2 Wives 2 Laws: A Story of Mormon Polygamy

By James C. Robinson

Richard Connell is happily married to his wife Kara in 1880 Utah Territory. Then his
Mormon ecclesiastical leader calls him to take a second wife, completely scrambling
his world. The shock is multiplied by the choice of who is to become that second wife
in acceptance of Gods law.
Further complicating his life is the assignment of U.S. Deputy Marshal William
Baker Alden to enforce federal anti-polygamy laws by arresting and helping prosecute
offenders. Aldens task is difficult as Mormons have created all sorts of defenses and
diversions.
Among Richards challenges: choose which law to obey, successfully court a
second wife, keep household peace, hide one wife, avoid an apparently inevitable
confrontation with federal law officials.
An interesting, personal, historically accurate inside look at Mormon polygamy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479756087

James C. Robinson

James C. Robinson Resides in Fort Worth, Texas area where he is a forklift operator. His favorite pass time is watching sports and being a loving father to his 8 children

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by James C. Jim Robinson.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012922504

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4797-5607-0

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4797-5606-3

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4797-5608-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

125976

Contents

Book One

Richard and Kara

CHAPTER 1      Center Creek, Utah Territory

CHAPTER 2      Center Creek, Utah Territory

CHAPTER 3      Red Creek and Little Creek Canyons

CHAPTER 4      October 4, 1872

CHAPTER 5      October 4-5, 1872

CHAPTER 6      October 5, 1872

CHAPTER 7      October 5-10, 1872

CHAPTER 8      Center Creek Canyon

Book Two

William Baker Alden

CHAPTER 9      October 1, 1873

CHAPTER 10      October 2, 1873

CHAPTER 11      October 3, 1873

CHAPTER 12      October 3, 1873

CHAPTER 13      October 26, 1873

Book Three

Margaret

CHAPTER 14      November 1879

CHAPTER 15      December 1879

CHAPTER 16      April 1880

CHAPTER 17      April 1880

CHAPTER 18      Late April 1880

CHAPTER 19      Early May 1880

CHAPTER 20      May, 1880

CHAPTER 21      May 1880

CHAPTER 22      July 1880

Book Four

Anthony W. Willard

CHAPTER 23      Summer 1880

CHAPTER 24      Early Autumn, 1880

CHAPTER 25      Autumn 1880

CHAPTER 26      November 1, 1880

CHAPTER 27      November 1-2, 1880

CHAPTER 28      November 2-5, 1880

CHAPTER 29      November 6-10, 1880

CHAPTER 30      Hope, Nevada

CHAPTER 31      November 29-30 1880

CHAPTER 32      November 30, 1880

CHAPTER 33      December 1880

CHAPTER 34      January 3, 1881

CHAPTER 35      January 4, 1881

CHAPTER 36      January-May, 1881

CHAPTER 37      May 25, 1881

Book Five

Pursuit

CHAPTER 38      June 1, 1881

CHAPTER 39      May-June 1881

CHAPTER 40      June 1882

CHAPTER 41      Late Spring, 1884

CHAPTER 42      Late Spring-Summer, 1884

CHAPTER 43      Early December 1884

CHAPTER 44      Midsummer, 1885

CHAPTER 45      Late Autumn, 1885

CHAPTER 46      Early Spring 1886

CHAPTER 47      Early June 1886

CHAPTER 48      Mid-June 1886

CHAPTER 49      Mid-June 1886

CHAPTER 50      Early July, 1886

CHAPTER 51      September 1886

CHAPTER 52      September 1886

CHAPTER 53      Late October 1886

CHAPTER 54      November 1886

CHAPTER 55      Fort Kenyon, Center Creek, Utah Territory

CHAPTER 56      Center Creek, Utah Territory

CHAPTER 57      Center Creek, Utah Territory

CHAPTER 58      Center Creek, Utah Territory

CHAPTER 59      Center Creek, Fort Kenyon, Utah Territory

EPILOGUE

Book One

Richard and Kara

CHAPTER 1

Center Creek, Utah Territory

October 4, 1872

Kara came quietly and unnoticed to the elbow of Richard Connell as his eyes searched the road from the valley to the north for any sight of his friend and partner Jim Adamson.

Although the six-month courtship of Richard and Kara Mortensen had not permitted them much private time together, still Kara had already gained an ability to sense accurately the moods and feelings of the man who would shortly become her husband.

This particular worry was easy to understand, and Kara shared it.

He’s just run into some little problem, and the time has gotten away from him, she attempted to ease Richard’s worry… and her own. A cow is probably missing, and he couldn’t bear to leave even one cow for even one day. He’ll be here; don’t worry. Kara spoke as she too gazed intently through the glass pane toward the north.

Both Richard and Kara had legitimate reason to worry over the absence of Jim Adamson. While Jim couldn’t honestly be described as a social person—he was rarely found at events where folks dressed up—still, this was the wedding of his close friend and business partner. That would be important to Jim.

