Bucking the sagebrush; or, The Oregon trail in the seventies

Preface

THE following account of my experiences during my first trip over the Oregon trail, taken from a diary that I kept at the time and letters which I wrote home, I have written for a dear little friend, my son, so that if he lives to reach man's estate he may know something of his father's early life. Every incident actually occurred, and I have recorded nothing from hearsay. I do not claim accuracy in the distances given, as I had no way of measuring them except by rule of thumb.

The wonderful changes that have taken place in the Northwest during the past quarter of a century can hardly be appreciated by the best informed of the "stay-at-home" public. If the reader will turn to a map and note the several great trans-continental lines and their branches which bring that section almost to his door, he may be surprised to learn that in 1878 only thirty miles of railroad then existed — from Wallula to Walla in Washington.

Herds of cattle numbering many thousand iv Preface

heads could be driven a thousand miles, practically in a straight line, without meeting an obstacle in the shape of a fence to bar their way, and they subsisted for months on prairie grass alone. Every pound of food was hauled in wagons, for there were only a few points between the Blue Mountains of Oregon and the North Platte, in Wyoming, where a sack of flour or a side of bacon could be bought. Likewise, it was not uncommon to travel two or three weeks without seeing a human being other than your own outfit.

As to the truth of my statements about the Mormons, I will simply say that now it is a matter of history.

Possibly, I may have thrown a side-light on the cow-puncher, as I know him. To me he sizes up as other " humans," good, bad, and indifferent. He has one characteristic, however, which is most prominent — the fear of ridicule. To have his neck broken by a horse is awkward, to get shot is unfortunate ; but to appear ridiculous — that breaks his heart. Having a fellow-feeling in this respect and knowing that prefaces are apt to be wearisome, I will rope and tie this one.

I wish to acknowledge my indebtedness to my friend, Mr. Charles M. Russell, for the ad-

Preface v

mirable illustrations which he has prepared for this book. For permission to use certain smaller drawings by Mr. Russell my thanks are due to Mr. Wallace David Coburn, the author of that volume of spirited Western verse, Rhymes from a Round-up Camp.

C. J. S.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. — A Tenderfoot's Trials i

II. — In Mormon Land io

Chapter I A Tenderfoot's Trials

MY forefathers, I am convinced, must have been rovers by nature. I am led to believe this not only because they do not seem to have possessed ancestral halls and gardens on land that eventually became business centres in large cities and valuable for corner lots, but from an inherent restlessness and insatiable desire that I have for exploring new fields.

At the close of my school-days, I entered a real-estate office in Boston, where I acquired a pronounced dislike for all office work, together with a proneness to attacks of indigestion. However, after two discontented years there, my chance came, and in 1876 I left my position, which was paying me $5 a week, and against the advice of my family accepted a " board-and-clothes " proposition on a sheep ranch in Wyoming.

With my new employer I gladly left Boston in March of that same year, my mind filled with visions of all sorts of adventures, and the rapturous thought that I should soon be careering across the open prairie on a wild mustang, clad in buckskin, with rifle and pistol, spurs and sombrero.

My contract was for a year, and stipulated that in return for my work I was to receive board and lodging ; whatever knowledge of the business I could acquire in that time was gratis.

I served out my apprenticeship and six months more, which, in my opinion, was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. I was far from strong physically when I arrived ; the experience was likewise a hard one : but before I left I could eat anything that was rilling, with or without salt ; could go indefinitely without a bath, and knew what it meant to work from daylight to dark, six days in the week and half a day on Sunday.

Instead of riding mustangs, firing six-shooters and rifles as in my dreams, I was put to

A Tenderfoot's Trials 3

work digging post-holes, shovelling sand and hay, and for excitement clipping sheep. During the time for rest I had to saw wood, or a course of cooking was thrown in. I shall never forget the first load of sand that I shovelled. I was so completely exhausted before I got through that I had to lean against the wagon wheel to prevent falling.

The altitude of the ranch was seventy-six hundred feet, — about a thousand feet higher than Mt. Washington, — and that atmosphere was so rarefied that if the guileless tenderfoot attempted the slightest extra exertion he would find the wind completely knocked out of him.

After the first month or so my appetite grew to such proportions that I never seemed able to get filled up. On Sunday I would read the recipes in a cook-book and try to imagine how the various dishes would taste.

