On The Ragged Edge - The Life and Times of Dudley Leavitt

Dodging the officers

12 Dodging the Officers F« OR FOUR YEARS the family lived in Mesquite and was an independent, self-supporting unit. They raised everything they ate; they had molasses and honey; they hauled rock salt from St. Thomas; they had their grains, fruits, and vegetables; they always had milk, though there were times when there was no butter, and they kept pigs and sheep so they could have meat on occasion. By hard work and judicious use of all his "boy-power" Dudley was again able to expand his hold­ings and improve them. Every morning the boys would gather at Mary's, as it was most central. Often they would eat breakfast there, and then they would go with their father to whatever task he had set out. Then came one of the disastrous floods for which the Virgin River has always been notorious. Their ditch was completely ruined. As he walked up along it and saw what a lot of labor would be required to rebuild it, Dud­ley debated as to what to do. He had good fields. There was plenty of land cleared and fenced but valueless with­out water. But how to get the water? He could see no way but to move again. It was a major decision to make, but he finally con­cluded that he would have to scatter his families. All these years he had struggled against odds to hold them together and to keep them where he could be in daily contact with them all. Now he must change the pro­cedure. On the Ragged Edge 141 Four years earlier, while they were still in Bunkerville, in 1878, he had taken a contract to run the mail. Wooley, Lund & Judd had contracted with the government for carrying the mail in all the southern district. At first Edward Bunker, Jr., and Dudley Leavitt were in to­gether, Dudley carrying it from St. George, Utah, to St. Thomas, Nevada, and Brother Bunker taking it from St. Thomas to Kingman, Arizona. Then Dudley made a separate contract with Wooley, Lund & Judd. For more than twenty years this was an occupation which he fol­lowed, and which meant a sure source of revenue, though a small one. The following contract, one of the latest, will show something of the prices and conditions under which it was run. It is handwritten in ink on paper bearing the Wooley, Lund & Judd, General Merchandise, stamp. Established 1875 General Branch House Merchandise Silver Reef, Utah WOOLEY, LUND & JUDD St. George, Utah, May 11, 1898 Robert C. Lund I hereby offer and agree to carry the U. S. Mail on Route 75177, St. George, Utah, to St. Thomas, Nev­ada, according to the advertised schedule three (3) times per week for the sum of thirteen hundred & seventy five (1375.00) per annum - subject to any change of schedule or increase or decrease of number of trips as may be ordered by the P.O. Dept., with corresponding increase or decrease of pay - from July 1st, 1898, to June 30, 1902, said $1375.00 to be paid as follows 66 2/3% to be drawn from time to time in mdse from the store in St. George at same prices as other cash accounts and charged for mdse by said store. 33 1/3% to be paid in cash quarterly when payments are made by the P.O. Dept. for the service. Provided that if more than the 66 2/3% is drawn in mdse during any quarter, during the life of this con- 142 Dodging the Officers tract, that said excess above the 66 2/3% shall be de­ducted and paid from said cash payment of 33 1/3%. Dudley Leavitt. The foregoing is hereby accepted and made a contract Robert C. Lund. It does not take much figuring to see that these trips would net something less than nine dollars each. When one considers the distance, some one hundred and eighty miles for the round trip, the number of horses needed and the expense of maintaining them, it seems strange that Dudley could have made anything at all. During all the first years the mail was run by pony. A boy would leave St. George about midnight, change horses at Littlefield or Leavittville, just below, and meet another boy who had started from St. Thomas, at Bunkerville. All the younger boys had their turn at this work; some of them stayed with it for months and years at a time. This made it necessary for Dudley to place his families at different points. Thirza was established at St. George, where she lived during most of the twenty years while they ran the mail. Martha was stationed at Bunkerville, while Mary lived at Tunnel Point and later with Mariah and Janet at Leavittville. All the boys who had experience running the mail, tell of the long rides, of leaving in the night with mail sack strapped behind the saddle and a sandwich tied on the side, of falling asleep to the monotonous jogging of the horse, and of sometimes getting off and running a mile or two down the slope to get warm and to keep awake. As he grew older and heavier, Dudley had a two-wheeled cart made for him to carry mail on. It was drawn by only one horse and was so light that the animal could trot most of the way. His son, Jeremy, tells these incidents of the mail carrying days: All the time father had the mail, neither