--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Arthur Lee collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 17 number: 9 published: 1914-07 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Arthur Lee, "The Bright Angel Trail," *Improvement Era* 17, no. 9 (July 1914): 817–824.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1709unse 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: improvementera1709unse start_page: 817 end_page: 824 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1914-07) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1709unse publication_year: 1914 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 1914, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Bright Angel Trail , The Bright Angel Trail BY ARTHUR LEE "From out of the desert came a man, weary and travel-stained." When the West was in its infancy, before the advent of the iron horse, the great American desert lay, a stretch of sand, un- inhabited save for a chance traveler who from necessity was forced to cross its barren face. Such a traveler could have been seen one day in August 18 — making his way northward. A lone horseman, slowly, painfully threading his way through the cacti and scattering mesquite bushes. Far to the south and west, behind him, the Needles, those twin peaks of the desert, reared their mighty tops heaven- ward, standing sentinels, as it were, to the gateway of a coming civilization. Looking ahead, in the distance, toward the higher plateau, the rider could make out a dark belt of green standing out in vivid relief against the dull, yellowish grey of the desert. This green belt, as he knew, marked the timber line, where stunted jackpine and black-willow struggled side by side for ex- istence. To the right, stretched the undulating plain, broken and seamed across in every direction with gulches and ravines, ancient water ways long since dry. — To the left, opened that great chasm, the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. Nearly six thousand feet below the canyon's rim lay the river, a silver thread winding its tortuous way between overhanging walls of solid rock. The rider shifted his weight in the saddle, and spoke a word to his weary horse. Then he lifted the canteen from the saddle- bow, only to replace it with a shake of the head. The canteen was almost empty. The horse stumbled over a cactus root, went on a little further, stumbled again, then stood still with head hung low and fore-legs extended. The man dismounted and, taking the canteen with its few drops of water, he opened the horse's mouth and poured the pre- cious liquid down its throat. Then, grasping the saddle-horn with one hand, he urged the horse on, walking by its side in the hot and dusty road. At intervals the man would look anxiously over his shoul- der on the back trail, and ever as he looked he would urge the horse forward. It seemed ages to the weary traveler that they trudged along thus, side by side, the man and the beast. No breath of air stirred the dry leaves of the mesquite bushes. The — 818 IMPROVEMENT ERA sun, now low in the west, hung suspended as it were by in- visible threads, a great golden ball of fire against a painted sky. The heat was intense. The man's hold on the saddle-horn relaxed, and he slipped to the ground exhausted. With difficulty he regained his feet and, grasping the stirrup-leather, staggered on again by the side of his faithful horse. The man's eyes were blood-shot, his tongue showed through his blackened lips, swollen and discolored. The veins on his forehead stood out like whip-cords. They were nearing the timber line. The horse pricked up its ears and attempted to quicken its pace. With nostrils distended, it sniffed the air, mak- ing a low, moaning sound in its throat the while. The man answered his horse. "Aye, you beauty, you smell the water. Courage, old boy, and we will make it yet. Only a little farther, only a step, as it — — were out of the desert I came, and I found a spring of living water." As the man uttered the words, he sank fainting on the sand. The horse walked on a few paces, then stopped. He looked from side to side restlessly, then turned and sniffed at the pros- trateform on the ground. Slowly raising his head, the faithful animal sent out a cry over the desert. The wild cry of a beast mourning for one that it loved. CHAPTER II. "When first mine eyes beheld the fairness of the day." W hen Jack Benton regained his senses and opened his eyes, T he was at a loss to explain how he came to be lying on a couch in a strange place. The room in which he found himself was low of ceiling, and the walls were of rough pine logs laid to- gether. The dirt floor was covered in places with the tanned skins of wild animals, and on the wall, at one end of the room, hung a magnificent pair of antlers, trophies of the chase. Through the open doorway he caught a glimpse of the blue sky overhead, and the pine trees of the forest in the distance. Nearer, an