I Married a Ranger Part 5

From his tone I scented a story, and as we strolled back to Headquarters he told me something of the quaint old character. In the days that followed, I heard his name often. Travelers who had not been at the Canyon for several years invariably inquired for "Cap" as soon as they arrived. I always felt a sense of personal shame when I heard a ranger directing them to his grave. He had begged with his last breath to be buried in the Canyon, or else on the Rim overlooking it. "G.o.d willing, and man aiding," as he always said. However, his wish had been ignored, for the regular cemetery is some distance from the Rim.

This Captain John Hance was the first settler on the Rim of the Grand Canyon. The Hance Place is located about three miles east of Grand View Point. Here he built the old Hance Trail into the Canyon, and discovered numerous copper and asbestos mines. Many notables of the early days first saw the Canyon from his home, staging in there from Flagstaff, seventy miles away. He had an inexhaustible fund of stories, mostly made up out of whole cloth. These improbable tales were harmless, however, and in time he became almost an inst.i.tution at the Canyon. The last years of his life were spent at El Tovar, regaling the tourists with his colorful and imaginary incidents of the wild and woolly days.

He was quite proud of his Munchausenian abilities. Another old-timer at the Canyon, W. W. Ba.s.s, who is still alive, was Cap's best friend. Cap Hance was often heard to declare: "There are three liars here at the Canyon; I'm one and Ba.s.s is the other two."

Romantic old ladies at El Tovar often pressed him for a story of his early fights with the Indians. Here is one of his experiences:

"Once, a good many years ago when I was on the outs with the Navajos, I was riding the country a few miles back from here looking up some of my loose horses. I happened to cast my eye over to one side and saw a bunch of the red devils out looking for trouble. I saw that I was outnumbered, so I spurred old Roaney down into a draw at the left, hoping that I hadn't been seen. I got down the draw a little piece and thought I had given them the slip, but the yelling told me that they were still after me. I thought I could go down this draw a ways and then circle out and get back to my ranch. But I kept going down the canyon and the walls kept getting steeper and steeper, and narrower and narrower until finally they got so close together that me and Roaney stuck right there."

At this point he always stopped and rolled a cigarette. The ladies were invariably goggle-eyed with excitement and would finally exclaim:

"What happened then, Captain Hance?"

"Oh, they killed me," he'd say simply.

Another time he was again being chased by Indians, and looking back over his shoulder at them, not realizing that he was so near the Rim of the Canyon, his horse ran right up to the edge and jumped off into s.p.a.ce.

"I'd a been a goner that time," he said, "if I hadn't a had time to think it over and decide what to do." (He fell something like five thousand feet.) "So when my horse got within about fifteen feet from the ground, I rose up in the stirrups and gave a little hop and landed on the ground. All I got was a twisted ankle."

A lady approached him one day while he stood on the Rim gazing into the mile-deep chasm.

"Captain Hance," she said, "I don't see any water in the Canyon. Is this the dry season, or does it never have any water in it?"

Gazing at her earnestly through his squinty, watery eyes, he exclaimed:

"Madam! In the early days many's the time I have rode my horse up here and let him drink _right where we stand_!"

The old fellow was a bachelor, but he insisted that in his younger days he had married a beautiful girl. When asked what had become of her he would look mournful and tell a sad tale of her falling over a ledge down in the Canyon when they were on their honeymoon. He said it took him three days to reach her, and that when he did locate her he found she had sustained a broken leg, so he had to shoot her.

As he grew feeble, he seemed to long for the quiet depths of the gorge, and several times he slipped away and tried to follow the old trail he had made in his youth. He wanted to die down at his copper mine. At last, one night when he was near eighty years old, he escaped the vigilance of his friends and with an old burro that had shared his happier days he started down the trail. Ranger West got wind of it and followed him. He found him where he had fallen from the trail into a cactus patch and had lain all night exposed to the raw wind. He was brought back and cared for tenderly, but he pa.s.sed away. Prominent men and women who had known and enjoyed him made up a fund to buy a bronze plate for his grave. Remembering the size of his yarns, whoever placed the enormous boulders at his head and feet put them nine feet apart.

Halfway between my cabin and the Rim, in the pine woods, is a well-kept grave with a neat stone and an iron fence around it. Here lies the body of United States Senator Ashurst's father, who was an old-timer at the Canyon. Years ago, while working a mine at the bottom of the Canyon, he was caught by a cave-in and when his friends reached him he was dead.

They lashed his body on an animal and brought him up the steep trail to be buried. While I was in Was.h.i.+ngton, Senator Ashurst told me of his father's death and something of his life at the Canyon. He said that often in the rush and worry of capitol life he longed for a few peaceful moments at his father's grave.