the govern­ment nor the state nor the counties ever put one cent on the roads, if roads they could be called. I never went On the Ragged Edge 143 with him, and I went many times, when he did not stop and work road, taking out rock, cutting the higher sides and building up the lower. He never camped all night. He always planned to stop in the roughest places, bait the horses, as he called it, while we made road, may­be sleep an hour, and then up and digging again. I am sure he saved many a heavy loaded salt wagon from breaking down or getting stuck. When we lived at the Hancock ranch just west of Littlefield, it was along the last of father's mail con­tracting. He was getting badly crippled up and seldom went with the mail, unless some one went with him. It was all night riding. One cold winter night he de­cided to go with the mail alone. He just wouldn't be talked out of it. This night he had Doll, a fine sorrel animal, high-lifed and very skittish, and a two-wheeled cart made es­pecially for the business. He was bundled up with cloth­ing and a large overcoat, a napkin on his head - he looked like Santa Claus. About two o'clock in the morning he was going down the Clara Creek. The road followed the bottom of the canyon down to the Three Mile Place, crossing the stream every little ways. While crossing the stream, Doll tried to get her head down to drink and pulled the bridle off one ear. He didn't notice it for a while. When he did, he stopped and got out to fix it. As he came around in front, it scared her. Like a shot out of a gun she whirled, lifting the cart right into the air, and was out of sight in a few seconds. The way the cart bounced when it hit the boulders, he was sure it would go to pieces. She was soon out of hearing. He said the only prayer he ever offered without faith was then. In a few words, he asked the Lord to stop the horse. As best he could he went back to the road and started walking down it. He hadn't gone far when he met Doll coming back, cart right side up! She came right up to him and stopped. He never knew how or why or by whom she was turned around, but he always thought it was some super-natural power. And he did not forget to express his thanks to God for it. 144 Dodging the Officers During these years the fight against polygamy began. The government, determined to stamp out the practice, began a campaign of prosecution that amounted to persecution. During the years from 1875 to 1888, 589 men were imprisoned for this practice, and fines amount­ing to $48,208 were collected. During the whole period of prosecution 1,300 men served sentences in the state penitentiary. Southern Utah was the center of many polygamist families. Many men moved their wives to different towns; some, rather than divide up their families, took them and went to Mexico to escape imprisonment. Dudley was proud of his wives. He loved his children. Not for anything would he have renounced one of them. But he did not want to be locked up, either, and some­times he was hard-pressed. The people had various ways of avoiding the officers. Every stranger was regarded with suspicion; children were taught that they must not talk to strangers nor answer questions. At Silver Reef, two young Mormon boys ran the telegraph office. People from the north always stopped there to rest and feed their teams. As soon as the U.S. marshals, McGeary and Armstrong, came to the Reef, one of these boys would send the mes­sage, "Send up two chairs," to the store in St. George. This was the code which meant that the officers were on their way. Instantly, word went out to every polygamist in town, enabling him to arrange his affairs and go into hiding while the officers drove the twenty-two miles from the Reef. Even so, some were caught. Invariably they were given a town party when they left to serve their six-months' sentence, and the band met them at the Black Ridge when they returned. At one time, Dudley came into St. George with a load of wood for Thirza, arriving after dark. The marsh­als were in town that night, so his family was very con­cerned for his safety. Thirza was so nervous she couldn't sleep, for she knew the habit the officers had of raiding homes in the middle of the night. She knew they were On the Ragged Edge 145 especially anxious to get Dudley, because he not only broke the law but was proud of it and had made state­ments to the effect that no power on earth would make him desert his family. Before daybreak the family was up, had the wood unloaded, and was prepared for Dudley to leave town. They rolled him up in the bedding, and some of the children sat on him as one of the boys drove through town. Once past the Black Hill, the children walked back, and Dudley drove on. Mary Jane relates another narrow escape: One day I went with father to the cotton factory at Washington. An Iverson girl was the clerk. We had just got our cotton unloaded, when the blacktopped buggy that carried McGeary and Armstrong drove up. The girl was in a panic. "Run," she said. "Run, Brother