195405 Desert Magazine 1954 May

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De ath Valle y from Dante's View . Photo by Truman D. Venc ilcourtesy Las Vegas, Nevad a, Chamber of Commerce .DESERT SUNRISE

By ETHELYN M. KINCHERMeeker, ColoradoThe dawn unrolls the tapestry of day,A masterpiece, clean-woven by the HandThat wipes out night and puts the starsaway,Preparing sunrise on the desert land.Low in the east, the carols of color comeAnd rise in a crescendo to a songThat fills the desert heart, but leaves lipsdumbEven the winds are silenced, moment-long.Then, arched across the mesa, cliff and crest.The canopy of sky turns slowly blue,A ray of sun points to the waiting West.And once again the desert day is new.

DESERT SUNSETBy KENNETH W. PAULIStanford, California

The air in the canyon lay tiredAnd breathed hot on the crest of the rimWhen the sunred-stained with dust,Dismounted, sank and grew dim.The stars were hardly a wisp;Thin was the mountain haze.The tumbleweed shadows were blueAs the smoke of a dying blaze.But deep in the West the heavens werebright,And something or someone up highSet spurs to a mount and rode trailTo the end of that blazing sky.Then branding the clouds with fireUpgathercd the straggling light,And slammed the corral gates shutIn the face of the galloping night.

S H A D O W C L A NBy ALICE BRILEYAlbuquerque, New MexicoAt dusk, the ancient gods returnTo walk their tribal paths once more.Filing forth from tented rocks.They dance upon this desert floor,Some stately, long-forgotten rite.At last, the twilight ritual done.Tall, the shadow chieftains standWith ceremonial robes drawn close.And lay themselves upon the sandBeneath a star's ancestral light.T R A N S I T I O N

By MILDRED BREEDLOVELas Vegas. NevadaThese many years I pitched my lonely tentUpon the desert's bare unfriendly sandAnd in a plantlcss world I paper-plannedA vivid southern garden where the scentOf lilacs would bewitch the passersby.A garden where the dews and morning mistsWould sprinkle pearls among the amethystsProviding nectar for a butterfly.The seasons came and went, though unper-ceived;And day on cloudless day wove magic spells;The soundless solitude of space retrievedThe heart I gave to trees and carpet-bells.No less colorful these hills no Spring hasleaved.And I've forgotten how a lilac smells.DESERT WINDBy PAUL WILHELM

Thousand Palms. CaliforniaSo let me live where I may hearThe silken whisper of the sand,The singing music of the sphere,The light-wing feet, the unseen handOf pressing winds that murmur nearThe pulsing spirit of this land!

As seen by Ted Huggins an d RaymondMoulin at Dante's ViewBy BESSIE BERGRio Linda, California

Where in this sweeping vision does theunreal end.Reality begin'.' "The Path of Death" theycalled it;Sea of seething alkaliwaves of heat thatsendTheir wash as if on ocean shore; image knitFrom dreams, where ocean is no more:strange beachWhere mortals never cooled parched feet;and only fitFor sprites of Hades: mirage shores thatreachTo the worn talus of the Panamints withsurgeOf surf-like haze, where wanderers mightbeseechThe desert all in vain for water, as theyurgeFailing spirits toward a shimmering, elusiveplace;An ever distant fantasy: until their dirgeIs sung by wind-driven sand, whose burningwaves eraseFootprints from this arid shore, leaving notrace.

BLIND MAK'TABy ELLA LOUISE HEATLEYLong Beach, California

Daily sitting at his loom.Weaving, weaving;Intricate his work, his blindnessPast believing.Fingers, skill and memoryAll combiningTo produce this masterpieceHis designing.Vigorous, past seventy,Free, wise, gritty,Younger men seek his advice(He scorns pity!)Happy, proud, he labors on.Never grieving.Daily sitting at his loomWeaving, weaving! DESERT PEACE

By NESSIE M. KEMMERSan Diego, CaliforniaSomewhere there is a place,A place of wide and open space.With quail and coyote callsUnconfined in man made walls.Where whirring wings may mean a dove.Not warring jets that scream above.

S T R A N G E W A Y SBy GRACE BARKER WILSONKirtland, New Mexico

The desert ways are strange ways,Harsh, silent, and austere,Beneath a blazing sun by days,A thing for men to fear.The desert ways are strange waysWith magic luring far,Beneath a silver moon that staysTo light a vagrant star.The desert ways are strange ways.But those within its boundFeel all the world lies in the mazeThat circles it around.

