The Awakening of the Desert

by Julius Charles Birge

I observed that the cabin consisted of a single room, of fairly good size, and what appeared to be a small kitchen under a rudely constructed lean-to, built against the rear of the cottage. On opposite sides of the main room were berths made of balsam poles and constructed in tiers of three, one above another. There was no ceiling or attic above the room, which was open to the sloping roof. There being twelve berths, the provisions for sleeping were manifestly ample, and on being informed that I could be accommodated for the night I decided to remain at least for supper, after which my judgment would be more enlightened. I was fearfully hungry. They would have supper at five o'clock. An old fashioned fall-leaf table was pulled out from the wall, the leaves were lifted up, and the preparation was begun, when I stepped out from the door to take an observation.

DEAD MAN'S FALLS, LITTLE COTTONWOOD, UTAH

In a running brook I washed my hands and wiped them partly on my clothes, using a soiled handkerchief that had begun to simulate alarmingly the likeness of an old map of Africa, but still discharged in some measure the duty of detergence. Having parted my hair with my pocket comb and being now ready for the feast I strolled round the little log cabin, which to me was invested with almost as much interest as the Yildiz Kiosk when it was the home of Abdul Hamid. A voice at the door announced that supper was ready, and I responded with alacrity. There were eight seats at the table, two on each side, and all were speedily occupied. The dishes with the food served had all been placed upon the bare table, to be passed round. The luxury of a linen spread was not to be expected in an out of the way western mountain cabin, and what with hot tea, brown sugar and milk, cold meat and bread, all seemed appetizing enough.

I soon learned that the family were Mormons, but did not ascertain definitely to what extent that cult had brought them under the sway of one husband, though it appeared probable that three of the young women were still free to form matrimonial alliance.

Women were present in number sufficient to give continuity to the conversation, in the course of which I glanced round at the berths in the room and finally asked where, in case I should remain for the night, they would put me. To them the problem presented no difficulty. In fact, it was not uncommon on the frontier in early days for several families to be sheltered over night in a single room almost as satisfactorily as is now done in a Pullman sleeper, and with as little disturbance from sonorous slumberers who sometimes unwittingly throw their neighbors into a panic. I was present on one occasion when Costello, the well-known rancher in South Park, on a stormy night entertained forty-six sleepers—men and women—in three rooms. He said he believed he could handle two or three more, but it might make it a little crowded.

"Is there another cabin not far away, where the man of the house is likely to be at home?" I asked, when the supper was over. After a little thought one of the women stated that about a mile down the canyon there lived an old fellow, at what was known as the toll gate.

"O yes," said another, "you mean the Scotchman."

The suggestion afforded an opportunity for retreat. Thanking the women, I paid for my supper and received definite instructions concerning the path, as the darkness of evening had begun to settle on the valley. I reached the other little hut, recognizing it first by the firelight shining through the small window. My approach to the cabin was proclaimed by the deep-toned barking of dogs from within. A "hello" brought the keeper to the door. Driving back the animals, and commanding them to shut up, he gave me an opportunity through the half open door to ask his permission to stay all night with him, which request was granted as a matter of course. Having arranged for some feed for my horse, we entered the hut. The Scotchman, who (I learned later) was well known by many Mormon people, was the sole occupant of the cabin, except that three huge mastiffs shared his company. On entering I took a seat in an uneasy chair before the fire, and the Scotchman, who was uncommunicative and not especially hospitable, soon stretched himself out upon the only bench in the room, wrapped himself up in his blanket, and fell asleep. The dogs, with half-opened eyes directed toward me as they were stretched before the fireplace, had become reconciled to my presence. The flickering firelight, which enabled me to write a few sentences in my note book, also exposed a dirty earth floor not covered at any point with boards. I had no blanket and the prospect for repose was dismal. As a diversion I wandered out into the night toward the place where my horse had been hitched, near which I had noticed a small pile of fresh straw, four or five feet in height. It occurred to me that this pile exactly met my requirements, and compared with it the Scotchman's dirt floor was not to be considered for a moment. The sky was now clear, and the air was still. In the distance here and there arose the occasional yelp of timber wolves, doubtless on their regular nocturnal patrol as scavengers. Investigation revealed the presence of pigs, which had burrowed out a comfortable nest in the straw stack. After a few punches, two animals with many grunts of reluctance consented to vacate their bed. I immediately crawled, feet first, quite out of sight into the nest. It was a far better bed than the soldiers had been accustomed to sleep in, during the Civil War. The cares of the day were soon forgotten in slumber, but early in the morning I was suddenly awakened by the jumping of heavy animals upon the straw pile above me and by the angry barking of dogs, the deep baying of which came through the passage to my nest. Their noses were soon thrust into the straw at the entrance. The three big mastiffs in the Caledonian's lodge on the previous night had been turned loose for their morning airing and had scented the presence of an intruder in the straw pile. Every word that I spoke to them served but to augment their savage howls and barking. I had often run badgers and other burrowing animals into their holes, but had never before so fully realized the deplorable straits to which I had reduced them.

I managed to extricate my revolver from the belt but remembered that its flash would set the straw on fire, nor did I care to incur the hostility of the surly Scot by shooting one of his dearest friends and protectors. Already I had had trouble enough. The Highlander's attention was finally attracted by the excited conduct of his dogs and naturally believing that they had covered some big game in the straw pile he urged them on and returned to the cabin for his gun. My voice was smothered and muffled by the straw pile and drowned in the incessant howling and barking of the three dogs, and still I would not shoot until they should make an attack. Yelling at the top of my voice I finally made the Scotchman aware that the sound proceeded from a human being and that the import of my entreaty was that he call off his dogs, else I must shoot, and that I was the fellow whom he received the night before. His response inspired me with hope. Laying aside his gun he took one and then another of the savage mastiffs by the tail, pulled them back and fought them off, until at length he got between them and the hole under the straw stack. As I emerged, the vicious beasts made another plunge, but in some way I struggled to my feet, when possibly the excited animals recognized me as the guest of their master and their interest subsided, though for some time they maintained close watch, apparently ready on the slightest hint to renew hostilities. The Scot informed me that his dogs were great on wolves and were well-trained. Nothing in addition to my recent observations was necessary to convince me that the dogs were great on any game.