[William Nye, A Winter Among the Piutes, The Overland Monthly, March, 1886]

 

1886.]              A Winter among the Piutes.                   293

 

A WINTER AMONG THE PIUTES.

            I HAVE been asked to write something of an old-time experience of travel and sojourn in a certain wild mountain region, which not very long ago was set down on the maps as unexplored—a region which, owing to its distance from any railway, may be considered, even at this late day, a somewhat secluded corner of what is generally known as the Far West. Though the scenes and events herein narrated are of the past, and are seen through the mist of twenty-one years, yet the recollection of those wild days still goes with me, on the whole a pleasant and never-fading remembrance. And if this narrative is a very simple one, yet it at least offers to him who would know his country through and through, some account of a very peculiar portion of it, which tourists generally seem to have made but little acquaintance with.

            It lies in the extreme south-eastern part of the state of Nevada, with Arizona and Utah on the south and east, and the Mojave desert in the extreme south-west—a wild country, where what few valleys there are that are blessed with the rare luxury of abundant water, were in by-gone times the real home of the various bands of Piute and Shoshone Indians. It is a region of mountain ranges, extending north and south with singular regularity. Many of the ranges are pine-clad up to their very summits, while others are bare and desolate. The intervening valleys are many of them waterless deserts. It is a stretch of country of some tragic interest, since it embraces the locality just beyond the line of Nevada, in Utah, known as Mountain Meadows, the scene of that never-to-be forgotten, tragical Mountain Meadow massacre. From this as a starting point, about two hundred miles due west takes us to Death Valley, crossing on the way many valleys, among which are those spots of fertility known as Clover and Pah-ranagat Valleys, the latter at about forty miles east of Death Valley. Excepting these oases in the desert, it is a land where the wild cactus flourishes with no end of fantastic shapes ; a land, in summer, of drought, of blazing skies overhead, where occasional streams of tawny colored, alkaline, and seemingly worse than useless waters, mysteriously sink in the sandy desert, to reappear again in other and far distant localities. Yet, in spite of the alkaline and verdureless valleys, there is to the lover of nature a sort of wild pathos and a grandeur in many of its mountain ranges that is scarcely found elsewhere.

            Among the furrows that nature's ploughshare has seemingly drawn broad and deep through the western part of that mountain land, is, I have said, the one known as Death Valley—a broad and waterless sink, which will always remain without living occupant save an occasional traveler—unless, indeed,

294      A Winter among the Piutes.       [March,

human enterprise should some day get the better of nature, and tear down the divides, and thus open a way by which the waters of the ocean shall be coaxed far inland, so as to make of that valley a great inland sea; for the floor of Death Valley has, through scientific investigation, been proved to be one hundred and fifty-nine feet below the level of the ocean. And if possibly the deep waters should ever roll over it, and cover the valley from human sight, as the waters of the Dead Sea are said to hide the site of the cities of the plain, even then the tragic event of its early history might well be worth handing down to posterity. This tragedy, commemorated by the name of the valley, happened thirty-seven years ago, in mid-summer, and during the early days of the settlement of California, when to a party of two hundred emigrants, en route to Southern California, it proved to be a veritable valley of the shadow of death.

            My own acquaintance with the valley happened in the early part of the month of March, in 1864, and fortunately it was just after a light snowfall in the adjacent mountains, so that our need of water was fully met by melting snow.

            That was a haphazard journey, by a hitherto untraveled way, through a desert wilderness, from our winter camp in the mountains near Pah-ranagat Valley, on in a south-westerly direction, crossing Death Valley on the way. It was a hurried journey, for the staff of life had been broken ; or, in other words, we had been eaten out of our camp by half-starved Indians, and thus driven to seek a refuge somewhere, to avoid starvation. And the way that we came to be in Pah-ranagat Valley, and our acquaintance with the Indians there, constitute the subject of this sketch.

            The mountain ranges east of Death Valley were as late as the year 1864 unexplored, at least, so far as the precious metals were concerned ; and perhaps that, in good part, was why that region seemed at that time so attractive to the mining fraternity of the Pacific Coast. At all events, nature thereabouts had long been suspected of withholding from them a certain secret—namely, that she had the precious metal hid away in her bosom—and to wrest that secret from her was, in short, why and how it happened that we—a party of four of the aforesaid Californians—after a long and tedious winter journey with pack and riding horses, at last found ourselves camped in an Indian country, on a mountain side, overlooking the valley of Pah-ranagat, and spending our time in racing up and down the mountains in pursuit of the yellow phantom, and pestered meanwhile by Indian visitors, whose half-starved condition threatened the direst consequences.

