194301 Desert Magazine 1943 January

8/14/2019 194301 Desert Magazine 1943 January

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THE- ' / . . V " ,

M A G

JANUARY, 1943 25 CENTS


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Weave*By FRED H. RAGSDALE

San Francisco, CaliforniaAwarded first prize in Desert Mag-

azine's November photographic con-test. Photo taken with a Rollieflexcam era, 1 50 sec , F:8, Super XXfilm.

PalmlSllko-uette

By G. E. KIRKPATRICKEl Centro, California

Winner of second prize in themonthly contest is this view taken atThousand Palms Oasis about 8 p. m.in full moonlight. Zeiss Ikon camera,F 3-5 lens, V2 sec, F:16, Super XX

film.


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D E S E R T

JAN 1 S o u t h w e s t e r n Sun C a r n i v a l ,El Paso, Texas . Mr. Wiley Ed-w a r d s , p r e s i d e n t Sun C a r n i v a la s soc i a t i on , manage r, ArmyY.M.C.A., El Paso , Texas .New Yea r t r i ba l dances , va r i -ous pueb los , New Mexico.

6 Ins ta l la t ion of Ind i an gove r-nors , New Mexico .Centra l d is t r ic t meet ing oiGarden c lubs , Phoen ix , Ari-zona .

7 Regu la r mee t ing Mine ra log i ca lsocie ty of Arizona, Phoenix ,Arizona.

8 P i ano conce r t by Solito deSol is , Phoenix , Ar izona.

1 1 Piano conce r t by Joseph Hoff-man , Phoen ix , Ar i zona .

14 Recital by Ethel Lee Proctor,New Mex ico H igh lands un ive r-sity, Las Ve g a s , New Mexico .

15 Regu la r mee t ing Mine ra log i ca isocie ty of Arizona, Phoenix ,Ar i zona .

18 Trcrop family, sin ger s, Pho enix,Arizona.

21 Assembly of J e w i s h C h a t a u q u asocie ty, New Mexico H igh landsun ive r s i t y, Las Ve g a s , NewMexico.

29 Igor Gor in , bar i to ne , winterconcer t ser ies , Phoenix ,Ari-zona .

30 P re s iden t ' s b i r t hda y ba l l ,LasVe g a s , New Mexico.

T h r o u g h o u t J a n u a r y and until April1, 1943, spec i a l exh ib i t I nd i ancrafts of Ar izona at M u s e u m ofNorthern Arizona, Flagstaff,Arizona.

sSS ^S?iSSiSlSii

FROM PHOE NIX BUREAUTemperatures Degrees

Mean for November 64.0Normal for November .60.0High on Nov. 10 88.0Low on Nov. 21 - 36.0

Rain InchesTotal for November : 0.01Normal for November 0.70

W e a t h e r -Days clear __17Days partly cloudy 11Days cloudy 2Percentage of possible sunshine 93

E. L. FELTON, Meteorologist

FROM YUMA BUREAUTemperatures Degrees

Mean for November 65.7Normal for November 62.4High on Nov. 14 90.0Low on Nov. 20 41.0

Rain InchesTotal for November 0.00Normal for November 0.29

We a t h e r -Days clear 25Days partly cloudy 5Days cloudy 0Sunshine,98 percent, (307 hours of r,unshine

ou t of a possible 314 hour s ) .JAMES H. GORDON. Meteorologis t .

J A N U A R Y , 1943

,,n Y?

Vo l u m e 6

COVER

P H O TO G R A P H Y

CALENDAR

WEATHER

POETRY

ADVENTURE

DESERT QUIZ

PRIZE STORY

PERSONALITY

WILDLIFE

B O TA N Y

INDIAN LIFE

CONTRIBUTORSH U M O R

TRAVEL

ART OF LIVINGLETTERSCONTESTCONTESTLANDMARKN E W SHOBBY

C R A F T SMININGC O M M E N TB O O K S

Jauna ry, 1943 N u m b e r 3

KIT FOX, D e a t h Va l l e y. P h o t o by T. B. C u n n i n g h a m ,San ta Mon ica , Ca l i fo rn i a .

P r i z e w i n n i n g p h o t o g r a p h sin N o v e m b e r . . . 2

J a n u a r y e v e n t s on the d e s e r t 3

N o v e m b e r t e m p e r a t u r e son the d e s e r t . . . . 3

St r ange Repe t i t i on ,and o t h e r p o e m s 4

We C l i m b e d to the Moki RuinBy CHARLES KELLY 5A test of y o u r d e s e r t k n o w l e d g e 8

Sam L ing ' s Chr i s tmas G i f tBy W. LEROY BELL 9

H e F o u n d His Glory Ho le in His Own Fron t Ya rdB y C L E E W O O D S 11

P h a n t o m of the M o o n l i g h tBy JOHN LINDSEY BLACKFORD . . . . 1 4

Wi l d D a i s i e s of the D e s e r tBy MARY BEAL 16

Nava jo Rec ru i tB y M I LTO N S N O W 17

Wr i t e r s of the Dese r t 18Hard Rock Shor tyof D e a t h Va l l e y

By LON G A R R I S O N 18Trai l s We Wil l Trav e l Ag a in

B y M O R A B R O W N 19Dese r t Re fuge , by M A R S H A L S O U T H . . . . 23C o m m e n t fr om D e s e r t M a g a z i n e R e a d e r s. . . 2 5M i r a g e c o n t e s t a n n o u n c e m e n t 27L a n d m a r k c o n t e s t a n n o u n c e m e n t 27Bot t le House , by E R M A P E I R S O N 28H e r e and T h e r e on the D e s e r t 29G e m s and M i n e r a l s

Edi t ed by ARTHUR L. E AT O N 33A m a t e u r Gem Cut t e rby LELANDE QUICK . . 36Briefs from the d e s e r t 37Jus t Between You an d M e b y the Editor . . . 38C o a r s e G o l d , and o t h e r r e v i e w s 39

The Desert Magazine is published monthly by the Desert Publishing Company, 636State Street, El Centro, California. Entered as second class matter October 11, 1937, atthe post office at El Centro, California, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Title registeredNo . 358865 in U. S. Patent Office, and contents copyrighted 1943 by the Desert PublishingCompany. Permission to reproduce contents must be secured from the editor in writing.

RANDALL HENDERSON, Editor.LUCILE HARRIS and HARRY SMITH, Associate Editors.

BESS STACY, Business Manager. EVONNE HENDERSON, Circulation Manager.Manuscripts and photographs submitted must be accompanied by full return post-

age. The Desert Magazine assumes no responsibility for damage or loss of manuscriptsor photographs although due care will be exercised for their safety. Subscribers shouldsend notice of change of address to the circulation (lepartment by the fifth of the monthpreceding issue.

SUBSCRIPTION RATESOne year $2.5 0 Two years $4.00

Canadian subscriptions 25c extra, foreign 50c extra .Address correspondence to Desert Magazine, 636 Sta te St., El Centro, California.


