Devil's Canyon
Page 28
But there was no break, and the snow from previous storms had more piled on top of it. Each day they looked at the dreary gray skies, impatient to be on the trail to Santa Fe, yet knowing they dared not risk it. Not until the second day of April did the skies begin to clear. The temperature rose dramatically, and the west wind came in with a warmth they hadn’t enjoyed for months.
“Soon as the snow melts and the mud’s had a chance to dry, we’ll pull out,” said Faro.
A week later, they set out for Santa Fe. Four of the wagons were loaded with all the ore the teams could pull, while the fifth wagon was overloaded with supplies. The warm weather continued, and the worst they had to contend with was rain and the sea of mud that followed.
“I’m surprised the Utes haven’t bothered us,” Collins said.
“The kind of winter we’ve had,” said Faro, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they drifted to the south, where it’s a mite warmer and there’s game to be had.”
“We wiped out half that bunch that ambushed us,” Tarno said, “and that’s enough to convince them we’re mala medicina. Bad medicine.”
The Colorado River. April 25, 1871.
“At least the bridge we built is still here,” said Collins. “I’m surprised the Utes didn’t somehow destroy it.”
Tarno laughed. “Too much work. Indians avoid that, whenever they can. They might have set it afire, if the wood hadn’t been green.”
“We’ll still have to inspect it,” Faro said. “The ground’s been frozen, and the stakes we used to anchor the stringers may have worked loose.”
But the bridge remained solid, and using blinkers to stay the fear of the mules, they led the teams across. Still they saw no Indians, and with each passing day, spring seemed a little closer.
“Looking back,” said Mamie, “it all seems unreal.”
“In a way it does,” Felix agreed.
They sat beneath starry skies, and a gentle wind whispered through fir trees. The first watch ended at midnight, and as they took to their blankets, Faro, Shanghai, Isaac, and Josh took over.
Southwestern Colorado. May 10, 1871.
“Damn,” said Faro, as he viewed the sagging rear of the supply wagon.
“A busted axle ain’t no fun,” Shanghai said, “but it could be worse. It could have been one of the wagons loaded with ore. This one won’t be half as heavy.”
“No,” said Dallas, “but it’ll take just as long to chop down a tree, make a new axle, and replace the broken one.”
“Now that we’re goin’ to have money,” Tarno said, “let’s make good use of some of it. Every wagon carries a spare wheel, so why not a spare rear axle?”
“I’ll go along with that,” said Faro, “but that’s no help to us now. Who wants to ride out and find a tree for a new axle, while I jack up the wagon?”
“I’ll go,” Dallas said. “Just don’t tell me all the axes are at the very bottom of all that load in the supply wagon.”
“They are,” said Tarno with a straight face. “Ever’ damn one. I put ’em there myself.”
Just for a moment, Dallas took him seriously, and they all had a laugh at his expense.
“Just for that, Tarno,” Faro said, “you can go along and help him. While we haven’t had any Indian trouble, nobody rides alone.”
An hour later, Dallas and Tarno returned, dragging the trunk of a fir of sufficient size to replace the broken axle. Faro had the rear of the wagon jacked up, and by the time the new axle had been fashioned and put in place, the sun was less than an hour high.
“There’s water,” Faro said, “so we’ll stay here for the night.”
“This stream will take us to the western foothills of the San Juan Mountains,” said Levi Collins. “We ought to reach Santa Fe by the first week in June.”
Felix and Mamie set about preparing supper, while the rest of the outfit grained the horses and mules. While they were eating, talk turned to the nearness of Santa Fe.
“I hope we’ll be there in a few days,” Mamie said. “I need clothes.”
“We’ll have to be there a while,” Faro said. “It won’t be easy finding more wagons and mules, and we must have some decent sideboards built for all these wagons to replace the makeshift ones.”
“Then we’ll be there long enough for Mamie and me to find a preacher,” said Felix.
Josh laughed. “I thought you was plannin’ to become a teamster, spendin’ all your time on the trail, sleeping on the ground.”
“He may be sleeping on the ground,” Mamie said hotly, “but he won’t be sleeping alone. What about you?”
Snyder was visibly embarrassed and finally he grinned. “I reckon I deserved that.”
“You did, for a fact,” said Felix. “Mamie can shoot and she can cook.”
“Amen,” Shanghai said, “and that’s fifty percent better than most teamsters can claim.”
“That’s true,” said Dallas. “You oughta try some of Shanghai’s biscuits. I swear they could be used as cannon fodder.”
“All right,” Shanghai growled, “I admit I can’t cook. Don’t rub it in.”
* * *
With the dawn, they again took the trail, and ten days later they reached the western foothills of the San Juans.
“It’s the first day of June,” Dallas announced, consulting the rawhide thong in which he had tied a knot for each passing day.
“Another week, at most,” said Collins.
They moved on, the elevation decreasing as they progressed.
Northwestern New Mexico. The Chama River.
June 8, 1871.
“I remember this river flowing right into Santa Fe,” Mamie said, when they stopped to rest the teams.
“That it does,” said Collins. “Looks like my prediction for the first week in June will be shy, but we’ll arrive within two or three more days.”
Santa Fe, New Mexico. June 12, 1871.
The sun was noon-high when they reined up to rest the teams. Somewhere just ahead, a dog barked.
“I think some of us had better ride in and learn how we’re to dispose of this ore,” said Faro. “Maybe we can get it off our hands without all of New Mexico knowing about it.”
“Come on then,” Collins said.
When Collins and Faro returned, the outfit rode triumphantly into Santa Fe.
“Now,” said Faro, “hadn’t we better register our claim?”
“Faro and me already have,” Collins said, “and we know where to take the ore.”
“Thank God,” said Mamie. “I can’t wait to sleep in a real bed.”
“Not until we find a preacher,” Felix said.
*In 1896, Utah Territory became the forty-fifth state.