There was a curt nod, then a smile. “All right. Five men it is.”
The meeting ended a minute later. But as the men started to file out, George Sevy spoke up. “Perhaps we could have a brief meeting with the five of us who are going, before we return to our wagons and start to pack.”
“Good idea,” Platte said. “Use my tent. We will go out and inform the others.”
They gathered in a circle, not bothering to sit. When the last man was out of the tent, Sevy began. Of the five of them, he was the oldest, though he was not yet fifty. Everyone called him Bishop Sevy, David had learned, because he had been the bishop in Panguitch for several years. He was wise and steady, a good choice to lead the group, as far as David could determine.
“Brethren,” he said, “Brother Silas has given me a rough map of the area that we have to cross. It’s hand drawn, and clearly there isn’t a lot of detail on it. Our job will be to fill it in. But in scale I think it’s pretty accurate. I calculate Montezuma Creek is about seventy miles in a straight line from where we are. I told Captain Lyman that we should allow about fifteen days for coming and going. If we average twenty miles per day, that would still leave us five or six days with the families at Montezuma Creek. He agrees and says he will post some men on the other side of the river to watch for us, starting twelve days from tomorrow.”
“Are you figuring twenty miles a day being on foot or on horseback?” David asked.
“Good question, and one we need to decide,” was the reply. “I figure we can travel pretty light. Take our bedrolls, some warm clothes, maybe eight days’ worth of food.” He looked first at Hobbs, then at David. “I say only eight days because I understand that you two helped those two families put in crops last summer.”
“That’s right,” both David and Hobbs said at the same time.
“That’s good. We can replenish our food supply there for the return trip. I’m not sure horses can get through that country. In some places, horses might even slow us down.”
George Morrell spoke up for the first time. He was from Junction, a town about fifteen or twenty miles north of Panguitch. He too was older than David or George Hobbs. He had left his family back in Junction until he could return for them. He was a solidly built man, quiet in demeanor, but pleasant and amiable. “I was thinking that maybe we might take one small burro to carry our food and bedrolls.”
Sevy nodded. “I think a burro is a good idea.”
Lemuel Redd spoke now. “Food for five men for eight days and five bedrolls is a lot for one burro. I’ve got a small mule that can pretty well get through anywhere a small burro can go.”
Lemuel Redd, or Lem, as most called him, was in his mid-forties, the second oldest of the five of them. He was a well-known stockman from New Harmony, which was about halfway between St. George and Cedar City, and he had run both sheep and cattle out in the desert. Jens Nielson knew him well and spoke most highly of him, saying there wasn’t a better man to have with them on the trail.4
Sevy was nodding. “My horse isn’t much bigger than Lem’s mule. I’ll bring him.”
David was smiling. It was suddenly as if there was a contest going on. “Well, I’ve got about as good a horse as you could ask for, but she’s a quarter horse and pretty muscular. I’m not sure that’s what we’re looking for.”
“Same with my horse,” Hobbs replied, “but Joe Lilywhite has a horse no bigger than Brother Sevy’s. He says I can take that if I’d like.”
Sevy was satisfied with that. “Then that’s it. We’ll take two pack animals and two horses. We can take turns riding, maybe switch off every hour or so.”
There were nods all around, and that was settled.
“No sense leaving too early tomorrow,” Redd said. “We’re not going to want to go down that trail to Jackass Flat in the dark.”
“Agreed,” Sevy said, “so let’s meet here at seven o’clock. The captain can give us any last-minute instructions and then we’ll be off.”
“And maybe a blessing,” Morrell murmured. “Sounds like we’re gonna need one.”
Wednesday, December 17, 1879
Once David had all of his things packed, he sought Molly out. To no one’s surprise, she was not waiting with the rest of the family around the fire, but was in her wagon. David went around to the back of it and tapped softly on the canvas. “Molly? Are you in there?”
