--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Little, Malcolm collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 6 number: 6 published: 1903-04 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Malcolm Little, "A Week in a Box Canyon," *Improvement Era* 6, no. 6 (April 1903): 401–407.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0606unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera0606unse start_page: 401 end_page: 407 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1903-04) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0606unse publication_year: 1903 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1903, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # A Week in a Box Canyon IMPROVEMENT ERA. Vol. VI. ' APRIL, 1903. No. 6. A WEEK IN A BOX CANYON. THE "IMPROVEMENT ERA" PRIZE STORY. BY MALCOLM LITTLE, STUDENT AT THE LELAND STANFORD UNIVERSITY, CALIFORNIA. Over the southern rim of the Great Basin lies a district of country seamed and blocked out by numerous gorges, gulches, and far-extending cliffs. Here and there among the waste of cedar- covered ridges, by a seep or spring, a rancher has built a cabin and corrals, and dug out and troughed the water for his cattle. But even these signs of human life are far apart, and one may ride for miles over interminable hills, up and down through timber and sagebrush, over sand dunes and by weary mountain skirts,, without so much as crossing the track of a man. The desolation now is fatiguing, but thirty years ago, before the present popula- tion had found heart to settle there, when men of questionable character, unmolested, ranged their herds from Lee's Ferry to the Virgin river, to traverse those desert regions was to plunge inta primeval solitude. On a summer day in 18—, I was traveling on horseback through this wild country toward the little settlement of Penunk, seventy-five miles to the southeast. I was led by a desire to be- 402 IMPROVEMENl ERA. come familiar with the intricate maze of canyon that lay, a pro- tecting network, around my native village. A stranger in that particular locality, blindly I followed the trail, trusting it to con- duct me safely. At noon I rested by a spring, ponding th5 water with my hands to refill my canteen and give my horse a drink, and after an hour again set forward, expecting to find no more water until next day. The afternoon was hot. Over the infinite tumble of hills, gray or pale green, as the patches of sage or cedar predominated, the sunlight lay in a tremor of silent heat; and on all sides ap- peared the blue contour of other ranges. Hour after hour I spurred on through this voiceless waste, until evening set in as a relief from the day's monotony. I pitched camp under a spread- ing cedar, and though I had only my saddle blankets for a bed, and a meager lunch in by saddle-bags, 1 felt no forebodings of discom- fort; the weather was warm, and the lunch would serve until I reached Penunk. As I dropped off to sleep, I could hear the rat- tle of the hobble-chains and the horse's hungry munching of the dry grass. In the early morning, I was awakened by a gentle shower fall- ing in my face. "Cool riding today," I thought, and ate what few crumbs remained of my food. When it was sufficiently light, I started to find my horse, followed his trail a short distance, where it wound among the brush, then saw he had broken his hobbles and struck off, most probably in search of water. I pushed on two or three hours in a heavy rainfall, hoping soon to overtake him, as he would be checked by the wet grass. It became more difficult to follow the trail, and finally I was left entirely to my own instincts for guidance, and circled the country round for a possible sign. A dark sky was overhead and the clouds hung close about me. The rain had obliterated the track of my horse, and as my own likewise had been washed away, I could not return to my saddle. I was able to determine my orien- tation only by the trend of the gulches, which was to the south; but since about these there was a general sameness, I had to choose my way at random. At last I fell into a deep ravine and followed it, hoping thereby to leave the wild, broken uplands and find some trace of human life below. A WEEK IN A BOX CANYON. 403 In the middle of the afternoon, I intercepted a dim trail, in which were the hoof-prints of a shod horse, directed westward. Whether it was a stray animal or a horseman I could not tell, but from the way it held to the scarcely distinguishable path, I con- cluded that a rider's hand was guiding. These signs had been made since the rain. First I thought to follow them back, but was dissuaded by the probability of again losing my way when I reached the district traversed during the shower. Since a ranch might be in the immediate neighborhood, the most promising alter- native was to go westward. The trail led straight across the ridges. The country became still more gorged, the canyons deeper, the hillsides more rugged and difficult of ascent. Up hill and down I trudged along, on each summit hoping to see in the next succeeding gulch a settler's •cabin; but as often as I hoped, I was disappointed. Hunger began to gnaw within, and my legs, from much climbing, to tremble with weariness. I found some ripe squawberries, but