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D E S E R T C A L E N D A RMay 1 Annual Fiesta and SpringCorn Dance, San Felipe IndianPueblo, New Mexico.May 1-2Turtle Races and WesternParade, Joshua Tree, California.May 1-2Southern California SierraClub natural science outing toJoshua Tree National Monument,California.May 2 Annual Parker Regatta,Parker, Arizona.May 3 Ceremonial Races, 8:30-10:00 a.m., Taos Pueblo, NewMexico.May 6 Public pilgrimages to oldSpanish homes, Mesilla, New Mex-

May 7-913th Annual Lone PineStampede, Lone Pine, California.May 8-2328th Annual WildflowerShow, Julian, California.May 12-15Junior Livestock Show,Spanish Fork, Utah.May 13-1620th Annual Helldoradoand Rodeo, Las Vegas, Nevada.May 14-15 Procession and Bless-ing of Fields, San Ysidro Chapelnear Los Cordovas, New Mexico.May 15-16Annual Grubstake Days,Yucca Valley, California.May 16 Quarter horse show, So-noita, Arizona.May 21-23Calico Days, sponsoredby Yermo Chamber of Commerceat Calico Ghost Town, California.May 26-29Elks Rodeo, Carlsbad,New Mexico.May 27-28Annual Livestock Show,Vernal, Utah.May 29-30Fiesta of San Felipe deNeri, Albuquerque, New Mexico.May 29-3 I Desert Peaks Section,

Southern California Sierra Clubclimb of Glass Mountain, singlepeak which rises out of the desertbetween the White Mountains andthe High Sierra.

V o l u m e 17 M A Y , 1954 N u m b e r 5COVER

POETRYCALENDARP H O T O G R A P H YG H O S T T O W NW A T E RWILDFLOWERSI N D I A N SEXPLORATIONC O N T E S TNATUREEXPERIENCELOST MINEDESERT QUIZWILDLIFEMININGLETTERSCLOSE-UPSN E W SFICTIONLAPIDARYHOBBYC O M M E N TB O O K S

Saguaro Blossoms by HUBERT A. LOWMAN ofCovina, California. This giant cactus pro-duces creamy white blossoms generally latein May. It is the Arizona state flower.Death Valley Panorama, and other desert poems 2May events on the desert 3Pictures of the Month 4Nevada Ghost Town Where the School Bell

Still Rings, by NELL MURBARGER . . . . 5Forecasts for Colorado, Rio Grande River basins 9Predictions of May blossoming 10Raphael's Last Deer Dance

By CHARLES GALLENKAMP 11We Climbed an Old Volcano

By RANDALL HENDERSON 15Announcement for Photographers 18On Desert Trails with a NaturalistII: Exploring

the Kelso Dunes, by EDMUND C. JAEGER . 19Life on the Desert, by ELLA BRISON JOY . . 21Search for the Lost Pegleg Mine1884

By HENRY WINFIELD SPLITTER . . . . 22A True-False test of your desert knowledge . . 24A new Desert contest for writers 25Current news of desert mines 26Comment from Desert's reader s 27About those who write for Desert 28From Flere and There on the Desert 29Hard Rock Shorty of Death Valley 29Amateur Gem Cutter, by LELANDE QUICK . . 34Gems and Minerals 35Just Between You and Me, by the Editor . . . 42Reviews of Southwestern literature 43

The Desert Magazine is published monthly by the Desert Press, Inc., Palm Desert,California. Re-entered as second class matter July 17, 1948, at the postoffice at Palm Desert,California, under the Act of March 3, 1S79. Title registered No. 358865 in U. S. Patent Office,and contents copyrighted 1954 by the Desert Press, Inc. Permission to reproduce contentsmust be secured from the editor in writing.MARGARET GERKE, Associate EditorEVONNE RIDDELL, Circulation Manager

SUBSCRIPTION RATESOne Year $3.50 Two Years SB.00Canadian Subscript ions 25c Extra , Foreign 50c Ex t r a

Subscriptions to Army Personnel Outside U. S. A. Must Be Mailed in Conformity WithP . 0. D. Order No. 19687Address Correspondence to Desert Magazine , Pa lm Desert , Cal i fornia

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P I C T U R E S O F T H E M O N T HO L D C A L I C O . . .

Storm clouds were gather ing overthe ghost town of Calico when Clin-ton L. Hoffman of A rca dia , California,took the above photograph la telast Feb rua ry. On ce the r ichest silvermining camp in California, the townv/ill come to life again May 21 to 23dur ing the Cal ico Days celebrat ionsponsored by Yermo Chamber ofCommerce. Hoffman used a Rollei-cord ca m er a, K-2 filter, 1/50 sec on dat f. 16 for this pictu re w hic h w onfirst prize in Desert's March contest.Marshal "Cal ico Fred" Nol lerchecks his trusty .45 after anotherbusy day guiding tour is ts aroundCal ico s t reets and shops, now underreconstruction. Second Prize Winner

Hubert A. Lowman of Covina, Cali-fornia, used a Brand 17 4x5 v:.ewcamera with 5" f. 4.7 Ektar lens,Sup er XX film, med ium yello w filter,1/25 second at f. 11. The picture wasmade just before sunset.D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Nevada Ghos t Town Whereth e S ch oo l B ell S till R ingsThey still teach the three Rs in Unionville, Nevada, although thetow n ha s long be en a g host. "But we're running out of children,"Grandma Leonard, who has l ived in Unionvil le for C5 years, says ofthe town's five families, and the school is not expected to open next fall .Here is Nell Murbarger ' s story of the Leonards and their ghost townhome in the shadow of th e Humboldt Mounlains of Nevada.By NELL MURBARGERPhotos by the AuthorMap by Norton Allen

