Only the Brave: The Continuing Saga of the San Juan Pioneers Read online

  Then I spent $1 on a cheap hotel room. An extravagance, I know, but after two weeks of sleeping in a car full of men who snore, it was worth it. We call one guy Avalanche, because that’s what it sounds like when he snores.

  You were right, Pa. These men are so different from anything I’ve known. They are rough, many of them with little or no schooling and no sense of right or wrong. It has been a learning experience, and I’m so grateful to you and Mama. I never realized how important family is. I think about you all the time and miss you all so much.

  But, here’s some great news. Being a Mormon pays off. Now that winter is here, the work has really slowed down. So they announced yesterday that half of us were to be let go. Since I’m the newest guy here—and the youngest!—I thought for sure I’d be one of them. But the boss, who is this tough-as-nails old guy we all call Pappy, said he needed at least one guy who didn’t come back every night so drunk he couldn’t see straight. So I’m going to have work all winter. The bad part of that is that I definitely won’t be coming home for Christmas.

  Here’s some more bad news, Mama. The foreman hinted that if I continue like I am, he may make me a track foreman in the spring. That’s fifty cents more per day. But he’ll only do that if I promise to stay on until we get the line laid all the way to Mancos, which would be sometime next September or early October. That means I wouldn’t get home for almost a full year. But think about it: I’m saving about ten dollars a week now. If I do that for a year, I’ll have over five hundred dollars. That would be enough for me to buy your cattle and perhaps a few more and start my own ranch. Please tell me that you think it’s worth it, because even writing about it makes me want to cry.

  Well, it’s now past midnight, and I keep almost falling asleep over my pencil, so I’ll quit for now. I hope I can write more regularly. Don’t worry about me, Mama. Things are going well now. The first week or so was pretty bad. I had blisters on my hands so big that they had babies. But they’re gone now, and I’m doing fine. I’m guessing I’ve also put on ten to fifteen pounds, and most of that is muscle from swinging a twelve-pound spike hammer twelve hours a day.

  I love you all so much. I miss you every day. I’ll write again soon.

  All my love,

  Mitch

  January 31, 1885

  C/O General Delivery

  Mancos, Colorado

  Hi to all.

  Happy birthday to me! Now that I’m seventeen, I feel much older. (That’s a joke.)

  I celebrated my birthday by skipping the chow line at the camp and having breakfast at the little hotel in town. It cost me 50¢, but it was worth every penny. Yum! I had four eggs—cooked just like you cook them, Mama—a heaping plate of fried potatoes, six slices of bacon, and some toast. Very best of all, I had the lady bring me my own pitcher of fresh milk. It was as if I had died and gone to heaven. If I had had you all with me, it would have been the best birthday ever.

  Pa, I’m glad to hear that the weather there has been relatively mild so that the stock is not having to forage in snow for their grass. My “cattle ranch fund” now has over a hundred dollars and keeps growing. I actually opened up a bank account here in Mancos a few weeks ago. On the weekends, my fellow workers often go through their week’s wages in a single night at the saloons. I don’t want them getting sticky fingers when they’re looking for more funds.

  That brings me to something for you, Mama. In one of your letters you reminded me of my promise to tell you everything so that you don’t have to worry and wonder. So here goes.

  This happened just before Christmas. Because I am a Mormon, all the guys think I’m very strange. Most of them drink and smoke or chew and other things I won’t mention. I decided up front that I wasn’t going to try to preach to them about right and wrong. I just say no thank you and walk away. Most of the guys have accepted that and don’t bother me about it.

  Anyway, it had snowed so much that we couldn’t lay track for a few days. We were only six or seven miles from Mancos, so a bunch of us decided to walk into town. The others all went to the saloon, of course, but I went to the lobby of the hotel to read the newspapers. After a couple of hours, our foreman stuck his head in and asked me to round up the guys to head back.