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DESERT CHRISTMAS TREEBy MARIE ZETTERBERG JELLIFFE

Claremont, CaliforniaThe juniper's blue berries I mingle with the

bellsMy little children fashion from desert's pearly

shells,And scarlet holly among the fragrant boughs I

twineWith an image of the Christ Child, a touch of

the Divine.A star upon the very top in crowning gold I

place.An angel doll with shining wings to give Ma-

donna grace.Cotton weaving snowy fluffs, each diamond

dusty puffNear toys for little childrenO isn't that

enoughTo give real joy within a home among the

desert sandsWhere Christmas mingles light and love with

earth's far distant lands?

STAR TRAILSFor Tanya

By GRACE CULBERTSONSan Diego, California

You do not go alone to that strange place.Across your desert stage are focused eyesIntent upon your progress, and each faceReflects your doubt as day by day deniesYour hope. No stately caravan could claimMore comment than your single precious loadOf cargo, known to us by trait and name . . .W e follow you along each baffling road .But well we know your destiny is kind,That you will find a crevice in the hills.You carry with you riches of the mind

And love's old panacea for life's ills.Through your hard conquest of a small retreatWar-weary hearts reap realms more sane and

sweet.

By CECILF. J. RA NSO MERiverside, California

How strangely desert wind compels the sandTo follow ancient patterns! Silt is dashedHigh in ravines, where once the breakers

crashedOver the rocks, and broke in cloudy spray.And since the ripple fingers marked a bandOf horizontal stripes, the wind has plannedThe same effect. The sullen dunes are lashedAnd taught their slopes must evermore displayThe patterned tidal marks of yesterday.

HE LOVED THE QUIET DESERTBy CLARA S. H O FF

Portland, Oregon

1 think I know the reason whvChrist often lingeredAlone .In quiet desert places.I think I know the reason whyHis sandaled feet pressed sand swept milesFar out from city throngs.I think I know that He could prayAnd see with clearer vision . . .When He could meditate alone.In a place most like His heaven.

CREED OF THE DESERTB y J U N E L E M E RT PA X TO N

Yucca Valley, CaliforniaThe desert stretches out her arms-

A most expansive girthTo wish a truly Christmas day

To peaceful men, on earth.

STAR LIGHT . . . STAR BRIGHT(Mojave)

B y E M M A P U T N A M B A N C R O F T

New Orleans, LouisianaAt first, it looked an arid waste to me,This desert, burning hot beneath the sun,Without a shadow, or a path to runFrom lonely, aching space. ImmensityDescribes it well . . . a shifting, changing seaOf sand. The dunes looked tawny spots to shunAs they assumed the shapes of beasts, to oneNot versed in knowledge . . . as a devotee.

But once I'd watched the scorching desert dayDie hard; had seen the sun, a basket-ballOf flame . . . tossed down beyond the purple

hill.And felt dusk's cool .. . I knew my wish would

stayWhe re moons swing low, and stars . . . no

longer small

Or far . . . are close, and mine to reach . . .with skill.

GILA MONSTERB Y W I L L H . R O B IN S O N

Chandler, ArizonaThe Gila Monster, you will find.Is often very much maligned.He wears a suit of black and pink,And very seldom takes a drink.

No monster, henot two feet long,To say he's fierce would do him wrong.True, there's some poison in his biteBut he's no one to pick a fight.

He has but one infirmityThat makes his friends all turn and flee.They hate to voice the awful dictumBut he's a halitosis victim.

He doesn't brush his teeth, I fear,Nor see his dentist twice a year.

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


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When three explorers went by boat down theColorado river last April they were in search of alittle cliff dwelling which they believed no whiteman had ever entered. But in the enthusiasm whichevery amateur archaeologist feels at such a pros-pect, they had not anticipated one of the most thrill-ing elements of their search. Nor had they comeequipped for it. Here is the story of their venture-some climb to the Indian ruin which lured themfrom its little cave high in the precipitous thousand-foot wall of Moki canyon.

Ee Climbed to

the Moki RuinBy CHARLES KELLY

/ V T IS the ambition of every amateur archaeologistand aV good many other desert fansto discover a cliff dwelling

which never has been disturbed since being abandonedby its original inhabitants. Such untouched ruins are becomingmore and more difficult to find.

Dr. Russell G. Frazier, Willis Johnson and myself found onein April, 1942, which had every appearance of being the answerto our prayers. Or rather, Johnson had found it a few years be-fore, when he accompanie d Buzz Holmstrom and Amos Burgdown the Colorado river. He did not attempt to climb into itat that time.

When the three of us went down the river last April, Johnsontold the doctor and me about this hidden cliff dwelling and sug-gested we stop and investigate the possibilities of entering it.Naturally, we were enthusiastic over the idea.

The river was higher than any of us ever had seen it in Aprilso high that the mouth; of many side canyons were full ofbackwater. When we reached Moki canyon we were able torow our boats into it for a quarter of a mile, where we found abeautiful camp site. Hiking up the narrow canyon about a milewe came to the forks, and taking the right hand fork continuedanother half mile. Then, turning a sharp bend, we saw high inthe precipitous wall a little cliff dwelling, the one which John-son believed no white man had ever entered.

The canyon walls were 1,000 feet high, perhaps more. A lit-tle less than half way up the wall was a long narrow cave con-taining one well preserved ruin and what appeared to be thewalls of other rooms. Through our binoculars we could see aseries of "Moki steps" leading up to the dwelling, but the lasthalf of the climb seemed so nearly perpendicular that we doubt-ed if any white man ever had attempted to make the ascent.After a careful examination through the glasses we decided tomake an attempt to enter i; even if we had to recut the old foot-holds.

Our equipment for such an adventure was not all that mighthave been desired. It consisted of rubber soled shoes, a lengthof cotton sash cord and a prospector's pick. Dr. Frazier had done

considerable mountain climbing in the Antarctic, while attachedto the Byrd expedition of1940-41, but Johnson and I wereamateurs. Neither lack of proper equipment nor inexperience,however, dampened our enthusiasm for the venture. Our only

Charles Kelly, Willis Jo hnson and Dr. Russell G. Frazierat Lee's Ferry. Arizona, at the end oj their river voyage.

thought was that here at last was an untouched cliff dwellingand we wanted to be the first to set foot in it.

Behind some brush along the creek we found the base of along series of Moki steps. They appeared ancient, many beingnearly eroded away by wind and rain. The rock, however, wasnot particularly steep near the base and we had no difficulty inzigzagging up over the lower slope, stepping in the old depres-sions.

But as we moved upward the slope became steeper and whenthe rock began crumbling under our feet we paid out the ropeand each held it in one hand as we climbed so that if one slippedthe other two could break his fall. The old steps led back andforth from ledge to ledge across the sloping rock face, but ourrubber soled shoes clung to the rough surface and gave us afeeling of safety, even without the rope. Keeping our eyes fixedon the ruin above we made good progress for the first 300 feet.