they were salty and unsatisfying. At last I sat down to rest and consider the ad- visability of retracing my steps, but dreading nothing so much as want and longer exposure, again I urged myself onward. The ravines were so precipitous and rough, and the way so ■dangerous, that the rider had dismounted to lead his horse. From his tracks, the high heels in the moist earth, and the marks of the spur-chains, I inferred he was a cattleman. I was curious to know his business in this unpasturable region, the more since he seemed familiar with all the intricate windings of the trail, on which con- siderable work had been expended; and although there was little sign of travel, I was made to realize that there had been a purpose in its construction. The country was grooved with box-canyons more desolate and uninhabitable than any I had before seen. As the sun tipped the western horizon, I stood on a narrow plateau. My heart hung heavy, and I was insxpressibly lonely, as I gazed out over the far-rolling, soundless wilderness. The horse- man was several hours ahead, and unless he had stopped before this, I could never overtake him while twilight lingered. I de- termined, however, to make one more effort, cross over one more ridge into the canyon beyond. Wearily I climbed to another summit and looked down into a 404 IMPROVEMENT ERA. ^ wide, deep valley, on the farther side of which extended a line of cliffs, forraing the pedestal of still higher hills. They appeared impassable, and, since the level stretch was a fit place for a cattle, ranch, 1 hurried ahead, hoping to find a bed and supper in some cabin under the rocks. I now came to the most difficult part of the trail. The de- scent began through a deep fissure, then led down an incline of smooth sandstone, over which, the greater part of the distance, the horse had slid, as was indicated by the markings left by his hoofs. Below were windings and short puzzling turns, and I won- dered at the motive that could have induced a maa to follow such a course, rather to hunt out one so intricate. By the time I was well in the valley, I was thoroughly interested in my unknown guide. I followed up a little meadow, where cattle grazed as I passed among them, into a narrow cove that crooked around, like an arm, into the mountain I had just descended. There were corrals and pens at the head of the pasture land, and many large troughs, "hewn from pine trees, full of water. But I saw no house, and be- gan to think I was tricked out of the bed and supper for which my tired limbs had been trudging on so many hours, when, turning an elbow in the cove, I saw the black mouth of a cave, and under the overhanging rocks at the entrance a very respectable log cai^in. The short grass led up to the door. I was struck with the silence of the place; no dog barked at my coming, and I saw neither cat nor chickens, the usual attendants on domestic living. Many times I had partaken of the hospitality of the ranger folk, and walked up to the house confident of a welcome and kind treatment. I knocked, but the cliffs alone responded to my rappings. Evidently the cattleman had not made this his night's stopping place. Hunger and fatigue gave me resolution, and I pushed open the door. The smell of food met me with grateful greeting, and as I struck a match and lighted a candle, I saw on the table before me, the remnants of a recently cooked meal. Without further ceremony, I sat down and ate my fill of the pones of fresh bread, the jerked beef, and cold coffee. I was too tired to be very in- quisitive, or care much whose house I was in, besides, I had been drenched during the day, and the night chill crept to the bone. The A WEEK IN A BOX CANYON. 405 sight of a bed of Navajo blankets drove out all thought of pro- priety, and, my damp clothes off, I was soon tucked down for a long, restful sleep. The sun was only half down the opposite cliff when I awoke, although it was eight by my watch. The cave was ^1 in shadows, and probably would so remain until after mid-day. ^ From only one point on the horizon was the cabin visible, from the summit of the ridge to the west, the deep seclusion of the place rendering dis- covery quite improbable, unless one were led as I had been. I found a full stock of provisions, and almost regretted that I had so soon again to plunge into the desert; for I was expected at Penunk, and decided, after breakfast, to take what food I could carry conveniently, with a canteen of water, and set out down the canyon, hoping to find an easy way out. While engaged about the fire, I noticed a pair of spurs, their unusual quality attracting my attention. They were silver-mounted, and on the outside of the shank of each were the letters "T. B.," evidently the initials of the owner. To my mind flashed the name, "Tom Burley," and intuitively I looked about for danger, from some dark corner expecting to see a pistol leveled at my head. Throughout the country, Burley was known as a desperate man, a professional cattle-thief, and an outlaw. My breath came heavy, as I thought of my probable situation; fori had heard it rumored that, somewhere among the mountains to the west of Penunk, in a deep box-canyon, with only one outlet, he had his headquarters, and from there issued orders to his myrmidons between