Tuesday, February 12, 2008

THE STORY OF MOCCASIN

An Indian wandering his way over the hills, down the canyon and through the valleys, stopped at a bubbling spring, was refreshed by its clear water, and left his “moccasin” footprints in the soft earth. Later a white man, finding the spring with Indian moccasin footprints and a lone moccasin left by other Indians, called it Moccasin Springs.

This white man, William B. Maxwell, saw the possibilities of land, feed, and water for livestock, so he took up a claim in the year 1863. Maxwell later sold his claim to a Mr. Rhodes for 80 head of sheep. This claim was located in the area known as Moccasin Springs. The area included three springs: two close together, and one a short distance away, now known as Sand Spring because of the clear sand in the spring.

Mr. Rhodes, with his partner Randall Alexander, settled at Moccasin and bought more land from the Indians. They built a snug log cabin just west of the springs. Four Alexander brothers later acquired the property with the plan to raise cattle and carry on a dairying operation, but Indian trouble caused the ranch to be vacated in 1866 and the log cabin weathered away.

In 1871, Levi Stewart and others purchased the Alexander claim and divided it into eight to ten shares. A company under Lewis Allen, consisting of people who had left their homes in the Muddy Mission, located temporarily at Pipe Spring and Moccasin. Lewis Allen and Willis Webb, his son—in—law, built two cabins and plowed the land. Being attracted to the United Order at Orderville, they joined, turning all of their property into the Order.

Taken from Andrew Jackson Allen’s journal (he was Lewis Allen’s brother).

June 15, 1878 — received a letter from Lewis Allen. He tells me that he has put all of his property into the Order at Orderville to see how he likes it. Tells me it is doing first rate. They all live alike.
John Covington, a member of the Order, was given charge of the Moccasin property. Vegetables, grapes, peaches, plums, pears, and melons were raised. Cane fields were planted, and barrel upon barrel of molasses was made and sent to the Order — eight thousand, six hundred gallon a year.

The Canaan Cattle Company, owned by the L.D.S, Church, had purchased a one—third interest in the spring from the Winsor Stock Growing Association, who had bought it in 1870. Following President Brigham Young’s advice to help rather than fight the Indians, the Order bought the Canaan interest and gave it, along with ten acres of land, to the Paiute Indians. The Indians lived in Wigwams along the foot of the hill south of Moccasin, Later, about 1910, the Government built five or six one room, rock houses for them two miles south of Moccasin and their one—third interest of the water was piped to a pond at that location.

Christopher Heaton was sent to Moccasin to succeed Covington in 1883. He was to be a missionary to the Indians to teach them farming. However, this did not prove too successful. Helping Chris at Moccasin were his brothers Jonathan, Alvin, Will, and Fred. At various times their families were with them.

When the Order at Orderville broke up, the Moccasin Springs property, along with other property, was given to the Heaton Brothers. It had fallen into good hands, for the boys, like their father William, were natural agriculturalists — industrious, thrifty, tillers of the soil.

The following information was copied from the Orderville Ward records in 1877:

Sep. 11, 1883. In a meeting items were listed and among them Moccasin Farm and large pasture was valued at $2500.00. July 14, 1900 at 8 p.m. the United Order Corporation expires on that date. Moccasin Farm and large pasture valued at $2500.00. Tools to the amount of $50.00. Teams, wagons, the harnesses $300.00. Cane mill $125.00. Pigs and chickens amounting to $50.00. 50 gallons of molasses at Moccasin was assigned to the Mt. Carmel Farm.
The families, which were small in the beginning, lived in the log cabins — sometimes two families to a cabin, dividing the work, cooking, taking care of the milk, butter, fields, and animals. They lived happily and harmoniously together.

When the “Big House” was built by Dellie Webb and Heber Ayers, about 1875, a real home was brought into being. This lumber house was located about a quarter of a mile east of the Sand Springs, at the foot of a low sandy hill.

Chris, being the oldest of the brothers, took the lead as long as he lived at Moccasin. He directed the work and the workers. He took charge of the Sunday Schools and Meetings, teaching and living his religion. The Heaton’s sincerely lived, to the letter, the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The men were kind to their families, taught their families to pray, to work, and to obey.

In 1890 Christopher B. Heaton moved to Old Mexico with his family. The evening before he and his family were to leave, their Indian neighbors came to bid them goodbye. They especially liked and respected Chris. The next morning their company pulled out. At a place to the east of Pipe Spring, called Two Mile, Chris noticed a lone figure to the rear running to catch up with them. He soon recognized Captain Frank, a special friend and Chief of the Tribe. He had missed the farewell the night before and wanted to pay his respects. It was a sad parting for the white and Indian brothers.

So close was the brotherhood between Jonathan and Chris that when Chris met his death at the hands of Mexican rebels, Jonathan knew it. He was dipping sheep at the Moccasin Ranch late one fall afternoon in 1894 when suddenly he stood straight and still as if listening, “Something has happened to Chris’ he exclaimed, “something has happened to my brother”.

It was no surprise when the word finally reached him. The brothers in Utah counseled together and it was decided that the youngest brother, Fred, would make the sad journey to Mexico to settle the affairs of Christopher and move his family back home.

The time came when Jonathan and Alvin (having purchased Fred and Will’s interest prior to this time) decided to divide their holdings. The Moccasin property seemed to be first choice. The property at the Green was good, but the families had not become attached to it as they had Moccasin. All of the Heaton’s who had ever lived at Moccasin had loved it there.