            As for the valley of Pah-ranagat, it is one of the few valleys of that otherwise arid region that are blessed with fertility and abundant water. The spot we chose for a camping place—a winter home in the wilderness—was, however, some distance from the valley. It was a spot high up on a mountain among the pines, and at the lower edge of the snow-line, where water—that indispensable need of camp life—was fully supplied by melting snow. It overlooked the long, narrow strip of valley, marked by a yellow line of dried grass and reeds, which far away down the valley is lost to view in Lake Pah-ranagat. The silver sheen of the waters of the lake, as seen in the distance on a clear day, may have in by-gone times suggested to the Indian mind the name by which the valley is now known ; for Pah-ranagat is purely an Indian name, and one which in the Piutes dialect signifies "shining water "—the Valley of the Shining Water--a name which, at least, reflects no little credit on the poetic faculty of the Indian dwellers in this valley of the mountains. After all, it is a pleasant thought, that in the past that little strip of fertility, with its grass-bordered streams, has been an Indian paradise.

            Our camp on the mountain, as it happened, was not far from the wickyups of Pah-Witchit, the Indian chief, and his band, who at that time, with women and children, were supposed to number some two hundred persons, the most of whom were making their winter home at the springs near the head of the valley. Pah-Wichit, as we had occasion

1886.]              A Winter among the Piutes.       295

to know, looked upon the valley and its neighborhood as a kind of Naboth's vineyard, and of great price.

            He was unable at first to comprehend just what it was that had induced us to come to this country. Although I never quite understood his jargon, yet one could occasionally catch at his meaning. He said, "You Merry-cats,"—a name they saw fit to give us —" what for you come to our country digging up stones ? and your ponies eating up the grass in the valley, and next summer, perhaps, destroying our corn and melon patches."

            In fact, they seemed disposed to construe our visit to their country to our detriment ; and as their good will in the joint occupancy of their domain was essential in the case, therefore we must needs be conciliatory in all intercourse with them. They must be fed to keep them good-natured ; and what if, after all, they should see fit to forcibly confiscate our grub stake, and drive us forth into the wilderness to starve ? The case was serious, for at that time we knew that what little grass seed and corn they had gathered in the autumn, and stored away in sundry holes n the ground near their wickyups, had been nearly exhausted, and they were driven in some cases to such sustenance as roasted lizards afforded.

            Aside from the climate, nature in this wilderness seemed so very close-fisted that it was really a mystery how these Indians managed to wring from her a bare subsistence. For there was no wild game around by which either an Indian or a white man might at a pinch eke out a failing stock of provisions. The only wild animals that gave any sign of their presence were the coyotes, and they were so hungry that we had to sling our eatables by a rope, and hoist them up a tree out of their reach. They often invaded our camp in the darkness, and once they carried off some greasy knives that by chance had been left lying about, and after securing the grease and finding what remained wanting in flavor, they wisely dropped them where we picked them up the next morning. It would have been well if no more serious consequences had followed the invasion of our camp by hungry Indians than in the case of the coyotes.

            Not that the Indians actually set upon us, and forced us to do battle for the bread of our life ; but it might happen that, rendered desperate by hunger, they might do it. Therefore it was on our part an act of prudence to purchase their good will by generously feeding them ; at all events, it was far better to feed them than to fight them, though the price we paid, when measured by the enormous capacity of Indian stomachs, seemed not a little exorbitant.

            But, after all, for Indians, they were not a bad set of fellows. For in all our intercourse with them during that winter, I never knew of a single theft, though we left our camp alone repeatedly, and oftentimes in charge of one or another of them.