The ranch belonged to Sargent and Homer, both Eastern men, and was situated about eight miles from Laramie City, Wyoming Territory, on the line of the Union Pacific Railroad. Besides the owners, there were a young man named Balch, who, like myself, was learning the business, and two or three sheep-herders. The two bosses took their time at cooking, assisted by Balch and myself.

We worked in teams, and most of the summer was occupied in making hay and hauling fence rails and firewood from the mountains. In the spring we had the sheep to shear and dip, while in the winter we baled the hay and hauled it to a place called Tie Siding, a short distance from the highest point reached by the railroad and with an altitude of about 8000 feet. It was there sold to the contractors who supplied ties to the railroad company. The routine of our work was unchanged for months at a time ; one crew baled hay and did the chores for a week while the other hauled, and so on, turn and turn about.

We usually had our breakfast at 4.30 a.m., for in order to make the round trip — 25 to 30 miles, with one way all up-hill — it was necessary to make an early start.

Delays were frequently caused by our getting stuck in snow-drifts, but as a rule by two o'clock we had unloaded, eaten our dinner, and were ready for the return trip, and as, in that locality, the prevailing wind in winter is northwesterly, we always had it in our faces going home.

It was not an unusual thing to have the mercury go to zero or several degrees below, and the ride, which lasted two or three hours on an

A Tenderfoot's Trials 5

empty hayrack with no protection, was a tough one. Owing to the dryness of the atmosphere the cold does not penetrate as it does in the lower altitudes, otherwise we never could have stood it, and as it was, we frequently had our cheeks and noses frost-bitten.

The romance of Western life was soon knocked out of me, and many a time I felt like jumping an East-bound train and bidding good-by to the country for good. My pride and lack of money, however, stood in the way, and then, too, in spite of my hard experience I still yearned for the sombrero, mustang, and spurs.

During the first year of my stay on this ranch, my trips to the town of Laramie were few and far between. After seeing it once I did not hanker after it. Like all small railroad towns, it was small and rather depressing.

At that time, there were two residents, or rather frequenters, of the town who were, or became, celebrated. Wm. E. Nye, or " Bill Nye," the humorist, was one. His light was then undiscovered and he was sparring for wind on the meagre fees of a Justice of the Peace and Notary Public. I got to know him well and, like all others who came in contact with him, was impressed by his gentle nature.

The other man always reminded me of Nye because he was so different. His name was John Watkins — he preferred to be called Jack, and his wish was always complied with. Mr. Jack Watkins had been a star pupil of Mr. Slade, whose history has been written by Mark Twain, and he studied during the days of the overland stage. As many persons know, Mr. Slade's end was sudden, and at this time I think Watkins was about the last of the real simon-pure, all-around desperadoes left in that section. It was said of him that he never — that is while in the "city" — carried his "guns" insolently exposed. When the proper time came he would produce them from the bosom of his shirt. This fashion, I understand, first came into vogue in the " Seven-River Country " in Texas.

Watkins had taken a very great dislike to the Sheriff of Albany County and his deputy, Larry Fee, because they had been rude to him. They had so far forgotten etiquette as to attempt to arrest him while he was asleep in one of his hidden retreats in the mountains. When surprised, he bowed to the inevitable, but asked permission to roll up his blankets. This he was permitted to do. Then he promptly knocked down his would-be captors,

K wto

' •• *tfflfl

ONE YEAR ON A RANCH, '76

A Tenderfoot's Trials 7

using the blankets as a club, grabbed one of their guns, and escaped before they could recover their wits. He got away, but the memory of the attempted arrest rankled, so one day about noon he rode up to the court-house in Laramie City and made a call on the Sheriff. When he came out the Sheriff was dead and Larry Fee had a bullet in the hip, which disarranged most of his plans for a while. Watkins stopped long enough to get a drink and then skipped the country. Vague rumors drifted up from Mexico that he had reformed and was running a big freight outfit and Sunday-school, but they were never confirmed.

We had lively times in other respects also. In June of that year, 1876, the Custer massacre occurred on the Rosebud in Montana, about two hundred and fifty miles north ; and although there was little trouble to be expected from the Sioux, it was a very nervous summer, as the Shoshones to the north and west, and the Utes to the southwest, were restless and ugly, and no one knew when h — 1 would break loose.

