--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Bennion, Israel collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 29 number: 6 published: 1926-04 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Bennion, Israel, “Before the Arrowhead Trail,” *Improvement Era* 29, no. 6 (April 1926): 542–544." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2906unse 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: improvementera2906unse start_page: 542 end_page: 544 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1926-04) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2906unse publication_year: 1926 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 1926, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Before the Arrowhead Trail BEFORE THE ARROWHEAD TRAIL By Israel Bennion [The author of this pioneer writing is a native son of Utah, born June 2, I860, in the "Old English Fort," now Taylorsville, Salt Lake county, Utah. He lived in Rush valley in 1864-65; settled on the Muddy, in Nevada, in 1868, and subsequently resided at Panaca and Eagleville. The family returned to Taylorsville in 1873, where Israel followed the sheep and cattle business until 1877, when he settled in Vernon, Tooele county, in which vicinity he has resided ever since. He was ordained a patriarch by Elder Francis M. Lyman, July 23, 1893, and a bishop on February 25, 1900, and presided over the Vernon ward. — EDITORS.] Back in the "sixties" thousands of colonists were trekking south- ward, in obedience to the call of President Brigham Young. Long trains of wagons drawn by horses, mules, oxen, and even by cows, pulled out of the already settled valleys of northern and central Utah. They went down through Fillmore, Beaver, Parowan, Cedar City, Kanarra, and then, — over the Black Ridge, the Rim of the Basin into that vast, indefinite area called Utah's Dixie. These "chosen and called," going out at the word of their leader to redeem and reclaim a waste and barren land, saw not, cared nothing for, scenic southern Utah, present day paradise for pleasure- seekers from all over the earth. Only a few miles out of their line of travel lay Cedar Breaks and Zion Canyon, in all their majesty and splendor. But these weary, dusty travelers turned not aside. They "walked mournfully before the Lord." Work, not play! Existence, not sight-seeing! Duty, not pleasure! Note this homely but significant song of Rob Gardner: "Oh, when I got to the Black Ridge, My wagon, it broke down. I couldn't find a carpenter In twenty miles of town; I cut an ugly cedar, Which made an awkward slide, And made it run so heavy That Betsy couldn't ride. "As she was a-walking along the road, I told her to take care, When all of a sudden — She stepped on a prickly pear. Then began to blubber As hard as she could bawl: 'If I was on the Cottonwood I wouldn't come at all'' " Beyond St. George, danger and hardship increased. The treacher- ous Navajos, prowling ne2r, were ever ready to pounce upon any lone wagon that happened to be out of sight of the main company. Here the "road patrol," keen-eyed, lean-faced riders, passed and re- passed wagon trains, pausing a few moments to give instructions to BEFORE THE ARROWHEAD TRAIL 543 camp leaders to travel in close formation, to guard the campsi and live- stock, and to give warning against quicksand, poisonous water, etc. Not always did the wagon colonies give due heed to these quietly spoken warnings*. Sometimes they indulged in "whys and wherefores." But the price of safety was "Listen and obey." A wagon train was camped for the night on the Rio Virgin, below the mouth of Beaver Dam Wash. Guards were posted — but they were not sufficiently watchful. Indians glided in, like gray snakes on gray ground, and with wild whoop and whirling blanket stampeded the animals. A pair of fine mules ran to their own loved wagon, and were shot with poisoned arrows to prevent their being used as a means of securing immediate aid. The dying agony of these faithful animals was evidenced the next day by the torn-up, blood-stained ground where they lay. It was a sad scene, this deathly-still wagon village, with its melancholy groups of women and children, and a few men, now too late, vigilantly on guard. Already the road patrol had gotten busy. Horses and men were brought up from the next train; a band of friendly Piutes was enlisted; a rider, on "Kate," a famous yellow mare, went ahead to St. Joe for more help. Evi- dently the marauders were not going to get away "Scot free." And they didn't! At the crossing of the Rio Virgin, the warning was given, "The bed of the river is quicksand. Don't allow your animals to stop and drink." » From thoughtlessness, perhaps, on the part of those in charge, a drove of cattle, thirsty and tired, were allowed to drink in mid- stream. A few minutes they stood, a few more minutes, and then, — calamity! teams, chains, men, frantically dragging cattle out onto the bank! Soon, very soon, as the cattle sank lower, their legs, and then their necks broke under the strain of the tugging teams*! Further struggling was worse than useless. Friendly pistol shotsi rang down the curtain. In the Spring of '69, three wagons left St. Joe for Salt Lake City, by way of the "Desert Road." As was customary — nay, neces- sary,— one of the company was an "old-timer," who knew where to find water, in those wonderful, cisternlike waterholes that have been carved by nature's tools in the solid rock bottoms of some dry water courses. There were two such holes on this route, conveniently spaced for the ninety-five mile trip to St. George. Unknown to this group of travelers, and, it is safe to say, unknown to the presiding authority at St. Joe, a family, knowing of the proposed trip to Salt Lake, concluded to join the company. Unfortunately they were some hours late in starting. However, the tracks were fresh, and it is quite possible they could see the three wagons ahead of them at the start. Probably the lead teams were better travelers, and the drivers had the advantage of a guide, so that they were not handicapped by any uncertainty. They soon pulled on out of sight, and the windswept 544 IMPROVEMENT ERA desert does not hold tracks very long. At any rate, the belated travelers missed the first waterhole. They never reached the second one! Incidents could be multiplied. Days and nights, months and years were full of them. Amid danger, distress and hardship, these quiet, brave men and women moved on to the appointed task. Was it worth while? Why did they "come at all?" What could they see? Far stretches of barren mesa; tortuous gorges, weird, forbidding canyons; gray grease- wood; gray mesquite; gray cactus; thorny, bitter, — everything. A garden of the gods! Aye, of gods gone mad! Well might Brigham Young doubt his own prophetic vision, when, in 1869, he drove down to the edge of the Mojave desert, with white-top carriage and "spanking bays." Long and earnestly he looked southward. Then turning to his boon companion, the late C. R. Savage, he said simply: "Turn north, Charley." With the eye of faith, what did these self-sacrificing pioneers see? Like Abraham of old, they went out, not knowing whither they went; for they sought a city whose founder and maker is God. Finding that "city," they became "the richest of all people, for ye shall have the riches of eternity." But they had another objective: the present cities that should spring up where they set their feet. Furthermore, a still greater objective loomed up before them, in the giving to humanity an empire of prosperous, happy homes, and a heritage of faith, in- dustry, integrity, and character that ever and always comes to those who seek "a city whose builder is God." And again, they went out, a people "chosen and called," to found and foster a new and vigorous vitality, — out and away from the fogs of prejudice and superstition. Away from the vices that creep into old civilizations. Yea, to be a part of the evolution of God's purposes in bringing to pass the eternal salvation of his children. The prophet's vision was right. Dixie is coming into its own. The wonderful climate, the fertile places, the bright spots, the "kind heart under a sometimes forbidding aspect!" We have even come to tolerate, if hot to love, the "disordered" landscape. It is as if the master builder, an architect of an unrecognized school, had arranged this vast region after a fashion of his own, and going away, had left no caretaker, no sight-seeing director to explain his work. And now, in later years, on the trail of Rob and Betsy Gardner, come a new and different people, different vehicles, different ob- jectives, different viewpoints. We bid you welcome! The pioneers have succeeded. They sowed by the waters; the wilderness was glad for them; the barren desert is a fruitful field; thanksgiving and the voice of melody are found therein! The awful Solitude, the Accursed Land, the Valley of the Shadow of Death, arc robbed of their Terrors! Benmore, Utah