It took about three days to make the division. There was never a sign of misunderstanding or disagreement. The love and unity which existed between the brothers was very apparent at this time. We do not know exactly what transpired or what their reasons were for the division they made, but I’m sure they each felt it to be equal and right, Alvin was to have Moccasin and Jonathan the Green.

Jonathan prepared his teams and wagons, loaded his family and belongings, and started on his journey to Orderville. They had gone a short distance — five or six miles, when Alvin caught up with them on his horse. He and Jonathan walked a short distance from the wagons and talked for thirty or forty minutes. Returning to the wagons, Jonathan instructed the boys to turn the teams around — they would be going back to Moccasin.

Daniel H. Heaton, son of Jonathan and Nay, gives the following account:

Uncle Alvin realized that on account of the size of their families, it would be more appropriate for father to own Moccasin and he the Green. So being such a noble, just man he asked father to exchange properties — which was a great sacrifice on his part.
Father had two good homes for his families in Orderville, so now it was necessary for him to move one family to Moccasin. Aunt Lucy’s family was taken to Moccasin and my mother, Amy, remained in Orderville. In 1898, the two families exchanged places for awhile.

In 1901, Jonathan moved his first wife, Amy, to what is now Alton, Utah. Lucy, his second wife and her children, were permanently established at Moccasin.

Taken from “Memories of Lucy H, Esplin”, Lucy is the daughter of Jonathan and Lucy:

When father and Alvin dissolved their partnership and divided the property, Alvin received Fiddler’s Green (the Green just below Orderville) and Father, Moccasin. Father and his Sons worked together and the two wives took turns moving from Moccasin to Orderville as their babies arrived with alternate regularity. Around the year 1900, father and his sons purchased the Segmiller ranch, which was in a canyon about thirty miles northeast of Kanab. It was called ‘Upper Kanab” at that time, although it later bacame known as the “Wild Rose Ranch” because of the wild roses that grew along fences, creek beds, and banks. Grandma Amy or Aunt Amy, as we called her, moved to the Wild Rose Ranch. Mother or Aunt Lucy, as everyone called her, stayed at Moccasin. The two homes in Orderville were sold.
In 1904, the second lumber house was built one half mile north of the “Big House” for Jonathan’s hired man, Ras Allen.

Eleven children were born to Jonathan and Lucy, six of whom were sons:
Charles, Fred, Christopher, Edward, Sterling, and Gilbert, Having the United Order of Orderville still bright in their minds, Jonathan and his sons formed a cooperation, using the title “Heaton and Sons”. They bought a herd of cattle from A.D, Findlay, with the headquarters at Pipe Springs.

The son’s families were increasing rapidly and Jonathan was soon to realize it would be better for each son to have his own home, farmland, and property. In 1911—12, the Moccasin Ranch was divided and fenced into six small farms.

The daughters, Lucy, Keziah, Ella, and Amy, married and moved to live elsewhere. The eldest daughter, Esther, remained at Moccasin and was given land and a home site by her father.

The water from the Sand Spring was piped to a community tank by the schoolhouse, and then to the homes starting 1909. This project made Moccasin “first” in the Kanab Stake to have running water in every home. It was also used for lawns, flowers, shrubbery and sprinklers. Small fruits such as currants, blackberries, gooseberries, raspberries, and strawberries grew well.

Moccasin was organized into a regular Church branch of the Kanab Ward, December 4, 1910, with Charles Heaton as Presiding Elder, until 1913 when he was called on a mission and his younger brother, Fred, was chosen to head the Branch. In 1926, the Branch was made independent with Fred Heaton presiding, Christopher and Charles Leonard Heaton as assistants, with Edward Heaton as clerk. The relief Society was organized in 1930 with Margaret C. Heaton as President, Lucy Heaton and Esther Johnson as counselors, and Laverna I. Heaton as Secretary.

Family Thanksgiving dinners have been held each year since 1902. The first was held under the trees at the Big house and later at the school house. In 1946, a Church was built and the Thanksgiving dinners were held there.

In 1902, a big bell was put up on the old granary and storage room that stood close to the Big House, The bell called the workman from the fields and the community members to Thanksgiving dinners, programs, school and Church.

The post office came in 1909 with Charles C, Heaton as postmaster. The office was located in his home. Mail service, for several years before, was carried from Kanab to Rockville, Utah by way of Moccasin, Canebeds, and Short Creek. Horseback was the mode of travel for the mail for a long time, then came the horse and buggy, the old jalopy, and finally the dependable truck.

The telephone service came in 1906 when the old telegraph line, which was completed in 1871 and ran from Kanab to Rockville, was hooked on to. The telephone was put in Lucy’s home and later moved to the Charles Heaton home. The old telegraph line, which ran from Kanab to Pipe Springs, was changed to a telephone line, by E.W. Wooley, in 1886.

An automatic electric plant was installed in 1928, and Moccasin had electric lights. One street light was put up. This made Moccasin the first community in this part of Southern Utah and Northern Arizona to have a street light. Another larger plant was bought later and used for years. When it went out, the people were back in the ‘old days’ so to speak. The electric power line came in 1961.

