195406 desert magazine 1954 june

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R H E L D G U ID E TO R O C K S ft il l) m M E R R L SBy FREDERICK H. POUGH, Former Curator of Minerals, American Museum of Natural History

YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS BOOK Contains 234 photographs, 72 in full color, and asimplified Field Guide to identification. Every min-eral the Rockhound is likely to encounter is describedin detail. This is the most important new book that

has ever been printed for the rockhound and gemhunter. Available now. Order your copy today. Ifyou are interested in rocks, gems or minerals, thisbook is a must for your library shelf.S3.75 POSTAGE PFiEPAID

t > S C U D F O R f R 5 6P R G 6 P R I C 6 L I S T


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D E S E R T C A L E N D A RMay 30Lincoln County Homecom-ing Day. Caliente, Nevada.June 1-30 Special exhibit, coloredreproductions of Southern Califor-

nia Indian cave paintings, byCharles LaMonk. Southwest Mu-seum. LosAngeles, Calif.June 2-3Intermountain Junior FatStock Show, Salt Lake Union StockYards. North Salt Lake City. Utah.June 4-5Pioneer Days celebration,Clovis, New Mexico.June 9-10Arizona State Cattlegrow-ers Convention, Flagstaff, Arizona.June 12Fiesta of theLoma. Pro-cession from chapel after mass, fol-lowed by music and fiesta. TaosPueblo, New Mexico.June 12Feast of SanAntonio dePadua celebrated at Cordova andvarious other northern New Mex-ico rural villages.June 12-17 Future Farmers ofAmerica Fair, Santa Rosa, NewMexico.June 13 Ceremonial dances, Taos,Sandia and SanIldefonso pueblos.New Mexico.June 17-19Vernal Rodeo. Vernal.Utah.June 19-27Riverside Chapter, SierraClub of California trip to Monu-ment Valley.June 20 Corpus Christi Sunday,Santa Fe, New Mexico. Long pro-cessions march through thestreetsof the city following mass in St.Francis Cathedral and Christo ReyChurch.June 23-26 Rodeo andRoundup,Lehi, Utah.June 24Annual Feast Day of St.John. San Juan Pueblo, New Mex-i c o . Ceremonial dances andfiesta.June 24Corn dances, Taos Puebloand Acoma, "The Sky City," NewMexico.June 26-27 Indian Capital Rodeo,Gallup. NewMexico.June 27Procession of LaConquis-tadora, commemorating the re-conquest of New Mexico from theIndians by De Vargas in 1692.Santa Fe, NewMexico.

Volume 17 JUNE,1954 Number 6C O V E R

CALENDARI N D I A N SFICTIONNATUREFIELD TRIPCLOSE-UPSLOST MINEDESERT QUIZP H O T O G R A P H YPIONEERS

C O M M E N TPOETRYLETTERSN E W SV A C A T I O NM I N I N GH O B B YLAPIDARYC O M M E N TB O O K S

Red Walls, Rushing Water. Color photo takenin Oak Creek Canyon, Arizona,by ESTHER HENDERSON of TucsonJune events on the desertThey Wouldn't Be Civilized

By CLIFFORD L. BURDICKHard Rock Shorty of Death ValleyOn Desert Trails with a Naturalist: IIIGiantSteeples of Lime, by EDMUND C. JAEGER .Indian Jasper in the Whipples

By HAROLD WEIGHTAbout those whowrite for DesertLost Ledge of Mammoth Mountain

By SHEP SHEPHERDA test of your desert knowledgePictures of the MonthLast Wagon Through the Hole-in-the-Rock

Life-on-the-Desert story byRAYMOND and ADELL JONES

Prizes fcr desert photographsWild Poppy, andother desert poems . . . .Comment from Desert's readersFrom Here andThere on thedesertPack andBoat Trips Announced for 1954 Season

by Sierra Club of CaliforniaCurrent news of desert minesGems and MineralsAmateur GemCutter, by LELANDE QUICK . .Just Between You and Me, by the Editor . . .Reviews of Southwestern literature

1013181920212225262729333435414243

The Desert Magazine is published monthly by the Desert Press, Inc., Palm Desert,California. Re-entered as second class matter July 17, 1948, at the postoffice at Palm Desert,California, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Title registered No. 358865 in U. S. Patent Office,and contents copyrighted 1954 by the Desert Press, Inc. Permission to reproduce contentsmust be secured from the editor in writing.RANDALL HENDERSON, EditorBESS STACY, Business Manager

MARGARET GERKE, Associate EditorEVONNE RIDDELL, Circulation Manager

Unsolicited manuscripts and photographs submitted cannot be returned or acknowledgedunless full return postage is enclosed. Desert Magazine assumes no responsibility fordamage or loss of manuscripts or photographs although due care will be exercised. Sub-scribers should send notice of change of address by the first of the month preceding issue.SUBSCRIPTION RATES

One Year $3.50 Two Years $(i.00Canadian Subscriptions 25c Extra, Foreign 50c Extra

Subscriptions to Army Personnel Outside U. S. A. Must Be Mailed in Conformity WithP. O. D. Order No. 196S7

Address Correspondence to Desert Magazine, Pnlm Desert, California

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Two of the Seri men, showing their long hair, and a girl Manue la and her brother. They were faithful helperswith facial paint. They have no jewelry. while the author was living with the Seri Indians.

They Wouldn't Be CivilizedHostile and impoverished, the Seri Indians of Tiburon Island in the Gulf ofCalifornia have resisted all efforts of both church and state to bring civilizationto their arid island fortress. But des pite their evil reputation th ey are hu ma nbeings who can be friendlyas this author discovered during his sojourn ofseveral w eeks with them.

By CLIFFORD L. BURDICKPhotos by the AuthorMap by Norton AllenHAD BEEN sent on a privatemission to get acquainted withthe Seri Indian tribe, living onthe west coast of Sonora, Mexico, andon their ancestral island, Tiburon(shark), largest island in the Gulf ofCalifornia.The Seris had been reported as be-ing one of the fiercest, most uncivilizedtribes of Indians left on the NorthAm erican continent. My sponsor wasthe late Albert M. Johnson, philan-thropist, well known for many years

as the partner of Death Valley Scottyand who built the famous Scotty'sCastle.Mr. Johnson had established a foun-dation dedicated to helping needy In-dian tribes. Rep orts of this backwardSeri tribe had filtered through to Hol-lywood where Mr. Johnson then re-sided and had intrigued his interest.Here was a tribe that really neededhelp, he thought, perhaps culturally,educationally, or economically. Pos -sibly he could help them agriculturally,establish a mining industry to raise

their standard of living.I was sent to get acquainted withthe Seris, to live with them, to inves-tigate their needs, photograph them,and report back. I had spent some yearsin Mexico, and knew Spanish, which

many Seris also spoke. 1 was prope rlyoutfitted with a four-wheel drive carwhich I loaded with provisions at Tuc-son, along with old clothes which arealways welcome with needy Indians.Other essentials were an outboardmotor, a tent, sleeping bags, blankets,cameras, binoculars, picks, shovels,and compasses.Mr. Johnson had often flown overTiburon Island on his air trips fromHollywood to Mexico City, and hadwondered what sort of humans livedon that mountainous island fortress.He stressed the importance of secur-ing good photographs of the people.At Magdalena, Sonora, I made ar-rangements with my faithful old Mexi-can guide, Francisco Laguna, to ac-company me, inasmuch as he had beenin contact with the Seri Indians, andknew their chief, Juan Molina. Fran-cisco was anxious to take the trip, ashe wanted to become better acquaintedwith the Seris himself. Francisco wasa retired farmer and miner of 65 years.He felt that the only chance to im-prove the standard of living of theSeri Indians was to develop some min-eral resources known to exist in theSeri desert.We left the main arterial highwayat Santa Ana, and headed westward

over poor dirt roads for 150 miles be-fore reaching Desemboque, the main-land strongho ld of the Indian s. Th efirst 100 miles was through sparselysettled ranch country. As we ap-proached the coast, the country becamemore and more arid, and it was evi-dent that farming as an occupationfor the Seri Indians would be out ofthe question, at least until such timeas our scientists discover a cheapmeans of making fresh water out ofsea water. The saguaro and pitahayacactus, however, produce a nutritiousfruit of which both Indians and Mexi-cans are very fond. The pitahay a, ororgan-pipe cactus, which grows pro-fusely in Mexico, produces a delicatelyflavored red fruit, resembling a largestrawberry, a real Indian delicacy.

As Francisco and I crossed the finalmountain pass we could see Desem-boque, the Seri fishing village, loom-ing in the gorgeous rays of the settingsun, and like a gem in the gulf ofCalifornia, beautiful Tiburon Island,surrounded with shark-infested waters.We were both thirsty, and as wepassed a well at a little ranch wherethe Indians secured part of their drink-ing water, we stopped for a drink, andto fill the car radia tor. We let downa bucket on a 30 foot rope. WhenD E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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the cargo arrived at the surface, inthe pail of water floated two enor-mous toads. I decided I was notthirsty after all.Francisco and I arrived in Desem-boque as the sun was sinking below thewaters of the gulf. He had visited thesestrange people before, but I had somemisgivings when I got my first glimpseof these fierce looking primitive tribes-men with their long hair waving in thewind or their braided queues hangingdown their backs almost to their hips.

1 was reminded of an article in theEncyclopedia Americana concerningthe Seri Indians, p. 592: "They mani-fested an implacable hatred towardaliens, whether Caucasian or Indian,and the shedding of alien blood is re-garded as their highest virtue."We had already heard the story of"Yellow Teeth," an American prospec-tor who had ventured too far into Seriterritory, in search of placer gold. Hestruck it rich, but did not live to enjoythe fruits of his labors, for his blanchedbones were later found on the desertsands near his diggings, easily identi-fied by his gold teeth. Th e Seri In-dians had clubbed him to death.