He heard the wagon squeak with her movements; then she was at the flap and crawling out. He held out his hand and helped her down.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He peered at her more closely to see if she had been crying, but she quickly averted her head.
“I haven’t,” she said shortly.
“You haven’t what?”
“Been crying.”
That flustered him. “Oh, I didn’t mean to—”
“Yes you did. That’s just like you, David Draper. Thinking a girl’s going to be crying over you every time you ride off on your horse again. Which happens to be about every week.”
“Well, thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For not crying.”
She slapped him again. “But I was crying.”
He shook his head, bewildered as always when he was around her. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,” he said finally.
“Will you be careful?”
“Of course I’ll be careful.”
“No, David. Don’t be flippant. Will you really be careful?”
“I will.”
She hesitated, then gave him a winsome smile. “If you get in trouble, will you ask God for help?” Her smile broadened. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“Already plan on it.”
Her head had dropped, but it came back up sharply. “Really? You’ll really pray for help?”
“Yes.”
For a long moment she stared up at him, then finally nodded in wonder and satisfaction. “Then let’s go before all of my family are convinced that you’re kissing me back here.”
He laughed aloud. “Ah, Molly girl, you are a tonic for the soul.”
“I know,” she said cheerfully, giving him a nudge. “So go.”
Notes
^1. In Lyman’s journal under the date of December 14th, he states that he took some horses “down to a bench next to the river” (cited in Miller, Hole, 164). In a history dictated some time later by George Hobbs, mention is also made of this trail to Jackass Flat, but with this rather grim addition: “[The trail] was still so dangerous that nine head of the horses that were taken down to the bench below slid off to the river bottom, about 1,800 feet, and were killed, where they had fallen. This trail was subsequently useful in getting pack animals of the next expedition down to the river” (ibid., 85). Lyman’s journal also notes that Silas Smith came to the Hole in the Rock camp and held a meeting with the members there (ibid., 164).
^2. As it turned out, Silas Smith did not rejoin his company for another five months. While on his mission to raise funds and secure needed supplies, he became very ill. It was mid-May when he finally caught up with them, and by then they had been in Bluff City for over a month (see ibid., 83). Thus, Platte Lyman became the de facto captain and Bishop Jens Nielson the second in command.
^3. Platte Lyman recorded the following under date of December 17th: “Realizing the necessity of having the country more thoroughly explored ahead of us, I have talked the matter over with bro Sevy, and he has consented to undertake a trip through to the San Juan . . . and today he made a start with Lemuel Redd, Geo. Hobbs and Geo Merrell and 4 animals, expecting to be gone about 15 days” (as cited in ibid., 164).
^4. The information on George W. Sevy and Lemuel H. Redd, Sr., comes from Jenson’s biographical work (see Jenson, Encyclopedia, 1:800; 2:116–19).
Chapter 56
Thursday, December 18, 1879
The first day passed without incident, though leading their four animals down the trail from the top of the mesa to the river lef
t them all a little shaken. At one point, they were looking nearly straight down over a thousand feet, and far below they could see the carcasses of the nine horses that had slipped off the trail earlier and fallen to their death. Fortunately for David, he was leading Sevy’s horse, and he had to concentrate so intently on keeping her from stumbling that he didn’t have to think about how much he hated heights like this. But they reached the river safely and camped for the night.
This morning, they had swum the animals across and started up the eastern side. Both David and George Hobbs had been this way with the exploring group, so they led the way. Previously, Collett and Schow had taken them up Cottonwood Canyon all the way to where the canyon gave way to steep red bluffs. Back then, they had been on foot and had been able to scramble and claw their way to the top. Now the men had to spend some time with picks and shovels to make a way for the animals. Even then, the “trail” was so narrow and steep that they had to virtually drag the mule every step of the way up.
