Po-ee-kon didn’t move, but David saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes now.
“We want no trouble,” Decker said easily. “We come in peace, but we fight if we must. You go now. We’ll be gone when sun is in the sky again, and the water will be yours.”
The Navajo’s eyes were tiny slits, but he lowered the knife and stepped back. He looked directly at Mary, who was holding a whimpering Emily. “You go, squaw. Take girl with fire for hair away, or she die.” Then he glowered at Decker. “When sun is in the sky, we return.”
Decker simply nodded. “We’ll be waiting,” he said.
Po-ee-kon’s chest rose and fell as he looked back and forth from face to face. Then he shoved his knife back in the scabbard and spun away. He stalked back to his friends, yelling directions at them. They immediately turned and broke into a trot, going back the way they had come. Po-ee-kon followed, but as they neared the top of the rise, he stopped and turned. “Po-ee-kon find more braves. We come. We kill belagana. You see. You die.”
He turned and began to run, joining the others as they disappeared.5
Notes
^1. These four men are named by both Miller and Nielson Dalley as being the ones who returned to Moenkopi (see Miller, Hole, 26, 152). Reay adds Kumen Jones to the list, but doesn’t give a reference (5). No other mention is made of Kumen being there, so he was not included here.
^2. The full story of the murder of George A. Smith, Jr., son of George A. Smith of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, can be found in the history of Jacob Hamblin, who was there (see Corbett, Jacob Hamblin, 183–91).
^3. This piece of information about the Navajos not liking to fight at night comes from James Davis’s history (see Miller, Hole, 156).
^4. Several writers mention the superstition various Indians of southern Utah and northern Arizona had about killing or harming the Mormons (see, for example, Hamblin, Journals and Letters, 35–36).
^5. We have two accounts of this second confrontation with Po-ee-kon, one by Nielson Dalley and one by James Davis. Both accounts are included by Miller (see Hole, 27, 156).
Chapter 42
Monday, June 30, 1879
The moment the five Indians disappeared over the low rise to the north, Mary Davis fell into her husband’s arms, shaking as violently as if she had been seized with a terrible chill.
David walked swiftly to Emily and John. The little boy had started to cry, watching the adults, looking bewildered. Emily’s lower lip was trembling. David scooped Johnnie up into one arm, then knelt down in front of Emmy and took her by the shoulder. “You were so brave, Emmy,” he said. “I am so proud of you.”
With a great sob, she threw her arms around his neck. “I was scared, David.”
“So was I,” he said. He pulled back to look at her. “Then I saw you and Eddie and Jimmie being so brave, and I decided I had to be brave too.”
“Really?” Her eyes were wide with wonder.
Jim and Mary Davis moved over and joined them. John held out his arms to his mother, and David handed him over to her. Jim turned to his two older sons. “You acted like men today,” he said in a husky voice. “I am proud of you both.”
“If he had tried to hurt Mama—” Jimmie began, but his father cut him off.
“I know, and you weren’t going to let them do that, were you? You were a real man today, Jimmie. I am real proud to call you my son.”
“Why did that Indian say I have fire in my hair?” Emmy asked, tugging on David’s shirt.
He laughed. “Not in your hair, Emmy. He was saying that your hair is as beautiful as the flames of a campfire.”
She reached up with one hand, preening it back. “Hmm,” she said, quite impressed.
And with that they all started talking at once. The relief was so intense that they had to let it out. After several minutes, they gradually calmed down again. Jim and Mary sent the children back to finish their supper, then joined the other men, who were deep in conversation.
“Should we pack up?” Mary asked, looking at Jim Decker.
He shook his head. “The cattle need the water and the rest. And we’re better here than out in the open if they decide to come back tonight.”
“Do you think they will?” Jim Davis asked.
“I don’t think so.” He looked to the others, inviting them to offer their opinions.
“Possibly,” volunteered Ham Wallace. “But if he had more braves close by, I don’t think he would have talked about being back when the sun was in the sky again.”
