Sully Richardson stories

Sullivan Richardson stories

MORMON INDIAN RELATIONS

by Sullivan Calvin Richardson

9 THE 1880 CENSUS IN NAVAJO LAND

Sullivan C. Richardson was 19 years old when he had the experience related here. At that time he and his brother, Edmund, were living and working in the United Order at Brigham City, Arizona.

In 1880, just as the General Census of the United States was being arranged for, our Bishop, George Lake, was in Prescott, the Territorial Capitol of Arizona. He was acquainted with the Census Supervisor, and one day found him in quite serious trouble. The Enumerator who had been given the district northeast of the Little Colorado out to Fort Defiance, had got scared of something and left the country in the night, when he should have started out the next day to do the census. This left two districts without Enumerators, and the Supervisor must have them in the field at once. It would be a great favor if someone could go from our place, which was near the starting point for both districts.

At last the Bishop promised it would be done, and he hurried home. There he asked Stephen Wilson and Marinus Christensen to take one district, and they started in a buggy for the district around the head of the Little Colorado. The Bishop wanted Lyman Wilson to take the other, but Lyman was away in the mountains. Then he came to me.

In the United Order, the interest of one is the interest of all. I was nearing nineteen, but if there were ever a 'girl boy' in regard to self confidence and taking responsibility, he surely bore my name, and I felt I could not go on such a trip. But then the Bishop said, "The honor of our people is at stake now, and there is not another that can go." Then, seeming inspired, he added, "I'll promise you in the name of the Lord, that you shall never be left without help when you need it. You shall be directed and the way will be opened before you. "

I replied, "That is enough. I'll go", and I went to Sunset to get Brother Ira Hatch, the Indian missionary, to give me a description of the way I must go.

He told me to go North to find the trail past the round knoll a little east of North of Sunset. Then I should follow it till I came to a large tank where the trails of stock, sheep and travel come together from every direction. "From there," he said, "I can only tell you that the Moqui (Hopi) villages are about thirty five miles nearly north. But trails, little valleys, low mountains, ranges of hills and sandy, sandy country with patches of cedar and brush are what you'll find everywhere. If you get lost and turned around there, you are lost for sure. But that is not the worst danger you will be in, for around the agency you will find Indians that have just enough civilization to ask you in to eat, and while you are out of sight of your gear, they will steal everything you have. Look out for them; they'll take every advantage of you they possibly can. "

So, with this kind of description, I was in a state of excitement from the start.

The next day, a little after noon, I was at the tank. The network of trails had not been overdrawn. Sincerely worried, I rode out to high ground, turned my horse loose for lunch, and, feeling I had already come to a place where I needed help, I asked for it with my whole heart.

All the time I was eating my lunch I was trying to settle on my way, but failed. However, I had that promise, and I finally saddled up to start as near the direction as I could. But trails went every way.

When I was ready to go and began looking for landmarks far ahead where I thought I should go, I turned and saw, about a half a mile away, an Indian on the other side of the tank wash, riding towards me. He proved to be out hunting horses, and went on my trail nearly half way to the Moqui villages. I could not understand a word, but from his carefully examining signs and tracks, I was certain I was going the right way.

When he turned to the left, I pointed my finger along the trail and said, "Moqui casa?" (Hopi house?). He replied, "Aouh" ( as near as I can write it) and made signs for me to go on. I was alone again, but I was out where the trails generally followed one direction.

When it began to darken at dusk, I rode up to a low mesa or knoll with a flat top of about an acre and hobbled my horse for the night. I spread my blankets and lay down, only to spring to my feet again, my hair almost on end and cold chills running over me, as a horrid noise sounded right above me. As I looked up for the cause, another noise sounded at one side, then others far and near, and soon the air seemed alive with these piercing noises. I soon learned that the noises were coming from night hawks that would rise in the air and then come swiftly down while making a cutting noise that, nearby, sounds more like a circular saw getting almost stalled in hard gummy wood than anything I can describe. When far away, it sounds almost like an echo, and it is really a pleasing sound. But never since has it appealed to me as it did on that night. Soon I could enjoy it, and I slept with it ringing all around.

