194207 Desert Magazine 1942 July

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M A G A Z I N E

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CactulBy S. PAUL LINDAULos Angeles, California

This unusual shot of the upper branchesof a saguaro cactus is winner of first prizein Desert Magazine's monthly photographiccontest. Taken with an Ikonta A camera,Tessar 3.5 lens. Super XX film, 1T2 yellowfilter; 1/100 at F20.

Special MelitThe following photos were judged tohave special merit:"Chief Turkey Foot," by Ted Jerome, LasVegas, Nevada."Lizard Eye View of Yucca," by Joe Orr,

Los Angeles, California."Death Valley," by Fred H. Ragsdale,Los Angeles, California.

JbeatU ValleyBand Abutted.

By W. G. MARTINHuntington Park, Calif.Winner of second prize in the May ama-teur contest was taken with a Korelle Reflexcamera 2l/4x2l/4. Zeiss Tessar lens; F8, 1/25sec. Agra-Finopan film, 23A filter.


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D E S E R T

JU LY 1-4 Ann ual fiesta and rode o,Mescalero Apache Indian reser-vation, New Mexico.1-6 12 th Annua l Hopi Craftsman ex-hibit ion, Museum of NorthernArizona, Flagstaff. Indian weav-ers, potters, silversmiths at work.1-12 Arizona Baptist summer assembly,Episcopal conference grounds,Prescott. Rev. Charles L. Kau,Phoenix, dean.2-4 Rodeo and Stock Show, Grants,New Mexico.2-4 Rodeo, McGaffey, Ne w Mexico.2-5 55th Ann ual Frontier Days Cele-bration, Prescott, Arizona. BrunoRezzonico, chairman.3-4

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AnnualMexico. rodeo,Milton Estancia,Berksire, N ewchair-Annual rodeo, Silver City, N. M.Annual Rodeo, Fort Sumner, NewMexico.Forrest Delk, chairman.All Indian Pow-Wow, Flagstaff,Arizona.

4 Rodeo at Cimarron, New Mexico.4 Annu al Rodeo and Celebration,Ruidoso, New Mexico.7-22 Drawings by Maynard OwenDixon, depicting Arizona from1900 to 1941, Museum of North-

ern Arizona, Flagstaff.11-12 League of Western Writers con-ference, Provo, Utah.11-AUG. 13 15th annual anthropologi-cal field session of University ofNew Mexico, at Chaco canyon.Dr. Paul Reiter, director. Fol-lowed by 5th annual Southwesternanthropological conference at thecanyon.14 Ann ual fiesta and Corn dance,Cochiti Indian Pueblo, N. M.15 Moriarty Fiesta, Moriarty, Ne wMexico.18 Annua l Tim panogo s hike startsfrom Aspen Grove, near summitof Mt. Timpanogos, Utah.19 Punta de Agua fiesta, W illar d,New Mexico.21-24 Utah Pioner Days, Ogden. Har-mon W . Peery , chairman.21-25 Utah Covered Wagon Days, SaltLake City. B. A. Reynolds, chair-man.22-A UG . 2 Navajo Crafts, a contem-porary exhibit presented by theNavajo Guilds at Museum ofNorthern Arizona, Flagstaff.25-26 St. James and St. Ann fiesta,Taos, New Mexico.26 Ann ual fiesta and dance,. SantaAna Indian Pueblo , N . M.31-AUG. 2 Flagstaff Charity Horse

show"Glorifying the WesternHorse." Leo Weaver, secretary.

V o l u m e 5 JULY, 1942 N u m b e r 9COVER "Chuckcrwcdla ," photo by Joe Orr, Los Angeles,PHOTOGRAPHY Prize winning pictures in MayCALENDARLANDMARKWEATHERADVENTUREMINERALOGYADVENTUREDESERT QUIZPHILOSOPHY

Current events on the desertEle pha nt Rock, by THEODORE JEROME . .May tempera tures on the Dese r tMission to Ch'ool ' i ' iBy RICHARD VAN VALKENBERGH . . .Visitor From a Distant Plane':By H. H. NININGERGold Hunters Are Like That!By CHARLES KELLYA test of your desert knowledge'Beauty is not in faces, But in the hearts of men'By PHIL K. STEPHENS

Calif.. 2. 3. 4. 4. 5. 9

AR T O F LIVINGD R A M A

Desert Refuge, by MARSHAL SOUTH .When Hol lywood Comes to the Dese r tBy ETHEL S. CAPPS

HOBBY Rat t le snake Skins a re My HobbyBy HELEN PRATT

CONTRIBUTORS Writers of the DesertN E W S H e r e a n d T h e r e o n t h e D e s e r t . . . .CONTEST Prize contes t announcementBO O K S " S u n C h i e f , " a n d o t h e r r e v i e w s . . . .HOBBY Gems and Minera l sE dited by ARTHUR L. EATO N . .MINING Briefs from the desert regionLETTERS Comment f rom Dese r t Magaz ine readersPHOTO CONTEST Announcement for JulyCOMMENT Just Betw een You an d Me, by the Editor .POETRY "Desert Si lversmith," an d other poe ms .

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. 39The Desert Magazine is published monthly by the Desert Publishing Company, 636Sta te Street, El Centro, California. Entere d as second class ma tter October 11, 1937, atthe post office at El Centro, California, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Title registere dNo. 358865 in U. S. Patent Office, and contents copyrighted 1942 by the Desert PublishingCompany. Permission to reproduce contents must be secured from the editor in writing.

RANDALL HENDERSON, Editor. LUCILE HARRIS, Associate Editor.Manuscripts and photographs submitted must be accompanied by full return post-age. The Desert Magazine assumes no responsibility for damage or loss of manuscriptsor photograph s although due care will be exercised for thei r safety. Subsc ribers shouldsend notice of change of address to the circu lation de partm ent by the fifth of the monthpreceding issue.SUBSCRIPTION RATESOne year, including gold-embossed loose leal binder $3.00

Two yea rs, including binders for both year s 5.00You may deduct 50c each for binders if not desired.Canadian subscriptions 25c extra, foreign 50c extra.Address correspondence to Desert Magazine, 636 State St., El Centro, California.J U L Y , 1 9 4 2


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E L E P H A N T R O C K Winner of Desert Magazine's May Land-mark contest is Theodore Jerome of LasVegas, Nevada. He identified the accom-panying picture as Elephant Rock in the Valley of Fire near Overton. Hisstory of this unusual rock formation and the directions for reaching it aregiven on this page.1

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By THEODORE JEROME^ / REAK rocks in Nevada are as/ common as boulders on a Vermontfarm. The one pictured in DesertMagazine's May Landmark Contest isknown as Elephant Rock, located just 50miles from Main and Fremont streets inLas Vegas, in the Valley of Fire which isunder supervision of the national parkservice.

If you would "See the Elephant," gonortheast from Las Vegas on Highway 91and 93, thirty-three miles to Crystal andturn right on to the dirt road. This is themost dramatic route into the valley be-cause about 15 miles from Crystal onemakes a turn between canyon walls of ig-neous rock to come suddenly upon a greatpanorama of tortured sand-stone blazingred beneath the desert sun.Two miles from this turn, ElephantRock juts up a few yards off the highwayto the right. The "elephant" part of therock is, speaking architecturally, a flyingbuttress simulating from a distance thehead and trunk of a giant red pachyderm.The head faces across the valley towardAtlatl rock, upon which ancient residentsof the desert cut an amazing gallery ofpetroglyphs.The elephant arch is 11 feet high withan inside span of nine feet and an averagecircumference of the trunk of about eight

feet. The main rock is 46 feet high and220 feet in girth. The observing visitorwill note that the cut in Desert Magazine

was made from a photographic print onwhich the negative had been reversed.About two miles farther along is thebranch road leading to Mouse Tanks.These are pits and crevices in the rock

where the renegade Indian, Mouse, hidfrom the posses sent to apprehend himfor his many crimes. (Desert Magazine,November 1939.)Elephant Rock is readily recognizedupon approach from either direction, but ithas other animal features of equal interest.Viewing it from a southwesterly angle un-der early afternoon light it presents an ex-cellent lion's head with wide opened jawand upon the top of the main rock is ahorizontal slab about four and one-halffeet long which is a quite perfect horse'sskull, neck and foreshortened body; eventhe lower front teeth are represented.Rats, birds and lizards make their homesin the crevices of Elephant Rock and thebedding place of a fox or coyote was seenat a vantage point part way up one side.Lichens of many colors abound, runningthe gamut of yellows, browns and throughgrey, heliotrope and black. These lichensgive evidence that the rock, although ap-parently eroding away, has been preservedin its present general aspect for many cen-turies.It is an interesting thought that the an-cient peoples who lived in this valley, and

left behind so many of their artistic en-deavors, never knew of the strange animalwhich this landmark resembles.

GOVERNMENT TO GROWTEST PLOTS OF GUAYULEOne hundred experimental plots ofguayule are to be planted at various pointsin the Southwest this season as the initialstep in a program to determine whereand under what conditions this rubber-producing plant will grow most favorably.Plantings are under the direction ofW. G. McGinnis of the Southwest forestdistrict. The locations are widely scattered,extending from the Pacific coast to Texas,and from the Mexican border to Utah. AtSalinas, California, 500,000,000 seedlingsare being grown for the plantings.

F R O M P H O E N I X B U R E A UTemperatures Degrees

Mean for mon th - - - 75.2Nor mal for May - 75.0Hig hest in May on 21st 106.0Lowest in May on 13th - 48.0

Rainfall InchesTota l for May 0.00Aver age for May 12Wea the r

Days clear 24Days partly cloudy - - 7Days cloudy 0Sunshine 99 percent of possible time.

T o L i v e i n . . .