To add to the excitement, two or three companies of the Second Cavalry, stationed at Fort Saunders, about three miles from Laramie, were sent to join General Crook on his campaign, which lasted way into the winter and brought Sitting Bull to his milk.

In 1879 the Meeker massacre on the White River Indian agency occurred, and in September Major Thornburg lost his life and a large part of his command while on his way to the scene of the trouble. In fact, until 1880 we always had some kind of Indian trouble on hand.

At the end of my year and a half I decided that I did not care for the sheep business, as there was not excitement enough, so I formed a partnership with a man named Rand and launched out for myself. My cash capital was small, and all Rand had was a ranch on the Little Laramie River, but we had lots of faith in our ability.

Rand had been in the West much longer than I, and was looked upon as being quite a stockman, because he had lived two years on a mule ranch in Missouri. Prior to that his life had been spent in a drug house in Boston. We soon discovered that we had not sufficient capital to be considered cattle kings, so we took in two more partners, one of whom was Balch, the other an apprentice on another sheep ranch. They also had been thoroughly trained in the business, one having worked in

A Tenderfoot's Trials 9

a crockery shop and the other in a brass foundry, and both likewise came from Boston.

Our copartnership papers were drawn up by "Bill" Nye. About that time Nye made the remark, " All the United States needs to make a navy is some ships, as they have all the water necessary." In the same vein he told us all we required was some cattle to become cowmen, as we had all the prairie at our disposal.

After the papers were duly signed and sealed and the transaction ratified with several drinks over the bar of Jack Connor's saloon, we drew lots to see which of the three juniors should join Rand in a proposed trip to buy cattle, and thereby lay the foundation of the colossal fortunes we saw in the future. I got the lucky number. I was then barely twentyone ; and when I now compare my sense of absolute confidence with my complete lack of knowledge of the business and of the country into which we were going, I cannot help feeling that, after all, youth is a glorious thing.

Chapter II

WE had been busy for a month or more making inquiries as to where to go to buy cattle. We did not want to buy a herd already made or one that had been brought from Texas, which up to the year before had supplied the market. We decided first to try southern Utah, and, if we failed to find what we wanted, then to go to eastern Oregon. In accordance with this plan, Rand and I boarded the train for Salt Lake City early in the month of February, 1878, our idea being to make that city our base while prospecting the country to the south.

Salt Lake City at that date was a small place in comparison with what it is now, yet, owing to the broad streets and length of the city blocks, it gave the impression of being a very large town. I had been so long away from any city that plate-glass shop windows

In Mormon Land n

and horse-cars had a quieting effect. We arrived in the evening, and as we drove down the main street it seemed to me that we were on Broadway.

Brigham Young had been dead about a year, and the Mormons ran everything as far as the municipal government was concerned. I was warned by a gentile resident to be very careful how I ran afoul of the police, as it was one of their pastimes to club the unwary unbeliever for very small cause.

The shops were all on the main street between Second and Fourth, south, and I imagine the bulk of their trade was with the gentile. The faithful, or Saints, especially those from the rural districts, did most of their trading at the Z. C. M. I., which means Zion's Co-operative Mercantile Institution. This enterprise was under the control of the Church, and I was told that the manager usually retired with a competence after a year or two. The office of manager was generally given to some successful missionary, to reward him for the years spent on starvation wages while spreading the Mormon doctrine in foreign parts.

The great temple was then only built to the second story and the tithing yard was in full blast. Every Saturday it was crowded with farmers' wagons bringing in their contributions to the fund. The Mormons have always been devoted to things theatrical, and in the days before the railroad they had many plays, most of which were rendered by " home talent." The Opera House had great seating capacity and, it was said, had the largest stage of any theatre in the United States. I was told on good authority that in early times there were bins built in the ticket office to hold the country produce paid in lieu of money for tickets to the show. I have no reason to doubt the truth of this, as the management was controlled by the Church, and even in my time the supply of money among the farmers was very limited. I presume the tariff read something after this fashion :

Gallery, 3 doz. eggs or a gallon of milk.

Proscenium box, 1 load of hay.

