The Last of the Plainsmen | Page 7

bank we were
on. The dogs lolled in the water; the horses and mules tried to run in,
but were restrained; the men drank, and bathed their faces. According
to my Flagstaff adviser, this was one of the two drinks I would get on
the desert, so I availed myself heartily of the opportunity. The water

was full of sand, but cold and gratefully thirst-quenching.
The Little Colorado seemed no more to me than a shallow creek; I
heard nothing sullen or menacing in its musical flow.
"Doesn't look bad, eh?" queried Emmett, who read my thought. "You'd
be surprised to learn how many men and Indians, horses, sheep and
wagons are buried under that quicksand."
The secret was out, and I wondered no more. At once the stream and
wet bars of sand took on a different color. I removed my boots, and
waded out to a little bar. The sand seemed quite firm, but water oozed
out around my feet; and when I stepped, the whole bar shook like jelly.
I pushed my foot through the crust, and the cold, wet sand took hold,
and tried to suck me down.
"How can you ford this stream with horses?" I asked Emmett.
"We must take our chances," replied he. "We'll hitch two teams to one
wagon, and run the horses. I've forded here at worse stages than this.
Once a team got stuck, and I had to leave it; another time the water was
high, and washed me downstream.
Emmett sent his son into the stream on a mule. The rider lashed his
mount, and plunging, splashing, crossed at a pace near a gallop. He
returned in the same manner, and reported one bad place near the other
side.
Jones and I got on the first wagon and tried to coax up the dogs, but
they would not come. Emmett had to lash the four horses to start them;
and other Mormons riding alongside, yelled at them, and used their
whips. The wagon bowled into the water with a tremendous splash. We
were wet through before we had gone twenty feet. The plunging horses
were lost in yellow spray; the stream rushed through the wheels; the
Mormons yelled. I wanted to see, but was lost in a veil of yellow mist.
Jones yelled in my ear, but I could not hear what he said. Once the
wagon wheels struck a stone or log, almost lurching us overboard. A
muddy splash blinded me. I cried out in my excitement, and punched

Jones in the back. Next moment, the keen exhilaration of the ride gave
way to horror. We seemed to drag, and almost stop. Some one roared:
"Horse down!" One instant of painful suspense, in which imagination
pictured another tragedy added to the record of this deceitful river--a
moment filled with intense feeling, and sensation of splash, and yell,
and fury of action; then the three able horses dragged their comrade out
of the quicksand. He regained his feet, and plunged on. Spurred by fear,
the horses increased their efforts, and amid clouds of spray, galloped
the remaining distance to the other side.
Jones looked disgusted. Like all plainsmen, he hated water. Emmett
and his men calmly unhitched. No trace of alarm, or even of excitement
showed in their bronzed faces.
"We made that fine and easy," remarked Emmett.
So I sat down and wondered what Jones and Emmett, and these men
would consider really hazardous. I began to have a feeling that I would
find out; that experience for me was but in its infancy; that far across
the desert the something which had called me would show hard, keen,
perilous life. And I began to think of reserve powers of fortitude and
endurance.
The other wagons were brought across without mishap; but the dogs
did not come with them. Jones called and called. The dogs howled and
howled. Finally I waded out over the wet bars and little streams to a
point several hundred yards nearer the dogs. Moze was lying down, but
the others were whining and howling in a state of great perturbation. I
called and called. They answered, and even ran into the water, but did
not start across.
"Hyah, Moze! hyah, you Indian!" I yelled, losing my patience. "You've
already swum the Big Colorado, and this is only a brook. Come on!"
This appeal evidently touched Moze, for he barked, and plunged in. He
made the water fly, and when carried off his feet, breasted the current
with energy and power. He made shore almost even with me, and
wagged his tail. Not to be outdone, Jude, Tige and Don followed suit,

and first one and then another was swept off his feet and carried
downstream. They landed below me. This left Ranger, the pup, alone
on