JULY, 1950 35 CENTS

iYou Will Be Wearing RainbowsWhen you wear jewelry set with TITANIA. After years of experiments, syn-thetic Rutile is now available in facet cut brilliants. This magnificent substancehas been given the name of "TITANIA."When viewed under proper lighting, round brilliants of TITANIA appearto be polished bits of rainbows. Certain remarkable optical properties makethis extreme refraction of light possible.

HERE ARE THE FACTSSUBSTANCEAMETHYSTEMERALDRUBY, SAPPHIREDIAMONDTITANIA

INDEX OFREFRACTION1.544 - 1.5531.564 - 1.5901.760 - 1.7682.4172.605 - 2.901

CHROMATICDISPERSION

.013

.014

.018

.063

.300 (APPROX.)The ability of a gem to break up light into its component colors and producea rainbow effect is measured by its chromatic dispersion. Note that TITANIAhas 525 times more ability to produce this RAINBOW EFFECT than any ofthe first five natural gems in the above list.Everyone to whom you show this new jewelry will wish to purchase a ringor pair of earrings. A free circular is available which gives you all the factsabout TITANIA JEWELRY. This circular outlines a discount plan that will per-mit you to own one of these magnificent stones at no cost to yourself.

DEALERS INQUIRIES SOLICITEDAN ARTICLE TELLS THE STORY BEHIND THIS AMAZING DISCOVERY

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$1.00 Per CopyThis is a 192-page book 9"xl2" in size. There are at least 60 pages of in-

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Everything you need in MACHINERY. TOOLS, SUPPLIES and MATERIALSis illustrated, described and priced for your convenience.

VISIT OUR SHOP AND SECURE YOUR COPY OF THIS UNIQUE BOOKSent Postpaid in U. S. A., its Territories and Canada for only $1.00.READ THESE REMARKS BY THOSE WHO PURCHASED THE FIRST EDITION"I would stillbuy it at $3.00 to $5.00 as it contains as much if not more meaty information for the lapidary andjeweler than any of the books on the market selling in that price range. " "It is better than mostlapidary handbooks." "It is the only satisfactory catalog of lapidary supplies and materials thatI have ever seen. It is superbly illustrated and superbly printed."

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DESERT MAGAZINE

DESERT CALENDARJune 28-July 1Lehi Roundup, I.

Ferrin Gurney, secretary, Lehi,Utah

July 1-3 Three-day Rodeo. SilverCity, New Mexico.

July 1-4Desert Peaks section of Si-erra club will climb Mt. DuBoisand White Mountain peak in Cali-fornia.

July 1-2-3-4Reno Rodeo. Parade,races, all rodeo events. Roy Peter-son, chairman. Reno, Nevada.

July 1-4Frontier Days and Rodeo.Parades, rodeo events, square danc-ing. Prescott, Arizona.

July 1-4Seventeenth annual exhibi-tion of Hopi craftsmanship. Mu-seum of Northern Arizona. Flag-staff.

July 2-3-4 Southwest All-IndianPow-Wow, daily parades andnightly dances. Indian rodeo eachafternoon. Photographers welcome.Flagstaff, Arizona.

July 2-5Apache Devil dance, onthe Mescalero Indian reservationnortheast of Alamogordo, NewMexico.

July 3-4 Bit and Spur Rodeo.Tooele, Utah.

July 4North Ogden Cherry Days.North Ogden, Utah.

July 4Cimarron Rodeo, sponsoredby Maverick club, Cimarron, NewMexico.

July 4Lions Club Rodeo, Gallup.New Mexico.

July 4 Douglas celebration andCavalcade, Douglas, Arizona.

July 4-5Showlow Rodeo, Showlow,Arizona.

July 4-8Annual Horse show, A. P.Fleming, manager, Ogden, Utah.

July 13-14-15Harvest Days, Mid-vale Kiwanis bowl, Midvale, Utah.

July 13-15Annual Ute Stampede.Nephi, Utah.

July 14 Annual Feast Day andCorn dance at Cochiti pueblo, NewMexico.

July 15-16 Round Valley Rodeo,Springerville, Arizona. J. L. Briggs.chairman.

July 19-24 Annual Pioneer Dayscelebration, Ogden, Utah.

July 19-24"Days of '47" observance.Salt Lake City, Utah.

July 21-22-24 Fiesta Days, ClydeHicken, secretary, Spanish Fork.Utah.

July 24Mormon Pioneer celebra-tion, Safford, Arizona.

July 25 Santiago's Day at SantaAna and Laguna pueblos; Corndance at Acoma pueblo, NewMexico.

July 25-26Annual Fiesta and Corndance at Taos pueblo. New Mexico.

July 27-28-29 Robbers ' RoostRoundup, Price, Utah.

Volume 13 JULY, 1950 Number 9

COVERCALENDAREXPLORATION

FIELD TRIP

NATURE

FICTION

QUIZART OF LIVING

LOST MINE

POETRYPHOTOGRAPHYLETTERSPERSONALITY

CLOSE-UPSMININGNEWSHUMORLAPIDARYHOBBYCOMMENTBOOKS

"20-Mule Team," by FLOYD B. EVANSJuly events on the desert 3La Mora Canyon in Baja California

By RANDALL HENDERSON 4Rocks Where the Rivers Meet

By HAROLD WEIGHT 9Streamlined for Speed

By GEORGE M. BRADT 14Without Pawn

By MARGARET MOWER 15Test your desert knowledge 18Diary of a Jackrabbit Homesteader

By CATHERINE VENN 19Lost Mine of Coconino

By GLADWELL RICHARDSON 21Selected poems 24Contest winners for May 25Views and comments of Desert readers . . . 26He Followed the Trails of the Desert Padres

By HOPE GILBERT 27About those who write for Desert . . . . . 31Current news of desert mines 32From here and there on the desert 33Hard Rock Shorty of Death Valley 38Amateur Gem Cutter, by LELANDE QUICK . . 40Gems and Minerals 41Just Between You and Me, by the Editor . . . 46Reviews of Southwest literature 47

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 post office at Palm Desert,California, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Title registered No. 358865 in U. S. Patent Office.and contents copyrighted 1950 by the Desert Press, Inc. Permission to reproduce contentsmust be secured from the editor in writing.

RANDALL HENDERSON, Editor AL HAWORTH, Associate EditorBESS STACY, Business Manager MARTIN MORAN, Circulation Manager

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J U L Y , 1 9 5 0

When the boulders became too large for the jeep, westopped and made camp for the night.

La Mora Canyon inBaja California

After a recess of manymonths, Randall Henderson isexploring the canyons again,looking for the wild palm oaseswhich are hidden deep in thedesert wilderness of the twoCalifornias. He and his com-panions found the palms theywere seeking and also thecave dwelling of a prehistoricIndian family probably theonly humans ever to inhabitthis remote place.

By RANDALL HENDERSONEVENING in February this

year four of us camped amongthe rock at the entrance to La

Mora canyon in Baja California. Wehad driven our two jeeps up the arroyountil the boulders became so big theyblocked further progress. There wecooked our potatoes and corned beefand spread our bedrolls for the night.

La Mora is one of a dozen or morepalm canyons which drain the desertslope of the Sierra Juarez range justsouth of the international border.Some of these canyons Guadalupe

Bill Sherrill beside one of the two tinajas discoveredamong the rocks of the dry cascade.

with its gushing hot springs, Tajo withan estimated 4500 native palm trees,Palomar where the ancient Indians lefttheir scrolls on the rocks, and Canonde las Palmas Azules, canyon of theblue palms these have been de-scribed in previous issues of DesertMagazine.

They are precipitous canyons, withsprings or flowing streams of goodwater. There are palms in all of them,and abundant evidence that prehistoricIndians occupied them. Manuel De-mara, who has run cattle on the ba-jada at the base of the Sierra Juarezfor half a century, once told me therewere wild Indians in some of thecanyons as late as 1903.

On a previous trip into this littleknown region, Aries Adams and Ihad spotted La Mora canyon from adistance, and agreed that some daywe would explore it. We did not knowthe name of the canyon then. This isunsurveyed terrain, and there are nocomplete maps of it.

D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E

In January this year, Aries wrotethat he was ready for the trip. Weset the date for February and invitedBill Sherrill of the U. S. Border Patroland Walter Gatlin to accompany us.Both men have been our companionson previous jaunts into the Baja Cali-fornia country.

We crossed the border at Mexicaliat noon on Saturday. The Mexicanborder inspectors waved us on withlittle formality for we carried specialpermits issued through the courtesyof the Mexican Immigration Service.This was a reporter's expedition, andwe carried no firearms.

It had been nearly two years sincemy last trip into Baja California andI was agreeably surprised at the im-provements in progress. Mexicali hasgrown to a city of 40,000 people, andunder the direction of a young andprogressive governor, Alfonso GarciaGonzales, impor tan t highway con-struction is underway.

A paved road is nearing completionfrom Mexicali to the Gulf of Cali-fornia, 140 miles to the south. Thishighway will provide motorists andsportsmen with a fast road to therenowned Totuava fishing waters ofthe historic Sea of Cortez, as the gulfonce was named.

No less important is the new high-way along the Mexican side of theborder from Mexicali through Campoand Tecate to Ensenada on the Pa-cific coast. The rocky Cantu gradewhich zig-zagged up the desert face ofthe Sierra Juarez with a series of hair-pin turns, is being replaced with awell-engineered grade that is nearingcompletion. All along the route bull-dozers are cutting and filling to makea roadbed which promises smooth fasttravel for motorists within anotheryear.

The new grade is still rough, but wewere able to follow it in our jeeps toMt. Signal pass where we turned southacross the great dry basin of LagunaSalada.

