The rain ceased by morning and all day Tuesday we travelled toward the Uinkaret Mountains over a comparatively level desert, but not going rapidly, as we had a waggon. The ground having been softened by the rain the wheels cut deeply, there being of course no road. A flock of antelope blew by. We did not give them a second glance, as they were too far off to be hunted. It was after dark when we arrived at the rocky pool where we had before camped in March, which we learned now from Chuar the natives called the Innupin (or Oonupin) Picavu, or Witch Water-pocket. They said the locality was a favourite haunt of witches. These were often troublesome and had to be driven away or they might hurt one. There was plenty of wood and we were soon comfortable, with a keen November wind to emphasise our blessings. The water in the pocket was clear and pure, but it was full of small "wigglers." We tried to dip up a pail which should be free from them. The Major, seeing our efforts, took a cup and without looking drank it down with the nonchalant remark, "I haven't seen any wigglers." The Pai Utes had killed some rabbits, which they now skinned and cooked. I say cooked, but perhaps I should say warmed. Dexterously stripping off the skins they slit open the abdomen, removed the entrails, and, after squeezing out the contents by drawing between thumb and fingers, they replaced the interminable string in the cavity, closing the aperture with the ears, and stowed the carcass in the hot ashes for a few minutes. Then they ate the whole thing with complete satisfaction. We preferred to fry ours, without the entrails, in a pan with bacon fat. Frequently the Major gave me little talks on science, as he was much interested in my future career, and by the fire this evening he instructed me in some of the fundamental principles of natural philosophy. Chuar having had one of his men remove his shoes, which were heavy "Mericats" ones, was reclining in a princely way smoking a cigarette on a bank near the fire. Suddenly he rose to his feet, intently listening and peering anxiously out through the enveloping gloom of the piñons and cedars. I asked him what he heard. "Oonupits," he whispered solemnly, never ceasing his watchful gaze. Then cautiously aiming his long muzzle-loading rifle in the direction, he fired a shot and seemed satisfied that the intruder was driven away or destroyed. He described the noise of the Oonupits as a whistling sound. He and his men had a habit of waking in the night in our various camps and singing, first one beginning very low, the others joining in one by one, and increasing the power as they did so till all were singing in full voice. This woke us up. We threw things at them, but with no effect. "What do you do it for?" said I to Chuar. "To drive away the Oonupits," he answered.[38]
In the morning, November 6th, the Major, Prof. and I went off reconnoitring and did not get back to camp till after dark, when we found there a short, fat, Uinkaret whom Chuar introduced as Teemaroomtekai, chief. In the settlements when he ventured to go there he was known as Watermelon, according to Frank Hamblin, who was with us. Teemaroomtekai had a companion and next day Prof. and the Major climbed Mt. Trumbull with them. Wishing to have a talk with the Shewits we moved on the 9th around to Oak Spring, near which some of them were encamped with their kinsmen the Uinkarets. I was interested to see what the slayers of the Howlands and Dunn looked like. Except for a wilder, more defiant aspect, they differed little from other Pai Utes. Their country being so isolated and unvisited they were surly and independent. The Uinkarets on the other hand were rather genial, more like the Kaivavit band. The Major traded for bags of food seeds, baskets, spoons made from mountain sheep's horns, balls of compressed cactus fruit from which the juice had been extracted for a kind of wine, rolls of oose-apple pulp, which they ate like bread, etc., all for the Smithsonian Institution.
With the Shewits the Major and Prof. had a conference. Prof. wished to make a reconnaissance through their region and explained to them what he wanted to do. An agreement was reached by which he was to be permitted without molestation of any kind to go anywhere and everywhere with two Shewits for guides and one of our party as cook and helper, in order that he could tell "Washington" about the country. The helper, however, was to stick to the trail and remain in camp, so that he would know as little as possible, and should not tell that little to the "Mormoni" whom the Shewits disliked. Nathan Adams, a Mormon, was the man to accompany Prof. and he did not enjoy the prospect at all. On Monday, November 11th, the Major, Prof., and Jones climbed Mount Logan for more data and took a general survey of the country, while I went out on foot, climbed, measured and located eight large cinder-cones. When they came down the Major said he had seen a fine, isolated mountain to the west which he had called after me, and I naturally felt much pleased with the honour of having my name stamped on the map.