Besides, he had solemnly promised (although with a chuckle both in his voice and in his eyes) that The last thing in the world that I would do is miss the ‘final rites’ of my esteemed business partner. If I can’t account for all of them cows in time to make the doin’s, I’ll go back after the wedding—while you honeymoon—or maybe I’ll just let ‘em take care of themselves until tomorrow, Jim had said as he set out that morning on the four-mile ride to Chimney Meadows. I’ll be back. It isn’t every day you lose a partner to a woman.

Still, Jim wasn’t back, and already, the wedding ceremony was 20 minutes late.

Kara spoke again, quietly and as if willingly conceding a point. If he isn’t here before the wedding is over, you can ride down to see if he really is having trouble. But we’d better start the ceremony now, so everyone will have time to get back for the social this evening.

Slowly, Richard rose from the wooden chair and slipped a long right arm around Kara’s shoulders. The slight, gentle squeeze which she returned re-ignited the light in his dark eyes. His shoulders straightened. We’ll just do that. Ol’ Jim’ll just have to look out for himself for a while. We wouldn’t want to keep the folks waitin’ for a weddin’, now would we?

Before he left the second story bedroom of the large adobe home, Richard glanced once more out the window, then back at his bride-to-be with her long sandy-blond hair. Her borrowed white gown reached almost to the wooden floor. It had been tailored by neighbor ladies to fit her perfectly. For both Kara and Richard, their love was deep and certain. Without the worry over Jim, this would be a perfect day. He quietly closed the door behind him and descended the stairs. Moments later, Kara would follow down those same steps, fenced tightly between the wall and a tidy white banister. To the left of the landing in the hallway below, an archway opened to reveal the twenty or so wedding guests sitting on wooden chairs awaiting the ceremony.

It was to be a civil marriage performed by one of the small town’s two Mormon bishops. Later, when time permitted the two-day wagon trip to St. George and the Mormon temple located there and the two-day return trip, Richard and Kara would go through the sacred ceremonies which they believed would bind their marriage forever, for eternity.

Both Richard and Kara were devout Mormons, as was almost everyone in the Center Creek settlement of just over 800 people. Not all of the local citizenry, however, were as serious about their religion as were this day’s bride and groom.

Outside of the home of Bishop Irvin Langston, where the wedding was to be performed, the late autumn sun was sinking low enough to create black mirrored shadow patterns behind the fast growing cottonwoods which had been planted at the edge of the dusty street. The trees had been transplanted from nearby creek bottoms by the first pioneer families to arrive at Center Creek 21 years earlier. Shadows had also started to obscure the detail of the draws and small canyons on the west side of the valley, 10-miles distant.

Center Creek was one of the early communities settled in the territory of Deseret, which would eventually be pared greatly in size and become the state of Utah. The first Mormons had arrived in the unsettled Great Salt Lake Valley in 1847 following their expulsion from Illinois by anti-Mormon mobs. Church President Brigham Young almost immediately began a massive colonization effort. Included in Young’s Deseret were large portions of what is present-day Nevada, Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, and California. After settlements were established in the immediate vicinity of Salt Lake City, parties of colonizers were hand selected and sent in many directions to extend the Mormon reach. Center Creek was the result of the first southwesterly extension. A party of original Center Creek settlers left Salt Lake City in early December and arrived at a pre-selected community site in mid-January, 1851. An exploration party had determined a year earlier the best location for establishing Center Creek.

Neither Richard nor Kara had parents in that original settlement party. Richard was only four years old when his father and mother had set out from the East Coast in 1856 bound for Salt Lake City. The young couple and their son joined with a group of recent English Mormon convert immigrants in Iowa City, Iowa, for the final leg of their migration. While arduous, the trip had been relatively uneventful until the travelers were caught in vicious October snow storms on the exposed high plains of what is now western Wyoming. Richard’s father died of exhaustion and exposure on the trail. His mother, Richard, and the other surviving members of the party were rescued by emergency supply wagons sent from Salt Lake City. She spent only a few days in Salt Lake City before coming on to Center Creek by horse-drawn wagon with Richard and her late husband’s brother, Dan Connell. It was Dan Connell who had encouraged Richard’s father to locate at Center Creek after their move west to gather with other members of the ostracized Mormon religion.

Kara, like Richard, had her life shaped dramatically by the Mormon influence. Clues to the depth of her devotion to the religion and to her strict adherence to its tenets could be found in her family history. Kara’s mother, Elizabeth Mortensen, converted to the Mormon faith in 1859 after meeting missionaries sent to England to spread their beliefs and to seek additional members for their religion. That decision to leave the Church of England cost Elizabeth all family ties.

Her factory-worker parents totally disowned her immediately after she was baptized into her new faith, following through on a threat made when she first excitedly shared with them her religious discovery. Elizabeth mistakenly anticipated that her serious-minded parents would also embrace this wonderful new church which she had found. They didn’t. Rather, they held firmly to their beloved Anglican faith and viewed Elizabeth’s conversion as heresy.

