In the morning a pair of bronchos—that is, recently broken wild horses—made the camp lively for a time, but they were subdued and the caravan again got under way. Our next camp was to be Jacob's Pools, so called from the fact that Jacob was the first white man to camp there. We had gone only a mile or so when we crossed in a small canyon a little stream already enjoying two names, Clear and Spring (now called Badger) Creek, and a little farther on another called Soap Creek, still holding that name.[25] When first travellers enter a country they naturally bestow names on important objects, and two or three parties of white men who had passed this way had named these two creeks. After this we had no more water, and we pushed slowly ahead, looking for the Pools. Snow began to fall again in widely scattered, reluctant flakes, but melted on touching the ground. Late in the afternoon the trail turned the corner of the cliffs, which here broke to the west, and we saw a wide, desolate open plain stretching away to the foot of a distant table-land, which we knew to be the Kaibab Plateau or Buckskin Mountain. None of the party had been over the trail before, but it was easy to follow, especially for a man of Riley's experience. It was an old Navajo trail, and was here fairly well worn. The sun went down as we plodded on, the light faded from the west, and still we saw no Jacob's Pools. The air was biting, and with our thin, worn garments we felt it keenly and wished for a fire. At last just as the darkness began to thicken a patch of reeds on the right between some low hills was discovered, where it seemed there might be water, and we could not well go farther. The ground was moist, and by digging a hole we secured red, muddy liquid enough for Andy to make a little bread and a cup apiece of very poor coffee. The men and animals came straggling in out of the darkness. We gathered a lot of sage-brush and made a fire, and as soon as Jones came we lifted him off and put him as near the warmth as possible, for he was chilled through. There was no water for the stock, but the grass was wet and they did not suffer. Everything was damp and uncomfortable, and the fire was too small to dry anything out, so all turned in to the limited blankets and passed a cold, half-sleepless, uncomfortable night.
Morning was a relief, though the thermometer stood at 11 F. There was water enough in the holes for breakfast, and as soon as this meal was over the pack-train was on the move towards Jacob's Pools, which we found not two miles farther on. There were two of them, each seven or eight feet long, supplied by fine clear water oozing out of a hill-side. The lower one we turned over to the animals, reserving the upper for ourselves. We approached the plateau all day, and late in the afternoon we were within three or four miles of it, when the right-hand cliffs turned sharply to the north in a line parallel with the plateau, forming a long narrow valley. Cedars and piñons now grew about us, so that we were assured of a good fire. About sunset we passed two large boulders which had fallen together, forming a rude shelter, under which Riggs or some one else had slept, and then had jocosely printed above with charcoal the words "Rock House Hotel." Afterward this had served as identification, and Jacob and the others had spoken of "House Rock" Spring and House Rock Valley. We called it the same, and finally it went on the maps and is now permanent. A few yards beyond the House Rock the trail led into a gulch, at the head of which was a good spring. Plenty of cedars and piñons grew about, and we soon had a fire that compensated for the meagre ones of the preceding nights. The sick men became warm and dry, and we all felt much better. The whole outfit halted two days, and on the second the poor little steer, gazing sadly at us, was shot and cut up. In an hour the quarters were swinging from a tree and some of the beef was in the pan. Necessity is a sauce that makes every grist palatable. We were hungry, and nothing could have tasted better than that fresh beefsteak. The entrails and refuse were left on the ground in the neighbouring gulley where we had killed the steer, and next morning the place was about cleaned up by the lurking wolves.
Prof. decided to go on across the Kaibab to Kanab with the two very sick men, and leave Cap., Clem, Andy, and me here at House Rock Spring until the plan for the winter's campaign had been better formulated. Steward concluded that his condition was too precarious to risk further exposure, and said he would now leave the expedition permanently, which we learned with deep regret, but it was plainly imperative. Jones thought that a week or two of warmth and rest, accompanied by a change of diet, would make him whole again and enable him to stay till the end of our special task. On Saturday, November 11th, the party started, with the invalids riding the gentlest and easiest horses, though Steward found it less painful at times to walk. I accompanied them to the summit of the Kaibab to bring back one of the horses we called Thunderbolt, on which Jones was to be carried to the top and there change to Doc. After I left them I halted many times to look out into the wonderful land to the west and north. When I got back to the spring, our Camp 3 of the land operations, we immediately set up a stout 6 by 8 tent that was in the outfit brought from Kanab, and it made a very snug sleeping-place for the four of us. Around the fire we rolled big stones for seats, and soon had the gulch in a homelike condition. There was an abundance of dead, fat piñon, which burned like a candle, and we could easily extend our reading into the evenings.