Curious eyes peered suspiciously atus from behind the protection of doorsand windows as we drove our jeepinto the center of the village and halted.They obviously were startled at thesudden and unexpected arrival of threestrangers in their midst, one of thema Norte Americano. I also was curi-ous, and I could see women cookingtheir evening meal of fish and frijolesoutside their adobe houses, or theirmore flimsy dwellings built with oco-tillo sticks plastered with mud andcovered with palm fronds. In the eve-ning glow, some of the Seri men couldbe seen silhouetted on the beach clean-ing the giant sea-bass they had justbrought home from a day's fishing intheir canoes made from hollowed-outlogs, and operated with both sails andpaddles.

As soon as they are old enough tohold a paddle and spear, Seri boysare taught to fish, for fish is thetribe's most important item of food.

Our jeep immediately was sur-rounded by some of the more daringand friendly Seris, who began to runtheir hands over our baggage, appar-ently hoping for some gift. Als o, theofficial reception committee was seenapproaching the chief of the SeriIndians, who introduced himself asJuan Molina.The chief was a tall powerfully builtdark-skinned Indian, with the typical

high cheek bones, straight black hair

and piercing black eyes of his race.His poise and dignified bearing re-called to mind other great Indianchiefs of the past, Black Hawk, SittingBull, Cochise and Palma. Wh ateverapprehensions we may have had as toour welcome and safety in this remotevillage of wild-looking savages, theintelligent face and friendly gesturesof Juan Molina were reassuring to us,and we gladly accepted his proffer ofan empty bamboo house nearby as ashelter for the night. After the boun c-ings we had received on the roughtrails that day, any sleeping accommo-dations looked inviting to us, and wewere soon settled for a good rest.We were spreading out our sleepingbags in the bamboo hut, when thechief again appeared, with a large dishof cooked sea-bass the Seris had caughtthat day in that angler's paradisethe

Gulf of California. The handsome chiefoffered this token of his hospitalityapolog etically: "Th is is abou t all wehave to offer. My peop le live by fish-ing. This desert country will not growmuch but cactus and mesquite. Wehave to haul our water two miles, andthen it often is not fit to drink. W henmy people get sick we have no doc-tors, so we give them a tonic madefrom the oil of the sea turtle."The chief was interrupted by a shrillpenetrating wail that wafted out overthe evening air. It sounde d a bit like

the melancholy howl of the westerncoyote that is heard so often at night.And yet there was something humanabout it. Francisco asked the chiefthe meaning of the sound. "O h, thatis just an Indian mother mourning thedeath of her child. You will hear thesame wail in the morning about day-light."We asked the chief many questionsabout the history of his tribe and theirancestral hom e. He seemed glad totalk with us and to answer our ques-tions. He explained that his tribe hada very old and eventful history. Th e

This is the facial adornment of a Seri girl eligible formarriage. Jose Estorga's pet, the coral snake. He carried it aroundin his pocket.

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where the white man lives, artificialhands were ma de. He was hopingagainst hope that we might be ableto secure some for him that he mightreturn to fishing, and earn a livelihoodfor his wife and three small children.Fortunately it is tribal custom amongthe Seris that the strong take care ofthe weak. But he wanted to earn hisown livelihood if there was a way toobtain artificial hands.We shared our breakfast with him.He told us his father had been thechief of the tribe, that he was the heirto the throne, had it not been for hisaccident. In spite of his handicaps ,Pedro had the bearing and intelli-gence of a prince.

We asked him to relate some of thehistory of his tribe . He told abou t themany attempts made by church orstate to civilize his savage people. Over200 years ago the Spanish Padres sentmissionaries among the Seris to convertthem to Christianity. They built achurch or two and even planted vine-yards, the ruins of which can still beseen on Tiburon Island. The priestshad been successful in converting someof the Yaq uis . At that time the Seriswere at war with the Yaqui Indians,and they suspected the Yaquis of hav-ing sent the priests among the Seristo spy on them. At any rate the mis-sionaries did not stay long enough tomake any lasting impression on theSeri Indian s. They were either drivenout or killed. As a result the Serishave no churches, no religious rites orcelebrations. What religion they mayhave is individua listic. Occasion allyone wears a charm or amulet abouthis neck.

Pedro told of the efforts made bythe Mexican government to tame theSeris. Taking note of the impoverishedcondition of the Indians, plans weremade in Mexico City to solve the prob-lem by moving them to a new settle-ment to be built for them near Hermo-sillo. The Seris not only were to begiven homes, but also the opportunityto learn to be farm ers. Some of thetribesmen actually were moved to thenew location.

But they did not remain long. Theybecame homesick for the carefree lifethey had known on Tiburon Island.They gave the "civilized" new villageback to the Mexicans and silentlystole away.It may be that the Mexican authori-ties gave a deep sigh of relief afterthey were gone. It is related that oneyoung Seri got into an altercation witha Me xican and killed him. He wasforthwith thrown into jail. But youngBuena Vida, the Seri, became home-sick. He tore down the door of thejail, overpowered two Mexican guards,

Above Cleaning the sea bass they have just caught. The village ofDesemboque in the background.Below Many oj the Seris live in crude O cotillo shelters such as this.and trotted back to home, sweet homeon Tiburon Island.As Francisco and I became betteracquainted with the Seris and theirmanner of life, we studied the countryfor miles around, to determine its agri-cultural or mining possibilities. Farm -ing seemed to be out of the question.There was no source of water for ir-rigation. Th e only fruits and vege-tables obtainable by the Indians werebrought in by Mexican traders whobought their fish.

One of the most unforgetable char-acters among the Seris was Jose Es-torga, the affable and talkative snake-charme r. Jose was one Seri whomade a business of smiling. He wasa youngish looking man about 40.His perfect teeth made his smile themore engaging. He would pull fromhis pocket a live coral snake, aboutthe most deadly creature to be foundin that desert cou ntry. It was said ofthe Apaches that they had an antidote

for the bite of the rattlesnake, butwhen one of their number was bittenby a coral snake, they began to pre-pare for the funeral. But Jose playedwith the coral snake as others wouldkittens.I asked Jose about the wedding cere-mony of Seri Indian lovers. H e re-plied that Seris do not have weddings.When a young Seri likes an Indianmaiden, and she responds to his at-tentions, he has to buy her from herfather. If he is wea lthy, the price maybe a fishing boat, if poor, perhaps fire-wood will do . If accep ted, the youngsuitor just moves in to live with thefamily and works for and with them.As a rule the Seri is a strong indi-vidual, and many live to be over 100.There is some sickness among theyounger generation who have takena liking to candy and the devitalizedfoods brought in by the Mexican trad-ers. There is not a doctor within 100miles.

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The Seri Indians have the reputa-tion of having been cannibals untilrecently. I wanted to clarify that point.One day, after we had been amongthem for some time, and I felt that wehad been accepted as friends, I thoughtthat I might safely broach the subject.Accordingly, I asked one of the oldermen a direct question, why they form-erly ate human flesh. I was watchingclosely for his reaction to such a boldand compromising question, and sawa half-sheepish, half-ashamed expres-sion creep over his face. For a mo-ment I was afraid he would refuse togive me an answer, but he finally re-plied, in his newly acquired Spanishtongue, "Well, we liked the flavor bet-ter than that of most other game; stillwe resorted to eating humans onlywhen we were very hungry." Herewas indeed a frank confession. "Butwhy do you still eat people? Or doyou?" I countered, still watching himcarefully to detect whether or not hewas telling the truth. "We don't dare,"was his reply. "The Mexican govern-ment has threatened to kill us if any

more visitors to Tiburon Island failto return." Although some anthropol-ogists doubt that the Seri Indians wereever cannibals, I would be inclined totake their own admission at face value.One night Jose was describing to ussome strange green and blue mineraldeposits in their island fortress of Ti-

buron. He invited us to take a pros-pecting trip to the island in search ofcommercial minerals. Francisco and Iaccepted the invitation.Juan Molina, the chief, furnishedhis boat, a dugout canoe fitted withsails and paddles. I took the outboardmotor, just in case of calm. We car-ried food provisions to last a week.However, we had not correctly ap-praised the Seri appetite, for withinthree days we were scraping the bot-tom of the larder.We set sail from the Seri port, De-

semboque, early one morning, headedfor Tiburon island, the traditionalisland home. The distance by waterto the nearest island village, Tecomati,was but 15 miles. However, we wereheading for the south end of the island,

Httd Rock Sbottyof Death Valley

The lean-to porch in front ofthe Inferno store was crowdedwith dudes as was usual duringthe tourist season. Some of themhad come to Death Valley outof curiosity they wanted toknow what kind of a place thiswas. Others were passing throughon their way from California toNevada, some were rock collec-tors and others were camera fans.Over at one end of the porchHard Rock Shorty was seated ona wobbly bench which creakedat the joints every time he moved.He was answering questions always the same questions: "Whydo they call it Death Valley? Isthere still gold in the mountainsaround here? How hot does itget? etc., etc."Finally some one asked aboutsnakes. Shorty had answeredthis one a thousand times, andhe always tried to give a newanswer."Nope! Ain't no snakes. Allfroze to death forty, fifty yearsago," he answered.Then he paused to fill and

light his corncob while the crowdwaited in suspense."Happened the last time thatol' crater up in the north end o'the valley erupted. That wasn'tno ordinary volcano. Most of'em spout fire an' brimstone. But1 guess ol' Ubehebe had burnedherself out for this time she sentup a blast of air so cold it beganrainin' icicles an' hail as big asbaseballs all over this country.Turned so cold the water frozein the springs, an' me an' PisgahBill had to melt ice to give theburros a drink.