old Indian squaw sat huddled over a fire, stirring something in an iron kettle, the while crooning a weird song to herself. As the chant rose higher, the listener recognized it as the "Morning Song of the Sun." He knew the singer to be of the Hopi race, sun- worshipers. Raising himself on his elbow, he called to the Indian, and as she stood in the doorway he spoke to her in the native tongue. "Maiden of the Sun, why sit you by the fire crooning your song when the great Sun God has gone to rest in the Western sky?" "Does not the white chieftain know that another day has THE BRIGHT ANGEL TRAIL 819 come — that another sun has risen? Therefore, I sing the morn- ing song to the sun." "Another day Tell me, where am I ? How did I come here ?" ! With a gesture she silenced him. "Ask not idle questions. You are not to speak. Juan-do- oocha forbids it. Rest. Another day and you will be strong." With these words she turned and glided out. Jack lay on his couch and tried to collect his scattered thoughts. The last he could remember distinctly was a burning thirst, a fire consuming his very soul, the taste of the fine dust in his throat, and the nerve-racking pain in his head. Now he was in a cabin evidently inhabited. He felt well, except that his body ached in places. The Indian woman had spoken of Juan-do-oocha, "Maid of the trail." Who was this maid of the trail? Was it the Indian herself? And what trail? As these perplexing questions filled his mind, he fell asleep. When he awoke again night had fallen. The room was dimly lighted with a rush candle, a bit of twisted grass in a basin of grease. Without making a sound, he carefully raised his head from the couch and looked around. Sitting near the door, gaz- ing out, was a young girl. This, at least, was no Indian, with her aureol Q of gold hair. "You had better lie down again," said the girl, looking around and disclosing a pretty, delicate oval face. "I will watch from here, and the old squaw, Niami, is near the edge of the de c ert where she keeps watch also." Jack gasped in astonishment. "May I ask just what are you watching for?" "The sheriff and his posse," replied the girl evenly. At the word "sheriff" Jack bounded forward feverishlv: "What do you mean?" he demanded. "Have I been delir- ious?" "You have said nothing." "Then how—" "Does a man cross the desert with one canteen and no pack, if he travels for pleasure?" The girl looked straight into his eyes. Jack met the look for a moment, then his eyes dropped under the direct gaze. "I might be prospecting, or anything." Th° girl smiled and pointed to Jack's revolver and belt, ly- ing on the table. "Are those prospector's tools?" she asked archly. "No," admitted Jack. "I can't say that they are. But why should I run away from the sheriff?" "I don't know," she answered simply. "But word came that the sheriff and his posse were out on a man hunt. Shortlv afterward I found you lying unconscious in the sand." " 820 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Then it was you who found me?" "Yes." "Who are you?" "My name is Miami." "But don't they call you something else?" The girl frowned, then shrugged her shoulders. "Aren't you the one they call 'J uan -dooocha,' — 'Maid of the Trail'? " he asked, remembering the old Indian's words. "I am sometimes called that." "And this trail, what is it? Where is it?" "The trail? Have you never heard of the Bright Angel Trail ? It is there," she pointed out of the doorway. "Then you are the angel of the trail." "One greater than I is the Angel of the Trail. I am but the keeper." "This trail, where does itlead?" "It leads into the gorge. For miles and miles in both di- rections, there is no other descent into the fastnesses of the can- yon's depths." As the girl finished speaking, she listened intently for a mo- ment, then sprang to her feet excitedly, as the clear call of the night owl came out of the darkness. "Quick !" she cried as she handed the man his gun and a bundle of food. "That is the signal. They are coming. We have not a moment to lose." Then, seizing her companion by the hand, she pulled him through the door into the night. Making a sharp turn to the left, after leaving the cabin, the two made their way as quickly as possible through scattered underbrush toward the rim of the canyon. Suddenly stooping and parting the bushes, the girl pointed down- ward. "There is the trail. Be careful, the way is dangerous. At the foot of the first descent you will find a spring. You have something to eat. Tomorrow I will come for you, good bye." CHAPTER III. "The way was steep, 'mid overhanging cliffs and chasms gaping wide — Entering a black hole. Jack Benton made his way cautiously down the steep descent. The trail made a sharp turn to the right and opened out on the face of a precipice. Along the face of this solid wall of rock ran a ledge perhaps two feet in width, and running at a sharp angle downward. The moon had risen full in the sky, casting a silvery radiance over the