Elizabeth’s husband made a more serious effort to understand the teachings of this religion so wholeheartedly embraced by his wife. Her zeal, however, became irritating to him. First, she began to talk about moving to America to be with the saints, as the Mormon leaders were encouraging. Then she began to make actual plans for the journey and to entangle him in those plans to emigrate from England to the deserts of Deseret in the United States. It was at that point that Jacob Mortensen rebelled.

Elizabeth was completely immersed in her new-found faith. She would give or do anything it required, or even just asked. For Jacob, it became an increasing agitation which, over a year’s time, destroyed a tolerable, if not perfect, lifestyle. She had found religious peace. He wanted nothing to do with her religion, and most of all, he did not want to chase off to unknown circumstances in a mountain-desert region across an ocean. Arguments—increasingly bitter—started. These festered and grew into cold silence that lasted for days at a time. Then came separation and divorce.

Kara was only six years old and an only child when her mother left Jacob. She was never given the option of staying with Jacob, but had that choice been given, she had already determined that it was her mother she would follow. Jacob had allowed Kara to listen with her mother to the concepts of this new religion, and the fire of conviction that burned in her mother was felt in Kara’s heart too.

After three years of saving every available pence while living with an elderly convert couple and working long hours in a bakery, Elizabeth and her newly baptized, almost nine-year-old daughter, Kara, were able to book passage on a sailing ship to New York City. From there arrangements—both logistical and financial through a special, subsidized fund—made by the Mormon Church were followed. The Mortensens arrived in Salt Lake City in early September of 1863.

Elizabeth almost immediately found work in a large bakery in the downtown area of the rapidly growing frontier crossroads city. She quickly found a fresh peace and comfort surrounded by the saints in her still-new religion. Still, it was not long after settling in to her new life that Elizabeth began to be bothered by what she described as an inner itch to work for herself, be independent, to find more adventure or purpose or just something different. She tried several times, but found it difficult, to explain just what she was feeling to Kara.

You just need a husband, her daughter had teased. Elizabeth didn’t disagree, but she also had not yet found a man with whom she really wanted to share the rest of her life.

The irritation for change grew. Finally, six years after their arrival in Salt Lake City, Elizabeth—after careful planning and investigation—bundled her possessions and, with Kara, left for a new life in a small, young settlement 250 miles to the southwest.

They arrived in Center Creek in early December 1869. Elizabeth had high hopes of establishing a bakery and, hopefully, finding a dedicated Mormon husband.

It was not to be. March 12, 1872, eight days after contracting pneumonia, Elizabeth Jane Ellett Mortensen, age 38, died, leaving Kara, age 17, alone with a struggling bakery.

*     *     *

The marriage of Kara Mortensen to Richard Connell was to be performed by Bishop Irvin Langston. He was a slim man with a nervous temperament which became increasingly evident the longer the start of the wedding was delayed. His twitch-like glance caught the presence of the groom almost as quickly as Richard appeared under the archway leading to the living room. Richard simply nodded quickly to him. Langston, perhaps sensing the intensity of the concern over the absence of Jim Adamson, immediately relayed the quick nod to organist Durham Taylor, who effortlessly made the transition from his time-filling prelude music to a traditional wedding march.

The familiar notes drifted up the stairway from the pump organ signaling Kara to start her descent. Richard’s gaze did not miss the happy sparkle in her eyes as he followed her step by step as she slowly, carefully, and gracefully took each stair.

Charles Adams, one of the original Center Creek settlers, met Kara at the bottom of the white banistered steps. Considering it unthinkable for Kara to live alone at the rear of the bakery after her mother’s death, Charles and his wife Mabel had taken her into their home to live with their family. While Charles wasn’t her father, and never attempted in any way to assume that role, Kara appreciated the kindness of the Adams family. The choice of who gave Kara’s hand in marriage came down to either Charles Adams or Jim Adamson. Somehow, Kara felt it more appropriate for Charles to take that role.

Jim was to be Richard’s best man. That, too, was the most appropriate choice; but, since Jim was strangely absent, there was no best man at the wedding.

Thank you so much, Kara whispered as she stepped off the last stair. It was an expression far deeper than just gratitude for the current service. It was gratitude for over seven months of acceptance into a family when it was sorely needed. Kara learned to love the warmth of five children living together with both a mother and father. She had experienced only a limited dimension of that kind of family love during her years growing up with only a mother. She liked the solidarity of two parents, and she liked having brothers and sisters. Kara had resolved that she wanted her family to be like that of the Adamses.

The thanks was also a form of good-bye. No longer would her relationship with the Adams family be the same. Charles Adams felt the significance of the simply offered thank you. His stride was short, but firm, and his chin was high as he ushered Kara through a narrow aisle flanked by a dozen borrowed wooden chairs on either side. Richard, with Bishop Langston at his left shoulder, took Kara’s extended right hand and guided her to his side, resolutely maintaining a gentle grasp.