After passing along an extremely narrow ledge, we came tothe foot of a series of double steps leading straight up the faceof an almost perpendicular wall. At the base of this flight was athree foot overhang, but the double steps were deeply cut andseemed secure enough. Hesitating here for the first time welooked down to discover ourselves hanging over a precipice 300feet above the canyon floor.

"Do you think we can make it?" Dr. Frazier asked.

"Sure!" replied Johnson, who was in the lead. "These deepcut steps are duck soup!"With the rope in one hand he began working his way up the

steep face. After he had gone the length of the rope we fol-

J A N U A R Y , 1 9 4 3


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Through their binoculars they could see the little Indianruin which lured them to make the dang erous climb. From

beloiv the trail looked deceptively easy.

lowed, not daring to look down. Inching along, one at a time,we finally reached the top of that flight and rested on a narrow,sloping ledge.

From that point on the steps didn't look too good, being

shallow and badly eroded. They continued around a sharp pointand then ran diagonally across a smooth rock face, with noth-ing below to break a possible fall.

"How about it, Willis?" Doc asked. "Does it look safe?""We've come this far," Johnson replied without committing

himself, "and we might as well go on to the top." I thought Idetected a trace of hesitation, but after resting a few minuteshe cautiously began feeling his way over the worn footholds,while the doctor and I braced ourselves with the rope.

He made it all right and when he found a solid foothold thedoctor and I followed. The little cliff dwelling was now justabove us and after climbing another short flight almost straightup, we reached the floor of the cave and relaxed on solid rock.

The little ruin was a beauty, but I heard no exclamations ofadmiration. As we turned to look down over the trail we hadclimbed we all held our breath. From the top it looked human-ly impossible ever to get back down to the canyon floor. There

was a distinct sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and Ihave no doubt the other two felt the same sensation.

When we had recovered our breath we noticed that the floorof the cave was not more than 10 feet wide and perhaps 200feet long. Along the outer edge a low wall had been built atsome points and we could trace the walls of two or three roomswhich apparently never had been completed. The principalroom, which had attracted our attention from below, was in avery good state of preservation. It was about eight feet wide andsix feet from front to back, the rear wall of the cave forming

With his feet in the ancient Moki footholds Willis John-son carefully worked his way to the top.

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


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he backof the room.The two side wallshad been carefully laidp with small bitsof rock fallen fromthe cave roof. But in-tead of constructingthe front with this same material, small

willow poleshad been stood sideby side and plastered withmud. The cave's roof was so low that we could not stand up-ight, yet curiously, the builders had thought it necessary touild a roof of poles and mud over the room, a few inchesbe-ow the smooth cave'roof, reducing the height of the room toess than five feet. Someof the mud plaster had fallen out of the

oof and nearly all from the front wall, together with mostofhe upright willow poles. Endsof all beams and poles eitherhad been burnedor chopped witha stone ax.

In the debris on the floor of the cave we had hoped to find theusual accumulationof broken pottery, bone implements, arrowpoints, beadsand other relics. Unfortunatelywe found nothingexcept a large quantity of small corncobs. After scratchingaround for half an hour we reluctantly preparedto leave.Theeluctancewas caused by the disquieting thoughtsof having to

go back down that dizzy trail.

We started downin the same orderwe came up with Frazierbelow, Johnson above,and myself in the middle. A lthoughmyposition seemed safest, therewas no way to anchor the rope andif one of us had slipped, all three would have goneto the bot-tom.

I don't know what techniquethe ancient Indians usedin go-ing down such steps,but I do knownowthatwe shouldhave gone downthe way we went up, facing upwardsand step-ping backwards. Thiswe found is easier to say than to do. Onenaturally wantsto face in the direction he is traveling,and thatis whatwe did. But the steps and occasional handholds werecutby a man going up, not down. Footholds seemedto be spacedawkwardly and handholds were alwaysin the wrong place

The cliff dwelling tvhich lookedso attractive from belowcontained nothing but a quantity of ancient corncobs.

when facing down.The sight of 400 feet of smooth rock wallbelow us didn't help much, either.

"Take it easy!" Doc called from belowas he carefully incheddown. "Moveone at a time and keep holdof the rope!"We didjust that.But we found going downan entirely differentmat-ter from goingup. In fact, it didn't seem likethe same trail.

Half way down the first steep rock faceone of Doc's rubbersoles cameoff. I saw it go slithering to the bottom, but Docdidn't know it and I didn't tell him. He went on withoutany-apparent difficulty to the shelving ledge abovethe series ofdouble steps, while Johnsonand I gingerly followed.

Having passed what seemedthe most dangerous stretch,we

J A N U A R Y , 1 943


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breathed a little easier. The deep cutdouble steps seemed safe enough, butatthe bottom was that three foot overhang,where two steps were entirely out of sight.Clinging with both hands and feet, John-son and I held the rope while Doc easedhimself over the edge and with legs hang-ing in midair felt with his toes for the twomissing steps. It took plenty of nerve, butDoc kept up a continual conversation toprevent our getting rattled. After whatseemed several minutes he found a toeholdand let himself down to firmer footing.Then he guided our feet as Johnson and Icame down.

From that point the trail led along asteeply slanting crevice in the rock. Halfway along this crack I found a step too farfor me to reach, being three and a half feetahead and a foot down. After making sev-eral attempts I tried leaning my weightagainst the wall, depending on the fric-tion of my clothes to ease me down. At the

last moment I decided the chances weretoo great, and inched myself back to thestep above. Then I found a rough spot onthe rock face which provided a fingertiphold. With the assistance of this small pro-jection I once more put one foot forwardand began easing down.

Just as I passed the point of balance thehandhold broke off and a piece of rottenrock went clattering to the bottom of thecanyon. Above me, Johnson braced him-self with the rope, but I was afraid to putany pressure on it as his own foothold wasnone too good. Fortunately my foot caughtin the lower depression. Beyond that pointthe going was much easier, and withoutfurther difficulty we reached the bottomwhere we threw ourselves flat on solidrock to relax our taut nerves.

This climb was a thrilling, dangerousexperience which none of us ever will for-get. It might have been worth the effort ifwe had accomplished our ambition of be-ing first to set foot in that ancient cliffdwelling. Unfortunately, just before be-ginning our descent, Dr. Frazier foundlightly scratched on the cave wall this

legend: "W. W. Jones, 1922." PerhapsJones was first to enter the cave and if sohe may have deepened the double row offootholds on the most dangerous part ofthe climb. In any case our hats are off tohim.

Back in camp at the mouth of Mokicanyon, we cooked supper and went tobed, thoroughly tired. None of us sleptwell that night. One, I know, was hang-ing on that dizzy trail all night long. Per-sonally I never again would attempt tomake such a climb without adequate equip-ment and preparation and my advice toother amateurs is simplythis: "Don't doit!"