"Happened in June, but thesnakes all thought it was an earlywinter and went into hibernation.Every few days that ol' volcanowould send out another blast ofcold air. Lasted all summer an'the reptiles got their seasons allmixed up."They didn't come out o' theirholes 'til December and then

we wuz havin' our regular winterfreezin' weather. Snakes can'tstand that kind o' weather, an'it froze 'em all stiff. Ain't hadno reptiles since."

all the way down the channel separat-ing the island from the mainland, adistance of some 60 miles.For the first few miles we were fa-vored with a good sailing wind, butat midday a calm enveloped us, andit was necessary to start up the motor.Then all was smooth sailing. The

Seris like to make camp rather early,and by three o'clock we were headinginto Tiburon Island's east shore tocamp for the night. Next morning wewere again on our way, sailing towardthe south. Soon after noon we landedat the bay of Perros or dogs, on thesouth-east coast. We had no morethan landed when half a dozen moreor less wild dogs greeted us. Thesehad at some former time been turnedloose by the Indians to shift for them-selves.A 100-year-old Seri waded ashore.

I was about to remove my shoes todo likewise. "No, no," he insisted,"just jump on my back and ride." 1was amazed that he carried me solightly, but was further surprised tosee him and the other Seris load 150-pound packs on their backs and carrythem three miles inland to the pre-arranged camping site. This was ap-parently a ghost town, exhibiting theruins of some ancient habitation, pos-sibly the exact spot where the firstwhite missionaries settled. Here andthere could still be seen foundationswhere once stood adobe houses.The Seri chief then demonstratedhis ability as a cook, by baking somefine bread over the coals of the campfire. The evening meal was a tastymorsel for all the tired travelers. Be-fore retiring for the night, a meat andvegetable stew was placed in the coalsto cook and simmer until about mid-night, when one of the party wouldremove it from the fire. This chore,our hundred-year-old patriarch volun-teered to do. In the morning the stewwas ready to eat, but the old boy hadeaten all the meat out of the pot.After breakfast, Jose, Francisco,and I set out across the hills in questof the mineral deposit. We climbeda steep ridge and rounded a cliff, whenJose halted suddenly, and motionedfor us to keep quiet. As he raised hisrifle, 1 saw silhouetted in bold reliefagainst the sky, standing on an over-hanging ledge about 100 feet aboveus and 50 yards ahead, the most ma-jestic appearing bighorn sheep I hadever seen. Here was the meat so badlyneeded in camp, but what a pity toshoot, I thought. At any rate Josetook good aim and pulled the triggerbut nothing happened. The shellmissed fire, and in an instant the ani-mal was gone, much to my inwardrelief.

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"Bad luck," reflected the guide, andwe proceeded toward the green mineraldeposit, which as 1 had suspected,turned out to be malachite, a greencarbonate of copper. The depositlooked very good, consisting of a 20-foot vein. The inner "pay streak" wasnarrower, about four feet in width.This we sampled, as well as the wholewidth of vein. Late r assay repo rtsshowed the pay streak ran $65.00 aton in copper and gold, the widersample about three percent copper.This perhaps would prove to be themakings of a copper mine that mightprovide an income for the destituteSeris. At least I would gather m oredata for a full geologic report for Mr.Johnson.When we returned to camp someothers were out deer-hunting. Fran -cisco was preparing an early supperwith fish the Indians had caught atthe beac h. Before long the huntersreturned, without any game, but theyhad robbed a bee-cave, and broughtin a five gallon can of the most delici-ous honey I had tasted in a long time.But the larder was about depleted.The following morning, in a sense ofdesperation, I picked up the onlyweapon I had, a .22 rifle, and wentforth. I did not know much ab outTiburon deer, but I had had some luckhunting deer in both Wisconsin andColora do. I finally spotted a big buck

a long way off on the side of the moun-tain, and took two or three shots. Henonchalantly loped away around themou ntain. This was a mule deer, thekind I hunted in Co lorado . The bigbuck disappeared around the right sideof the mountain.I went around the mountain theother way, hoping to meet him on theback side. About an hour before sun-down we met in the brush by the ar-royo. All that could be seen was astreak in the bushes, so the first shothit him in the leg, the second shot

brought him down, and the third fin-ished him.The job of skinning was difficult, asa jackknife was the only tool at hand,but by sundown the job was com-pleted. I hung two quarters in a treeaway from the coyotes, shouldered theother two, and headed for cam p. Iwas unacqu ainted with the island. Itwas getting dark. There was no moo n.I trudged up hill and down dale for atleast two miles, far enough to havereached cam p I thought. My sense ofdirection must have been faulty, for I

was unable either to hear or see anysigns of camp.I was getting tired by this time, so satdown to rest. Then I climbed a nearbyhill, the better to get my bearing s. Inthe distance I saw the light of a dying

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Hunting party on Tiburon Island. Chief Juan Molina holds the gun andhead of the deer killed by the author who took the picture.fire. 1 had been he ading in the wrongdirection.When 1 reached the coals, it was notcamp but a signal light Francisco hadbuilt on a nearby hill. From the re,however, I was able to spot the campsome distance away.Francisco, the guide, and the Indi-ans had been worried when night felland the camp hunter had not returned.They were visibly relieved when theysaw those two quarters of venison,which they were soon sampling on thecoals of the fire. The larder had beenreplenished, and with the honey wemade out a good meal.

Juan, the Seri chief, was up andmoving about early next morning. Heseemed to be a bit worried. He keptwatching the sky. Finally he urgedus to break camp and sail for home,for a storm seemed to be brewing, andwe were two days from Desemboque,or perhaps we could make it in oneday by sailing on into the night.After a hasty breakfast the boatwas loaded, and we were under fullsail. Each Indian took his portion ofvenison. Francisc o and I reserved thetenderloin . Fortun ately we were fav-ored by a stiff breeze at our backs andmade good time, but the skies werethreatening. We were about ten milesfrom home when both darkness andthe storm overtook us about the sametime. The winds increased and it be-gan to rain. Ou r small boa t was notdesigned for rough, stormy weather.It appeared that the mountainouswaves might engulf us at any moment.We had heard of the fearsome stormsthat sometimes descend on the Gulfof California, in which much largerboats than ours are capsized.

We could see the lights of the Indianvillage on the shore, but how far awaythey seemed! The Indians exhibitedtheir skill as sailors in this crisis, forthey had been brought up in the waterand on the water.About midnight the prow of ourboat touched shore, much to the reliefof all six weary travelers, cold, wetand hungry. The storm was still rag-

ing, but the boat was securely an-chored, and all equipment and thevenison was carried ashore.Francisco and I were soon in theshelter of our adobe hut. In the morn -ing we had expected a visit from ourtraveling companions, bringing us theequipment and the tenderloin steaksbut no Seris showed u p. We learnedlater that the Indian women were sohappy over the safe return of their menthey stayed up all night to celebrate.When the sun came up next morningthere was no more venison left, noteven the tenderloin. To add to ourwoes, there was no boat in sight, nortent, nor outboa rd mo tor. After anextended search, the boat was discov-ered half buried in the sand of thebeach, about a mile from the placewhere it had been anchore d. Themotor was still roped to the boat, butfull of sand and sea-w ater. It neverwas the same again.We felt that the first phase of ourmission to the Seri Indians was com-pleted, and we soon headed back to

report to our sponsor in Hollywood.For our next trip, 1 recomm ended thathe send clothing, blankets, and a doc-tor to establish a small hospital; and ateacher for this stone-age tribe of SeriIndians.J U N E , 1 9 5 4


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G ian t S tee p le s o f L im e . .This month. Naturalist Edmund Jaeger takes Desert readerson a trip to the Pinnacles, strange l imestone formations rising aboveSearles DryLake in California. There isn't mu ch to sustain life in thisdesolate stretch of Mojave desert, but Nature nevertheless takes goodcare of thenative population of coyotes, wood rats, ravens, l izards andkit foxes, like the curious fellow who joined the author's party onemoonlit night. This is the third in Desert's series, "On Desert Trailswith a Naturalist."

By EDMUND C. JAEGER, D.Sc.Curator of Plants , Riverside Muncipal MuseumM ap by Norton Allen

NE WARM August evening, withtwo companions, I was walkingalong the wide arroyo whichseparates the two main groups of pin-nacles which form conspicuous land-marks in California's Searles DryLake.There was a brilliant full moon,an d out of the shadows suddenly ap-peared a little kit fox. It followedalong like a phantom, trotting or run-ning before, beside or behind us likea companionable dog. Sometimes itran out ahead and sat down, watchingus intently until we almost caught upwith it.Wholly unafraid, it stayed with usduring the entire evening while wehiked a distance of IVi miles or moreup the wash, among and over the pin-nacles. Perhaps we were the first hu-man beings it had ever seen.The kit fox merely is one of manydenizens of the desert which find sanc-tuary in this desolate part of the Mo-jave Desert.

This was not my first visit to theSearles Lake Pinnacles, described bythe eminent scientist, Carl L. Hubbsof the Scripps Institution of Oceanog-raphy as "by far the finest examples oftufa formations in America, and per-haps in the world." Accompanyingme on this exploration trip were JackShepherd of Occidental College andBrian Mahoney of Riverside.These remarkable formations, someof them nearly a hundred feet high,rise from a broad plain which once

was the bottom of an extensive lake.This and two other nearby lakes wereformed at the close of the Ice Age bythe waters of fast melting glacierswhich reached this far inland desertbasin by flowing through a long me-andering channel which started intrough-like Owen's Valley on the eastside of the giant Sierra Neva da. Thisparticular Pleistocene lake has beendesignated by geologists as SearlesLake. It was not only very large,cov-ering an area of 285 square miles, but

very deep, perhaps measuring as muchas 600feet in depth at its center. Someidea of its size and depth can readilybe gained by observing the ancientwater lines, beaches and wave-cutbenches distinctly seen on nearbyrocky hills and the distant slopes ofthe Argus and Slate Mountains to thenorth and east. These shore-line fea-tures I find are best seen in the veryearly morning when shadows castalong them bring out clearly their po-sition.The scenically impressive spires ofgray limestone evidently were slowlyformed under water around the ventsof large hot springs by primitive lime-depositing plants called algae or pos-sibly by bacteria. It no doubt tookages of lime deposition to build thepinnacles up to the massive forms theyhave finally assumed, for the rate ofprecipitation was very slow, perhapsas little as onefoot in a hundred years.The subterranean hot waters whichencouraged the activity of the algae,or possibly bacteria, issued from the

lake bottom in rows of vents, probablyalong minor fault lines, or in close-setgroups of openings marking other sitesof weakness in the earth's crust. Onlythus can we account for the arrange-ment and position of the bizarre tufa-ceous towers.The lake in which the pinnaclesgrew disappeared long ago, leavingthem exposed much as they are today.However, their original form musthave been quite different; certainlythey were higher. The present struc-

Termed byScientist Carl L. Hubbs "by far the finest examples of tufa formationsin America, and perhaps in the world," the gray steeples of the Pinnacles riseabove Searles Dry L ake inCalifornia. Photo byCharles L. Heald.

