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Show Father's high spirits surmounted any doubts about the vision of railroad and highway executives. He trusted them. We talked excitedly about our townsite as we drove through the sage, from which rain and sun drew a wild perfume that was a real tonic. We bounced over the railroad track on a rough crossing. "That'll have to be fixed," Father said with the frown of a planner noting a need. We stopped on a rise on our land overlooking Kerr siding. We unhitched Frank and tethered him, with a flake or two of alfalfa before him for his lunch, then we ate. Father and Mother set off toward the north end of the property to examine it thoroughly. In independence befitting my advancing years-I was nine going on ten-I chose to go the opposite direction. I saw high brush and possibly a virgin area for hunting arrowheads. El Vera returned to her book in the best shade under the surrey top. She seemed silly. Her novel seemed silly, a sentimental love story; I didn't know it was a pioneer in showing Americans how cruel and unjust they'd been to Indians. I looked for relics of those mistreated Indians. Off a couple hundred yards among the brush I saw low mounds that might mean Indian remains. Closer I saw they were piles of dirt dug long ago from a well. In the old free and easy days before the Iron County part of the Escalante had been surveyed a stockman from Cedar or Parowan must have "squatted" on the site for a place to water cattle or sheep. He must have given up years before, though, because not a pipe or a trough or a board remained. The hole was big for a well-at least six feet in diameter. Because the thin edge looked treacherous, I peered in cautiously. The sandy sides below the surface had been caving so that no water was visible, and the bottom did not seem too far down, perhaps 20 feet. I saw a small cave in the side of the pit near the bottom. Next came an exciting discovery. Hidden among the brush on the farther side of the well was a burrow probably clawed out by a badger. On my knees I could see that |
