Mom's Faith

When Mom was about 51 years old and I was 27, or maybe it was a year or two before, anyway a few years after I had been released from the navy and not very long after Dad had died, I wanted to visit with Keith out on Tweedy Points where he was herding sheep. It was in the late winter time or early spring before lambing or shearing.

I had bought a surplus, 1 ton, 4 wheel drive truck from the government. It was all iron, gears, and bounce and didn't go very far on a gallon of gas, but I filled it plumb full hoping we'd have enough to make the trip out and back, which was probably 50 miles one way. I figured to cut some cedar posts and bring them back to town with us. The dirt road was long and winding so we cruised at 20 to 30 mph over the cedar tree covered ridges and across sage brush flats. It was a nice day and we enjoyed the ride out

Keith happened to be close to camp when we drove up and was somewhat surprised to see us. He was alone, taking care of four or five thousand head of sheep. His riding horses weren't up to much: one was a bay mare named Ginger, the other a big white horse, 1500 lbs or so that was bred to pull, rather than ride. He might have had a mule too, seems like he did.

Mom was mighty glad to see him so we hugged, shook hands and laughed for awhile. He took us in the wagon and showed her his "Home on the Range" and all of its conveniences. After he got her settled good we went out and he saddled Ginger for me to ride while he checked the herd. Ginger had one speed, a slow walk, and that done reluctantly. She was the nearest thing to being dead and still standing upright of any critter I'd ever seen in my life. Her spirit had done deserted her and just her carcass was left. We finally got around the perimeter of the herd.

On the way back to the wagon I figured to see if I could get her into a lope. Took down the rope that was strapped on the saddle, shook out a small loop and whipped her over and under. Got her up to a pretty good trot but I was working harder than she was and as soon as I quit, so did she. Never did get her to lope.

After dinner I sharpened up my axe and cut cedar posts for about 4 hours, loading up about 20 that afternoon. Post cutting is slow hard work and I was still soft from those years as a swabbie.

Keith had Mom sleep in his bed that night and me and him just lounged on the side benches and kept the fire in the stove burning.

We're getting ready to head for home next morning when I think to see how much gas is in that tank, so measured it with a stick. To my great alarm, it showed only an inch on the stick. I got a better stick and make sure it's down on the bottom, but it showed the same. Keith doesn't have any gas at his sheep camp. The closest gas available is in town or from some traveler on the road, and travelers are few and far between.

"Mom, you better stay with Keith and I'll drive it until it quits then hike on in to town and get someone to come out and fetch you." She says we'll have a prayer and then we'll go on home.

I know we won't get very far, but can see she's going to have it her way, so we take out. Up the road a ways I stop and cut 10 more posts then head on over toward Wolf Hole. This ol' gas gobbler should probably konk out 5 miles short of the Trumble Road, but it keeps going.

I'm feeling real lucky when we get to the junction, at least we've got some chance now of another outfit coming along to give us help. We pass by Wolf Hole and on toward the divide between Seegmiller and Wolf Hole Mountain. I coast down all the little hills, hoping to save gas. Finally we get to the bottom of the grade that goes up to the tip off point down Quail Dugway. Gee, if I can just make it to there I'll be able to coast all the way out onto Mokyak Flats. That's only 20 miles from town.

Sure enough, it's still purring along when we get to the down grade and I turn off the key. We go down that steep grade on the brake lining and I don't try to start it till where we used to set up the shearing corrals in lower Mokyak. It fires right up and we cross over into Utah before long, then on down to the Fort Pierce Wash. How can this be? Should have run out of even gas fumes before now. Mom's just sitting there with a confident expression on her face. "We'll make it home, all right," she says.

When we pull into the driveway the engine sputters and dies out, but I did remember to turn off the key. Boy, were we lucky, never thought we'd make it. "No luck to it," Mom says. "I had faith that the Lord would make the gas last long enough to get us home, and He did."