One fall day in 1940 when the fields and fruit trees were at their best — ready for harvest, a copper colored cloud appeared over the west canyon. This built up quickly and covered the skies. Soon lightning came and thunder could be heard, Then the storm broke — and such a storm! It was a real cloudburst with hail, loud cracking thunder, and lightning. It lasted for one half hour to an hour. What a relied when it stopped. The relief did not last long however, for from the canyon came a roaring flood, taking everything in its path — trees, animals, fields, fences — everything! When it was over, there were no fields or trees to be harvested. Instead a terrible wreckage — fields covered with sand, rocks and debris. Fences were gone, trees uprooted, outbuildings and sheds gone.

The next year another storm came, but not so big. It was realized that something had to be done, so Charles Heaton hired a tractor and commenced digging a wash. Through the years, the wash grew deep and wide enough to carry the flood water. When the new highway was built into Moccasin, a big concrete tunnel was made to carry the water under the road. It was not large enough. During the summer of 1971, a flood backed up and ran over the fields again, filling the basements of two new homes belonging to C. Leonard Heaton and his son, Leonard. Many hands soon had the basements cleaned and yards and fields cleared.

A cemetery spot was chosen north and a little west of the hill where the Big House stood. All the families came to the dedication and to plant trees at the site, No one died, and as the years passed, the floods came and the sand grew deeper. This cemetery plot was finally abandoned; Death came to Moccasin, May 22, 1922 when Christopher’s wife, Elnora, died. She was burned in the Kanab Cemetery. Others died and were buried in the cemeteries at Orderville and Kanab. It was again decided to have a cemetery at Moccasin. A place north of the new chapel was chosen and dedicated in 19??

At the turn of the century, Jonathan’s son, Will, and his young wife had planted a long row of poplar trees along the land running east and west. The trees grew tall and sturdy, furnishing a lot of shade — a lovely landmark for the weary traveler headed toward Moccasin, These trees grew for 70 years, then were removed in 1970 to make room for the new paved highway,

In the beginning, school was held in the homes, The first teachers were William Heaton, Persis B, Spencer, and Kezia Carroll Esplin, who all taught without pay. They held their classes in the “Big House”. The first paid teacher was Ella Flagg who came in 1905 and held classes in the Charles Heaton home. She was followed by Laverna Isom. Laverna taught for four years,

A one—room school house was completed and occupied in 1907, Mohave County furnished funds for the cost of the materials and the Heaton men donated the labor, The lumber came from John Brown’s sawmill at Jacob Lake on the Kaibab Mountain.

About 1947, the school house at the Kaibab Village burned down and the Indian children came to Moccasin to attend school. At this time, another room was added to the one—room school and an additional teacher hired.

During the summer of 1973, a beautiful, modern little elementary school replaced the old school building, Kindergarten through third grade classes are held there, while children attending fourth through twelfth grades are bussed to Fredonia.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Visits of the General Authorities

In the fall of the year, some of the presidents of the Church and apostles would stop over night at Moccasin on their way to St. George from Kanab. How we would clean the house for their coming and all the yards outside. We would bring flowers in the house and have everything spic and span, even the children. We would make good things to eat - it was an exciting time.

President Joseph F. Smith had a long, white beard, was tall and nice looking. President Heber J. Grant held a meeting and sang for us. He said a person could do anything he made his mind up to do, if he persisted long enough. Apostle Richard R. Lyman had the biggest feet I ever saw and could eat the most watermelon. He was a large man. Apostle Francis M. Lyman blessed and named my brother, Gilbert Giles Heaton, the third of Septem­ber 1900 at Moccasin in our dining room. Got him off to a good start in life.

We always saved our largest and best melons for the visiting authorities coming in the fall of the year. One time our neighbor from Two Mile, Andrew Lamb, Uncle Ed Lamb's brother, came to Moccasin and on his way out he passed the melon patch. It was a great temptation to see those big melons. So our biggest melons went along home with Andrew and the Apostles had second best. However, he was kind enough to save the seed and send to us for planting the coming spring.

- Lucy Heaton Esplin

Trapping Quail at Moccasin

As a boy I used to go with my cousins trapping quail. The quail traps were made of a light board box held up by a figure four trigger. When the quail would go under the trap to eat the wheat, they would touch the trigger and the box would fall trapping all the quail that were eating the grain.

The quail were placed in a chicken run and fed until they were eaten by ranch members. They were so plentiful that they attracted a lot of coyote and fox. If we did not check the quail traps every day, the wild animals would dig a hole under the box and eat the quail as they tried to crawl out from under the box.

Eating the quail made me believe the quail story recorded in the Bible, wherein the quail were so thick the children of Israel could catch them with their hands. It also increased my faith in prayer where the Saints crossing the plains prayed for food and the Lord sent the quail in abundance.

- Alma Heaton

Those Moccasin Days

When I think of Moccasin, I think of Grandma Heaton. She was a strong force in the life of every one of her children and grandchildren; I have fond memories of Grandma Heaton. She presided over her large family clan with a quiet, firm hand. She never missed much that went on around her. She kept everything running in an orderly manner, and expected an evening visit from each son, every day, even if he was married with a family of his own.

Grandma had a large library of books that filled all one wall by her fireplace in the living-dining room. She always tried to see that we children read the proper books for our age level. She was interested in the welfare of each grandchild. She taught the kindergarten group of children in Sunday school for many years and excelled in telling Bible stories.

Grandma loved beautiful dishes. She made fancy quilts and gave each granddaughter lace for pillowcases when they were married, while she was alive. All of her pillowcases were edged with lovely knitted lace.