D E S E R T Q U I ZIt is fun to recall those trips through the desertcountry even though we cannot makethem justnow. Desert Quiz will bring back pleasant memor-

ies to those who have had the good fortune to travel in the Southwest. It includesnot only many interesting references to the geography, but is also a test of yourknowledge of history, literature, botany, geology, Indians and the lore of the des-ert region. The average person will score less than 10 correct answers. If youscore 15 you know as much as most desert rats. Over 15 puts you in that super-super class of Sand Dune Sages. The answers are on page 34.

1If you were driving across the desert in late April or early May and saw brigh tyellow blossoms on one of the most conspicuous native trees, you wouldknow they wereMesquite Ironwood Palo Verde Smoke tree

2Touring the West, your stop at Overton, Nevada, would be to visit theMuseum of ancient Indian artifacts The scene of a historic Indian bat-tle Explore the workings of a famous gold mine Pay homage atthe monument of a famous Colorado river explorer

3From the highest point on the Catalina mountains the largest city withinyour range of vision is Albuquerque Salt Lake CityPalm Springs Tucson

4First white man of record to visit the Havasupai Indian reservation in Ari-

zona was Coronado Father Garces Marcos deNiza..John Wesley Powell5If your destination was White's City, New Mexico, you probably would be

planning to visit Morro rock The Ice CavesA Navajo ceremonial- Carlsbad caverns

6Stranded on the desert without soap, you would find a very effective substi-tute in The leaves of the creosote bush The roots of certain speciesof yucca The juice from barrel cacti The pods from the desert wil-low tree

7If the guide told you the imposing mass of rock in the distance was theGreat Wh ite Th rone, you would know you were in Zion national parkGrand Canyon national park Chiricahua national monumentJoshua Tree national monument

8If you had been camping in Borrego valley in December, 1775, andi troupeof horsemen passed that way you would have learned their leader wasGeneral Kearny Juan Bautista de Anza Father KinoKit Carson

9On a gem-hunting trip in the Chuckawalla mountains of Southern Cali-fornia, you most likely would find Dum ortierite.-- Tourmaline....Geodes Turquoise

10The setting of the bookDeath C omes to the Archbishopis inCalifornia Arizona-- Utah ., New Mexico

11A wickiup is A type of Indian basket A primitive dwellingWeapon used by prehistoric Indians Crude net for catching fish .

12Fortification Hill is visible from Roosevelt damElephant Butte dam Boulder dam Coolidge dam..

13Adolf F. Bandelier was An early day trapper An archaeologist

Apache guide Former New Mexico governor14Going from Gallup, New Mexico, to Shiprock, you would travel-North- South East- - West

1 5The floor in a Navajo hogan generally is covered with Dirt . ..Pine needles Rough hewn logs Navajo blankets.-...

16Azurite is a mineral ofIron Zinc Tin Copper

17Going from Flagstaff to Rainbow bridge by the most direct road your routewould be throughPrescott.... . Winslow Cameron..Window Rock

18New Mexico's most famous Christmas festival is observed atRaton Clovis Santa Fe Madrid-

19Mormon Lake is in Utah Arizona Ne vad a... .. New Mexico

20The horned toad's best natural defense isitsSharp teeth Coloration Sharp horns Speed. ..

T HE D E S E RT M A G A Z I N E


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Desert Magazine presents another prize winning story this month. Firstprize winner in the personal experience or adventure contest conductedlast July and August appeared in the December issue. This month's story-is the first of a series of eight other manuscripts which also were awardedprizes in the contest.

SamLing'sChristmasGiftSam Ling had no golden ambitions.The scores of broken down pros-

pectors he'd grubstaked at his little eating house in Winnemucca hadpromised him shares in their hoped for strikes. But the one thing in theworld that Sam wanted was a "big clowboy hat." This is the story ofhow Sam got his Stetsonand a Christmas present which paid for abreakfast served six years before.

B y W. LEROY BELL

IIGH over the Nevada desertI I droned the transcontinental air-

I I liner. The passengers were businessmen and women, some boundfor variouseastern cities on business, some goinghome for the holidays, as it was well to-ward the middle of December. Of thepassengers one man alone seemed to beacquainted with the landmarks on thedesert below and from time to time hewould point out some town, mountainrange, riverbed or dry lake.

" Yep ! That little streambed is Buffalocreek. It runs off down there and sinks inthe Smoke Creek desert! That peakto theeast is Granite butte, right at the southend of the Granite range.

" N o , that isn't water you see in thelake right eastof Granite butte, just plainold alkali a-shining. That'sthe Black Rockdesert down yonder with the Jacksonmountains on the far side, and the highpeak you see is old King Lear, a-raringupover 8,000 feet in the air. Then you see themountain range farther east? That'sin theSanta Rosas, and that first peak is Win-nemucca, and the one to the north isBloody Run mountain. The mining townof Winnemucca lies right southof thatrange.

"Ever been to Winnemucca?No? Wel l ,it's quite a place, or used to be in the boomdays. Lots of workings in the hills around,but most of 'em have played out now.Wel l sir, if you ever happen to hit thatplace at this time of the year you sure willwant a coat. Cold? I'll say she's cold, withthe wind whistling downthe Humboldt ,hell bent for election, and nothing to stophe r for a hundred miles.

"Never heard of Sam Ling's eatinghouse in Winnemucca? Shucks,I thoughteverybody had heard of it! Well, sincewe've got plenty of time, I'll tell you astory which has to do with this town ofWinnemucca, and Sam Ling's eatinghouse."

Fumbling throughhis pockets, the nar-

J A N U A R Y, 1943

rator produced a long cigar. When it wasli t and burning to his satisfaction, he set-tled down comfortably intohis seat, med-itated for a few moments, eyes closed,asif he were trying to recall memoriesof thelong past. He then resumed, "Nearas Ican remember, it was about this timeofthe year, back in the early nineties. Thatwas one of the worst wintersyou ever sawtoo, and the morning I'm starting thisyarn with, was the "king pin' of the wholewinter. There was nothing stirring intown that morning but the wind, forthings were mighty deadin those partsjust then. Along about eight o'clock,ifyou'd been looking,you would have seen

a loneman

t rudging downa

canyonto-

ward town. If you'd known the signs, youwould've been ableto tell that this hombrewas about donein, what from fightingthestorm, and him with nothingto eat for twodays. Wel l , it turned out to be George(I'll just let it go at that, and not tell hisother name) getting in from anotherprospecting trip, busted, disgustedandhungry as a wolf.

"A few years before this, anybodycould get fed in Winnemucca , but justnow, as I said, things were tight,andGeorge couldn't finda friend in town, nora restaurant that would feedh ; m. And be-lieve me, George needed feedingbad thismorning. Therewas just one more chanceand that was at a little old Chink eatinghouse, down towardthe red light district,but George wasn't too proud this day totry even a Chink for a hand out. He final-ly reached the little shack, and after sev-eral tries, wrenchedthe warped door openand entered. Even the smell of burntgrease and dish water was like attar ofroses to George, as he closed the dooragainst the howling gale.