ALBUQUERQUEAlbuquerque is a beautiful city, cleanand bright and well-regulated, with thefinest living, educational, and shoppingfacilities.Yet, if you have that zest for adventurein your blood, you can find it far shortof that distant horizon. Primitive Indianvillages, ancient Spanish towns, loftywooded mountains, historic sites maybe found close by.Learn the facts about Albuquerque.Write today for the FREE illustratedbooklet, "Albuquerque, a WonderfulPlace to Live."ALBUQUERQUE CIVIC COUNCILDept. 41 Albuque rque, New Mexico

THE DESERT M A G A Z I N E


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Richard Van Valkenbergh had heard the Navajo legend of the WhiteShell Woman, and he wanted to know the location of the sacred moun-tain where she was bom. But before Bead Singer, the medicine man,would reveal this information it was necessary that Van conclude a mys-terious mission for his old Indian friend. And here is the amazing story ofthat mission.

Mission to Ch'ool'i'iBy RICHARD VAN VALKENBERGHr W O red coals gleamed in theashes of the medicine hogan likethe eyes of Gini, the night hawk.The pallid breath of early dawn creptthrough the smoke-hole as my friend,Hathli Yo'ii. the Bead Singer, finished hisstory of the nativity of the Navajo goddess,Yo'o lakaih asdzan, the White ShellWoman.A few hours later, after the last songsof do'iigash, the all night sing, were fin-ished, Bead Singer and I rode toward themountain. He was too silent, and I was ap-prehensive. Had I unwittingly stumbledon a taboo subject when I asked him totell me the location of Ch'ool'i'i, thesacredmountain where the White Shell Womanwas born?

Our broomtails blew as we breasted theslick sandstone vertebra of Rainy moun-tain. Shown on maps as Cibola Mesa thisnarrow tableland rises like a great dyketo sever for 50 miles theLargo and Blancocanyons. Veering away from us in a greenand grey mosaic the old Navajo countryof northern New Mexico swelled upwardand faded into the San Juan mountains insouthern Colorado.I followed the old Indian's eyes as theysearched across the vast terrain. Suddenlythey fixed. He spoke, "My son! Looksharply through the fork of the redbudbush before you. Do you see the cone set-ting on the edge of a stepped mountainwhich rises like a turquoise against theshell-colored clouds?"In a moment I located the cone. Itseemed no larger than a golf tee. WhileI was orientating it to known landmarksthe Bead Singer took a small deerhidepouch out of his medicine bundle. Hand-ing it to me he said, "Fill this with earthfrom thepart of the mountain that touchesthe sky. Then you will have the right toknow of Ch'ool'i'i. theLone Spruce moun-tain."My general knowledge of San Juan andRio Arriba counties told me that not evena wagon track ran toward the mountainfrom Rainy Ridge. Road maps made it def-inite that the approach would have to be

made from the north, off the road thatruns between Blanco and Dulce, NewMexico

Two months later I jounced over therutted road that leaps and winds over therising mesas from thevillage of Blanco onthe San Juan river. Some 30 miles broughtme to the scattered Spanish-American

countryside of Gobernador. John and DotKeur awaited me.This archaeological team had traveledwest from NewYork. They were spendingtheir summer holidays digging in the vil-lage sites of the ancient people of the re-gion. When I arrived they were supervis-ing their New Mexican diggers in a Na-vajo pueblito or small house site.By theglow of their campfire I told partof my errand for Bead Singer. In the al-ways fanciful mood created by an opencampfire we imagined what we might findon the mystic mountain. There might beancient hogans? Shrines or prayer sticks!Or a great cache of beautifully decoratedpottery?Antonio, a middle aged native agreed

Hathli, theBead Singer of the Navajo.J U L Y , 1 9 4 2


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ing house of Gobernador's Penitente sect.It was hard to associate our placid Tonywith whippings of yucca lashes spikedwith cholla. Or to visualize him on thedawn after Good Friday secretly buryinga compadre or relative who had died onthe cross at the Calvero.After visiting a pueblito in Pueblito

canyon similar to that being excavated bythe Keurs, we skirted the fans off the westslopes of the Cerritos ridge. Followingtwo tracks for seven miles we came to the

El Gobernador, the Lon e Fir mountain.to guide us. When a boy he had huntedwild cattle on the Cerritos ridge back ofthe peak. Old timers had told him of seeingNavajo ascending the mountain. Once hehad seen moccasin tracks in the dust. Itwas from him that we learned that the lo-cal name of the mountain was El Gober-nador.

The shadows of night were fleeing be-fore the blue of early dawn when wepulled out of camp. We turned southacross the distorted shadow of the cross onthe sharp steeple of the tiny Gobernadorchurch. John nosed "Arky," the Keur fieldjaloppy, through a break in the scrubbypinon forest.Down the slope from Gobernador wecame to a long adobe. Lying aslant of thedoor was a rude cross. Tur ning to AntonioI remarked at the lack of windows, and

This is the rums o\ one of the pueblitos the Navajo built near their corn pelds.When the Utes came to raid the Navajo fled to their hogans hidden in the highforests.the abject desolation of the place. Hestared aheadand said nothing!

I rememberedand mentally kickedmyself for being tactless. This was noabandoned dobe. It was morada or meet-

A BUNDLE OF BLUEBIRD FEATHERSB TURQUOISE BEADS SET W POLLENC SMALL CUT TUBCSOF CARRIZO CANED COTTON CORD WRAPPING WHOLEE EAGLE DOWN FEATHERF WHITE H YELLOWG BLUE I BLACKThis is the kethans or prayer stick found by the author on El Gobernador. VanValkenbergh sketched the sacred token in his field book, and then replaced it in itscairn.

humble log and mud hut of Juan Fernan-dez. While we choked down the hospit-able Juan's Ariosa coffee, he and Tonystrung out tendrils of the Gobernador"grapevine." The New Mexicans havethe same way of passing on the news as dothe Navajo.From the bough covered ramada ofJuan's place we could get a good view ofEl Gobernador. The mountain could bereached over a progression of benches."Arky's" usefulness was over. BiddingJuan adios we picked our way across the

checked bottom of his tanque. or stock-water lake. On the other side we found atrail leading up through the dwarfedjuniper.Tony packed the water and grub. Johnand I scurried around hunting for Indiansigns. I spied a cairn of rocks. On one sidea twig of fresh juniper had been placedunder a rock. I shifted a few of the rocks.Then I searched beneath. There I foundsmall fragments of turquoise and whiteshell. A tsenadjihih, or Navajo trailshrine!While we photographed I told what Iknew. Some 30 or more of these shrinesare still in use in the N avajo country. Theyare found beside all important trails.

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photograph 0} the author wa s taken at the entrance to one of the ancient tripod hogansfound on the sacred mountain.passing into the shadowy green of the lushwoodland of the north side of the moun-tain, we came upon a mass of small logsthat radiated outward like a wagon wheel.The nearby pile of fire burned rock veri-fied our suspicions. We had found an an-cient txachai. or sweathouse!

Long ago naked warriors had Iain onthe cedar bark covered floor after a forayagainst the Utes or Mexicans. Hot rockshissed and threw clouds of steam as theyplunked into the water placed by thelow door. After finishing their sweat theIndians ran outside. Squatting akimbo onthe sand they finished their purificationwith a brisk rubdown of dry earth.This sweathouse belonged to a hogangroup we found nearby. There was notrail. Deer runs were followed. They fad-

ed or diverged. Crashing through thetangle of wild grapes and clinging redbudand wild cherry we stirred the pinon jaysinto an incessant chattering.As we passed group after group of an-cient hogans I remembered what the ven-erable headman Chee Dodge had once toldme, "The old Navajo home which we callthe Dinetxa lies east of Largo canyon. Theold men have told me that the hogans ofour forefathers still stand there . . ."A steep cone rose above the forest. Thetop layer seemed to be the summit. Nohogans were found after leaving the wood-

land. We scouted the windswept and bar-ren ledges. There was no evidence of hu-man habitation.

We scurried up through the last field ofjumbled rock between us and the open sky.Pulling ourselves up through the trailingbranches of a dwarf cedar we wiped thedust and sweat from our eyes and lookedaround. The summit was a small levelmesita covered by a large ruin of theAnasazih folk!We rested on the smooth, warm rocksof the rim. Far in the west we could pickout the even skyline of the Carrizo moun-tains in Arizona. John started to investi-gate the Anasazih site. The type of blackmotif on the white pottery told us that theperiod of habitation was near 1000 A. D.I filled Bead Singer's bag with thegranular earth from an anthill. From ahouse of the Red Ant People it would bemore potent. I spied a small cairn. Under-neath was a small bundle of calico. Thepack rats had been gnawing, but only theends were frayed.I pulled off rocks. Out rolled two smalltubes of Carrizo cane tied with cottonstring. Around them were painted ringsof white, blue, yellow, and black. Tied tothem were the tail feathers of the moun-tain bluebird. In the ends were beads ofjet, turquoise, clam, and abalone shell.Downward dangled the down feather ofthe golden eagle. Navajo kethans!

I had seen many Navajo prayer sticksor "messages to the Gods ," but never a setas elaborate as this. Their fresh conditionclinched my growing suspicion. Some sha-man with the ancient wisdom had been onthe mountain recently. Big "medicine"had been made.

I sketched the prayer stick bundle in myfield book. Then I laid them in a scoopedout crevice. Over them I placed their coverof rock. There they remain on the moun-tain top to await the gods for whom theywere laid down in faith.The evening sun was a ball of fire in thenether of the west when we started down.We crossed through the even line of thegloomy shadow slowly erasing out the redlight on the earth. When we reached levelground the jet of night, the cloak of Has-kejinni, the Black God, wrapped us in.