Her bay window was always a mass of beautiful plants. She truly had a green thumb.

I remember sleeping up to Grandma's when she was alone. I always slept on huge down pillows and a feather mattress out on the side porch. Generally, I stayed for breakfast. Grandma and I sat at one end of the long dining table and a large yellow cat lapped cream from a saucer at the other end. Grandma's breakfasts were very satisfying, usually hot cereal with real cream, hot biscuits, butter and honey and jelly.

I have always been thankful that Grandma Heaton was part of my "growing up". Grandpa Heaton was a church and civic leader, and with two families to manage he didn't have much time for grandchildren, He would often sit with his face buried in a paper or book during the evenings, seemingly oblivious to family, friends or visitors.

I do remember a little incident involving Grandpa Heaton. He bought one of the first (if not the first} touring cars that came into southern Utah. When he drove into Moccasin in this car, it was a real event. He took everyone on the ranch for short rides.

When some of us were chugging up the sandy lane one day, we saw a coyote skulking along the ditch, at the side of the road. It would hide behind the tall Lombardy poplars which grew the full length of the lane, The men folks located the coyote and shot it. They thought it had rabies, because it was so skinny and had very little hair on its body.

- Edna H. Stapley

The Year of the Big Flood

The year of 1940 is one I'll never forget, as I am sure many others won't either. This was the year we had the big flood. It was September and we had been in school but a week or two when one day we really had a cloudburst. It was so dark in the schoolroom, even though there were four windows on each side of the one room school building, we could hardly see to do our lessons.

I don't remember who noticed the flood first, coming out of the west canyon, but it was a big one. We could see boulders as large as cars rolling down. We saw the big cottonwood trees rooted up and come rolling down with the water. We were scared. The schoolhouse was upon the hill, but we thought for sure the flood would come up and wash us away too. Not only was a flood coming out of the canyon, but a large flood came down off the Flat Rocks, down through the meadow and gardens west and north of the school house.

My sister Jennie and her family lived in a small, one roomed house with

a lean-to for a bed room. It was right in the way of the flood. As the flood came down, the men ran down to Jennie's house to help them get out. After they were out and up to our house, Mama came to school to get me to go home and take care of Jennie's Stan and Rolin. The flood was still getting larger, so I took the boys and went up to Uncle Sterlings because his house was on the same hill as the schoolhouse. The folks thought the flood would come as high as our house, but it didn't, thank goodness. Everyone was saying prayers that day.

The flood completely covered Daddy's land. It filled the barn, covered the alfalfa fields, the apple orchard, on down through another alfalfa patch and the corn fields, across the road and on to some of Uncle Gilberts, Uncle Sterlings, and Uncle Chris' fields, going on to the Two Mile Wash and on to the Colorado River.

The next day, a group of men from Kanab and Fredonia went to Moccasin to help dig out from the flood. It had left two or three feet of sand everywhere. While the men were there, it clouded up and rained again. Another large flood, not quite as large as the first, came. The third day another one came, smaller than the second. After the third day of flooding, Parv Church said if he were Charlie Heaton, he would curse the Lord and move out, but Daddy went straight to work to clean it all up and start planting again. The apples got ripe faster that year and start­ed to fall off, so we were all busy picking and taking care of apples that year.

The first day of the flood, Daddy lost a pig or two and a few chickens in the water, but no other animals. He had opened the corral gate and let the horses and cows go to higher ground,

There have been a number of floods since that day in 1940, and I suppose there will be more to come, but we always refer to it now as the time we had the big flood. The next year, Daddy hitched up the old workhorse, old Nig, to a plow and started plowing a ditch along the south of our land at the foot of the hill. He would then run water down it to wash it out more, then dig and blast the rock to make it deeper. When the next flood came, which was much smaller, the wash held most of it and also cut the wash deeper. From then on the wash held the floods that came down, except for one fall when trash came down, plugged up the bridge and ran over flooding Leonard's and Pinkie's houses, filling their basements with sand.

The one thing the floods accomplished was to wash up springs of water in the flood wash, so I guess there was some good came from it all.

- Lavina Heaton Meeks

The Wrong Turn

When Jonathan Heaton and Sons were building a home for their hired help, Rass Allen and family, in 1905 or 1906 (the home Aunt May now owns), they had Mr. George Burnham, from Orderville, out to do the plastering. He was staying at Grandma's house and one evening wanted to go up to see how the plaster was drying as, to get a good finish on the wall, the plaster had to dry out gradually and needed to be wet down several times to prevent cracking.

Being a dark night, Mr. Burnham borrowed a lamp to light his way along the path, through the grape arbor, past the tunnel spring, along the bank of the long reservoir, and then up past the new fruit orchard to the house. Mr. Burnham had asked some of the men to go along with him in case they were needed - and need them he did. He was in the lead and not watching too closely where he was going. He made a turn in the path too soon and walked right off into the reservoir, which was full of water. The men fished him out but had to wait until the reservoir was emptied to get the lamp back.

C. Leonard Heaton

The Winter of the Blue Snow

The evening of December 25, 1936, a group of we boys climbed in Uncle Fred's Dodge sedan and went to Kanab to a dance. It started to snow, and by the time we were ready to come home after the dance, it had snowed and drifted so much that we got stuck in Riggs Flat and had a rather difficult time getting home.

