Chief Hoskaninni

Utah Historical Quarterly

Vol. XXI, 1953, No. 3

CHIEF HOSKANINNI

BY CHARLES KELLY

MONUMENT VALLEY lies in the extreme southeastern corner of Utah, on the Arizona line. It extends from the San Juan River to Kayenta, and from the Colorado River to Chinle Wash, including an area of about three thousand square miles. Because of its massive monument-like formations and its colorful Indian life more color film has been shot there in recent years than any other spot in Utah, and it has been used as a background for many movies. Yet as late as 1925 it was the least known section of Utah.

There was a very good reason for that lack of knowledge by white men, and the reason was a Navaho chief called Hushkaaney, or by white men Hoskaninni. From 1862 until his death in 1912 he had been the emperor of Monument Valley and in most cases unfriendly to white visitors. He had a secret silver mine, and when it was discovered by two prospectors in 1880 they were killed. Many lone prospectors who entered the valley were never seen again. So Hoskaninni gained the reputation of being a very dangerous Indian, and white men as a rule let him alone in his private kingdom. Even after Louisa and John Wetherill were allowed to open a trading post at Oljeto, there were several killings of white men in the valley. Because of these circumstances a great many legends grew up around Chief Hoskaninni, but little was known of his actual history.

On various visits to Monument Valley I had noticed a tall, very dignified old Navaho gentleman, with an aristocratic profile. He was about 85 years old and was treated with great respect by all the Indians. One day I asked Harry Goulding, the trader, who he was.

"That," replied Harry, "is Hoskaninni-begay, only son of Old Chief Hoskaninni. You ought to get acquainted with him. If he would talk he could tell you the whole history of Monument Valley and his family."

Later I went back and spent a week with the old man. When Harry explained that I wanted his story so that it could be preserved in a book, he agreed to talk, answer any questions, and always speak the truth. Ray Hunt acted as interpreter. To me, the story he told was amazing, and I will try to tell it just as he gave it to me, supplying dates where necessary.

You have heard (said Hoskaninni-begay) of the time the white soldiers came into this country to arrest all the Navahos and take them to a prison camp (Kit Carson's campaign of 1863). At that time I was five years old and my family was living at Kayenta. Monument Valley then belonged to the Utes, and the rock called Agathla (El Capitan) was the dividing line between Utes and Navahos. We had heard of the trouble between the Navahos and white soldiers, and some of our family had been arrested or surrendered, but we lived so far north we thought we would be safe. One of my uncles tried to talk father into surrendering and going to Bosque Redondo with the others, but father became very angry and said he would die before he went to any prison camp. The rest of the family agreed. My father at this time was not a chief, but he was a strong man, about 35 years old, and the people looked on him as a brave leader.

One day a rider came in from the south and shouted that the soldiers were coming for us. They were so close we could see their dust. We had no time to get our horses nor prepare for a journey, so each one grabbed what he could and we ran north toward the Ute country. There were some Ute scouts among the white soldiers and we were more afraid of them than the whites, as we had always been at war with them. We scattered and hid on the desert and the soldiers could not find us. When it was dark we started traveling and walked all night, to avoid being seen by the Utes, as we were then in their territory.

In this party which escaped there were my father and mother, mother's two sisters whom father later married, two Ute slave women, two uncles, grandfather and grandmother, and other relatives to the number of seventeen. Later a few other stragglers joined the group. Father had a horse and an old rifle, otherwise everyone was on foot. Mother had rounded up twenty sheep and it was my job to drive them while she hunted for food. Father rode ahead to find a trail and watch for Utes.

We traveled many nights, sleeping in the daytime. We were all footsore and hungry, as we had not brought any food. We lived mostly on grass seed and sometimes a rabbit. After traveling north for awhile father turned west toward Navaho Mountain. It was also Ute country, but the Utes seldom lived around there. The country was very rough and we were all worn out climbing down into deep canyons and out again. Water was very hard to find. Finally we reached the south end of Navaho Mountain and came to a nice little stream with grass. Mother sat on the ground and said she would go no further. Father tried to make her go on but she would not, so we made camp there, and lived in that place for six years. Only one Ute ever visited us, and he came to trade.