I did not tell my companions about thekethans I had found on El Gobernador.The raindrops were glistening on thegreen stalks of the corn when I carried thebag of earth to Bead Singer's farm on theflats of Txohoteel. The old medicine man

smiled wisely when I told that the summershowers had delayed me. While we sat inthe smoke tinted shadows of his hogan Itold of my trip up El Gobernador. WhenI finished, I said, "Now Grandfather,where is the mountain of Ch'ool'i'i?"He opened the bag and poured out alittle mound of earth before he answered,"Ya'a'taa, Good! I needed that earth forrain medicine. Soon after you rode awayon Rainy mountain I found that I neededmore powerful medicine. I reached themountain before you. There I prayed toToninilini, the 'Water Pourer' for sum-mer showers. Then I left the prayer sticksthat you found. For, my son, you climbedthe sacred mountain of Ch'ool'i'i to getthis earth for me!"

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larger, were scattered out to a distance of about 2V2 miles inall directions from the crest of the rim. Our survey indicatedthat from two to three millions of these fragments are embeddedin a one-inch layer of soil over this area. No complete record hasbeen kept, but probably 15 to 20 tons of the larger pieces fromone to 1400 pounds have been gathered from an area of 160square miles since the first pieces were picked up in the late 80s.In addition to these metallic specimens, there are millions ofoxidized pieces. A survey indicates that the oxidized material is

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This is the magnetic rake which gathered tons o\ smallfragments in the area adjacent to Barringer Crater.

at least 100 times as abundant as the metallic particles. Theseoxide fragments were derived from the metallic masses whichhave been rusted through and broken down by weather-ing.The fact that the crater lies in an area that is so richly sprink-led with me teorites would have been sufficient reason for geolo-gists to at once conclude that it was of impact origin and notvolcanic, had they believed in the existence of such craters.However, there were plenty of other reasons for not consider-ing the crater volcanic.Volcanic craters generally lie in the tops or on the sides ofvolcanic cones. Their floors are usually elevated above the sur-rounding plain. Meteorite craters, on the other hand, havefloors well below the level of the terrain outside their rims.The walls of volcanic craters are composed of lava, but not sowith meteorite craters unless the fall has occurred in a lava for-mation. Steam explosion craters may have their floors below thegeneral level but these, like true volcanoes, always extrude moreor less of lava after the explosion. Also, meteorites were foundmixed in with the debris which forms the rim of Barringer'scrater, proving that either the meteorites had fallen previouslyor else they fell at the same time the crater was formed.Finally, in the pit and in the rim of the crater are depositedmillions of tons of rock flour. This consists of the finely pulver-ized fragments of sand grains and has been produced by theshattering of the sandstone into which the missile penetrated. Aconsiderable amount of this finely powdered silica has been re-fused into a very light porous substance resembling pumice.To fuse silica requires a temperature higher than is known to

have been produced in any steam explosion crater. But this isnot too high a temperature to be developed by the impact of ameteorite. Even the slower speeds of large meteorites are more

than sufficient to produce such temperatures upon their impactwith the solid earth. This brings us to the question of what be-came of this great meteorite.Where Is the Meteorite?

During recent years the most controversial question concern-ing the Barringer crater has been "What became of the Meteor-ite?" Even Dr. Barringer himself admitted that with all of hisdrilling and digging he never encountered any large solid body.Meteoritic material was unquestionably encountered in the drillhole that was sunk from the southern rim. Also, later, in twoholes which were put down in the southwestern part of the pit.But in all of these cases the drill passed intermittently throughmeteoritic material and rock fragments. So far as is known nolarge solid body was ever encountered.Lately, several small meteorite craters have been excavated.First, the Haviland crater in Kiowa county, Kansas. Afterwardsone in Australia and some in Texas. In all of these, conditionswere very much the same, namely, after the filled-in contentsof the crater were removed, a group of meteorite fragments werefound scattered over the bottom of the bowl-shaped pit. In theHaviland crater the fragments numbered thousands. In othershundreds, or only a few, were found. In all cases, the fragmentsappeared to be the result of a breaking up of one parent massas it entered the soil.Men interested in gunnery have learned through experiments

The seven meteorites in the necklace and the one on thewatch charm are natural specimens. The others are pol-ished sections.J U L Y , 1 9 4 2 11


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H. H. N ininger in h is ojjice ex-amining a newly acquired meteor-ite from the vicinity of BarringerCrater.that when a projectile is fired at greatspeed against a target it undergoes amore or less complete explosion, de-pending upon its velocity, its composi-tion and the nature of the target. It maybe simply flattened, b u r s t intofragments, or be completely trans-formed into dust and gases. In otherwords, it may, depending upon itsvelocity, undergo any degree of disinte-gration to the point of becoming a vio-lent explosive.The Barringer crater possesses all ofthe ear marks of an explosion crater.Its circular form, with steeply upliftedstrata facing the pit; the profuse heapof ejected fragments immediately sur-rounding the crater, but reaching onlyabout the distance that their size andirregular form would allow them to bethrown against resisting atmosphere. Larger specimens werescattered much farther. The large deposit of rock flour, the fusedsilica deposits and the admixture of minute oxidized fragmentsin the material which fills the lower part of the pit all are inharmony with the explosion theory, but not necessarily indicat-ing a very complete explosion.

How much of the meteorite remains in the depths of thecrater cannot at present be known. Magnetic surveys have indi-cated a considerable bulk of material in the southwestern sec-tor of the pit and under the southern rim. Indications have alsobeen found of magnetic material to the south of the pit. In myopinion there are thousands of tons of fragments in the bottomof the pit under its present floor. Some of these may be as largeas an automobile or even larger. They should be more abundantin the southwestern part of the pit than elsewhere and greatnumbers are buried in and under the rim as well as out on thesurrounding plains.

But this scattering of fragments represents only a minorpart of the great mass which produced the crater. The colliding

Photograph of meteoritic cloud left by m eteorite which fellin northeastern New Mexico May 24, 1933.mass may have weighed a million tons. Certainly it was large,and the blast which it produced would have been a spectacleworth going far to behold providing one could have been sta-tioned at a safe distance of perhaps a hundred miles.Only one such event of comparable magnitude has been

witnessed by man in historic times. Th at was the fall inSiberia, June 30, 1908, when a group of large meteoritesplunged into the forested wastes of north-central Siberia. There,not one but many craters were formed; but all of relativelysmall size, the largest only a few hundred feet across. All to-gether, the swarm was probably far less in weight than thatwhich produced the Barringer crater. Yet it laid waste severalhundred square miles of forestflattening it to the ground.Those few inhabitants who were within 30 to 50 miles of theimpact found it a trying ordeal. Some were thrown down andrendered unconscious for a time. Their dwellings w ere wreckedand a large herd of reindeer which had been feeding where theimpact occurred was completely exterminated. Fortunately forman, such events have been very infrequent in the earth's his-tory.The Meteorites

Meteorites which arrive on the earth are in most cases com-posed of stony matter in which are embedded abundant smallparticles of nickel-steel. Some are composed of about equalparts of stone and metal, while others are entirely metallic, ornearly so. The Barringer crater was produced by one of thelatter variety. The meteorites which have been picked up in thevicinity of the crater may be assumed to be the fragmentary re-mains of the great mass which collided with the earth at thatpoint. They are composed mainly of nickel-steel with numerousinclusions of sulphide of iron, carbon and a phosphide of nickel-iron known as Schreibersite. Platinum is present to the amountof about one-fifth ounce per ton. There are also traces of copper,chromium, cobalt, and several other common minerals. Nickelconstitutes about 5 to 7 per cent of the whole. Iron constitutesfrom 80 to 90 per cent.

The meteorites are very difficult to cut, far m ore difficult thanordinary steel, due to their content of schreibersite, silica, sul-phide and carbon. The latter is sometimes in the form of a dia-mond.When a polished section of the meteorite is properly treatedwith acid there develops a striking pattern of lines and areasknown as Widmanstatten figures. This pattern is readily de-stroyed or greatly dimmed by heating to about the point of red-ness. Many of the specimens that have been cut show that theyhave been heated so that the Widmanstatten pattern is veryweak or entirely destroyed. Others show a very beautiful pat-tern.

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"We both jumped and landed onthe boulder."

I ., /Ill

(fold -ffuntetiJllke That!

On a scientific expedition along the Coloradoriver in southern Utah, Charles Kelly and his com-panions saved the l ife of a prospector who had be-come separated from his camp and was near star-vation. And here is the story of that rescuewithan interest ing sidelight on human behavior underharrowing circumstances.

