The Darkness Was So Black,
That, Like That Of Egypt During The Plague, It Seemed Almost As If It Might
Be Felt.
With a suddenness that was awe-inspiring, it became light as
noonday.
The lightning was of a brilliant, violet tint, and shone with
fervent intensity. And it was not merely a few flashes. It came down in
millions of jagged streaks, completely filling the heavens to the horizon
in every direction.
A Frightened Traveler. In one of these blinding flashes, I caught sight of
my neighbor. His face wore an expression of anguish. In his dread he had
arisen, and had tried to pick up his clothes and blankets, in the hope of
reaching shelter. In one of the sudden lulls of the tempest, I heard him
talking to himself: "Shall I ever live through this awful night? Can I
get to those cliffs? Why doesn't some one come to help me? I'm going to
die. There's no help for it!" Taking advantage of the next flash, I picked
up my blankets and carried them to the cliffs; then returned to him,
gathered up his belongings, and urged him to follow me. As soon as he was
secure, I spread out my sopping wet blankets in the first space I could
find. Wet through as I was, I rolled myself up in my wetter blankets, and
soon should have been asleep, had it not been for the moanings of the man I
had rescued. He wished he hadn't come; he was sure the exposure would kill
him, and he wondered why people were such fools as to take unnecessary
trips. Just then the storm waters from above, seeking their accustomed
drainage channels, found their way down to a rock which overhung my
sleeping-place as a rude spout, and began to pour upon me in bucketfuls. Yet
I vowed I would never admit that my sleep was in the slightest disturbed.
So I turned over in my watery bed, and kept up the play until morning came,
while the angry man complained the entire time. Funny? In spite of my own
misery, it was funny enough to make a burro laugh.
Two Days' Rest. It took us a couple of days to get well dried out, which we
spent at Tuba City, a Mormon town since abandoned by order of the Courts,
which found that it was illegally located on an Indian reserve. Then we
enjoyed a day or two at Moenkopi, watching the Hopi Indians at their
interesting occupations, caring for their fields, and preparing to go on to
Oraibi, forty miles distant, where the Snake Dance was soon to occur.
Camp at Blue Canyon. The heat was fearful - it was the middle of August -and
the sand made hard pulling for the horses. It was late in the evening
before we reached Blue Canyon. The road was uncertain, so we camped on the
rim above, leading our animals down, as best we could, to a Navaho hogan,
where we thought we might get water and some cornstalks for them. We got
both, and then decided to hobble the animals and turn them loose in the
Canyon, while we returned to our wagon above. The wind had come up, and was
blowing fiercely, so, in the dark, I chose for a sleeping place a piece of
ground that was somewhat sheltered from it. It was irregular, rocky and
rolling, and as the wind continued to blow, the fine sand blew over and on
to my face, while the coarser sand settled into my blankets. It was not a
refreshing and comforting night.
An Exciting Descent. In the morning, when we went down for our animals, we
found that they had broken through the flimsy fence of the Navaho, and had
worked considerable havoc in his corn-patch. The Navaho grumbled and
gesticulated, and showed unmistakable anger, but I took the matter coolly
and, after seeing the extent of the damage, quietly asked the head of the
family: "Tu-kwe peso?" (How many dollars?) On receiving his answer, I
offered to give him sugar and flour to that amount. We became friends at
once, and he invited us to bring our wagon down and spend the day with him.
As we were all wearied, we decided to do so. To save going around by the
wagon road, he showed us a quicker way of descent. It was a sand bank not
quite vertical, but as nearly so as ever any one drove down and lived to
tell the tale. So, harnessing the animals, we brought the wagon to the edge
of this sandy descent; then, tying all the wheels securely, so that they
would drag, all of us holding on to the hind axle and with weights trailing
behind, the whole mass went over. Though we threw ourselves into the sand
and held on to our ropes, it was only by expert driving that the animals
were kept from being crushed.
Experience with a Navaho Pilot. The next day we pushed on to Oraibi,
piloted by a Navaho. When we reached the western side of the mesa, I
decided to go up the foot trail directly to the village, so as to have
water and corn fodder awaiting the animals, when they got safely around to
the eastern side. The Navaho got it into his head that the wagon was to be
driven up the slope on to the mesa, an impossible thing without making a
road. There was a trail for horses and burros, however, and the driver
yielded to the Navaho's guidance. At last a sheer cliff was reached, up
which only trail stock could possibly go. There the party was, with four
saddle animals harnessed to a wagon, in a cul de sac, consisting of a spot
barely large enough for the wagon to stand on, a deep precipice on the
right, a steep cliff ascending on the left, and the animals ahead on a
sandy slope as steep as the one we had descended at Blue Canyon, a day or
two before.
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