I never saw Senator Ashurst at the Grand Canyon, but another senator was there often, stirring up some row or other with the Government men. He seemed to think he owned the Canyon, the sky overhead, the dirt underneath, and particularly the trail thereinto. His hirelings were numerous, and each and every one was primed to worry Uncle Sam's rangers. As dogs were prohibited in the Park, every employee of the Senator's was amply provided with canines. Did the tourists particularly enjoy dismounting for shade and rest at certain spots on the trail, those places were sure to get fenced in and plastered with "Keep Off"

signs, under the pretense that they were mining claims and belonged to him. We used to wonder what time this Senator found to serve his const.i.tuents.

Uncle Sam grew so weary of contesting every inch of the trail that he set himself to build a way of his own for the people to use. Several men under the direction of Ranger West were set to trail-building. They made themselves a tent city on the north side of the river and packers were kept busy taking mule loads of materials to them daily. Hundreds of pounds of TNT were packed down safely, but one slippery morning the horses which had been pressed into service lost their footing, slid over the edge of the trail, and hit Bright Angel again a thousand feet below.

The packers held their breath expecting to be blown away, as two of the horses that fell were loaded with the high explosive. It was several minutes before they dared believe themselves safe. They sent for White Mountain, and when he reached the animals he found they were literally broken to pieces, their packs and cargoes scattered all over the side of the mountain. They dragged the dead animals a few feet and dropped them into a deep fissure which was handy. Fresh snow was sc.r.a.ped over the blood-stained landscape, and when the daily trail party rode serenely down a few minutes later there was nothing to show that a tragedy had taken place.

Later an enormous charge of this high explosive was put back of a point that Rees Griffith, the veteran trail-builder, wished to remove, and the result was awaited anxiously. About four in the afternoon Rees called Headquarters and reported that the shot was a huge success. He was greatly elated and said his work was about done.

It was.

An hour later Ranger West called for help: Rees had climbed to the top to inspect the shot at close range, and a mammoth boulder loosened by the blast came tumbling down, carrying Rees to the rocks below. He was terribly crushed and broken, but made a gallant fight to live. In looking over some notes I found a copy of White Mountain's report, which tells the story much more completely than I could hope to:

"In accordance with instructions, accompanied by Nurse Catti from El Tovar I left Headquarters about 6:30 P.M. bound for Camp Roosevelt, to be of such a.s.sistance as possible to Rees Griffith, who had been injured by a falling rock.

"The night was not very cold, rather balmy than otherwise, and the descent into the Canyon was made as quickly as possible, the factor of safety being considered. Had we been engaged in any other errand the mystical beauty of the Canyon, bathed in ethereal moonlight, would have been greatly enjoyed. We reached the packers' camp at Pipe Creek at nine o'clock and found hot coffee prepared for us. Miss Catti borrowed a pair of chaps there from one of the boys, as the wind had come up and it was much colder. We were warned to proceed slowly over the remainder of the trail on account of packed ice in the trail. We covered Tonto Trail in good time, but below the 1,500-foot level on down was very dangerous.

The tread of the trail was icy and in pitch darkness, the moonlight not reaching there. However, we reached the bottom without mishap. Miss Catti never uttered a word of complaint or fear, but urged me to go as fast as I considered safe.

"When we reached Kaibab Suspension Bridge a ranger was waiting to take our mules. We walked across the bridge and found other mules there. We thus lost no time in crossing the bridge with animals.

"We arrived at Camp Roosevelt a few minutes after eleven and went immediately to where Rees had been carried. Examination showed that he had been dead probably fifteen minutes. He had been unconscious since nine-thirty. Two fellow-Mormons sat with the body the rest of the night.

"When morning came arrangements were made with Rangers West and Peck to pack the body out of the Canyon if it should be so ordered. (We would have mounted a platform on a mule's back, lashed the body in place, and packed it out in that manner.) However, we all felt that it would be much better to bury him in the Canyon near the place where he lost his life. After conferring with the Superintendent by telephone, Miss Catti, Landscape Engineer Ferris, Rangers West, Peck, and myself selected a spot considered proper from the point of landscape engineering, high water, surface wash, and proximity to the trail. This place is about five hundred yards west of the bridge in an alcove in the Archaean Rock which forms the Canyon wall. We dug a grave there.

"The carpenter made a very good coffin from materials at hand, and we lined it with sheets sent down by Mrs. Smith for that purpose. She also sent a Prayer Book and a Bible to us by Ranger Winess, who accompanied the coroner to the scene of the accident. An impaneled jury of six declared the death to be due to unavoidable accident. After the inquest the coroner turned the personal effects of Rees over to me. They consisted of a gold watch and two hundred and ninety dollars in a money belt. I hold these subject to instructions from the widow. The body was prepared for burial by wrapping it in white according to Mormon custom.

The coffin was carried to the grave, and, while our small company stood uncovered, I said a few words to the effect that it was right that this man should be laid to rest near the spot where he fell and where he had spent a great part of his life; that it was fitting and proper that we who had known him, worked with him, and loved him should perform this last duty. Then the services for the burial of the dead were read, and we left him there beside the trail he built."