Near the top they found a narrow channel through the rock cliffs, which they immediately dubbed “The Little Hole in the Rock,”1 and they followed it until they came out on top. As they turned back and looked to the northwest, they fell silent. It was a spectacular view. The broad opening of Cottonwood Canyon lay below them, framed on both sides by a fantastic tangle of massive, rounded hills, deep side canyons, and sheer cliffs, all in the soft coral pink sandstone rock so common to this area. Beyond that, the light haze in the air softened the harshness of the tremendous gorge where the river had cut its way through solid rock. On the far side, now three or four miles away, they could clearly see the dark gash that was the Hole in the Rock. Even as they watched, there was a sudden puff of smoke and dust. A couple of seconds later, a faint boom echoed off the cliffs.
Lem Redd poked David. “Looks like your dad and the Perkins boys have started blasting.”
David laughed softly. “Playing is a better description. They were as excited as a bunch of kids with firecrackers.”
They let the animals rest for about half an hour while they refilled their canteens from a nearby rock tank and talked quietly about what lay ahead. When they pushed on, they made their way for the first couple of miles through sagebrush-covered flats with low sandstone hills on both sides. This was country with which David was still familiar, having come this far with Schow and Collett. But as they crested one of those sandstone ridges, they got a glimpse of what was before them. The outcroppings of rock and sagebrush flats through which they were passing were quickly giving way to a scene of nothing but round humps of rock, a hundred to two hundred feet high, which quickly became so numerous that they folded together to form a wall of convoluted rock that blocked the way in both directions.
They were following the rock markers Schow and Collett had put in place the previous summer. The small cairns marked a trail that wound its way between the rock escarpments. This would be no challenge for wagons. But all of that changed when they climbed a low ridge of grey rock. When they topped out on the ridge, the ground dropped away from them in a steep decline. The slope, about a hundred yards long, bottomed out in a narrow wash. Going down this would be challenging enough, for the rock was rough and broken up. One crack was deep enough to swallow half a wagon wheel. But it was what they saw across from them that made them draw in their breath.
Rising even more steeply was yet another wall of solid red rock. Most of it was too steep for even a man to scramble up. Sharp clefts were everywhere to be seen, some with sheer fifty- to hundred-foot cliffs. Directly across from them, however, two rock formations came together, leaving a wide gap between them. Centuries of rain and wind had poured through this gap and eventually shaped the bottom of the narrow defile into a huge natural flume.
David knew what it was instantly. Here was Collett’s “half pipe.” It was as if someone had sawed off the top of some gigantic drainpipe and wedged it between the two sidewalls of rock. It was about a quarter of a mile long and narrow enough that in some places the wagon wheels would be on the sidewalls rather than on the bottom. At the bottom of the flume, the grade looked like it was maybe ten or fifteen percent, but about a third of the way up, it suddenly angled upward at close to a thirty-degree pitch.
Bishop Sevy gave a low whistle. Lem Redd audibly drew in a quick breath. And George Morrell just gaped.
“We didn’t come this far with Captain Lyman,” David said. “But I’m sure this is what Schow and Collett call The Chute.”
Lem Redd leaned forward, squinting against the brightness of the sun. “It won’t be easy, but it looks to me like the rock has a lot of striations, making the footing good for teams. And except right there at the top, it shouldn’t require any work to get a wagon through.”
Ten minutes later, they stood at the top of The Chute looking back across where they had just come from. Sevy looked at his brethren. “We’ll have to double up the teams to get the wagons up this, but other than that I don’t see it as a serious hindrance. Not after what we’re doing at the Hole in the Rock. You all agree?”
As they nodded, he withdrew the map and made some marks on it. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go see this Grey Mesa they talked about, see if it’s as good as they say it is.”
“Oh, my!” George Hobbs exclaimed.
“Would you look at that?” breathed Lemuel Redd.
“Breathtaking,” Bishop Sevy agreed.
“Amazing!” said George Morrell.
David was the last to speak, and all he could say was, “Blimey!”