^ / OR two days we had tramped/ down the rocky bed of No rthwash, a dry side canyon, to reachthe Colorado. A July sun, bouncing offhigh red sandstone walls made the nar-row canyon a bake oven, and in 30 mileswe had found but one spring.There were five of us in the party, un-der the leadership of Dr. Julian H. Stew-ard, starting on an archaeological ex-

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By CHARLES KELLYIllustration by John Hansenploration of Glen canyon of the Coloradoriver. Our two canvas boats and supplieswere being hauled down the wash in alight wagon.It was nearly sundown of the secondday when we finally turned the last bendof North wash and saw the muddy watersof the river. We let out a mighty shoutwhich echoed and reechoed from the per-pendicular red walls. We thought we

were the only men in that whole wild sec-tion; but in that we were mistaken. Hard-ly had the echoes died away before an oldman pushed his way through the willowsalong the bank and came toward us, wav-ing his arms frantically."Hurry!" he shouted. "He's over thereacross the river!""Who's over there?" we asked, unable

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to understand what he was trying to tellus."My partner!" the old fellow said."He's been there nine days without food,but I think he's still alive. I saw himmoving this afternoon."We looked where he pointed. Faracross the swirling water on a high per-pendicular bluff we finally made out thefigure of a man. We waved and shouted,but there was no response."Who is he, and what is he doing overthere?" we asked."He's one of my partners," the old mansaid. "There were three of us. Bill andSam built a raft and tried to cross theriver. The raft broke up on a rock. Bill'sbeen over there nine days, but I haven'tseen anything of Sam; guess he's gone.Have you fellows got a boat?"Without waiting for further questionswe unpacked one of the folding boats,hurriedly put it together and started acrossfor the marooned man. While two of mycompanions rowed across against the stiffcurrent, I got a little more informationfrom the excited old fellow.Bill and Sam, he said, lived in LasVegas. They were about 35 years old, andlike most N evadans had done considerableprospecting. Having heard that the sandsof the Colorado contained placer gold,they had long wanted to investigate thereport. The older man had been in theKlondike in 1898 and had prospected allhis life. When Bill and Sam learned heunderstood placer mining, they inducedhim to accompany them to the Coloradoriver. The Old Sourdough, as we calledhim, was 76.The three men had traveled down thewash as far as possible in an old batteredcar, then packed their supplies down tothe river on their backs. They made campin a small cave at the mouth of the sidecanyon. For several days they had pros-pected the sands on the west bank withoutmuch success.Finally the two younger men decided tocross and inspect a likely looking bar onthe cast side. For this purpose they hadbuilt a raft of driftwood. But the currentwas too strong and the raft was soon

wrecked on a sharp boulder near the op-posite shore. Sam had disappeared, butBill was still over there.While we talked the canvas boatreached the opposite shore, landing on abar some distance upstream. We could seethe figure of Bill as he tried to make hisway down the cliff to where the boat hadlanded. He attempted to run, but his legswere too weak and he fell every few steps.They finally had to carry him. He washysterical from hunger and fright and in-sisted on lying flat in the bottom of theboat, where he couldn't see the water.When they pulled into shore below

camp, the two oarsmen lifted Bill out ofthe boat. His feet had scarcely touchedsolid earth before he fell to his knees on

the wet sand, raised his hands heavenwardand started to pray."Oh Lord," he said, with tears stream-ing down h is sunburned face, "yo u've beenmighty good to me. You've sent these menhere to save my life, and I'm sure thank-ful. I've been a big fool, Lord, chasingaround the country looking for gold, but

now that you've seen fit to let me live, I'llnever hunt gold again as long as I live.Never again, Oh Lord, I promise."We carried him up to his camp in thecave. He blubbered like a lost child whenhe greeted his old partner. We made abed for him and gradually got him quieted.Old Sourdough opened a can of soup andfed him a spoonful at a time at short in-tervals. Within two hours he seemed nor-mal again, and was able to tell us hisstory."We dragged our raft a half mile up-stream, " Bill said, "inten ding to pole

across to that bar on the other side. Butthe river was deeper than we expected andwhen the current caught us our poleswere useless. The raft started down like achip in a whirlpool. In less than a minutewe were below the bar, where the cur-rent shot us over toward that sheer wall.Just below the wall was a big boulder thathad fallen from the cliff. Our raft hit ithead on and broke up like a bunch ofmatchstems. When we saw what was go-ing to happen we both jumped and land-ed on the boulder. The raft floated awayin pieces and we lost everything."There we were marooned on a boul-der in the river. It was about 50 feet fromthe sheer wall on the other side, but mostof the current seemed to be flowing be-tween the rock and the wall. I couldn'tswim, but Sam could. He studied the sit-uation for a half hour and decided to swimacross to the wall and try to work himselfup through a narrow crevice. He took offhis clothes and dived. That was the last Iever saw of him. He never came up."I stayed on the boulder the rest of thatday, the next n ight, the following day andnight. It was big enough to lie on, butsloped off into the water so I had to keepawake to prevent falling off. Finally, onthe third day a big log came floating past.I grabbed it, climbed on and started float-ing down, hoping it would land me some-where below, on this side, so I could walkback to camp. I took off my belt andstrapped myself to the log."Just below here is a big rapid, full ofrocks, where the current roars through anarrow channel. I was afraid of the riveranyway, but when I saw those rocks andbig waves I thought my time had come.The log headed for the worst part of the

rapids, and the waves nearly drowned me,but I got through without being knockedoff the log.

"Six miles below there is another longrapid. When I got to the upper end ofthat one, and heard it roar, I must havefainted, because I don't remember any-thing for a long time. When I came to mysenses, the log was stuck on a sandbar. Iwaded to shore and tried to get my bear-ings. I didn't know how far I had come,but I was still on the wrong side of theriver.

"I was afraid to take any more chanceson the log, so I decided to walk back up-stream. By that time I was mighty weakand terribly sunburned from lying twodays on that hot rock. The river bank wasdensely overgrown with willows and Ihad to fight my way through, a step at atime. By the time I had gone a mile or twoit was dark and I slept underneath a ledge."In the morning I started again. SoonI came to a sheer cliff running down intothe river. The water was too deep to wade

and I couldn't swim, so there was no wayof passing except to climb around it. Thecliff was at least 400 feet high and I had aterrible time getting to the top. When Ifinally g ot up I walked along the top hunt-ing for a place to climb down, but gettingdown was worse than climbing up. I gotledged up several times and had to drop10 or 15 feet to get out. I'm still black andblue from the falls I took."But I had only gone a short distanceuntil I came to another sheer wall. I man-aged to climb out again, but hadn't gonefar along the rim until the path was barred

by a deep, lateral wash. In order to getacross it I had to walk miles away from theriver, and almost choked from thirst be-fore I got back to water. There were sev-eral places like that. I must have walked50 miles in coming back about 12 milesby river from where the log left me."When I finally did get back I was nobetter off than before; I was still on thewrong side. But I was too weak to makeanother try, so I found a small cave overthere and just crawled in out of the hotsun and waited. I could see Old Sour-

dough was still here. He waved at me andshouted, but I couldn't hear a thing onaccount of the roaring rapids. I was soweak I could hardly stand, but couldn'tfind a thing to eat. I did catch some liz-ards and tried to eat their tails, but it mademe sick. I had river water to drink, butit was half mud, and left several pounds ofconcrete in my stomach. What were youplanning to do, Partner?""I was too old to be of much use," theOld Sourdough replied. "I couldn't swimand I didn't dare try to make another raft.I knew I couldn't get far if I tried to walk

out. But back at Trachyte ranch they toldus a party was coming down here soon. Ididn't know when, but I hoped they'd14 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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come within a few days. So I just waitedand hoped. I saw Bill and Sam land on theboulder, then after a li t t le while there wasonly Bill . He was there two days, thendisappeared and I thought he wasdrowned too. I had grub enough to last amonth, so I decided to stay until someonecame along. A few days later Bill wavedto me from across the river, and I wasmighty glad to know he was stil l alive. ButI couldn ' t do anything for h im. The wai t -ing nearly drove me crazy. It 's been ninedays since the boys pushed off on the raft.I figured to wait one more day and thentry to walk to Trachyte ranch, 40 m iles, forhelp. But I 'm getting so old I probablycouldn't have made it . That yell you fel-lows let loose was just about the finestmusic I ever heard."

It was midnight when we left the pros-pectors and made our own camp in thewillows a short distance upstream. By thattime Bill had taken one can of soup andpart of a can of tomatoes. He was feelingmuch better. After we left Old Sourdoughgave him some boiled rice and condensedmilk.In the morning we began loading ourequipment into the two boats preparatoryto pushing off on our voyage through thecanyon. We didn 't go down to the cave,presuming Bill would want to sleep andrest most of the day. W e finished stowingthe stuff about 10 o'clock and were aboutready to push off, whe n Old Sourdou ghcame up the river bank carrying a gold panand a shovel."How's Bi l l th is morning?" we askedsolicitously.The old fellow jerked his thumb backtoward his camp. "There he comes," hesaid, grinnin g. W e could scarcely believeour eyes, but it was Bill all right, walkingwith a firm, steady step."Come on, boys!" he shouted. "I 'm go-ing a couple miles up the river to stake outsome claims. I'll stake one for each ofyou. You saved my life last night."Bill 's physical weakness and mentaldepression of the previous nine days had

entirely disappearedalong with his sol-emn vow, on bended knees, never again tohunt for gold.Prospectors are like that. * New Lake on the Desert . . .

After having been dry for several yearsthe Laguna Sa.'ada basin just south of theinternational boundary in Lower Califor-nia was refilled with water from the Colo-rado river during May. The lake, 40 mileslong and from 5 to 8 miles wide, is now atthe highest level within the memory of lo-cal residents. The fill ing of this basin is ana tura l phenomenon, due to unknownchanges in the channel of the stream whereit flows through the delta.

f|l||7UUIfcm o n t n s Desert Quiz calls for at least an ele-mentary knowledge of a wide range of subjects in-cluding desert history, geography, mining, miner-alogy, botany, Indian lore, and literature. So do not feel badly if you do not makea perfect score, or even half of them. The average person will know less than 10of the answers. Only the seasoned desert rats will reach 15. But even if you doknow all the answers, you can learn some interesting things about the desertfrom studying this list and the answers. The answers are on page 28.

1Bill Wi lliam s river in Arizona was named for a famous Stage coachdriver Steamboat pilot Mo untain man Army officer-2A mano was used by the Indians to Kill game Offer prayers to thegods Ado rn the medicine men Grin d seeds3The old Bradshaw freight and stage road crossed the Colorado river nearEhrenberg Yuma Parker Picacho4 Gran Quivira na t ional monum ent is in New Mexico.. ArizonaUtah Colorado5According to legend the Lost Dutchman mine of Arizona is located in theHarq ua Hala range Superstit ion mo untains ..^.. . .