It kept snowing and blowing and turned so awfully cold. The fog was so thick you could hardly breathe. When the snow finally stopped, there was three feet on the level. The CCC Camp at Pipe Springs tried to keep the road open from there to Fredonia with a cat-tractor, and the men at Moccasin built a drag. They hooked two or three teams to this and tried to open the road to Pipe. They didn't have much success because of the wind and drifting snow. The fences had so much frost hanging to the wire that it looked like a solid wall.

The men became very worried about the cattle on the range, so one day they saddled their horses and attempted to go to Cedar Ridge and the Moonshine Pasture. Each would take a turn in the lead to break a trail through the snow - the snow being so deep as to strike the horses at the chest with our feet dragging in the snow. Uncle Ed was in the lead riding his big, stout horse named Happy. We were about a mile out from Pipe when, all at once, his horse dropped out of sight. We had come to a deep wash that had drifted full of snow. We spent a considerable amount of time tromping through into the wash in order to get solid footing for the horse to climb up the steep bank of the wash and out on the level ground again.

Pipe Valley looked like a sea of white. The bushes were covered with snow and the washes had all drifted full. It was so cold that the scarves we had over our faces froze to our skin and the horses had icicles three or four inches long on their noses where their breath would freeze. The cattle had tried to find shelter under trees, in the larger wash banks, in rock out­croppings, or anywhere they could find some relief from the cold wind and deep snow.

Whenever we would ride into one of these bed grounds, there would be dead cattle and some too weak to stand. Some we were able to tail up (help them to stand), and then try to make a trail to a bush or some tumbleweed that hadn't been eaten into the ground. Some of the cattle we were able to drive to the red hill west of Pipe where there was some fresh browse and the snow didn't lay quite so deep.

Along toward the last of February or the first of March, the sun finally began to shine. The weather became warmer and the snow began to melt. After the snow had melted on the level ground, there was still some on the north slopes of the hills and the washes were still full, Fred, Carl, and I packed up a horse and spent a few days riding the range to assess the loss, etc. We found the cattle so weak that they would get stuck in the mud or were unable to climb up a wash bank after trying to get a drink in the washes where the snow was melting.

We rode up the Bullrush Wash area and around the Moonshine and Yellowstone Rim, finding many dead cattle. Some had frozen feet or tails and some of their ears were frozen off. We helped many cattle out of washes or mud-holes.

To this day, cattlemen and sheep men recall the experiences of that tragic "winter of the blue snow". There has not been another winter, before or since, to compare with this one.

- Owen H. Johnson

The Rescue

The year Israel C. was a year old he liked riding in the express wagon. Erma had to go to Grandma Lucy's for milk and asked if she could take him with her in the wagon. I bundled him up, for it was quite a cold morning. When they reached the Long Reservoir, Erma was afraid she might run off the narrow path that ran along the west bank. She hugged the hill so close that it cramped the wagon and tipped it over. Down went the baby into the reservoir and Erma went right after him, clinging to some bushes with one hand and grabbing the baby with the other. She couldn't climb out; the bank was too steep and the baby too heavy. She called and cried for help.

Grandma Lucy was on the hill following a hen that had stolen her nest away. She thought she heard someone calling so she walked in that direc­tion. As soon as she reached the top of the hill, she realized the call was for help and hurried to the rescue. She had quite a struggle to reach them. They were chilled through and through and Erma was nearly exhausted. A good warm bath followed and they were none the worse for a February plunge and a near drowning.

- Violet H. Jones(Taken from Charlotte C. Heaton's story)

The Rescue of a Lost Sheep

One day, soon after Leonard P. Heaton had returned from his mission in 1956, he and I went hunting deer in the mountains west of Pipe Spring National Monument. We were on a bench east of Potter's Canyon. While riding along, we suddenly saw sheep tracks. How could a sheep possibly get upon this bench? They were fresh tracks and very unusual ones. Every time they came into view the sheep appeared to be dragging something. Suddenly we ran on to her. She was lying down and did not try to get up. We thought at first that she was dead. As we drew nearer she tried to get up. It was then that we saw that the huge amount of heavy wool that she was carrying was keeping her from moving around. She could not run and could hardly walk. Why had she lived here so long without the coyotes eating her? Upon closer observation, we could see that the coyotes could not possibly have gotten through all of that wool. The only bare place was her nose and around her eyes.

She had undoubtedly strayed away from a herd while yet very young, perhaps during her first year, and had climbed up onto this bench then. She had no doubt found various water pockets in the rocks or natural springs that had kept her alive. The abundant food supply there had also been all hers.

We drove her very carefully down to my waiting pickup and loaded her in. Her wool was so heavy that all the way down she would walk a few steps then stop and rest. We kept picking her up on her feet and moving slowly on. A sheep will shed it's own wool in four years, but we figured by her teeth, that she was only three years old.

I took her home and cared for her a few days, we took some pictures then sheared and weighed the wool. As I recall, the wool weighed 42 pounds. I also measured the wool. That around her face and head was 6 to 10 inches long. But that on her back and sides was 12 to 14 inches long. She had undoubtedly lived on that lonely haven for more than 2 years.

As Leonard was soon to be married, the wool was sent to woolen mills where nice new all wool blankets were made.