The next day, November 12th, our party divided into three. Frank Hamblin went out to St. George with the waggon after rations; Prof. with Nathan Adams, one Shewits, named Paantung, and our guide "Judge," who may have been a Shewits also for all we could tell, prepared for the entrance into Shewits land, while the Major, Jones, and I proceeded to the foot of the Toroweap, to a water-pocket near the edge of the Grand Canyon called by the Uinkarets Teram Picavu. Chuar and Waytoots went back to Kanab and we hired Uinkarets to carry our goods nine miles down to the pocket, descending 1200 feet at one point over rough lava. After some work at the canyon we went back to the spring on the 14th, the Uinkarets again acting as our pack-horses. We had no salt left by this time and very little food, but we killed some rabbits and cooked them on hot coals, the adhering ashes making a substitute for salt. I reached the spring first and found little, round, beaming, Teemaroomtekai, who knew our plans, already there with a great big "Mericats" fire to welcome us, as well as a large pile of wood for feeding it. The Major got in soon after, but Jones failed to come at all, which worried us. Before we could go in search of him in the morning he arrived. His horse had given out, compelling him to stay where he was all night. We had travelled hard up and down all kinds of hills, canyons, and mountains, with seldom a trail, and it was wearing on the animals living only on bunch grass.
The Grand Canyon.
From North Side near Foot of Toroweap Valley, Uinkaret District.
Photograph by J. K. Hillers.
I continued measuring and locating the oonagaritchets or cinder-cones, of which there were more than sixty, and got in four more on the 15th. Then the Major decided to move to another water-pocket the Uinkarets told about, farther east across the lava, a pocket they called Tiravu Picavu or Pocket-of-the-Plain. It was on the edge of the basaltic table overlooking what they termed the Wonsits Tiravu or Antelope Plain. They said there was no water now, but as one declared there was a little we decided to go. While the Major followed a waggon-track leading to or from St. George, wishing to make some special observations along it and expecting to meet and stop Frank with the waggon now due, Jones and I struck across on the moccasin trail, leaving our goods to be brought on by the Uinkaret packers. At sunset we rounded a clump of cinder-cones studding a black, barren waste. Far away across the Wonsits Tiravu rose the red cliff land up and up to the eastern sky; behind was the great bulk of Trumbull, together with scores of the smooth, verdureless heaps of volcanic cinders. Everywhere near was the desert of basalt, with nothing but the faint trail to point the way and the night slowly enwrapping us. On we urged our stumbling, weary beasts, their iron clinking on the metallic rocks; on till the thick blackness circled us like a wall. Then we halted and built a little brush fire, thinking to stay till dawn. At the instant a weird cry from far back fell leaden on the strangely heavy winter air. Our packers saw where we were and presently came to us. They were in a rage, pitching along in the dark under their heavy loads. They were cold, tired, famished, for the way had been long, the packs heavy. Frost was in the wind. They now pretended not to know where the end was. I thought this was to see what we would say or do. We did not care; we said and did nothing with all the nonchalance born of the feeling that the further we went the worse it was. Then one remembered. The pocket was near and he struck out for it, the rest following as best we could through the thick night, the guide occasionally lighting a torch of grass. After a quarter of a mile he stopped in the bottom of a deep basaltic gulch. Here was the place. The Uinkarets threw down their loads and squatted glum and silent. From the hill Jones and I scraped together an armful of brush and got a small fire started in the bottom of the desolate hollow. At the upper end of it on a sort of bench eight feet wide was a depression covered with ice three or four inches thick. With some difficulty pounding a hole through this we found beneath a small amount of thick, slimy water, full of green scum. We drank some, the Uinkarets drank some, but we could not see well enough to get any out for the animals. We tied them to rocks to prevent them from leaving in the night. The Indians thawed a little under the influence of the fire, but they would barely speak when spoken to. They skinned a wildcat they had killed on the way and boiled the red meat briefly in our kettle and ate it like hungry wolves, while Jones and I, all the time wondering what had become of the Major, made a light lunch on some of our scanty supply. Then we climbed the hill, and getting together a little more brush Jones sat keeping a signal fire going as long as he had fuel. But the wind was keen and strong, wood limited, and he gave it up. Spreading our blankets we went to sleep. Morning came clear and sharp. I took my glasses and went up to scan the country for some sign of the Major or our waggon and I rejoiced to discover him not a quarter of a mile distant. He had headed for the fire, and losing it kept on by a star till he thought he was near us, when he made a small fire of his own, tied his