Camelback mounta ins Wh ite mounta ins6Going south from Tucson into Sonora, Mexico, you would cross the inter-national boundary at Doug ias San Luis Noga les Nac o7The mescal plant that grows in the desert region isYucca__- Cactus Palm Ag av e... Z. .8If you owned a cinnabar mine with a mill for processing the ore you wouldship your product to market inIngots Flask s.: . . . . . Bags Bales9B etatakin is the name of a Hopi chief Ute Indian reservationOld Indian cliff dwelling Ceremonial god of the Navajo

10A chuckawalla lizard hasTw o feet Fou r feet Eight feet... Craw ls on its belly.-

11 "T he Goosenecks are in the San Juan river Colorado riverLittle Colorado river Green river12Blossom of the Beavertail cactus isW hite Yel low.. Orange Magenta13In locating a mining claim the location notice should be placedAt point of discovery...A... In all four corner monumentsIn the center of the claim On nearest mou ntain peak14Nevada's famous bottle house is located atGoldfield Ton opah .. Rhyolite Beatty15Water level in the Salton Sea of Southern California is governed mainly byRainfall in the surrou nding area- Springs in the bottom of the Sea

Surplus irrigation water from Imperial Irrigation district.. . .:^Overflow from the Colorado riverU te16Mangus Colorado was a chief of theYumas Apaches Pueblo Indians.

17Going from Needles, California, to Las Vegas, Nevada, by the most directimproved road, you would pass throughChlorid e Bagdad Searchlight.. .y... . Kin gm an.18The book "Cartoon Guide of Arizona" was written byHal Emp ie No rton Allen Ross Santce.- Reg Ma nning ... .: . . .19Your best view of the Wasatch mountains would be obtained fromTucson Salt Lake dty..i/.... Santa Fe Reno20 Trav ertine is a precipitate ofGypsum Copper Limestone . / / . . . . Arsenic

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This is the story of a poem thatwas forty years in the writingMany thousands of manu-scripts have come to mydesk inthe last five yearsstories offact andfiction, of c o m e d y andtragedy. Some of them sparkled

with interest, others were stiltedand dull. From all of them, Iwould select this true story byPhil K.Stephens as themost hu-m an narrative Ihave read . Ify o uand Icould learn the simple truththis hum bl e desert woman hasexpressed in thep oe m it "tookforty years to write" we wouldhave acquired a philosophy oflife that would contribute morethan all e l se in theworld to ouro w n and thehappiness of man-kind universally.R.H.

rfeeauty Hwot Ift yczcei,in theheabtl men

By PHIL K. STEPHENSIllustration by John HansenANY years have passed since thattime when, on the rutted road toEhrenberg, I saw wavering wheeltracks turnin g off from the main road andleading toward the south. I left my car andexamined the unusual prints. A lightspring wagon drawn by burros was myconclusion.But why? Where to?What manner ofman driving into that barren desert? Won-dering, somewhat fearful, I decided tofollow.After some time, topping a rise littlehigher than the surrounding country, Isaw beside an arroyo, perhaps a mile dis-tant, a rough shack and other signs typicalof the surroundings of a desert camp. In afew minutes I was there.I followed the tracks around to thesouth side of the shack and stopped in ut-ter puzzlement. The door, open at thattime ofyear, was in the center of the build-ing, a structure rude beyond description.On either side of the door was a cactusgarden lovely as an exquisite painting. Asmall remuda close by furnished a supportfrom which hung a large olla, its sweatysides glistening in the light. Thecanvasflaps of the shack were propped up re-vealing colorful drapes inside thescreens.I left the car, walked to the door andrapped. My eyes, accustomed to the fierce

light of the sun,could not accommodatequickly to the darkened interior. Thensuddenly, materializing from the darkness,a little old woman stood at the door.From her left wrist hung aknitted bag, herright hand inside the reticle."Will you pardon me?" I asked. "Isaw wheel tracks leading from the roadand of course, being a desert man, I hadto find out if there was trouble anywhere."An expression of relief lightened theold face. "Are you anofficer?" she asked."No," I replied, "just anengineer. ButI amcurious. It seems unusual to find alady of your age outhere where only theexperienced desert rat can exist.""M y sonfollows dryplacering and wehave been camped in this wash for sometime," she explained. "There is gold inthe washenough tomake it profitable towork. My husband followed this work andwhen he passed on my son and I have keptat it. Weprospect in both California andArizona. Won't you come in?Would youcare for some cool water?"They hadfound a seep of water at thearroyo edge and had developed it suf-ficiently to furnish water for themselvesand their burros. Her son had just goneup the w ash amile ortwo to start his dailywork, devoting the evening hours to his

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task, the heat of the day being too greatfor labor.As we talked the sun had sunk belowthe horizon and the western sky glowedin the riot of color of a typical Arizonasunset. The shy creatures of the nightstarted their serenade, the muted musicof their calls coming to the ears in vibrantcrescendo. A saddened coyote lifted hisplaint from a distant hill, answered atlength from another hill by an equally sor-rowful wail. The desert was respondinggratefully to the cooling influence of thenightly breezes.The little old woman talked much ofthe desert and her wanderings with herman. The Mojave and the Picacho inCalifornia and along the rivers and the drywashes of western Arizona. Never a bigstrike but enough at all times for a livingand a modicum of comfort. Then her man,old and worn, had gone on the final ad-venture, a journey he needs must makealone. Then, indeed, had life and timepassed her by and she was but tarrying afew hours with her son.As she talked I was struck by her insis-tent reference to the beauty of the desertthings. The flaming sunsets, the jaggedsilhouette of distant mountains againstthe ever-changing pastels of sunrise; thebeadwork on the back and sides of a gilamonster, the geometric pattern along theslithering length of the rattlesnake; thedelicate little ground flowers of thespring; the ragged Joshua tree, apart fromtime and change, the lupines and the des-ert lilies, the blazing stars swinging lowin an ebon sky, the blue haze on farranges, the cactus in the time of bloom, ex-emplifying the emergence of delicacy andbeauty from mean sources."Why have you not written these thingsdown?" I exclaimed impulsively. "Theworld is in need of such thought.""Do you think so?" she asked. "But Icould never write to make people see.But," shyly, "I have written a few verses.It's taken 40 years to write and I finishedit just the other day. It's such a foolish lit-tle thingthe only thing I ever wrote. Ofcourse you wouldn't care to see it.""Please, may I?" I asked.She lifted an old and tattered Biblefrom a shelf and took out a sheet of paperfrom within its leavesa remnant savedfrom a paper sack. "I will read it," she-said, "but it sounds as if a man wrote it. Itjust sort of shaped itself. No one has everseen it."She adjusted her spectacles and began:

"Beauty is the whole of life,The fairest lives the best.Th e sweetest note of musicThe soonest lulls to rest.''"You see," she explained, "the firstverse was the hardest. I thought for yearsabout it." Then she resumed."I thought that here's a venture,To roam the wide world 'round,

To search in distant placesWhere beauty might be found.""I was just like that," she said. "On thego all the time. My man would b ring homeevery kind of flower or rock he thoughtwas pretty. I just had to see it.""7 saw the craggy mountains,The laughing streams that flow,The rosy flush of morning

And evening's dying gloxv.""That sounds a little silly," she ex-plained, "but I couldn't find any otherwords.""I saiv a fairy mountainBeside a castle old.Tossing droplets in the sunAll diamonds and gold.""That seems like something I've heardbefore. Maybe not. The thought came tome one time when my man and I were inthe city and I saw a fountain in front of abig house.""And there beside the waterA maiden young and fair,Sweetly smiling face inframedBy dusky braids of hair.""Maybe that doesn't seem to fit in butI had to bring life in to fill out the pic-ture," she explained.

"Sure it is my quest iso'er'Not so,' a sage replied.'Thousands just as fair have lived'And with their beauty died.'"She was lost a moment in introspection."That sounds a little harsh," she mused,"but I couldn't leave out that part of life."" 'Beauty is not in faces,Nor in the verdant fen,Not in the trees or mountains.But in the hearts of men: ""That's all," she said, "It isn't much, isit? Maybe you don't understand but I'vebeen trying to put down the thought thatit isn't the sunset, or the flower or themountains that's beautiful but it's some-thing that's already in our hearts that turnsit into beauty. Cancan you see it as Ido?" she asked anxiously."Yes, I think I do," I replied humbly.That little poem was a shorthand for hercondensation of life, the epitome of desperate effort to wrest all of glory and beau

ty from a drab existence.With a start I realized the lateness of thehour. I rose. "Would it be too much forme to make a copy of your verses?""Why, no," she replied, happily, Ithought. "Take this. I do not need it. Iknow it by h eart. "She came to the car with me and as Iopened the door I asked, "Aren't yousomewhat afraid out here alone so muchof the time?""Oh, no," she laughed, a note of mis-chief in her voice. She opened the knittedreticle, reached in and held her hand be-

fore me. From the reflected glow of thehead lights I saw on the withered andwrinkled palm one of those old-fashioned.41 caliber, short, snubby, two shot der-ringers, one barrel below the other, thedeadliest short range weapon ever devised.For a second I was shocked, then I realizedshe had always been face to face with starkreality."Come to see me when next you passthis way," she invited and stood while Ibacked away and straightened out on thefaint road. She lifted her hand in farewelland turned to the door.My lights laid a segment of illumina-tion before me and I saw the mice and des-ert rabbits, the lizards and horned toadsscurrying across the trail. A lone coyoteshambled into the light and made an un-hurried exit. Overhead flaming Castor andPollux drifted in eternal companionshipacross the sky and the great dipper laidagainst the black vault of heaven. A per-fect desert night was extending its bene-diction to the land, short hours beforewrithing in torturing heat.

In the careless way men have I neverreturned to the little shack by the arroyoedge nor did I hear further what befellthe little old lady. But I seldom ride alongthrough a desert night without thinkingof her.J U L Y , 1 9 4 2 17


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iThe populat ion at Yaquitepec, the desert home ofMarshal South and his family on Ghost mountain, isgrowing. Growing youngs te rs need mi lkand Marsha lhas so lved the problem by acqui r ing a couple of goa ts .They thrive on the sparse vegetat ion of this remote des-ert outpost . This month Marshal gives some new side-lights on the art of primitive living in the land of mescaland junipe r .