Our immediate destination was De-mara Well, where we hoped to getinformation regarding the canyon wewere to explore. The veteran cattle-man Manuel Demara was not in hislittle adobe cabin. Four Mexicanvaqueros there told us he was up inGuadalupe canyon doctoring his rheu-matism at the hot springs. We couldsee the mouth of the gorge which wasour goal, 12 miles to the southwest.The vaqueros told us it was La Moracanyon. They did not know the originof the name.

Three palm groups were found inLa Mora Canyon, the upper group(center picture) was burned in re-cent years, probably by lightning.

J U L Y , 1 9 5 0

I TO EL CENTRO

CALEXICO

:'':'-?%!i$'"^ ' '':-:^aij

THIRD GROUP82 Palms

n ttyi'.T' CAMP

SECOND < - . GROUP">':-. 47Palms

FIRST :GROUP ;

.,v -, 12 Palms .^ .

. ,. ' '-^INDIAN

r$i*41>ptt0ll

Leaving cattle camp we followedthe truck ruts of Mexican wood-cut-ters along the edge of the old lake bedwhere there is a dense growth of mes-quite, and then headed up the arroyothat led to the mouth of La Mora.

We were climbing gradually acrossa great bajada covered with a luxuri-ant growth of desert vegetationpaloverde, ironwood, ocotillo, bisnaga,buckhorn cactus, smoke tree, catsclawand creosote. The palo verde andironwood trees carried great masses ofthe leafless desert mistletoe.

As we approached the base of the

Sierra Juarez with the V-gash of LaMora canyon always directly ahead,the heavy sand required all the powerour four-wheel-driven vehicles couldmuster.

We were able to navigate the sand,but near the mouth of the canyon weencountered great drift-piles of boul-dersand that is where we camped.The canyon would be explored on foottomorrow. It was a perfect campmild temperatures and an ample sup-ply of dead palo verde for the fire.

At the campfire that evening Sher-rill related his own and the experi-

ences of other patrolmen whose dutyit is to cover the area north of theborder in quest of aliens who havecrossed the line without proper pass-ports. Hardly a day passes when theydo not pick up from two to 50 illegalentrants, most of them Mexicans whohave crossed into the United Statesalong the unfenced border to seekemployment at higher wages than arepaid in Mexico"wet Mexicans" isthe common term for them. Americanemployers, as a rule, give the patrolofficers little cooperation, for they canalways get these illegal aliens to workfor less than the prevailing wage.

While the Mexicans use every pos-sible ruse to elude the officers, theygive little trouble when taken in cus-tody. Generally, they do not speakEnglish, and since the only penaltythat can be enforced against them is toput them in a prison compound for afew days and then deport them toMexico, they are docile prisoners.

We were up at daybreak the nextmorning, and with light backpacksthat included lunch and water we setout to discover what was beyond thefirst bend in the canyonand thebends beyond. For the torrents ofwater that gouge out the desert can-yons never flow in straight lines. Theyrebound from wall to walland per-sisting in this course for countlessages eventually they carve for them-selves a serpentine trail.

For the hiker who is interested inthe geology and the botany, and thelife of prehistoric tribesmen who mayhave dwelt here, every turn in thecanyon is a new adventure.

Our first bend brought us into ascattered forest of elephant trees. Ihad been watching for this tree, socommon to the desert of Baja Cali-fornia. Our camp was at an elevationof 1050 feet, and we reached the zoneof elephant trees at 1200 feet. Theyare low-growing trees, seldom over 15feet in height, with thick taperingtrunks and tiny leaves shaped likeminiature palm fronds.

Soon after leaving camp we knewthere were native palms somewhere upthe canyon. We found bits of brokenfronds in the piles of driftwood lodgedbehind boulders. But we were twomiles from camp before we caughtsight of the first palm oasis. It was asmall group just 12 trees growingin a cluster on the slope above thefloor of the canyon. Three of themwere tall veterans whose fronds hadbeen burned, probably by lightning.The smaller trees wore full skirts ofdry leaves.

There was no water on the surfacehere, but a thick deposit of travertinebelow the palms told the story of aflowing spring which once had gushed

DESERT MAGAZINE

from the sidehill above. Obviously,the water was still close to the surface,otherwise the palms would not havesurvived.

A quarter of a mile beyond thepalms the canyon forked and we wereuncertain as to which was the mainwater course. At the junction was acave formed by two great boulderswhich had rolled down a tributarycanyon and lodged together in sucha position as to provide shelter. Indianshad once lived in this cave. Therewere three mortars in flat bouldersat the entrance, and on a desert var-nished wall of rock opposite the cavewere a score of petroglyphs. They werebarely discernible, and we traced themwith chalk in order to make photo-graphs. Probably there was runningwater in this canyon when the abo-rigines camped in this little cavern.

We continued up the left fork, climb-ing the face of an ancient cascade ofslick granite. No stream tumbles overthis rock face today, except when thereare rains, but we found two large tina-jas with good water as we worked ourway up the precipitous waterfall.

At the top of the dry cascade thecanyon levelled off and we followedthe fresh tracks of a cougar along thesandy floor of the canyon. Probablyit had come down to the upper waterhole for waterand perhaps for ameal, for the sand was pitted with thetracks of smaller animals.

We continued along this fork farenough to make sure there were nopalms beyond, and then climbed theridge on our right and descended intothe right fork of the canyon. Oursearch for palms was well rewardedhere, for we reached the bottom ofthe canyon in a pretty little oasis of82 Washingtoniasall except two ofthem having lived for 50 to 75 yearswithout having their fronds burned.

There was a small seepage of water,and we stopped and ate our sand-wiches in this lovely cluster of palms.A canyon wren serenaded us as welolled in the shade before starting thedescent of this fork.

We had nearly reached the junctionwhere the Indian cave was locatedwhen up on the side of the canyonwe counted 49 palms in a third oasis.There was a great block of travertinehere, and among the rocks at the bot-tom of the canyon below the palmswas a spring with a trickle of waterthat disappeared in the sand 50 feetfrom where it bubbled out of the rocks.Eleven young palms grew along thislittle stream.

Our total count for the day was 143palmsall of them Washingtonias ofthe filifera species, the same palmfound in the canyons of the SouthernCalifornia desert. Guadalupe canyon,

In the largest oasis only two surviving palms of an older generation hadbeen burned. The others wore their full skirts of dead fronds.

a few miles to the north, and Palomarcanyon 12 miles to the south haveboth the filifera and the blue palm,Erythea armata, but I saw not oneof this species in La Mora.

There had been little rainfall in thisarea during the winter for we saw fewwildflowers in blossom, mainly purplelupine. Chuperosa was in blossombut it blooms every month of the yearwhether it rains or not.

By mid-afternoon we were back atcamp, and since there was ample time,

we decided to return to Mexicali byway of El Mayor so I could giveDesert Magazine readers a report onthe progress of the new Mexicali-SanFelipe highway which has been underconstruction the last two years.

Thousands of bisnaga cacti grow onthe bajada and on the lower slopes ofthe Sierra Juarez, and since Mexicohas no laws regarding this plant wetook time on our return from thehike to open one of these spiny waterbarrels to settlefor our own satisfac-

J U L Y , 1 9 5 0

fcgj> ~

taAfter many years of planning and two years of construction work the

new 140-mile surfaced highway from Mexicali on the California border tothe fishing village of San Felipe on the Gulf of California is nearly readyfor the motorists.

On May 1 only 20 miles of black-top surfacing remained to be in-stalled and Governor Gonzales of the Northern District of Baja Californiapromised that the road would be ready for motor travel within 60 days.

To accommodate the large numbers of American motorists and fisher-men who are expected to visit the gulf fishing port a comfortable hotel hasbeen built at San Felipe, and boats will be available for rental at SanFelipe harbor.

At the present time there is a span of more than 100 miles of thishighway, from El Mayor to San Felipe, where no gasoline or water areavailable. Additional service will be provided as travel on the new roadincreases.

The Gulf of California is famed for its good fishing. But over the oldroad it was a gruelling 12-hour motor trip which few drivers cared to face.With completion of the new road it will be an easy 3-hour drive fromMexicali.

Tourist permits for going into Mexico may be obtained from anyMexican consul, or from the Mexican immigration service at the Calexico-Mexicali border.

One of the thousands of elephant trees found growing above the 1200-footelevation.

At the junction of the canyonswas a prehistoric Indian cave withgrinding holes in the rocksandon the opposite wall were petro-glyphs left by the tribesmen. Theglyphs were chalked before takingthis picture. At the entrance tothe cave, left to right: WalterGatlin, Aries Adams and Bill

Sherrill.

tion the long-standing controversyas to the amount and quality of thewater which a thirsty man would beable to obtain from it. The story ofour experiment was told in DesertMagazine last month.

La Mora is not one of the largestof the canyons which drain into La-guna Salada from the eastern slope ofthe Sierra Juarez, nor has it as manypalms as some of the others. Never-theless, it does have three delightfullittle palm oases, and an abundantstand of Lower Sonoran zone vegeta-tion.

This was one of the few field tripsI have taken in the Southwest whenI spent an entire day without seeingany trace of previous visitorsthat is,excepting the ancient tribesmen whohad dwelt here. The Mexican va-queros never come to this canyon be-cause its waterholes are inaccessibleto cattle. Probably Mexican pros-pectors have come this waybut wesaw no tin can nor a blackened rocknor a "coyote hole" to prove they hadbeen here. La Mora has slumbereddown through the ages since itsIndian family departedin completesolitude.

Here is one place on the face of theearth where the hundreds of little ani-mals which left their tracks in the sandprobably will live out their lives with-out ever hearing the blast of the whiteman's firearmsweapons which per-haps have become more of a cursethan a blessing to the men who per-fected them.

D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E

After its turbulent course through the canyons and gashes of the Colorado plateaus,the Dolores flows quietly into the Colorado at this junction, one of the mostbeautiful spots along the great River of the West. Photo taken from Agate Hill.