Parley Butt spoke. “Remember, when we came through here before, Seth Tanner told us that Po-ee-kon just uses this area for summer pasture. His village is actually ten or more miles away. If there was help nearby, he would have brought them with him.”
“Maybe it’s all bluff,” Jim Davis said.
“Perhaps,” Decker agreed. “That’s his way, all right. But he’s pretty steamed right now, and we just humiliated him in front of his companions. He’s got a lot of face to save.”
“Then we leave first thing in the morning?” David asked.
Again Decker shook his head. “If they’re coming, and I think they will, we’re better off making a stand here. Out in the open they could easily ambush us. We’ll post guards tonight, of course, then be ready at dawn for whatever comes.” He looked around the circle. “Agreed?”
They all nodded.
“Good. But let’s be ready to move quickly. Niels, you and Parley bring the cattle in a little closer. David, you and Jim pull the wagons right up alongside each other.” He tipped his hat back, looking at the sun, which was now almost ready to set. Then he turned to Mary. “It’s going to be all right, Sister Davis. They know we mean to fight. You and Jim see if you can calm the children enough to get them to sleep. We’ll worry about all the rest of this.”
Tuesday, July 1, 1879
By seven o’clock the next morning, the sun had been up for two hours. Those had been two long, tense hours. David and the other men were posted around the perimeter of the camp, watching for signs of anyone approaching. But nothing was either seen or heard, and the relief they had felt the night before gradually began to return.
At quarter past seven, Jim Decker called all of the men in. “It looks like our friend couldn’t get enough men to form a war party. Or maybe it was all just bluster after all. I would suggest we hitch the team, then build a fire and have some breakfast before we get on our way.”
No one objected to that, and they fell to work. David helped Emmy, Jimmie, and Eddie gather firewood, while their mother and father began preparing the food. It was an indication of the resilience of children that by the time they brought the wood back to the wagons, they had made a game out of it and were giggling and laughing.
Dalley and Butt saddled the horses and hitched the teams. Wallace began pushing the cattle together so they would be ready to move at a moment’s notice. Decker remained on watch, circling the camp slowly, searching the skyline for any signs of life.
But it was Jim Davis who was the first to see something. David heard him give a low cry. When he turned, Jim was looking south, where the land gradually rose to a low mesa about three miles away. About a quarter of a mile away, a figure was silhouetted in the morning light. It was a single man, an Indian, judging from the brightly colored blanket around his shoulders.
Instantly the camp went on alert again. The men grabbed their rifles and gathered in around the family. Decker walked to his horse and retrieved a pair of field glasses from his saddlebag. He came back, leaned back against the wagon to steady himself, then raised them to his eyes.
“It’s an old man,” he said. “Seems to be alone. Definitely a Navajo. Not armed in any way that I can see.” Pause. “Quite old, actually. Grey hair. Not one of those here yesterday.”
He lowered the glasses and handed them to David. “Cover me. I’ll go talk to him.”
Leaving his rifle behind, Decker strode away. David watched through the glasses as Decker and th
e Navajo met and started talking. The old Indian was excited about something. He kept turning and waving his arms, pointing to the northwest. David watched his face closely through all of it. “He seems quite worried,” he reported, “but not angry.”
Then David watched as Decker gave a curt nod, shook hands with the Indian, then spun on his heel and came trotting back. The others gathered in around him.
“All right,” he said as he reached them. “Change of plans. We’re leaving immediately.”
“What?” Parley asked. “What’s the matter?”
“This old man claims to be our friend. Speaks passable English. Says that Po-ee-kon has about twenty-five warriors on their way here. He’s promising them lots of loot and a rich haul in cattle and horses. He says they’re about an hour away.”
“Do you believe him?” Niels asked. “Or could this be a trap?”
“We can’t dismiss that possibility,” Decker said tersely, “but I don’t think so. He’s very agitated. Says we must leave immediately. He’ll go with us, show us a different way to get out of here. But he says we must move now.”
He bit his lower lip, looking at the others. “What do you think? Do we trust him?”