By MARSHAL SOUTH/ / IV ID yellow plumes of the tall, blossoming mescals( / against the mor ning sun. The silence is lazy with thefaint drone of a myriad bees. And before the open win-dows of Yaquitepec little shoals of tiny insects hang suspendedon vibrating wings. In their poised watchfulness and dartingmovements their likeness to microscopic fish in some clear

tropical lagoon, is startling. And why not? We all dwell at thebottom of a mighty air ocean; exactly the same, except for dens-ity, as that in which the marine creatures live. How close to-gether the Great Spirit has placed the different planes of Life!And how little we know about even the most obvious of them.The w orld of the ocean adjoins our own. A nd w hat do we reallyknow of its secrets and life conditions? Yet we pretend, manytimes, an arrogant knowledge of realms much more mysterious.Tanya and R ider are up the slope gathering mescal fuel. Theirvoices drift down to me through the still air. And with themthe faint, musical clank of goat bells. For Conchita and Juan-ita, our two four-footed friends, have rambled off with them,following at their heels like pet dogs, cropping a bite here anda mouthful there. Skipping from rock to rock and butting each

other playfully.Have I chronicled Conchita and Juanita before? Perhapsnot, for it is only recently that they became members of ourGhost mountain population. Already, though, they are a firmpart of the picture and their drowsily tinkling bells havebrought to Yaquitepec an added flavor of Old Mexico and thecolorful lands of sunshine.Small, active little goatsa Nubian Toggenberg mixturetheir brown coats and graceful antelope outlines fit perfectlyinto our desert landscape. They are popular with our youngYaquitepecos, for more reasons than one. Rider, Rudyard andVictoria now hold milk drinking contests.I pause a moment to watch the primitive picture which myfuel gatherers and their four-footed attendan ts make as they

come down the rocky face of the northeast ridge. Rider glintslithe and sun-bronzed against the sky. On his shoulders he bal-ances skillfully two dead mescal plants of last season's vintage.With their long poles and attached butts of yellow, bristlingdry leaves they seem to completely overshadow their eight-year-old carrier as he steps carefully from foothold to footholdon a trail that is markedIndian fashionby occasional guidestones.Tanya's filled basket is poised high upon her shoulder, stead-ied with one arm. Her unbound hair waves free in the sunlightas she picks her way through the pattern of purple-grey rocksand blooming buckwheat, pushing aside the emerald greenwands of scarlet tipped ocotillos.And before her, or behind, or on either side, as she moves,

range the goats. A pair of little brown antelope, skipping fromboulder to boulder. The musical clink-tonk-tink of their bellsswells louder as they draw nearer the house. Primitive, funda-

Rider South {standing) ivith Rudyard and V ictoria en-joyed refreshments in the shade oj a Ghost mountainjuniper.mental life in a prim itive, fundamental setting! Only the des-ert, it seems, holds such scenes now. Scenes of a simple life, ina changing tapestry of color, that are both a joy and a despair.One longs to paint themto catch their color and appeal uponcanvas. But the longing is vain. The desert defies you. Even asyou reach for a pencil or snatch for your colors the pattern haschanged; dissolved and re-arranged and re-bltnded as the pat-terns of the drifting clouds and the elusive shadows that fleckthe wasteland distances. Well, perhaps it is better thus. This isthe stuff of which dreams are woven. And one cannot freezedreams upon canvas or imprison them in glass containers. Forthen, instantly, they cease to be dreams.

Fuel gathering these warm days is a minor chore. Somethingto be done in odd moments; not the imperative "has to be" thatdrove us during the winter. But nevertheless we often lookback regretfully on our roaring winter fires. Not alone fromthe primitive bond that an evening fire has upon the humanheart but also from the cooking angle.

Big fires mean abundant banks of glowing coals. And a plen-18 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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titude of hot coals helps a lot in cookery. Almost every evening,during the cold months, Tanya would take a great iron pot witha close-fitting lid and, having filled it with some sort of variedstew ingredientsjerkey meat and potatoes and onions, orbeans and chili and corn, or what not, all generously seasonedwith garlic or wild sageshe would rake out the glowing coalsof the big fireplace, clear down to the hot, baked-clay paving,and setting the hug e pot in the hollow, would cover it complete-ly with coals and banked ashes. In the morning we would rakeaway the grey, still warm ash banks and lift the iron lid from acauldron of delectably cooked food; all the component ingredi-ents tender and spicily fragrant with a fragrance which onlycookery by wood heat can give.

We have never found a substitute method for this primitiveway of cookinga substitute, that is, which gives anythinglike the same results. It is only a variation, of course, of the pitoven of the savage or the b uried bean pots of our ancestors. Butit has a "something" to it. Different ways, and different heatmediumsespecially this latteraffect strikingly the flavor offood. And its healthfulness. As he has followed the siren songof his shiny modern gadgets of food preparation up the ladderof ease man has lost something. Perhaps much more than hewould believe possible.Humming birds whirr in the sun. And all over Ghost moun-tain the strawberry cacti are beginning to yield their harvest ofcool, delicious fruit. Rider and Rudyard are busy, most of theirspare time, in scouting for them. Their healthy young appe-tites, plus Victoria's, make heavy inroads on the supply. Therenever is quite enough to satisfy the demandwhich is per-haps why the delicious morsels never lose their popularity.Pink in color and protected by spines, the fruits, when freedfrom their savage overcoats, are tempting snow-white or pink-tinted balls of coolness, plentifully speckled with tiny, shinyblack seeds. Other residents of Ghost mountain like them too;including the chipmunks and pack rats. Sometimes we wish thepack rats, in particular, were not so crazy about the delicacies.No t that we envy them their just portion of the fruit. But we doobject to their thrifty habit of saving every thorn-cluster in the

rind and placing it at strategic points either in the vicinity oftheir own homesor ours. Very often ours. There are fewthings more exasperating to step on, with bare feet, than thesevery efficient little thorn bunches. At the mom ent one is apt tolose sight of the intelligence the pack rat displays in using thisperfectly natural defense against enemies.Pack rats are remarkable little desert dwellers. They providea never ending source of diversion as well as an unfailing fieldfor study. We have one old fellow who has chosen to live in abig rough outdoor cupboard in which we store miscellaneousodds and ends. His nest, a big affair, is composed mostly of thecotton padding which he industriously stole from an old auto-mobile cushion. This is his home. But all the aisles and openspaces among the cupboard's contents constitute the "grounds"of his estate.Periodicallyaccording to the season of the yearhe decor-ates this pleasure park either with tufts of green from juniperbranches or with an artistic litter of cholla joints and chewedyucca leaf scraps. In one corner of the cupboard stands an oldquart jar without a lid. This is his crystal treasure chest. He isalways filling it and emptying it. The costly loot that it containsis composed of everything that strikes his fancybits of sun-dried orange peel, small clusters of cholla thorns, sections ofchewed yucca leaves, dry juniper berries, bits of sun-whitenedbone, bleached twigs, scraps of paper, dried ocotillo blossoms.There seems no end to the variety of hoarded trinkets. W hen thejar is full he starts, methodically, to unload it. And when it isempty fills it again. Over and over. A serious business; one to

which he has evidently dedicated his life.Undoubtedly he is an "eminent personage" of some sort.

Perhaps a Rajah or a Baron. Or an Antiquarian of note. Andif you are going to smile at his antics and his "stupidity" itmight be well to remember what some humans do. Even to thehoarding of diamonds and rubiesand other bits of glorifiedglass.Not all pack rats however have a "purpose" in life, or takeit so seriously. In direct contrast to our collector friend is theone who lives on our roof. He is a gay soul. One who believes,evidently, that life was meant to be tossed away in careless

gaiety. A short life and a merry one. He is a cynic. Collect prop-erty? Not h e! His home is a careless affair of unhand some stickstossed together in a sheltered nook where our main roof over-hangs that of a small outhouse. He has no pride in it. It is mere-ly a place in which to sleep when he comes reeling home fromwild pa rties. And he is out on a. wild party almost every nig ht.He is quite regular and has developed a technique all his own.When coming home he first climbs to the top of our rockbuilt water cistern. From thence to a jutting beam. From thisvantage point, as a springboard, he takes off in a wild leap,landing with a resounding crash in the midst of our sheet ironroof. Sometimes, in tipsy jollity, he is lugging a juniper stickbigger than himself. This adds an artistic note to the "soundeffect." Perhaps you think a desert pack rat too small to make

much noise. But if you could be jerked from sleep at two o'clockin the morning by the sound of our hilarious friend landing onthe roof you would think you were listening to the explosion ofa demolition bomb. Almost nightly we swear dire vengeanceupon our gay roof tenant. And, as regularly, when the desertmorning breaks in peace, we forgive him. After all he is "oneof the family." It takes all kinds to make up a worldin thedesert as elsewhere.Warm days and sun. Far, far away the dim, phantom leaguesof the lowland desert lie wrapped in a smoke-blue shimmeringhaze. Upon the horizon bulk the distant outlines of sleepingmountains. The whiptail lizards scoot across the white gravelbefore the house, nosing, in search of prey, from bush clumpto bush clump.W e appreciate the cool water in the drinking olla these days.Also the shade. The children have discovered a way to combinethe two. They spread a blanket near some friendly juniper andbring forth from the house an earthern jar of cold water a littleflavored with honey orif it is to be hada little lemon juice.Then they sit around, Indian fashion, and sip cool drinks fromsmall home made pottery cups, stirring the brew every once ina while with a big wooden spoon. Victoria plays hostess. Andvery wellif she can be prevented from upsetting the waterjar.Quite ceremonious the youngsters make these tribal drink-fests. Sometimes, watching them, we wonder just what thefriendly spirits who lurk in the tree shadows must think of all

thishere on their ancient ranging grounds. Ghosts? Oh yes.There ar eghosts on Ghost mountain. B ut that, as Kipling wouldhave said, is another story. 0

SINCERITYBetter a rag and a meagre bone.And a drink from some running stream,If you can catch an overtoneFrom the distant shores of your dream.For what is fare of a prince's choice.Or a money bag or two,If you m ust hush your still small voiceAnd live in ways untrue. Tanya South

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Scene from "Lady in a Jam," filmed on the A rizona desert near Superstition mountains.Irene Dunne on the left, then Q ueenie Vassar and Edward McWade. T he veteran with thewhite beard s Mr. Underwo od, desert rat who was drafted for a part in the play.

