When the snow fell less heavily we could peer down and then saw that the cliff was continuous in both directions. By half-past two, with our kegs and canteens filled with the snow water, we were again on the way following along to find a place to go down, but we saw none that seemed practicable, and at last, having made altogether five miles, we halted for the night in a grove of cedars, where we had a good fire and were comfortable though our rations were now growing scarce. Snow at intervals continued all day up to bedtime. The next day was Sunday. We travelled twenty miles along the line of cliffs and camped near a canyon in which we found pools of good water. We saw an antelope during the day but could not get it. Andy baked up the last of our flour for supper and put on a pot of beans and one of dried peaches to cook for breakfast. The beans were edible in the morning and we disposed of them and the peaches and went on our way. After a day of many ups and downs we arrived about two o'clock at a ranch called Gould's or Workman's, where we bought five dollars worth of corn-meal and milk. We were now on what the inhabitants of the region called Hurricane Hill, and from this we applied the name Hurricane Ledge to the long line of sharp cliffs we had followed, which begin at the Virgin River and extend, almost unbroken and eight hundred to a thousand feet high, south to the Grand Canyon, forming the western boundary of the Uinkaret Plateau. From Gould's we had a waggon road and following it we were led to the brink of the Hurricane Ledge, where a road had been constructed to the bottom. Before descending we took a final look at the enchanting view opening away to the north and north-west. At our feet was the Virgin Valley with the green fields of Tokerville, while beyond rose magnificent cliffs culminating to the north-west in the giant buttes and precipices of the Mookoontoweap, or, as the Mormons call it, Little Zion Valley. Topping the whole sweep of magnificent kaleidoscopic topography were the Pine Valley Mountains and the lofty cliffs of the Colob and Markargunt plateaus. It has ever since been my opinion that few outlooks in all the world are superior for colour and form to that stretching north from the northern part of the Hurricane Ledge.[29]
Descending to the valley we arrived just at dusk at Berry's Spring, where our waggon under the direction of Jones had come with supplies. The spring was an excellent one and the rivulet flowing away from it was bordered with large wild-rose bushes. Though the waggon and supplies were there Jones was not, for we had expected to come in from farther west past Fort Pierce, and he had gone on to that place to tell us where he had decided to camp. Clem had found his gun and come out with them, the others of the party being Fennemore and George Adair. Jones came back the next day and prepared to start with Andy and Johnson for several days' work in the Pine Valley Mountains, while Jack, Captain Dodds, Fennemore, and I were to return to the Uinkaret region to complete certain work there. Some goods to be distributed to the natives from the Indian Bureau arrived at St. George and Prof. went there with George Adair to have a talk with the Indians to be found, and distribute goods. We had seen no Indians at all in the Uinkaret region. He discovered the Shewits who came in to be afraid of us, thinking we wanted to kill them, but they were willing to accept anything they could get in the line of presents. Hardly any would acknowledge themselves to be either Uinkarets or Shewits.
On April 12th, according to the plan, Jack, Dodds, Fennemore, and I started back to the Uinkaret Mountains, following the trail we had tried to strike coming out. It led past a place called Fort Pierce, a small stone building the settlers had formerly used as an advance post against the Shewits and Uinkarets. There we spent the night, and the next day after some trouble we got on the right trail, and on Monday, the 15th of April, we again reached what we had called Oak Spring, near Mount Trumbull, and the southern flow of lava already described. The following day Jack and Fennemore went down to the brink of the Grand Canyon, at the foot of a sort of valley the Uinkarets called Toroweap, while with Dodds I climbed the peak later named after Senator Logan, and attempted some triangulation, but the air was so murky I could not get my sights and had to return for them the next morning. The day after that we climbed Mount Trumbull, and I triangulated from there. One of my sights from Logan was to a conical butte near which we had camped as we came out, and near which we had found a large ant-hill covered with small, perfect quartz crystals that sparkled in the sun like diamonds. When I sighted to this butte, for want of a better name, I recorded it temporarily as Diamond Butte, remembering the crystals, and the name became fixed, which shows how unintentionally names are sometimes bestowed. We examined the lava flows and the crater again, and I made a sketch in pencil from another point of view from one I had made during our former sojourn. Then we joined Jack and Fennemore, who had been taking negatives at the canyon edge. On the 20th Dodds and I climbed down the cliffs about three thousand feet to the water at a rapid