Kate Mulhall A romance of the Oregon Trail
bordering on and paralleling the great river. Shifting sands had
formed small dunes, which disappeared and formed elsewhere as the
wind changed in direction or velocity. Not a living thing was in
sight, except here and there a clump of stunted sage-brush or
greasewood.
Following the stream through this cleft in the mountain range, they
were soon overtaken by a sand-storm driven by the force of the
prevailing winds, occasionally encountered by travelers now as by the
pioneers--at first dimming the rays of the sun, and soon entirely
obscuring it. The haze of sand and fine dust hung low on the horizon
like a fog, and darkened one's view of objects even in the near
vicinity. Kate called ahead to Sarah to turn out of the road, which
she quickly did and was followed by Adam.
The two younger members of the party had never before gone through
such an experience, but mother Pelton said it reminded her of scenes
along the Oregon Trail in 185-. She had forgotten that they were on
the branch of the Trail which follows the river, instead of the one
crossing the mountain range, as the Mulhalls had done on the first
trip. Before Adam and Sarah could place their automobiles with the
rear ends to windward and close the front covers, {211} the sand and
dust penetrated their ears and eyes, covered their faces, filled
their hair and as Sarah remarked afterwards, "left us in a woeful
condition."
The electric light was turned on, but the dust that had worked into
the space inside the cover prevented cleaning up until the storm
abated; this it did late in the afternoon, when the journey was
resumed with the people in the car laughing at the appearance of each
other, and the surprise of a lifetime before all of them. About
sunset a modest farmhouse was sighted; as they approached nearer an
orchard of thrifty fruit trees was observed, and soon a large expanse
of growing crops spread out before them in a panorama of living green.
"Neighbor, you have a fine home here so close to the desert we have
just crossed," Pelton said addressing the middle-aged man who, as
soon as he saw the two automobiles approaching from the west, came
out through the gate of the front yard to offer a friendly greeting.
"You are still in the 'desert,' if that is what you call the section
you have just passed through," the stranger responded. "What you see
here is the same, or was when we first came four years ago. Won't
you come in?" The ladies at first objected, saying they were not
presentable. "Oh, that's nothing," continued the homesteader, "it's
clean dirt; we're used to it here. Jane (referring to his wife) I
know will be delighted to have you come in and have supper with us."
{212}
By this time the mistress of the house appeared and seconded her
husband's invitation. Observing the sincerity of the good dame,
mother Pelton was the first to assent, quickly followed by the
others; and in they went--"Dirty faces and all," as Aunt Sarah said
later.
While preparations were being made for the appetizing meal that
followed Pelton expressed surprise that it was possible to have such
a property in the midst of a desert. "I'll tell you all about that
later," said the homesteader, as he repeated his wife's invitation,
"Come to supper." After a bounteous meal of fresh vegetables, fruits
and other farm products, accompanied with a bumper of hard cider, the
travelers were anxious to hear the story of how their host came to
make his residence in that locality.
"You see," he began, "I saw a small patch of reclaimed land with such
fine crops that I at once felt encouraged to try it on a larger
scale. So we bought this tract of 640 acres--a mile square--for a
dollar and a quarter an acre, and in addition took up a desert claim,
making in all nearly a thousand acres of land--or sand, as you
probably think of it. Fortunately the river comes in from the south
with a strong current; my son and I went up far enough to tap the
water, and dug a ditch from it on our land--now you see the result."
"Do you mean to say that when you came here, the land covered by the
orchard, and where your crops are growing was like the desert we've
just {213} crossed?" mother Pelton asked. "Just that," the host
replied.
"Well, it seems to me like a miracle," Pelton responded; "and so it
does to the others." There were many other surprises in store for
the pilgrims as they progressed eastward.
"Yes, I remember this place," mother Pelton said as they descended
the second mountain range. "Father said it seemed like a big hole in
the landscape as we looked down upon it from the other side; but such
a beautiful valley--the Grand Ronde--you never saw." A few days
later, as their automobile ran along a narrow cut in a hillside
parallel to a small river, she commented, "This was the worst road[1]
on all the old Trail--right down in the stream and half the time over
slippery boulders, some of them as big as a wagon wheel; two of the
oxen were down at one time."
"Oh, I remember this," Aunt Sarah[2] said as they came to a crossing;
"here's where we ferried over on top of two wagon-boxes. I thought
every minute we were going to sink, and to this day cannot see why we
didn't."
"Here's where we left one of the wagons, and Ben went ahead to get
something to eat," mother Pelton {214} said with a sigh, as they were
approaching the locality where Hardy was killed by the Indians.
Would they be able to identify the spot where the massacre occurred;
and if they did, could they find his grave? For some time before
that, the tragedy of nearly a half century before had been crowded
out of their minds by the diverting incidents of the trip; but now it
was their uppermost thought, and the older members of the party
lapsed into silence.