W hen HollywoodComes to the Desert

There's a wide gap between Hollywood and the desert. The moviecapital is a city of make-believe. In the desert where Nature reignssupreme there is l i tt le pose or pretense. The desert is genuine. But deepbeneath the skin humans are about the same everywhere, as you wil ldiscover if you read this story of what took place when a troupe ofplayers from the place of pretend-to-be came to the land of things-are-what-they-appear-to-be.By ETHEL S. CAPPS

f * NE day there were strange doings\_y just over the hill from my littleshack on the Arizona desert. I firstbecame aware of it when unusual soundssmote the peaceful quiet of the desertmorning. The hammering and thumpingand pounding were unnatural for this re-mote place at the base of the Superstitionmountains.When I could restrain my curiosity nolonger I walked up to the brow of the hilland peeked over.There were men and trucks and greatloads of building materials. They had in-vaded my desert domain, and were build-ing a camp."Oh, we're putting up a set for Univer-sal pictures," one of the workmen told20

me. "There's the boss over there." Henodded his head toward the man who ob-viously was directing the construction.Later I came to know this man as JackTait, ace town-builder-and-wrecker fromHollywood.The town was taking form rapidly.From somewhere a weather-beaten oldshack was coming in on a truck. Others oflike appearance were being thrown to-gether with old boards and rusty tin. SoonI was able to recognize main street. Anold-fashioned false-front store was beingbuilt of brick and glass to resemble a ruinwhich had long since parted with the restof the building.There was one false notetwo housesand a saloon were being built of bright

new lumber. But I was yet to learn aboutthe ways of Hollywood. When the newstructures were complete, Mr. Tait andhis crew of carpenters and painters tooksledge-hammers and two-by-fours andproceeded to cave in new walls, smashwindows and make a mess of things gen-erally. Then they patched the windows, orboarded them up."Aging them," they called it. The final"aging" was done by the painters. Theysprayed the buildings a dirty grey, re-touched them with streaks of lighter ordarker shades. The hitching rail in front ofthe saloon had been whittled and carved,and it too was given the weathered ap-pearance by the paint crew.Sheds were built around an old mineshaft, and a stamp-mill was erectednewat first but soon as ancient and dilapidatedin appearance as the rest of the camp.In two weeks the mine and camp wereready for the show. No one bothered toname the town, but the saloon was calledthe "Lost Hope."Then came truckload after truckload ofpropsfurniture, reflectors, spot lights,two great generators to supply electricity,and all the apparatus for a Class A picture.All of it came from Hollywood 500 milesaway.But before the picture could be startedthe art director, the associate producer,cameraman and others arrived to inspectthe set from a photographic standpoint.That window would give a better view ofthe Superstitions for some interior shot ifit were in this wall instead of that one. SoT HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Above Edward McW ade shows Irene Dunne hoiv to pan gold. The skeptical on-lookeris Queenie Vassar.Below Desert people filled in as extras for the gold rush scene. Superstitions in thebackground.

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The author, Ethel Ca pps, shows Irene Dunne and Patric Knowles how desert people pan

the window was changed. The ground wastoo light in placesand they remediedthat with the dirty-looking paint. Theroadway needed some desert shrubsandthese were added.Since there were no hotel accommoda-tions large enough for the actors and allthdr camp-followers, directors, photo-graphers, sound men, make-up artists,publicity men, stand-ins and various tech-nicians, the personnel was to make the tripto Phoenix daily in buses.The public was to be barred, mainly be-cause of the extreme sensitivity of the mi-

crophones for recording sound. Spectatorsmight sneeze at the wrong time. Guardswere stationed around the set.I visited the camp each day, and wasinvited to remain through the filming ofthe picture. Perhaps this special privilegewas due to the fact that I am a prospectorin real life, while Irene Dunne andQueenie V assar w ere to be cast as woman-prospectors in the picture.The first morning on the set was ratherstrange for all of us. Many of the picturepeople had not met before, and few ofthem were in a setting entirely natural to

them.The associate director, Dave Todd,wanted me to meet Queenie Vassar. "Per-

haps you can give Miss Vassar some point-ers on mining," he suggested.But that fine old actress, who was toplay the part of grandmother, was moreinterested in information about coyotes,rattlesnakes and scorpions. A player allher life, she had lived mostly in the cities,and was somewhat concerned about the"wildlife" she might encounter out hereon the Arizona desert.The big fellow in the cowboy outfitwho looked like a dude-wrangler, 1learned, was the camera man, Hal Mohr.The smaller man with the snappy black

eyes, wearing a pull-on sweater, wholooked like a farmer from down the way,was Gregory La Cava, director and authorof the story.Ralph Bellamy and Patric Knowleswere friendly. Bellamy was full of fun,Knowles more quiet. Miss Dunne wasquite reserved on the set, but I found herkind and considerate to all those aroundher. Her part sometimes called for plentyof what my prospector friends call "guts."But she took it all in good grace. One coldwindy morning I arrived on the set to findher plastered with mud from the top of herhead to her toes. She was supposed to have

fallen in the stope of the old mine. As themud dried between shots an attendantsplashed water over her to freshen it. With

a chill wind blowing none of us envied herthat experience.Mr. La Cava and an assistant wrote thestory as the picture progressed. No oneknew from day to day what would comenext. The actors were handed their linesonly a few minutes before time to speakthem, or merely were told what to say."They must be geniuses," I said to oneof the party, referring to the writers.Yes, and I guess they think the rest ofus are geniuses too," he answered with anote of disgust.I rather think they were at that.One actor who came from Hollywood"to take a minor part said he couldn't learnthat many lines in so short a time, and tookthe next train home. A local man 75 yearsold, who had never acted in his life, wasdrafted to take the part. I saw Mr. La Cavahand him his lines in writing and rehearsewith him for a moment, then put him inthe scene. As a cloud passed over the sun,the cameras were stopped for a brief inter-val and I saw kindly Edward McWade,veteran player who took the part of leadprospector, take the opportunity to coachMr. Underwood, the novice, in speakinghis lines. Our desert amateur did himself

credit.Perhaps the secret of success in thiswrite-as-you shoot program was in Mr. LaT HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Cava's ability to pack the story with en-tertainment and human interest. He gath-ered ideas from watching those about him,particularly the actors, and wrote the dia-logues bearing in mind who was to speakthem. If a word or line bothered thespeaker, he changed it to make it easier.The extras for the gold rush were re-cruited from local desert people. The us-ual parade of old wagons, buggies, surreysand what-have-you had been assembled,and were allotted to those who could drivehorses. Several hundred persons were dis-tributed along the roads, trails and openspaces leading to the town and to the mineshaft. Some were in vehicles, others onhorseback or on foot with pack burros. Onthe word "action" they all moved forwardfrom every direction. They advanced to-ward the mine by stages while the cameramen shot from many angles.

It was remarkable how hund reds of peo-ple who had never appeared before amovie camera in their lives, and who camehere only out of curiosity, adjusted them-selves to the work at hand.Dressed in my work clothes, I was oneof the mob, with a little extra part. Withmy little black and white dog in leash Iwas to step in front of Mr. Bellamy andask Miss Dunne for her autograph. Justat the wrong moment my dog tried tododge between the two players and in theensuing tangle the leading man trippedand nearly fell.Picture-making in an outdoor settingcalls for much patience. There were dayswhen the whole troupe would arrive earlyin the day, only to loaf around waiting fora sun that wouldn't shine. Again, justwhen the sun broke through the cloudsafter a long wait, and the camera andsound men were ready, a noisy airplanewould arrive overhead. By the time theplane was gone, so was the sun."In Hollywood," one of the visitorstold me, "we send up a balloon to let theflyers know they are to stay away. Thenthey all come," he added, "and shoot atit."Scenes were made over time after timebecause of a slip of the tongue or a forgot-ten line, or because a stray sound from faror near reached the microphone. It was arare occasion when the scene was perfectthe first time. Mob shots were repeatedmany times in order that the best sectionsof the film could be patched together forthe final picture.The film and sound records were sentto Hollywood each day by airmail to bedeveloped. They were back in Phoenix byair the next morning to be projected on thescreen in a theater there for inspection asto correct timing of sound and picture, forfaulty lighting or other possible defects.The company expected to be at this des-ert location between three and four weeks,with more scenes to be taken in Holly-wood. Cloudy days and sickness pro-longed the time to five weeks, with a seriesJ U L Y , 1 9 4 2

of shots at the corral still to be taken.These finally were shot at the studio inHollywood.While the picture was in progress hereit was called "The Sheltered Woman," aname that did not in any way indicate thegay comedy it was. Later I was advised thetitle had been changed to "Lady in a Jam."I learned not to envy these movie folkstheir jobs. Their work is not the creamand roses most people think. They traveled40 miles to be on location by sun-up. And

there are winter days when even the desertis not a comfortable place to be outdoors.There were no comforts and few con-veniences on this locationbut they ac-cepted it all as part of the day's work.After all, I think I'll stick to my pros-pecting. The wages may not be so high asin Hollywoodbut even the biggesthearted director has to be a czar when heis on the job, and I do not fancy the worryand tension that seems necessary in thisworld of make-believe.

