CHAPTER XV
FORDING THE LITTLE COLORADO
At a bend in the road the Mexican guide galloped up near the
ambulance, and pointing off to the westward with a graceful
gesture, said: "Colorado Chiquito! Colorado Chiquito!" And, sure
enough, there in the afternoon sun lay the narrow winding river,
its surface as smooth as glass, and its banks as if covered with
snow.
We drove straight for the ford, known as Sunset Crossing. The
guide was sure he knew the place. But the river was high, and I
could not see how anybody could cross it without a boat. The
Mexican rode his pony in once or twice; shook his head, and said
in Spanish, "there was much quicksand. The old ford had changed
much since he saw it." He galloped excitedly to and fro, along
the bank of the river, always returning to the same place, and
declaring "it was the ford; there was no other; he knew it well."
But the wagons not having yet arrived, it was decided not to
attempt crossing until morning, when we could get a fresh start.
The sun was gradually sinking in the west, but the heat down in
that alkali river-bottom even at that early season of the year
was most uncomfortable. I was worn out with fright and fatigue;
my poor child cried piteously and incessantly. Nothing was of any
avail to soothe him. After the tents were pitched and the
camp-fires made, some warm water was brought, and I tried to wash
away some of the dust from him, but the alkali water only
irritated his delicate skin, and his head, where it had lain on
my arm, was inflamed by the constant rubbing. It began to break
out in ugly blisters; I was in despair. We were about as
wretchedly off as two human beings could be, and live, it seemed
to me. The disappointment at not getting across the river,
combined with the fear that the Indians were still in the
neighborhood, added to my nervousness and produced an exhaustion
which, under other circumstances, would have meant collapse.
The mournful and demoniacal cries of the coyotes filled the
night; they seemed to come close to the tent, and their number
seemed to be legion. I lay with eyes wide open, watching for the
day to come, and resolving each minute that if I ever escaped
alive from that lonely river-bottom with its burning alkali, and
its millions of howling coyotes, I would never, never risk being
placed in such a situation again.
At dawn everybody got up and dressed. I looked in my small
hand-mirror, and it seemed to me my hair had turned a greyish
color, and while it was not exactly white, the warm chestnut
tinge never came back into it, after that day and night of
terror. My eyes looked back at me large and hollow from the
small glass, and I was in that state when it is easy to imagine
the look of Death in one's own face. I think sometimes it comes,
after we have thought ourselves near the borders. And I surely
had been close to them the day before.
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* *
If perchance any of my readers have followed this narrative so
far, and there be among them possibly any men, young or old, I
would say to such ones: "Desist! For what I am going to tell
about in this chapter, and possibly another, concerns nobody but
women, and my story will now, for awhile, not concern itself with
the Eighth Foot, nor the army, nor the War Department, nor the
Interior Department, nor the strategic value of Sunset Crossing,
which may now be a railroad station, for all I know. It is simply
a story of my journey from the far bank of the Little Colorado to
Fort Whipple, and then on, by a change of orders, over mountains
and valleys, cactus plains and desert lands, to the banks of the
Great Colorado.
My attitude towards the places I travelled through was naturally
influenced by the fact that I had a young baby in my arms the
entire way, and that I was not able to endure hardship at that
time. For usually, be it remembered, at that period of a child's
life, both mother and infant are not out of the hands of the
doctor and trained nurse, to say nothing of the assistance so
gladly rendered by those near and dear,
The morning of the 28th of April dawned shortly after midnight,
as mornings in Arizona generally do at that season, and after a
hasty camp breakfast, and a good deal of reconnoitering on the
part of the officers, who did not seem to be exactly satisfied
about the Mexican's knowledge of the ford, they told him to push
his pony in, and cross if he could.
He managed to pick his way across and back, after a good deal of
floundering, and we decided to try the ford. First they hitched
up ten mules to one of the heavily loaded baggage-wagons, the
teamster cracked his whip, and in they went. But the quicksand
frightened the leaders, and they lost their courage. Now when a
mule loses courage, in the water, he puts his head down and is
done for. The leaders disappeared entirely, then the next two and
finally the whole ten of them were gone, irrevocably, as I
thought. But like a flash, the officers shouted: "Cut away those
mules! Jump in there!" and amid other expletives the men plunged
in, and feeling around under the water cut the poor animals loose
and they began to crawl out on the other bank. I drew a long
breath, for I thought the ten mules were drowned.
The guide picked his way over again to the other side and caught
them up, and then I began to wonder how on earth we should ever
get across.
