The Green River Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Just a little more,” Waco said, “and it would have been leveled enough to cross the wagon.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Lonnie. “With the river flowing across the newly blasted dirt, the wagon would mire up hubdeep. As difficult as it may be, we’re goin’ to have to cut some logs, snake them in, and lay a ribbed bridge across the part where the water flows.”*

  “I reckon we’ll take the herd and the horses across first,” Justin said.

  “Yes,” said Lonnie. “The wagon can stay on this side for as long as it takes us to cut the logs and build the bridge. There’s a considerable amount of rock in what’s slid into the riverbed, and with the herd and the horses crossing first, they’ll pack down that dirt and rock some. Then maybe the logs we’ll put there won’t sink into the mud. Even if they do, we’ll only have to cross the wagon once.”

  “We’ll have to take the herd and the horses across before sundown, then,” Dallas said. “They’ll need water, and with so narrow a crossing, there’s no way they can all water at the same time.”

  “We’ll take the horse remuda across first, watering them as they go,” Lonnie said, “and then we’ll take the herd across a few at a time, watering them as they cross. Waco, you and Gus help Wovoka take the horses across first. Then we’ll split up into five teams of two, each taking maybe fifty head of cows across at a time. Once they’ve watered, don’t let any of them wander up- or downstream. Swat them on their behinds and take them on across, making way for the next bunch.”

  The horses were watered and crossed without difficulty, but the longhorns proved far more difficult. Cowlike, they wanted to linger, watering when the notion struck them. One unruly bull leaped off the newly created crossing into water up to his eyes. Up on the far bank of the river, it took three mounted riders with lariats to drag the stubborn animal out of the river.

  “Dallas,” said Lonnie, “I’m going to mount my horse and get into the water on the upstream side of this crossing. I want you to mount up, get in the water, and cover the downstream side. Double your lariat, and any varmint lookin’ like it wants to take a dive into deeper water, just swat the hell out of it.”

  That helped, but when the last of the herd had crossed, the gray of twilight was upon them, and first stars twinkled far away. Supper had long since been ready, but the riders had to finish crossing the herd.

  “Those of you on the first watch, go ahead and eat,” Lonnie said. “The rest of us will watch the herd and the horse remuda.”

  Dirk, Kirby, Gus, Waco, and Sandy went to supper. Lonnie and the rest of the outfit began riding around the bunched herd and the horse remuda.

  “I reckon we’d better keep a close watch on them all night,” said Dallas. “Somebody might get thirsty and head for the river.”

  “Tarnation,” Justin said, “we don’t want that. It’s enough that we got to water them all again in the morning before we move out.”

  “I don’t know if we should do that or not,” said Lonnie. “Do it again, and we won’t be taking them across to the other bank. We’ll be driving them back to this one, and it just might take us most of the day.”

  “They’ve been watered tonight,” Dallas said. “I say we head them out at a trot just as early in the morning as we can get the wagon across. When they get thirsty, a little wind from the west will get them the rest of the way to the Green, even if it’s fifty miles.”

  “That’s the truth, if I ever heard it,” said Justin.

  “For whatever it’s worth,” Benjamin Raines said, “I think we’d better get this drive to Green River just as quick as we can and find or build some shelter. Notice how cold that wind is already?”

  “Yeah,” said Elliot Graves. “The next bunch of clouds blowin’ in, I’d say they won’t be bringin’ rain.”

  “Besides shelter,” Justin said, “we’re gonna be needin’ firewood, and plenty of it.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with all of you,” said Lonnie, “but it’s going to take some time to get the wagon across the river. I’m figurin’ half a day. How many of you still think we can reach Green River tomorrow?”

  “Maybe late tomorrow night,” said Dallas. “The only other choice might be for five of you to take the herd and move on, with all the women riding drag. The rest of us could work like hell, maybe get the wagon across, and catch up.”

  “No,” Lonnie said, “we’re not going to split up the outfit. If the Mormons are hostile enough to take over Bridger’s trading post, we may yet have a fight on our hands, and we won’t be in any position for that, with half the outfit back here trying to get the wagon across the Colorado. We’ll all remain here until we get the wagon across, and then we’ll all move on together. Even if it takes us all night to reach the Green, keeping the herd moving won’t be any more difficult that holding them in a dry camp.”

  “I reckon I’ll have to agree with you on that,” said Dallas. “If there’s any wind, they’ll smell the water and stampede hell-bent-for-election anyhow.”

  “That’s how the stick floats, then,” Lonnie said. “No matter how long it takes us to get the wagon across, we’re going on to Green River, be it thirty miles or fifty.”

  When the riders on the first watch returned, Lonnie and his companions rode across the river to the wagon.

