San Juan Mission” (as cited in ibid., 45).

  ^3. This information on the camp organization and the various families comes from several sources (ibid., 46–48, 143–46; Carpenter, Jens Nielson, 41–43; and Jenson, Encyclopedia, 1:801–2; 3:153–54). George Decker also noted: “At this place [Holyoaks Springs], Jens Nielson, Danishman, recognized as leading Elder, proceeded to organize his flock and lay down some simple regulations for the conduct of his charges, the people of the San Juan mission” (as cited in Miller, Hole, 50–51).

  ^4. “Dance Hall Rock” was evidently named by the San Juan pioneers because it became a natural gathering place for their recreational activities, including frequent dances. It is less than a mile from Forty Mile Spring. Currently there are interpretive markers at Dance Hall Rock and signs marking the short road that turns into Forty Mile Spring.

  ^5. When the main company reached Forty Mile Spring, which would become the main camp for several weeks, Jens Nielson organized a scouting party consisting of the four men named above (Miller, Hole, 57; Reay, Incredible Passage, 32–33). Though more specifics are not given, we know that the camp was organized and specific assignments were given, including having Willard Butt serve as foreman of a herd of stock which is variously estimated to have been from 1200 to 1800 head (Reay, Incredible Passage, 31). We also know that work on the road south from Forty Mile to the river began immediately (see Miller, Hole, 58). Since the Perkins brothers took a major role in building the road down through the Hole, and since the road south from Fifty Mile Spring to the Hole ran through very rough and rocky escarpments, I have given them the lead in the road-building crew.

  ^t.A desert bush common to the southwestern United States.

  Chapter 51

  Saturday, November 22, 1879

  Tedium.

  To Molly McKenna that was the worst thing of all. It was worse than the desert, worse than the sand, worse than the deerflies that came out in swarms to bite at your legs and arms and face. Day after day, in spite of the work assignments, in spite of the cooking, in spite of having to range ever wider to find fuel for the cooking fires, she found the waiting, the sitting around endlessly talking about what was going to happen next, nearly maddening.

  David and the other scouts had been gone now for nine days and she was starting to worry. David’s father—her other main source of diversion—was gone about half the time now. The road to the Hole in the Rock had progressed far enough south that the construction crews were taking bedrolls, returning to camp only every third or fourth night. Carl Bradford had been back one night from his drover duties, then had immediately taken another herd north. This time Molly’s father had gone with them.

  And so she was bored. She was in the doldrums. She was weary, in a malaise, listless, apathetic, sluggish. How many words could she think of to describe how utterly tedious life seemed at the moment? Abby had brought a few books, and spent her free time reading. She had offered them to her, but Molly didn’t have the patience for it.

  She abruptly stood up. “Mother?”

  Sarah looked up. She was darning one of Billy Joe’s socks, which seemed to be sprouting holes faster than she could keep up with them. “Yes, dear?”

  “Let’s invite some company over.”

  There were four other families parked close enough to the McKennas that they formed a little camp group of their own. They all welcomed the invitation from the McKennas, for ennui was almost epidemic in the camp now. Most of those who came were women and children. Like the rest of the camp, their men were off on one assignment or another.

  They made a party of it, bringing their food and cooking supper together. Once that was done, they sent the older children off with the younger ones to play while they sat around the campfire and talked quietly. As they talked, Sarah McKenna watched them, surprised once again at the bonds of friendship that had developed among them.

  Samuel and Ann Rowley were from Parowan. They were the family that had nine children with them. Watching Ann manage her family in these limited and trying circumstances had won Sarah’s open admiration. Samuel was on the road crew with David’s father and hadn’t returned yet, even though tomorrow was the Sabbath. There were also two young couples, both childless, traveling together—George and Alice Urie and David and Sarah Jane Hunter. Sarah Jane and George Urie were sister and brother. George was also on John Draper’s crew and was expected to return tonight. David Hunter was on Hyrum’s crew and had arrived just in time for dinner.

  Finally, there were the two Butt brothers. Parley and Willard Butt were also from Parowan and were among the many single brethren who were traveling in the group. They had returned the night before from taking a herd of horses down to the Escalante River.

  Sarah had to smile as she watched them. Willard was in his mid-twenties, sober of nature, and yet amiable and wonderful with the children. He was one of the lead drovers and so had been gone for over a week seeing to the stock. Parley was younger, closer to Molly’s age. He and David Draper had traveled together with the exploring party and were good friends. However, when Molly had suggested it was because of that friendship with David that the two brothers had decided to camp close by, David just hooted. “It ain’t me and Carl they’re hoping to get close to,” he said.

  As Sarah watched Parley, she saw that his eyes rarely left one or the other of her two daughters. While both enjoyed his company, neither gave him much encouragement.

  Abby looked up as a burst of laughter sounded above their heads. It was almost full dark, but the western sky was still light enough to show several silhouettes on the spine of the round, red-rock formation that guarded Forty Mile Spring. “Halloo the camp!” The sound floated down to them, almost ghostly.

  Sarah shot to her feet. “Patrick Joseph McKenna! You get down from there right this minute!” There was another burst of giggles and the figures disappeared.