"His entrance was greeted by a cheer-ful, squeaky Chinese, 'Hello! Plentymuchee wind blow likee helllis morning. '

"George didn't waste time talkingabout the weather, but came right to the

point. "LookSam, me no eat for two days,me plenty hungry, sabe?I ain't got nomoney, and don't know whenI will have,but some timeI' ll pay you for my breakfast,with interest,but I've got to eat now, see?'

" 'Sure, sure, you got plentee emptybellee, Sam fix him quick. You likeehamee eggee?and maybe so hot cakee andcoffee?'

"The next George knew,he was lyingwith h : s head on the table, and the Chink

was forcing hot coffee down his throatwith a big spoon. Georgewas about donein .

"After a couple of hours, and a course ortw o of ham and eggs, and a gallon or soof Arbuckle coffee underhis belt, Georgedecided he was going to live. He told Samhe'd never forgeth ; m, and that somedayhe would pay his bill in full.

" 'Oklay, oklay! Some timeeyou gotteemoney, pay me. No gottee him, oklay too.You no go places now, too muchee snowand blad wind, you stay here, Sam feedyou. blye, blye, better timego maybee.'

"George stayed around there for acouple of days before the weather let upenough for him to travel, and the Chinkfed him and let him sleep in a warm room,off the kitchen. When he left he hadenough grub in his pack to last for sev-eral days,and a warm spot in his heart forSam Ling.

"Six years rolledby, and to Sam Lingthey were justsix more yearstillone dayalong toward the last of October, two welldressed men entered his lowly place ofbusiness.

' "Hello, Sam,' said one of the men.' 'Hello, m'sters , ' re pliedthe Chink

'Mebbee you likee nice dinner?'" 'No, not now, Sam,' replied thestranger. 'You remember me?'

' 'Mebbee me no sabe you, mister.Meb-be no see you some place before,' saidSam.

Don ' t you remember feedinga fellow,for a couple of days, back aboutsix yearsago, when he was darned near starvedandfroze?'

" 'Oh sure, me don't lemember!Samfeed lotsa men, some time hungry, sometime bloke, can't lememberyou.'

' 'W ell, listen Sam, I'm Georgethefellow you took in one cold Decemberdaysix years ago. I told you I'd pay you forthat grub sometime,so now I've come todo it."

" 'Oh no,' says Sam. Me feedee you, you


10/40

hungly, gottee bloke.Sam no feedeehun-gly man, byem bye go to hell mebbee.'

' 'Well Sam, if you feel that way aboutit O.K., but I want to buy you a present,somethingyou always wanted,but couldn'tafford. You name it, and I'll buy it.'

"Sam thought for a few seconds, thenwith a sort of foolish grin, said,'Youthink mebbeeso catchem big clowboyhatfor Sam?'

' 'Well I'll be damned!' said Georg;,'If that's whatyou want, more'n anything,why a Stetson it will be. You go down thestreet with Frank hereand pick out anyha t you want in the store, and I'll pay forit. Get going, and I'll watch this dumpforyou while you're gone.'

"No sooner had the Chink and Frankgot around the corner, than Georgedid astrange thing. Steppingto the store room,he pickedup a five galloncan of kerosene,bashed in the top with a cleaver, and pro-ceeded to drench the restaurant fromthekitchen to the front door. Tossing theempty can back downthe aisle, he steppedto the front door, struck a match andtossed it on the floor. In about two shakesof a lamb's tail, the whole place wasablaze, and the natives came running fromall over town.

"Sure they had a fire department,con-sisting of a bucket brigade,but that oldbuilding was plenty dry and greasy, and

before the buckets arrived,she went up insmoke. Sam Ling got back about the timethe show got going good, and he wasabout the maddest Chink in the wholestate of Nevada,and also aboutthe lowestin spirit.

"Georgegot around to him after while,explaining thathe must have droppedamatch or something, and since he was incharge at the time, said he would pay forthe damages. Said George,'Sam, ain'tyougot no relations or friends downin Friscoor L.A. that you could visit for a spell?'Sam admitted thathe did have some verydear friends in Frisco, but all his worldlygoods had gone up in smoke and he wasruined. 'Well Sam,' said George, pullingout a roll of greenbacks, 'You take thismoney, go see your friends, haveonehelluva time for yourself, then be backhere on Christmas morning brightandearly.'

"Sam Ling left for Frisco, and just assoon as the ashes had cooled on his oldrestaurant site, George starteda gangcleaning up the rubbish, and hired a con-tractor to build a modern brick buildingwhere the old rattle trap used to stand.When the building was nearly complete,he hired a restaurant man out of Salt Laketo equip the inside with the best of fix-tures, from the kitchen clean throughtothe cash register. He stocked the store

room to the ceiling with all the staplesand canned goodshe could think of, justa day before Christmas.

"Christmas morning brightand early,George left his hotel and walked downtoward the new building, but he wasn'tearly eno ugh,for there on the sidewalk infront stoodSam Ling, tearsof joy runningdown his yellow cheeks.

' 'Well,Sam,

thereshe is, .md

here'syour keys. She'sall yoursand Georgehaspaid for his breakfast.' Lookingup at thenew sign abovethe door he said, 'I hope Ihad that printed right.'The sign read,

SAM LING'S RESTAURANT(Where no man goes away hungry)."The motorson the liner slowed,and the

great ship camein on the landing fieldatSalt Lake. The passengers alightedandhurried out to the waiting taxisat the en-trance. An old man, with tattered clothesstood hopefully at the gate, his cap heldout in expectancy. The story teller from

the liner stopped,set his grip down,andreaching in his pocket, pulled out a billand dropped it in the cap. The otherpas-sengers seeing thisact, followed suit,andhad they been listening closely they wouldhave heard the old man murmur, his voicetrembling with emotion. "Merry Christ-mas to you all, and God bless you too."

f o r w a r dto V ic to ry C ro p s Down in the Imperial Valley where sunshine

warms rich soils watered by the great All-

American canal, farmers are turning a hand in

an effort to produce the biggest crop season in

history. This, because they know that every

assistance from America is needed to carry on

the war against powerful and dangerous

enemies.

THESE FORW ARDTO VICTORY CROPSCON-SIST OF DAIRY PRODUCTS, FLAX, RICE,SUGAR BEETS, CARROTSAND AGRICUL-

TURAL PRODUCTS DEEMEDA NECESSITYIN THISWAR.

No longer are they turning their soil for quickmoney-making non-essential crops. For downin the Imperial Valley they are putting nationbefore self in order to bring about an earlierend to this slaughter of man.

And with the assistance of the Imperial Irriga-tion District and its giant Imperial dam, All-American canal, power drops and power sta-tions, the farmer is better able to realize hisaim.

I m p e r i a lIr r ig a t io n D is tr ic t ,

U s e Yo u r O w n P o w e r -M o k ei tP a y fo r th e A l l A m i r j c g n j a n a j

10 T HE D E S E RT M A G A Z I N E


11/40

Ambrosio Vigil at the mouth oj his glory hole.

He Found His Glory -Hole

in His Own Front YardBy CLEE W OO DS

/ / E IS the happiest man I have ever"f"! known. Ambrosio Vig:l, age 76.