Rocks Where theRivers Meet . . .

With a veteran rock collector and lost mine hunter as a guide,Harold Weight followed a winding dirt road that led to Agate Hill ineastern Utahand there found a precipitous mountainside coveredwith broken jasper of varied and beautiful coloring. They also founda perfect vacation campsite for those who like to loaf and fish. Thelocale of this story is the fabulous desert wilderness of southeasternUtaha region featured in many past issues of Desert Magazine.

By HAROLD WEIGHTPhotographs by the author

^ ^ ^ H A T ROCK comes from aI pretty place," Bill Henneber-

ger told us as we admiredhis pieces of bright jasper. "It is fromAgate Hill in eastern Utah, wherethe Colorado and Dolores rivers cometogether. I collected it when I wasdown at Dewey bridge, repairing placermining equipment."

We were looking over Bill's rocksat his home in Grand Junction, Colo-rado, and planning possible fieldtrips. Agate Hill sounded promisingand Bill assured us there was plentyof the jasper. It was gratifying to

know a good dirt road, used dailyby the Cisco-Moab mail carrier, pass-ed the fieldbut it was also disil-lusioning to me. I had always picturedthe junction of the Colorado and theDolores as remote and inaccessible.

While we drove along Highway 6and 50 toward the Utah border, BillHenneberger, who has prospected andhunted rocks as a hobby since he cameWest in 1916, told us of his firstvisit to Agate Hill. His present workas a machinist, including repair ofmining and milling equipment, some-times takes him on business to places

where rockhounds could spend happyvacations.

A broken winch which had beenused to haul a placer gold recoverymachine through the river broughthim to the junction of the Coloradoand Dolores in 1944. From Bill's de-scription, it must have been quite agadget. A cable had been anchoredon either side of the Colorado, and agenerator and electromagnets weredragged back and forth on the floor ofthe river on it. The generator was in a"sort of submarine" with pipes stickingabove the water. Apparently the ma-chine depended upon setting up mag-netic fields which would attract theblack iron sands, then trap the finegold and other minerals of great spe-cific gravity in the iron held by themagnetic fields.

If that sounds complicated youshould see some equipment for re-covery of fine and flour gold. Every-one with an inventive turn of mindseems to have worked on the problem.In 1936 the California Journal ofMining and Geology estimated 7000such devices had been patented. Someare simple, others unbelievably com-plex. Some work fairly well, some areworthless. The Colorado River sandshave been the testing ground andgraveyardfor many.

J U L Y , 1 9 5 0

CR.AND JUNCTION

- \

While repairing the winch, Bill sawthe colorful jasper and agate chunksaround the old cabins where theminers lived, and learned where theyhad been found. He stopped to collectsome on the way out.

He has another hobby. He is anavid lost mine and buried treasurefan and has collected all availableinformation about many of these brightlegends of the West. He has searchedfor severalincluding Southern Cali-fornia's Lost Pegleg sometimes withthe aid of his M-Scope.

"There's a railroad station calledSagers up ahead, about five mileswest of Cisco," he said. "Once a Jap-anese cook worked there and accordingto the story he had a lot of money,all in silver coin. When he was alone,two Mexican workers tried to forcehim to give up his money. They killedhim when he refused, but they didn'tfind his coin, and neither has anyoneelse. Folks think he must have buriedit near by. But I went over everylikely place with my detector anddidn't get an indication."

I've been interested in these loca-tors since the war when I operateda similar but more sensitive airbornedevice designed to spot submergedsubmarines. I had never seen one ofthe little metal detectors in actualservice, so I questioned Bill regardingtheir usefulness.

He grinned. "It certainly detectsmetal. About 44 years ago there wasa train robbery near Grand Valley.A chest of gold coin was carried offby the robbers, lashed between the

13

saddle horn of two horses. They car-ried it across the Colorado River, andare supposed to have buried it bythree big cottonwoods about 200 yardsbelow the present bridge. I didn'tfind any gold coin when I tried mydetector there, but I did locate stoveplates, truck wheels and a lot of otherscrap. Even the black iron sand in theriver bars gave me strong indications!"

Our last chance to check gas, oiland supplies was at Cisco, Utah, about55 miles from Grand Junction. Zeroingour speedometer there, we continuedon the main highway west for 2.5miles, then turned south on StateHighway 128. This is the Colorado

DEWEY BRIDGE LOG00.0 Cisco, Utah. Approx. 55 miles

west of Grand Junction, Colo-rado and 236 miles east of SaltLake City on U. S. 6 & 50.Follow U. S. 6 & 50 southwestto

02.5 Junction with Utah State 128,the Colorado River road. Turnleft (south) on 128. Dirt road,slippery in wet weather.

07.0 Cross Sagers wash, "Dangerousin flood."

07.2 Road Y. Keep left. Rightbranch goes to Squaw Parkmining district, uranium andvanadium.

08.0 Abandoned log cabin (left)marks old Cato homestead.

10.4 Agate Hill collecting area,right; junction of Colorado andDolores rivers, left.

11.6 Dewey suspension bridge Limit four tons. (Moab 35miles.)

River road, reaching the river northof the Dolores and following it toMoab along red cliffs and throughgreen bottom-land.

Utah State Guide lists 128 as: "Notrecommended for squeamish driversor timid passengers, impassable in win-ter and during spring floods." Theroad has been improved since that waswritten, but wise motorists will checkits condition at Moab or Cisco beforeattempting a through trip. Howeverfrom the pavement to Dewey bridgeit is an excellent desert road when dry.

"But if it rains," Bill warned, "itgets as slick as grease." He added,comfortingly, "If it doesn ' t rainenough to soak through you might getout in a couple of hours." Anyonewho has slid purposelesslyand ap-parently in at least four directions atonceon a wet Utah clay road willneed no additional warning.

The road made its first branch justacross Sagers washposted "Danger-ous in flood"and 7.2 miles fromCisco. We kept left. This is in Utah'suranium boom country, and the rightbranch leads to Squaw Park miningdistrict where carnotite and vanadiumclaims are being worked.

As we neared the Colorado, Billpointed out the picturesque ruins ofa log cabin under cottonwoods to theleft. "Quintus Cato homesteadedthere in 1908," he said. "He was theone who started the placer miningdown by Dewey bridge. Philip Mc-Carey owns that ranch now."

The Colorado river came in sight onour left and the road narrowed, wind-

D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E

William C. Henneberger, who first collected Agate Hill cutting material in 1944after repairing mining equipment on the river below, points to an outcropping of

the yellow-red-purple jasper.

ing between the water and high red-dish cliffs. Tamarisk and arrowweedlined the stream edge and as werounded a curve pheasants in theroad scattered and took off in lowwhirring flight across the river. Driv-ing the last .twisting section beforereaching Agate Hill, we were ab-sorbed by the quiet beauty of the riverand its canyon.

The occasional gravelly banks andsmall sand bars, the deep shadow ofthe shimmering green cottonwoodswere so inviting we started planning areturn trip when we could spendleisurely days here. We would hikeup tributary canyons, fish in smoothflowing water, relax under trees or onsunny sand, and watch the wildlifethat concentrates around water in thedesert.

As we rounded a sharp bend, thecanyon opened up and Bill said:"We're here! Look to the right. There'sa bench mark at the back of that bigboulder. Stop just beyond it and we'llclimb that slope."

When Bill sets foot in a rock field,he soon disappears over the hill, leav-ing even seasoned rockhounds panting.He's also something of a mountaingoat. So it was not too surprising thatthe "slope" was a precipitous moun-tainside where we looked up and up

J U L Y , 1 9 5 0

at a series of striking formations.Then we were scrambling up, over

and around large boulders, apparentlyof limestone. Among them we foundchunks and boulders of jasper match-ing that in Bill's collection. Red, yel-low and purple was the predominatecombination. The most distinctive pat-terns were yellow and purple withtendrils and feathers of Chinese red.The best specimens had all three col-ors in fine moss.

We were elated by the size of somepieces, but soon discovered that manyof the bigger ones were fractured andthat their centers often were not asgood in color or texture as the smallerchunks. We continued to climb untilwe reached an overhang under whichexcavations apparent ly had beenmade. A good deal of the jasper hadbeen removed here. Some of the ledgecontained minute quartz crystals andcalcite, and the quality did not seemas good as that below.

From our perch at the base of theoverhang, Bill pointed to the valleybelow, where a cottonwood oasis shel-tered weathered cabins. "That's theranch where I stayed while fixing thewinch. An old fellow named Parkerlived there and operated the placer. Itwas originally homesteaded by FrankHatch about 1900, and now it's owned

by Lester Taylor of Moab."It seemed a perfect picture of fron-

tier Utahthe old log cabins almosthidden under the cottonwoods, thegreen meadowland circled by toweringreddish cliffs, the two rivers minglingsmoothly into a great silver band atthe cliff base. And over it all the crispblue sky was alive with hurrying whiteclouds. Frank Hatch knew how topick a homesite!

By the time we had sampled thejasper, the entire hil lside was inshadow. We wanted to see and photo-graph the Dewey suspension bridge, sowe drove on. Before we reached theslender span, Bill pointed out a gaso-line power shovel across the river,recalling his second visit to the area afew months before.

A number of outfits have attemptedto mine placer gold in this area. Quin-tus Cato is supposed to have been thefirst in 1908 and also the mostsuccessful, having recovered $10,000,most of it from one pocket. The latestis the Cisco Mining company, andthey bought the power shovel fromthe S and M Supply company forwhich Bill works. The big shovel washauled to the bridge on a low semi-trailer, but obviously couldn't be car-ried across. So it forded the Coloradounder its own power, but broke a

11

The old Hatch homesteadlog cabins under the cottonwoodsis a landmark forthe collecting field, right foreground. Dewey bridge is to the right of the sandstoneheadland, center right. Many attempts to reclaim fine placer gold have been made

along this stretch of the Colorado.clutch shaft part way up the oppositebank. Bill made a new part for theshovel, brought it down and installedit, then drove the big machine out ofthe river.