  “It’s all right, Mama,” Abby observed. “I walked over there with Billy Joe earlier. The backside isn’t that steep.”

  “Makes those boys feel like men,” Parley observed. “They’re just having fun.”

  “Maybe it’s time we bring them in,” Sarah said, looking up anxiously.

  “If it worries you,” Willard said, “I’ll go bring them down.”

  She blew out her breath, then shook her head. “No, I suppose they’re all right for now.”

  Ann Rowley looked worried too. “Would there be any danger from rattlesnakes there?”

  Molly stiffened. “Are there rattlesnakes here?”

  “Hey, this is the desert,” David Hunter said, grinning.

  His wife slapped him. “Don’t you say that unless you mean it.”

  “This cold, most of the rattlers will be holing up now,” Parley said. “Besides, the way those boys yell and holler, any intelligent snake will be headed for Fifty Mile Mountain by now.”

  Ann Rowley suppressed a shudder. “I have nightmares about putting the baby down and—”

  “Don’t!”
Molly said sharply. Then, a moment later, “I hate this place.”

  They all turned in surprise. What had triggered that outburst? Even more surprising, Ann Rowley jumped in too. “I hate the thought of scorpions. They give me the creeps.”

  Sarah was giving Molly a chiding look, which she ignored. “Snakes, scorpions, lizards, beetles, horseflies,” Molly said. “How long are we going to just sit out here?”

  “Molly McKenna,” Sarah exclaimed. “What has gotten into you?”

  “She’s right about one thing, Mama,” Abby said. “We’ve been gone for over a month, and we’re not even halfway. And that’s the easiest half of the trip.”

  Sarah Jane Hunter leaned forward. “I have a question.” She glanced quickly at her husband for his support. “While we’re letting off some steam here, how do you feel about the prices our dear friends in Escalante charged us for supplies?”

  At that, Parley’s countenance darkened. “Charged? I think the better word is gouged. Willard and I were told that since we were missionaries answering a call from the Church, we would be able to buy provisions in Escalante at far below the going prices. Instead, they were double or more what they are in Parowan, or even Panguitch. I know that we got only about a fourth as much as we expected.”

  “If we were lucky and bargained hard,” Abby added. She was still fuming from her experience in the town. Her father was better off financially than most of the others, but it had strained even his cash supply.

  Sister Rowley spoke again. Normally she was quiet and reserved, and always of good cheer, but her eyes were flashing now. “Someone told us that the people of Escalante, on hearing we were coming, held a convention and unitedly agreed to double the prices.”

  There were soft cries of indignation and outrage.

  Sarah’s lips pressed together. This was enough. The mood had been so pleasant just moments before. “I don’t believe that,” she said quietly.

  “Don’t be too sure,” David Hunter said in support of his wife.

  Starting to feel a little beleaguered, Sarah turned to Sister Hunter. “I had some of those feelings too,” she admitted, “but when I complained about it to Patrick, he pointed out several things. Sure, the prices were high, but other than what they grow here in the valley, the settlers in Escalante have to bring in everything from the outside for themselves. Virtually everything in those stores came in by wagon. That’s not cheap. Also, just the sheer supply and demand would run prices up. Suddenly, two hundred additional people show up, wanting to buy up everything in sight. The amazing thing is that they weren’t higher than they were.”

  Abby felt a stab of shame. She had gotten angry, but her father had not, even though it was his money. Nor had David. She had complained to him, and he had brushed it off.

  “These are our brothers and sisters in the gospel,” Sarah said, almost pleading now. “I refuse to believe they are taking unfair advantage of us.”

  The group was silent in response to that, and Abby decided she wasn’t the only one feeling a little ashamed.1 But Molly wasn’t ready to give in. “Maybe so, but they sure gave us bad information about this route. We come all this way, and now we’re not even sure we can build a road through this country. And what about these so-called springs every ten miles? I think a better title for them would be Ten Mile Ooze, or Twenty Mile Mudpot.”

  Even Sarah smiled at that. The watering places out here were all in the bottoms of dry washes. Usually, the travelers found water only after digging holes and letting it gradually seep in.

  “And when we do finally get enough to drink or to cook with,” Sister Urie said, “we have to strain the mud out. I can barely gag it down.”

  David Hunter threw up his hands. “It’s not just the water. Don’t you get sick of having sand in everything?”

  “Especially in the food,” Molly said, jumping on that. “We have sand in our pancakes, sand in our scrambled eggs, sand in our stew, and sand on the bacon. I am sick of feeling my teeth grind or crunch every time I take a bite.”

  Sarah’s head came up slowly. “It does give a whole new meaning to hominy grits,” she observed, her face completely solemn.

  For one second they stared at her—then the laughter exploded, and the tension that had been building between them was gone. Even Molly couldn’t sustain her anger and began to giggle. “It does help clean your teeth.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” Ann Rowley managed between bursts of laughter. “But we are living on the world’s largest scouring pad.”

  Willard Butt was trying to hold it in. “If you ever need sandpaper, all you have to do is spit.”

  Abby bent over, holding her sides. “Please stop!” she begged. “I can’t sand it anymore.”

