Westward hoboes : $b ups and downs of frontier motoringDixon, Winifred Hawkridge
General
Westward hoboes : $b ups and downs of frontier motoring
Dixon, Winifred Hawkridge
Automobile travel; West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
Following the Navajo’s vague gestures, we came at last within sight of
the long government buildings of Chin Le. But between them and us an
arroyo lay, no longer the puddle we had splashed through on our way to
Kayenta, but four feet of red torrent which had already cut down the
soft banks into miniature cliffs, and completely barred our crossing.
We shuddered when we saw it, and thought how easy it would be for a man
to slip over these slippery banks in the dark. Now seriously concerned
at the guide’s failure to appear, the two men started off to find
if possible a ford they might safely attempt, while we got out the
coffee pot, and built a tiny fire of twigs, the only fuel in sight.
The matches were wet, the sugar melted, and the can-opener lost. By
the time we managed to get the coffee boiling we saw a two horse team
crossing the stream, with the trader and the missing guide on the front
seat.
[Illustration: QUICKSAND; CANYON DE CHELLEY.]
“Where did you spend the night?” we asked, much relieved to see him
alive.
“In bed, at Mr. Stagg’s,” he answered. He explained that he had reached
Chin Le safely, and had taken a wagon out to find us, but failing to do
so, had gone back to bed. He started out in the morning just in time to
save Murray and the Golfer from a cold swim.
Leaving the car until the flood should abate, we piled our belongings
and ourselves into the wagon, and started across the muddy stream. The
water rose to the hubs, then to the horses’ shoulders. One stepped in a
hole, almost disappearing, and nearly carrying the wagon with him, but
at last we crossed safely, and reached Stagg’s in time for breakfast.
We told the adventures of the night, ending with our encounter with the
Navajo.
“What does ishklish mean?” we asked.
“You mean slicklish,” corrected the Golfer.
“Ishklish? Slicklish?” said Mr. Stagg. “Oh, you mean ushklush.”
“Well, what does ushklush mean?”
“Why, ushklush means mud.”
It is, I think, the best name for mud that could be invented,
especially the Navajo mud we had ushklushed through since dawn.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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