The streets were all well swept and the clear running water in all the gutters increased the aspect of cleanliness. A large proportion of the dwelling-houses were one and a half stories high, built of adobe bricks, whitewashed and sheltered by trees and surrounded by gardens ; in summer they were covered with vines. With the background of high, snow-capped mountains, it was a most beautiful spot.

There were some hot sulphur springs just north of the town, most efficacious as a cure for morning headaches as a result of too close a study of the manners and customs of the inhabitants.

All religious sects, outside the Mormon Church, were very tolerant. I remember going to a charity ball given for the benefit of a Catholic orphanage, or something of that kind, and finding that two of the Reception Committee were Jews.

A popular pastime of the town was that of matching coins. A man would walk into a hotel office, store, or saloon, and slap his hand on the counter, palm down, at the same time murmuring "ten times for twenty" or " five times for ten." This to the uninitiated was puzzling. What he meant was, that he would match any one in the crowd ten times for twenty dollars a time, or five times for ten dollars a time. Generally his challenge was taken. There was some very high poker-playing also, and I have known of games to last a couple of weeks. Those were the days when to own a silver mine meant " money in both pockets," and the mine owners " spent their money like roadagents." The gentile population of Salt Lake City was made up of mine owners, miners or speculators in mines, merchants, and railroad people.

I saw here for the first time two real Danites, or " avenging angels," as they were also known. They were the secret police of the Mormon Church. If any convert became weary of his surroundings or got disgusted and tried to leave the country, or if he bucked the authority of the Church, he disappeared from his " sphere of influence " and, with the help of these same Danites, tackled the " open door" or rather the " gates ajar." The one I remember best was named Porter Rockwell. He was a short, stockily-built man with rather a pleasant face, very deeply lined. He wore his hair long, but it was plaited in two pig-tails and coiled on either side of the back of his head. His chief occupation was getting drunk, and he was always in the company of two men. Report had it that these attendants were employed by the Mormon authorities to keep him from telling his tales when under the influence of liquor. Bill Hickman was the other, but he only appeared once in a while, as he lived on a ranch some distance off. If any one cares to hear more about these gentlemen, let him read the confession of John R. Lee.

From my own observations made during a period of ten years both in Utah and Idaho, I can state without qualification that in my opinion the true "endowment-robed Mormon" would stop at no treachery, deceit, or cruelty to carry out the orders of the president or the twelve apostles of the Church.

After a stay of about a week we left for the cattle country. The only railroad running south was known as the Utah Southern, with its terminus at York, ninety miles from Salt Lake City. We left early in the morning and upon arriving at York, took a " jerky " or onehorse stage to Nephi, some ten or twelve miles off. We had been advised to put ourselves under the wing of an old English Mormon named Goldsborough (pronounced Goldsbruff), who was a leader of the people and one of the original Mormon settlers who came in with Brigham Young. He kept the hotel at Nephi.

Our landlord was a man seventy-five years old ; he had five wives living, and we were shown his twenty-fifth child, a baby about two years old. His first wife was a sweet-faced English woman several years older than he, and whom he had married in the old country before he joined the Mormons. He told us he was a prosperous greengrocer in a small town in England when he "got religion." He sold everything at a week's notice and emigrated to Utah. The hotel was managed by the fourth wife, his first wife being too feeble to do much work ; the second and third were running his ranches, and the fifth kept a millinery shop in the town. The sons and daughters also worked in the various departments, so that the whole family made quite a lively firm.

The hotel, or rather the inn, was a lowstudded, one-and-a-half-story, rambling affair. In the public parlor was a big open fireplace piled high with blazing cedar logs, and it all seemed very comfortable after our cold, tedious ride. I can smell the burning cedar now.

We made a contract with Goldsborough to drive us in a two-seated wagon to a point about a hundred and fifty miles farther south, and started out a day or two afterwards. I doubt if there was a gentile, barring Rand and myself and a United States marshal, in the whole country, and I know that we were looked upon with suspicion and dislike, in spite of the fact that we were vouched for by our friend " Goldsbruff."

During our long drives he gave us a detailed account of the trials and hardships of the pioneer settlers. The poor creatures were between the devil and the deep sea when they struck Utah ; at times it almost meant starvation either to go or stay, with the added certainty of being held up by the " avenging angels " if they went. So they stayed and finally made fertile valleys and plateaus out of a sagebrush desert.