He is the only real man of the des-ert I've ever known who actually has foundthe pot of gold. I've lived neighbor to himall during the 21 years he walked over theyellow fortune without suspecting thatwealth was his just for digging a hole inhis front yard.

Look at his picture beside the shaft, andthen go down into the shaft with him andhis son. Hear him say in his native tongue,just as he recounted to me the sinking ofthat shaft:

"My dear boy, let's go in here with alevel. Perhaps the vein will widen up."

His aged hands, gnarled with 70 yearsof toil, gestured the direction. Then thehands touched the solid stone wall. Hesi-tantly, not quite certain of his own con-

viction. With a little dread, too, for at 76you don't take to underground work withmuch zeal, after you have spent almost allyour life on the desert, out in its great

J A N U A R Y , 1 9 4 3

Ambrosio Vigil is a happy man. After 70 years of toil he has been re-wa rded far bey ond his dre am s. But first the desert h ad me ted its grim sortof justice toobsfore Ambrosio learned to obey its law of Patience. Hehad lived through desert drouth and storm, he had toiled in the dark un-derground oi New Mexican mines. Grief and despair had been his. Butnow Ambrosio is happy. The desert 's treasure has been yielded at hisown front doorunder the very soil he had tramped daily for more than20 years on his way to milk cows and tend his goats.

wide sweeps of sand and sunshine, in itstangy sweet air and ever changing pat-terns of color and moods.

The desert had been hard on AmbrosioVigil, just as it will be hard on you andme today, if we do not understand it andobey the laws it has laid down for all of us.Just as it was hard on him when as a boyhe began to wrest a living from it at thetime Billy the Kid was taking his livingin the same locality with six-shooter andbravado.

Unlike others, Ambrosio does not hun-

ger for reflected glory because he knewthe Kid. As a boy on his father's ranchnine miles north of Socorro, he saw thefamous outlaw come and go freely to his

home. Once he ventured to jibe the Kidabout his killing so many people.

"I don't kill everybody," the Kid toldhim, seriously. "I only shoot first at theones who try to kill me."

So believed most of the Spanish-American people at that time, and thoseleft tcday still feel the same way about thenotorious outlaw.

His knowing Billy the Kid only con-firms the hard, rough country and timeswhere Ambrosio had his beginnings. Fromhis father's ranch he went out on his own,

to raising sheep. But the desert was watch-ing him, never forgetful of the lessons italways has taught and the lessons it willbe teaching others 500 years from now

11


12/40

patience, prudence, frugality, hard workand submission. Submission to its laws.But when you find a way to put yourselfin accord with those laws, then the desertsunshine makes you laugh. The pure, dryair makes you breathe life zestfully. Thevast stretches of seeming wasteland be-comes home to you as no other part of theworld ever could. Only those who havefound peace and beauty and majesty anddivineness in the desert can understandwhat I mean, for I can't put the wordstogether to convey the full power of thedesert over men.

Ambrosio forgot the desert laws ofprudence and patience and tried to in-crease his sheep too rapidly. Lambing timecame and passed one spring, day after dayof sunshine. This was over on the Pecosriver in eastern New Mexico, where thedesert really begins. Sunshine and sun-shine and no rain. We all know such timesmust come, or there would be no desert.

On through the summer Ambrosio

hoped and watched for rain. How manytimes a day he cupped a hand over hiseyes, looking to the faintest cloud withhopelooking at the cloudless sky, withfading hope.

The ewes grew poor, eating the grassout by the roots. The new lambs wererunty, and their thin weak bleating cut atAmbrosio's heart.

The ewes and lambs died. One now,five another day. At last they were allgone. There was no money and he had afamily to keep.

"But," he tells me, when wonderingwhy I do not seem to want children, "evenat the worst times, I love my family. Ikiss my babies and pass a good time."

That is something the desert Southwesthas given these native people. Good cheereven in submission, and that kind of pa-tience.

Poor again himself, Ambrosio took1,200 Angora goats to tend on the shares.Again the desert insisted on its punish-ment for lack of patience. The owner wasin haste to sell his mohair and get backsome of that $6,000 he had spent for thegoats. The week of April 20 the shear-ing was done. The very night it was fin-ished, a storm hit the Pecos country. Coldwinds blew and sleet fell.

The naked goats began hudd'ing to-gether in the corrals. The little kids bleat-ed and shivered, their cries not unlike thatof sick babies. Tighter and tighter thegoats huddled together as the cold grewmore intense and the sleet began to formicy coats on their sheared bodies. Panickynow, they piled up in the corners of thecorrals, four and five deep, oddly like hu-man beings trampling each other down intrying to get out of a burning building.

As the goats down beneath smotheredto death, others piled on above, in turn

smothering those that had smothered thelower ones. At last, only a few on top wereleft alive, and many of these froze to dea th.

Ambro sio's granddau ghters on a pile of ore from the Little Goat claim, with themine in the background.

Ambrosio was broke again, and withouta job. But he kissed his babies, told themnothing of his despair. He talked long intothe nights with his little wife, who evennow in her seventies reflects early beautyand everlasting dignity of spirit. Mrs.Vigil is the only very old Spanish-American I have ever known who speaksEnglish without the least accent.

She and Ambrosio agreed that he had totake whatever kind of work he could find.What sheepman would want a herder whotwice had failed? He had been a muleskin-ner at one time, hauling freight from onefrontier point to another. But railroadswere more and more taking that businessand he had no money to buy teams any-way. So Ambrosio said goodbye to his sun-shine and grama grass and the sweet smellof pinon trees, and went underground towork. Not 30 hours a week, but 10 and 12hours a day, six days a week. Of all thejobsdigging coal!

"It was dark under there, and damp,"he said. "It was hard work and there wasno fun down there."

Ambrosio was missing his desert sun-shine, and desert air. There was only oneway he could get back to it. He began tosave every dime he could from his wages.When he could, he bought a cow or acouple of sheep. And every two years orso, he had a new baby to kiss, until therewas a total of1 3.

Sick of the black world in which he nowhad worked for five years, he sold hishoardings of cattle and sheep and wentto Deming, New Mexico, and worked asa farm hand for a year. But through thatyear, his eyes kept wandering far off to the

north, where the desert mountains loomedon the horizon. Not barren mountains likethe Floridas near him, but mountains with

pinon and juniper and whose peaks weregreen with pine, spruce and aspens.

So he came to Hanover in the foothillsand m ilked cows for a dairy for three years.By this time his savings had accumulated.In 1920 he saw a piece of public land heliked a couple of miles east of the FortBayard military reservation, where thegovernment had over 1,000 veterans ofWorld War I regaining their health in thedeserf sunshine. The quickest way to gainpossession here was to take a mining claimAmbrosio filed on a claim 500 feet wideand 3,000 feet long.