            There was one in particular, an old man, who was a privileged guest at our camp. His head, with its ample shock of hair, was silvered by age, hence he was known among us as Old Silver-top. He was always ready to pay his way, by gathering wood for the camp fire, driving up the ponies, or any other little necessary chore. It is a strange thing that he, a decrepit old Piute, should have been so distinctly photographed on my memory. There was not a little that was singular about him. His face, though thin and withered, was nevertheless very expressive. There was a certain indescribable jollity that shone out through his homely features. The old man, at a guess, might have seen eighty years, but still there was nothing venerable about him. He was tall and straight, and quite unbent by the weight of years. I seem to see him now, sitting with us around the camp fire, each one smoking his pipe and enjoying the blaze, while he was the butt of many a joke. He was a great smoker, and smoked his own toquop (Indian wild tobacco). He was clothed, as they all were, except their chief, in a breech clout, with a robe of coyote skins wrapped around him in primitive fashion, bare-legged and bareheaded. To be sure, the cold was never severe, but still the clothing was little enough

296      A Winter among the Piutes.       [March,

to shield any Indian from an occasional cold blast, much less one like him, in the chill decline of life.

            It happened on one occasion that he came up from the warm valley below to visit us at our camp on the mountain. It was after a light snow-fall —a snow which, in the Indian village below, was only a warm rain. I watched him as he picked his way along bare-footed through the snow, carrying his moccasins in his hand, to save them from being wet and spoiled. I saw that the old fellow now and then shivered, but he never lost patience, or was in the least disconcerted. He seemed to take any little hardship, like this, as a matter of course. No doubt, in his time, many a shiver had called for a far greater exercise of patience than this, and through it quite likely his sensibilities had now become somewhat blunted, so that in no case could he feel anything very acutely.

            But aside from and better than all that, our aged brother proved himself to be perfectly honest and trustworthy, for many a time, when we were abroad in quest of mineral, we left him in charge of our effects at camp, and on our return never missed a thing. And furthermore, it is safe to say of him that he never quarreled with his destiny or with the author of it, as those in civilized lands do, who take their lives in their own hands and cut them short by suicide. (For that matter, seldom, if ever, was an Indian known to commit downright suicide.) Alas, that there should be any of our countrymen to give currency to such an atrocious saying as, " There are no good Indians but the dead ones " —a saying that, to say the least of it, is calculated to blind one's perception of the truth. Why should the impression prevail, that the native Indian and the white man of our country are natural born enemies, and that we are here only to fight and kill each other ?

            At any rate, in the present case, ours was an honest struggle to live in peace with our Indian neighbors; and we found them, in many respects, not very unlike what any community of two hundred white men would have been under the same circumstances.  Nor did the number of those who seemed to manifest the baser traits of human nature appear to be in undue proportion.

            To be sure, there were some who were the most shameless of beggars; some who came to us oftener than need be, and hung around our camp with looks that seemed to say, " Give a poor dog a bone." To such we were sometimes obliged to run the risk of seeming uncivil ; and when in their lingo they said " Shot-cup " (Victuals), we replied by saying, " Cotsshot-cupt Indian piqway (No victuals, Indian go away) you can refresh your stomachs on grass seed and lizards."

            I have alluded to the policy of feeding them generously. As for hospitality on our part, it was really of a dismal sort, and it became more and more dismal as the winter wore on, and finally it became apparent that if we would save ourselves from starvation, it would be absolutely necessary to eke nut our already failing store of provisions by the most rigid economy. We had beans among our stores; and bean porridge, with water as the prevailing ingredient, we found well adapted to purposes of economy, and at the same time, apparently agreeable to Indian stomachs. To be prepared to serve our Indian guests, we kept the camp kettle filled with the watery mess. A family of the old New England Pilgrims might have been forced to keep their porridge in the same way, and for reasons very similar for as the legend runs, theirs was bean porridge hot, bean porridge cold, bean porridge in the pot nine days old. But the oft-repeated calls of our would-be guests never allowed our porridge to attain the age of nine days before being eaten. The rising smoke of our camp fire, far up on the mountain side, was to them a hint that the Merry-cats were at home, and its light in the evening seemed to draw them, just as a candle may draw dorbugs on a summer night.

            Pah-Wichit, the chief, made an occasional visit to our camp. One of his visits in particular impressed itself on my memory. Pah-Wichit was no wild, painted-faced savage, like some of his red brothers of the North.