10 DESERT MAGAZINE

ON DESERT TRAILS WITH A NATURALIST-II I


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tures have large accumulations of talus-like broken-off fragments sloping halfway up about their almost verticalsides, evidencing a presumably grad-ual disintegration.I seriously doubt if anyone visitingthese strange "steep-sided knobs oflime" has not been inquisitive as towhat might be inside them, especiallyat their centers . I found t hat one ofthe large columns so piqued the curi-osity of some inquiring rock enthusi-ast that he had gouged a large holemore than a yard square out of itsside almo st to the middle. Of courseno buried treasure was found; onlymore of the same porous calcareoustufa, not even an old tree trunk orother object which might have beensuspected as the nucleus around whichthe lime was deposited.

Wandering widely over the area Isaw where quite a number of miningclaims have been staked out, but asfar as I could see only one group ofprospectors ever thought the pinnacleshad any real comm ercial value. Thesemen actually did some assessmentwork consisting of about a quarter ofa mile of road. A claim-paper foundin a tin can inside one of the cornermonuments of rocks they had builtshowed that they had staked out aplacer claim for gold! Some one, per-haps these "gold seekers," had oncestarted a well in the big nearby sandwash, but they found no water toreward their hours of hard work.

The only other formations that Ihave seen anywhere approaching theTrona Pinnacles in size, number andappearance are rounded columns oflime, the so-called geyser-cones or al-gae pillars of the Bridges Basin nearGreen River, Wyoming, and a fewsmall lime pillars near Tonopah, Ne-vada . All of these incrustations evi-dently were formed around old treestumps and snags submerged by thewaters of Eoc ene lakes. In time thewoody cores became silicified so thatinside the cones and lime cylinder wenow find petrified wood.

The main groups of pinnacles nearSearles Lake are scattered over anarea of several squa re miles. Beyondthese, often at some distance, arenearly a dozen smaller outliers. Sep-arating the two main groups runs along salt-bush-bordered wash of cleangray sand. It serves not only as adrainway for the run-off waters of in-frequent rains but also as a trailwayfor many of the wild animals, like kitfoxes and coyotes, which inhabit thearea. Every night they leave freshfootprint evidence of their travels, andI am never surprised when campinghere to see one or more of these des-ert carnivores roving about. At night

m . JThe little kit fox was naturally curious he probably had never beforeseen a human being so he followed the three strange two-legged creatureson their moonlight trek. Photo by L ewis W. Walker.

I often hear the coyote's clear-ringingcall or the kit fox's single strangecough-like bark. I most often see coy-otes in the early morning just at day-break when they are returning to theirdaytime hideouts after the night's hunt.Kit foxes come from their undergroundlairs at dusk and quite frequently Ihave seen them come up to my camp,attracted either by curiosity or theodor of food.In the many crypts in the limestonetowers live desert woodrats. Abo utthe openings to their homes are quan-tities of small, dry sticks of brittle bushand other shrubs they have brought inas they returned from their frequentexcursions along regular paths to thenearby bushes. One often wondershow they or their other animal neigh-bors find enough to eat in a region sonear devoid of plant life.

On the north sides of the rough-sur-faced limestone monoliths are splashesof the brilliant color of rock-hugginglichens. The beautiful blues are thoseof the lichen called Lecanora; thebright brick-reds are produced by alichen called Caloplaca; the lovely,often circular patches of gray-greenindicate a species of Parm elia. Scat-tered among the colonies of coloredlichen grows a velvety black lichendisposed in small patches of crust-likeplates. These unique biotic entities,composed of closely associated threadsof algae and cells of low grade fungi,probably actively grow only a com-paratively few hours of each year dur-ing rains or other times of high humid-ity when water, so necessary to theirexistence, is found. We are not sur-prised then to learn that the coloniescomposing the many colorful irregular-

shaped patches and disk-like crusts areperhaps many years old, some of themeven perhaps a half century of age.Throughout the daylight hours thevisitor to the pinnacles area hears thelonely raucou s cry of raven s. Some ofthe big black birds may be seen circ-ling overh ead, often in pairs . Th ereis evidence that each year a few pairsof these sagacious birds nest in shelf-

like niches in some of the high rocktowers. The ir principal food is pro b-ably made up of lizards, and, in thespring, of the young of ground squir-rels and jack rabbits. Only very in-frequently must they find carrion. An-other bird using cavelets for nestingsites is the spider-feeding rock wren.Heard often is its clear bell-like song.Several times a day, in cool winter orhot summer, even at mid-day, we willcatch sight of this sprightly dweller ofthe desert's solitudes.Right among the groups of pinnacles,and near the big central sand wash,are several low, broad, almost flat-topped domes of colorful gray andgreen powdery soils. As I tried towalk over them I found myself sink-ing often more than ankle-deep intothe fine-textured almost flour-like ma-terial. Such rounded hillocks consistof soil heavily permeated with gypsumand other salts in minute crystallineform, many of them the salts that inpurer form are found in nearby SearlesDry Lake where they constitute whatis with little doubt the richest source

of high grade commercially usefulchemicals in the deserts of the world.At Trona, 15 miles due north of thepinnacles, is the large 33-acre plantof the American Potash and ChemicalCompany where approximately 2.000J U N E , 1 9 5 4 11


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PANAMINT VALLEYM/ X

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"Back do or" into jasper area leads from aqu educt ro ad to excellent camping area. Colorful stone is found on theopposite side of the Ca ve Hills, above left. Inset is chunk of red and yellow jasper found in the field, with a cabo -chon cut from the material. Much of the jasper is so oxidize d it is difficult to distinguish it from the country rock.When Lieut. Ives steamed up the Colo-rado in 1857 in the clumsy steamboat, the"Explorer," the Chemehuevi Indians wereusing beautiful arrowheads made fromjasper. Harold and Lucile Weight wentinto the Whipple Mountains recently to seeif they could find the source of the Indianjasperand what they discovered is ofinterest both to rockhounds and archeolo-gists.

Indian Jasperin the Whipp lesBy HAROLD WEIGHTPhotographs by the authorMap by Norton AllenE WERE half a dozen mileseast of Vidal Junction, Cali-fornia, on the Parker highwaywhen the speedometer gave a convul-sive spin and droppe d to zero. Istopped the car and Lucile and 1stared at one anoth er. We felt like acouple of lost mine hunters whose

map had suddenly vanished. For ouronly map to the jasper field we wantedto relocate in the Whipple Mountainswas a record of mileages and turnstaken down on a hasty guided tripinto the area seven years before.

We had glimpsed that jasper on avisit to W. N. (Dinty ) and Avis Moore,now active in rockhound circles inPhoenix, but who then lived at ParkerDa m. Dinty and Avis took us on afield trip into the Turtles, the rangewest of the Whipples, and on the waymade a brief detour to the jasper lo-cality. It seemed tha t we were in andback out again in a matter of moments.We had a couple of pieces of the ma-terial and this no te: "Jas per hill,Whipple Mountains. Jasper mainlyred, with white, lavender, yellow,green. Par t high grade , muc h of cut-ting quality. Exte nt of field un kno wn ."

The unusually warm days of late

Februaryideal for winter rock hunt-ing on the Mojaveset us off on ourlong-planned second visit to this jas-per hill. But a pinch ed-ou t tire onthe washboardy Riverside County sec-tion of the Baseline road from Twenty-nine Palms, and time consumed in itsrepair, threw us far behind schedule.Now the sun was low and a great fanof cirrus pouring up from the southand west promised a colorful, butearly, sunset. And we no longer hada speedometer to guide us."Well," said Lucile, "the turnofffrom this highway was 1.6 miles thisside of Ea rp. An d there was a signthere, 'River View Mine, H. O. Hogue.'

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We certainly should be able to findthat road."I nodde d. "A nd the jasper was lessthan 10 miles in, good desert road allthe way. We can reach the area be-fore dark, and something in thereshould look familiar to us.""It was in a sort of little valley,"

Lucile amplified."Then we go on?"Lucile nodd ed. "Th e Whipples arealways worth a visit."Even from the highway, some milesto the south, the Whipples are a strik-ing range . Seen close up, they areamong the most beautiful mountainson the Mojave. M uch of their spec-tacular scenery is due to their compo-sition, a helter-skelter mixup of someof the world's oldest rockspre-Cam-brian granites, schists and quartzsiteswith the colorful volcanics of Ter-tiary times. Th en too, their beauty isaugmented by the relatively heavyvegetation, the ironwood, palo verdeand smoke tree of bajada and washesbeing more reminiscent of the Colo-rado Desert than of the Mojave.As the highway swung around thesouthern slopes of the mountainstoward the Colorado River, a lean,striking finger of dark volcanic rockcame into sight to the northeast. Thiswas famed Monument Peak, a land-mark since the beginning of the des-

ert 's habitation. Onate and his Spani-ards must have noted it when theycame down Bill Williams River to theColorado in Decem ber, 1904. PadreGarces surely saw it in Febru ary, 1776,when going to the land of the Mohaves,

and Captain Sitgreaves on the way toCamp Yuma late in 1851.Lt. A. W. Whipple, whose name themountains now bear, reached the Col-orado by Bill Williams fork in Feb-ruary , 18 54. But he was trying to fol-low the 35th parallel, which crossesthe river north of Needles at the verysouthern tip of Nevada, in his searchfor a possible route for a transcontin-ental railroad. So he heade d northalong the Colorado and apparently didnot see Monument Peak.With him was young Lt. Joseph C.Ives. A few years later Ives com-manded an army expedition exploringthe Colora do. And late in January,1858, with Ives and his commandaboard, the wretchedly clumsy Explorerfirst steamer to venture so far upthe riverwas bumbling its way fromsand bar to sand bar through theParke r Valley. As Ives wrote in ex-asperation: "We were three days inaccomplishing nine miles. A boatdrawing six inches less water and with-out any reinforcing timbers attachedto the bottom could probably havemade the same distance in three hou rs."

