St. George is quite a city for these parts, probably eighteen hundred people, a telephone system, several stores, and a big Mormon church and school. We did some trading here and got some pointers regarding the trail. We met one old fellow who had come to California in 1850. He used to own part of the old Stewart Ranch at Las Vegas, but now lives about eighteen miles from here at Leeds. Here we heard a funny railroad story. It was so far from a railroad that nobody could see the point, but any one accustomed to seeing Mexicans working on the railroad,--who slowly get out of the way of a train when the fireman rings the bell,--may appreciate it. This is the story the foreman tells:
[Illustration: MORMON HOUSE AND IRRIGATION DITCH]
He said that he found one of his men standing at a switch close to a rattlesnake that was just coiling up to strike him. He called to him hurriedly, “Get off the track there, you damned fool! Quick, don’t you see that rattler?” The Mexican moved very reluctantly and the foreman, thinking the man didn’t sense the snake, said, “Don’t you know enough to jump off the track when you see a rattler?” The Mexican only shrugged his shoulders and said, “He no ringa da bell!”
Well, we thought often we had heard the “bell” of the rattler, but never did see one, and the bell we heard we put down to a species of locust.
About 4 P. M. we moved on, planning to go to Cedar City before resting the team, and from there to Marysvale. We drove through Washington, the roads here being fairly well travelled, and on to a water hole, where we camped for the night. This water hole was down in a small canyon and we had hard work getting at it and digging a basin from which we could dip up a pail of water at a time, but finally we got what we needed.
The next morning, Wednesday, June 8, Bob woke us up and said, “Tuck is sick.” I was up immediately and wanted to know where he was. “He has gone,” said Bob, “just wandered off sick.”
“But a sick dog does not wander off,” I said. “Tell us if you know anything; he surely isn’t here.”
Then he told us that he had wakened up early and not seeing Tuck curled up at my feet as usual, had thought something was wrong with the camp, and jumped up and dressed. It was just getting light, and looking around he saw all the horses and no sign of trouble, but no dog. Then he thought the dog might have gone for a drink and so now that he was up he would go and see. Looking down into the draw he saw Tuck lying by the pool of water covered with mud which had dried in his hair, and apparently asleep. He managed to coax him out and up to him, but said the dog didn’t seem to know him, acted afraid, and looked sick. He coaxed him along over to the wagon and then it occurred to him that the dog might have had a fight with some animal at the water hole, and so he went back and climbed down and looked the ground over, but found no sign of anything except the dog. When he came back to the wagon, the dog had disappeared. He found his tracks where he had wandered off down the trail, but could not overtake him or catch sight of him, and so he came back and awoke us. “He is scared and sick, and hardly knew me,” he repeated, “and now he has wandered off. He must be crazy.”