But he still did not care for mining. Hebought 100 goats and put his boys to herd-ing them. He himself worked at Fort Bayard, milking cows of the hospital dairyherd. That brought in money and the goatherd increased. Ambrosio began sellinggoat milk and cheese. He keeps a pet goatabout the place nowTillie, a tannishmilker that follows him about like a dogand plays with visitors as willingly as anew puppy.

Times still were hard with the big Vigiifamily. Sickness and death had takenmoney. Nine of the 13 children were liv-ing, and sometimes a relative had to behelped. Every year Ambrosio did his as-sessment work on the mining claim to holdhis title to the 'dobe home he had built,and to give him a claim to grass on thesurrounding mesas.

As one of the soldier patients of FortBayard, well on my way back to health in1920 and 1921, I sometimes strolled outover the goat ranchon a picnic one day,to watch, placer miners at work in thegulch another time, to target practice an-

other. But even as I watched the minerrocking his cradle to shake the tiny par-ticles of gold to the bottom and hold them

12 THE DESERT M AG AZIN E


13/40

on the riffles, I no more dreamed of bigwealth from a rich strike than AmbrosioVigil was dreaming. He was making abare living out of his goats, and so thesecret lay on in the ground for 20 moreyears, while right there in sight of Am-brosio's claim the great copper works atSanta Rita were turning out millions ofdollars in the red metal.

Came January, 1941, and time to beginassessment work on the claim. His sonAlbert, "Cito" as they call himnow inUncle Sam's armythought he possiblyhad found a zinc vein. It was almoststraight out in front of the 'dobe home.

Cito sank a shaft down 10 feet by him-self. Then he needed help to bring up themurk. Ambrosio went into the shaft andfilled the bucket each time, the easiestwork, while Cito drew the bucket up bywindlass.

They went down another 10 feet. Thereit was that Ambrosio said, "My dear boy,let's go in here. Maybe the vein w ill widenup."

Cito was not convinced. They went ondown until the shaft was 30 feet deep. Butthe vein had pinched down to only fourinches, and that wouldn't pay, because itwas running only a little zinc, lead andcopper. Cito gave it up and went back toworking for wages. Ambrosio went back tooverseeing his goat herd, for he knewthere was a living in goats. In fact, Am-brosio always had called his claim the'Little Goat claim." The 30-foot shaftwas left to vacant uselessness, like a thou-sand more such shafts over the desert hills

of this section.Old 1941, startled in its last days by thePearl Harbor atrocity, limped out of ex-istence, and it was 1942, and time to doassessment work on the Little Goat claim.On New Year's day, Ambrosio went downinto the 30-foot shaft and pondered.

"Is it worth while?" he askedhimself."Or had I better try to find a vein some-

where else on the Little Goat." He lookedup. Only a small patch of the desert skywas visible at the mouth of the shaft. Butclear, blue, inviting. There was a manherding the goats on shares now, butought not he be checked up on today? Atage 76 a man's muscles rebel at work on ahopeless taskto hard, backbreakingwork even for a man as young and strongas Cito.

Ambrosio started climbing out. But 10feet up he paused and looked. Had he andCito made a mistake by going on down?Could that vein widen up here? Maybehis old hunch had been right.

Ambrosio set to work. He let the shaftfill up with muck to this 20-foot point.He began to drive his level along whatseemed a promising vein. Anyway, theassessment work had to be done to hold

the claim. He would get a patent this yearand this would be an end of the assess-ment work.

The vein was widening. And something

J A N U A R Y , 1 9 4 3

began to show in the ore. Ambrosio tookup good samples. He pounded the ore upfine and panned at it eagerly. There wasgold in it, yes, but how much? He hadseen too many men get excited over a lit-tle color.

For five months Ambrosio kept on driv-ing his level. He got out the ore to thefoot of the shaft. Then his sons would

come out after their regular day's workwas done elsewhere for wages, and helphim get the ore to the surface. They piledup 40 tons of carefully selected ore.

A dentist came to the goat ranch oneday. Ambrosio had had all his teethpulled, but there was no money withwhich to buy dental plates. The dentistbecame interested in the showing of thatore. He took two pounds of the pul-verized stuff and sent it away. Back camea check for $97.30and Ambrosio paid$85.00 of that for a new set of teeth.

Now there was some heart to the work.Some incentive to driving the weary oldbody on into the level. Of course, he un-derstood that the two pounds had beencarefully selectedstuff, by no means theaverage. But there was pay dirt here insome degree, anyway.

In time they trucked 37 tons of the oreout to the railroad and shipped it to thesmelter. They waited anxiously for the re-turns. Not for anything sensational butbecause debts pressed most of the family.The three sons who helped him were mar-

ried now, and each of them had heavy ob-ligations of his own.

Then the check came. $9,782! Ninethousand seven hundred and eighty-twodollars! One car load of ore. Nearly $300a ton. The ore had run gold, silver, lead,zinc and copper.

The mining world about him was start-led. The representative of a big company

made a hasty offer of $50,000 for the claimone cleverly worded so as to make themine pay for itself, or not cost the com-pany much if the ore played out. Ambro-sio was too clever to walk into that pit. Hestill has his mine. You can buy it for$100,000 dollars. One of the sons wantsto make the price $400,000.

The skeptical are saying it was only apocket. That the next carload will bringsad news.

Ambrosio only laughs at them. At lastthe desert has rewarded him for his yearsof devotion. Has brought him a fortune,there in his very front yard, where hewalked over it for 21 years in completeignorance of its existence.

Who wouldn't laugh, in his circum-stances? Has he not just received $9,782?Maybe the next carload and the next andthe next will show lower grade ore. Butwhat of it? May not the fifth carloadbring $10,000 or $25,000? Ambrosio isthe happiest man I ever saw. Wouldn't yoube, if the Little Goat claim were in yourfront yard?

Mr. and M rs. Vigil, two daughters and two granddaughters.


14/40

; . 0. I'll tell you about itlater.

38 T HE D E S E RT M A G A Z I N E


39/40

OF YESTERDAY AND TOD AYa monthly review of the best li teratureof the desert Southwest, past and present.

REBIRTH OF AGHOST TOWN

Christian Wick went to Coarse Gold,now a Nevada ghost town, in 1900 whilegold still came out of the mines. But notlong after he arrived, panic swept theplace, the bank failed, and businessesclosed. Chris remained until finally hewas the sole resident.

There in the quiet of the desert he pon-dered on humanity and endeavored to findhimself. In the midst of his philosophicalthinking he came upon rich tungsten ore.Fearful that his solitude would be dis-turbed and unwilling to see Coarse Goldrelive another temporary life, he hesitatedto reveal this discovery.

This is the theme of COARSE GOLD,new novel by Edwin Cork-. It demon-strates again the author's ability as a fas-cinating story teller.

Through the eyes of Chris Wick, he car-ries the reader through the rise and fallof a city built on gold and speculation andfinally to its rebirth as an industrial gi-ant of 1942. The story provides readers notonly with good entertainment, but withthought-provoking ideas. First issued inSeptember, a second printing appeared inOctober. Donald Gordon, noted book au-thority declared, "It has excellent chances

of best sellerdom." Corlc is also the authorof MOHAVE, FIG TREE JOHN, SOLI-TAI RE and DESERT COUN TRY . He ha sa fine knowledge of the period he depictsgleaned from prowls among old goldcamps of Goldfield, Rhyolite and Calico.E. P. Dutton and company. New York.251 pp. $2.50.