the Colo- rado river and the Virgin. I feared that, inadvertently, I had got- ten into their stronghold, and perhaps already was spied upon or even lain for. The spur-chains were CDvered with moist earth, as though they recently had been dragged over wet soil, probably producing the marks I had noticed on the trail. I looked about for further identifying evidence, and on a shelf found a penciled note, dated two days before. "Tom," it ran, "I have brought seven 3C steers into the Den today. There's a big stir in the Sand Hills, and you'll hear from me within a week." "Bill." 406 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "Here's mystery enough," thought I. "Tom" clearly was Bur- ley, and "3C" was a brand of a cattle company not ranging its stock in that direction. What the "Den" was I did not know, but the "Sand Hills" comprised a group of sage-covered dunes north of Penunk, and, as I judged, about sixty miles due east from where I then was. "Bill" must have been one of the gang, per- haps a foreman. How now to get out of the robbers' commissary without meet- ing up with them face to face, and taking chances on clearing my- self from the suspicion of espionage, was the problem confront- ing me. I could climb out the way I had entered, but a long tramp on foot through an unknown wilderness, with accompanying dangers from hunger and thirst, inspired me with greater dread than an uncertain clash with desperadoes. Besides, since the man who had served me as a guide had gone before, there must be another way out, and I resolved to follow up my first plan; take water and food, and try for an exit down the canyon. Before leaving, I took careful note of the surroundings, went back into the wide-mouthed cave a hundred feet or more, to where the roof descended, forming a low, arched opening, and through this into a still larger expanse of subterranean darkness. A breeze blew in at the entrance, and I wondered at the direction of the air currents. As I waited, my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and before me I saw a sheet of placid water, the farther shore of which was lost in the remote shadows. I threw a stone to determine the dimensions of the lake, but the missile fell short of solid land, and sent rumbling echoes through the empty vault. In the edge of the water was a trough like those I had seen the evening before. I should have liked to sit for hours, casting pebbles into the darkness, to listen to the echoes, had not the urgency of my situa- tion hurried me back into the open air. In the white sandstone on both sides of the canyon, I noticed many caves, the most pictur- esque of which was in the cliff opposite, its mouth partly closed by a low, bushy cedar. Time, however, was too pressing for fur- ther exploration, and with a well-stowed wallet and a canteen, 1 set off, careful to leave as few of my tracks as possible. I kept down the east side of the valley, along an unbroken A WEEK IN A BOX CANYON. 407 cliff-line, a distance of twelve miles or more, until I reached a de- file, formed by the narrowing ledges. Here the bed came to a sudden drop-off, intercepted by an east-and-west-bearing fault, and I looked down on a forest of scrub cedars and numerous gorges, which, in the dim far-off, gapped a desolation of rock and desert sage. Unable to proceed farther, in the early afternoon I turned back along the west bluffs, constantly alert for a possible opening. But everywhere the same abruptness prevailed. The day wore on, and purpling shadows reached their uneven points across the level pasture land, and still my search was fruitless. I saw many cattle, and among them some "3C" steers, blotch- branded, ard with their ears close cropped. I was deep enough in herdsman's lore to know the meaning of this disfigurement of marks, and my worst fears were confirmed: I was in the *'Den;" but resolved, however, to return to the cabin, replenish my sup- plies, and, on the morrow, if no deciding fate intervened, take the trail out by which I had entered. The stars were hanging over the box-canyon, when, dragging' my weary feet, I rounded the elbow in the cove and saw the cabin —alight. I stopped, and my heart nearly did the same. But I took the heroic course, marched straight ahead, at least to get a glimpse of the unknown occupant. The nature of the ground favored me, as the grass land reached to the mouth of the cave and around the house, thus en- abling me noiselessly to approach, and with no tell-tale footprints behind. I passed through the fan of light radiating from the can- dle and into the darkness beyond. Since the two windows stood opposite towards one end of the cabin and the table farther back, I could see the man only at a sharp angle with the pane. From the corner, keeping well in the shadow, I looked into his face. It was Burley; I had known him in his younger days. Quietly he par- took of his supper, occasionally stopping as if in meditation, sup- porting his chin on his left hand. His long lashes drooped, giving a peaceful cast to his oblong face. Coming nearer, inadvertently I struck my foot against a can, which went rolling with a clatter. Instantly Burley was out of his pensive mood, his brows rose, the wings of his nose dilated, and from window to window, and then to the door, flashed his