CHAPTER VI.

Fort Mojave, at that time a mere collection of adobe buildings with no special pretensions to comfort, stood on the eastern bank of the Colorado River. It seemed to me, except for the extreme heat which made it an uncomfortable sleeping-place, a very haven of rest. The muddy river sluggishly wound its way to the gulf many miles below, and nine months of the year the temperature of every place on its banks was torrid. Fort Yuma, at its mouth, was noted for being a veritable Tophet.

A yarn illustrative of the general opinion of its climate is told of a soldier who ventured out in the middle of a July day, and never returned. Diligent search served only to discover a huge grease-spot and pile of bones on the parade ground.

Another tradition, very hackneyed to army ears, is that of a soldier famous for his wickedness, who, having died, reappeared, and was seen hunting for his blankets; the inference being that the warm place to which he had been assigned was not hot enough for one accustomed to Fort Yuma’s climate.

All ladies who have lived there supplement these ridiculous tales with more credible ones. It is quite true that eggs, if not gathered as soon as laid, were sure to be roasted if the sun shone on them. It is also a fact that those who had leisure to do so spent the greater part of their time in the bath, and Indians would remain in the stream for hours at a time, their heads covered with mud as a protection from the sun’s rays.

I soon realized that not being obliged to remain in so warm a climate was a favor, and rejoiced greatly when once more fairly _en route_, although the two days had been very pleasantly passed. We were furnished with a pair of mules, so our poor little mare could be led the remainder of the way, and we had as escort two men who were sent into Arizona with the weekly mails.

Our first day’s travel was pleasant; but when night came on we were alarmed at the number of signal fires on all sides, which indicated the near presence of hostile Indians. I shall never forget the shock experienced when I first realized that we were in danger from such a source. The past year had so accustomed me to Indians, that it seemed as if all tribes were harmless; yet the constant wariness of our escort soon convinced me of the contrary.

The part of Arizona through which we were then passing was such an agreeable contrast to our weary desert journey that I thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful pine lands; and the change, as we ascended daily into more mountainous regions, was delightful. Our second day from Fort Mojave, and the twelfth of that long journey, however, considerably dampened my ardor.

The road had been rough from the start, but nothing to be compared with what we then experienced. After a tedious ascent a long hill was reached, seemingly miles in length, and which must be descended amid boulders strewn all over the road. I was compelled to walk, with baby in my arms, picking my way as best I could from one rock to another. The time occupied in making the descent was three hours. My fatigue can hardly be imagined.

The wagon wheels were lashed together by ropes, which were held by men on either side; and even then the vehicle fairly bounded onward, each leap almost wrenching it asunder. I expected every moment to see it lying in ruins. That such was not its fate was entirely due to the care Mr. Boyd and the men took in guiding it safely between and over the boulders.

No hill I have ever since seen was like that, and no words are adequate to give any idea of its horrors. I felt every moment as if a single mis-step would launch my infant and self into eternity, and wondered if I could survive the fatigue, even if successful in placing my feet carefully enough to escape the greater danger. When finally our little company at the foot of the hill was reached, I sank, completely exhausted. Many days passed before I could step without feeling the effects of that terrible scramble in mid-air.

We had hoped to reach our destination in four days after leaving Fort Mojave; but each day seemed longer than its predecessor, especially as dangers increased. Our second night was spent in a military camp, and a detachment of troops guarded the highway. I could no longer doubt the necessity of exercising constant vigilance against hostile foes.

Every animal in the temporary stables had been maimed in some manner by Indians, who would steal in under cover of darkness and shoot whatever living thing they saw. The men were always in peril, even in their tents; and the officer in charge did not lessen in any degree my uneasiness when he showed me how his tent had been riddled in many places by bullets. He was then recovering from the effects of a wound received while pursuing Indians.

We had breakfasted, and were about ready to start next morning, when our attention was called to Indians’ footprints all over the garden spot which the troops had prepared for their hoped-for supply of vegetables. Alas for the poor people who in those days thought to make fortunes out West! No amount of energy, perseverance, or endurance, to say nothing of hardships bravely borne, could ward off the cruel Indians.

Although it may be justly said that our dealings with the red men were the primary cause of all the suffering, yet could the hundreds of settlers who lost their lives while endeavoring to make homes for themselves in the West be avenged, not an Indian would be left to tell the tale. My heart was wrung during those travels, when, every hour of the day, we passed a pile of stones that marked a grave. Arizona seemed to me a very burying-ground—a huge cemetery—for men and women killed by Indians.