called Lava Falls. Across the river we could see a very large spring, but of course we could not get over to it. Returning to Oak Spring, we spent there another night, and in the morning, while the others started for headquarters, I rode around to the ranch to inquire about a spring I had heard something about existing on the St. George trail; but the solitary man I found there, who came out of the woods in response to my shout, a walking arsenal, did not know anything concerning it. After drinking a quart or two of milk, which he kindly offered me, I rode on to join my companions by continuing around the mountain, "running in" the trail as I went with a prismatic compass. Presently I saw a cougar sitting upright behind a big log, calmly staring at me, so I dismounted and sent a Winchester bullet in his direction. My mule was highly nervous about firearms, and having to restrain her antics by putting my arm through the bridle rein, her snorting skittishness both at the rifle and the cougar disturbed my aim and my shot went a trifle under. The bullet seemed to clip the log, but if it hit the cougar the effect was not what I expected, for with a rush like a sky-rocket the animal disappeared in the top of the pine tree overhead, and I could see nothing more of it though I rode about looking for it. Not wishing to dally here, I spurred on to overtake my party, but in trying a short cut I passed beyond them, as they had by that time halted in some cedars for lunch. The man at the ranch had told me that Whitmore was due to arrive that day, and having missed a part of the trail by the short cut, I could not judge by the tracks as to where my party were, and not caring to waste time, I rode on and on till I had gone so far I did not want to turn back. Evening came, but there was a good moon, and I did not stop till eight o'clock. The night was cold; the plain was barren and bleak. I had no coat, but with the saddle blanket and a handful of dead brush, which I burned by installments, I managed to warm myself enough to sleep by short intervals. I was on my feet with the dawn, but my mule was nowhere to be seen, though I had hoppled her well with my bridle reins. I tracked the mule about five miles to a muddy place where there had been water, caught her, and rode back to my saddle, when I continued my journey, running in the trail as I went. I became pretty thirsty and hungry, but the only thing for me to do was to continue to our main camp. Had I gone back I might have missed our men again, for there had been some talk about a short-cut trail, and I feared they might try it. At two o'clock I reached Black Rock Canyon, where there was a water-pocket full of warm and dirty water, but both the mule and I took a drink and I rode on, passing Fort Pierce at sunset. Off on my right I perceived ten or twelve Shewits Indians on foot travelling rapidly along in Indian file, and as the darkness fell and I had to go through some wooded gulches I confess I was a little uncomfortable and kept my rifle in readiness; but I was not molested and reached camp about ten o'clock, where I ate a large piece of bread with molasses, after a good drink of water, and went to bed. The others arrived the following afternoon. I had left notes for them by the trail in cleft-sticks, so they knew that I was ahead. This was the longest trip I ever made without water or food.
We prepared to start out again in different directions; one party was to go to the Pine Valley Mountains, another to Pipe Spring and the mouth of the Paria to look after our property there, a third up the Virgin Valley for photographs, and a fourth to St. George and the Virgin range of mountains south-west of that town. Prof. headed this last party, and he took me as his topographical assistant. April 27th we rode into St. George, a town I was much interested to see. I found a very pretty, neat, well-ordered little city of about fifteen hundred population, with a good schoolhouse, a stone tabernacle with a spire, and a court house, the water running in ditches along the streets for irrigating purposes as well as for drinking. About a mile below the town we camped, and we could hear the band playing a serenade to one of the officials who was to start the next day on a long journey. After several days of feeling our way about in the rugged and dry region below St. George, we finally discovered a good water-pocket, from which Prof. and I made a long, hard ride and climb, and about sunset camped at the base of what is now called Mount Bangs, the highest peak of the Virgin Mountains, for which we were aiming. The next day we climbed an additional eleven hundred feet to its summit, and completed our work in time by swift riding to get to our main camp at the water-pocket by half-past six.
It was an easy trip back to St. George, following an old trail, and then we made our way to Kanab again, where we put all our notes in shape and fitted out for the journey to the mouth of the Dirty Devil across the unknown country.
FOOTNOTES:
[28] For the linguistic classification of stocks and tribes of the United States, see Appendix, The North Americans of Yesterday, by F. S. Dellenbaugh.
[29] For a description of Little Zion Valley, see "A New Valley of Wonders," by F. S. Dellenbaugh, Scribner's Magazine, January, 1904.