- Annie M. Heaton(as told to her by Clifford K, Heaton)

The Party

At one time, Alvin decided to give the Indians a party. All the people from Pipe Springs and Moccasin were invited to join in the melon feast with the Indians. When Captain Frank (Indian) was notified, he was very much pleased. He selected an almost perfect amphitheater among the trees, near the camp, and placed logs on the outer edge for the white people to sit on. They came - a hay rack load of people and a wagon load of melons. The white people mingled together in a friendly manner, in conversation, dance, and feast. The most impressive feature of the evening occurred when Captain Frank stepped into the center of a large circle and gave thanks for the happy occasion. With bowed head he asked God's blessings on those assembled, on himself, and his people. He prayed for the Mormon President, John Taylor, (who was then dead), for Joseph Smith, and George Washington, and for Alvin Heaton, who had brought the melons.

Whenever Captain Frank was given a meal at the "Big House", he always asked the Lord to bless the food and bless Frank. "Help Frank to be a good man", and then would add, "Frank no steal 'em, Frank no lie."

Charles Carroll Heaton

The Party

At one time, Alvin decided to give the Indians a party. All the people from Pipe Springs and Moccasin were invited to join in the melon feast with the Indians. When Captain Frank (Indian) was notified, he was very much pleased. He selected an almost perfect amphitheater among the trees, near the camp, and placed logs on the outer edge for the white people to sit on. They came - a hay rack load of people and a wagon load of melons. The white people mingled together in a friendly manner, in conversation, dance, and feast. The most impressive feature of the evening occurred when Captain Frank stepped into the center of a large circle and gave thanks for the happy occasion. With bowed head he asked God's blessings on those assembled, on himself, and his people. He prayed for the Mormon President, John Taylor, (who was then dead), for Joseph Smith, and George Washington, and for Alvin Heaton, who had brought the melons.

Whenever Captain Frank was given a meal at the "Big House", he always asked the Lord to bless the food and bless Frank. "Help Frank to be a good man", and then would add, "Frank no steal 'em, Frank no lie."

Charles Carroll Heaton

The Lobo Wolf

On the heavy forested slopes of the Kaibab Forest in Northern Arizona, in the spring of 1910, was born a wolf that was later to become famous for his ruthless destruction of livestock and his habit of traveling and killing alone. So notorious did the exploits of this beast become, that the conservative cattlemen of the Arizona Strip offered a reward of $500 for his capture, dead or alive. It was in this forest that the wolf took a mate and the two came off the west side of the mountain, no doubt intend­ing to prey on the cattle ranging west of the Kaibab Plateau in the desert around Fredonia. Soon after leaving the forest, the she wolf had the misfortune to step into the jaws of a trap. Her mate was left to travel and kill alone.

From this time on, which was after the wolf had reached the age of one year, he was never seen in the company of another wolf, nor did his tracks ever reveal that he had a mate or a partner in his depredations. From his habit of traveling alone, he came to be known as the Lobo Wolf, under which title he was known throughout the Arizona Strip. The Lobo Wolf chose for his range, that part of the Strip, which is bounded on the east by Fredonia, on the west by the Hurricane Fault, north by Orderville Creek, and south by the Bull Rush Wash. The approximate center of this region is Pipe Springs where Leonard Heaton was its caretaker and was the only man ever to see the Lobo Wolf more than once.

Leonard and his father, Charles Heaton, first saw the wolf near Shiprock, approximately five miles west of Fredonia. The wolf had just killed a calf when he was surprised by the approach of the two on horseback, Char­les decided to rope the wolf and take him alive, inasmuch as they had no guns with them. He uncoiled his rope and gave chase. His horse could outdistance the wolf but would refuse to draw near, shying at the crucial moment. This occurred in the spring of 1911, shortly after he began kill­ing among the cattle herds. Leonard saw him again in the fall of 1913 near Moccasin but could not get a shot at him before he disappeared over the Sand Knolls. Two Orderville men, Earl Lamb and Fern Esplin, came upon him suddenly and shot at him with a 22 caliber automatic pistol but with-out effect,

In the winter of 1914 O. F. Colvin and his family occupied the old fort at Pipe Springs. Many times in the middle of the night the members of the family were startled into wakefulness by the howling of the wolf. Early morning investigations proved that the Lobo had indeed chosen the fort as a place for his serenade. Although the wolf seemed to make the vicinity of Pipe Springs his headquarters that winter, and although his howl was heard on many a night, the Colvin family was never able to get a sight of him,

As his age increased, his desire to kill seemed to increase in even great­er proportion. He reached the stage where he no longer killed only to satisfy his hunger, but he seemed to kill for the joy of doing it. Many calves and cows who had fallen victim to his fangs were found to have only a few marks of the teeth and claws of the killer on them. These were usually found in the region of the udder or some other part which the Lobo Wolf determined as choice meat. No longer did he confine his attacks to calves and young cattle. He now had the courage and the strength to attack a thousand pound cow, and many an animal of this size was found to have been slain by him. No record of his ever having killed a horse is recorded but colts were to be numbered among his victims.

His habits were those of an animal who dreads the presence of man and fears to be sighted by him and yet who has a native curiosity as to the nature of his natural enemy. Many times the tracks of the wolf were freshly printed in the tracks of men and riders preceding him. After a camping party had moved and left the ashes of their campfires, he delighted in rolling over and over in the dust of the ashes. He seemed to remain on the fringe of mans vision, curious, but cautious to such an extent that he was very rarely seen.