IN Buena Vista Canyon,o n t n e e a s t slope of the Hum-boldt range, lies Unionville,Nevada.Unionville is a ghost town . Itssingle, twisting street is bordered bycrumbling ruins; its mine tunnels standsilent. Th e spooky old mill overlook-ing town is draped in cobwebs andtenanted by bats; and where men bythousands once followed the trail oftreasure, only five families live today.I had gone to Unionville to see theClarence Ernsts who are hoping todevelop the famous old Arizona SilverMine as a scheelite produc er. When I

learned that Mrs. Ernst had been bornat Unionville and had lived there morethan 60 years, I sensed a story forDesert Magazine. But my hostess onlyshook her head."I'm sorry," she said. "The re isn'tmuch I can tell you about the boomdays, because Unionville was a ghosttown long before I was born." N o , " she said, "the person for youto see is 'Grandm a' Leon ard. Grandmahas lived in Unionville for 85 years,and her parents and grandparentslived here before she was born."The next morning found me head-ing up the street toward the Leonardhome.Scarcely more than a rifle shot be-yond the town rose the pine-forestedpeaks of the Hum boldt range. Al-though it was June, their 9000-footcrests still lay deeply buried in snow.I knew that high in those hoary sum-mits lay the birthplace of Buena Vista

Although Unionville, Ne vada, haslong been considered a ghost , chi l-dren are stil l taught in the townschoolhouse. Built in 1871, the neatwhite building has seen constant usethrough 82 terms of school. It issaid to be the oldest school buildingin Nevada stil l used for its originalpurpose.

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Creek a merry little stream thattumbles through the heart of Union-ville, tossing its cold white spray overwatercress and mimulus and bathingthe roots of great cottonwoods alongits banks. Not far below town itscrystal waters are lost in the alkalinebarrenness of Buena Vista Valley.

Below the nut pines and mahoganyon the higher slopes grew junipers andgray sage. Chokecherry thickets werefragrant with bloom, and tracks ofquail and chukar partridge cut patternsin the soft dust of the old stage road.Everywhere in the canyon lay crum-bled evidence of a city that had flow-ered and fadedtime-mellowed adobewalls and wide stone fireplaces; shut-tered windows and sagging verandasand broken gates. Enve loping theseold homes were thick mats of Virginiacreeper and thorny jungles of purple


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lilacs and old-fashioned roses, QueenBess and Cherokees, and yellow moss.Tall grass covered yards and pathways.The Leonard home was old, likethe others, and had its lilacs and roses;but here was a comfortable, lived-inlook that the others lacked. The rewere curtains at the windows; tulipswere blooming in the garden, and fromthe old chimney curled a friendlyplume of wood smoke.The woman who answered the doorwas small and white-haired and quick

like a sparrow. He r eyes were brightand clear, and the crinkled lines attheir corners fell naturally into placewhen she laughed.Like Mrs. Ernst , Martha Leonard

showed an interest in my quest; but,she too, shook her head."I'm afraid I can't give you muchfirst hand information because I wasonly a small girl when the boom daysend ed," she said. "A bou t the best Icould do would be to recall some ofthe stories my folks used to tell. . . .But come on in the house and havesome cold milk and cookies," she in-vited. "A t least we can visit a bit."All the while I sat at the oilcloth-covered table in the old kitchen, amockingbird was singing in a tree bythe open window, and a clock on thewall was ticking away the hours; yet,I was only dimly aware of these sounds.For the most part I was lost com-

pletely in the story that was being re-woven by this "first lady" of Union-ville.Later I supplemented that story withinformation supplied by the Ernsts andwith material gleaned from yellowedfiles of Unionville's two newspapers,th e Humboldt Register an d Silver State,now preserved among the treasuredarchives of Nevada State HistoricalSociety at Reno.The saga of this desert mining camphad its beginning in 1860 when rumorsof rich silver deposits in the Humboldtrange reached the Comstock region,and a dozen families left that over-crowded area to come north and foundthe settlement of Humboldt City, tenmiles northwest of the present site ofUnionville.

Out of that town, in the spring of1861, had ranged a prospecting partycomprised of Capt. Hugo Pfersdorff, J.C. Hannan, four Paiute Indians, andtwo burr os. Gaining the crest of therange, these men had looked downupon a stream-watered canyon thatbroke away toward the east. Theycalled it Buena Vista; and upon find-ing rich silver croppings, they hadhurried back to Humboldt City withnews of their discovery.By July 4 of that year, the new-found canyon had attracted settlers insufficient number that an IndependenceDay celebration was held, and threedays later the present site of Unionvillewas plotted. A choice building loca-tion was offered, cost free, to everyman who would contribute two dayswork on the public road and makeimprovements on his lot to a value offifty dollars.