When we got to that place all twenty sheep were still alive, and father issued orders that none were to be eaten, we would keep them to start a new herd. Later he and my uncles went back to Kayenta and found a few more sheep and some horses that the soldiers had not killed.

By that time the weather was cool and winter not far away. We had no meat and could find no game on the mountain. So father made everyone go out and gather grass seed and pine nuts to store for winter use. He drove everyone all day long and would never let us rest, knowing that we might starve. He always seemed to be angry with everyone for being lazy. So he was given the name Hush-kaaney, which means "the angry one." But the food he made us gather was stored in many different holes in the rocks where the Utes could not find it, and no one died that winter.

You must remember that no one knew where we were living, or whether we were living at all. We saw none of our people, no whites, and only one renegade Ute, who did not betray us. We had no bullets for the old rifle and hunted in the old way. We never went to any trading post. The rest of our people, except for a few on Black Mountain, were all in the prison camp.

One day while my father was riding on the mountain he found silver in the rocks. He brought it home and found he could shape it without melting. He and six other men went back there and took out more silver, which we made into ornaments. He would never let anyone else see where it came from. In those days all silver was made smooth, without designs. Our people learned to ornament silver from a Mexican at Bosque Redondo.

As I said, we lived at Navaho Mountain for six years. In that time our sheep herds and horse herds had increased so that we had plenty of meat and many blankets. We also had lots of silver. When our people were released from the prison camp they were each given two sheep and some seed. They had nothing else. Even their peach trees had been cut down.

When we came away from the mountain, people were surplace at Navaho Mountain and moved into Monument Valley, which the Utes had mostly left. We were a strong band, and the richest Navahos in the whole country. The grass was good in those days and every year we became more wealthy. Father had given me sheep and horses of my own, and much silver, so that even as a very young man, women began laying hold of my belt (an offer of marriage).

When we came away from the mountain, people were surprised to see us. They knew we had never been to a trading post, yet we had much silver. So they said to themselves, "Chief Hoskaninni must have found a rich silver mine." When the whites heard about it they all wanted to come into our country and hunt for the mine. But father would not allow it, and none of the men who knew about the mine ever told a white man or even a Navaho how to find it. I do not even know where it is myself, because when whites began coming into the country father would never go there again.

Hoskaninni-Begay Son of old Chief Hoskaninni

When I was about twenty years old (1879) two white men (Merrick and Mitchell) came into our country, found father's mine, took some samples, and got out again without being seen. Later they came back for more samples. On their way out they passed near our camp. In the morning I saw more tracks in the snow and followed them. Near what you call the Mittens in Monument Valley I found one of the bodies, with some small sacks of silver. The two men had been killed by Utes, and some of the Utes were still there, dividing up their stuff. They said they had asked the men for tobacco, and when the prospectors claimed they had none, killed them and took their stuff. My father and his people have often been blamed for these killings, but it is not true. He had nothing to do with it. I have killed many men, but I did not kill those two.

The next year a man (Cass Hite) came riding alone into camp, sat down by the fire, and asked for food. We fed him, and being our guest we could not kill him in camp. He could not speak much of our language but he gave us some presents and before long he and my father were good friends. The man told us he was a miner and was looking for any kind of metal.- He asked if my father would guide him over the country. Father agreed and they rode together many days. Later I rode with him, showing him any place where I thought there might be copper or iron. We never found anything, but he took many samples. He stayed with us all summer, and we were good friends. I liked him so much that finally we became blood brothers. We call him Hosteen Pishlaki (Mr. Silver) because he was always looking for silver.

The next summer Pishlaki came back again, and again we hunted for minerals. Finally he asked my father to show him our silver mine, promising many fine presents. But father would not do it, knowing that if white miners came, we would lose our country. Instead, he told Pishlaki about a place on the big river (Colorado) where gold could be found. Finally my father and I took Pishlaki to that place (Hite), and he did find gold in the sand.