face of the ch'ff, and only penetrating the gloom of the canyon's depths. As the man stood for a moment with his back to the wall, and arms extended, he peered far out and down into the dizzy void below. THE BRIGHT ANGEL TRAIL 821 A sheer thousand feet without a break, and at the base of that great cliff lay a mass of huge boulders, fragments of the cliff it- self, threatening instant destruction to any one who should chance to fall from that giddy height. Hugging the face of the cliff, the man made his way down that narrow trail, foot by foot, carefully, lest one step should hurl him to the cruel rocks below. After the first sharp descent, the way became easier, though still dangerous, the path zig-zagging back and forth down the mountain side. Jack was now at the foot of that first great cliff, and as he looked upward to where it stood, pure white in the moonlight, it appeared to be a massive tombstone marking the grave of some departed god. The exertion of that descent had left the man weakened and dizzy, and he decided to wait for daylight before attempting another feat of the kind. Selecting, as best he could, in the half light of the canyon, a secluded spot between protecting 1oulders, he lay down and was soon asleep. He awoke with a start the next morning, as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Springing to his feet, he faced his guide of the night before. "You sleep soundly for a fugitive," the girl laughed. "I have called you twice from the trail but could not make you hear." "I must have been sleeping sound, indeed, not to have heard your voice. But what of the night? Did the sheriff come?" The girl laughed a low, gurgling laugh, full of mirth, as she replied : "Our fears were groundless." "Then it was not the posse?" "Yes, it was the sheriff and his men, and they had their man." "They had! who is it?" "Mexican Pete." "Thank heaven Then it wasn't Nick Murgan who held ! up the stage." The man wiped his hand across his forehead with a sigh of relief. "They wanted you, too, Jack Benton." "How do you know my name?" he asked sharply, "and what do thev want me for?" "Sheriff Smith said that he had reason to believe that you knew something about the holdup of the overland stage by a lone bandit. He wanted you as a witness. Now why did you run away?" "Well, I did know something about it. I saw a man killing his horse cuttingthrough the mountains and I struck out after him. When I got closer, I discovered the horse that the holdup was riding was my friend, Nick Morgan's. Furthermore, the high- wayman's back looked suspiciously like Morgan's, so I straight- way became full of fear and started out to prove an alibi. I didn't 822 IMPROVEMENT ERA want to 'peach' on my best friend. I see it now, Pete must have stolen Nick's horse. Now suppose you tell me who you are." "Well, just now, I happen to be your jail warden," she laughed, "since you are my prisoner, suppose you march up and get some breakfast." He stumbled after her, murmuring something about "being her prisoner for life." "Afterward," she said tantalizingly, "I will tell you the story of the Trail Angel, which is more interesting than mine." CHAPTER IV. "A legend I could tell you, a tale of love unfold." The two strolled to a point overlooking the mighty river. "We will go to Wanona's throne, and there I will tell you the yarn," said Miami. With difficulty they made their way around the base of a huge cliff, scrambling over boulders and clinging with hands and feet to scant projections for support. After a sharp climb they came to a kind of platform, or shelf, standing out from the face of the main cliff. The platform was about three yards in diameter and circular in form. At the back of this platform forming a kind of niche in the face of the cliff, was what appeared to be a huge chair or throne. This throne was of black marble streaked with a green vein. The cliff itself was of white stone, and rose to a height of perhaps three thou- sand feet. The seat of this chair was wide enough for three people to sit, side by side, comfortably. The back rose to a height of perhaps twenty feet. As Jack looked at this wonder- !" ful formation he exclaimed, "A throne fit for a god "Say rather a throne fit for a goddess, for such it is," Miama replied, as she climbed to the high seat. Inviting the man to a seat beside her, the girl said "It was here the beautiful god- : dess, Wanona, sat in judgment on her wicked sister, Chee-ato-ta. It was there on that platform at our feet that the proud and haughty Wa-Ho. the great war god, sank on bended knee in humble supplication for forgiveness at the hands of the just Wanona." "The story then is Indian?" asked lack as he moved into a more comfortable position where he could watch the girl's face. "Yes, it is an old Indian legend, handed down from genera- tion to generation, since the beginning. Now you must not inter- rupt any more." "Once upon a time, — all stories start that way, don't they?" asked the fair