David’s stomach twisted and rumbled ominously, reminding him that it had been twenty-four hours since he had eaten one small slice of flapjack. The five of them had built a good fire this morning. That was the one bright note about this place: There was certainly no shortage of firewood. Now they sat around it, trying to come to a consensus as to their next course of action.
The frustrations they were feeling were fueled by the natural irritation that came with hunger and also the frightening reality that their bones could easily end up bleached and bare in this trackless wilderness. As they debated what to do on this Christmas morning, there were several contrasting opinions. Striking out blindly seemed hardly a wise move when they were getting weaker by the day and had no idea how much farther they had to go. One thing they all agreed on: They couldn’t go back. They were at least eight days from camp, with no food and no hope of finding any on the way back. They could last four days, maybe five, living on water alone. But what if Montezuma Creek was farther than that? What if they got lost again? There was no margin of error now, and for the moment, they were almost paralyzed by indecision.
This discussion quickly gave way to recriminations and accusations. They shouldn’t have taken so much time exploring side canyons. They should have tried harder to find a way to cross Grand Gulch. They should have hobbled the animals two nights ago so they didn’t lose half a day trying to find them again. The estimate of eight days to find their destination was woefully inadequate. Whose idea was that? They should have brought more food. If they had brought a horse for each man, they could have made much better time.
Finally, recognizing what was happening, they fell silent. After a few minutes, the three older men—Sevy, Morrell, and Redd, began talking quietly about the families they had left behind. They were rightly worried. What would happen to them now?
David and George Hobbs were not married and so were left out of that conversation. But married or not, they had their own concerns. George was sick with worry about the sister he had left in Montezuma Creek. David shared the same concern for the Davis family. Those two families had been told to expect the arrival of the company somewhere before the first of the year. Yet the company was still months away. Were the families all right? Or was their situation as desperate as their own?
Suddenly, Hobbs stood up. “This is getting us nowhere,” he grumped. “I noticed earlier that the wind is clearing the snow off that ridge about a hundred yards above us. I’m going to climb up there and see if we can get a look above these trees.”
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled his coat more tightly around his neck and trudged off. After several moments, David stood as well. “I think I’ll go with him.”
But he didn’t follow George directly. As he had sat there, thinking about their situation, worrying about what the McKennas and his father would do if he never returned, brooding about Molly, he remembered Molly’s question to him just before he left. “If you get in trouble, will you ask God for help? Promise?”
That morning six days ago, there on the rim of Grey Mesa, he had dropped to his knees for the first time in over ten years and cried out to God. And the answer had come less than an hour later. He laughed softly, mocking himself. How was that for a remarkable coincidence?
He wasn’t questioning any longer, not in principle, at least. When Yaheeno, the old Indian, had come and saved their lives, that had been a turning point for David. He could no longer simply explain it away. And a mountain sheep that played “tag” with Hobbs until he led him to the bottom? Absolutely no question there.
But in both of those cases, the answer had come to bless others—Mary Davis, heavy with child; Emmy, the girl with fire in her hair; a missionary who had returned from England so as to accompany his son; the McKennas and two hundred and fifty other good people waiting back in camp. Oh, yes, he knew that if he and his companions didn’t get through, all of them would suffer. But what was weighing David down was a terrible fear that he wouldn’t make it, that he might never see his father again. Or Abby. Or Billy Joe. Or . . .
He veered to the left, leaving Hobbs’s tracks and striking off on his own. Twenty feet away was a large juniper tree. Beneath its spreading branches, there was no snow. Careful not to knock the snow off the branches above him, David stooped down and found a dry spot. Then he dropped to his knees. And once again he began to talk to his Heavenly Father.
George Hobbs turned around in surprise as he heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow.
“Any luck?” David asked as he came up to join him.
They turned their backs to the wind, which was whipping snow pellets past them, stinging their cheeks. George shook his head in disgust, lifting one arm to point to the east. “It’s clear enough, but all you can see in that direction is more trees and more mountain.”
David turned. He was right. They were on a series of rolling ridges, one following after the other, that formed the southern flank of Elk Ridge. That and the dense forest blocked any line of sight to the east. He turned. They were high enough now that they could look out across a vast expanse to the south and west. There the green carpet of cedars gradually gave way to the red desert beyond it.
“Good thing we didn’t spend any more time trying to cross Grand Gulch,” David said, marveling at the enormity of that great rip in the earth. From here they could see that it continued off to the south, widening and deepening until it disappeared in the distant haze.
“Yeah,” came the glum response. George lifted a hand and pointed. “Look just to the left of Grand Gulch. See that needle-like mountain way the heck out there?”
Squinting, David immediately saw it. It was almost ethereal, it was so far way. “That’s El Capitan,” George explained, “or what the Navajos call Mount Aglatha.v We passed just to the south of that last summer with Silas.”
David was nodding. “That’s got to be sixty or seventy miles from here.”
“That’s my point,” George said. “If we can see that far, then we should be able to see the Blue Mountains, if we could just find a place where the view is unobstructed.” He was stamping his feet to get them warm. “I know we’re close, but we have to know where we are. It’s the only chance we have to get out of this alive.”