But if Ives and Captain Robinson,who piloted the Explorer, were unhappyabout their progress, the ChemehueviIndians then occupying northern Par-ker Valley, the Whipples and the sur-rounding desert, were not. For themit was County Fair Week and show ofa lifetime comb ined. Always foot-loose and ready to be entertained, theydeserted their camps and caves andhunting trails to sit on the river banksand watch the fun. Whenever the

Explorer went aground which wasevery few hundred feetthey howledwith delight.It is a measure of Ives' characterthat he appreciated their amusement.Despite the trying circumstances, hisReport Upon the Colorado River ofthe West sparkles with the wry comedyof the spectacle as the Indians saw it."If we had anticipated inspiring themwith awe or admiration," he com-ments, "we should be sadly disap-pointed. Th at we should spend daysin doing what they can accomplish inhalf as many hours strikes them asunaccountably stupid."As the Explorer inched upriver, Ivessaw an unusual group of mountainson the California side. "Am ong thegroup of fantastic peaks that surmountthis chain," he wrote, "is a slenderand perfectly symmetrical spire thatfurnishes a striking landmark, as it canbe seen from a great way down theriver in beautiful relief against thesky." He named the spire "The Mon-ument ."

And because of that peak he calledthe whole range, on both sides of theColorado, Monument Mountains. Theriver gorge through the mountains,whose beauty he described enthusi-astically, he called Monument Can-yon. And after he had navigated thecanyon, past the site of present ParkerDam and the mouth of Bill WilliamsRiver, he named one outstanding peakon the California side Mount Whipple,for his old com mand er. Somehow inthe years since, the name Whipple hasbeen extended to cover the whole14 D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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range in California. In geological se-niority, it is fair enough that MountWhipple's ancient granites should out-rank the upstart volcanic trap ofMonument Peak. Historically, Whip-pie deserves a California range bear-ing his name.Ives also had plenty of time to studythe Chemehuevis whom he was enter-taining. "They are altogether differ-ent in appearance and character fromthe other Colorado River Indians," hewrote. "They have small figures andsome of them delicate, nicely-cut fea-tures with little of the Indian physiog-nomy. Unlike their neighborswhothough warlike are domestic theChemehuevis are a wandering raceand travel great distances on huntingand predatory excursions. They wearsandals and hunting shirts of buckskin,and carry tastefully-made quivers ofthe same material."

Had Ives carried his investigationsa little further, he would have discov-ered that some of the points on thearrows in those quivers were also taste-fully made of beautiful moss and pais-ley and bright, solidly colored jasper.He certainly would have been inter-ested to learn part of the jasper usedwas found within a few miles of theMonument Peak he so admired.We were hunting that jasper.We camped that night far up thebajada, at the base of the first outliers

of the Whipples. We estimated weshould be in the vicinity of the jasperfield, but had no idea in which direc-tion it might lie. It had , in fact, beena very discouraging afternoon butthe sort of exercise I can recommendto persons who cannot understandhow a mine or ledge can become lost.The mine sign we had dependedupon to identify the turnoff was gone,and since the mine was not operating,the road had deteriorated. We finallyfound it only by eliminating all otherpossible track s. Up on the bajada, theroad improved, but the branchesseemed to have changed and multiplied.We had not located ourselves whendarkness fell, and after a few miles ofuseless probing to and fro with ourheadlight beams, we pulled off onto afairly level pebble pavem ent. Supperwas a catch-as-catch-can affair con-sumed by flashlight in the cab of thepickup. The rest of campm aking con-sisted of inflating air mattresses andspreading our sleeping bags in thetruck bed.

But the night was perfectly suitedfor desert campingwarm, clear andquiet. Fo r a long time we marveledat the show of lights spread out belowParker, Earp, Poston, Vidal, andscores upon scores of motels, trailercamps, private homes and individual

i ... . f.., P&ftS

Above This old road leads directly across the bajada to the jasper in thevolcanic hills, upper right. Palo Verde, left, marks point where old roadto the field leaves the main road.Center Brightly colored and moss jasper may be found on slopes andridges in the background.Below From one of the caves, looking across the Colorado R iver valley.Riverside Mountains in the background.

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Each year more and more fishermen and vacationists come to this lovely vistaalong the Colorado below Parker dam for recreation.camps up and down the Colorado.This was the weekend of Washington'sbirthday, and it had brought a largenumber of eager fishermen to the river,but growth of permanent populationin this area since the war is astonish-ing.And after we were in our sleepingbags, we watched the march of famil-iar constellations overhead Orion,then Sirius, the Dog Star, scintillatinglike a glorious jewel, and Cassiopeia'sChair and the Pleiades and the Hyades.But on this clear night, the whole skyseemed frosted with myriads of smalleror more distant stars which do noteven show in smog-filmed skies fartherwest. Then the sublimity of the mo-ment was broken by the only unpleas-ant noteor buzzof that night, thevoices of a few enterprising mosquitoesthat apparently had tired of fishermanfare and had decided to dine out andsample rockhounds. We pulled ourheads under cover and slept.

I woke once after the late-risingmoon, nearing its last quarter, waswell aloft. Its light was surprising, an dI could see the great river valley andthe faint masses of scattered moun-tain ranges. Nearer, the wash-cutbajada, with sharp-limbed and spinedpalo verde, catsclaw and cholla, wassilver and black. And to the north-east, quite close to our camp, a group

of low, jagged hills looked, even bymoonlight, as if they should carryrockhound rocks.In the grey pre-daw n we boiled cof-fee in an open pan over a little firein the steep V-wash beside our camp.Relishing the full bodied flavor of that"primitive" brew, we wondered if theold prospectors hadn't used the bestmethod of coffee-making, after all.By daylight the hills to the north-east looked even more interesting.Buttes and ridges of the brownish-black volcanic series which outcropin many places along the southeasternedges of the Whipples, they were per-fectly honeycombed with caves. Afew hundred yards down the bajada

LOGMile0.0 Turn north from Desert Center-Parker highway, 15.3 miles fromVidal Junction. 1.6 miles westof Earp.3.9 Pass under pole line.4.1 Old road branches right to jas-per field. Watch for dangerouscut in bed of this road. Eitherturn right here or continue onmain road to:4.4 Reach aqueduct road, turn right.4.8 Turn right from aqueduct road,follow branch a few hundredyards to little mesa west of CaveHills.

from our camp, we could see where aonce bladed trail left our road andheaded for the hills. When we startedto follow it, we found that it had beenbadly wash-cut in several places, andin one great drainage channel, just tothe west of the Cave Hills, the roadhad disappeared completely. Onceacross it, however, the road appearedagain and was in passable conditionthe full length of the little group ofhills.

We knew we were on the right trackwhen, in a shallow cave in an arroyowall, I found two small pieces of pot-teryand a worked bit of bright redjasper. Th en, in the sunburned vol-canic rock which coated the hills, Lu-cile discovered a large chip of pat-terned, colorful jasper. We began torecognize larger pebbles and smallboulders as jasper and jasp-agate.They were so oxidized and discoloreda dark or reddish brownthat theydiffered little except in texture fromthe country rock. As in many o therfields, it was necessary to adjust oureyes to the material we were hunting.

The Metropolitan Aqueduct, fromParker Dam to Los Angeles, touchesthe northwestern edges of the CaveHills. We followed the abandonedroad almost to it, finding jasper spottedirregularly on the hillsides on the way.Some of the best we located was on a16 D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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low hill northwest of the point wherethe road enters a deep arroyo. An-other good spot was on a small butteseparated by the old road from themain body of the hills. Checks showedthat the jasper was scattered as floator cropping in irregular veins in manyother places in the Cave Hillsfromtop to botto m. In quality it rangedfrom rather large pieces of poor gradeto gem quality "thread," moss, paisley,and almost poppy-like patterns . Colorsincluded reds, yellows, gold, green,brow n. It is not a field for truck col-lecting, and rockhounds must cover agood deal of rough territory . But ifthey look they will be rewarded.At the present time, the old road isnot passable for ordinary cars, withoutsome work being done to fill in abadly washed spot and, following it,it is necessary to walk about half amile to the edge of the jasper field.We did find a branch trail from theaqueduct road, which cuts down intothe big wash to an excellent campingplace on the opposite side of the CaveHills from the jasp er. It offers theeasiest approach to the collecting area.But it must be emphasized that theaqueduct road is a private road withpermission to trespass revokable atany time . Proba bly there will be noobjection to the use of this short por-tion of itso long as some smart oranti-social character does not commita nuisa nce. Should it be blocked , theold road can be followed.

The largest present-day inhabitantof the Cave Hills whose acquaintancewe made was a rheumy-eyed deserttortoise who apparently had been mis-led by the unseasonable warmth tobreak his winter hibernation. The dirtfrom his earthy bedchamber still wasscattered over his shell, with a littlepeak of it on the top of his hea d. Isuspect that with some of the coldnights that have followed he has re-turned to his burrow with the deter-mination of finding a new weatherforecaster. The area also has mock -ing birds, linnets and bats, and appar-ently an enormous population of pack-rats, who are all cavedwellers.