Everyone was silent; then David said, “You talked with him. What do you think?”
“I believe him. I feel the Lord’s hand may be in this.”
“Then let’s go,” Jim Davis said.
Decker was all business now. “All right. Brother Davis, you and the boys kick out that fire, then you and Eddie get that first wagon rolling. Stop and pick up the Navajo. He says he wants to ride in the wagon so he can see farther.”
As Jim, Eddie, and young Jimmie sprang into action, Decker turned to Mary. “You take the children in the second wagon with David. He’ll drive. Ham, you and Niels start those cattle moving. I want to keep them right close behind the wagons. Parley and I will scout out ahead, make sure he’s not leading us into a trap.” He looked around. “All right, let’s go, let’s go.”
For almost three hours, the old Indian urged them forward. He sat on the wagon seat between Jim and Eddie Davis, directing them. He would stand up on the seat every few minutes and search the countryside around them. Decker had said he was agitated, and that proved to be an understatement. He seemed genuinely frightened and constantly urged them to go faster. Where possible, he kept them moving along the bottom of dry washes. That kept them out of sight, but it also put them in deep sand. The wagons kept bogging down, and from time to time they had to stop and let the teams rest. Each time they did, he got quite annoyed. “Must go! Hurry! Hurry! Must go!” he would shout again and again.
But by eleven, as they pulled up and out of a narrow wash onto a long, gently rising mesa, he finally relaxed. He told Jim and Eddie to pull up, and signaled for David to do the same. He stood on the wagon seat one last time, steadying himself against the bow of the wagon as he turned his head back and forth, scanning the vastness of the country around them. Finally, he grunted and jumped down. “We safe now,” he declared. “They not follow. We rest. We eat.”
For a time, as they prepared a cold noon meal, the men continued to scan the horizon, looking for any sign of a war party on their trail. The change had been so abrupt that they were still skeptical, but the change in the old Indian’s countenance was so dramatic, and his relief so evident, that finally they relaxed. Mary fixed him a heaping plate of cold mutton, bread, and cheese, washed down with canteens of water, and insisted that he sit with them to eat. He did so, but said little while the others talked all around him.
Something about all of this didn’t make sense to David, and he decided to put it to rest in his mind. He caught the Navajo’s eye. “How did you know where we were?”
“I follow wagons and cows.”
Decker flinched at that. They had not seen anyone. “For how long?”
“Four suns.”
“Why?” David asked. “Why were you following us?”
He turned and looked directly at James Davis. “You not remember me?”
Jim leaned in, looking the old man up and down. “I don’t think so.”
“I come your store many times.”
Mary’s head came up. “In Cedar City?”
His head bobbed. “Yes. Cedar Town. Come many times. You always good to me. Give food. Very kind.”
Her face suddenly registered understanding. “That was you?” she cried.
He cackled in delight, showing a mouthful of crooked and yellowing teeth. “Me young then. Very . . . how you say? Handsome?”
“Oh, my word,” she breathed. Then she laughed. “I can’t believe it. Your name is . . .” She searched in her memory. “Your name is Yaheeno, right?”
He beamed even more broadly. “Yah. Yaheeno.”
“Yaheeno Begay?” Jim blurted. “Well, I’ll be.”
David was having a hard time believing it too. What an incredible coincidence! However, the old man’s pleasure was genuine. He was almost laughing, he was so pleased. But David was still trying to understand. “How did you know the Davis family was in our party?”
Yaheeno Begay looked at David and saw that the other men were also listening carefully. They were not yet completely satisfied that he was all that he claimed to be. “One moon ago, I hear family of James Davis travel with Mormon wagons to San Juan. When they come to Black Mesa, I watch. No James Davis. Must be wrong.”
“We stayed in Moenkopi while the others went on ahead,” Mary broke in.
There was an emphatic nod. “I have cousin. He go Moenkopi, trade sheep. He say family of James Davis in Moenkopi. I go to Moenkopi. But you gone already. Mormons say family of James Davis is from Cedar Town. So I follow.”