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It would seem that once, at least, he had visited the Mormon settlements in Southern Utah, and learned enough of the Mormons to draw the line sharply between them and the Merry-cats. For he said : " Merry-cats to-wich-a-wy-no" (very good); " Mormons, cots" (no good). Yet Mormon civilization had already begun his education by clothing him in her cast-off garments. For the coat he wore was dingy and grease-spotted— it had no doubt done service for some emigrant Mormon proselyte; and his pants, like the coat, through world-wide wandering, were of stove-pipe sheen. The hat that crowned his frowzy head was wrinkled and battered by long service, making on the whole a costume, to say the least, very unbecoming a chieftain. It was at the edge of the evening, and we were busy at the camp-fire preparing our evening meal. Both the camp-kettle and the coffee pot were simmering over the coals, when Pah-Wichit, with a number of his followers, made their appearance, and after a mutual salutation of "How, how!" Indian fashion, we all gathered around the fire, and the chief began his wordy harangue. Much of it was Greek to us, but the portions of it accompanied by signs were perfectly intelligible.

            He saw fit, at the outset, to remind us that that region was his domain. He said : " Me one great capitan," and with impressive gesture, he pointed down the valley; but suddenly dropping that subject, he went on to compliment us by saying : " Merry-cats towich-a-wy-no : Merry-cats have blankets," and glancing at the camp-kettle, he added : " and plenty of shot-cup."

            With that, and much more, he proceeded to unroll a lot of coyote skins. Then pointing to a blanket which happened to be near, he intimated his desire to trade coyote skins for it, by saying, "Merry-cats, swap." Of course, there was nothing for it but to hand over the blanket, and take the coyote skins.

            But immediately after the trade, the chief saw fit to suggest a picnic, by saying "shot-cup." It was a brilliant, if not a friendly, thought on his part ; for he well knew that his starving people had drawn heavily on our resources of late, and we might very properly have declined it, with the intimation that our grub stake was already reduced to the very smallest proportions, and that we were then actually discussing the necessity of an early journey to San Bernardino or some settlement in Southern California, to replenish our failing stock of provisions. But then, it would never do to run the risk of offending the chief. So there was nothing for it on this occasion but to make the best of it.

            The occasion called for some additional cooking, and our guests were not backward in taking the initiative at this. They gathered fuel, and fed the fire with great armfuls of brush-wood and pine, and the blaze added no little cheer to this chance festival, while we, with fry-pans in hand, baked the cakes. Having completed the preparations, and taken the frying pans from the coals, in miner's parlance, we all go down, or rather, squat around the victuals. Here fingers were supreme, and hands took the place of plates ; but the real wonder about this feast was, the facility displayed by those Piutes in making away with shot-cup, and in the end, clearing off all the remnants. Though I have no idea that the chief lacked sustenance at that time, still it was quite touching to see with what eagerness he swallowed the bean porridge.

            It was late when he and his followers left us that night, and we prepared to lie down for a night's rest. Before spreading our blankets, I happened to bethink myself of those coyote skins that the chief had swapped for our blanket, and with a view of utilizing them at once, I thought with no little satisfaction of how much softer our bed might be made that night with those skins under it. Little did I dream just then of the penalties attached to intercourse with Indians. So, without consulting my partner, who had had more Indian experience than I, I spread them on the ground under our blankets. That was a night to be remembered.

            Nor shall I ever forget the wrathful maledictions my partner heaped on Pah-Wichit, the Indian chief. The coyote skins proved to be infested with vermin. I presume

298 Mysterious Fate of Blockade-Runners. [March,

the chief, in his familiarity with their condition, counted it a very common-place thing. But for our part, it was a serious matter; one that could not be got rid of at once, but went with us for a time —an unpleasant reminder of those ghastly Indian festivals—those panderings to Indian stomachs, that drew on and lessened our grub stake so materially as to lead eventually to our being fairly starved out of the country. Not, however, until we had secured a goodly number of specimens of its silver ores—specimens which finally found their way to 'Frisco, and were pronounced by the most expert assayers of that city to be of the highest grade.

            The upshot of it all was, that in due time Pah-ranagat Lake mining district came to be considered—at least, for a time—a mineral district of great promise. The ore was there, but somehow, later on, the stuff proved to be rebellious. There was a difficulty in separating the bullion from the ore, which so far as I know, was never successfully overcome.

            However, be that as it may, one morning early in March we broke camp, packed our animals, and reluctantly turned our backs on our winter home, leaving Pah-Wichit and his band to wonder at the sudden disappearance of the Merry-cats.

William Nye.