Far into the night I was awakened by a squeal, and as I arose quickly, a band of Navajo horses were frightened and started off on a run. My old horse followed them, and I slipped my shoes on without tying them and ran after them. Running after them hobbled soon tired my horse, and he allowed me to get ahead of him and then catch him. But then I found myself lost from camp. I was just making up my mind that I must spend the rest of the night away from it when I found a trail that went about north arid south according to the stars. Following it, first one way, then the other, I came to the knoll, and was soon sound asleep again.

About ten o'clock the next day, I climbed the hill on which stands the first of the Moqui villages. It is on the point of a high mesa almost surrounded by perpendicular cliffs that reach nearly down to the plain below.

I wanted to find someone who would put me on the trail to Billy Keems' trading store, but my reception can never be forgotten. I afterwards learned that the Indians had just had trouble with their agent, and I suppose they thought I had come to investigate it. Whatever the cause, when I rode up, a crowd of squaws gathered on the nearest roof door yard, (the roof of one house is the door-yard for a row of homes set back and above) and their contempt and derision was shown in ways it would be even impolite to mention.

When I tried to use the little stock of a hundred or two common Spanish words with the few words of Moqui I had learned from their visits to the settlements, all was greeted with hoots of ridicule and shouts of laughter that drowned out all I tried to say, while the naked parts of dark skinned babies bottoms were turned up towards me, etc. There was no single sign of respect until an Indian came up and asked where I was from.

When he learned I was from the Mormon Settlements of the Little Colorado, he quickly spoke to the squaws, and the whole atmosphere changed as if by magic. I was then invited into eat their brown paper bread and other foods set before me, and every courtesy was shown.

I had hoped I might meet Tochie or Lightning or some of those who quite often came to Brigham City and stayed several days gleaning and other things, but I saw no one I knew. However, I was at once put upon the trail or road I wanted, and I started eastward towards Keems' Canyon.

Late in the afternoon an Indian overtook me who spoke good Spanish and seemed anxious to join me in my journey. I was sorry and worried, for, to me, he seemed to be about the worst looking being I had seen. He wanted to trade horses with me, to run a race and other things, and wound up by urging me to hurry and go with him to Keems. "If I would hurry," he said, "we would get to the store by sundown or just a few minutes later", showing how little by marking the distance between his thumb and finger.

I knew this was not true for the sun was hardly more than half an hour high, possibly three quarters, while we were at least sixteen or eighteen miles from the store. However, I traveled with him till we came near to the mouth of a wide canyon, and I saw that two or three miles ahead it forked and we would be in thick cedars for a long distance.

It was entirely too much to think of going into such a place with him, and while he started off to show me how his horse could run, the impression to stop came to me so strong, I did so, and began to unsaddle. He at once returned and urged me to go on.

I replied: "No, my horse is tired; I will stay till morning."

"You had better come with me," he urged. "Hay muchos malos Indios Aqui" (There are many mean Indians here). "They'll come and steal your horse in the nigh, sure!"

"No," I said, "Yo creo que no." (I think not)

"Yes, they will. They will!" He was sure while I hunted my horse all I had would be lost, but I made my bed and lay down as if for the night.

At last he rode away. I was sure that as he was riding around the point, he stopped and looked back, I thought, to get his bearings, but I made up my mind it should do him no good. As soon as it was real dark, I gathered up my outfit and rode about a couple of miles. There I turned off the road, (scarcely more than a trail) went a few rods away from it and made camp. I tied the halter rope to my pistol belt, and rolled up in my blanket. I would have a sleep until the horse ate what was within reach and would pull for more. Then I'd move and sleep again.

Way in the night, the horse snorted and brought me to my feet patting and rubbing him to keep him quiet. The alarm was from a horse going back down the trail at a good fast gallop. My blood was almost frozen with dread and terror till the sound died away.

I thought it was before midnight, and it was quite a while before I got to sleep again. Then I was awakened again in the same way, and went through the same as a horse galloped, or rather ran back up the trail. I was sure it was that Indian trying to find me.

One may imagine the effect of such an experience upon such a lad. Though I slept again, daylight found me far up the trail, and about ten o'clock, I was at Billy Keems.

When I told the incident and described the Indian to Billy, he said, "Well! He was here a couple of hours ago. I wondered what he was hanging around here for. He's one of the very worst on the reservation. It's a good thing you did that. If you hadn't, you never would have got here. "

Interspersing it with names far from meaning a "heaven blessed angel" he said, "He missed you; couldn't think what had become of you, and he came to see if you had got in."