Bill learned the machinist's trade inPennsylvania when he was 17 and firstcame to Grand Junction to work inthe Denver and Rio Grande Westernshops. When they put him in theround house, he quit in disgust andpicked apples until he earned his fareback East. Once there he missed Colo-rado so much that he rode a freightfrom Chicago to get back. Enlistingfrom Grand Junc t ion , he servedthrough World War I in the navy asaviation mechanic.

He is especially fond of his presentjob because of the variety it affords.He has gone high into the Coloradomountains in the winter snows to dis-mantle old mills at Silverton andLeadville, and into the Utah desertheat to work on balky compressorsin the carnotite mines. But this doesnot furnish enough outdoor life forBill. In the winters he loads an oldpickup, equipped with metal cabin,bed and stove, and takes off for arockhunting and fishing expedition inthe southern deserts.

When we reached the Dewey bridgeand saw the four-ton limit, we esti-

mated the truck's weight, our own andthe load of rocks and camping equip-ment in the back. There seemed a fairmargin of safety so we set the wheelson the single track. The bridge was abit agitated by our passing, but didn'tlet us down.

This bridge is one of the two whichcross the more than 400 miles ofColorado river separating what we callthe Utah strip from the rest of thestate. The other is at Moab. TheArizona strip, cut off by the Coloradoriver in the northwest corner of thatstate has been widely publicized. Thissoutheastern corner of Utah, isolatedby the same river, is just about as largeand has a much greater population,including the towns of Blanding, Mon-ticello and Moab.

There was little time to explore atDewey and, having photographed thebridge, we turned back. It was nearlydark when we reached Agate Hillagain, but I wanted to stop for a lastlook at the two rivers.

Only since 1921 has there been ajunction of the Dolores and the Colo-rado. Before then, it was the Doloresand the Grand with the Colorado com-ing into existence where the Grandand the Green joined. The Grand,famous among early mountain menand explorers, was renamed the Colo-

rado by Congress and the states in-volved when stream measurementsproved the Green to be tributary to it.

Probably mountain men campedand trapped beaver at this spot. Butnone of themBill Williams, Rubi-doux, Fitzpatrick or the rest leftmuch more than a depleted beaverpopulation to show where they hadpassed. The early westward travelersseemed to have missed the junction.Escalante and Dominguez, in 1776,crossed the Dolores miles above thispoint. Branches of the Old SpanishTrail, followed by New Mexicantraders to California in the 1830s and1840s, apparently forded the Colo-rado to the north and south. The latermain routes of emigration were to thenorth.

The pioneer river adventurers fa-vored the Green over this branch, andthere is only one early trip on recorddown the Grand from Grand Junctionthrough to the Green. That was madeby F. C. Kendrick in 1889, when hesurveyed for the railroad Frank M.Brown dreamed of constructing atriver grade through the Grand Canyonto the Gulf. The Dolores resistedWhitewater boatmen until 1948 whena trip from near its source to the junc-tion was completed by Mr. and Mrs.Preston Walker of Grand Junction and

12 DESERT M A G A Z I N E

Otis and Margaret Marston of Berke-ley. They used a cataract-type boatbuilt by the late Norman Nevills andreported the Dolores more turbulentthan the Snake or Colorado rivers.

As I watched from the slope ofAgate Hill, dusk poured into the littlevalley and the rich black shadows ofthe cliffs were heavy on the bottomlands. The old log cabins vanishedunder the cottonwoods. The thread ofroad, last evidence of human work-ings, became indistinct. Across thevalley the waters of the Dolorespoured silently from the still wild,still mysterious plateaus and moun-tains to mingle with the Colorado ina shining silver Y.

In that last light the junction of thetwo rivers became as lonely and re-mote from the present-day world as Ihad first imagined it would be. Aliento man, yet neither friendly nor un-friendly. Disturbing yet peaceful. Atthe very edge of space and outsidethe fetters of time.

I said something about it to Bill aswe drove back toward the paving.About the untamed, unknown countrythat here lay close to the towns andjust beyond the roads. He took meup enthusiastically.

"Unknown is right! We've got alost mine within a dozen miles ofGrand Junction, the biggest city in thispart of the country."

It's the Lost Pin Gold mine, and the

story seems to have started about1924 with an old prospector whobrought placer gold in little pin-shapedpieces into Grand Junction and soldit to a jeweler. When he died, effortswere made to find the source of hisgold. They knew he had ridden outwith a man cutting posts in the cedarbreaks. This man took him up thesouth side of the Gunnison River pastthe Black Rock dam. Beyond thatpoint they could not trace him.

Then in 1945 two men left GrandJunction, crossed the Gunnison riverbridge and turned left up the river.They entered one of the many can-yons there and hiked until sundownwhen they made camp. While lookingfor wood one of them noticed littlemetallic bits on a flat surface of rocks.They were tenderfeet, but it lookedlike gold so they picked up what theycould find before dark.

The next day they returned toGrand Junction where a prospectornamed Smith identified their find asgold. The two men went on to Cali-fornia, but one of them returned in1947 to relocate the gold. He wasunsuccessful.

On his first hunt for the pin gold,Bill Henneberger found nothing. Hetried again Labor Day 1949. WithCharlie White he went up the bigcanyon east of one called No Thor-oughfare . There are four mainbranches in this canyon and about amile up one of them Bill and Charlie

found water trickling between deepholes worn in the solid rock.

"I'd forgotten to bring a canteen,"Bill explained, "and we had to havewater or turn back. I told Charlie,'Let's try this. If it was bad water,those frogs and tadpoles wouldn't bein it.' So we drank it and it suretasted good."

They continued and about two milesup the branch found an old campsiteon the edge of the wash. "Grass andshrubs had grown up in the woodashes where the fire had been. And Ifound a cache with a shovel, axe, skil-lets, pans and tin cans. The bottomswere rusted out of pans and skilletsand the axe and shovel handles wererotted. I took samples in likely placesin the canyon, but never panned acolor. But I put a new handle in theaxe, and I'm using it today.

"That's all I've gotten out of theLost Pin Gold mine so far. But I'mcertain that was the old prospector'scamp. I'm going back again, and nexttime I think I'll find it."

We hope Bill does find his Lost PinGold. But we doubt if he'll be reallydisappointed if he doesn't, because wethink Bill is one of those people wholike to be out in the desert wilderness,whatever the excuse. Who agree withthat ancient chronicler of the Coro-nado expedition who said, in effect,that even if they hadn't found gold,they'd found a wonderful place to lookfor it.

Dewey suspension bridgeone of only two bridges which cross more than 400miles of the Colorado River and tie the colorful and fairly populous "Utah Strip,"the southeast corner of the state, to the rest of Utah. Present placer mining opera-

tions are being carried on just beyond the bridge and to the right.

: ! - ' \ .

J U L Y , 1 9 5 0 13

MEXICAN STRIPED RACER: (Masticophis taeniatus ornatus): The snake onthe right measured 54 inches. Its tail made up 19 inches of the total. This is oneof the Southwest's most striking snakes. It ranges southward into northern Mexico

where it has been found in association with the creosote bush desert.

Streamlined for Speed . .By GEORGE M. BRADT

Phonograph by the Author

OLD one of these long, slender snakes by the neckand you will get the surprise of your life. It willnot hang limp as do some snakes, or try to curl

about your hand or arm as do others, but will immediatelybegin lashing about with its whip-like body. Five and ahalf feet of scaly body makes an effective lash, and aftertwo or three blows you are ready to let it go. This maywell have been the start of the popular belief that somesnakes chase people in order to inflict a beating upon them.

This species is one of the Southwest's speediest snakes.I have chased them among the rocks and underbrush inwhich they live and have only succeeded in catching themafter they have tried to hide under a rock or in a shallowhole. But in spite of this, snakes are really not the swiftcreatures they are popularly supposed to be. None caneven begin to approach the speed necessary to out-distancea man, as has so often been claimed. Tests with variousspecies have shown that our fastest snakes, the racers,probably do not exceed a maximum of four miles an hour,even for a short distance. A rattler may go two miles anhour, a bull snake one and a half, and a king snake lessthan one mile an hour. They can certainly outdodge aman, however.

To get from one place to another when searching for

14

food, a mate, or a place to hide or hibernate, snakes havedeveloped three main types of locomotion. The methodused by the majority of snakes, both land and waterspecies, is the wriggling or " horizontal undulatory" typein whice the snake uses lateral body curves pushed againstirregularities in the ground to force itself forward. Thesnake's trail in sand or water when employing this methodappears as a series of horizontal s-curves. The second or"caterpillar" type is used principally by the heavy-bodiedrattler, and consists of crawling in a straight line by alter-nately anchoring a few belly scales on rough places inthe ground and pulling itself forward. A third is the amaz-ing and complicated "sidewinding" of the horned rattle-snakes. It is a specialized method of progressing overloose sand whereby the body is thrown into a series ofloops as the snake moves obliquely to the direction inwhich it is pointing.

A snake's color pattern is closely related to its physicalactivity. Active species such as racers and garter snakesare usually a single color or striped; sluggish forms likethe rattlers are often blotched; and those of average activityare ringed or blotched like the bull and king snakes. Theextreme flexibility of body which enables a snake tocrawl and climb, swim, burrow, coil and strike is madepossible by a great number of vertebrae, and by the longmuscles, several pairs to a vertebra, which flex them. Sogreat is this amazing pliancy that a snake can be tied intoa knot without injuring the backbone, muscles, ribs or skin.