And in many places we foundevidence of earlier inhabitants whohad worked these jasper fields beforeus. The chippings from their arrow-point making indicated that they hadselected their stones with an eye forbeau ty. On e of the caves, whichshowed no indication of its size frombelow, proved to be a two-bedroomaffair with a wonderful view arch inthe living room. Pack rats had filledthe two bedrooms with an incredibleamount of debris, while a tiny darklizard seemed to be the only occupantof the living room.

, , - ^ :;i*j\ :*

The author with a piece of red and green jasper, as it occurs in thin dis-continuous ledges at the base of the butte in the Cav e Hills field.In a hollow in the large boulder atthe mouth of the cave Lucile found a

dozen bright bits of jasper. We couldalmost picture the Chemehuevi whohad squatted there, day after day,working up his points with that greatliving map of the Colorado River Val-ley before him. Perh aps from thisvery point he had seen the smoke ofIves' little steamer and had called thefamily together to go see the big show.I do not know whether these caveswere only used for arrowpoint making,or whether they were semi-permanenthom es. I found several tinajas innearby washes, which would hold

water for quite a while after a rain.And of course the wife could alwaysbe sent the five or six miles down tothe river to fill a few pots. An d I'mcertain that some of those caves, witha little fire, would be much cozier

when winter winds swept the Mojavethan would any camp along the river.It was Ives who brought the Che-mehuevis alive for me. Whenever 1read his journals, or those of any ofthat remarkable group of Americanmilitary men who first reported onthe WestEmory, Simpson, Whippleand the restI am amazed at theirliterary substance and vivid humanity.And 1 am endlessly grateful tha t thepresent compulsion of government re-searchers to express themselves in pe-dantic and meaningless jargon wasthen unknown.Of course, in the matter of anthro-pology, Ives and his contemporarieshad the advantag e. They saw ourWestern Indians live, while presentday researchers can only rattle drybones or depend on informants whosometimes take a mischievous pleasure

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in misinforming. Nev ertheless , I won-der how we would picture last cen-tury's Colorado River Indians hadIves hopped ashore at each camp withbriefcase full of aptitude and intelli-gence tests, and a questionnaire de-signed to fit these particular anthro-pological specimens into their propersib, moiety and dichotomic pigeon-holes.I'm sure we wouldn't have heard ofthe Chemehuevi who tried to cheatthe lieutenant in a deerskin trade. "Hewas highly amused at being caught,"Ives wrote, "and it raised me verymuch in his estimation; if I had triedto cheat him, and had succeeded, hisadmiration would have been unlim-ited." Nor would it have been scien-tifically worth while to tell of the In-dian woman who tried to help guidethe Explorer across a sand bar. Cap-tain Robinson's "knowledge of theriver showed that it would not do,an d he sheered off without making thetrial. The benevolence of the old hagwas at once converted to rage, andwith clenched fists and flaming eyesshe followed along the bank, scream-ing at the captain a volley of male-dictions."

Nor would we have had the finaltouch to make real the little Indiankiddies who once played around thesevery caves: "Mr. Mollhausen has en-listed the services of the children toprocure zoological specimens, and hasobtained, at the cost of a few stringsof beads, several varieties of pouchedmice and lizards. They think he eatsthem, and are delighted that his ec-centric appetite can be gratified withso much ease and profit to themselves."

When we headed back toward Earp,we were satisfied that we had founda jasper field, but did not know if itwas the jasper field. It looked vaguelyfamiliar, but there was not a singlespot that we could actually recognize.Later we returned with speedometerworking and found that we had con-siderably overestimated the numberof miles we had traveled from thehighway and that this was a newfield.The other jasper lies several milesfarther along the Whipples. This, andthe number of other hills apparently ofthe same volcanic constitution whichwe saw, is a good indication that thereare more jasper areas for those wholike to hunt their own fields.

It was near sundown when wereached the highway, but we did notwant to turn homeward without driv-ing up the river to Parker Dam . T his,we think, is the most beautiful sectionof the lower Colorado which can befollowed by a good road, and sun-down is the perfect time to see it. Butas we had been amazed by the in-

crease in population in Parker Valley,so it was with Monument Canyon.Everywhere were homes and campsand trailer parks crowded with peopleand cars, and the Arizona shoreseemed to be in the same condition.Cars were parked at every likely spot,too, and fishermen were still out alongthe river. At some of the little sidevalleys, farming was under way.But there ahead, as we rounded abend, was the same blood red ridgewhich had so impressed Lt. Ives. Andfor just a little stretch no modernbuilding obtruded. The wild, highlycolored buttes and ridges which crowdthe swiftly flowing river were just asthey had been when the little Explorerfirst shattered the silence of this hid-den world, and Ives wrote rhapsodic-ally of its beauty. Why right here,per-haps, Ives came upon the two Cheme-huevis, with their wives, children andhousehold belongings, afloat upon reedrafts. Agains t that bank they mayhave drawn their rafts into the littlecave to watch in awe, while the steamerpuffed noisily by. And perhaps thewarriors nervously fingered arrowstipped with the very jasper we hadbeen collecting that afternoon.Ahead, around the bend, the littleChemehuevi chief and his peoplewould be waiting to make a state callupon Lt. Ives when the churning Ex-plorer nosed in to the bank.But noaround that bend was thegleaming, yet alien beauty of ParkerDam, concrete proof of the changestime had brought to the once omni-potent Colorado of the West. It waslate, and this was a good place to turnback.

INSCRIPTION SELECTEDF O R S CO T T Y' S M O NUM E NT"/ got four things to live by:Don't say nothing that will hurtanybody. Don't give advice no-body will take it anyway. Don'tcomplain. Don't explain."

This inscription Death ValleyScotty's own words, according toEleanor Jordon Houston's recent book is to be engraved on the plaque tobe erected next November 12 at Wal-ter Scott's grave on a hill above Scotty'sCastle.The plaque is being sponsored bythe Death Valley 49ers, and will beplaced on a memorial monument tobe erected by the Gospel Foundationof California, owners of Scotty's Castle.The 49ers chose the inscription attheir April meeting, and at the sametime approved a sketch submitted byCyria Henderson for the design of theplaque which she will model in clayand then have cast in bronze.

Adell "K. C." Jones, Life-on-the-Desert winner whose story appears inthis month's Desert, was born in Og-den, Utah. After attending schoolsin the small Congregational Collegetown of Tabor, Iowa, she joined herfather, a country newspaper editor inLovelock, Nevada. She married JohnS. Case, another newspaper editor, in1910.When Ray Jones first called on Adellin 1947, she was reading CharlesKelly's story, "Hole in the Rock," inthe May, 1947, issue of Desert Maga-zine. Ray was immediately interestedand related the part his grandfatherplayed in the historic Mormon trek.He and Mrs. Jones were married soonafter. When Desert's Life-on-the-Des-ert contest was announced, she askedher husband to retell the story. Theirjoint entry proved to be a prize-winner.

A number of Mrs. Jones' poemshave been published, and she writesoccasional articles for her home townnewspaper in Fallon, Nevada. "I am a naturalist at heart, and anexplorer and amateur photographer,"confesses Geologist C. L. Burdick. Hemust, then, thoroughly have enjoyedthe research and writing which cul-minated in the story on Mexico's SeriIndians which appears in this issue ofDesert.Burdick first visited the Seris' prim-itive village in 1943 with two Ameri-can companions. Upon returning home,he told an acquaintance, T. G. Patter-son, about the trip, and Patterson inturn related the story to Albert M.Johnson, Death Valley Scotty's bene-factor and friend. Johnson supporteda foundation dedicated to helpingneedy Indians and translating the Bibleinto their tongue s. Imm ediately inter-ested in the Seris' plight, he decidedto send Burdick back to the Indians'village to write detailed reports ofwhat he found there. "They Wouldn'tBe Civilized" is thestory of that secondtrip.Burdick is a native of Wisconsinan d did graduate work in geology atthe University of Wisconsin. He taughthigh school science before enteringmining geology about 15 years ago.He currently is employed by twomining companies engaged in the de-velopment of mineral resources in BajaCalifornia. On the side he writes arti-cles on historical geology, particularlyprobing the relationship of this scienceto archeology. He lives in Tucson,Arizona.

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L o s t L e d g e o f M a m m o t h C a n y o nBy SHEP SHEPHERD

>Y THE YEAR 1857 the trails tothe gold fields of Californiawere more or less well defined.Indians were still one of the majorobstac les. Not long after the massac reof 140 people at Mountain Meadowsa band of fast riding Paiutes intercepteda party of California bound settlersseveral days' march west of the mas-sacre scene. The party was followingthe old Spanish Tra il. In the ensuingfight the settler group became disor-ganized. Tw o men of the party es-caped and in the darkness that nightstruck north.

The scene of the battle was roughlyon the California-Nevada border.Traveling by night and hiding by daythey kept a northerly course up thewide desert valley in which they foundthemselves, hoping to cross the trailof other parties traveling west.To the west they could see thetowering mountain ranges they wouldeventually have to cross. When theirwater gave out they turned westwardand finally arrived at a clear, coolstream. They had struck the headwaters of the Owens River. A short

time later, in the same general vicinity,they were resting near a small valleywithin sight of a lofty gray mountain.One man broke off a piece of a ce-ment-like ledge and found it spottedwith yellow flakes. He was convincedthe yellow stuff was gold. His pa rtne rlaughed at the idea, insisting the yel-low flakes were worthless. The be-liever filled his pockets with about tenpounds of the ore and the two went ontheir way.Eventually they made their wayacross the mountains and found a

small stream which led them to theSan Joaqu in River. They followed theSan Joaquin to the settlement of Mil-lerton.The man with the gold made plansto retrace their steps to the rich ledge.However, he had become ill and be-fore his plans were completed he wasforced to seek treatment in San Fran-cisco. His condition became so badhe had to give up any idea of returningto the treasure. Indebted to his physi-cian, a Dr. Randall, and without fundshe paid what he could with the ore hehad left and gave Randall a map of thesection containing the gold bearingledge.The man died soon afterward andnothing more was ever heard from hiscompanion.