Billy was surely nice to me and made things as pleasant and easy for me as possible. One of the men, disdaining a boy's right to take any notes of his life, perhaps not desirous it should be known, scoffed at me. Billy took it up, and when the fellow left, told me all I needed to know to comply with the census.

In the afternoon one of the Navajo Chiefs came into the store, saw me, and asked who I was and what I was doing. Billy explained what I was doing and where I was going.

He immediately said I ought not to go on. He said that the Indians above there (north east) were greatly excited, and no one should travel except in companies. Two prospectors, going through that part of the Reservation a few days before, had gone to an Indian camp while no men folks were around, and did some things that made the Navajos so angry, they followed them till the prospectors camped.

Soon after the two were asleep, the younger was awakened by rifle shots. One bullet went through his leg but did not disable him. He waited just long enough to find that his companion was shot through the head, then ran in the darkness. He got away, and wandered around till next day, when a young Indian found him and took him to Forth Defiance.

To get to the next store, 55 miles by the road, (Pueblo, Colorado) I would have to go up around the point of the Mountain, which would take me almost to where the excitement made the danger great.

But duty, and that promise, made me go on. Billy joined in strongly, urging that I should not try it.

Billy Keems was so nice to me, I could not help liking him, but he often looked at me in wonder. He seemed to be so jolly and whole souled, yet displayed that utter abandon and indifference to everything but the present time. This was so new in my experience.

The time he came to the Order settlements was an illustration. One hot afternoon he sat on the bridge over the Little Colorado. It was not late enough so any shade from the mill reached them, and he was sweating and wiping his face. Several of our boys were around him, and in spite of the spray made by the water falling over the gate, we were almost suffering from the heat.

At last, Billy, pulled his hat off, looked up into the bright blue, and in as awful language as could be used, cursed the Savior for sending such disagreeable weather. If he would change places, come down and let him, Billy, go up there and reign, he could make things a more pleasant. etc. So awful a blasphemy, that it seemed to me if it had come from one who had been taught of the Lord, it would certainly have resulted in immediate punishment for such sacrilege.

But as noted, while I was there, no one could have done more for me. My outfit was cared for without stint; and at bed time he took me into his room, to a bed made soft with Navajo blankets. When in bed the light was left burning and we talked for hours.

He said, "When you get back, they'll call you up to speak, and you just say you saw the strangest[?] man out here, that ever was, that he doesn't fear God, man, nor devil! But I've treated you right, haven't I?"

I assured him it could not have been nicer.

"That's what I want," he said, "but this religion is all rot. Why say, if I had you out in one of these big cities and was to give you a start "seeing the elephant" you'd say it is too! You'd see there is so much pleasure in this world, you would say:" All this time I've been a worm crawling along the ground; but now I'm a butter fly, I've got wings, and I'll fly away etc. " and he rose up in bed and motioned with his arms to emphasize it.

I replied that if I got started in that way, looking only to a wild life, I was sure that is just what I would feel, for it is the exact opposite of all that is religious. But life is far more than that; more than the reckless pleasures that lead only to sorrow in old age and all the future. And I bore as strong a testimony to him as I could of what the Lord has for us and why I think the other life is better.

I have often wondered if he did not think of it in what came to him later.

Present pleasure was his ideal; but when later, with another man who had been with him at the store for a long time, he went to Fort Wingate to have the Army Doctor do what he could for them, found there could be no cure. Their awful affliction had run so long, nothing could stop the decay of their bodies as was quickly proven in the case of his companion. Billy sold his store and for six weeks lay drunk, killing pain and suffering with more liquor, till one morning they found him dead in the little gully that runs down the east side of Fort Wingate. I was later assured of this passing, and with every one who knew him and the many wonderful traits of that otherwise captivating soul, I could not help sorrowing over the dreadful retribution.

It was with sincere regret that I left his store for the two day's ride. Of course after what I had been told, every little exciting thing was magnified. I did not recognize the shorter trail that would have taken me through the hills so kept to the road. On the second morning I was at the north end of the mountain, riding down a narrow valley too the east, when I saw an Indian come out of a wash or hollow that ran down on the south side of the valley, and go out of sight in a patch of tall rabbit brush about twenty five yards from the road and between it and the wash.

He was scarcely out of sight, when another came, then another, till five were in the brush.

Maybe my feelings can be imagined, but I knew if they wanted to catch me, they could easily do it, and I might as well go to them as back, so turned out and rode straight towards where I knew they were.