Brother Taylor, will you favor us with two of our favorite hymns before we get on with the ceremony, Bishop Langston directed after an invocation had been offered. So ingrained was the Mormon religion in the lives of these people, and so slight had been the influences from non-Mormons since their arrival at Center Creek 20 years earlier, it was relatively common to refer to one another as brother whoever or sister, even in day-to-day interaction. Any activity even remotely related to a religious purpose almost dictated the brother or the sister salutation.

The ceremony was brief and simple. The traditional marriage kiss was both gentle and genteel, partly because it reflected the very nature of Kara’s personality, and partly because Richard’s marriage hunger was tempered by his gnawing worry over Jim Adamson.

So beautiful, Such a lovely couple, and They are so wonderful together were among the audibly sprinkled comments when Bishop Langston pronounced that Richard and Kara were indeed man and wife. The restrained kiss was perfect for the long-wedded, life-worn, and silver-haired women to whom ceremonies such as this brought a form of renewal and a topic of discussion for days to come. Jim Adamson had disrespectfully insisted, when the wedding plans were announced, that the only reason wedding ceremonies are held at all was to entertain the women.

Richard fidgeted noticeably, shifting from one foot to the other, but Kara was graciously patient as each guest offered his or her congratulations. Brother and Sister Taylor were last in the line that had formed.

We’ll see you all this evening, Kara smiled, as Richard gently but insistently urged her through the kitchen to a side door of the Langston home.

I hope it isn’t rude to escape this way, and I hope our guests don’t misinterpret our hurry to leave, Richard chuckled, trying to keep the mood light.

The traditional community-wide wedding reception was scheduled that evening, just after sundown. Richard would have to hurry to get back in time for the reception if whatever had kept Jim from the wedding forced him to ride the entire four miles to the Chimney Meadows area where the Adamson-Connell cows were pastured.

He waved a friendly hand at the Taylors as they looked back from the gateway in the picket fence that crossed the front of the Langston home. His concern was now galvanized. He placed his big right hand in the small of Kara’s back and gently encouraged her to hurry.

CHAPTER 2

Center Creek, Utah Territory

October 4, 1872

There are bullets for my rifle on the shelf in the closet. Will you please put a dozen or so in the pocket of my long coat? Richard requested as the newlyweds crossed the threshold of the home he had begun to purchase from last year’s cattle sales.

Had their first entrance as husband and wife into what was now their home, not just his home, come under different circumstances, Richard would have, without doubt, made a major production of the occasion. Most likely, he would have dramatically pulled Kara into his arms before sweeping her off her feet—one arm across her back and the other under her knees—and carrying her, squealing, across the threshold. Kara knew that was exactly the sort of thing he would do had worry not been chewing at him. She also longed sorely for what should have been.

As Kara gathered the coat from the closet and then fumbled for and finally found the bullets for the rifle, Richard hurriedly pulled on more appropriate clothes for riding in search of his missing partner. He said nothing as he emerged, tucking in his shirt, from the larger of the two bedrooms in the almost-new single-story adobe house.

Please be careful, she said, handing him the folded long coat then slipping both arms around his waist. She held tight, her head against his chest, reluctant to release him. Finally sensing his need to leave, she ever so slightly released her grasp.

Feeling his permission to go, Richard strode to the back door, tossing an I will, and don’t worry; I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, back to her.

Kara did not follow him to the nearby corral where he quickly caught and saddled his big, strong bay gelding. She watched from the open doorway as he gathered the rifle and coat from the ground and led the horse out through the gateway. The loaded rifle was slipped into the carrying case placed across the horse’s right shoulder, to be near Richard’s knee as he rode. The long coat, with the bullets buttoned securely into a pocket, was rolled tightly and tied with attached leather strings to the saddle right behind where Richard would sit.

I’ll be back for the party, he promised with a smile as he swung his right leg over the back of the reddish—brown horse. Kara waved freely, but she was thinking how similar those words were to those of Jim Adamson as he had ridden off to the north hours earlier.

Richard walked his horse to the street in front of the house, and then gently urged it into an easy trot. Kara quickly moved from the doorway facing the corral, through the kitchen and parlor, and out the door on the opposite side of the building. From the long, covered porch she watched him disappear. She waved once again, at his unseeing back. She saved her tears until he was nearly out of sight. She wasn’t worried, yet she was worried.

Jim Adamson and Richard Connell had begun their partnership only 19 months earlier. Two years prior to that, Jim, who was not quite three years older than Richard, had entered a joint livestock venture with Richard’s uncle Dan. That original joint venture came about when Dan tired of the tying nature of running an operation, which he had started by himself, alone. He convinced Jim to buy in by taking a smaller share of the profits until Dan had been paid out. Still, it was too confining and routine for Dan’s not-to-be-tied-down nature, so he had turned half of his interest in the venture over to his nephew, Richard, and restructured the arrangement with Jim. Now Jim and Richard would run the operation and share profits with Dan. That understanding had now been in place long enough to make all three of them to feel comfortable with the arrangement.