  That did it. They all collapsed as peals of laughter rang out in the evening air. As the laughter gradually died away, they heard footsteps. In the near darkness, three figures were approaching. Then John Draper’s voice was heard. “George, Sam. Ah be thinkin’ thare be sumthin’ strange goin’ on at our camp.”

  Samuel Rowley lowered the pick from off his shoulder and dropped it beside his wagon. Then he came over to his wife and gave her a quick kiss. George Urie came and sat beside Alice. “Want to share what was so funny?” he asked.

  There were several suppressed giggles, but Abby was the quickest. “We can’t.” Her head dropped in shame. “I’m afraid we were telling dirty jokes.”

  That brought new roars of delight as the three men gave each other strange looks. This, of course, only made the others laugh all the harder.

  Molly wiped tears from the corner of her eyes, fighting for control. When she had it, she looked up at David’s father. “I guess we could share one joke that’s not so bad. I got it from Billy Joe, actually, so consider the source, okay? Did you hear what happened to the cat who crossed the desert on Christmas Day?”

  John tipped his head to one side, not sure if she was serious. “Naw, Ah cahrn’t say that Ah know the answer ta that one.”

  She held her breath for a moment, fighting for control. Then it burst out of her. “He got sandy claws.”

  They howled in delight, slapping their legs and punching one another on the shoulder while the three new arrivals just stared at them. “Ah think they may ’ave eaten sum loco weed,” David’s father said to George. “It looks ta me lek they awl be daft in the ’ead.”

  Monday, November 24, 1879

  Gratefully, there was Dance Hall Rock. Molly smiled at that thought. How many times had she made that statement in the last ten days?

  “Miss Molly?” a voice called. Surprised, she looked up. Standing directly in front of her was Sammy Cox. Known to all as “the fiddler in the buckskin pants,” Sammy was one of those rare individuals who had a gift for making people smile. Short, lean as a buggy whip, and spry as a monkey, he was irrepressible in both spirit and body. Nothing seemed capable of getting him down. He had endless energy, was quick of wit, and could turn any complaint into a “chuckler,” as he liked to call them. He could make a joke about any and every challenge or hardship they faced. He was a tonic to the spirit, a salve to the soul.

  And now, with his fiddle tucked under his arm and the bow in one hand, he was grinning impishly down at her. “By golly, Miss Molly,” he cried, “by the looks of that lower lip of yours, the end of the world is going to happen before nine o’clock tonight.”

  “Or sooner,” she said, trying not to smile.

  “From the look of you, Sister McKenna, I don’t think we dare wait any longer.” He lifted the fiddle, stuck it between his chin and his shoulder, and ripped off two or three measures of “Turkey in the Straw,” saying, “Looks to me like you could use some cheering up.”

  She couldn’t help it. Laughing lightly, she said, “I was just thinking about how much I love it here at Dance Hall Rock.”

  He feigned sheer horror. “If that’s how love affects you, please don’t fall in love with me.”

  This time her laugh was genuine. People h
ad turned to look, and like her were responding to Sammy’s boundless enthusiasm. He stretched out his hand, took her hand, and pulled her up. “Come on, people,” he shouted. “This girl needs an injection of laughter into her soul.”

  He spun around, looking. “Abigail McKenna,” Sammy called out.

  Abby was seated with her parents a few yards away. She raised her hand. “Here.”

  “Get yourself on up here and help me cheer up your sister. Sister McKenna, I think we’re going to need you too. Abby don’t look much happier than Molly.”

  As Sarah got to her feet, Patrick stirred beside her. Sammy’s hand shot out. “Sorry, Brother McKenna. We’re only looking for purty ones tonight.”

  Now the laughter from the group echoed softly against the great stone face behind them. Several stood and started to move in around them to enjoy the fun. Sammy lined the three McKenna women up together, then looked around. Now his face took on a look of exaggerated perplexity. “Hmm,” he mused loudly. “I have three lovely young ladies here, hoping for a chance to dance. What we need is a man with the energy and nerve to dance with all three of them at once.”

  “Joost the job fur a wee Welshman,” a deep voice cried. Ben Perkins stood up and bowed to the burst of applause that rolled through the group.

  Molly turned to him and gave him an exaggerated wink. “Brother Perkins,” she called, “what will your wife think if you dance with all three of us at the same time?”

  “Ah’ll be forever grateful,” sang out a woman’s voice. “Me feet are tired.”

  That brought a burst of applause from all around. As Ben came forward, his short, stout body moving with an easy grace, Sammy Cox again put his fiddle up to his shoulder and stroked the bow across the strings a couple of times. “Brother Perkins, I know you and your brother have been working very hard on the road to the Hole, and I’m guessing you’re a bit tired. What would you like me to play for you tonight?”

  “Ah do feel a wee bit tuckered,” he said gravely. “So let’s start wit a couple of Welsh jigs, then maybe we could move ta the Virginia Reel ta give these sisters a bit of a rest. Once they’ve caught their breath, we could try two or three Scotch reels, a polka or two, maybe some schottisches. And for all of those with tired feet—” he turned and gave his wife a pitying look—“we can stop at some point an’ let the old folks do a couple of sedate minuets.”