DESERT MAGAZINE

"Shading her eyes, she watched him gallop over the mesa until he was swallowedup in the purple and lavender layers of distance. Amado was gone!"

Without Pawn . . .The Hopi mesas in northern Arizona constitute

a little island entirely surrounded by the triballands of the Navajo. Both peoples derive theirlivelihoods from the arid desert but beyondthis fact they have little in common. In religionand in tribal custom they are as far apart as theEskimo and the Hottentotand it is not surprising,then, that beneath the surface there should be mis-understanding and racial prejudice. Here is astory in which a Navajo girl found a way to bridgethat chasm of racial enmity. Desert Magazinedoes not often publish fiction, but we accepted thismanuscript because we feel that the drama of thisstory is more revealing than any mere factualarticle could be.

By MARGARET MOWERSketch by Dorothy Stauffer

7HE DUST from the rodeo fieldrose in a yellow cloud into theSeptember sky of a late Sundayafternoon. Nellie Barbee sat on theground near the calf chute, anxiouslysearching the crowd for Amado, whilsther baby, bound to a board lyingacross her knees, slept. The child'sfather was a good rider and alwayswanted to show that a Hopi couldrope faster than a Navajo. She hadcounted on his joining the contests.Although the games were being heldin Navajo territory, many Hopis hadcome to show their prowess. Butnow the affair was almost over andshe had not seen him.

Nellie sat relaxed in body, but theturning of her head and the sensitivemovement of the corners of her mouthbetrayed her strain. The skin wasfinely stretched over her high Navajocheek-bones. Her hair, bound firmlywith strands of cream-colored wool,protruded in a large knot at the back

1 U L Y , 1 9 5 0

of her head. Hers was a stark, strongbeauty, set off by her dark blue velvetblouse, by her silver necklace and herturquoise beads hanging to her waist.Through her ears were strung smallturquoises, and on each wrist was anenormous plaque-bracelet, making herbronze hands appear small and deli-cate. She sat quiet and alone, withoutspeaking to anyone. Her pride for-bade her asking about Amado. Hertrouble was one she did not want toshare, even with the members of herown family.

A stir in the crowd interrupted herbrooding and drew her attention toa car bumping over the rutted roadleading from the Trading Post tothe field. She recognized it as be-longing to Raymond Ganner, thetrader. Nellie had known him sincechildhood. Many times she had seenhim with her father. The two men hadbeen old friends. The White manowned several Trading Posts in theterritory, and she had always been in

awe of him. Now she stood up, inter-ested in his every move.

Ganner, or Ramon, as everyonecalled him, strode over to the roughplatform, set up for the occasion, andspoke with the announcer in fluentNavajo. The Indians gathered aroundhim as he offered cash prizes for theremaining foot races, to be run firstby the two oldest men, then thewomen, and finally, the children. Asa finale, he talked of a tug of warbetween ten Navajos and ten Hopis ofhis choosing. A murmur of approvalarose from the alert but usually silentonlookers.

Nellie watched the races with stoicpatience, waiting for the tug of war,her last hope of finding Amado. Therope was finally stretched in the cen-ter of the field, rather far from whereshe stood, but she could see Ramonpicking out the volunteers and rang-ing them on either side. It seemedthat the Hopis had more weight, butshe knew her people would not allowa defeat on their own territory. Sud-denly, last to be chosen on the endof the Hopi rope, she saw Amado!She edged her way along the sidelinestowards the center of the field whereshe could observe more carefully.

Ramon raised his sombrero, countedthree, then whipped it down with aswift gesture. The rope seesawed backand forth for a few minutes. TheNavajos pulled with a fierce relentlessrhythm, their backs arched, the mus-cles of their legs and arms taut, theirbronze faces set. Then slowly theHopis gave way, their bulk sprawledover the line, many on their knees inthe dust. The tension eased, and thecrowd broke up with grunts of satis-faction from the Navajos.

Nellie tried to climb under the wirethat held back the onlookers from thefield, but children and more agile per-sons swarmed around her, hemmingher in. Desperately she kept her eyeson Amado, but she could not reach

15

him. She saw him run over to theother side of the field, swing into thesaddle, giving his roan pony an angrykick with his heels and forcing anopening through the crowd, lookingneither to right nor left. Shading hereyes, she watched him gallop over themesa until finally he was swallowedup in the purple and lavender layersof distance, and the cool of the eve-ning roused her from her vigil. Amadowas gone.

As she fastened her baby to herback by the shoulder straps andwalked toward the Trading Post, hermind was not at all on picking her waybarefoot over the rough road. She didnot even notice the little whiffs of dustkicked up by the ruffles of her longskirt. She was thinking of the eventsshe had just seen and of what sheshould do now. She was glad hermother had not come to the rodeo togloat over Amado's leaving her again.Amado had come back for the games,but had not wanted to find her, norsee his three-weeks-old son! Angryover the Hopi defeat, he had riddenaway again, off towards the BlackButte country. He would not comeback for a long time unless she foundsome new way to reach him. Nodoubt, in his present mood, he felt hemust avoid her brother Bob and an-other fight. She had come betweenthem the last time, but once a Hopiand a Navajo became enemies, theywould surely fight to the death if theymet again. She tossed back her headlike a pony shying at some dread ob-ject. Stupid men! Why must they hateeach other because of her? What couldshe do?

Darkness was creeping over themesa and she hurried on to the Trad-ing Post, now less than a quarter ofa mile away. A square, rough-hewn,stockade-like building, it stood like alonely fortress in the vast land of theherders. No sign, no pole, no man-made fence scarred the mesas rollingtowards the cedar and pinon-coveredmountains on the horizon. Those ho-gans which were within range meltedinto the background. They were partof the silence and the peace that layunder the endless heavens. The aro-matic scent of the sage-brush rose toNellie's nostrils from the fast coolingground. She breathed deeply of itbefore entering the Post.

Inside, the building, strange shadowsmoved over the walls, cast by twoswinging oil lamps. Navajo men instraight-brimmed black hats stood ingroups, shuffling their feet, waiting fortheir first refreshment after the hotdusty afternoon; for pop, or toddle-toche. The continuous tinkle of thefalling bottlecaps cut through thedrone of muffled voices. The air was

heavy with acrid smell of sweat andleather.

Nellie passed along unnoticed, weav-ing around the men, watching care-fully. As she had expected, herbrother Bob was in the center of agroup of five or six. She heard himbrag over the Navajo victory in thetug of war, and she heard the lowderisive laughter of the others whenthey spoke of Amado. A knot formedin the pit of her stomach. She slid thestraps off her shoulders and held herchild closely to her. As she stoodbrooding in front of the counter, shebecame aware of the watery stare ofa pair of pale eyes. Their owner,Perry Hallett, was manager of thePost. His sandy hair, white eye-lashesand bony nose gave him the look ofa bald-headed eagle as he leanedtowards her as though contemplatingsome prey.

"Buying again, Nellie Barbee?" heasked in a nasal tone, as she beganpicking out some safety pins, toothpicks, flashlight batteries and otheritems from the counter in front of her.She said nothing, merely pointed toevaporated milk, babies' food, andcanned vegetables on the shelves,which she carefully piled together ashe got them down. While he wasadding up the sales slip, she remem-bered she had no money with her; herbrother carried the family purse. Re-luctantly she turned to ask him forwhat she needed, but stopped short,hearing more of his ugly words. Shecould not bring herself to ask him;she could not move. Her jaw set andher nostrils flared. Trapped, she againfaced the counter. She stood quite stilluntil, suddenly, she was seized with anew idea. It came to her strangely,from the outside, from the GreatSpirit! She would have her own credit!

"Please to charge these to my ac-count." She said it to Hallett, slowlystressing the words.

"You mean your family's, don'tyou?" said Hallett.

"No, not any more, please make itseparate, I have my own sheep, I canpay." She gave him a searching lookfrom under her black brows, a lookof mingled appeal and command. Whyhad she not thought before to be freeof her mother and her brother?

"But you have no account of yourown. I can't give you credit withoutpawn, you know that." He lookeddown at her bracelets with a calculat-ing eye.

"My father and whole family alwayshave big credit with Ramon." Nelliefelt stirred with pride.

"Not without some kind of holdings.Besides, you're not like the rest ofyour family, Nellie. Not so regular."

He eyed her maliciously. "You've gota baby, and everybody knows you'renot married. I might get into trouble.It's cash or pawn, or you'll have towait."

"You ask Ramon!" Nellie's armswound more tightly around the bundleshe held. She felt herself growingstrong, ready to fight for this new ideaof freedom.

"You ask him." Hallett retorted.He pushed her purchases to the backof the counter and turned on his heel.

Nellie's lip curled in disdain, butshe was quivering. Making for thedoor through the forest of dark fig-ures, she stepped out into the night.The dome of dark blue, rich withstars, curved down to meet the pla-teau. She looked up as if to read someanswer to her dilemma in the MilkyWay. It was true that she had nolegal husband, but that was not of herchoosing. Her brother had brought thisshame upon her. She and Amadowould have been married by a priestby now, if Bob had not fought withAmado because he thought no Hopifit to be his sister's husband. Hermother, too, had sided with herbrother. They had said black, old-fashioned words. Deep hatred was intheir hearts for any Hopi. Amado hadwanted to marry her until he had beeninsulted. He had bowed before thisparental wrath, not out of fear forhimself, but out of fear for her. Buthe would come back sometime! Thewind and the stars and the dawn knewshe was married to Amado, even ifthere had been no wedding in achurch. Did Perry Hallett think shewas a bad woman? Should a whiteman be as unjust as her brother? NotRamon! Ramon had known her fatheras a friend. She must find him; shewould dare to talk to him.

