II. " This Ain't Washington! "
11
III. " I Do! "
21
IV. Celebrities and Squirrels
31
V. Navajo Land
42
VI. " They Killed Me"
56
VII. A Grand Canyon Christmas
67
VIII. The Day's Work
77
IX. The Doomed Tribe
89
X. Where They Dance with Snakes
104
XI. The Terrible Badger Fight
121
XII. Grand Canyon Ups and Downs
131
XIII. Sisters under the Skin
147
XIV. The Passing Show
158
XV. Fools, Flood, and Dynamite
170
Chapter Header
Chapter I: "OUT IN ARIZONA, WHERE THE BAD MEN ARE"
"So you think you'd like to work in the Park Office at Grand Canyon?"
"Sure!" "Where is Grand Canyon?" I asked as an afterthought.
I knew just that little about the most spectacular chasm in the world, when I applied for an appointment there as a Government worker.
Our train pulled into the rustic station in the wee small hours, and soon I had my first glimpse of the Canyon. Bathed in cold moonlight, the depths were filled with shadows that disappeared as the sun came up while I still lingered, spellbound, on the Rim.
On the long train journey I had read and re-read the Grand Canyon Information Booklet, published by the National Park Service. I was still unprepared for what lay before me in carrying out my rôle as field clerk there. So very, very many pages of that booklet have never been written—pages replete with dangers and
hardships, loneliness and privations, sacrifice and service, all sweetened with friendships not found in heartless, hurrying cities, lightened with loyalty and love, and tinted with glamour and romance. And over it all lies a fascination a stranger without the gates can never share.
I was the first woman ever placed in field service at the Grand Canyon, and the
Superintendent was not completely overjoyed at my arrival. To be fair, I suppose he expected me to be a clinging-vine nuisance, although I assured him I was well able to take care of myself. Time softens most of life's harsh memories, and I've learned to see his side of the question. What was he to do with a girl among scores of road builders and rangers? When I tell part of my experiences with him, I do so only because he has long been out of the Service and I can now see
the humorous aspect of our private feud.
As the sun rose higher over the Canyon, I reluctantly turned away and went to
report my arrival to the Superintendent. He was a towering, gloomy giant of a man, and I rather timidly presented my assignment. He looked down from his superior height, eyed me severely, and spoke gruffly.
"I suppose you know you were thrust upon me!"
"No. I'm very sorry," I said, quite meekly.
While I was desperately wondering what to do or say next, a tall blond man in
Park uniform entered the office.
The Superintendent looked quite relieved.
"This is White Mountain, Chief Ranger here. I guess I'll turn you over to him.
Look after her, will you, Chief?" And he washed his hands of me.
In the Washington office I had often heard of "White Mountain" Smith. I recalled him as the Government scout that had seen years of service in
Yellowstone before he became Chief Ranger at Grand Canyon. I looked him over rather curiously and decided that I liked him very well. His keen blue eyes were the friendliest I had seen since I left West Virginia. He looked like a typical Western man, and I was surprised that his speech had a "down East" tone.