George T. Gilkey, a noted trapper, who had heard of the exploits of the Lobo Wolf and also the reward for his capture, came to Moccasin in 1921 with the determination to trap the wolf and take him alive. He openly boasted that the animal did not live which was smart enough to avoid his traps. Accordingly he set about to catch the wolf with a skill which con­vinced even the most skeptical that he really understood trapping. Gilkey found the favorite haunts and trails of the wolf and set many traps with the hope that one of them would be sprung on the killer. For many months it seemed as if the trapper had met his match. The wolf either avoided the traps entirely or he contrived ways to spring them without injury to himself. Trap after trap was visited only to be found rusting and buried in sand, or there was evidence of a detour by the intended victim. From outward appearances Gilkey was discouraged and ready to quit.

One of the favorite trails of the wolf crossed under an old pole fence northwest of Moccasin. Under this fence Gilkey had set three traps. In one of these he had, much to his disgust, caught a small rabbit, in an-other a small bird had flown with similar effect on the trapper's dis­position. The other was left to rust while the trail of the wolf now led to a point further down the fence.

It was the yearly custom of some of the Indians living near Moccasin to go to Panguitch, Utah during the haying season where they were hired by the farmers of that vicinity. Some of them traveled by horse and buggy, but the majority of them walked and hunted for rabbits and other small game enroute. John Merricats, a Paiute Indian, was one of those who had chosen to walk. He was approaching the old pole fence where the unsuccessful trapping had taken place when he saw the head of an enormous wolf, through the pole fence, The wolf was apparently laying down, but John was not one to hes­itate and taking careful aim he fired and the wolf rolled over, the victim of a well placed shot in the head, To his surprise and also to his fear, he not only saw that the animal was the long sought Lobo Wolf but also that he was fast in the old rusty trap which had been placed and practic­ally forgotten by Gilkey. The Indian quickly and skillfully skinned the wolf and hung the hide in the tree. He then departed in a hasty manner. The next day, an extremely hot one in August, 1922, Gilkey approached and saw only the skinned wolf still held fast in his trap. His anger was be­yond his control and he raced his horse the entire ten miles to Moccasin where he obtained the service of the Deputy Sheriff. When they returned to the spot and were taking note of the tracks of the accused thief, they chanced to notice the hide hanging in the tree and Gilkey's anger was cooled somewhat. His disappointment was still very great however, as it had been his cherished dream to take the Lobo Wolf alive. The wolf was a giant of his species, He measured 6 feet 11 inches from tip to tip and weighed 96 pounds. He was of a light gray color. His tusks showed the results of a strenuous life. Many of them were broken off, some even to the gum line. The reward of $500 dollars was never paid, but a few of the cattlemen got together a total of $100, which in addition to the hide, was the amount Gilkey received for a year of effort.

Picking the Geese

Picking geese was an interesting job we did. We would run the geese into a small pen. Then the mothers and big sisters would come with rawhide chairs (that is, where one sit was made of rawhide, the rest was made oftree locust). Each would have a feather sack and a safety pin to pin the sack on their apron after they sat down. A goose was caught for each picker. They would get hold of the goose's legs and wings, turn them on their back and start picking with the free hand. There was quite a knack to the way you pulled on the feathers. Starting down by the tail of the goose, you would give a quick pull toward the head. The feathers came out real easy.

Sometimes a wing got loose or a child knocked against the sack of feathers. The feathers would fly ever which way, If a breeze was blowing, it was fun chasing the feathers and trying to catch them. We tried to pick the geese when the wind was not blowing.

The feathers are nice for pillows. Mother had a feather bed and I think mother's boys and girls received a pair of goose feather pillows when they were married.

- Lucy Heaton Esplin

Peach Bottling Time at Moccasin

From my earliest recollections, a visit at Moccasin was the delight of my life. After a day's ride in a horse drawn wagon, and often some walking, over the Sand Dunes, past Chris' Spring and Blue Knolls, we would eagerly watch to catch sight of the double row of huge, age old poplar trees that formed a shady lane leading to Aunt Lucy's and Uncle Jonathan's house. The family at Moccasin was dear to me and the house at Moccasin was as dear as my own home. If the extra company crowded the rooms, no one seemed to mind it. At least I didn't feel it if they did. We always arrived in the evening and were soon hustled off to bed. The clean restful beds in the upstairs, south bedroom were so inviting. It was pleasing to me to be in the room with Esther, Zidie, Lucy, and Ella. Yes, two big beds held all of us. At times there were three in each bed. Work filled days were conductive to sleep. Especially in this desert edged, mountain protected, lovely ranch.

Usually, my family was at Moccasin in the fall of the year when this mild climate and rich loamy soil had produced bumper crops of vegetables and fruits. Fruit canning, or bottling days, were approached with regimental preparation. Usually, the men folks picked the peaches, but often the girls helped. The just right peaches and grapes were hauled in from the orchards buckets and tubs overflowing.

The day before bottling was the "get ready day". What seemed to me the most important task, and in my young eyes the hardest, was the washing of the bottles.

In the big kitchen early the next morning, breakfast work already done, tubs of luscious peaches were being washed. My mother and Aunt Lucy were seated with pans of peaches and paring knives - each peeling as fast as industrious women, who are used to this kind of work, and are capable of. What a differ­ence in these two wonderful sisters. Aunt Lucy, large of form, and larger still of heart and wisdom, serene and measured in movement, making every turn of the hand and knife count. My mother, Aunt Vine, small tireless and quick in movement, They could peel peaches fast enough to keep two girls, usually Esther and Zidie, putting the cooked peaches in bottles and sealing them. Lucy kept busy just refilling the big cooking pans on the stove and keeping the fire box stuffed and roaring with heat.