Burning now with the desire toshow Hallett that a Barbee was not tobe put aside so lightly, she found herway in the dark to her wagon and toher two younger sisters, who had al-ready unharnessed the horses and hob-bled them for the night. Briefly shetold them that she must see Ramon.Leaving the baby in their care, shewrapped a blanket securely aroundher, masking her head and shoulders.So, she set out alone to find him.

Ramon's office opened onto acrude, uncovered platform, crowdedwith Navajo herders and cattle menwaiting to, bargain with the Patron. Itwas September, marketing time andNellie was the only woman there.Through the office window she couldsee Ramon on one side of a kitchentable, an oil lamp between him andhis succession of visitors. She watchedmany come and go.

16 DESERT MAGAZINE

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Navajo gather for one of their ceremonials or rodeos.Photograph by Rolf Tiegens, Albuquerque.

She saw one take out of his saddle-bag three long belts, decorated withsilver conches and a silver bridle-bitand lay them on the table for Ramonto examine. Pawn! Nellie knew howdear to the heart of a Navajo were hisbelts, his buckles, his turquoise beads.She saw the man walk out leaving hispossessions on the table, and a pangseized her. Would Ramon ask her forher bracelets? She fingered them inthe dark and stroked each stone. Theywere worth much in money, but to herthey were morethe mystic symbolof her future. Amado had made themfor her. Her thoughts were inter-rupted by the sight of her brotherentering the office. He stood beforeRamon, a very different man, shethought, from the one who had turnedon her that night five months ago, andsavagely cursed her for knocking from

his hand the knife that he had drawnagainst Amado. At last he came out.She sat silent and unnoticed as hepassed her and disappeared.

She did not see Ramon that nightnor the next.

It was on the morning of the secondday that he finally called her in. Acup of coffee in his hand. He shoutedto the housekeeper to bring anotherfor "handsome Nellie Barbee." Butshe did not take the coffee nor thechair offered her. Some memoryprompted her to sit on the floor at hisfeet as she had done as a child. Herupturned face was gaunt from twoalmost sleepless nights, and her eyesstood out dark with questions.

"You have something on your mind,I can see. Go ahead, Nellie." Ramontipped back in his office chair.

"I want to buy . . . " she began.

"From your face I thought you hadstabbed someone at least," he inter-rupted. Smiling, he patted her on thehead, and she wondered what he hadheard about her. She felt she must actquickly now. Stripping the braceletsfrom her wrists, she forced them intohis hand, taking him off his guard.

"I am no more child, I want myown credit! Here is pawn!" she saidpassionately. He studied her, surprisedat her sudden flash of emotion. "That'snot the whole story. Come, let's haveit."

It took only those few words totouch the main-spring of her deeplyinjured feelings. Breaking into Navajo,she told him of Amado's courtship,how they planned to marry, of howthey had been left alone in the hoganone night while the rest were huntingsome lost animals in an arroyo. She

J U L Y , 1 9 5 0 17

Quiz This monthly Quiz is one of the most popularl c a t u r c s in t n e Desert Magazine. The desertfojjjg like it because it is a real test of theirknowledge of the land in which they reside. The tenderfoot readers likeit because it provides an interesting lesson each month in the-history,geography, Indian life, botany, mineralogy and lore of the desert region.A score of 12 to 14 correct answers is good, 15 to 17 is excellent, 18 orover is exceptional. The answers are on page 45.

1If you applied to Uncle Sam for a "Jackrabbit Homestead" your leasewould be forFive acres 10 acres 40 acres 160acres

2Going from Tucson, Arizona, to Guaymas, Mexico, you would crossthe international border atDouglas Nogales El PasoMexicali

3The name Peralta is associated with the legends ofThe Lost Gun-sight mine Lost Breyfogle Lost Arch Lost Dutch-man

APrehistoric Americans ground their meal in aMetate AtlatlMescal pit Kisa

5The blossom of the Nolina isYellow Crimson BlueCreamy white

6The Mountain men who trapped the Western territory during themiddle of the last century derived their income mainly from the fursofFox Beaver Mink Coon

7For climbing precipitous rocks in dry weather the safest footgear towear isLeather-soled moccasins Hobnailed boots Leathersandals Rubber-soled shoes

8The pass through the mountains of Southern California between SanGorgonio and San Jacinto peaks is properly calledCahuilla pass

Banning pass Whitewater pass San Gorgoniopass

9The color of azurite isGreen White LavenderBlue

10Ganado is a Presbyterian mission on the reservation of theNavajoIndians Apaches Yumas Paiutes

11"Butch" Cassidy whose name occupied a conspicuous place in theannals of the West between 1822 and 1846 was aFamous sheriff

Notorious outlaw Fur trapper Army scout12The Southwestern state having the smallest population per square

mile isNevada Arizona Utah New Mexico13One of the following Arizona towns is not near the banks of the Little

Colorado riverCameron Holbrook Ashfork Wins-low

14Arizona's annual Buffalo hunt is held inWhite Mountain Apachereservation Chiricahua National Monument HouserockValley Petrified Forest

15One of the main sources of food for early Indians living on theSouthern California desert was beans from theMesquite treeIronwood tree Smoke tree Joshua tree

16The approximate age of prehistoric pueblo ruins in the Southwest ismost accurately determined byIndian legends Tree rings inroof timbers Pottery shards Petroglyphs on the rocks

17Chief industry of Trona, California isMilling of gold Recoveryof chemicals Mining of lead Processing of magnesium

18Most of the flagstone used in the Southwest is produced from quar-ries atRuth, Nevada Ashfork, Arizona Daggett, Cali-fornia Cedar City, Utah

19River flowing near the town of Carlsbad, New Mexico isThe RioGrande San Pedro Pecos Escalante

20Leader of the first expedition to navigate the Colorado river throughGrand Canyon wasFremont Powell Kit CarsonJohn Wetherill

described the fight between Amadoand her brother, and the bitter oppo-sition of her mother. Her plea, in thelong vowels and gutteral consonantsof her language, flowed out movingand direct.

Ramon was thoughtful, stopping hergently. "What does your mother say?"

"She say Hopi is not good enough.She say make Amado send hundreddollars and conch belt and forget."

Ramon replied slowly. "Marriagewithout your mother's consent is dan-gerous. I don't advise it. You haveyour son, Nellie, gossip soon dies andwe'll see about the money. Perhapsit is best."

Nellie lowered her eyes, rockingback and forth, communicating heranguish to him through the thicksilence. The tassels of her necklaceswung rhythmically.

"So it's Amado you really want?"It was too hard an admission for

her to make in words. Her head sankon her breast, she swayed continu-ously, her arms around her knees, andagain she moved him deeply. Severalseconds went by before he rose.Touching her head, he walked slowlydown the length of the room beforehe called through the door leading tothe store.

"Hallett, I want to speak to you."The store manager came into the of-fice.

"Hallett, you know Nellie Barbee.Her father was one of the biggestsheep herders on the reservation. Wehave always had good dealings withthe Barbees. I know that Nellie hereis like her father, can be trusted to thepenny. Establish a separate accountfor her, and I am not going to takepawnwhatever she wants she canhave on credit, is that clear?"

Hallett nodded and retreated."Without Pawn!" The words sang

like dawn-birds in her ears. Nellieknew that Ramon was breaking everyrule for her. She knew the news wouldrace along the reservation grape-vine.So quick to know the daily price ofcalves, communicated without wires tothe farthest outpost. Navaio and Hopiwould know that Ramon had openedher own credit, that she, Nellie Bar-bee, was free from her family . . . freeto marrv. Amado would hear. Amadowould know that she had fought forthis freedom for him. He would come!

Her eyes said all that she found soimpossible to voice as she held out herhand self-consciously in the Americanfashion. Ramon slid her braceletsaround her narrow wrists. "Goodbye," he said, "and good luck, Nellie."

18 D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E

Catherine Venn's cabana beside the little rock hill for which the homestead wasnamed. The dark ridge in the left background is Haystack Mountain, a spur ofthe Santa Rosa range. The cove in which the homestead is located is at the mouthof Cat Canyon, one of the many lovely palm canyons in the Southern California

desert. Photograph by George Merrill Roy.

Diary of a Jackrabbit Homesteader . . .This is the diary of a city woman who did what many city dwellers

dream about doing, but never quite reach the point of breaking away.She left her Job in the Los Angeles city hall to spend several months ina little cabana on a jackrabbit homestead not many miles from PalmSprings. This day-by-day record of what happens to a tenderfoot onthe desert will be continued serially in Desert Magazine for six months.

By CATHERINE VENN

T WAS a rainy morning in January, 1943, when Iread a small item in a Los Angeles newspaper statingthat Uncle Sam was opening certain public lands on

the desert for 5-acre homestead leasesjackrabbit home-steads they were called.

I lost no time in splashing across the street from myoffice in the city hall to the top floor of the postofficebuilding where the U. S. Land Office was located. A halfhour later I had deposited a five-dollar bill as my entryfee on a certain 330x660 feet of terrain out somewhere onthe Southern California desert.

I was told that prospective homesteaders were expectedpersonally to inspect the sites before filing their applica-tions. But this rule was not rigidly enforced as long as theapplicant was willing to take the gamble. I was told, how-ever, I probably would get rough desert land withoutwater or roads. However, one cannot expect too much forfive dollars.

I began hoarding my gasoline coupons. I was anxiousto find out if my grab bag homestead was accessible. Fiveacres of desert terrain could well be a shifting sand dune,a heap of boulders, the middle of a wash or the rockyslope of a mountain.

The more I thought of the world of real values thesedesert acres could open for me, the more anxious I be-

came to locate them, because I was fast reaching thesaturation point of city living. So much so, that there weremornings when the urge to drive out to the desert was sostrong I could hardly resist it. Instead, I would find my-self at my desk listening to jangling phones, pacifyingcitizens and taxpayers, jumping to the buzzer from theBoss' desk, and deciphering my Gregg as I treadledanother day in my squirrel cage.