  So I went to the saloon and told the guys we had to go. We have two guys here who are cousins from Illinois. And they’re two bad ones. Anyway, they claim to know all about Joseph Smith and the Mormons, so they have always taunted me. Well, when I started to leave the saloon, one of them grabbed me from behind and asked me to drink with them. I told them no, I didn’t drink. They said it was time I started. One held me down while his buddy got a bottle of beer and tried to force it into my mouth. The other guys thought it was funny and started cheering them on.

  Remember, Mama, I’m only telling you this because you made me promise I would.

  I was fighting them like mad, but the one kneeled on my chest and jammed the bottle in my mouth, spilling beer all over me. He even chipped my tooth a little. I finally got an arm free and hit him in the nose with my fist. Blood spurted everywhere. Seeing that, the other guy whipped out his pistol, screaming at me.

  Just then Pappy came running in with the pick handle he always carries with him. He yelled something and smacked the guy with the pistol across the back of the head, and he went down like a rock. Pappy kicked the pistol away and turned to the other guy, who was holding his nose and moaning. “You wanna fight the Mormon,” he said, “that’s fine. But there’ll be no pistols. No knives. And you fight him one on one.”

  The guy straightened and his fists came up. But when he saw I was ready to fight, he changed his mind. He went over and helped his cousin up, and they left. Pappy went out after them. He must have fired them on the spot, because when the rest of us came out they were gone. We never saw them again.

  Now, Mother. That only happened once. So don’t worry about me. I think Pappy likes me. Last week, he made me foreman for one of the track gangs. He said he knew I was young, but since I didn’t drink, he could trust me to not be drunk on the job. So, fifty cents more per day, starting as soon as the weather turns and we start laying track again. And yes, that does mean that I will be staying here until fall. That’s the bad news.

  The good news is we just learned that the load of track we were expecting around March 1st has been delayed for two weeks. So we have nothing to do until it comes. So the boss says I can take ten days off and come home. Mama, I expect to hear you squeal with joy at that news, even though you’re a hundred miles away.

  Well, I see I am up to three pages now. I guess that shows how glad I was to receive your letters. Please keep writing.

  I love you all so much. I am so excited to get to see you again. Martha, Johnny, we’re going back to Durango next week for some equipment, so I’ll be sure to get you the things I promised.

  I love you. See you soon.

  Mitch

  P.S. Oh, I almost forgot, Mama. I go to church whenever we are in Mancos on Sunday. It’s a small branch, but they treat me like family. There are a few people here who once lived in Bluff, such as Stanford and Belle Smith. But I wanted you to know that every time I am in town on Sunday, I go to church and then get supper and good company for the rest of the day. It has been wonderful.

  Notes

  Because the San Juan pioneers lived largely in a barter economy, cash was hard to come by. To get them through the winter when they couldn’t farm, the men from Bluff often freighted supplies or went to Colorado to work in the mines or for the railroad.

  The railway lines described here are actual lines that were constructed within a few years of the time of this chapter.

  Chapter 10

  _____________________

  October 8, 1885—Mancos, Colorado

  Mitch was striding along, trying to remember all that he needed to buy at the trading post and wishing that he’d written it down. He was thinking mostly about Christmas. He could purchase much more here in Colorado than in Bluff. He h
ad agreed with Pappy to stay on until December 1st for a bonus of twenty-five dollars. That meant he was done with railroading in about six more weeks. And he would be home for Christmas.

  “Hey, Westland.”

  He turned around and saw Pappy coming toward him. His head was down, but there was no mistaking who it was. The lean hips, long legs, and broad shoulders would have been enough, but the corncob pipe he forever clenched in his teeth was the dead giveaway. He lifted a hand. “Hi, Pappy.”

  “Where you going in such a hurry?”

  “Wanna get to the trading post before it closes.”

  “I’d suggest you go the other direction and stop by the post office.”

  “The post office? Why? I was there yesterday afternoon and picked up my mail.”

  Pappy’s leathered face was a study in not caring. “Suit yourself, but the postmaster told me there’s a letter.”