Richard and Jim, both young and adventurous, had determined immediately to graze their animals on the ever-green Chimney Meadows on the north side of the valley. The arguments in favor of what many considered a rash decision included the broad expanse of lush meadowland where the cows could thrive year around. Live water flowing from three distant canyons—Red Creek to the southeast, Little Creek to the east, and Fremont to the northeast—kept the meadow grass fresh. The in-flowing small streams kept water nearby, so the cows and calves were not inclined to stray in search of a drink. There was no need for them to wander. Rarely were the animals anywhere except on the open meadows. That made keeping track of the herd relatively simple.

Arguing against locating at Chimney Meadows was its distance from Center Creek. That distance placed the cows outside the relatively tight tier of agriculture development snuggled against the community. The farming activity meant many eyes to watch for any threat to animals kept closer to the town. Outside this ring of development and activity, the cattle were more exposed to wild animals and were more tempting as cheap beef for either local or itinerant Indians, for local ne’er-do-wells, or for the many strangers passing through the area..

Security was still a constant concern for the young community; yet, after the first successful summer of the Adamson/Connell venture at Chimney Meadows, other cattle owners took the risk and moved their animals to that vicinity. Occasionally—at irregular intervals—a three-or-four-man guard was posted day and night. If no guard was posted, someone almost daily made the ride north to check the livestock.

Increasing recent reports of cattle thefts or missing cows from other area settlements had made Jim uneasy enough to decide to make the wedding day trip to Chimney Meadows. He had also arranged for a four-member guard to camp near the meadows beginning that night.

It was less than two miles outside Center Creek that a well-worn and dusty wagon track became little more than a pair of shallow parallel ruts. Cleared and cultivated fields on either side of the track ended abruptly and were replaced by the tall, thick sage brush which indicated the richness of the red soil.

Let’s step it up, Red, Richard said out loud to the tall horse as they neared the last field of cleared land. Without thinking, since leaving town, Richard had alternately touched his heals to the horse to encourage him into a gentle gallop or he had subtly tightened the reins, to slow to a trot or fast walk. It was almost as if he couldn’t decide whether to hurry or to conserve Red’s energy for some possible future unknown demands. He was almost oblivious to the familiar surroundings he and Red were passing through as he let his mind roam from worries about Jim, to Kara and the wedding, to thoughts about the community wedding party that evening, and back to concerns over what might have happened to his partner. The steady rhythm of the ride even triggered thoughts of his mother, who had consented weeks ago to go with Uncle Dan to visit his latest venture in California.

Richard wished his mother and his uncle could have attended the wedding. They were expected, but like Jim, didn’t show up. Somehow, that was a slight concern compared with his worry over his partner. Dan had trouble staying in one place very long, but he was very able to take care of himself and of Richard’s mother.

Sloping gently upward to the south and southeast from the meadows were two miles of nearly treeless terrain covered with sage brush which permitted only sparse grassy areas to survive in the miniature clearings. Except for an occasional maverick cottonwood clamped next to the streams flowing into the verdant meadows, the only trees in the entire valley were the area’s omnipresent short junipers and pinion pines. These were located primarily on the gradually steepening slopes which prefaced the surrounding mountains. Wrapped nearly halfway around the meadows from the northwest to the northeast was the nearly barren salty, alkaline soil and lake bottom created from hundreds of years of drainage to this, the lowest, edge of the valley. Only an occasional mound of salt grass penetrated from the salty soil. Periodically, the cows would visit this huge natural salt lick.

Instinctively, Richard’s senses sharpened as the tracks became more primitive and the brush closed in beside his path. While he had exchanged sweeping waves with two or three men or boys early in the ride, he had paid little attention to where they were or what they were doing. Now that changed. Thoughts no longer wandered, and his eyes sharpened to pay attention to detail.

The wagon track ahead was empty for as far as he could see before it bent gently east limiting his vision. Locusts and small birds chattered in the brush. The only movement was the sudden, short dartings of the birds from one brush to another as the horse approached. The fresh, clean smell of the blue-gray sage bushes had been enhanced by a light rain just before dawn. As Richard stood in the stirrups and turned slightly to look back at the cluster of buildings that constituted Center Creek, his eyes were even captured by the motion of the clumps of loose dirt flying backward, kicked up from the horse’s easy gallop.

Whoa, what’s that, he uttered as he turned forward again and caught sight of the small figure of a rider coming toward him from the tracks he was following. The distance prevented any recognition, but it was obvious that the horse and rider were coming fast. Curious, and with a sudden tightening in his stomach, Richard urged Red forward.

We’ve got a problem, maybe a big one, Andy Wilson heaved, even before he fully caught his breath. Indians, we think, and we don’t think they’re from around here. We’re pretty sure they’ve headed up Little Creek Canyon. We don’t know how many there are, but they’ve been stealing cows.

Andy, a small, tough livestock man who lived with a wife and three sons in the community of Hamblin, three miles northeast of Center Creek, stopped to suck air. Then the words started to tumble out again. We need some help. We don’t know how many there are. I sent my boy with your partner to the mouth of the canyon. I’ll ride to Center Creek to round up some help for them. Six or eight men are cuttin’ posts near the Hogs Back on the Red Creek side. If somebody can get up there quick enough, they can drop over and block off the top of the canyon. We’ll have ‘em trapped.