“Agreed,” David said. “So how do we do that?”
Instead of answering, George lifted a hand and shaded his eyes, looking down, but more to the southeast now. Then he leaned forward. “Look, David. There’s a little knoll down there about half a mile. Do you see it? It looks like a little pyramid sticking up out of the mountain.”
“Where are you looking?”
“See the smoke from our fire? It’s whipping away in the wind, but you can see it.” When David grunted, he continued, “Now go a little to the left. There’s a lot of snow on it, but it’s a cone-shaped knoll. There are several large red boulders near the top.”
“I see it,” David cried.
“Go get the others. I’m going down there.” Not waiting for David’s response, he strode down the ridge half a dozen yards, then turned and plowed through the deep snowdrift that had formed below it.
By the time David got the other three, and they reached the base of the knoll, George Hobbs was already at the top. It was a near-perfect cone, and quite steep. David could see where George had slipped several times while clambering up the snow-covered hillside.
“Can you see anything?” Bishop Sevy called, cupping his hands.
“No,” came the jubilant reply. “I can see everything! Get up here!”
They followed his trail up, grabbing onto the limbs of trees or bracing themselves against rocks to keep their footing. They were all three gasping when they finally reached the top. But all of that was forgotten the moment they straightened and let their eyes turn to where Hobbs was pointing. What lay before them was a grand panorama, stretching out for a hundred miles in every direction except to the north, where Elk Ridge blocked their view. The juniper forest was like a great carpet rolling ou
t from where they stood, a rich green covering that continued for another twenty or thirty miles.
But what Hobbs was pointing at lay to their northeast. As they turned, their eyes widened in awe. Like a massive blot against the horizon, the dark mass of a small mountain range lay about ten or fifteen miles before them. They could see where the deep green of the cedar forest gave way to thick stands of pine, now brilliant white in their snow coverings.
“That’s the Blue Mountains!” Hobbs cried.
Instantly David knew he was right. He and several other men had ridden to the base of those mountains last summer. Just to the east of there, David had found a place where he decided he and his father would start a cattle ranch some day.
“Are you sure?” Sevy blurted.
“He’s sure,” David answered. “That’s them.” He half turned. “And look straight out there about twenty miles. Look just beyond where the cedars end. The sun is still a little behind it, so it’s hard to see exactly—”
Redd’s cry cut him off. “Is that Comb Ridge?”
“Yes!” That came from Morrell, who had never seen it before. But there was no mistaking it. David and Hobbs had told them about it. It was another important landmark to watch for. And now, there it was. It was a long, low ridge that spanned the entire breadth of the landscape below them, maybe fifteen or twenty miles away. But it wasn’t a flat ridge or the top of a plateau. Its upper edge was a jagged series of peaks, almost perfectly spaced so they looked exactly like the teeth of some giant comb.
Hobbs was suddenly choked with emotion. “Montezuma Creek is only about twenty miles east of Comb Ridge. Brethren, we’ve found the way.”
Sevy stared out in that direction for a long time before he nodded. “I would suggest that before we descend and return to camp, we kneel in prayer and thank the good Lord for showing us the way. Then we shall get under way as quickly as possible.”
“I have one other suggestion,” Hobbs said softly. They all turned. “I suggest we call this little mound of dirt and rock ‘Salvation Knoll,’ for it has certainly proven to be our salvation on this day.”1
“Amen,” Lemuel Redd murmured.
“And a Happy Christmas,” David added softly.
Monday, December 29, 1879
“Mama! Mama! Mama!”
Mary Davis gave a low cry, dropped the pan she was scouring out, and darted outside. “Emily! What is it? Where are you?”
Her daughter came flying around the house, hair blowing, legs pumping. She slid to a halt and threw her arms around her mother’s skirts. “There’s a man hiding in the trees.”
“What?” Mary started forward, then stopped. She felt her stomach drop. “Oh, Lord!”
James had taken Eddie and young James with him about a mile upriver to find a place to construct a waterwheel. He wouldn’t be back until after noon. She took Emmy’s hand and pulled her inside. She grabbed the rifle from above the fireplace, then touched Emmy’s cheek. “It will be all right, Emmy. Bar the door behind me.” She gave her a gentle shove. “Keep John and baby Ethel quiet if you can.”
“Is it Indians, Mama?”
She shook her head, even though that was the first thought that had sprung into her mind. They hadn’t seen any Indians thus far, but Peter Shirts,2 who had come in here two years ago to hunt and trap, traded with both the Utes and the Navajos from time to time. Mary constantly worried about being caught someday when she was alone with the children.
She stepped outside, waited until she heard the bar drop behind her, then gripped the rifle and started around the house. She jumped as a man appeared no more than fifteen feet away from her, walking swiftly toward her. He pulled up short.
“Mary?”
She froze, gaping at him. “David? David, is that you?”
“Good mornin’,” he said in a lazy drawl. “You wouldn’t happen to have a place where some wand’rin’ strangers could sit down and rest their feet awhile, would you?”
After letting Emily nearly smother David with her hugs, and little John climb all over him and tug at his beard, Mary sent Emily off to find her father and her brothers and bring them home as quickly as possible.