This is a new version of alost mine story related by MarkTwain in his book "RoughingIt," and also in W. A. Chaliant's"Gold, Guns and Ghost Towns."It is the legendary Lost Cementmine, and so far as the recordsshow it has never been re-dis-covered.Neither man's name seems to havebeen preserved though their activitiesare frequently mentioned in old rec-ords of the Mammoth Canyon discov-eries. Most authe ntic of these writingsseems to be those of J. W. A. Wright,

who wrote from Mammoth in 1879,reporting for the San Francisco Poston the searches still going on for thelost cement mines.Doctor Randall arrived on the scenein the spring of 1861. He headquart-ered at old Monoville and hired aparty of men . Next, using the deadman's map as a guide, he located aquarter section of land a few milesnorth of the town on what was knownas Pumice Flats.Not far to the northeast were theMono Craters . The cones, as well asmuch of the surrounding area, werecoated with pumice from the once ac-tive volcanos.Randall hired a man named GidWhiteman as foreman of eleven menand began the task of prospecting everyinch of the 160 acres.The following year, 1862, a mannamed Van Horn joined the search.He seems to have been prominent inthe mining fields since one district wasnamed after him. Ano ther memb er ofthe searching party was a Germanwhose name has not been preserved inthe records.The German is now believed to havere-discovered the gold bearing cementledge, though not on Randall 's 160acres. He took Van Horn into hisconfidence and the two quit the searchtogether, saying they were tired of thecountry and wanted to seek new fields.They took one horse belonging to VanHorn to carry their belongings and leftin the direction of Au rora . Once hid-den from the others they went towhere the German had found theledge. They loaded the horse withsacks of ore, concealed the locationand struck out for Virginia City. Atthe Walker River they crushed andpanned the cement-like material, ob-taining several thousands of dollars insold.

In Virginia City they bought neededsupplies, tools and horses and took athird man into the partne rship. Backat the location they started work onwhat was intended to be a permanentcam p. The work was barely begunwhen Indian Chief Joaquin Jim raidedthe camp with a party of braves, tookall their supplies, leaving only theclothes they wore and one horse withwhich to get out of the cou ntry. Th ethree returned to Virginia City to waitfor the Indian troubles to subside. Inthe meantime Van Horn became thevictim of an ailment that left him semi-invalid. He started to San Franciscofor treatment but on the boat fromSacramento became so ill he feareddeath was near. He confided in a mannamed Carpenter, adding that he be-lieved his two partners were planningto return to the ledge in spite of theIndian menace.

Carpenter himself apparently madeno effort to enter the search but hisknowledge was passed on to two mennamed Kirkpatrick and Colt, the lattera member of the firearms family. Thesetwo men came to Monoville, hired aguide to take them to the vicinity ofMammoth Canyon where they be-lieved Van Horn's camp to be.The search uncovered a place wherelogs had been laid for a floor andnearby were the stumps of trees thathad been felled. Continuing the huntfor the ledge the men found two skele-tons supposed to have been those ofVan Horn's partners. ApparentlyJoaquin Jim's warning had not beenan idle threat. Thoug h they kept atthe search until supplies and fundswere exhausted, Kirkpatrick and Coltwere unable to locate the cement ledge.They did discover some ledges com-posed of a red cement-like materialbut none that were gold bearing.

Various searchers carried on a con-stant hunt for the treasure during thenext few years. Som etimes as manyas 20 parties were in the field at once,prospecting from the desert floor tothe eastern slopes of the Sierra aroundthe base of Mammoth Mountain.In the summer of 1869 two mennamed Kent and McDougall outfittedthemselves with horses and suppliesin Stockton, California. They next ap-peared at a small settlement on theSan Joaquin River at the western baseof the mou ntains. There they hiredan Indian to guide them across themountains. The Indian returned muchlater with the information that he had

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taken the men to the pumice mountain(Mammoth Mountain) .Kent and McDougall returned thefollowing year and repeated their visitevery year through the summer of1877. Late that year a man collapsed

on a San Francisco street. As he laydying in a hospital he identified him-self as McDougall and related the fol-lowing story . He said that while inArizona he had met Kent who claimedhe knew of some lost treasure in Cali-

4fc I)91 17 The Desert Quiz this month is dedicated toDorothy Peters and her Quiz group at Reno.Nev ada. (See Letters page, this issue.) Ifthe list is a little tougher than usu al you can blame Dorothy for it. Thelist of questions covers many fields of interestgeography, history, plantand animal life, Indian s, literature and the lore of the desert. A score of12 to 14 is fair, 15 to 17 is good , 18 or over is exce llent. Th e answ ersare on page 32.1A Dipo dom ys is a species ofR eptile . Bird . Rod entInsect . .2When the Colorado River broke out of control, flooded ImperialValley and formed Salton Sea in 1905-6-7, the break eventuallywas closed by U. S. Army Enginee rs . Southern Pacific Rail-road . Mexican Governm ent . Bureau of Reclamation3 Pum ice stone properly is classified as Sedim entary rock . M eta-morphic rock . Conglom erate . Igneous rock4 Irateba was once a chief of the Yum a Indians . Mojave Indi-ans . Paiute Indians . Pima Indians5Death Valley Scotty's proper name was Walter ScottJoh n Scott . Lewis Scott . William Scott6 Highe st Peak in Nevada is - - Charles ton Peak . B oundaryPeak . Mo unt Davidson . Antelop e Peak7 Indians used Ephedra for making Dye . Poison arrowsIntoxicants . Medicine8The name Peralta is associated with a famous lost mine believed tohave been located inD eath Valley . The Bullion Mo untainsof California . The Superstition Mo untains of ArizonaThe Henry Mou ntains of Utah .9Havasupai Canyon, home of the Supai Indians, is a tributary of theGreen River _ . The Virgin River . The Verde Riverthe Colorad o River .10 Cathedral Gorge State Park is in Utah . Nevada . NewMex ico . California1 1The book The Romance of the Colorado River was written by Nevills . Dellenbaugh . Powell . Kolb Bros.One of the following desert trees or shrubs does not shed its leavesin winter Jojoba . Mes quite . Catsclaw . DesertWillowMexican Hat, Utah , overlooks the Colorado River . GreenRiver .__. San Juan River . Sevier River14An Indian trader is licensedBy the State in which his trading postis located ... By the U. S. Bureau of Indian Affairs - B y the

Indian Trib al Counc il . No license required15The color of most of the locoweeds which grow on the desert isBluish-purple . Red . Yellow . White16The rock formation known as "The Squaw and her Basket" is seen On an island in the Grea t Salt Lak e . In the Gra nite Dells atPresc ott, Arizon a . At the edge of Pyram id Lak e in Nev ada .. _. .In the Chiracahua National Monument of Arizona17The harvesting of the date crop where dates grow on the GreatAm erican Desert, generally begins about Septemb er .Ap ril ...June . February .18Q uicksilver comes from an ore known as Fluorite . Cinna-bar Magnesite . Galena19Breyfogle is a name generally associated withThe discovery ofgold at Goldfield . The captu re of Ge ronim o . Th e arch e-ology of the Mes a Verd e Nationa l Park . A lost mine in theDeath Valley region

20The Hopi bread known as piki is ma de from W hea t ___ Co rnMillet . Barley

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fornia but needed help to go there.Kent hired McDougall, giving him a$1500 yearly guarantee.When they had gone as far as thepumice mountain on that first tripKent dismissed the guide. As soonas the Indian was out of sight Kentsaid he believed they were near one of

the richest gold deposits he had everseen. He claimed he had found it in1861 (the first year of Dr. Randall'ssearch) but that Indian wars had pre-vented his returning.From the point where they dismissedthe guide the two men went on to theheadwaters of the Owens River. ThereKent described certain landmarks toMcDougall and they began to search.Soon they found, first the landmarks,then the ledge.That summer they took out a hugesum in gold. They melted it into barsand hid it among their belongingswhen they left.Each year they took out from $25,-000 to $50,000, clearing in all nearly$40 0,00 0. Each time they left, Mc -Dougall said, they concealed the loca-tion against chance discovery by others.They never recorded the location orstaked claims, preferring to keep thesecret and avoid having it over-runwith others seeking to share in theriches. Tho ugh the trip from the west

over the mountains was an arduousone Kent would never risk discoveryby being seen with ore in the goldthirsty camps on the desert side.McDougall died soon after relatinghis story. Kent never returne d nor washe ever heard from again. It is sup-posed that illness, or perhaps evendeath, intervened. The job of con-cealing the mine's location must havebeen expertly done for it has neverbeen found again.There is ample proof from other

sources that a rich gold deposit existedin the district. On e man, trading withthe Indians, was paid $300 in goldbut was unable to learn where theyhad obtained it.Indians coming into the camp ofBenton, a day's travel into the desertfrom the vicinity of the mine's sup-posed location, paid for their pur-chases with gold but never revealed itssource.Winds, sands and storms can dostrange things to the earth's counte-

nance, often altering it completely.But the elements that hid a treasurecan again reveal it. Th ere seems littledoubt that the reddish ledge, bearingits golden fortune, will some day en-rich another finder.20 D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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. . . L I F E O N T H E D E S E R T . . .* . . # WASH

By RAYMOND SMITH JONESAs told to his wife, AdellY G R A N D F A T H E R , J o se phStanford Smith, wasonly fiveyears old when his parents,Joseph H. and Maria Stanford Smithand their family set sail from Liver-

pool, England, for the United States.The family had been converted toMormonism in their native Stafford-shire and were on their way to join theSaints in Utah. They sailed on theold ship Curling in April , 1855. Theylanded in New York a month later.It was October before they reachedSalt Lake City, having come acrossthe plains with Milo Anderson's Hand-cart Company, the elders walking allthe way.In December of that year they weresent to the Iron Mission in Southern

Utah and settled at Ceda r City. HereStanford grew to manhood.Arabella Coombs was born in Col-orado and migrated with her parentsto the Iron Mission. In 1870 she andStanford Smith were married in the

Before his death at the ageof 94,Stanford Smith told mem-bers of his family the intimatedetails of his personal experi-ence as a member of the his-toric Mormon colony which in1880 crossed the C olorado R iverat the Hole-in-the-Rock on itsw a y to establish a new settle-ment at Bluff, Utah. The per-sonal sacrifice and courage ofthat amazing trek are revealedin this story, told by one ofSmith's grandsons.