In after-years I agreed perfectly with the common army belief that attempting to settle a ranch in either Arizona or New Mexico was simply courting an inevitable fate—death at the hands of ruthless Indians. History was ever new in those regions, and kept ever repeating itself. I frequently heard it said, referring to a comparatively recent settler:

“Well, his time will surely come.”

Whenever a ranch was in an exceptionally isolated region, the sequel would be accelerated. Indian horrors were every-day occurrences; and yet I never grew accustomed to them. Long residence among those much-abused frontiersmen taught me to feel that the early martyrs suffered little in comparison with the constant peril in which they lived.

But to return to our journey and its growing dangers. A number of soldiers escorted us through a perilous cañon outside of the little detachment post, where, at ten o’clock, our officer friend reluctantly bade us adieu, saying we were in great danger. Could his post have been left with safety, he would willingly have escorted us farther.

We rode on, feeling indeed very anxious, and soon met a Major of the Eighth Cavalry, who with an escort of sixteen men had been peppered by Indians’ bullets in a cañon through which we must pass the same day. As the escort of two men with which we left Camp Cady had not been augmented, our feelings may be imagined. There was no alternative; go on we must.

I now see that we were then too young and inexperienced to realize the dangers of our terrible position. It was, however, soon understood, and before entering the cañon at six o’clock that evening all warlike preparations possible under the circumstances had been made. A civilian had joined our party at Fort Mojave, and thus there were three outriders. The two sabres in our wagon overhead we took down and unsheathed, so that, when thrust out on either side, there seemed to be four weapons—at least we hoped the Indians would think so, and unless they came very close, the dim light would favor our deception. The gun was placed so it could be used at a moment’s notice. I held one pistol, and Mr. Boyd the other. The soldiers, with their bayonets bristling, looked as warlike as possible; and altogether we relied upon what eventually saved our lives—an appearance of strength which we in no wise possessed.

We had been told that the Indians, at least in that region, never attacked unless confident of victory; and we knew that unless they were directly beside us, the appearance our wagon presented, so covered they could not see its interior, and seemingly full of weapons, would indicate a well-armed party of men. Instead, there was one man, handicapped by the care of his team and the helpless nature of his charges—a feeble woman, an infant, and a diminutive heathen, who on perceiving the active preparations being made for resisting what he had so feared, became literally green with terror and altogether useless.

The cañon was so precipitous on both sides that we seemed to be traveling between two high walls. The rocks were of that treacherous gray against which I had been told an Indian could so effectually conceal himself as to seem but a part of them. The entire region was weird and awful. The sides of the cañon towered far above us to almost unseen heights, and as we slowly drove onward, our hearts quivered with excitement and fear at the probability of an attack.

We had proceeded some little distance and were feeling considerably relieved, when suddenly a fearful Indian war-whoop arose. It was so abrupt, and seemed such a natural outcome of our fears, that only for repeated repetitions I could have believed it imaginary. Others, however, quickly followed, so no doubt could be entertained of their reality. I had only sufficient consciousness to wonder when we should die, and how. I glanced involuntarily at our Chinese servant, who was crouched in one corner of the wagon in a most pitiable heap, and then at our poor little baby, bundled in many wraps and sleeping in her basket. All were silent. No word was uttered, and no sound heard but the lashing of the whip that urged forward our mules. Although they fairly leaped onward, yet we seemed to crawl. Cruel death was momentarily expected.

At last, and it seemed ages, we were out of the cañon and on open ground. Even then no time was lost. The mules were still hurried on. I have often thought that, like Tennyson’s brook, we might have “gone on forever” had not a large party of freighters soon been reached, who were camping in front of a blazing wood fire. Their presence gave us that sense of companionship and security so sorely needed. We joined them; and while I sat in the blaze of their fire, Mr. Boyd recounted our perilous ride. The conclusion was reached that we had been spared only because apparently so well prepared to resist attack. Any doubts which might have been entertained concerning the presence of foes in the cañon were dispelled by what followed.

I crawled that night under a wagon, for my nerves were too shattered to sleep without some kind of shelter if it could be procured, and my last waking thought was that our companions for the night would have to pass next morning through the same dangerous cañon, their destination being California. They started first, and one of the superintendents—there were two in the party—foolishly disregarded our warning and lagged behind. His mangled body was afterwards found horribly mutilated on the very spot where we had heard the Indians’ fearful yells.

It was a well-known fact that the savages would lurk for days in one place, and if disappointed by any party being too numerous or well armed, would invariably later on destroy some careless straggler. The freighters, having escaped such dangers again and again, would frequently become reckless, when they were almost sure to finally fall victims to their lack of caution.