  “We kept the supper as warm as we could,” said Becky.

  “It won’t matter,” Lonnie said. “It’ll taste damn good, compared to tomorrow night, when there won’t be any.”

  “Why?” April asked.

  “I’m glad you asked that,” said Lonnie. “Now all of you gather around and listen. I’m in no mood to go through this more than once.”

  Quickly, he told them of his decision to get the wagon across the river, and then to take the drive on to Green River, regardless of how long it might take.

  “I think it’s what we must do,” Mindy said, “however troublesome it may be. I have a feeling if we delay much longer, the snow will come before we get there.”

  “I have that same feeling,” said Becky. “But what about watering the herd and horses in the morning?”

  “No time,” Lonnie said. “They’ll have to make it on to Green River.”

  Eastern Utah Territory, September 13, 1853

  “Wovoka,” said Lonnie, “I want you to stay over yonder with the horses and see that none of them wander back toward the river. Becky, I want you, Mindy, April, and Laura circling the herd until we’re able to get the wagon across the river. That will leave ten of us to cut trees, lay that bridge, and bring the wagon across. We should be ready to move out before the herd becomes too restless.”

  There were four axes in the wagon. Lonnie, Dallas, Benjamin Raines, and Elliot Graves each took one of the axes. They chose trees about four inches in diameter so the men could work swiftly. After the trees were cut and trimmed, the rest of the riders snaked them to the river crossing and put them in place. Two hours before noon, Lonnie judged the makeshift ribbed bridge would hold up for a single crossing of the wagon. To the relief of them all, the wagon crossed safely.

  “Head ’em up, move ’em out,” Lonnie shouted.

  The herd again took the trail, the wagon directly behind the horse remuda. Too soon, it seemed, the sun slid below the western horizon. The longhorns became troublesome, but the riders kept them bunched and moving at a fast gait. The west wind blew cold, numbing ears and fingers. But the wind also brought the smell of distant water, and as the herd became weary and thirsty, they began bawling their frustration.

  “The varmints are gonna run,” Dallas shouted, as the drag steers lunged left and right.

  There was nothing the riders could do except ride for their lives. The bawling, horned avalanche was unstoppable. They ran, the horse remuda on their heels. Lonnie and Wovoka waited until the rest of the riders and the wagon caught up.

  “One thing for damn sure,” said Waco. “They’ll reach Green River tonight.”

  “So will we,” Lonnie said.

&nb
sp; They moved on, until under glittering stars and in the pale moonlight, they began to see grazing longhorns and horses. When at last they could see the river, they reined up. It was their promised land, and nobody spoke. There was no sound, except the weeping of one of the women.

  Green River, Utah Territory. September 14, 1853

  “Wovoka,” said Lonnie after breakfast, “I want you to take me north to the canyon you spoke of.”

  “Sí,” Wovoka said.

  “After we’ve had a look at that canyon,” said Lonnie, “we’ll gather the herd and horses and take them there.”

  “How are we going to know where our holdings begin and end?” Becky asked.

  “I may have to ride to Fort Laramie for our deeds and such,” said Lonnie. “It won’t be a problem, if we can winter in this canyon. We can begin our building in the spring.”

  Lonnie and Wovoka rode almost twenty miles, and the canyon, when they reached it, was even more than Lonnie had expected. It was wide, with high rims. The Green flowed through it, and protected as it was, there was lush grass along both banks of the river as far as the eye could see.

  The sudden roar of a rifle seemed twice as loud in the silence. The lead struck the ground a dozen feet ahead of Lonnie and Wovoka, and in an instant they were bellied down in the grass. Then came a shout from the canyon’s west rim.

  “Turn back. You’re not welcome here. This is homesteaded Mormon land from here to the north, along both riverbanks.”

  “We’re not turning back,” Lonnie shouted. “We’ve bought and paid for land you claim, and we have deeds and title. If you want a fight, then you’ll get one.”

  There was only silence. Lonnie and Wovoka mounted their horses and rode back to the outfit. Lonnie’s report was grim news.

  “Damn,” said Dallas, “there may be hundreds of them. How in tarnation are we goin’ to hold so much land when there’s so few of us?”

  “Find Bridger,” Wovoka said. “Bring Shoshone.”

  “Bridger and the Shoshone are in Wyoming,” said Lonnie. “This is our fight.”

  “Bridger and the Shoshone are compañeros” Wovoka said. “I go, they come.”

  “Would you do that for us, Wovoka?” Becky asked.

  “Sí,” said Wovoka. “Maybe ten suns.”

  “I’m beginning to understand why Jim Bridger wanted Wovoka to come with us,” said Kirby Lowe. “If Wovoka thinks Bridger and a band of the Shoshones will ride to join us, what do we have to lose for the asking?”