At the time of Unionville's found-ing, the Comstock Lode was still shin-ing as a star of first magnitude; buteven in Virginia City there were manymen who had been a little too late toconnect with a major bonanza. Everyone of these was spoiling for a secondchance at the purse of Fortunatus, andevery rumor of a new discovery sentnewspaper reporters into flights offancy. Throu gh the alchemy of print-er's ink, even a second rate strike couldbe transformed into a glittering Gol-conda that threatened to upset theeconomic balance of the world.

Before Unionville's mines had pro-duced so much as a wagon load ofore, the Territorial Enterprise of Vir-ginia City had heaped its benedictionon the new district."I shall express an honest opinion

based on a thorough examination,"the mining reporter of the Enterprisehad wri t ten. "Hum boldt County isthe richest mineral region upon God'sfootstool! Each mou ntain range isD E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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gorged with the precious ore. Theother day an assay of mere croppingsyielded $400 0 to the ton! A week ortwo ago, an assay of just such surfacedevelopment made return of $7000 tothe ton! Each da y, and almost everyhour, reveals new and startling evi-dence of the profuse and intensifiedwealth. . . . Have no fears of the min-eral resources of Humboldt County.They are incalculable!"'And from Salt Lake to San Fran-cisco, soon sounded the cry, "On tothe Humboldt!"Among the first to answer that chal-lenge were A. W. Olliver, newly-ap-pointed probate judge for Humboldtcounty, and W. H. Clagget, attorney-at-law. Purchasing a team and wagon,the men set forth from Carson Cityin December, 186 1. Accompanyingthem was Sam Clemens, a 26-year-oldnewspaper reporter who would subse-quently become famous as MarkTwain."On the 15th day," according toClements' account of the trip in Rough-ing It, "we completed our march of200 miles and entered Unionville,Humboldt County, in the midst of adriving snow storm . Unionville con-sisted of eleven cabins and a libertypole. . . . The rest of the landscapewas made up of bleak mountain wallsthat rose so high into the sky fromboth sides of the canyon that the vil-lage was left, as it were, far down inthe bottom of a crevice."We built a small, rude cabin in theside of the crevice and roofed it withcanvas, leaving a corner open to serveas a chimn ey. It was very cold andfuel was sca rce . . . "Unionville grew rapidly. By thespring of 1863, more than 200 cabinshad been erected in the canyon, chieflyof log and stone construction. Milledlumber was scarce and high in price.(While newspapers of the period quotedimension stock at $250 to $300 per

thousand feet, the Ernsts have recordsto show that lumber used in the two-story house still occupied by them wasox-freighted to Unionville at a laid-down cost of one dollar a foot!)Roofs, for the most part, werethatch ed with wild rye grass. Tied inbundles, Old World fashion, the coarsematerial was laid on the roofs, buttsdown, and with rawhide thongs wasattached to slats placed across therafters.Before her second birthday Union-

ville had become a bustling frontiersettlement with an assessed valuationof $187,763 and had been designatedthe seat of newly-organized HumboldtCoun ty. Flanking the single narrowstreet that wound for two miles throughM A Y , 1 9 5 4

Ruins of J. C. Fall Me rcantile store. Closed in 1 880, it was the last storeto have operated at Unionville, Ne vada.the canyon, were IS stores, includinggeneral mercantiles, meat markets, twopharmacies, jewelry stores, nine saloonsand a brewery, two hotels, two expressoffices, four livery stables, a dentistand a newspaper.Possibly no event in the history ofthe town was more heartily acclaimedthan the birth of her first newspaper,The Humboldt Register. As ths firstink-wet copies were lifted from thepress on the evening of May 3, 1863,a rifle brigade formed ranks in frontof the office and fired a salvo of nineblasts. By midnight, the new four-pagepublication and its editor, W. J. Forbes,had been saluted by 34 anvil salutesand gallons of imported champagne.

Prospectors and assorted camp fol-lowers continued to pour into the townthroughout that summer of 1863. Fromthe alkaline flat at the mouth of thecanyon to the white crest of the Hum-boldts, property was being staked rightand left, and the county recorder andseven deputies were busy rscordingclaims. Everyone was speculatingmadly in "feet," as mining shares werethen known, and promoters were doinga land-office business in stock certifi-cates.Yet only a handful of Unionville'smines had actually shipped any ore!Editor Forbes, who was widelynoted for his humor, had commentedon this situation, and had expressedfear of widespread hardship when therainy season got underway. After oper-ating in the canyon for two years, hepointed out caustically, many ownersof speculative mining properties hadnot vet driven their tunnels in far

enough to protect themselves from therain!During the camp's earlier years, vir-tually all outside commodities werefreighted from Red Bluff, California,by way of Honey Lake, the summerof 1863 seeing ox-drawn freight wag-ons arriving in Unionville at the rateof a dozen or more daily. The R edBluff Independent told of the departurefrom that place of 40 ox-teams loadedwith supplies for the Humboldt towns,a single flour mill at Red Bluff havingshipped to Unionville 85 tons of flour!Freight rates varied from seven to 14cents per pound.