mule, and waited for day. We had a bite together and thawed out some of the ice in our kettle, providing a diminutive drink for each horse; then leaving the natives in charge of the baggage we rode down into the plain to find our waggon, taking along our last bit of bread for lunch. In about ten miles we came to it and Frank Hamblin gave us the latest news, "Grant elected and Boston burned." After a lunch we turned back, making a camp at the foot of the basalt, thawing out more ice for the animals, and giving the Indians some food. About two o'clock the Major and I rode over to the Innupin Picavu while Jones and the waggon went around, as it could not cross the basalt. We arrived at seven, while the waggon did not come till half past eleven, when we prepared a good supper for all hands, turning in about three in the morning. Not a man awoke before ten, though the strong sun fell on our faces. The animals were used up and we did what we could on foot that day. I climbed four more cinder-cones, reaching camp at dark. Every day I climbed several of the cones, but some were so far away that I had to make a special camp from which to operate. The waggon was loaded with ice from the water-pocket, and a supply of provisions, and driven about seven miles to a basaltic gulch, in a well-wooded locality on the edge of a treeless valley, where the load was dropped and I was left with my horse. Before dark I gathered a lot of wood, made a good fire, and melted some of the ice that formed my water supply, in a brass kettle, watering my horse, which I then tethered with a long rope where there was good grass. I did not intend to waste time hunting my mount in the morning. After supper I spread my blankets near the fire and by the light of a bright piñon blaze I began to read Great Expectations, a paper edition with the last leaves gone having gotten into camp. As I read Pip's interview in the twilight with the convict on the dreary marshes I was in deep sympathy with the desperate hunger of the terrible man, and when Mrs. Joe buttered the end of the loaf and carved off the slices I myself was hungry enough to cook supper over again. Butter had now been absent from my bill of fare, with a few exceptions, for nearly two years. I was careful to place my fire where it would be well screened and not easily seen from a distance. I did not care to have any Shewits or even Uinkarets visit me and I hoped they were all in their own camps, though I sometimes had a feeling that one might be watching from the shadows of the great basaltic rocks. This, of course, was due to the circumstances and not to any probability, though I kept my Winchester near my hand. When I again got back to the main camp the Major told me that the first night of my absence several of the natives came in and, not seeing me around, inquired my whereabouts. He gave them an evasive answer, believing that it was quite as well not to apprise them of the situation.
The following day, Thursday, November 21st, I covered a wide territory, climbing five cinder-cones a great distance apart and each quite high. Several times I crossed recent moccasin tracks, but met no natives, and at nightfall I was still a long way from my camp. When the darkness became so dense that I could not see even faint outlines I took a star for guidance till clouds blotted it out. Then I was completely adrift in a sea of mountains. I could not tell one direction from another. Throwing the reins on the broncho's neck I sat back in my saddle to see what would come of it. Slowly, cautiously the animal plodded over broken, rocky ground succeeded by smoother footing, as I could tell by the motion, and in about an hour suddenly and quietly halted. I perceived that I was in the midst of cedars. A light spot appeared almost beneath. Dismounting I dropped to my hands and knees and found that it was the ashes of my fire. The broncho, the same that had tried to buck me off a few days before, had come back to the camp of a single night, about the best example of horse sense that I ever experienced. After another comfortable evening with Dickens I was prepared to go on with my special task, and finished it in this place by climbing the group of cones near the Tiravu Picavu the next day. About two in the afternoon I got back to my camp with a very tired mount, but I loaded all my traps on my saddle, the ice being almost exhausted, and started to find a new locality where I was to meet the Major. My pack was high, my broncho tired. While crossing a small open valley near sunset the poor beast suddenly lay down with me. There being no water anywhere in that locality, I was forced to use some brutality to get the animal up. Without further incident I came to the place agreed on and found the Major there in advance. We camped at the spot and the next day, Saturday, November 23d, I climbed five more cones, reaching the camp at sunset. Sunday the Major went on with his particular task while I added six more of the cones to my list, getting back to the side camp late in the day. The Major was to go in by himself when he was ready, so I took all the outfit on my horse again, reached the Oak Spring trail at sunset, and the main camp two hours after dark, glad enough to drop the load of pails, bags, blankets, etc., in which my broncho sympathised more deeply than could be expressed.