At 11 a.m., part of the stove and one grown girl was released from the fruit process to cook a hot meal for the workingmen and the dozen or so of us who were always hungry in spite of the fruit nibbling.

Promptly at 12 noon, one of us kids was sent across the back door yard and up the grainery steps to swing up and down on the sturdy rope that put the dinner bell to clapping. How I loved to ring that bell, or how eagerly we waited to hear it if we were away to the gardens, reservoirs, or fields.

It meant that when we arrived at the house, if we hurried, there would be a delicious home cooked dinner, steaming hot on the big dining table, which sat parallel to the bay window thru which the sun shone all day on Aunt Lucy's potted flowers.

Dinner was always seasoned with a certain amount of family comradery and laughter, but no loafing after. The dishes were cleared away, washed, dried, and put into the old fashioned cupboard, floors swept up and the deck was cleared for more fruit doing.

When night came, there were two hundred quarts of bottled peaches, gleaming yellow and washed of all stickiness, cooling, ready to be boxed and hauled away. Fruit for the Moccasin family was stored.

After a long, hot day, I tagged along with the other girls to the round reservoir for the cooling, cleansing, and much-earned swim. Everyone could swim except for me. I paddled in the shallow edge.

Day followed day of doing peaches, grapes, tomatoes, until there was a sur­plus of food for the year. It was all put to good use, too, for travelers found Moccasin a convenient stopping place, and were always given the hos­pitality of good food and a bed to sleep in, plus care for their tired horses.

- Esther Heaton Lamb

My own Memories of Moccasin

Moccasin was a place of enchantment in my imagination when I was a little girl. I longed to go there, and finally I did, when I was thirteen years old. I traveled there in a wagon and we went past Clay hills and Yellow Jacket. Zidie Esplin, and Thomas Esplin and others were making the trip from Orderville out across the sand in Bishop Esplin's outfit. It was in September 1916 probably. Moccasin meant peaches, watermelons, and Indians, according to reports that came to my young ears. The only Indians I had ever seen were from Moccasin. Two squaws came to our house once, just before Christmas, with flour sacks, saying "Christmas gift." They wanted flour, apples, or other food. I remember seeing Mabel sitting silently for a long time in Aunt Vine's house in Orderville.

Later I heard the story of how a large group formed an assembly line in Aunt Lucy's house when it was time to put ripe peaches into two quart glass bottles for the winter supply for everyone in Moccasin, Alton and other places. Of course this job had been preceded by picking peaches off the trees, peeling them, and also by getting the great number of empty bottles ready, some of which were already clean but still had to be boiled, and other bottles which were sent to them dirty and had to be soaked first. It was said that on one particular day Zidie did nothing all day long but screw lids on the bottles filled with boiling hot peaches and their juice, Zidie's son is still (1976) known to me as "Zidie's William."

And so, I finally spent a week at Moccasin and stayed with my second cousin Amy, the youngest child of Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Lucy and the same age as myself. I was the oldest in our family of five girls. Amy had a lovely and varied collection of dolls and one of them had the incredibly long name of Annie-Maria-Jane-Norene-Esther!

One night we slept in a double bed around in the corner part of the long porch which ran across the east of the house and part way along the north side. After we went to bed Amy discovered that a bat was flying around inside this screened porch, She arose and felt around on the wall and took down from its place on the nail, a man's hat, and put it on her head, Then she managed to find matches and light a coal oil lamp, She put another hat on my head and gave me the lamp to hold, and told me to hold open the screen door when she got the bat over there after chasing it around with a broom.

On another night we undressed and were ready to go to bed in an upstairs room when Amy suggested we do something she had evidently done before. We sneaked out of the house in our long white night gowns and went across the sandy lane to the horse water trough. We took off our gowns and care-fully slid into the cold water which came up to our necks and then some; naked, but of course it was dark.

We went swimming every afternoon, in the reservoir. First getting plenty of exercise in the water and then going to lie on the hot sand in the old dresses we wore, until we were scalded good, then we'd go back to the water to cool off. There was another long narrow pond to the north of the house, but it was in the shade of the trees and the water was almost completely covered with floating leaves. Nearby was the narrow "cool cellar" where there was a long plank to stand on to keep people's feet out of the running water, and there were long shelves on each side which were filled with pans of milk, and cream, as well as churned butter and other perishables. Near this pond was a high rope swing, which I occasionally used.

Some of the other things I remember were: Aunt Lucy had on a kitchen shelf a fruit jar which was filled with white pieces of sterilized cloth for instant readiness in case of cut fingers and other injuries. The long table in the dining room was surrounded by many people when they sat down to eat three times a day. The table was so impressive that I included it in a purely fictional story I wrote in High School, about watermelons, Indian kids, and Aunt Lucy.

The old large barn to the west of the house had a long lean-to, with a gently sloping roof. Amy, Jennie, and I climbed up on this lean-to. I distinctly remember that the boards of the roof were weather beaten and bleached almost white from the many years in the hot sun. Moccasin was a sunny place, and a happy place, to us kids.

- Annie Porter Seaman