With failure of mail service to theComstock towns, in the winter of 1863Unionville's postmaster contracted withWells Fargo & Com pany to transp ortthe mail to Virginia City at 25 centsa pound, 35 hours being required tomake the trip. Passeng er fares overthe same route were then $30, but thefollowing summer saw them boostedto $50.Mail transportation was greatlyspeeded in 1864 by the inaugurationof a tri-weekly pony express betweenIdaho City, Idaho, and Virginia Cityby way of Unionville. With the clat-tering pony riders delivering VirginiaCity newspapers of the preceding day,isolated Unionville began to feel a one-ness with civilization. An othe r stridein that direction, also celebrated in

1864, was the opening of telegraphservice between Unionville and theoutside world.As it battled for cheaper and morerapid transportation facilities, the townin the canyon could not be expected to


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Me lvin and Martha Leonard , Unionville's old est resid ents. Mrs. Leonardhas lived in the town for 85 years, her husband for nearly 70.know that its prosperity would passwith the Concord coach and the ox-team; or that the very progress forwhich it was striving would ultimatelyvanish.

First intimation of such developmentcame when the townsmen learned thatthe long-awaited Pacific Railroad hadbeen routed to by-pass them . Its railswould follow the Humboldt River, onthe far side of the mountains.On the Hum boldt River fifty miles tothe north, had sprouted a stragglingsettlement known as Winnemucca. Noone had given much heed to Winne-muc ca, but with the new railroad af-fording the accessibility Unionvillclacked, the river settlement launcheda campaign to acquire the county seat.

It was a bitter fight. Defeated incounty balloting. Winnemucca twicepetitioned the state legislature and withits second attempt won a decision overUnionville. The older town appealedto the state supreme court, but lost;and in 1873, county officials removedtheir records to the river town. Therebywas terminated Unionville's 11-yearreign as seat of Humboldt County.Already demoralized by the rail-road's snub and a disastrous fire whichhad destroyed one entire block of itsbusiness district, this added loss wasmore than the canyon town couldweather. With exception of the Ari-

zona Mine, which had produced be-tween five and six million dollars,other mines of the district had neverbeen famous for their yield. W ith thesilver market scuttled by governmentdevaluation, the Arizona had beenforced to close, and Unionville diedon the vine.

The year 1880 found the town'sonce-teeming population shriveled toa bare handful of persons, and J. C.Fall, leading citizen of the canyon,merchant, and owner of the ArizonaMine, had closed his large generalstore and moved away. At the timeof his departure, Mr. Fall stated thathe had spent at Unionville more than$3,000,000most of which had comefrom the Arizonaand that he wasunable to continue operations due tothe government's ruinous discount onbullion.

The Fall Mercantilenow lying inruinswas the last store to operatein the canyon."My parents and grandfather hadcome to Unionville during the firstyears of the boom," said MarthaLeon ard. "As it came time for me tobe born, Mother went back to Illinoisso 1 could arrive in 'civilized' surro und -ings. In 1869 before I was sixmonths oldshe and I returned toUnionville. T attended school here, inthe same building we still use for that

purp ose . It was built in 1871 at acost of $2500 and school has beenheld there every term for 82 years."But now," she said sadly, "it looksas if there won't be another term.There are only a few folks left intown, and most of us are old. W e'rejust naturally running out of children!Under Nevada law, a school may bemaintained for three pupils but itlooks as if there won't be that manyduring the term to come."

The building referred to by GrandmaLeonard was not Unionville's firstschool. The first schoolh ouse, built in1862 of adobe brick, seems to havebeen used for everyth ing. Politicalconventions, dances, church services,and sessions of the town board wereheld in it. The Ma sonic and O ddfel-lows lodges and the Sons of Temper-ance used it for their meetings. Du r-ing the Civil War it was the head-quarters of both the strong UnionLeague and the local chapter ofKnights of the Golden Circle. He re,too, had met the Buena Vista Guards,a smartly-uniformed group of volun-teer militiamen who lent their impres-sive presence to all patriotic celebra-tions and parades . Onc e in a while,according to old newspaper files, theyeven rode forth in pursuit of renegadeIndians.

Strangely enough, said GrandmaLeonard, Unionvillc never had but onechurch building, although a Sundayschool had been organized as early as1862 and religious services had beencond ucted by visiting pas tors. On e ofthese visitorsthe Rev. L. Ewing, areformed gambler from California eventually dedicated himself to thetask of providing the town with achurch edifice- With the financialbacking of Mr. Fall, the structure wasbrought to completion in 1871, and a450-pound bell was purchased by pub-lic subscription."Mr. Ewing was soon called else-where," said Mrs. Leonard," and i twasn't long until the church buildinghad been sold and moved to Mill Citywhere it was converted into a men'sclubhouse and saloon.Turning to Mr. Leonard who hadcome in from the garden and had beenlistening with interest, I asked at whichpoint he had entered the Unionvillepicture.After beginning his teaching careerin the Badger State, in 1882, Mr.Leonard related, he emigrated Westand secured a contract to teach theschool at Dun Glen, a present-dayghost town about 25 miles northeastof Unionville. Still later he got thejob teaching Unionville's school andheld that position for 35 years. During