As soon as she was gone, Mary plopped the baby on her lap and sat down across the table from him. “Okay,” she said, half breathless. “Tell me how far back the rest of the company is.”
“You didn’t have any food for four days?” Mary was deeply shocked. “No wonder you look so haggard.”
“Thanks. We did eat last night with the Harris family.”
“Yeah,” Lemuel Redd said wryly. “And George Hobbs ate twenty-two of her biscuits.”
Mary was aghast. “Twenty-two!”3
“Yep,” David said. “Said he thought he was going to die, but decided it was well worth it. At least he’d die happy.”
“After going without food for four days,” Mary replied, “he could have died.”
The three men looked at each other. “After four days without food,” Bishop Sevy said, “it did seem like we were pretty close to heaven.”
There were five of them sitting around the Davis table in front of a crackling fire. The children were all in bed and asleep now. George Hobbs was, of course, staying with his sister, Elizabeth Harriman. The Harrimans had also invited Brother Morrell to stay with them, so it was Brother and Sister Davis, Lemuel Redd, Bishop Sevy, and David. Outside it was raining hard, and it looked like it would continue through most of the next day.
Bishop Sevy spoke up again. “The bigger concern now is getting enough food to get back. It took us twelve days instead of eight to get here. Hopefully we can shorten that on the return, but we can’t be sure.”
Jim Davis leaned forward. “Wish we could do something for you there. When our crops were washed out last fall, I took a wagon over to Mancos, Colorado. That was a shock. Flour was selling for eighty dollars a hundredweight. I was finally able to buy six bushels of wheat—all they had—and had to pay eleven dollars a bushel at that.”
David gave a low whistle. “Now, there’s a way to make some quick money.”
Jim nodded, quite grim now. “Fortunately, just the other day, Harvey Dunton, who joined us some time back from Colorado, gave Hank Harriman and me some wheat he had. We figure if we are really careful, we may have a sixty-day supply. But from what you say, it’s not likely you’ll be back by then. So, much as it pains me, I’m afraid we can’t spare anything.”
Redd spoke for all of them. “We wouldn’t take it if you offered. We had no idea your crops were lost, or we would never have presumed to replenish our supplies here.”
“I’ve already talked to George Hobbs,” David said. “Once we get back and get the company on the road, he and I are going to return with some pack mules and bring you wheat and flour.”
“You’ve got your own problems,” Jim said. “We’ll get by until you return.”
David shook his head. “Jim, we’ll be lucky to have the road through the Hole done by the end of January. And seeing some of the places we’ve come through, it could be the first of April before we make it. That’s ninety days, Jim. If my arithmetic is correct, that leaves you just about a month short.” He looked at Mary. “Your children are skinny enough already.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. And then she brightened. “Can I put in an order?”
“Sure,” David said. “What would you like? A piano? A feather mattress? Perhaps a new dress with a fancy parasol.”
“Salt.”
At his surprised look, she explained. “Eating boiled wheat that’s been cracked in a coffee grinder gets pretty monotonous, and it has a tendency to give everyone the trots, but a pinch of salt gives it at least some flavor. We ran out of salt several weeks ago.”
“Salt we can do,” he answered, sobered now. “You have my word on that.”
“So what will you do for food?” Jim asked.
Sevy and Redd exchanged looks, but Redd answered his question. “I met a trapper with a burro over by the fort this after
noon.”
“Peter Shirts?” Mary asked. “With all the beaver skins?”
“That’s him. He’s headed over into Colorado to trade his pelts, but he was also carrying a sack of flour. Took some hard bargaining and twenty dollars cash, but he finally sold us the sack. It has about forty pounds in it.”
“That’s not enough,” Jim exclaimed.
“It may have to be,” Redd broke in. He slapped his stomach, which was already as flat as a griddle. “Besides, we’re all getting a little plump of late. Do us good to cut back a little.”
Jim Davis got up all of a sudden. “I can’t offer you any food, but I can let you take two of my mules. That would give you two more mounts.”
“Don’t you need them for pulling your wagon or plowing?” David asked.
“We’ve got two more. That’ll be enough.” He motioned to them. “Come on, I’ll show you. They’re a couple of fine animals.”4
Sevy and Redd stood, but David waved them to go out without him. “I have a question I need to ask Mary,” he explained.
He waited until they put on their coats and ponchos and left before he turned to her. “All right, now,” he said. “I want an honest answer. How are you doing?”
She sighed. “It’s lonesome out here. I guess the biggest disappointment for me is knowing that I have to wait another three months to have some neighbors again. And the food has been a challenge.” Then her head came up a little. “But I’m feeling better than I have in probably ten years, David.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” There was a quick, ironic laugh. “Maybe it’s all that cracked wheat, but I’ve got energy—I do all the work and still can play with the children.” She touched his arm briefly. “It’s wonderful. And what about you, David?” Her eyes were probing his now.
“Well,” he said, sobering quickly, “I guess you know you ruined everything for me.”
“No,” she said in alarm. “How did I do that?”
“That little miracle you put together that day with Yaheeno and Po-ee-kon.”
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