It was a staccato of short thoughts, spoken almost as one sentence rolled together to explain the plan.

He realized time was valuable, but still Richard had questions. "How many cows are missing?

Jim don’t know, but he found where a couple had been skinned out, way up on the east end of the meadows, an’ he said he couldn’t account for several more. Course they could be up in the trees somewhere.

Did anyone see anybody taking cows, and how do you know it was Indians? Richard realized immediately that the questions sounded like he doubted what Wilson was reporting; still the hard little livestock man didn’t seem to take offense.

"Nobody seen any rustlin’ goin’ on, but Adamson spent most of the middle of the day searchin’ the meadows. He finally found the fresh cleanin’s, like I said, on the east side, and track’s leadin’ east. He was followin’ the tracks when we ran into him. We was comin’ out to check our herd, Jake ‘n’ me. Jim’d pretty much figured it out by then. We went with him a ways. The tracks were headin’ dead straight for the mouth of Little Creek Canyon. We could tell they were Indian horses, an we were guessin’ there was probably six or eight of them. I sent Jake on with Jim, an’ I came this way to try ‘n’ stir up some help.

Jake and Jim aren’t planning to follow them into the canyon are they?

Wilson’s answer betrayed how foolish he must have thought the question. Not up that canyon, not until there’s a lot more than two of them. They’ll wait at the mouth ‘til we can get them some help, then we’ll see what we can find. Jim don’t think they know that we’re on to them yet, but it’s important we get somebody up top to hem ‘em in.

Richard quickly grasped the plan, and he volunteered his role. I’ll get over to Hamblin as quick as I can and round up some men to go help Jake ‘n’ Jim. If I see anyone on the way, I’ll send them, too.

Somebody’s got to get up to the post-cuttin’ camp to get them to block the top end. See if you can find someone to head up there, Wilson said, pulling his horse around and starting on a gallop up the sage brush lined path toward Center Creek. If Richard had any more questions, he’d have to figure it out himself.

The quickest way to Hamblin was to follow the sloughs—and the slow-flowing stream that created them—to the mouth of Red Creek Canyon on the east edge of the settlement. He pushed Red as hard as he could, but it was not fast going. The single track meandered alternately next to the crystal clear autumn stream and then through thick stands of tall brush as it circumscribed hollows that turned to swamps during the late spring and early summer. The big bay caught the urgency and needed little urging.

Like Center Creek, Hamblin was surrounded by a tight tier of cultivated land. With winter approaching, the fields had all been harvested, and plowing had begun. Once Richard broke into the open fields, Red broke into a gallop, heading up a wagon track which led directly to Hamblin and the mouth of Red Creek Canyon.

Less than a mile from where the houses began, Richard quickly overtook a wagon heading toward Hamblin. The driver pulled his team to a stop before Richard rode alongside.

What’s the hurry? the plump, red faced driver shouted, pulling off his hat and mopping the top of a smooth bald head.

We’ve got trouble, and we need some help. Richard spoke quickly but without panic. We need to round up at least a half-dozen armed men and get them over to the mouth of Little Creek Canyon. We think we’ve got somebody, probably Indians from outside the area, up the canyon. If we hurry we might trap them before they can get away.

Alex Lamoreaux, the portly farmer, tensed—even shivered not quite imperceptibly—with the mention of Indians from outside the area. I don’t understand; why do we want to trap Indians?

They’ve been stealing cows, Richard answered, slightly embarrassed that in his excitement he had left out the part about why help was needed.

Lamoreaux suddenly understood. I’ll get some men over to Little Creek, he said resolutely. Alex was probably too old to join the men, but he understood well the need to gather men, and to gather them quickly. Not many years earlier, he and his family had abandoned their home and property in the Sanpete area when it became dangerous because of the Blackhawk Indian War.

I understand there’s a post-cutting camp near the head of Red Creek. The plan is to get those men down over the Hogs Back to shut off the top end of the canyon. When morning comes, we’ll close in from both directions, Richard hurried on with his explanation of what had been decided. We’ll need more men up on top too. It won’t be easy to block the canyon without a pretty good crew.

What about Center Creek? Lamoreaux asked, knowing the importance of gathering as many men as possible and also of warning the neighboring community. He also knew it was automatically his job to start warning the citizens of Hamblin. Word of the presence of non-local Indians would soon saturate both settlements and put their men, women, and boys on full alert.

Andy Wilson is on his way to Center Creek to warn them and to get some help. Andy’s son, Jake, and Jim Adamson are waiting at the mouth of Little Creek, Richard explained. I’ll go straight up Red Creek to let them know what’s happening. Whoever goes that way should follow me as soon as they can. Any questions?

Lamoreaux’s years of living in the area’s remote regions and his recent experiences with marauding Indians in the Sanpete Valley allowed him to absorb the situation and accurately evaluate the plan. Richard knew this, and the farmer’s reply brought him a measure of comfort. No, it sounds like everything is covered. Be careful.

