The roads had now become so difficult that our wagon-train could
not move as fast as the lighter vehicles or the troops. Sometimes
at a critical place in the road, where the ascent was not only
dangerous, but doubtful, or there was, perhaps, a sharp turn, the
ambulances waited to see the wagons safely over the pass. Each
wagon had its six mules; each ambulance had also its quota of
six.
At the foot of one of these steep places, the wagons would halt,
the teamsters would inspect the road, and calculate the
possibilities of reaching the top; then, furiously cracking their
whips, and pouring forth volley upon volley of oaths, they would
start the team. Each mule got its share of dreadful curses. I had
never heard or conceived of any oaths like those. They made my
blood fairly curdle, and I am not speaking figuratively. The
shivers ran up and down my back, and I half expected to see those
teamsters struck down by the hand of the Almighty.
For although the anathemas hurled at my innocent head, during the
impressionable years of girlhood, by the pale and determined
Congregational ministers with gold-bowed spectacles, who held
forth in the meeting-house of my maternal ancestry (all honor to
their sincerity), had taken little hold upon my mind, still, the
vital drop of the Puritan was in my blood, and the fear of a
personal God and His wrath still existed, away back in the hidden
recesses of my heart.
This swearing and lashing went on until the heavily-loaded
prairie-schooner, swaying, swinging, and swerving to the edge of
the cut, and back again to the perpendicular wall of the
mountain, would finally reach the top, and pass on around the
bend; then another would do the same. Each teamster had his own
particular variety of oaths, each mule had a feminine name, and
this brought the swearing down to a sort of personal basis. I
remonstrated with Jack, but he said: teamsters always swore; "the
mules wouldn't even stir to go up a hill, if they weren't sworn
at like that."
By the time we had crossed the great Mogollon mesa, I had become
accustomed to those dreadful oaths, and learned to admire the
skill, persistency and endurance shown by those rough teamsters.
I actually got so far as to believe what Jack had told me about
the swearing being necessary, for I saw impossible feats
performed by the combination.
When near camp, and over the difficult places, we drove on ahead
and waited for the wagons to come in. It was sometimes late
evening before tents could be pitched and supper cooked. And oh!
to see the poor jaded animals when the wagons reached camp! I
could forget my own discomfort and even hunger, when I looked at
their sad faces.
One night the teamsters reported that a six-mule team had rolled
down the steep side of a mountain. I did not ask what became of
the poor faithful mules; I do not know, to this day. In my pity
and real distress over the fate of these patient brutes, I forgot
to inquire what boxes were on the unfortunate wagon.
We began to have some shooting. Lieutenant Bailey shot a young
deer, and some wild turkeys, and we could not complain any more
of the lack of fresh food.
It did not surprise us to learn that ours was the first
wagon-train to pass over Crook's Trail. For miles and miles the
so-called road was nothing but a clearing, and we were pitched
and jerked from side to side of the ambulance, as we struck large
rocks or tree-stumps; in some steep places, logs were chained to
the rear of the ambulance, to keep it from pitching forward onto
the backs of the mules. At such places I got out and picked my
way down the rocky declivity.
We now began to hear of the Apache Indians, who were always out,
in either large or small bands, doing their murderous work.
One day a party of horseman tore past us at a gallop. Some of
them raised their hats to us as they rushed past, and our
officers recognized General Crook, but we could not, in the cloud
of dust, distinguish officers from scouts. All wore the flannel
shirt, handkerchief tied about the neck, and broad campaign hat.
After supper that evening, the conversation turned upon Indians
in general, and Apaches in particular. We camped always at a
basin, or a tank, or a hole, or a spring, or in some canon, by a
creek. Always from water to water we marched. Our camp that night
was in the midst of a primeval grove of tall pine trees; verily,
an untrodden land. We had a big camp-fire, and sat around it
until very late. There were only five or six officers, and Mrs.
Bailey and myself.
The darkness and blackness of the place were uncanny. We all sat
looking into the fire. Somebody said, "Injuns would not have such
a big fire as that."
"No; you bet they wouldn't," was the quick reply of one of the
officers.
Then followed a long pause; we all sat thinking, and gazing into
the fire, which crackled and leaped into fitful blazes.
"Our figures must make a mighty good outline against that fire,"
remarked one of officers, nonchalantly; "I dare say those
stealthy sons of Satan know exactly where we are at this minute,"
he added.
"Yes, you bet your life they do!" answered one of the younger
men, lapsing into the frontiersman's language, from the force of
his convictions.
