A MEMORABLE JOURNEY
How broken plunged the steep descent! How barren! Desolate and
rent By earthquake shock, the land lay dead, Like some proud
king in old-time slain. An ugly skeleton, it gleamed In burning
sands. The fiery rain Of fierce volcanoes here had sown Its
ashes. Burnt and black and seamed With thunder-strokes and strewn
With cinders. Yea, so overthrown, That wilder men than we had
said, On seeing this, with gathered breath, "We come on the
confines of death!" - JOAQUIN MILLER.
Six good cavalrymen galloped along by our side, on the morning of
April 24th, 1875, as with two ambulances, two army wagons, and a
Mexican guide, we drove out of Camp Apache at a brisk trot.
The drivers were all armed, and spare rifles hung inside the
ambulances. I wore a small derringer, with a narrow belt filled
with cartridges. An incongruous sight, methinks now, it must have
been. A young mother, pale and thin, a child of scarce three
months in her arms, and a pistol belt around her waist!
I scarcely looked back at Camp Apache. We had a long day's march
before us, and we looked ahead. Towards night we made camp at
Cooley's ranch, and slept inside, on the floor. Cooley was
interpreter and scout, and although he was a white man, he had
married a young Indian girl, the daughter of one of the chiefs
and was known as a squaw man. There seemed to be two Indian girls
at his ranch; they were both tidy and good-looking, and they
prepared us a most appetizing supper.
The ranch had spaces for windows, covered with thin unbleached
muslin (or manta, as it is always called out there), glass
windows being then too great a luxury in that remote place.
There were some partitions inside the ranch, but no doors; and,
of course, no floors except adobe. Several half-breed children,
nearly naked, stood and gazed at us as we prepared for rest. This
was interesting and picturesque from many standpoints perhaps,
but it did not tend to make me sleepy. I lay gazing into the fire
which was smouldering in the corner, and finally I said, in a
whisper, "Jack, which girl do you think is Cooley's wife?"
"I don't know," answered this cross and tired man; and then
added, "both of 'em, I guess."
Now this was too awful, but I knew he did not intend for me to
ask any more questions. I had a difficult time, in those days,
reconciling what I saw with what I had been taught was right, and
I had to sort over my ideas and deep-rooted prejudices a good
many times.
The two pretty squaws prepared a nice breakfast for us, and we
set out, quite refreshed, to travel over the malapais (as the
great lava-beds in that part of the country are called). There
was no trace of a road. A few hours of this grinding and
crunching over crushed lava wearied us all, and the animals found
it hard pulling, although the country was level.
We crossed Silver Creek without difficulty, and arrived at
Stinson's ranch, after traveling twenty-five miles, mostly
malapais. Do not for a moment think of these ranches as farms.
Some of them were deserted sheep ranches, and had only adobe
walls standing in ruins. But the camp must have a name, and on
the old maps of Arizona these names are still to be found. Of
course, on the new railroad maps, they are absent. They were
generally near a spring or a creek, consequently were chosen as
camps.
Mrs. Bailey had her year-old boy, Howard, with her. We began to
experience the utmost inconvenience from the lack of warm water
and other things so necessary to the health and comfort of
children. But we tried to make light of it all, and the two
Lieutenants tried, in a man's way, to help us out. We declared we
must have some clean towels for the next day, so we tried to
rinse out, in the cold, hard water of the well, those which we
had with us, and, as it was now nightfall and there was no fire
inside this apparently deserted ranch, the two Lieutenants stood
and held the wet towels before the camp-fire until they were dry.
Mrs. Bailey and I, too tired to move, sat and watched them and
had each our own thoughts. She was an army girl and perhaps had
seen such things before, but it was a situation that did not seem
quite in keeping with my ideas of the fitness of things in
general, and with the uniform in particular. The uniform,
associated in my mind with brilliant functions, guard-mount,
parades and full-dress weddings - the uniform, in fact, that I
adored. As I sat, gazing at them, they both turned around, and,
realizing how almost ludicrous they looked, they began to laugh.
Whereupon we all four laughed and Jack said: "Nice work for
United States officers! hey, Bailey ?"
"It might be worse," sighed the handsome, blond-haired Bailey.
Thirty miles the next day, over a good road, brought us to
Walker's ranch, on the site of old Camp Supply. This ranch was
habitable in a way, and the owner said we might use the bedrooms;
but the wild-cats about the place were so numerous and so
troublesome in the night, that we could not sleep. I have
mentioned the absence of windows in these ranches; we were now to
experience the great inconvenience resulting therefrom, for the
low open spaces furnished great opportunity for the cats. In at
one opening, and out at another they flew, first across the
Bailey's bed, then over ours. The dogs caught the spirit of the
chase, and added their noise to that of the cats. Both babies
began to cry, and then up got Bailey and threw his heavy campaign
boots at the cats, with some fitting remarks.