The next year (1883) Pishlaki built a house on the big river, planted some fruit trees, and began washing the sand for gold. He also had a small trading post. Our family used to go down there every year and visit him. He was generous, and always gave us a big feast. He nearly always had whiskey. Whiskey helps a man to talk. But I remember one time when he sent me and another young man out to the railroad (Greenriver, 8 days' round trip) to buy another jug.

You ask about the old days, the time before I was born. I will tell you what has been told me. In those days (1840-60) we were always fighting with the Noki (meaning black, or Mexicans ). They would come into our country to steal women, horses, and sheep. Then we would go into their country to steal, but we did not steal Noki women. Sometimes the Mexicans would raid as far north as Chinle, then return, gathering up stock as they went. The last time they raided us (probably around 1848) they came up through Monument Valley, gathering sheep and horses as they came. Our people were scattered and had to run for their lives. But as the Mexicans moved north we got some men together and began raiding their camps at night, killing a few at each camp. When the people were driven to the mouth of Copper Canyon, they began trying to swim their stock across San Juan River. Some of the flocks got across, but others were taken by the Mexicans, who then turned back. As they traveled south we gathered more men and began shooting into their camps and stampeding the stock. At Agathla we found five graves. Further south, at Tees-nos-pos near the foot of the Cariso Mountains, we had a battle with them, and many were killed. You can find parts of saddles and bones there today. The rest of the Mexicans left and we got most of our stock back. All this trouble was caused by stealing, and we were about as bad as the Mexicans. Most of our trouble with the white men was caused by stealing.

When my father was alive we all worked together as a family and we were all rich. When he died (1912), I wanted to continue to manage the family affairs, but the others voted to divide the property. This was done, and of course it was only a short time until we were all poor. As you know, when a member of the family dies, their silver is buried with them, so that now we have none of the silver from the secret Pishlaki mine. I have had eight wives, and all my silver is buried with them. I now have only 67 sheep, which is not enough to live on. In the old days we used to drive to the trading post with many wagons. The trader was glad to see us, and filled our wagons with goods. Now, when he sees me walking across the desert he says, "Here comes that old coyote again."

Most of our people are poor now, like I am. Many of them blame John Collier, who made us reduce our flocks and herds because there was not enough grass for all. But I think the true reason is a change in the climate. When I was a young man this whole country was covered with tall grass. We had rains enough in summer to keep it alive and growing. Now the rains do not come and the grass dies. There are fewer sheep and horses now than when our family claimed this valley, yet all you can see is sand. The grass is gone. All we need to be rich again is rain.

When we lived at Navaho Mountain my father learned much about medicine and treated the sick. He taught me many things. The most powerful medicine we had was a buffalo hide, dressed with the head, feet, tail, and other parts attached. A buffalo tail brushed over the sick will cure almost anything. There were no buffalo in this country, but we used to go to the Uintah Basin to trade with Utes for hides. The trip took thirty-five days and the Utes knew how to dress the hides for medical purposes. As you know, although we were always at war with the Utes, a trading expedition was safe to go anywhere. We made the trip every year. Usually my father went, but once he sent me when I was about fourteen years old. When I got back I was nearly dead.

Another time we made a trip to a place where there were many big hogans (houses). The white people gave us a feast and treated us fine. Near there (Salt Lake City) we went to a lake to gather salt. It was a long journey and we never went back. At other times we traded salt from the Zunis, who own a salt lake. They would never let us go to the lake.

We also got turquoise from the Zunis. My father had the first turquoise necklace in this country. Our women once had many necklaces and bracelets of the blue sky stone, but all of that is buried with them. I have a very old necklace that belonged to my father, but it was pawned at the trader's last winter when we got hungry. I was once a wealthy man, but I had twenty-eight children, and given them each some of my property. Now I have nothing left. I am an old man, but I was born in this country and I will die here. This is my home.

Before leaving Monument Valley I redeemed the old Hoskaninni necklace and sent it back to his son. Later I sent him a buffalo tail with which I hope he was able to perform many cures. The above interview took place in April, 1939. Two years later the old man died. I feel fortunate in having obtained a story which no other living man could have supplied.

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