CHAPTER 3

Red Creek and Little

Creek Canyons

October 4-5, 1872

Both Little Creek and Red Creek canyons provided west-flowing drainages from the alpine meadows and forests which extended for miles eastward into the north-south range of mountains extending nearly 300 miles south from Salt Lake City. Little Creek emptied into the Hamblin-Center Creek Valley about two miles north of the mouth of Red Creek. The settlement of Hamblin was located immediately west of the mouth of Red Creek Canyon, and the stream issuing from the canyon flowed through the community and provided culinary water and then irrigation water for the fields below.

The two canyons ran roughly parallel as they climbed steadily in elevation to the east. Little Creek Canyon was much narrower, rougher, and steeper. Because of its ruggedness, it was seldom traveled and not used at all as an access to timber or to the higher altitude mountain valleys. Only a horse and wild animal trail wandered up the bottom of the rocky, cliff-lined cut in the frontal mountains. Often, the trail ran tight between thick growths of scrub oak or mahogany and steep drops to the small creek below. Soil rich in iron colored both the surrounding cliffs and the dust of the trail a distinct reddish-orange. Occasionally, the canyon bottom widened to permit flat, open areas lined with the perennially dark green foliage of interspersed juniper and pinion pine trees. A half-dozen short, narrow box canyons, each eventually dead ending with shear cliffs on three sides, broke to the north off the main drainage. Over the history of the canyon, water and frost had combined to dislodge huge rocks, some of them up to 15 feet high and 20 feet long, which had crashed into the chasm. These boulders were relatively easy to walk or ride a horse around, but they combined with the wandering creek bed to make wagon access impossible.

Near the top of Little Creek Canyon it opened abruptly and dramatically on the north side. The cliffs gave way to a broad, gently east-sloping bench that ran north for miles. The bench was thick with pinions and junipers, which the settlers called cedar trees. The Little Creek stream flowed from the north, marking the point where a similar wide bench thickly covered with pinions and cedar trees ended its westward slope. It was only slightly further up the Little Creek Canyon that the south side opened into a long valley running northeast. Several canyons, many of them as yet unexplored—even after the 20 years since settlement—ran eastward from the valley at varying angles and steepnesses. Yellow pine forests gave way to spruce and quaking aspen as elevation increased. While not maze-like, the big valley with its intruding canyons did present a complex and confused network of terrain.

The goal of the posse of Hamblin and Center Creek men was to stop the suspected Indians in the narrow and steep-sided confines of Little Creek Canyon. If the rustlers managed to reach the point where the canyon opened to the broad northern sweep with its expansive and thick growth of junipers and pinions, it would be nearly impossible to find them, let alone capture them. If the cattle thieves made it to the big northeast-running valley all pursuit would be in vain.

While Little Creek Canyon ran almost directly east, the broader Red Creek Canyon gradually wandered its way much less directly and less steeply to the northeast, steadily narrowing the distance between the two canyons. It was wide enough to easily accommodate a wagon road and did not have the extremes of terrain possessed by its sister canyon to the north. Cottonwoods and an occasional grove of yellow pine provided more shade, and wet green meadows—almost nonexistent in Little Creek—were frequent. Near the head of Red Creek the canyon reached a point where a short gentle slope to the north led to the top of the Hogs Back. For just over 200 yards this narrow ridge barely separated the two canyons, then Red Creek veered sharply to the south and ended in a small valley flanked by relatively small hills to the south and west and at the foot of a formidable peak to the east. It was in this valley that Richard found the camp of the post cutters just at sundown.

A small cooking fire was already burning in the middle of an informal compound created by two tents and two wagons. A long, low pile of cedar fence posts was stacked to one side. Ben Dalton, riding one of the crew’s four wagon horses, was dragging a large shed post—the last of the day—to the pile as Richard rode in.

You the mailman? a jovial Charles Johnson called as he rose from the thick log where he was sitting. Occasionally information from the valley was sent by rider, often a teenage son of one of the workers.

Yeah, but the news is bad, Richard said. Then he quickly outlined what was happening and the plan originally hatched near Chimney Meadows by Jim Adamson and Andy Wilson.

Guess supper will have to wait, Johnson smiled, understanding well the need to hurry. Eddy was cookin’ tonight, so we won’t be missin’ much. Then he sobered. Eddy, since they’ve got your pa and a brother on the other end of the canyon, I think you should be spared hazardous duty. Andrew can stay with you to watch things here. The rest of us will head over to the Hogs Back to see what we can do.

No one protested the assignments.

With Edwin Wilson, the second son of Andy Wilson, and Andrew Robinson staying behind, there would be five men from the camp leaving on horseback with Richard to attempt to plug the top end of Little Creek Canyon. Joining Richard and Charles Johnson were brothers Anson and Robert Lister, Bill Robinson (Andrew’s older brother), and Ben Dalton. All were armed with rifles, and the Lister brothers each had a revolver.