I was within a rod of them before I came around a big bush and saw them squatting around a bed of coals on which a leg of mutton was roasting, and their salutation of "Ha i'n i sik iss" (Howdy friend) seemed about the sweetest sound I ever heard. They were planting corn in the wash, and just came for breakfast.

There had not been the least danger, but I had gone through as much anguish as if it had been real, and I could almost see faces and arrows sticking out through and around any yellow topped bush.

They had a little pottery jug that would hold scarce more than a quart, from which they gave me a drink, but it was so small, and only partly full, I took very little and thankfully rode on.

The hot June sun beat mercilessly down on that sandy desert country, and before noon I was really suffering. When I stopped for the horse to rest, he would scarcely nibble, and I saddled him again and started on. Those fleecy clouds seemed to concentrate the heat making it almost unbearable and added to our awful thirst.

About the middle of the afternoon I got off the horse that was worse off than I, and in the shade of a cedar, again earnestly asked for that promised aid. Again it came. Though I had not seen an Indian since those of the morning, and but one other on the two days trip, I had ridden scarcely more than a mile, when I saw one coming from the east in a direction that would cross my way.

Hurrying, I caught him as he passed, and though he could talk neither English nor Mexican, at my word 'toh!' and motion, he pointed to a grove of cedars near a rocky hill and with motion made me understand that my horse could get water there, and at the upper end, I could drink. (Toh! is Navajo for water)

The water was not the best but soon refreshed and filled with gratitude, I was on my way again. As the sun sank behind the low cedar covered hills, I rode up to the trading store.

But here I found more to work on my feelings. Mr. Weber, who had charge of the store for Tom Keems, as he was familiarly called, came as I rode up, caught me by the hand, and said he never was so glad to see a human being in his life. He was in trouble and felt he must have someone he could talk to.

Four days before, some Navajos from up the country about 35 miles, had come down, done some trading. One who was a quarrelsome young wretch, tried to pick a row. He finally drew a pistol to shoot Weber, and undoubtedly would have killed him, had not a young Indian that was helping around, struck the pistol as he fired, and sent the shot through the roof, leaving a hole as a witness of how sure was his intentions.

They took the trouble maker out and off, but he left saying Weber could have five days to leave the country. If he were not gone they would come and finish him.

Through some friendly Indians he had got word that the scoundrel was really working up some of his cronies to come the next day and do it.

There was grave cause to feel serious over it, but as he was left in charge of the place, he could not leave. He told me of one comforting assurance he felt had been given to him. The night before, he had almost lost hope and courage when he found "a horse shoe" pin his dear old mother had given him years before. She had told him if he were ever in trouble, to wear it and feel sure he would be blessed if he would remember mother and duty. From what he said he had been praying and felt this was a manifestation for his comfort.

There was another trading post five miles up the wash, and early the next morning I went up there, took the census, then came back and stayed with Weber the rest of the day.

The chief men of the Navajos in the country above learned that something was being done, and took charge of the affair enough to send a runner down to learn the other side of it.

About noon an elderly, stout chief from Weber�s neighborhood came to the store, learned what was doing, and stayed there till far into the night.

Though small in stature, he showed a great mind. He met the rider from above and sent word back, �If you want to come here to visit or to trade, come on. But if you come to make trouble, stay away. We can't afford to have trouble with the Great Father!� meaning 'Uncle Sam' as given by Mr. Weber.

In the evening the Chief and a dozen or twenty Indians were standing around a fire near the store when a shot was fired up the road.

I had heard and read of Indian traits, but I was greatly surprised how quickly, at a word from him, that crowd seemed to melt away.

They all returned later with word that some drunken Indians were along the road to Ft. Defiance. There was another chance of danger I had missed.

The next day along that road, nothing could seem farther from trouble; I saw teepees, or hogans, of all ages showing continuous dwelling places, nestling against cedar dotted hills. Occasionally cattle, herds of sheep, horses or horsemen were seen, making a real picture of the dreary country.

One little boy called and ran to me, and was disappointed that I did not want to buy a Prairie Dog for a stew at supper time.

About the middle of the afternoon, an old Indian told me that Fort Defiance was up the little valley we were in, but the road went over into, and up the next valley.