Linda Hardy had so minutely described the river crossing and the
natural objects in the vicinity of it, that all were sanguine of
being able to find and mark the spot. They were convinced that the
crossing had been located, for the approaches on either side fitted
the description; the unmistakable mark of the Oregon Trail was
there--worn deep on both sides of the river, as Linda had said. But
all the ground from river to bluff was now covered by a field of
waving grain, without any trace of the sorrowful interment which took
place there at the height of the overland emigration to Oregon.
Before leaving home, Sarah read a statement to her mother that the
graves of only a few among the twenty thousand who had died along the
Trail could be identified, and wondered if they would be able to find
her grandmother's burial place if they made the trip. Mrs. Pelton
thought they could; but looking over the ground beneath which she
felt sure that the remains of Ben Hardy, who had saved her life, had
been placed after the massacre, she continued {215} in silence as
Adam started across the river to resume the journey along the old
Trail.
They were now traveling up a fertile valley divided into farms,
extensive green alfalfa and grain fields and highly productive
orchards, with evidences of a happy and thriving people living in
peace and security. Several prosperous villages and the capital of a
State were passed where only sage-brush, grasshoppers and
jack-rabbits (some of the more destitute emigrants subsisting on the
rabbits) were seen on the first trip of the older people in the party.
Recrossing to the south side of the Snake River, the travelers were
again in a region of shifting sands and desolation--part of what was
once commonly referred to as the "Great American Desert," and
considered practically worthless by some of the so-called "statesmen"
of two generations before. Meanwhile vast irrigation projects had
been undertaken, and in part completed, with a sure prospect of
developing many rich agricultural areas extending as far as the eye
can see. All of these scenes were new but immensely interesting to
father Pelton.
Three falls, rivaling Niagara in beauty and grandeur, were passed in
quick succession as they continued along that great river; and mother
Pelton recognized the place where she had taken the thirsty oxen down
into the canyon and came so near failing to get them back, as related
in an earlier chapter. Sarah's arms became stronger as she drove the
automobile, and she seemed to be thriving on the dust of {216} the
plains, the smell of the sage-brush, or both. All doubts of her
ability to extend the trip across the Continent if need be, were
dispelled; and the whole party was in good health and spirits.
Ascending to a higher altitude and cooler atmosphere, they left
behind the beet fields and sugar factories, the extensive farms,
alfalfa stacks and well-fed cattle which have taken the place of the
now almost extinct buffalo. Farther up the Rocky Mountain slope,
they entered a region where crops cannot be profitably grown; farms
and buildings gradually disappeared, and the continuous Trail
appeared in all its primitiveness. Now and then an antelope would
cross the track and turn to scan the stranger as with a jealous eye,
arousing in mother Pelton a wish for her rifle, forgetting she might
not be able to draw a bead as in her younger days.
So moderate was the upgrade that the drivers of the two cars scarcely
realized that they were ascending the slope of the Rocky Mountains;
and except for the granite monument in the South Pass, they would
probably not have recognized the actual crossing of the Great Divide.
Another day's run would bring them to the spot they had come so far
to revisit. Mother Pelton felt confident that they could find it;
and Aunt Sarah, though a little girl when the grave was made a half
century before, was sure of being able to do so.
Yet the road did not look at all familiar, or seem natural.
Afternoon came, and there was no sign {217} by which it could be
recognized--nor anything at sunset. It was then necessary to camp,
as darkness would soon make it impossible to follow the Trail; and a
sleepless night for all followed.
Mother Pelton thought they might have passed the four tracks worn in
the ledge of rocks that was to be the principal guide in reaching it.
Another sign, the North Star, was obscured; and the third help in the
search, the rift in the mountains so well remembered and described by
Aunt Sarah, was not visible. In the morning it was considered best
to drive back over part of the Trail they had traversed the afternoon
before.
"Hold on," suddenly exclaimed Aunt Sarah after a few miles of back
tracking; "I know we're wrong for I remember that rock." She pointed
to a conical pile--almost a mountain--and continued, "See, it looks
almost like a man's head; we passed that the next day after we buried
mother." Then the party turned right-about, and again started
eastward along the Trail; after traveling a few miles, Sarah drew off
to the side of the road and waited for Adam to come up.
He arrived a moment later, wondering why she had stopped, and called
out, "What's the matter?" "Nothing is the matter," Sarah answered;
"but, mother, do you see that old Trail going up the hill? Maybe
that's the one you traveled when you were here before!"
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Photograph from J. L. McIntosh, Split Rock, Wyoming
Over these four parallel tracks (only two of which show in the
photograph), worn nearly hub deep in places, all the emigrant travel
to Oregon, Great Salt Lake and California passed during the period
covered by this story; and they remain to this day a sight of great
historical interest across a sandstone ledge near Split Rock P. O.,
in the Sweetwater Valley, Wyoming. The early trappers, traders,