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his time he brought the three Rs toOne of the Leonard daughtersow Mrs. Orfa Hamm ersmark de-veloped a desire to follow in her fath-er's footsteps as a teache r. With M r.Leonard's retirement, Mrs. Hammers-mark stepped into his vacated postand for 19 years has taught the chil-

dren of Unionvillethereby making afather-daughter combination of nearly70 years of continuous teaching in thispart of what now is Pershing County."It was at Dun Glen that 1 first metMr. Leonard," put in Grandma. "1was only 16 at the time, but 1 knewhe was everything I wanted in a hus-bandbesides being very goodlooking!and I didn't propose he should getaway from me!"We were married in September,1885and in 1955, God willing, wewill celebrate our 70th wedding anni-versary!"Bidding goodbye to these wonderfulold folks, I drove back down the wind-ing roadback past the time-mellowedruins and deserted hom es. At last Ihalted at the old graveyard near themouth of the canyon.

Walking through that place of silentmounds, I found my mind whirlingthrough an endless compote of storiesrelated by my Unionville hosts. Storiesof the days when Mrs. Ernst's grand-father ox-freighted from Sacramentoto Unionville and her grandmother op-crated the pony express station at Buf-falo Springs on the Idaho-Virginia Cityline; stories of later days when hermother raised poultry and vegetablesand hauled them by wagon to theChinese city in American Canyon, adozen miles down the range fromUnionville.

There were tales of duck huntingon Humboldt Lake, of notable horse-races and ball games, of terrific wind-storms and grand balls and midnightsuppers and home-talent orchestra con-certs from the steps of the ExchangeHotel.Stories, stories! Yet I knew that allthe remembered tales of Unionville'syouth must be as nothing comparedto the unrecorded history that had diedwith the men who made itthe un-sung pioneers who were sleeping inthese forgotten graves.Before leaving the cemetery to headdown the long lonely road into BuenaVista Valley, I turned for a last fare-well look at the grand old ruin in thecanyon.The evening was young, but the sunhad already slipped behind the highpurple peaks of the Humboldt rangeand dark shadowslike the relentlessyearshad stolen in to swallow thetown.

R i v e t R e p o r t s I n d i c a t e C o n t i n u e dD m t h f o t S o u t h w e s t e t n S t a t e s

Due to continued drouth in theSouthwest, the runoff in the Coloradoand Rio Grande this season will beeven lighter than was predicted amonth ago, according to the Februaryreport of the U. S. Weather Bureau.Following is the detailed report, basedon precipitation, and snowpack in thehigh elevations:COLORADO BASINPrecipitation during February wasmuch below normal over the entireUpper Colorado Basin. Monthly totalsaveraged about 30 percent of normalover the drainage areas in Wyomingand northern Colorado and about 20percent of normal over the southernColorado watersheds. Monthly per-centages in Utah ranged from zero atlower valley stations to approximately75 percent of normal over a small areaof the high Uinta Mountains.

Colorado River above CiscoThecurrent water supply outlook for theColorado and its tributaries aboveCisco is not favorable and is approxi-mately comparable to the March 1outlook of a year ago. Runoff nea r60 percent of average is in prospectlor the Dolores. Uncompahgre andlower Gunnison drainages. For theremainder of the basin, 75 percent ofaverage runoff is predic ted. Precip ita-tion for the balance of the seasonwould have to approach the maximumof record in order for normal runoffto be realized.

Green River BasinAs a result ofthe light February precipitation, fore-casts for the Green River Basin arcdown by 3 percent to 13 percent fromthose of a month a go. Streamflow ofnear 75 percent of average is in pros-pect for the Yampa and White RiverBasins in Co lorad o. Forecas ts for themain stem of the Green River in Wy-oming range from 71 percent of aver-age at Warren Bridge down to 51 per-cent of average at the Wyoming-Utahborde r. As a result of spotty snowfallduring the season, considerable varia-tions may be noted in the forecasts forthe Utah tributa ries. The se range from88 percent of average for the AshleyCreek near Vernal down to 49 per-cent of average for the Price River atHeiner.

San Juan River BasinThe currentwater supply outlook for the San JuanRiver Basin is much less favorablethan that of a month ago. Forecastsissued this month arc 13 percent to18 perc ent lowe r. Runoff for the

basin is expected to be near 65 percentto 70 percent of the ten-year average,based on the assumption that precipi-tation for the balance of the seasonwill be near normal.Precipitation during February av-eraged less than half of normal overthe Lower Co lorado Basin. The en-tire precipitation for the month oc-curred on the 14th and 15th. Highestpercentages were observed for thePrescott-Flagstaff area where valuesranged from 60 percent to 75 percentof norm al. Over the upp er Gila wate r-shed in New Mexico, monthly percent-ages were only abou t 10 percen t ofnormal.