Before they left, Richard, tired from hours in the saddle, drank heavily from the camp’s water supply, and he eagerly accepted the salted dried beef Johnson offered. It was gone before the six men covered the half-mile back to the Hogs Back.

Almost as if on a schedule, five additional men from Center Creek arrived nearly simultaneously with the post cutters at the point where the two canyons nearly joined. The failing light made immediate identification of the riders difficult, so when Richard’s group spotted the horses break over the skyline, they quickly melted into the trees. Normally such precaution would not happen so quickly nor so naturally.

That’s Bishop Langston out front, Richard called to Johnson as he motioned the other riders back into the open.

It was Johnson who naturally took charge; he was most familiar with both canyons. Richard had been in Little Creek just once. The others were only vaguely familiar with its features. From the Red Creek side, the spine of the Hogs Back was an easy 100-yard walk up a mild slope. It’s a lot steeper and much further to the bottom on the other side, Johnson instructed as they neared the top. The trail down there is on the other side of the creek. We’ll need five men on the other side, behind cover; a couple next to the stream; and three in the steep rocks on this side. There can’t be too many of them, or somebody somewhere would have taken notice before they started stealin’ cows.

It’s going to be dark, and I expect we’ll be spending all night, if they don’t know we’re here, Langston predicted. If they do know they’re trapped, they’ll almost certainly try to come out this way in the dark. There’s too much civilization in the valley. If we can surprise them in the morning, with some daylight, that’d be the best way. I’d guess they’d just give up.

Let’s get to our positions, Johnson said, his voice suddenly dropping to a whisper, while we still have any light.

Richard volunteered to position himself at the highest point on the slope at the far side of the desolate Little Creek Canyon. Four men, including Bishop Langston, who would be positioned just below Richard in the blockade, slipped over the sharp ridge of the Hogs Back quickly to avoid being silhouetted against the sky. That danger was scant, however, as darkness was settling rapidly. Two groups of three men each followed after brief intervals. They had no idea how far down the canyon below them their prey waited. It was possible—even probable—that the rustlers were miles below them, nearer the canyon’s mouth to allow quicker access to the valley and its livestock, but they didn’t know.

The descent was uneventful, but it was also slower and noisier than they wanted. A periodic patch of shale caused unavoidable showers of tiny rocks to cascade down the canyon, and each man knew how well sound carried in the crisp night air. It took a team effort to ford the creek bottom. Each man’s slide down the steep bank broke loosely anchored rocks free and sent them tumbling and splashing into the stream below. The climb up the loose, cold dirt of the steep 12-foot slope capped by a vertical eight-foot dirt cliff on the other side was initially impossible. Three attempts, each with two-man foot boosts from below, failed. Anson Lister, who had moved upstream looking for an easier route, finally located a protruding dry juniper root which they used to pull themselves belly-down over the bank.

The north side of the canyon at this point was wider than and not as steep as Richard had expected… and hoped. Anson Lister found cover 30 feet beyond the trail on the north side of the stream. Seventy feet further, Bill Robinson sat down behind a six-foot boulder. Irvin Langston and Richard made their way cautiously another 70 feet before Langston positioned himself behind the trunk of a broad based juniper. Richard groped through the near-darkness another 100 feet up the increasingly steep incline and sat down to wait, every sense alive. He wasn’t sure how much beyond where he had stationed himself that the slope remained gentle enough to permit travel by horseback, and he wasn’t comfortable with the plentiful cover provided to anyone coming up the canyon because of the density of the trees. He did not expect the canyon to be this wide, nor did he expect this many trees. With foreknowledge of where the men were posted and with appropriate caution, anyone below them in the canyon might slip past. Richard agreed with Langston’s assessment on the rim: it was vital to keep whoever was below them where they were until daylight came. However, he thought, that may be more difficult than originally planned.

It didn’t take long for the chill night air to force Richard to pull his long coat tighter around his chest. He placed his loaded rifle carefully on the ground and checked the coat pockets to reassure himself that his ammunition was readily available. Soon the gentle breeze which funneled the cool air of the mountain down the canyon to the warmer valley below picked up in intensity. Under different circumstances, Richard would have shifted to the downwind side of the rock that he leaned against. In addition to sheltering him from the now-chilling wind, he could also soak some of the last remaining warmth from the rock heated during the afternoon by the west sun.

Consciously, Richard worked to stay alert. Still, with the first physical rest since he had left Center Creek, his body began to feel the effects of a long day of riding, some of it strenuous. He squirmed his body to carve a depression in the red dirt where he could sit more comfortably. It didn’t take long for him to conclude that his ears would be more valuable in detecting visitors than would his eyes. Still, he periodically shifted to his feet and peered down the dark canyon, resting his chin on crossed arms as he lay against the rock.

Nothing. No sound, nothing except the wind in the trees. His eyes saw shapes, but only trees, the general outline of trees, with no detail.

His mind drifted to Kara and to how different this day—and night—were from what she—and he—had planned and expected. Until now,