Leavitt. Here come the officers. They will get you sure. Quick! Hide!" Father knew it was useless to run, so he snatched up an old coat, pulled a slouch hat down over his eyes, picked up an oil can, and started to oil the machinery. He was the busiest man you ever saw climbing up the ladder to get at some parts, and going about it as if he were an expert. The officers came in, went through the whole place, kicking at trap doors, going through cotton bins, turn­ing over boxes, and trying to find concealed hide-outs. Father went about his work, apparently paying no atten­tion. At last they got into their buggy and rode away. Clarence tells how once when the officers were in town, he went to Wooley, Lund & Judd's store for some sup­plies. His father was lying flat in the bottom of the wagon box with some quilts over him. As they drove up to the store, there stood the marshals just outside, watching the streets and keeping their eyes open for members of polygamist families. Clarence went in, got his order of groceries, threw them into the wagon box, and drove away. His father often said that he wondered why they didn't search wagons as well as they did houses. ^ „ ,, , , At still another time, Dudley was at the shop where Hardys had their waterwheel and turning lathe. He was 146 Dodging the Officers seated on the curb with some other men, his back to the road, when one said, "You'd better get going, Dud, here they come." Out of the corner of his eye, Dudley saw the carriage coming down the street. He knew that to run would be disastrous; it would be sure to attract atten­tion. So he sat perfectly still and did not turn around to give the passing outfit even a look. His companions kept telling him in undertones that the officers were watching him, that they were trying to look through from back to front, and that they had his number. But they were not certain enough of themselves to stop. As soon as they rounded a curve, Dudley obeyed his impulse to leave. He went into hiding in a tamarack thicket behind the house. Sure enough, the carriage turned around and the officers came back. This time they stopped, but the only man they wanted was gone, and none of the others had any idea where he was. Once at Mesquite the church authorities came to call, and since Dudley was in charge there, they wished to find him. Some of his children were pulling weeds in the garden, and when the men stopped and asked about Dudley Leavitt, the children couldn't tell them a thing. They didn't know who he was or where he had gone or when he would be back or anything else about him. When the visitors finally did find him, one of them told him how the children had acted. "You can't blame the children," he said. "We have trained them not to know anything if a stranger is around." Many an interesting legend has grown up about the visits of the marshals. The story is told that Thomas S. Terry had his home on the Utah-Arizona line, one room in Utah and one in Arizona, the two connected by a cottonwood shed. If the officers came for him, he had only to go into the other room to be in the other state and out of their jurisdiction. People made up songs about McGeary and Armstrong, so vigorously were they hated. "McGeary searched McArthur's House," was often sung by children in derision as they went down the street. On the Ragged Edge 147 During these years Dudley's children were growing up and the older ones marrying. As with any family there were problems; there were times when their parents were troubled over some of their actions and attitudes. Clar­ence tells how, as a boy, he became disgruntled and ran away from home, going down to Bunkerville to live with Wier who was married and established there. After a few days he became so homesick he couldn't stand it and came back home. His father was so glad to see him that like the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son he made him more than welcome. "He didn't need to let me see how glad he was to have me back," Clarence said, "I was a lot gladder to be back than he was to have me." William Abbott likes to tell how when he was courting Mary Jane he met her father going up the river with such a heavy load that he got stuck on a hill. The young man came up just in time to double teams and get the load up without further trouble. "I appreciate that," Dudley told him with genuine gratitude. "If I can do something for you sometime, you let me know." William hesitated a minute. "I believe I'll collect right now," he said, "I would like to marry your daughter, Mary Jane, and I'd like your consent and blessing." "Well," said Dudley with a grin, "she's just a kid and don't know nothing, but maybe you can teach her. Take her and welcome." On his sixty-fifth birthday, the family decided to honor Dudley with a surprise party at his home at Lea­vittville, just below what is now Littlefield. For weeks ahead they talked and planned, sending word to the scattered members of the family in different towns. The wives began preparing, and Dudley, guessing what was