  “Ten days,” Lonnie said. “We may be neck-deep in snow by then.”

  “Not if we move the horses and the herd into that canyon,” said Dallas. “Tonight we can ride those canyon rims and be sure none of that bunch is holed up there. Sounds like our land—and what they’re claiming—is north of the canyon anyhow.”

  “It does,” Lonnie said. “Wovoka, we can use the help of Bridger and as many of your Shoshone amigos as are willing to join us. We have plenty of beef, so they can winter here without going hungry.”

  “Sí,” said Wovoka. “I go now.”

  “Not without grub,” Lonnie said, “and you can take an extra horse. Becky, fix Wovoka enough grub for ten days.”

  Becky hurried to the wagon, Mindy, April, and Laura going with her. Within an hour, Wovoka rode north, leading an extra horse, a pack of food lashed to its back.

  “Dear God,” said Laura as they watched Wovoka ride away, “our very lives may be depending on an Indian.”

  “I never met a white man I trusted more,” Becky said. “Vaya con Dios, Wovoka.”

  After supper, when darkness had fallen, Lonnie gathered the outfit around the wagon.

  “Dallas,” said Lonnie, “I want you to take Dirk, Kirby, Gus, and Waco, and ride that canyon’s west rim until the canyon plays out. Sandy, Benjamin, Elliot, and Justin will ride with me along the east rim. No shooting unless you’re fired upon. I don’t think they’ll try to do more than keep us off our own land, but we can’t be sure. Tomorrow, I want to get the herd and the horses into that canyon. Becky, Mindy, April, and Laura, I want all of you to remain here with the wagon, keeping your Colts handy. We’ll return as quickly as we can.”

  There was nothing more to be said, and the ten men rode north. It was still early and the moon had not risen. Lonnie and his four companions rode along the canyon’s east rim, seeing nobody. There was no disturbance from the west rim, a fair indication that Dallas and his men had encountered no difficulty. The canyon rim began to level down.

  “Far enough,” Lonnie said. “Let’s turn back.”

  They did so, returning to the wagon just minutes ahead of Dallas and his companions.

  “Nobody on the west rim,” said Dallas. “How long do you reckon that canyon is?”

  “Near ten miles,” Lonnie said, “and from what I saw of it in daylight, there’s plenty of good grass. Tomorrow, we move the herd and the horses into the canyon and establish our camp there against the west rim. It slants inward enough until snow can’t touch us. A bushwhacker on the opposite rim would have a long shot, and in plain view.”

  Green River, Utah Territory. September 14, 1853.

  The drive upriver into the canyon went smoothly.

  “We’ll take turns, half of us dragging in dead trees for firewood, leaving the rest in camp with the herd,” Lonnie said.

  The wind had become increasingly colder, and the necessity of having an adequate pile of firewood was all the more evident. Day after day, they continued, with those remaining in camp chopping the dragged-in dead trees into convenient lengths. Lonnie finally decided they had enough.

  “Damn good thing,” Dallas declared. “We’ve dragged in every dead tree within a good five miles.”

  The first and second watch continued as usual, and still nobody disturbed them. There was little to be said, and while nobody said anything, their eyes were constantly turned to the north, for from that direction might come their friends or their enemies. Not until the fifteenth day following Wovoka’s departure was there any change in their circumstances. At sundown, as they were eating supper, Becky cried out, pointing north. The Indians rode four abreast, military style. Leading the columns was Wovoka and Jim Bridger. Lonnie ran to meet them, taking Bridger’s hand before the bearded mountain man could dismount. As Wovoka dismounted, Becky threw her arms around him, an act his Shoshone companions found highly amusing.

  “Wovoka said you needed some help, and I expected that,” Bridger said, “so I brought some Shoshone friends to winter with us.”

  “Bless you,” said Lonnie.

  “There’s a hundred or so,” Bridger said. “They volunteered, because they don’t like this bunch that took over my trading post, and now seem determined to claim all of Utah, as well as parts of Wyoming. We shot a couple of deer to help out with the grub.”

  “We’re by no means broke,” said Lonnie. “If we can make it ahead of the snow, we can take the wagon to Fort Laramie for another load of grub.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Bridger said. “While you’re there, you can get your papers on your claims from Captain Stoddard. You might also tell him these Mormons have log buildings on every section of land you own. We saw them on the way downriver.”

  The night became an event none of them would ever forget. On October 1, 1853, Lonnie, Dallas, Wovoka, and five Shoshones started for Fort Laramie, taking the wagon. Their future seemed as bright as the sun in the blue of the Utah sky, at the end of the Green River Trail.

  *In modern-day terminology, a “corduroy” bridge, with logs placed side by side.

 

 

 
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