And then the morning came when a group of us tender-foot jackrabbit homesteaders set out in a spirit of highadventure to locate our sites. There was much chatter onthe way about the sort of cabins we would build, althoughall Uncle Sam required was a dwelling at a minimum costof $300.

As we turned up the highway that led to our section,the picture that met our eyes left us breathless. Themajestic mountain range rising before us was covered witha mantilla of snow that had fallen into folds and patternsas exquisite as old lace. There was nothing man-made tobe seen on the brush-strewn landscape. On either side lowwalled mountain slopes of smooth rock sheltered thesandy-floored cove. Finding ourselves in such a rare set-ting magnified our hopes and intensified our suspense.

We stopped just short of where the nearest paved roadcommenced its serpentine up the mountain. At this point

IULY, 1950 19

we fanned out in search of the government survey monu-ment that established the section comer. We soon stumbledupon it and excitedly started pacing off the tracts to oursites.

Words failed me when I discovered my good fortune.My five acres proved to be fairly level except for a sliceof wash, part of a knoll, and nearly all of a little rock hillfrom which distinctive feature my homestead derives itsname. It is a proud miniature of a hill with a character allits own. We fell in love at first sight, Rock Hill and I.

During the war Rock Hill was just a haven to dreamabout and visit for an occasional picnic. However, twobeneficial improvements were undertaken in the section.A majority of us leaseholders had joined in a tract survey,and one of our number farther up in the section had aroad bulldozed to his tract. This road bisected my propertyand made Rock Hill accessible from the highway.

Then one Saturday soon after hostilities had ceased Isaw a little cabana parked on a Los Angeles business lot.The thought came to me that something like this mightbe the temporary housing solution for Rock Hill withoutcrippling my budget too badly. The little midget of a housewas 8 x 15 feet and boasted four windows. I contactedthe factory and found they had but two on hand. I toldthem to put my name on one of them, and they gave methree weeks time in which to arrange for hauling it off.

During this interim I was as busy as a nesting swallowrounding up the necessary paraphernalia for a dry camppioneer. I finally located such antiques as kerosene lampsand sad irons, and secured five gallon water cans, a port-able oven, a two-burner butane plate, and a chemicalChick Sale out of a trailer.

Of course most everyone thought I had gone crazy toturn my back on comfort and security and set out on therugged, uncertain life of a desert homesteader. But a red-head, even a fragile one, will bite on tough challenges, andthis was tough because I was entering upon a strange newworld alone with my very livelihood at stake. There werethose who feared for my personal safety, and worried thatI would be lonesome. To me, these were secondary chal-lenges to the venture itself.

I didn't have the heart to ask any of the menfolk I knewto be my housemover, and believe me, none volunteered.And I could have shipped the cabana parcel post for whatone outfit wanted to charge for moving it to the desert. Idecided to be my own housemover and haul the cabanaas far as my parents' citrus ranch halfway distant to myhomestead.

I arrived bright and early at the rental yard to pick upthe trailer chassis for the cabana. The attendant asked ifI had ever pulled a trailer and when I replied in the nega-tive he remarked, "Well, morning traffic is as good as anyto learn." And when I made a jerky departure, he called,"When you come to the stops, don't forget you've got aflat car on behind you." Forget! thought I.

The first thing I spied in the factory yard was my man-sion dangling in the air like something hung up to cure.When it was made fast to the chassis, a factory hand drovethe monstrosity to the gate for me, and when he said,"You're on your own, now," something hit me in thesolar plexus. But I mustered the courage to take over thewheel and it felt as if a box car had been coupled on be-hind. Of course the rear view was completelv blocked.This circumstance hadn't occurred to me until I was leav-ing my apartment, so woman-like I snatched up my handmirror to thrust out my car window in case of emergency.

Crawling out of the city at a snail's pace focused at-tention on a sole woman driver of such a cumbersomeand unusual object. People gasped as if the cabana and Iwere something off a circus lotand we didn't need acaliope playing to call attention to us. It was when we

20

made our entry on Orange Grove avenue in fashionablePasadena that we really made the bluebloods sit up andtake notice. And what a snubbing they gave us; even theirtraffic officers looked the other way. Apparently myfloat was desecrating the Rose Parade route. I tried todrive on the curb side of the street but the cabana tookto playing tag with the buses and I was afraid we weregoing to be It.

In desperation I was obliged to swallow my pride andhold out the hand mirror in order to cut into the centerlane. A pedestrian in the crosswalk gleefully ballyhooed,"Look! Look!" pointing at my extended arm. Then someBaby Snooks wailed, "Daddy, I wanna little house likethat." To shield my pride, I stuck my nose up a lift andassumed an air of defiant nonchalance.

My car was boiling like a teakettle when I reached thehighest grade on the route. But it managed to spout andsteam into the port of a service station and throw theowner into a fit of nervous prostration as I nearly collidedwith the overhang on his building.

When I turned up the driveway of my parents' ranch,my father hastened out and waved me in as if I wereentering for the first time. Mother stood on the frontporch and the expression on her face was as horrified asif I had been dragging in a body.

A husky long-suffering brother came to my rescue, andsoon had the cabana resting on cement blocks. This wasno small feat, but I think he was too embarrassed to haveto explain my madness to the neighbors.

During the days that followed the time spent in fixingup my little desert home gave me more genuine diversionand satisfaction than anything I had ever done. When Iset up my simple furnishings against the freshness of paintand gay wallpaper, arranged the bright coverlet on thecouch, and hung the little curtains, I couldn't resist plac-ing the singing teakettle on the cold stove plate and pre-viewing my domicile under the soft light of the kerosenelamps. It gave the room a cozy, friendly atmosphere.Hollywood could have its Kleig lights, I thought.

For the housemoving operation my brother was ableto enlist the assistance of a neighbor with an orange truck.To elevate the heavily loaded cabana to its high berth forthe journey required tedious and back-breaking maneu-vering, as all we had were bricks and eucalyptus logs forunderpinnings.

When I led the truck up the highway to Rock Hill themajestic mountain had donned her snow lace mantillaagain. The desert sky was overcast and we had to set upthe little house before late shadows vanished into darkness.Taking off the cabana called for sensitive manipulation ofthe unevenly sawed logs, as the loose, sandy gravel keptshifting under the weight. After much time consumed incarefully inching the truck out from under the unsteadilybalanced house, it wavered on its shaky feet, thencrashed!

Miraculously it fell upright, but the noise was as ifevery board in the floor had broken. If it had toppled onits face I might have turned fatalist and abandoned ship.Luck was with us, however, and all was well. The twomen worked until dark leveling the foundation, and thentried to prevail upon me to return, tactfully implying thatsuch a "Godforsaken place" might better serve for anoccasional retreat.

"Godforsaken," I half whispered, as it had alwaysseemed that God was never so close as at Rock Hill.Stubbornly I insisted that I had come down to stay. Iwatched the path of their headlights winding out to thehighway.

The little kerosene lamps were the only heat I hadagainst the penetrating cold.

D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E

in li mum n

found the deserted camp of a mine where a fortune in high-grade gold ore is believed to await the re-discoverer.

By GLADWELL RICHARDSONIllustration by John Hansen

^ E NEW sun was still golden--when Cliff Haines rode his jaded

horse ;iround the bend into awide canyon, coming instantly to anamazed halt. Revealed through theclarity of rain-washed air, a smallvillage sprang into being in the Ari-zona wilderness.

For a few moments he couldn'tbelieve his eyes. There was a roadand a group of log and stone buildings.Two-wheeled wooden carts, sun-driedand warped beyond all further use,stood on the roadside of the village.Tunnels showed in the west wall ofthe canyon. Ore dumps spilled outbeneath their yawning mouths, andbelow the village was an arrastre.

The village was so real Hainesfound himself listening for the sound

Many stories have been toldabout a fabulous gold minelocated somewhere in the can-yon wilderness of northernArizonaand there are pros-pectors living today who areconvinced the stories are trueyet the exact location of thishigh-grade deposit remains anunsolved mystery.

of voices, expecting to see peoplemoving about. Then the surprise wasover and he glanced apprehensivelyover his shoulder at the upper endof the canyon where it ended in acrooked defile. He had been on therun four days, keeping ahead of pursu-ing Hualpai Indians who had killedhis three companions while prospect-ing southeast of what is now King-man, Arizona.

Perhaps he could find concealmentin this place. He stopped and lookedaround to appraise the possibilities.The song of a canyon wren echoedfrom the cliffs. There were no freshtracks on the ground. He saw thatshrubs and small trees had grownup in the paths before the doors ofthe dwellings.

Then the truth dawned on him.This was a ghost village, a place de-serted by its inhabitants long ago.He rode along the old road silently,in wonder. Through empty entrances,broken parts of walls, even on theoutside of them he saw parts of chairs,tables, benches, rude stools, wreckedand mouldering. Floors, spaces aroundthe walls, were littered with refuse,wind blown sand, and piles of debriscarried there by pack rats.

Haines had progressed as far asthe arrastre when he glimpsed the

J U L Y , 1 9 5 0 21

Lost Mine of Coconino . . .

painted face of a savage peering athim from the canyon rim. The racefor life was on again. Haines spurredhis jaded horse. He found a passabletrail down the canyon and escapedagain from his pursuers. Three weekslater he reached distant Tucson.

This is the first known instancewhere a None Americano found theold village in the canyon containingthe Lost Mine of Coconino. (Some-times it is also called the "Lost Cityof Coconino County"). The storytold by Haines following this chancediscovery in 1853 has been passedalong from generation to generationto the prospecting men in the South-west.