coming, had a calf and a pig ready to kill. The crowd began to arrive late in the evening the day before, for many of them had come long distances, most of them at least seventeen miles or a day's travel in a wagon. Children, grandchildren, in-laws, and friends all came. The first evening was spent in visiting and in arranging sleeping places, though since it was 148 Dodging the Officers August and the visitors brought their bedding this was not a serious problem. The next morning there was a bustle of preparation. The calf had been in the barbecue pit all night, but there were pies and cakes to bake and vegetables to prepare. Young people hitched up a wagon and went to the field for a load of melons, children swung under the cotton­wood trees, and men arranged a long table of sawhorses and planks. It stretched out under the row of cotton-woods, a long table, but filled at noon with slices of the steaming beef, roast pork, pots of string beans, corn-on-the- cob, baked squash, with red slices of watermelon for dessert. People helped themselves, or were served by the row of women, and then sat down in the shade to eat. After dinner the sports began: wrestling, boxing bouts, jumping, running, horse races, and horse and foot races (turn the stake and back). Children waded and splashed in the warm ditch, adolescent girls squealed and ran as the boys engaged them in a "water fight." Older women held their babies and visited. The real party was not until at night after a supper, which was largely a repetition of the dinner, after the youngest were put to bed in the wagon boxes or on the hay, after a bonfire had been built. They did not need its heat, but they wanted its light and cheer, and it gave them a center around which to gather. They began with songs, group songs, hymns they knew and loved: "0 Ye Mountains High," "Come, Come Ye Saints," "Hard Times Come Again No More," and others. Young Mary Hafen, on her way to St. George to be married, played the guitar and led out, striking a few chords to give them all the pitch. Then Dudley rose to speak. These were his children, and no matter if they did have families of their own, it was still his right to counsel them. He was not one to mince words, and he told them what he expected of them. They should live their religion, pay their debts, attend to their prayers, especially their family prayers, get out of debt, and own their own homes. In no other way could they be free, and he did not want them to be in bondage On the Ragged Edge 149 to any man. Most important of all, they should keep alive their testimony of the Gospel which was so dear to him and for which he would give his life. He closed, as he always did, by telling them that he knew that Joseph Smith was a Prophet of the Living God, that he had seen him and heard him speak and knew that he spoke with power. He told them again the incident when "the mantle of Joseph fell upon Brigham," and he told of times when he had been guided and protected by the power of God. The party was closed by prayer. The next day some of the crowd started home early. Others waited until after­noon, but by evening they were all gone. Dudley looked over his gifts and treasured the list to be reviewed often, for even the five-cent pieces and box of rivets which his younger grandchildren left were precious to him. This is the list, included because it shows who was there and the types of presents they brought. AUGUST 30, 1895 A birthday party for Dudley Leavitt at the Leavitt Ranch. Mary H. Leavitt, a pair of garments. Mariah H. Leavitt, a book, "The Life of Heber C. Kimball". Thirza Leavitt, a lamp Orin, Aaron and Dan Leavitt, 2 shirts. Hannah Terry, a book, "Forty Years Among the Indians". Wier and Delia Leavitt, cloth for a white shirt. Johnnie and Sadie Hansen, a hat. Heber and Betsy Hardy, cloth for two shirts. Charley and Lorena Hardy, collar and pin and pair of cuff bottons. Mary Jane Abbott, a pair of overalls. Annie Sprague, a light shirt. Lydia Leavitt and Edgar Leavitt, a pair of winter pants. Lon, Henry and Ben Leavitt, a pair of pants. Mary Ellen, a pitchfork. Albert Leavitt, a silk handkerchief. Theresa Leavitt, a necktie and suspenders. Mabel Waite, a pair of woolen socks. Herbert Waite, 25 cents in money. 150 Dodging the Officers Nora Leavitt, a pair of woolen socks and a silk hand­kerchief. Susan Hunt and son, George, a pair of socks and handkerchief. Dora Waite, a cravat and handkerchief. Jessie Waite, a pocket book and pencil. Mary Lizzie Leavitt (Bowman), a pair of cotton socks. Sarah Waite, a pair of cotton socks. Jeremy Leavitt, necktie and handkerchief. Ira Leavitt, a handkerchief and a box of shaving soap. Ellen Leavitt, a pair of spectacles. Ithamer and Orson Sprague, two handkerchiefs. Zera Leavitt, a cake of soap. Ernest Leavitt, 5 cents. Christina Abbott, 5 cents. Oliver Sprague, 10 cents. Rozena and Deborah Leavitt, 50 cents. Parley Leavitt, 10 cents. Thirza Leavitt, 5 cents. Merlin Hardy, 5 cents. Mina and Christina Hansen, a box of rivets. Mary Hafen, a silk tie.