Forty Years Among the Indians / A true yet thrilling narrative of the author's experiences among the natives

by Daniel W. Jones

Our Explorations—Arrival at Phoenix—We push Forward on our Journey—Camp Among Thieves—A Meeting held with Indians—Its Good Results.

We visited a few days with the Moquis, who received us very kindly. After taking into consideration our instructions to visit Salt River valley, we tried to hire an Indian to pilot us across the country to the Little Colorado river, wishing to strike it at the nearest point. We were told that there was no water on the route. No one seemed to want the job to guide us. Finally an Indian was found who said he would go for a certain number of silver dollars. We agreed to give him his price. We packed up, filled our water kegs and started out in the afternoon. The guide was to come on in the morning and overtake us.

We traveled a few miles and camped. Next morning the guide came up, but demanded more pay. Finally we consented. We had traveled but a short distance when he demanded another advance. This we did not feel inclined to make, so Brother Tenney told him we could get along without him. He then turned back. There was no trail. We took a southerly direction trusting to our own judgment to get through.

After traveling a few hours we approached near some hills where the country looked like there might be water. We turned off from our direction, went up into the hills and found a spring of good, fresh water. We re-filled our kegs and watered our stock. It was somewhat difficult as the banks were steep and the water was a foot or more below the surface.

All our stock drank except a little Mexican burro that would not approach the spring. We all got around him and pushed him up to the brink several times but he would slip away from us. We knew he was thirsty, but, donkey-like, he would not drink. At length we grabbed hold of him, lifted him clear from the ground and put him in the middle of the spring, where he stood quite still but would not drink; so he beat us after all. We named the spring Tussle Jack. I doubt if anyone has been there since.

On leaving this place we were forced by the formation of the country to bear in a westerly direction. Soon we struck dim trails. Following along we came to some water holes in a ravine but passed on. The trails soon giving out we again turned south. At night we made a dry camp; traveled next morning about two miles; still no trail. We found some water, but it was barely sufficient to water our animals. We continued traveling all day without a trail. Towards night we came to a large, dry wash with cotton woods growing along it. Having heard that the Little Colorado was subject to drying up, we thought this was perhaps the dry bed of the river. If so, we were in a bad fix for there was no knowing when we would reach water. Brother Ivins having a good horse rode out on a high hill to look for signs of the river ahead. The sun was just setting. He helloed back that he could see the river a few miles further on. This news was received with a shout of joy. We started on, traveling with the stars for guides. The country became quite rough and broken, and it was with much difficulty that we finally descended from the bluffs to the river bottom. We had to travel some time before getting to water.

We struck the bottom at a bend of the river where the direction of the stream was the same as our direction of travel. At length we got to water where grass and wood were plentiful. All felt happy, for here we knew by information that we would soon strike the main road leading to Prescott, Arizona. We had a map of this road and country. We had been traveling for some time through a strange country, but little known, some of it, even to the natives. We now felt as though we could get along with less anxiety. We remained a few days looking at the country further up the river so as to be able to report to President Young, which we did as soon as we found a chance to mail our letters. We now took the wagon road leading from the Rio Grande to Prescott, followed a westerly direction and soon reached the Mogollon mountains. The first night out from the Little Colorado we camped at a mail station which had two men in charge. They gave us considerable information about the country. Next day we reached Pine Station, a place then deserted. Here we met two men from Phoenix, Salt River valley, a Dr. Wharton and a Mr. McNulty. They had come out to meet their families, who were moving into Arizona. The night was cold and stormy. Next day was the same, so we laid over and had a good visit with these gentlemen. They were two of the most prominent men in Phoenix. McNulty was county clerk for several years. They both still live in the country. They were always kind and friendly to our people and never forgot our first friendly acquaintance in the lonely camp on the wild mountain road.

We left our letter at the first mail station. We got the direction from these gentleman as to the shortest and best road to Salt river, and as there were no natives to visit or country suitable for settling before reaching Phoenix, we concluded to take the shortest route. We were now traveling through a country that was considered somewhat dangerous, more from outlaws than Indians. The Apaches having been driven from their former haunts were now occupying the reservations at Bowie, San Carlos and Camp Apache, where they had recently been located by the management of General Crook. While crossing the Mogollon mountains the weather was quite cold. As we descended toward the lower valley the temperature changed very rapidly, instead of overcoats we soon hunted shade trees.

We were much surprised on entering Salt River valley. We had traveled through deserts and mountains (with the exception of the Little Colorado valley, a place which we did not particularly admire) for a long ways. Now there opened before us a sight truly lovely. A fertile looking soil and miles of level plain. In the distance the green cotton wood trees; and what made the country look more real, was the thrifty little settlement of Phoenix, with its streets already planted with shade trees, for miles. Strange as it may seem, at the time we started, in September, 1875, the valley of Salt River was not known even to Brigham Young.

Our animals were beginning to fail, as they had lived on grass since leaving Kanab. We bought corn at four cents a pound and commenced feeding them a little. Although Salt River valley is naturally fertile, owing to the dryness of the climate, there is no grass except a little coarse stuff called sacaton.