Gila and Little Colorad o River ba-sinsThe outlook for the November-June water supply for the Lower Col-orado Basin is very critical. Snowcover is practically non-existent exceptabove 8,000 feet and then mostly inshaded areas. Soil moisture conditionsat the close of the month were criticallydry for most areas. Nov embe r-Junerunoff as low or lower than that ofthe recent drouth years is in prospectfor the basins.RIO GRANDE BASINFebruary has been an excessivelydry month over the Rio Grande Basin,and this coupled with abnormally warmtemperatures has resulted in an unusu-ally severe deterioration of the watersupply pros pects . Snow survey reportsof the Soil Conservation Service andcooperating agencies show that thesnow water content on a number ofthe New Mexico courses has actuallydeclined during Februarya rare oc-currence. Extensive areas in the basinshowed no measurable precipitation

during the month; the balance of thebasin was in the 10 percent to 50 per-cent of norm al range. The over-allaverage for the basin probably fallsbelow 10 percent of normal.Rio Grande Basin Forecasts forthe basin are down by 10 percent to27 percent from those of a month ago.Water-year flow at Otowi Bridge isexpected to be near 600,000 AF.which is 58 percent of the ten-yearaverage. Forecasts for the tributarystreams arc somewhat higher, percent-age-wise.Pecos River BasinAlso down, by9 percent to 23 percent, are the fore-casts for the Pecos Basin. Nov emb er-June flows for streams of this basinare expected to be in the range of 53percent to 80 percent of average.

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I N M A Y< * ' ^ ^ H E R E ARE always flowers, if you look far

/ enough andhard enough," observed Jane S. Pin-heiro the third day of springa spring which amonth before had indicated little wildflower color inSouthwest desert areas. After March rains, the blossom-ing picture brightened, and fair to good displays arepromised in May for most regions.Antelope Val ley "There have been wonderful soak-ing showers for more than a week now," wrote Mrs.Pinheiro, Desert Magazine's wildflower correspondent forAntelope Valley, California, March 24. "My guess isthat there will be a fine wildflower display throughout thehigh desert area in April and May. Everywhere on thedesert floor seedlings have popped upGilia, Lupine,Sand Verbena, Primrose of many varieties, Mimulus,Pha-celia, Zygadenc, Desert Hyacinth, Mariposa, Coreopsis,Scale Bud,Snakeshead and Desert Dandelion, Chia, Pin-cushion, Forget-me-not, Fiddleneck, Mentzelia and manymore. It looks as though, after much dryness. this willbe a beautiful spring."

Saguaro National Monument, Arizona Equallypleased over the sudden change for the better were JohnG. Lewis, superintendent, andBenjamin J. Zerbey, ranger,of Saguaro National Monument near Tucson, Arizona.After good rains in March, the following plants promisedblossoms for late April and May: Ocotillo, False Mes-quite, Brittlebush, Marigold. Paper Daisy, HedgehogCactus and Filaree should reach their flowering climax inlate April; Prickly Pear, Cholla and Palo Verde will bebest in May,Saguaro by late May;Desert Poppy, Pent-stemon and Larkspur are expected to blossom sporadic-ally through April andearly May."It appears that March rains will bring forth a fineshow of Palo Verde blossoms," Ranger Zerbey wrote."The cacti will be about equal in quantity to other years.Annuals will becolorful but not spectacular."Joshua Tree National Monument, CaliforniaBy lateMarch, the Joshua trees were blooming in Joshua TreeNational Monument. On March 16, reported Superin-tendent Samuel A. King, a snow storm occurred at higherelevations (3000 feet upward) which did some damageto fully developed blossoms; but most were still in thebud stage, so a good display wasassured for the first threeweeks in April. Ranger Charles Adams predicted thatCotton Thorn, Woolly Marigold, Large White DesertPrimrose, Golden Gilia, Desert Mallow and Great BasinBlue Sage would be blossoming in Hidden Valley in May,an d in Queen Valley, Small-leaved Amsonia, White TidyTips, Mojave Sand Verbena, Spiny HopSage and AnnualMitra. Jupiter Flat, Ran ger Adam s predicted, would bebright with the flowers of Lacy Phacelia, Paper BagBush,Yellow Turban, Scale Bud, Parish Larkspur and PurpleMat, and, at Salton View, Mayblossoms would decoratethe Chia, Harebell Phacelia, Desert Aster, Fringed Onionand Adonis Lupine.

Lake Mead National Recreation AreaProspects alsoappear brighter for wildflowers at Lake Mead NationalRecreation Area. Park Naturalist Russell K. Grater ex-pects good flowering for Beavertail Cactus, StrawberryCactus and Yu cca, extending into M ay. Colorful displaysof Desert Marigold, Desert Mallow, Datura, Prince'sPlume, Desert Dandelion, Desert Aster, Sun-ray andDesert Chicory are also indicated.

Death Valley National MonumentFrom Death Val-ley comes the report of Chief Ranger E. E. Ogston. "Someof the Beavertail are in bloom now," he wrote March 29,"and within the next two weeks there should be a verygood showing of this species. Geraea canescens (DesertSunflower) is starting to bloom as well as a few EveningPrimroses. Indian Painbrush is out at higher elevations."Ogston feared that few blossoms would remain untilMay.

