Odd people

by Mayne Reid

The Llano estacado, already mentioned, is often styled a “mesa,” but its elevation is inconsiderable when compared with the mesa mountains that occur in the regions west of the great Rocky chain,—both in the Basin and on the deserts of the Colorado. Many of these are of great height,—rising several thousand feet above the general level; and, with their square truncated table-like tops, lend a peculiar character to the landscape.

The characteristic vegetation of the Great Basin is very similar to that of the other central regions of the North-American continent. Only near the banks of the rivers and some of the fresh-water lakes, is there any evidence of a fertile soil; and even in these situations the timber is usually scarce and stunted. Of course, there are tracts that are exceptional,—oases, as they are geographically styled. Of this character is the country of the Mormons on the Jordan, their settlements on the Utah and Bear Rivers, in Tuilla and Ogden valleys, and elsewhere at more remote points. There are also isolated tracts on the banks of the smaller streams and the shores of lakes not yet “located” by the colonist; and only frequented by the original dwellers of the desert, the red aborigines. In these oases are usually found cottonwood-trees, of several distinct species,—one or other of which is the characteristic, vegetation on nearly every stream from the Mississippi to the mountains of California.

Willows of many species also appear; and now and then, in stunted forms, the oak, the elm, maples, and sycamores. But all these last are very rarely encountered within the limits of the desert region. On the mountains, and more frequently in the mountain ravines pines of many species—some of which produce edible cones—grow in such numbers as to merit the name of forests, of greater or less extent. Among these, or apart from them, may be distinguished the darker foliage of the cedar (Juniperus) of several varieties, distinct from the juniperus virginiana of the States.

The arid plains are generally without the semblance of vegetation. When any appears upon them, it is of the character of the “chapparal,” already described; its principal growth being “tornilla,” or “screw-wood,” and other varieties of mezquite; all of them species of the extensive order of the leguminosae, and belonging to the several genera of acacias, mimosas, and robinias. In many places cactacae appear of an endless variety of forms; and some,—as the “pitahaya” (cereus giganteus), and the “tree” and “cochineal” cacti (opuntias),—of gigantesque proportions. These, however, are only developed to their full size in the regions further south,—on the deserts of the Colorado and Gila,—where also the “tree yuccas” abound, covering tracts of large extent, and presenting the appearance of forests of palms.

Perhaps the most characteristic vegetation of the Great Basin—that is, if it deserve the name of a vegetation—is the wild sage, or artemisia. With this plant vast plains are covered, as far as the eye can reach; not presenting a hue of green, as the grass prairies do, but a uniform aspect of greyish white, as monotonous as if the earth were without a leaf to cover it. Instead of relieving the eye of the traveller, the artemisia rather adds to the dreariness of a desert landscape,—for its presence promises food neither to man nor horse, nor water for them to drink, but indicates the absence of both. Upon the hill-sides also is it seen, along the sloping declivities of the sierras, marbling the dark volcanic rocks with its hoary frondage.

More than one species of this wild sage occurs throughout the American desert: there are four or five kinds, differing very considerably from each other, and known to the trappers by such names as “wormwood,” “grease-bush,” “stink-plant,” and “rabbit-bush.” Some of the species attain to a considerable height,—their tops often rising above the head of the traveller on horseback,—while another kind scarce reaches the knee of the pedestrian.

In some places the plains are so thickly covered with this vegetation, that it is difficult for either man or horse to make way through them,—the gnarled and crooked branches twisting into each other and forming an impenetrable wattle. At other places, and especially where the larger species grow, the plants stand apart like apple-trees in an orchard, and bear a considerable resemblance to shrubs or small trees.

Both man and horse refuse the artemisia as food; and so, too, the less fastidious mule. Even a donkey will not eat it. There are animals, however,—both birds and beasts, as will be seen hereafter,—that relish the sage-plant; and not only eat of it, but subsist almost exclusively on its stalks, leaves, and berries.

The denizens of the Great Basin desert—I mean its human denizens—are comprehended in two great families of the aboriginal race,—the Utahs and Snakes, or Shoshonees. Of the white inhabitants—the Mormons and trap-settlers—we have nothing to say here. Nor yet much respecting the above-mentioned Indians, the Utahs and Snakes. It will be enough for our purpose to make known that these two tribes are distinct from each other,—that there are many communities or sub-tribes of both,—that each claims ownership of a large tract of the central region, lying between the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevada; and that their limits are not coterminal with those of the Great Basin: since the range of the Snakes extends into Oregon upon the north, while that of the Utahs runs down into the valley of the Rio del Norte upon the south. Furthermore, that both are in possession of the horse,—the Utahs owning large numbers,—that both are of roving and predatory habits, and quite as wicked and warlike as the generality of their red brethren.

They are also as well to do in the world as most Indians; but there are many degrees in their “civilisation,” or rather in the comforts of their life, depending upon the situation in which they may be placed. When dwelling upon a good “salmon-stream,” or among the rocky mountain “parks,” that abound in game, they manage to pass a portion of the year in luxuriant abundance. In other places, however, and at other times, their existence is irksome enough,—often bordering upon actual starvation.