So much faith is placed in the ex-istence of this lost mine and its richore that prospectors and those whoseek lost mines have been loath todiscuss it with persons outside theirown fraternity. As far as I have beenable to determine no story on theLost Mine of Coconino has been pub-lished in any form.

Like all lost mine tales this onecontains statements accepted as un-impeachable fact, yet without anyattending proof. All prospectors whoseek it believe that a party of Antoniode Espejo's men discovered the goldthere originally in 1583. This wasthe year they found copper in theVerde Valley, reaching it through OakCreek, which they named "Canyonof the Grapes."

Samples of the ore and locationmaps were taken by Espejo's men toMexico. These made their way intothe hands of the Church, and twodecades after turn of the 17th centuryan exploring party came directly northto the Lost Mine of Coconino, makingfurther surveys and doing considerablework.

After their return to Mexico dif-ficulties of government, the Church,wars in Europe, and finally the pueblorebellion in the Southwest, halted fur-ther work at the mines until the be-ginning of the 18th century. Now, sothe saga goes, several priests accom-panied by a squad of soldiers and afew Spanish families as overseers ofthe work, brought in 200 Opata In-dians from Sonora. The village wasbuilt, several arrastres constructedand the Opata Indians got out the goldore. It was supposedly worked fromaround 1720 to 1760, though onlyintermittently. Between periods ofmining a few Opata Indian familiesremained in the camp as watchmen.They lived in brush hovels ratherthan in permanent buildings.

At this point the story shows a gap.There is no reason given for abandon-ment of the mine, nor is it known

\what happened to the gold bars madethere except the vague statement theywere transported by burro via oldTucson to Mexico City.

As for actual records in archivesand elsewhere, none, if ever discover-ed, have come to public attention.

Among veteran prospectors ofnorthern Arizona there is no doubtthis village and lost mine exist. Thisdespite the fact that the remote areahas been thoroughly mapped by theForest Service. It lies somewhere inthe extreme southwest corner of Co-conino County, the area boundedroughly by Oak Creek Canyon inthe east, Flagstaff-Williams-Ashforkon the north, Drake and U.S. High-way 89 on the west, and the VerdeValley and Perkinsville on the south.

This is a vast country of severalthousand square miles, unbroken,wild, with choked canyons. A teemingforest of matchless beauty, and aboveall a weird and fantastic land withfew roads and trails touching itsborders.- Two singular features give this lost

mine an intriguing allure. The first isthat few of those who have seen ithave long survived. The second isthe prospectors' positive belief theycan take out millions in gold from themain tunnel almost with their barehands. They are as sure of it as theyare of night and day. They haveguarded their knowledge of the lostmine so well there is scarcely anyoneoutside of their clannish group whoknows many of the details.

One protective device I have heardthem use when questions are askedis the casual reply: "Oh, you mustmean the Lost Padre mine. Yeh, it'ssomewhere in there."

The Lost Padre is almost as famousin the Southwest as the Lost Dutch-man, but unlike the latter it has morebasis of fact in old Spanish records.Yet no one has so far been able tofind it either. It is supposed to be inthe same general region.

Following his escape from theHualpais, Haines in Tucson relatedfinding the abandoned village. Hesought information, but failed, so thestory goes, until eventually he locatedan aged Mexican in Sonora, who toldhim a story handed down from hisgrandfather. This grandfather was anOpata Indian, whose ancestors ac-tually had worked the mine.

Haines now disappears from thesaga. But leading a party of prospec-tors from Santa Fe, New Mexico, in1874, comes a hardy adventurernamed John Thomas Squires. Squireswas equipped with a map, supposedlydrawn at Haines' direction. Tatteredcopies of this map are in the posses-sion of lost mine hunters today.

Squires spent a summer hunting thelost village. He is said to have foundit, and also located a nearby cavewhere were old rusted Spanish arms,two small cowhide trunks, some filledore sacks of leather, and cooking uten-sils. In the trunks Squires discoveredbooks printed in Spanish and boundin hide.

The Squires party explored the can-yon completely, opened up the caved-in workings, retimbered tunnels, andrepaired the biggest arrastre for use.Two of the largest buildings werecleaned out and occupied.

Squires remained long enough tomelt one or two small bars of gold tofinance mining supplies. With onecompanion he went to Santa Fe andemployed more miners to return withhim to the Arizona wilderness.

They now started getting out goldon a grand scale, melting it into barswhich Squires later sold in Santa Fe.They did not know they were in for-bidden territory, surrounded by ene-mies who resented their presencethesame enemies who perhaps hadstopped the previous operation of thismine. There were renegade Mojavesto the west, Hualpais to the north, andthe most dreaded of all tribesmenthe Apachesto the south.

The Indians made their attack onecold morning at dawn. Half the min-ing party was killed before horsescould be saddled and gold loaded onpack animals. The survivors fled downthe canyon, some of them beingpierced by arrows as they ran. Squireswas away from camp at the time butfrom the rim he saw smoke over thecampsite. He escaped, but is said tohave been killed in a feud in Taos notlong afterward. One of the old mapspossessed by prospectors today is saidto have been drawn by one of the menwho worked for Squires.

After the Apache wars ended in thelate 188O's, some of Squires' mentried to go back, entering by way ofPrescott. Yet there is nothing to showthat they found the mine again. Formore than two decades the lost mineand its ruined village were shroudedin silence. Then in 1896 W. O. How-ard, better known at Flagstaff as"Bearhunter" Howard, stumbled ontothe lost mine by accident. He hadbeen a meat hunter for constructiongangs when the Santa Fe railroadcame through. Afterward he contin-ued at this business when he could.While seeking new game territory hecame upon the defile. Curious, herode down, and thence into the can-yon.

Howard investigated the place,bringing out two of the hide-boundbooks from the cave near the camp.He believed he had found the Lost

...1 - _ . - - ,"somewhere on the desert" by R. H. Lyttle

DESERT BENEDICTIONB y A i i( i. S A I I - . H I K \Barstow, California

Alice Salisbury, author of the hookDesert Treasure, wrote tliis benedictionfor a little class of eight in a desertschool which she was called to leachin an emergency. Each morning be-fore the classes opened the pupils stoodand raised the American flag and inunison repealed these linesMay the desert mountains risingStark, aloof, benign about you,Bless your sun-hot eyes with shadow;Ka.se your weariness with quiet!

May the desert sunset lingering.Flooding pearl-hued clouds with glory.Paint the drab of life within you.Flaming azure, gold and crimson.

May the desert wind at evening.Bearing tang of sage in flower,Stream against your heart and heal it.Flowing on the far-off ranges.

May the desert stars above you.Burning myriad friendly tapers.Lift your spirit up to meet them.Where they dwell, all-wise, eternal.

MY VACATIONB\ I'HINC'I ' ' M i l I K

Tucson. \n/on;iSome day I'll take a vacation.Not a paid one 'cause I'll tell you why.I don't want a sri ing or relationTo anything under the sky.No voices to hear I'll be wanting.Except the one voice that I loveOf Nature whispering secretsAs she smiles all around and above.I'll walk where no man ever ventured.And that solitude shall beNature's golden symphonic creationHer "Song of Eternity."No poems, then, will I be writingFor all conceptions shall rhyme:The contracts and copyrighting

Shall be signed by the hand of lime.

By TANYA Sol mLive then as rightly as \ou can,And strive with every ounce and

sinewTo give the world the noblest man

That is within you.Thus shall you swiftest make advance.And finer faculties enhance.

Hy Ji \N Cm vi K! leret'wrd, Ari/.onu

(By a louelv. desen grave)Well partner. I had thought that IWas first to place my footpiint in this spot.Was this the haven where von chose to lie,Away from every man. alone, forgot?

Partner, mA\ I sii upon this knoll?I am distraught with worldly matters deep.Do cares like these disturb your peaceful

soul,Or have you shed ihem in eternal sleep?Say partner, could sou sel me true.As you look back on lime. iioe> ihis brief

spanRate all the worry that a nun goes through,Or should he lake n happily as he can?

Yes partner, il is good to know.Von walked befoie me, struggled, and

found peace.Now refreshed and rested. I must go.The way looks lighlei. and my burdens ease.

EVENIN' ON THE DESERTBy Hri L-:N M O N N H n

Phoeniv ArizonaEvenin' on the desert, and the sun is goin'

down.And the vaulted skv is wearing flaming

tresses for a crown.No more ding> cities where the sun cannot

get through.But the great uide upon *p., .- ,s ihe place

for me ami \oi

Evenin' on the deseii and the atmosphere'ssublime.

And the beauties ih.u I'm seem' were madeby hands Divine.

Not a cloud to mai in\ vision [' the glitteroverhead.

Of the million miles ,>i u ,- n ,i lavishoverspread.

Evenin' on the desert, and the mountainstaller grow.

I.ike monarchs robed in purple, just tostage a roj al show .

And the realm o'er which ilics'ie reigning.is a valley smooth and wide.

Where the sagebrush and the cactus withIhe palms grow side b\ side

Evenin' on the desert, ami the sands haveturned to gold.

And each pebble bathed in moonlight is ajewel to behold.

Like an artist on a canvas splashing colorhere and there.

Catching even changing shadow, and themoods thai lingei here.

Freedom? Well. I've got it. a. this desertwarm and brow u

Where all is peace .i;M quiet .-.hen the sunis goiif i.\ov...

And the ptirpie shades are fal'iug like amist within ihe vale.

O'er that silvei winding palhwav a desertbeaten trail.

Evenin' on the desert, and in twilights' softembrace

Is a memory thai I ireastiu. i , outline 1can trace.

All that made a das MI l.i.ei., .is the sunwas goin' down

In the afterglow of cveniif m this desertwarm and hi i >w n

PICTURES of the MONTH

First prize in Desert's May photo contest goesto Cal Montney, Los Angeles, California, forthis striking scene in Joshua Tree NationalMonument.