He gave David and the others a quick glance. “You not see, but I follow four suns.” He pointed to his eyes with two fingers. “I watch. I see James Davis. I see family.” He turned and looked at Mary. “I see Mother Davis. I see she is with child. I follow close. Make sure no trouble for family of James Davis.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.”
David was finally satisfied, as were the others. All around the old man, the faces were smiling and nodding their approval. “Welcome, Yaheeno Begay,” David said. “We thank you for your help. Po-ee-kon is a bad Indian.”
There was a disgusted grunt. “Bad man. Bad medicine. Much anger for Mormons. I watch last night. Very bad. Very angry. When he leave, I follow. He go for warriors. Very angry. Plan to kill Mrs. Davis and James Davis. That very bad. I must stop.”
He shrugged, as if those last three words summed it all up. Jim Decker stood and went to his saddlebags. When he returned, he had a small bag of tobacco makings brought along for this very purpose, a sack of dried corn, and a handful of coins. He faced the old man. “You are a good friend and brother, Yaheeno. Your medicine is good. We thank you. We wish we had more to give you, but thank you. Thank you for helping us.”
That gave David an idea. He got up and went to the back of the wagon where his things were. He found his small valise, rummaged around in it, and came back with a silver and turquoise Navajo bracelet that he had purchased at Lee’s Ferry. He had planned to give it to Molly as a peace offering on his return, but this was more important. Holding it where the Indian couldn’t see what he had, he went to Mary and stood between her and Yaheeno. “Here,” he whispered, handing it to her. “Let this be your gift of thanks to him.”
She stared at it. “David, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. Giving a Navajo a piece of Navajo jewelry is a little odd, but I think coming from you, he will treasure it. And it wasn’t cheap. I paid two dollars for it.” When she still hesitated, he said, “We owe this man a great deal, and we need to show him that we are truly grateful. But I want it to come from you. He did this for you and Jim.”
The tears spilled over. She wiped them away quickly, stood, and walked to the old man. Gravely, he got to his feet to face her. She struggled for a moment with her emotions, then began. “You are a true f
riend to my family, Yaheeno Begay. We thank you for what you have done this day.” She held out the bracelet. “Please accept this as a token of our gratitude—our thanks—to you.”
The old, wizened eyes stared for a moment at the bracelet, then lifted to meet her gaze. To David’s surprise, his eyes were shining. Finally, he reached out and took the bracelet. He bowed his head. “Yaheeno thanks Mrs. Davis. You good woman. Good family.” He paused. “Good friend. Yaheeno very happy. Yaheeno very glad Po-ee-kon no find you.”
“Are you going to be in trouble with Po-ee-kon?” Niels Dalley asked.
There was a snort of disgust. “He know nothing. He stupid like sheep. Yaheeno like clever goat.” He carefully shoved the bracelet and the coins into the pocket of his trousers, then retrieved the sack Jim Decker had given him. In with the tobacco and the cornmeal went the remainder of his mutton and corn bread. All of them watched him without a word.
Finally, he closed the bag and swung it over his shoulder. “Must go now. You safe.”
“Thank you so much,” Decker said.
Jim Davis stepped forward and clasped his hand. “You are a good friend. We shall never forget you. Thank you.”
“Never,” Mary said, ready to start crying again.
His eyes dropped to look at her stomach. “Maybe you call baby Little Yaheeno, no?” He threw back his head and cackled again, delighted with his little joke. Then he spun on his heel without another word and walked away, not once looking back.1
It was about four in the afternoon and the little party of two wagons, six men, one woman, and four children was rolling slowly eastward, back on the road that had been blazed several weeks before. They had come about fifteen or sixteen miles since they had left Yaheeno. Not only had there been no further sign of Po-ee-kon, but they had not seen another living thing, and they finally knew they were out of danger.
David was still driving the second wagon. In spite of Mary’s insistence that she could drive now, especially while the road was pretty flat, David had decided, with Jim’s concurrence, that he was going to drive her all the way to the San Juan.