narrator. "I must not interrunt," he smiled. "Oh! I forgot. Well once upon a time, there were two THE BRIGHT ANGEL TRAIL 823 goddesses, Wanona, the beautiful, and Chee-ato-ta the wicked. Wanona loved to wander in the woods, gathering the flowers wet with the morning dew. She liked to talk to the singing birds, and she would tell her secrets to the mountain streams, which they would carry down to the sea. The wild beasts of the forest and the birds of the air loved her, for she was always kind to every living thing. One day when Wanona was walking in the woods, she met a young hunter, chief of his tribe, brave and strong. Together they watched the humming birds gather nectar from the honey-laden flowers, and listened to the bluebird and its mate sing their love song in the treetops. They wandered hand in hand through the forest, and were happy. "Wa-Ho, the great war god, saw them thus, one day, and was very angry for he, too, loved the beautiful Wanona, al- though she returned not his affection. Wa-Ho, in his rage, swore vengeance on the girl and her lover, and he called the wicked Chee-ato-ta to his assistance. Together they planned and schemed to lay the mighty Wamba-ahah low. "Wa-Ho hurled his lightings and shot his bolts of thunder, but they fell harmless to the ground. Chee-ato-ta stirred to anger the wild beasts of the forest, but the mighty hunter Wamba-ahah slew them. So all the plans of Wa-Ho and the wicked Chee-ato-ta failed. And still Wanona and her chieftain lover walked in the forest shade, or sat by the bubbling fountain and whispered their love tales to each other. "One day Wa-Ho and Chee-ato-ta counseled together. Chee- ato-ta hated the beautiful goddess, Wanona, as she hated every- thing good, and she said to Wa-Ho: 'A way there is that will place Wanona in our power. Her great strength and power are in her beautiful eyes. I know of a potion that will close her eyes, and so destroy her wondrous power. Then Wamba-ahah, the chieftain hunter, will no longer care for her, and all will be well. Tonight I will try the spell.' "Wa-Ho consented, and went away well pleased that a way had at last been found to subdue the great goddess, Wanona. That night, as Wanona lay on her couch asleep, Chee-ato-ta, the wicked, crept into the room bearing in a brazier two live coals from the eternal fires of the altar. She laid a live coal on either eye of the sleeping Wanona, then fled into the night. The beautiful goddess awoke with a cry. The light of her beautiful eves was dimmed forever. Knowing that her great power over all things was taken from her, she fled into the forest. "There she lay hid for a time knowing not which way to turn. Her pretty hands were torn by the cruel thorns, and her dainty feet were bruised on the sharp stones. "Chee-ato-ta found her there', and laughed in wicked glee at her unhappy plight. Thus, thinking to make her revenge more : 824 IMPROVEMENT ERA complete, she picked up the unresisting form of Wanona in her arms, and cast her into the great canyon, thinking to be rid of her forever. "A mighty eagle, soaring near the canyon's rim, saw the goodess, Wanona, falling to the cruel rocks below, and with light- ning speed he caught the falling Wanona on his outspread wings and bore his precious burden safely to the depths of the canyon. "The next morning, as Wamba-ahah was walking near the brink of the chasm, he heard the cry of Wanona from the depths below. He called to her, but she could not hear, and he knew not what to do. Hurrying to his lodge, he gathered together all of his deer-thongs which he formed into a mighty rope. Fastening one end of this rope to a giant pine, he threw the other end into the canyon. Down this fearful thread the brave Wamba-ahah made his way to the side of his loved one. Taking the blind goddess in his arms, he carried her to a spring of pure water which gushed forth out of the solid rock. Then he bathed her eyes in the crystal spring, and the goddess was healed. "With the return of Wanona's sight, came back her power, and, taking her lover by the hand, she commanded the mighty stone walls to make way before her. As she walked, a trail opened up before her, and so it has remained to this day the Bright — Angel Trail." Miami finished speaking. Her eyes were shining, and her cheeks aglow with the thoughts of the narrative. The man drew a long breath, and took one of the girl's hinds in both of his. "And what become of Wanona and her lover ?" A dreamy look crept into the girl's eyes, and her cheeks flushed a deep crimson. "They were married, and lived happy ever after." They sat thus for a time, hand in hand, then, as their eyes met, the man said "And will you lead me up that trail, even as Wanona led the mighty hunter, Wamba-ahah, in the years gone by?" And the girl, with love-light in her eyes, answered, "Yes." "Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay; Princes and Lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed can never be supplied." — Goldsmith.