In the meantime I had been hovering anxiously at the phone, worried about the dark, icy trail White Mountain and Nurse had to travel, and fearing to hear that Rees was seriously injured. As soon as they reached camp they called and said he had gone before they could get there. He told me to wire the doctor at Williams and tell him he was not needed; also to see that a message was sent to the wife and children of the dead man telling them he would have to be buried in the Canyon where he was killed. These errands were to be attended to over the local phone, but for some reason the wire was dead. I was in a quandary. Just having recovered from a prolonged attack of flu, I felt it unwise to go out in several feet of snow, but that was my only course.

Dressing as warmly as I could, I started up through the woods to ranger quarters. The snow was above my waist, and I b.u.mped into trees and fell over buried logs before I reached the building. The long hall was in darkness. I knew that most of the boys were out on duty. What if no one were there! I knew my strength was about used up, and that I could never cross the railroad tracks to the Superintendent's house.

I went down the long cold hall knocking on every door. Nothing but silence and plenty of it. I reached the door at the end of the hall and knocked. Instantly I remembered that room belonged to Rees. His dog, waiting to be taken down into the Canyon, leaped against the inside of the door and went into a frenzy of howling and barking. I was panic-stricken, and my nerve broke. I began to scream. Ranger Winess had slept all through my knocking, but with the first scream he developed a nightmare. He was back in the Philippines surrounded by fighting Moros and one was just ready to knife him! He turned loose a yell that crowded my feeble efforts aside. Finally he got organized and came to my rescue.

I told him Rees was dead and gave him the Chief's message.

"All right. I'll get dressed and attend to everything. You better get back to bed."

I informed him I would not move an inch until I had company back through the darkness. He then took me home, and went to make arrangements.

I called the Chief and told him Ranger Winess was on the job. Then I tried to sleep again. Coyotes howled. Rees' dog barked faintly; a screech owl in a tree near by moaned and complained, and my thoughts kept going with the sad news to the little home Rees had built for his family in Utah.

Strange trampling, grinding noises close to the window finally made me so nervous I just had to investigate. Taking the Chief's "forty-five,"

which was a load in itself, I opened the rear door and crept around the house. And there was a poor hungry pony that had wandered away from an Indian camp, and found the straw packed around our water pipes. He was losing no time packing himself around the straw. I was so relieved I could have kissed his s.h.a.ggy nose. I went back to bed and slept soundly.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

_Chapter VII: A GRAND CANYON CHRISTMAS_

Funny how one can never get over being homesick at Christmas. Days and weeks and even months can pa.s.s by without that yearning for family and home, but in all the years since I hung my stocking in front of the big fireplace in the old home I have never learned to face Christmas Eve in a strange place with any degree of happiness. I believe the rangers all felt the same way. Several days before Christmas they began to plan a real "feed."

We had moved into our new house now, and it was decided to make a home of it by giving a Christmas housewarming.

The rangers all helped to prepare the dinner. Each one could choose one dish he wanted cooked and it was cooked, even if we had to send to Montgomery Ward and Company for the makin's. Ranger Fisk opined that turkey dressing without oysters in it would be a total loss as far as he was concerned, so we ordered a gallon from the Coast. They arrived three days before Christmas, and it was his duty to keep them properly interred in a snow drift until the Great Day arrived.

Ranger Winess wanted pumpkin pies with plenty of ginger; White Mountain thought roast turkey was about his speed. Since we would have that anyway, he got another vote. This time he called for mashed turnips and creamed onions. The Superintendent, Colonel White, being an Englishman, asked plaintively if we couldn't manage a plum pudding! We certainly managed one just bursting with plums. That made him happy for the rest of the day.

I didn't tell anybody what I intended to have for my own special dish, but when the time came I produced a big, rich fruit cake, baked back home by my own mother, and stuffed full of nuts and fruit and ripened to a perfect taste.

All the rangers helped to prepare the feast. One of them rode down the icy trail to Indian Gardens and brought back crisp, spicy watercress to garnish the turkey.

After it became an effort to chew, and impossible to swallow, we washed the dishes and gathered around the blazing fire. Ranger Winess produced his omnipresent guitar and swept the strings idly for a moment. Then he began to sing, "Silent Night, Holy Night." That was the beginning of an hour of the kind of music one remembers from childhood. Just as each one had chosen his favorite dish, now each one selected his favorite Christmas song. When I asked for "Little Town of Bethlehem" n.o.body hesitated over the words. We all knew it better than we do "Star Spangled Banner!" I could have prophesied what Colonel White would call for, so it was no surprise when he swung into "G.o.d rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing ye dismay." Fortunately, most of us had sung carols in our distant youth, and we sang right with the Colonel.