From all around us there arose the frequent bay and bark of the wolves. They were of different kinds, numerous and rather bold. At night they came in and cleared up what was left of the entrails of the steer, also securing a fine, large piece of beef which Cap. had hung in a tree, but not high enough to escape their efforts. We took turns bringing the four horses left with us to water, and in that way kept ourselves informed about them. During these trips, especially in the late afternoon, the wolves were apt to trot along near by, and on one occasion Clem was obliged to drive one out of the trail with stones, not having his rifle. One morning, as I was riding along not far from camp, a huge whitish fellow followed behind like a dog about twenty yards back, licking his chaps. At first I thought he might be the dog of some Indian camped near, but remembering that there were none in the valley, and also that an Indian dog, or any strange dog, would have run from me, I saw that he was a hungry wolf unused to man. I had no rifle with me, but I took a walk over the same ground next morning with my Winchester, hoping to see my acquaintance again, but he discreetly kept out of sight. We had little now to occupy us except to examine the locality, chop wood for our fire, and read over and over the newspapers and magazines. The nights were very cold, the spring always freezing over, but the days were delightful. The beef had to be jerked to preserve it. We cut it up into thin long strips, which we strung through the ends on long withes, these in turn being hung on a framework that left the strips swinging within two or three feet of a slow fire. One hour's neglect of this tempting array would have seen it vanish to the four winds, so we kept a constant watch day and night, taking turns through the dark hours. Every article which had grease or leather about it had to be carefully put away to prevent its disappearance. Riley had lost his spurs on the way out from this cause, the leather on them making sweet morsels for the watchers.
Cap. concluded to profit by this appetite, and in an adjoining gulch he built a trap between two rocks, in which he set his Remington six-shooter, so that a wolf picking up a scrap of beef would pull the trigger by a string and receive the ball in his head. That night during my watch over the beef I roasted a piece on a stick for a lunch, and as the savory odour drifted off on the crisp winter air howl after howl of ravenous desire rang out from many directions, followed by the bang of the revolver in the trap. Cap. went over, but found no game, though later he often came back with a fine large specimen, bearing a perfect coat of fur, which Cap. always removed by the firelight at once. About every night except Sunday, when Cap. refused to set the trap—for he never did any work on that day that was not absolutely necessary—there was a fatal shot, and he accumulated a lot of excellent large skins, which he tacked on trees to preserve them. He thought he had put them up securely high, but one morning every skin had disappeared. The wolf relatives had carried them away to the last shred.
The Grand Canyon.
From Havasupai Point, South Rim, Showing Inner Gorge.
From a sketch in colour by F. S. Dellenbaugh, 1907.
The Kaibab was too far away for us to go there to hunt deer, and there were none around the spring, though one night at supper-time, the western sky being a broad sweep of deep orange, we saw a large wild animal of some sort on the crest of the hill silhouetted against the colour. I started for it with my rifle, but of course it did not wait; no animal ever does if he can help it, unless he is carnivorous and famished. The weather remained generally fair, though one day we had a wild gale that nearly relieved us of the tent in the midst of thick flurries of snow. We often climbed among the cliffs, and everywhere we found picture-writings, poles laid up, stepping-stones, fragments of pottery, arrowheads, and other evidences of former occupation. The poles and stones may have been placed by the Pai Utes as well as by the old Shinumos, who once were numerous over all this country. Cap. was by no means well. An extreme nervousness connected with the old gunshot wound developed, and he said he felt sure he could not continue the work in the field during the winter, much less go through the Grand Canyon with us the next year. Clem also felt under the weather, and besides was growing homesick. He confided to me one day that he also had concluded not to remain with us. As there was little the matter with him I undertook to argue him out of his determination not to go through the Grand Canyon, pointing out the disappointment he would feel when we had accomplished the passage and he realised that he might as well have come along. This produced some impression, but I was uncertain as to its lasting result.