V I C T O R Y C A C T U S Even the cacti of the deserta re conspi r ing to keep h ighthe mora le of America whi lethe march toward inevitable Victory goes on. These veteran barrel cact i(bisnagas) were photographed one mile east of the old Valleci to stagestation along the Butterfield route in Southern Ccdifornia. The photographwas taken by W. Ford Lehman, Pacific Beach sta t ion, San Diego, Cali-fornia, and sent to the Desert Magazine office.

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Helen Pratt's hobby is tanning rattlesnakes' skins.And since it is necessary to catch the snake before cur-ing his hide, it is needless to say that hobby is not over-crowded. Here is Mrs. Pratt's story of the formula shehas developed, both for hunting the snakes and treat-ing the skins to make them soft and pliable for use.

MattLelnakeini ate

After nailing theskin on aboard, scrape ojj thefatty tissue,taking care not to damage the skin.24

From the vertebra of the rattlesnakes Helen Pratt makesnecklaces which find a ready market.By HELEN PRATT

/ y S FARback as I can remember, lizards, snakes and bugsI / held a strange fascination for me. I had no fear of them,only a desire to study their habits. My childhood wasspent in Texas. Rattlesnakes were plentiful there, and that iswhere the tanning of their skins became my hobby.Th e war between human beings and snakes is a one-sidedaffair. There are more snakes killed by men, than men killedby snakes. The rattler is a pretty good sportsmana sportsmanat a great disadvantage. He seldom fails to give a warning. It isunfortunate that he is unable to distinguish friend from foe.There are many humans who would prefer to leave the rattlergo his way undisturbed. But since, in his ignorance of humannature, he has been known to strike the innocent as well as theguilty, he has made himself an outlaw, to be killed at sight.Both care andcaution are necessary in securing a good snakeskin. Rattlers are alert and bold. They do no hysterical striking.

They wait for the right moment and then with lightning swift-ness, lunge out with all their power.If surprised in an outstretched position, the snake throws itsTHE DESERT MAGAZINE


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Here are the tools of the hunt a forked stick and a polewith a knife b lade on the end o f it. With these tools it is easy just pin the rattler's head tothe ground and then snip it off.body into a symmetrical coil, doubling its neck in an S-shapedloop, with head drawn back within the circle of its body, thestriking distance approximately half of its length.

Other venomous snakes such as sidewinders, copperheads andmoccasins will strike from any position, often aiming blowswhile on the move. A rattler invariably coils before striking.It is so sensitive to vibration that a foot-step often will causeit to coil and buzz, even when it cannot see the trespasser.To me, there is symmetry and beauty in the markings of arattlesnake's skin, and the fact that there are two poisonousfangs always on guard does not weaken my desire to obtain theskin. The coloration varies with different localities. The shadeand damp earth of timberlands produce stronger blacks andyellows. The contrasts are not so vivid on the desert, but thepattern is no less artistic.Here on Baldy mesa on the edge of the Mojave desert of Cali-fornia the markings are of a greenish grey with dark grey dia-monds. The mountain timber rattlers have black diamonds, andthe desert rattlers are light sand color with brown diamonds.

J U L Y , 1 9 4 2

My home is Wagon Wheel ranch near Victorville. We haveseen only one sidewinder on the ranch, but other snakes suchas king, gopher, red racer and rattler are rather plentiful. Ihunt only for the rattlersand find it exciting sport.Hunting is best on a partly cloudy day, with little breeze. Iseek a rocky location as the snake prefers shade. It cannot standdirect exposure of the sun on the super-heated sand in mid-summer. At that time of the year 1 5 minutes to a half hour inthe sun's rays will kill them.The weapons of the hunt are simple. A forked stick aboutfour feet long is used to pin the snake's head to the ground. Asecond stick with a knife blade firmly attached to the end quick-ly snips the neckand the reptile is rendered harm less. A razorblade may be inserted in the notch of the forked stick, and theentire operation done with one weapon.It is a general belief that rattlesnakes travel in pairs. Thatis true during the mating season in the spring of the year, but

they are seldom seen together after that.Baby rattlesnakes come from eggsbut the eggs are never25


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oj t/teETHEL CAPPS, who wrote this months story WHENHOLLYWOOD COMES TO THE DESERT, is a prospectorwith seven gold claims and a little cabin near the base of theSuperstition mountains in Arizona.This is one instance where the story came to the writer. Justas she related it in her narrative, Universal films happened to

{Continued from previous page.)seen. They are formed, according to Edmund C. Jaeger inDenizens of the Desert, within the ovaduct of the female andnever leave the body. Eventually from two to thirty snakesemerge.Sidewinders are a night-roving species. They hunt their foodunder cover of darkness when the rodents of the desert comefrom their holes and nests and burrows. They are most fre-quently found in the dunes, but also spend the daylight hoursin crevices and under bushes to avoid the sunshine. The aver-age length of a sidewinder is from 15 to 20 inches.Now for the process of tanning the skins:The snake should be suspended from the neck for skinning.Start at the top and simply peel the hide downward. A pair ofpliers will help.When the skin has been removed, take a pair of scissors or asharp knife and slit the under side, full length. The skin is thenstretched fairly taut and tacked to a smooth board, inside up.Fatty substance is scraped off with a knife or sharp-edged tool,care being taken not to damage the skin.Make a solution of one quart salt, one pint alum and one gal-lon of water. B ring the water to a boil and put it in a container oflead, wood or pottery. Stir in the salt and alum un til thoroughlydissolved. When cooled it is ready to use.

Place the skin in this solution for a week, stirring once a day.This toughens the skin and prevents the scales from fallingoff. At the end of a week it should be rinsed in cold water sev-eral times and then replaced on the board to dry.When thoroughly dry, rub it carefully with pure glycerineuntil it is saturated. After the application of glycerine, place theskin on the board for a day to help it absorb the glycerine morequickly and uniformly. This will keep it soft and pliable. Thenroll it in oiled paper. If it becomes dry repeat the glycerine treat-ment.Of course the season of the year has much to do with success-ful curing of the skin. August and September are the sheddingmonths of a rattlesnake and the skins are in poor condition.They will not respond as readily to the treatment I have out-

lined, nor do they have the satin lustre of snakes caught in thespring months, or soon after the shedding period.There may be other methods of getting the same results.However, this is the formula I have worked out after many un-successful experiments, and I can recommend it.From the vertebra of the rattlesnake I often make necklaces.They are odd and attractiveif you like them. I am aware thatsome people have a chronic aversion to anything connected witha reptile. However, that is a matter of personal taste, and sincethere are not enough to go around anyway, the rattlesnake neck-laces may be reserved for those who fancy them.Tanning snake skins is very definitely an outdoor hobbyyou have to catch 'em before you tan 'em. Perhaps it is not asport that would appeal to everyone. But it has brought me

many hours of enjoyable tramping over the desert terrainen-joyable because a beautifully patterned rattler is just one ofmany interesting things to be found on the desert landscape.

select an old mining shaft near her cabin as the location forfilming a mining western, and Miss Capps being a very prac-tical miner, was asked to supply some of the properties, and takea minor role in the picture.Her parents were pioneers in the northwest and she spent hergirlhood near Spokane, Washington. Later she taught school,but the pioneer blood was strong in her make-up and so shesought adventure as a prospector.She has studied photography, has a little darkroom in hercabin where she develops and prints her own pictures, and hassold a number of short articles to photographic magazines. Herpin money comes from novelties made from sun-colored glassshe finds in old mining camps. She has never been east of theRockies.PHIL K. STEPHENS, whose human interest story about thedesert woman who spent 40 years writing her life's philosophyin a poem, is a member of the engineering department of theState of Arizona. He lives at Mesa and his articles have appearedin Arizona Highways magazine and newspapers. His columns"Uncle Steve Says" and "A s I See the W orl d," have been widelyread by Arizonans. JOHN HILTON spent the early part of June in Monumentvalley. He and Harry Goulding of the Monument valley trad-ing post promised to get their heads together and work up somespecial material for Desert Magazine readers in that area. RAND HENDERSON, who left the Desert Magazine staffin January to join the marines, has completed his "boot camp"training with a sharpshooter's rating, and is awaiting orders for

advanced technical training at a Marine school in Utah. 0 LON GARRISON, whose HARD ROCK SHORTY yarnshave the distinction of being the only fiction to appear in Des-ert Magazine, recently has been transferred from the Washing-ton office of the national park service to Crater Lake nationalpark. Although he resigned from the Indian service and is nowliving in Whittier where he is employed by one of the oil com-panies, RICHARD VAN VALKENBERGH promised hewould continue to write of his experiences among the Navajofor Desert Magazine readers, and his story about Bead Singer,the medicine man, in this issue is in fulfillment of that prom ise.A new recruit among Desert Magazine writers this monthis HELEN PRATT of the Wagon Wheel ranch on the Mojavedesert near Victorville. Writing is the latest of many hobbiesacquired since her first birthday deep in the heart of Texasthirty-odd years ago."My snakeskin hobby," she says, "started several years agowhen I had just killed a rattler and decided I wanted a belt andhat-band from the skin. I started experimenting with variousformulae for curing the hide, and I have been at it ever since."Mrs. Pratt has lived in California the last 22 years, much ofthe time on the desert. She is a wildlife enthusiast, and findsmany interesting things in the desert besides snakes. Like mostother desert hikers she has become a rockhound, and is secretary

of a mineral club. She does art work, and despite her 109pounds, contributes much to the operation of the ranch, herspecial duties being the raising of game birds.26 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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theARIZONA

Cowhand Shortage . . .SA

194207 Desert Magazine 1942 July

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