  “For me?”

  “No, for the Easter Bunny.” He shook his head in disgust before taking out a match and striking it on his Levi’s jeans. When it flared into life, he touched it to the end of his pipe and sucked furiously until it glowed red. Flipping the match away, he drew in deeply and then exhaled two streams of smoke from his nostrils.

  There was something in the way he did the whole ritual that had always fascinated Mitch. And while he hated the smell of cigarettes and cigars, he didn’t mind the smell of pipe tobacco.

  “Well, ya gonna stand there and gawk at me or go get your letter?”

  Chuckling, Mitch raised a hand, turned around, and pushed past him. “Thanks, Pappy.”

  “Hope it’s bad news,” he grumbled as Mitch started away.

  “Hope so too,” he called back cheerfully. “Anything to break the monotony.”

  Pappy was right. The postmaster had a letter for him. To Mitch’s surprise, it was from his father. That was strange. His father hardly ever wrote to him. He’d sometimes add a paragraph or two to Gwendolyn’s letters, but that was all.

  Finding a place where he was alone, Mitch slit the letter open with his knife and began to read.

  October 4th

  Dear Mitch—

  I am sending this letter with a freighter from Durango rather than waiting for it to go out with the regular mail. I believe we have a situation that requires some immediate action on your part.

  The new stake president, Francis A. Hammond, arrived here three days ago with his family and a few other families. He plans to stay here in Bluff for a week or two while he gets to know the people. Then he plans to visit the Saints in Colorado and New Mexico. In fact, someone has told him about Mancos and he’s interested in seeing if that area might be a good place for him to settle. When I heard that, I told him that you were working for the railroad in the Mancos area, and he promised to look you up.

  But listen to this. The next night, we had a potluck supper and dance at the new co-op store and dance hall to welcome him and the others to San Juan County. Before the dancing started, Bishop Nielson invited him to speak to us for a few minutes. President Hammond has a very warm personality, and both your mother and I were favorably impressed with him. If he chooses to settle in Bluff, we will be most pleased.

  But he said something I think you need to hear. He commented on how desolate and dry the land up between Thompson Springs and Moab was. But then he said that they had found a place that might have promise for some settlement. Now listen to this: he said it was the area around the north and south branches of Montezuma Creek, the area that we call the Blue Mountain country.

  Yes—the very place that we have talked about. The very place that you said you are interested in because of the rich rangeland up there.

  Now, are you ready for this? He said it is his opinion, and Salt Lake City agrees, that it is time for our little colony to be divided and new settlements started, as President Smith and Elder Snow described when they were here a year ago.

  Mitch gave a low cry and read that sentence again. “Oh, my,” he breathed.

  This is no surprise to us, of course. We have been going to the Blue Mountains for timber for about three years now, and several families have expressed an interest in settling there. Well, that time has now come.

  This morning I was down helping Lemuel Redd and Kumen Jones get their corn in, and they told me that the bishopric met with President Hammond last night. He said that it was too late to do it this season, but as soon as the snow starts melting in the spring, he wants to send a party of interested men north to explore the whole region and identify possible sites for two or more settlements.

  Mitch half closed his eyes and looked up at the sky. “Oh, Pa, tell me you told them that I’m interested. Please. Please.”

  I, of course, mentioned to them that you are very interested in finding a place to start your own ranch next spring.

  “Yes!” Mitch punched the air with his fist.

  But before I could ask them to put your name up for consideration, Lem said to me, “I already have Mitch on my short list.” Kumen smiled and said, “So do I.”

  Now, here is the thing of urgency. If you are interested, you will have to leave immediately after you get this letter to be back in time for the negotiations and decisions. Your mother, who is standing behind me as I write, is saying very loudly so you can hear: “This is what you’ve been waiting for, Mitch. So come home. Come home now.”

  I know you promised your foreman that you would stay until the end of November, but you have already given him a full year. So you have a decision to make. But you have to make it quickly.

  Pray about it. We trust that you will do the right thing.