Endowment House at Salt Lake City.She was 17, a pretty dark-haired girl,pleasingly plump. Stanford was 20,tall and thin with brown hair and blueeyes. They set up housekeeping inCedar City.In 1879 word came to them fromchurch leaders that they were amongthe families chosen to found a colonyin the far off corner of San JuanCounty. About 80 families, from

Cedar City, Parowan and Paragoonahanswered the call, perhaps not cheer-fully but certainly without question.They gathered at the frontier town ofEscalante and when word came fromthe scouts that a place had been foundto cross the Colorado River, the cara-van started out.Stanford had a stout covered wagonan d two teams. With him were hiswife Arabella and their three littlechildren, AdaOlivia, five; Elroy , three,and George Abraham, just six monthsold.When the crevice, through whichthe scouts thought the wagons couldbe taken down to the river, was reachedthe menwere dismayed. It would takeweeks, some even said months, of hardwork to make a passageway. It wasalready October and supplies wererapidly diminishing. Perhaps they

should turn back and find an easierroute.But church authorities said: "No,proceed at any cost."So groups of families back-trackedto camp at the springs: Rock Corral ,22 DESERT MAGAZINE

Last Wagon Throughthe H ole-in-the-R ock


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Soda Springs, 50-Mile and 40-Mile.At the latter was a great natural bowlcarved by erosion in the sandstone.On its smooth floor the older men, thewomen and children danced to passaway the long evenings and forget theircold and hunger.Grandfather used to tell how theyeven snared gophers and made stewof them to supplement the meager ra-tions. The younger men set aboutcarving a road down through the Hole.It took them three months to do ita road more like a crude staircase,down which they hoped they couldtake their wagons.The families were called to the rimand the descent was begun. The wag-ons were lowered one at a time, withlocked wheels and ropes attached tothe rear axles, then belayed around astout juniper post, solidly embeddedin the rock rim. Th e strongest menslowly played out the ropes, lettingthe wagons descend as easily as possi-ble.

As road foreman, Stanford had seenlittle of his family for weeks . He w aslaboring to exhaustion, first at the rockcut, then on the ferry and the longdugway up the opposite bank of thetreacherous river.At last the word came that all thewagons were down, and the crossingon the ferry began . Stanford lookedaround for his family and wagon, butthey were now here in sight. Hedropped his shovel and climbed to thetop of the crevice.There, huddled in a heap of tatteredquilts on packed dirty snow he foundhis wife, her baby swathed in blanketsin her arms."Stanford, I thought you'd nevercome," she exclaimed."But where are the other children,and the wagon?" he asked."They're over there. They movedthe wagon back while they took theothers down ." She pointed to a rustystovepipe showing above a huge sand-stone boulder.

For a moment Stanford's faceflushed with rage. He threw his haton the ground and stomped itas washis habit when he was angry."With me down there helping gettheir wagons on the raft, 1 thoughtsome one would bring my wagon down.Drat 'em!""I've got the horses harnessed andthings all packed," Belle breathlesslyassured him as they ran toward the

wagon. Stanford hooked up the team,two at the tongue, and old Nig tied tothe rear axle. The fourth horse, acripple, had died at 50-Mile spring.The children woke up, tumbledfrom their bed in the wagon, and

wanted to help. Stanford climbed inand unlocked the brakesand pausedlong enough to give each of the young-sters a bear hug.Arabella climbed in and laid thebaby on the bed and Stanford startedthe team toward the crevice through

which the wagon must be lowered tothe river."I'll cross-lock the wheels. Pleasethrow me the chains, Belle."She did as he asked, and thenjumped down to help. Stanford tookher arm and they walked to the top

While men in the Mormon cara-van spent three months wideningthis cleft in the rocks so the wag-ons could be lowered down tothe river, the women camped atsprings back along the trail toEscalante.

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of the crevice, where hand in handthey looked down10 feet of loosesand, then a rocky pitch as steep asthe roof of a house and barely as wideas the wagon below that a dizzychute down to the landing place, oncefairly level but now ploughed up withwheels and hoofs. Below that, theycould not see, but Stanford knew whatwas down thereboulders, washouts,dugwa ys like narrow shelves. But itwas that first drop of 150 feet thatfrightened him."I am afraid we can't make it," heexclaimed."But we've got to make it," sheanswered calmly.They went back to the wagon whereStanford checked the harness, the axles,the tires, the brakes . He looked atBelle, and felt a surge of admirationfor this brave beautiful girl. They hadbeen called to go to San Juan, andthey would go. With such a wife, noman could retreat."If we only had a few men to holdthe wagon back we might make it.Belle.""I'll do the holding back," saidBelle, "on old Nig's lines. Isn't thatwhat he's tied back there for?""Any man with sense in his headwouldn't let a woman do that," hecried."What else is there to do?" shecountered.

"But, Belle, the children?""They will have to stay up here.We'll come back for them.""And if we don't come back?""We'll come back. We've got to!"answered Belle.Carefully she set three-year-old Royon a folded quilt back from the crev-ice. Between his short legs she put thebaby and told him: "Hold little brother'til papa comes for you."She told Ada to sit in front of herbrothe rs and say a little praye r. She

kissed each one and tucked quiltssnugly around them. "Don't movedears. Don't even stand up. As soonas we get the wagon down papa willcome back for you!"Ada turned to Stanford, "Will youcome back, papa?" He could only noda yes and turn away with tears. "ThenI'm not afraid. We 'll stay here withGod 'til you and mama get the wagondown." And Ada began her littleprayer: "Fa ther in heaven bless meand Roy and baby until our fathercomes back."To take Belle's mind off the chil-dren, Stanford told her to test Nig'slines. "Pull back as hard as you can.I bet you couldn't pull the legs off aflea." Arabella wrapped the linesaround her strong supple hands. Stan-

ford got aboard. "He re we go. Holdtight to your lines." Arabella smiledat her little brood. "We'll be rightback," she called.Stanford braced his legs against thedashboard and they started downthrough the Hole-in-the-Rock. Thefirst lurch nearly pulled Belle off herfeet. She dug her heels in to hold herbalan ce. Old Nig was thrown to hishaunches. Arabella raced after him andthe wagon holding to the lines withdespe rate strength. Nig rolled to hisside and gave a shrill neigh of terror."His dead weight will be as good as alive one," she thought.

Just then her foot caught betweentwo rocks. She kicked it free bu t losther balance and went sprawling afterold Nig. She was blinded by the sandwhich streamed after her. She grittedher teeth and hung on to the lines. Ajagged rock tore her flesh and hot painran up her leg from heel to hip. Thewagon struck a huge bould er. Theimpact jerked her to her feet and flungher against the side of the cliff.

The wagon stopped with the teamwedged under the tongue and Stanfordleaped to the ground and loosened thetugs to free the team then turned tosee what had happened to Arabella.There she stood, her face white againstthe red sandstone.He used to tell us she was the mostgallant thing he had ever seen as shestood there defiant, blood-smeared,dirt-begrimed, and with her eyes flash-ing dared him to sympathize.In a shaky voice he asked, "How didyou make it. Belle?""Oh 1 crow-hopped right along!'she answ ered. He looked away.He walked to the apparently life-less form of Nig, felt his flank. Itquivered under his hand and Nig triedto raise his bruised and battered head.Stanford then looked back up thecrack. Up there on the sharp rocks a

hundred feet above him waved a pieceof white cloth, a piece of her garment.Why she had been dragged all thatway!"Looks like you lost your handker-chief, Belle." He tried to force alaugh, instead he choked and grabbedher to him, his eyes going swiftly overher. A trickle of blood ran down herleg making a pool on the rocks. "Belle,you're hurt! And we're alone here .""Old Nig dragged me all the waydown," she admitted."Is your leg broken?" he faltered.She wouldn't have his sympathy; notjust yet anyway. "Does that feel likeit's broken?" she fairly screamed, andkicked his shin with fury.He felt like shaking her, but her

chin began quivering and he had togrin, knowing by her temper she wasn'ttoo badly hurt. He put his arms aroundher and both began crying, then laugh-ing with relief.They had done it! Had taken thelast wagon down alone . Stanfordput Belle on the bed in the wagon,found the medicine kit and cleaned thelong gash in her leg."Darling, will you be all right?""Of cou rse 1 will. Just leave mehere and go as fast as you can for thechildren.""I'll hurry," he flung over his shoul-der and began the steep climb up theincline they had just come down.He passed old Nig, who was tryingto regain his feet. He climbed too fastand became dizzy. He slowed down,and looked around. He had driven awagon down that fearful crevice, anddragged his wife behind. Her clothesand flesh torn, she had gamely saidshe'd "crow-hopped right along." Godbless her gallant heart! He kicked therocks at his feet and with tears stream-ing down his face lifted his hat insalute to Arabella, his wife."Papa! Papa!" a faint call camefrom far up the crevice.He answered: "Papa's coming, Ada!"His voice echoed and re-echoed amongthe rocks as he called to the childrenover and over.At last he reached the top to findthe three little ones sitting where theirmother had left them."God stayed with us," said Ada."The baby's gone to sleep an' my arm's'most broke," said Roy. Little Georgewoke up and smiled a toothless grin.Stanford Smith lifted the baby ten-derly in his arms, took his son's handin his, and with Ada clinging to hispocket, went down to Arabella.Stanford's wagon lumbered out ofthe canyon,

195406 desert magazine 1954 june

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