When I arrived at the Fort, General Buell from the Interior was there to find from the Indians, why they were causing so much trouble. After my Census work, I went to the Council, and to my surprise, the little Chief who had sent word to the Navajos up the country that they could not afford to have trouble with the Great Father, was the principal man on the side of the Indians in this consultation. How different was his bearing with the white men!

When asked why the Indians had dragged the Agent out by the hair and told him to leave or be killed, he replied that he had imposed upon them in every way till they could not stand it. He had taken what already belonged to them to pay them for things for his own benefit, and had left their children in schools without sufficient to eat or wear when it had been furnished for them, etc. Then all argument to have those who did it punished was evaded in a way that to me was wonderful.

In reply to their talk, so long as I was present, they failed to convince him that it would be just. I never heard of anything being done in regard to it, nor how it was settled, for I had to start on early in the morning. I went to a commanding officer to get a description of the road to Cook's and down to the Rio Puerco, on the mail route from Albuquerque to Prescott (which is now on the railroad).

He told me to go down the valley I had come up, and I would need no description, for I would find the track of his buggy where he had come up the evening before. But I had come up the valley west of what he thought. I rode for twenty five or thirty miles and saw no tracks. I had no idea whether they were in the valley east or west of me. All I could do was to follow on, but when the valley grew narrow and at last became a box canyon and turned toward the west, the only conclusion was that I must turn east through the range of low mountains. How I longed to see an Indian!

As the sun was going behind the hills, night and a low mountain range faced me. Thick cedars were everywhere, and I had no idea how far it was through the range, nor what was on the other side. Again I felt I was in need of help and sincerely asked for it.

Soon after I saw an Indian hogan, and rejoicing, I rode to it, but it had long been deserted. Heartsick I was turning away, when there came a faint call from a distance to the west. I turned and rode towards where the voice sounded and soon met a tall Navajo, the first since the early part of the day.

For "Cook's" he pointed almost straight back, (East, for I had turned almost west to the hogan) through the tick cedars and hills. Then I offered him all the change I had (about 65cents) to go with me.

He put me on a trail, and said he would soon catch me, which he did as it was getting real dark, and a couple of hours later we rode up to the store. He told them he had found me lost in the hills and was glad to bring me in. There could be no doubt that I would have found my way to the mail road, for it ran all the way down west to the Little Colorado, but Cook's was in my district, and I had to go there. I would have had no idea which way to go to it, and in those canyons and washes are holes sometimes hard to get out of.

From Cook�s down the mail road there was no chance to get lost. I came around the point above where Holbrook now stands and saw the old cottonwood trees on the bank of the Little Colorado. I can't tell you how much it seemed like meeting a very dear old friend as I turned old George loose to drink his fill and lay down to have all I wanted of that old brackish, warm water. It was sweet to me then. It was home.

Coming down the Puerco, the distances between stations were not great, from twelve to twenty five miles. It was good to meet someone to speak to and ask about distances, etc. Sometimes amusing incidents occurred. Once when I asked how far it was to a place, a mail driver answered, "Twenty miles" when another, an Irishman, interrupted: "Wut are yes given' us? Why don't ye tell the kid thu truth. "Why, I have!" he answered. "Have! T' thu divil wid yes! I've driv' it a hunderd toimes; an' uts ivery fut av twinty wan. "

Sometimes the trip was far from pleasant as in that sweltering sun, a twenty five mile ride must be taken slow to keep the old horse in good shape for the rest of the long trip. But it was past. What a joy it was to bathe in the waters of the old river!

From there I had to go to St. Johns, the county seat, to have my records accepted, and to turn them over to the authorities of the state.

Two days later, having passed through Woodruff and up the river, I rode into St. Johns and found the office. In front of it was the old Brigham City buggy, with Stephen Wilson and Marinus there for the same business. They had just completed their round.

Both districts were completed. And now HOME! How pleasant was the trip down the river in company that was really our own folks. How fun were the reminiscences of our trips to live over again. And the welcome home at the fort was great. They are among the sunny pictures of my life.

I should have sent a card to Prescott every day, giving details of my work. They would have gone through our office and let the folks know of my whereabouts and what I was doing. But I had never gone to an office where I could mail a card till at St. Johns. Then all records were turned over at once, so I had never been heard from. Serious rumors of the trouble among the Navajos were plentiful, and many feared I had met some awful calamity. And perhaps I had ALMOST, BUT THAT PROMISE had been verified.