  Love, Pa.

  P.S. In case you don’t know your mother’s feelings on this question, she paid the teamster one dollar to wait until I could write this letter so we could get it to you immediately.

  October 12, 1885—Bluff City

  “Mama! Mama! Mama!”

  Gwen looked up with a start. It was Martha’s voice. She quickly walked to the window and picked up a cloth to wipe the condensation off so she could see. There was a pot of stew on the stove and all of the windows had steamed up.

  They were still a block away, but she instantly saw who it was.

  “Oh, my goodness!” She dropped the cloth, yanked on the strings of her apron, pulled it off, and threw it at a chair. “Johnny!” she cried. Her son was lying on the bed reading a book. “Mitch’s home, Johnny. Mitch’s home! Go get your father.”

  Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she plunged out the door.

  “All right, children,” she chided. “Let Mitch come inside. Let him put his things down. Then you can give him all the hugs you want.”

  They stepped back and she watched her son come in, this stranger that she still knew so well and had missed so fiercely. He dropped his bedroll and pack behind the door and then took off his hat and coat. Holding out his arms, he grinned. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  Johnny and Martha rushed in and threw their arms around him. Gwen was only a split second behind them. Arthur stood back, letting them have their time, smiling proudly.

  Finally, Mitch was able to move over to the table and sit down, Martha on one side of him, Johnny on the other. “Did you bring us anything?” Johnny blurted.

  His mother sighed. “Be polite, son.”

  Mitch pulled a face. “Sorry, buddy. Not this time. I didn’t have time. I got Pa’s letter, went straight to the foreman to tell him I was quitting, gathered my things, and took off.”

  Johnny’s shoulders slumped. “That’s all right.”

  “How’s the pop gun? Is it still working?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s great! The string broke once, but Pa fixed it for me.”

  “And I love my pink dress,” Martha said.

  Reaching out, Gwen laid a hand on her youngest’s shoulder. “All right, son. Now it’s our turn.” She looked at Mitch. “So how did you get here?”

  “I walked most of the way. Couldn’t find any wagons headed this way. And
besides, they’re too slow if they’re loaded.” He glanced at his father. “Once I got your letter, there was no holding back. I was on my way.”

  “How long did it take you?” Martha wondered.

  “This is my fourth day. I figure I made about twenty-five miles a day.”

  Reaching across the table, Gwen took both of his hands and held them tightly. “It is so good to see you, son.” The tears started immediately, and she choked back a soft sob. “So good.”

  The silence was awkward for a moment, but then Arthur spoke. “So, how did your boss take the news that you were quitting?”

  “Oh, he was mad. Furious. Swore a blue streak. Said I couldn’t just up and walk away. So I told him I had no choice.” He was suddenly studying his hands. After a moment, he looked up at his mother. “But I’m going back.”

  She gasped. “No, Mitch!”

  “Yes, Mama.” He went on in a rush, before she could protest further. “He said I could take off the time I needed now. And he promised that I can come home again for Christmas. But the railroad’s starting a new spur line up to the mining country around Telluride. They’ve already surveyed a route, and we’ve started grading the right-of-way between Mancos and Dolores. We can do a lot of that during the winter.”

  His mother said nothing. Nor did she look up. He reached across and laid a hand on hers. “That wasn’t my plan, Mama. But he’s offered me a hundred-dollar bonus if I’ll stay.”

  “You said it was my fault that you went to Colorado. But if I had known it was going to be for over a year . . .” she shook her head. “There are more important things than buying more cows.”

  “If you do get included in that exploring party,” his father said, “they plan to leave in March, as soon as the snow’s out of the high country. President Hammond wants the first families moving up there by June.”

  “I know that, Pa. And I’m going to be with them. But if I can work until then, that’s another hundred and fifty dollars I can earn. I’m going to need it, Pa, what with buying cattle and lumber and whatever else I’m going to need.” He glanced at his mother. “Then I’m not ever going back, Mama. I promise.”