Harry Smith

BAXTER REVISES GEMCUTTING BOOK

An ever increasing interest in the fascin-ating hobby of gem cutting and mountingof stones in hand-wrought jewelry has re-sulted in a revised edition of JEWELRYG E M C U T T I N G , A N D M E TA L C R A F Tby Will iam T. Baxter.

The revised edition recently publishedby Whitt lesey Ho use of McG raw-HillBook company, New York, includes achapter on Identification of Gem Stones byHenry C. Dake, editor of the Mineralogist-magazine.

A section devoted to gem cutting hasbeen increased by 48 pages and 31 newillustrations. Additional information, withillustrations, is given on the making ofdiamond-charged disks used for section-

ing gem material. In the jewelry section23 new illustrations have been added.These include 61 new pieces of handmadejewelry.

INDIAN BLANKET LOREREVEALED BY AUTHORITY

Despite statements that the Navajoweaver is no longer as good as his prede-cessor of 60 years ago, today's blanketmaker is not inferior to his ancestor, de-clares George Wharton James in INDIANBLANKETS AN D THEIR M AKER S.

The author demonstrated his authorityon Indian lore and the Southwest in suchclass ics as W ON DE RS OF T HE COLO -R A D O D E SE RT, I N A N D A R O U N DT H E G R A N D C A N Y O N an d I N D I A NBASKETRY.

The volume on blankets was written in1914 and revised in 1937. It presents a

complete story of a domestic art in whichthe author believes the Navajo have at-tained a skill unequalled by either theOriental or Ottoman.

The story of blanket weaving is toldagainst a fascinating background of his-tory for the author declares it is impossibleto appreciate the blankets without under-standing their weavers. The use of de-signs, their symbolic meaning, applica-tion of colors, and methods of dyeing areall carefully explained. In addition theauthor has given valuable hints on howto recognize genuine Indian blankets.Published by Tudor Co., New York, it isillustrated with more than 100 plates ofwhich 32 are in full color. 21 3 pp. A ppen -dix. Index. Boxed. $3.00.

WHEN REAVIS CLAIMEDA DESERT EMPIRE

The story of James Addison Reavis andthe Peralta land grant case involving Ari-zona's very heart emerged obscurely inthe early nineties except for a few com-mentaries in Phoenix papers.

But it was a case that should havegained front page attention, for the sha-dow of James Addison Reavis hung omin-ously over the happiness and future ofminers, farmers and capitalists who weredeveloping lands within the grant.Through a fantastic plot Reavis laid claimto a territory vaster than Delaware, includ-ing Phoenix in its northwestern cornerand stretching east into New Mexico,south to San Xavier mission and north toApache mountain. Traversed by theSouthern Pacific who paid Reavis $50,000for the right of way, it included untoldmineral stores, already developed minesat Globe and agricultural empires alongthe Salt and Gila rivers.

It was while at Santa Fe in the late six-ties that Reavis first learned about thegrant. He went to San Xavier, to Mexico

and to Spain to study old papers and toestablish Carmelita, whom he later mar-ried, as rightful heir to the estate of DonMiguel de Peralta de la Cordoba, bloodcousin of King Ferdinand VI of Spain. Allthis unfolds dramatically in THE BARONOF T HE C OLOR AD O S by Wi l l iam Ath -erton DuPuy, published in 1940.

Famous characters of the past flashthrough its pages. While it cannot be re-garded as history, nevertheless most ofthe characters are real and most of theevents did take place. Because the authorwas so steeped in the color of the time andsetting he has been able to bring forth aliving novel. He was the son of settlerswho cut their home out of sage-brush cov-ered lands near Phoenix, and who foundthemselves among the many figures af-fected by this curious chapter of history.Addit ional information DuPuy securedwhile he was executive assistant to thesecretary of the interior.

Although easily read in one evening, thebook will not be forgotten easily for it isof a period in which anything could hap-pen and everything did. Within it is everyelement of surprise, suspense, romanceand glamor of high adventure. The Naylorcompany, San Antonio, Texas. 178 pp.End maps.

Harry Smith0

LORE OF NAVAJO TOLDIN CHILDREN'S BOOK

DARK CIRCLE OF BRANCHES re-

veals the story of Na Nai, little Navajoboy, and his education in the ways of hispeople. "Wise Lit t le Ch ipm unk 's" bril-liant mind quickly grasps the myths andlegends of the tribe from his uncle, themedicine man.

Na Nai is physically handicapped frombirth and to hold his tribal place helearns the meaning of the MountainChant, Navajo songs and sand paintingsand much of the ancient lore.

Intimate scenes from the daily life ofthe Navajo boy and his sister as they tendtheir sheep on the wide mesas or sit bytheir mother as she weaves by the hogan,make stimulating reading for children.

When Na Nai is eight years old, theAmerican troops under Kit Carson invadehis home in Canyon de Chelly and theNavajos are sent to Bosque Redon do (FortSumner) in New Mexico. Mrs. Armer hasgained her background for this charmingstory from close contact with the tribe andand interviewed old Indians who, as chil-dren, had been on the Long Walk toBosque Redondo and spent four years inexile until they reoccupied their canyonsand mesas. Paintings by Sidney Armer.

Longmans, Green and Co. New York.212 pp. 1933. $2.50.

Helen Smith

J A N U A R Y , 1 9 4 3 39


40/40

Remote Places of Beauty

D e d ic a te d to t h eG r e a t S o u t h w e s t . .

Another year's varnish is on desert rocks. Sands may havesifted a little, but the face of the Great Southwest bears anotheryear as lightly as the thousands which have passed. Man willset a hurried pace in the busy days of 1943. Many will long fora chance to relax and for the quiet of other years. Take a heart-lifting refreshing trip each month into the silence and peace ofthe wastelands with Desert Magazine. Follow the trails to con-tentment through enchanting stories of the colorful Southwest.

D E S E R T M A G A Z IN E F E AT U R E SPersonalityHistoryDevelopmentNatureBooksPhotography

ScienceTravelHobbiesMiningN e w sPoetry

INDIAN LORE . . .

You can visit the Southwestern In-dian as he makes his rugs and pot-tery and follows a pattern of life littlechanged from that of his tribal an-cestors. You can enjoy his cere-monials with writers of Desert whohave climbed the trails of Indian-land.

TRAILS TO ADVENTURE . . .

DESERT presents real-life drama more exciting than any fic-tion. Give your friends 12 mon ths' adven ture in a rem ote landof beauty. Take them to one of those quiet camping spots in theGreat Southwest, where in the evening you can enjoy the sweetscent of the ironwood as it glows hotly in the campfire. Desertgift card will be mailed with each subscription you send.

G IF T R AT E S

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