Mormon towns all look very much alike. They are more picturesque than those seen along the railway lines in the central West. The reason for it is the almost universal use of adobe brick, and in a great many cases thatched roofs. This may all be changed now, but at that time little if any building material was imported and everything as far as possible was made from home products. An illustration of this is the fact that the great organ in the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City was built from wood grown in Utah.

On this trip we received more evidence that there was practically no ready money in circulation among the people. All trading was done at the " co-op" stores. For instance, I saw a little girl trade eggs for matches in one of these stores, and I presume other staples were bought in the same way. These " co-ops " had some system of exchange with the headquarters in Salt Lake City, so that their produce was shipped to places, such as mining camps and railroad towns, etc., where it was sold for cash to the gentile, and credited to them against stocks of goods and groceries supplied by the head concern.

We spent a night at a town called Manti, and as there was no hotel we put up at the house of the bishop of that " Stake," it being the unwritten law that bishops had the first right to gather in the shekels of the hated gentile. In the course of conversation with one of the bishop's sons, we learned there was to be a dance given that night in the Town Hall. We were desirous of mingling for a short time with the 400 of Manti, and we asked him to get us an " invite." This he promised to do. We did not mingle, however, as the Committee opined that if any damned gentile showed up he was likely to get " thumped." Such was, and I have no doubt still is, the love of the Saints for the " white men."

We were at the very first struck by the number of deformed and half-witted children we saw in the different towns and villages through which we passed, but later we found out the reason.

In one town, I think it was called Ephraim's Field, so called from the fact that the land was all cultivated in one large tract by the villagers in common, we tried to find the bishop and called at four of his houses in search of him. Goldsborough told us, and this I will take my oath to, that this bishop was married to a mother and three daughters, and that some of the sons and daughters by these marriages had in turn married each other, or at all events there were grandchildren in the family without any outside " entangling alliances." To figure out the relationship of the second and third generations is rather dizzy work, but it explains the deformed progeny and idiots.

Most of these people seem to be of English, Swedish, or Danish descent, and a more benighted-looking lot of white people I never saw — nor an uglier. I don't remember having seen one attractive girl face during our stay, and we had good opportunities on Sundays to inspect them, as we generally brought up in a town where there was a orood-sized tabernacle. From the crowds I should judge that every man, woman, and child in the surrounding country was there.

I listened to one or two addresses, but don't remember much about them. The style was about what might be looked for in a kindergarten of the present day. Some persons may think that I am prejudiced against the Mormons, — I don 't think I am unjustly so. Any American citizen naturally would be more or less alarmed to find that a large and rapidly increasing number of his fellow-citizens (?) are blissfully ignorant that there is such a geographical division of the North American continent as the United States, and believe that the ruler of the country is the president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Such was the case in 1878 in many parts of Utah, and I have little doubt that in many of the small Mormon settlements situated in Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, Nevada, and New Mexico, the same belief holds to-day.

Many people throughout the United States are liable to think that Utah holds all the Mormons, but if they take the trouble to inquire they will find that the political complexion of all the States given above is very much influenced by the Mormon vote, which is absolutely controlled by the Church. I have read articles in defence of these people and was especially impressed by one, written, I believe, by one of the most prominent educators and divines of America after a visit to Salt Lake City.

The astuteness and tact displayed by the head men of the organization were fully demonstrated by the way they stuffed this eminent divine with prunes. This is not cattle driving, however, so we will return to our two-seated wagon.

After leaving Manti we kept on in a southwesterly direction until we reached the Sevier River, and followed it up almost to Beaver, when we gave it up as a bad job, turned north, and found our way back to Nephi, and thence to Salt Lake City. At Nephi I saw some of the finest freighting outfits one could imagine. Everything at that time had to be hauled in wagons to and from the railroad terminus at York and the settlements and mining camps as far south as Parowan and St. George. These outfits generally consisted of three wagons and were hauled by eight span of mules. The wagons were trailed one behind the other and the " tread " diminished in width from the " lead-wagon " to the last trail. This was done in order that in heavy mud or sand the wheels should not turn in the same rut, thereby increasing the risk of miring down; it also made them pull easier. The

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