Once they had reached Grey Mesa, they had continued on another two or three miles, moving northeastward and making excellent time. The mesa was a vast, flat plain, two or three miles wide, stretching out ahead of them as far as they could see. They chose to skirt along the southern edge of it. From there they could see out across a vast expanse of badlands to the south of them. This marked the route of the San Juan River, but the water was hidden from their view. And then, almost in an instant, the ground fell away dramatically, and they were looking down almost two thousand vertical feet. And there, amidst the endless emptiness of the desert, the river was visible. It made a great, lazy bend—like a giant gooseneck—to get around a massive fortress of solid rock that blocked its way. It passed almost directly below where they stood before turning south again to make its way on down to the Colorado River.
“So that’s what they meant?” David said in wonder.
Sevy turned to him. “Who?”
“Schow and Collett,” David said. He looked at Hobbs. “Remember? They said that after The Chute they came up on the mesa and continued on until they could see the river.”
“That’s right,” Hobbs said with excitement. He turned and looked around. Then he pointed. “Look,” he said. “There’s another rock cairn.” He was pointing to a small triangular pile of rocks about twenty yards away, right near the edge. “You’re right. They were here.”
“Unfortunately,” David said, “this is as far as they went. We’re on our own now.”
Because of its gentle rise, even on horseback Grey Mesa looked as though it continued on for a great distance ahead of them. Then the five scouts began to notice that, in the far distance, the maze of canyons that had been on their south around the San Juan River seemed to be swinging around to the north, filling the full horizon directly in front of them. No one said much, but they all watched it with growing feelings of uneasiness.
Then something else caught their attention. George Morrell saw them first. “Look at that.”
All heads turned to see where he was pointing. No more than fifty yards to their left, a herd of some kind of small animal was moving along parallel with their path. Their heads kept turning to look at the men. Several had impressive sets of curved horns.
“Well, I’ll be,” Hobbs exclaimed. “They’re llamas.”
“Llamas?” Lem Redd said. “No, llamas come from South America.” He lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the sun, which was nearing its ze
nith. “No, I think they’re mountain sheep.”
“That’s exactly what they are,” Bishop Sevy said, “only down this far south we call them desert mountain sheep. We’ve got a good-sized herd up around Escalante.”
“That can’t be,” David said, peering more closely at them. “We had them up in Wyoming, and these aren’t big enough. And not only that, mountain sheep are about as shy as any animal you can name. We’d be lucky to see them at all up there. They could spot us as much as half a mile away and they’d be off like a shot. But look at these. It’s like they’re actually following us.”
“They’re just curious,” Morrell said. “I’ll bet they’ve never seen humans out here before.”
Sevy went to his horse and retrieved a pair of binoculars. While the others moved closer, he focused them on the herd. After a moment, he said, “They’re mountain sheep all right.” He began to count under his breath. “I count fourteen of them.” He let out a soft exclamation. “They’re beautiful.” He handed the glasses to Redd. “Take a look.”
One by one they took turns examining the herd. Only when it was his turn was David convinced. “They’re quite a bit smaller than the ones we used to see in the Laramie Mountains,” he noted. “But they sure are beautiful.”
For the next half an hour, the sheep matched their pace, sometimes moving farther away from the men, sometimes moving to within twenty-five or thirty yards of them. And then, as if they had been given a signal, they broke into a graceful trot, kicking up little puffs of dust. In moments, they were out about two hundred yards and growing smaller every moment.
And then they simply disappeared!
“Whoa!” Sevy cried, coming to a halt. He grabbed the field glasses again and scanned the place where they had last seen the sheep. “Where did they go?”
It took them only about five minutes to answer that question, and with the answer, their optimism and hopes for continuing rapid progress were dashed. In a change so abrupt as to be visually startling, Grey Mesa came to an end. In a matter of just a few yards, the sagebrush-covered ground dropped sharply away and the men looked down three or four hundred feet upon a labyrinth of barren, slick-rock cliffs, gulches, gulleys, and washes. And that sight stretched out ahead of them for as far as they could see to the right and to the left.
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