Mojave Desert "A few spindly little plants arealready beginning to bloom," Mary Beal wrote from Dag-gett, California, late in March. She reported good gentlerains had brought out the young plants and a good flower-ing season was indicated."But there is one big flaw in the pictureand thatno t of Nature's making," she added. "Northern sheep-men are bringing great truckloads of sheep into our areaand turning them loose to graze on our desert plants.So the beauty will not develop except in those stretcheswhere the sheep have not spoiled the landscape." TheMojave Yuccas were blooming by April 1.Apache Junction, ArizonaCorrespondent Julian M.King doubts whether any annuals will last until May."The cactus blooms probably will provide the outstandingcolor that month," he predicted. "Hedgeh ogs startedblooming late in March, Staghorns should follow in earlyApril anddifferent plants of that variety may be expectedto bloom through April and into Ma y. Saguaro blossomswill be outstanding in May as well as those of the PricklyPear. The flowering trees Palo Verde and Ironwoodwill bloom in May, and their spring color is spectacular.In the higher areas just to the east of us, century plantblossoms should be out in substantial numbers in May."

Borrego Desert, California Barrel and Beavertailcacti promised good color for April visitors to BorregoState Park, but few of their blossoms were expected tolast far into May . "Cholla and Torch cacti will probablybloom in April and most of May," predicted James B.Chaffee, park supervisor.Casa Grande N ational Monume nt, ArizonaThe longdrouth in the Coolidge, Arizona, area was broken inMarch by gently soaking rains, reported SuperintendentA. T. Bicknell of Casa Grande National Monument. Iffollowed by warm weather, this would increase cactusblossoming in April and May, he hoped. Am ong speciesexpected to bloom those two months are Saguaro, Hedge-hog, Staghorn, Prickly Pear andArizona Rainbow Cactus.May blossoms also should appear on Ocotillo, Palo Verde,Brittle Bush, Mesquite, Ironwood andCatsclaw.

Coachella Valley, CaliforniaAs Jane Pinheiro re-marked, "if you look far enough and hard enough" youwill find flowers. Motorists along Highway 111 betweenPalm Springs and Indio will not find the brilliant carpetof wildflowers which Nature has in years past spreadacross valley dunes. But to the hiker who will leave thehighway for the canyons, many blossoming plants will pre-sent themselves, singly and in small groups along the trail.Barrel Cactus should be in bloom in April andMay, Beav-ertail, Prickly Pear andother of the faithful cactus clan. Bymid-March the Ocotillo were flowering, their red-tippedstems brown from lack of rain. Good late Ma rch rainsadded hundreds of green leaves, and scarlet blossomsremained to make a good display, especially on thePalms-to-Pines highway from Palm Desert.

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Dee r Dance at Santa Clara Pueblo, New M exico. One of the olde st and bestknown of the Rio Grande Pueblo rituals, it is performed in late summer or earlyfall as part of the elaborate hunting cere monies of that season. The d ance rs leano n sticks to imitate forele gs and wear heavy ant ler head dre sses. Photo by author.Raphael's Last Deer DanceIn the sunbaked villages of the Pueblo Indians the age old religionof the peop le still gu ide s their da ily liv es. Here is the story of the DeerDance, one of the rituals through which these Indians try to reach theirgods, and the part it played in the life of an aging tribesman in thepueblo of Santa Clara, New Mexico.

By CHARLES GALLENKAMPthe twilight. Inside its sun red wallsthe people of his village were lightingfires for the night. Soon the harve stwould begin and there would be littletime to rest and to think. But for themoment Raphael's thoughts werelocked deep within himself.

I had taken a small adobe house ashort distance from Santa Clara whichserved as both studio and home forthe summ er. In the mornings I wroteor photographed nearby places of in-terest. Often in the afternoon I wentfor long walks down through the fieldsof ripening corn and along the river.Raphael usually accompanied me on

MEDINA sat lookinginto the clear water of the river.Gradually his gaze rose to thefar distant mountains to the east, theirpeaks shrouded in clouds made orangeand red by the late afternoon sun.On their broad, massive slopes hecould pick out patches of aspen treesalready turning gold in the early au-tumn frost. The valley of the RioGrande stretched out before him likea huge silver snake winding its wayacross the darkening desert.

Far up the valley, where the riverdisappeared into black lava mesas, thepueblo of Santa Clara slept quietly in

these walks or 1 helped him tend hiscrops. Always we laughed and talked,and I learned much about his peopleand how they lived.I was surprised this day to find himsitting by the river, his face silent andthoughtful. He glanced up at me as1 came n ear, but the usua l warm smilewas missing from his lips."'What's the matter, Raphael?" 1asked. "Yo u look as though som ethingis troubling you."My question seemed to startle him.Seldom had our conversations gonebeyond the point of casual, offhandsubjects. Of personal lives we knewpractically nothing about each other;

it never seemed important there amidso much distance, such space. Thebeauty of the place itself was enoughto draw us into a friendship heedlessof problems, backgrounds and the like.But Raphael needed the confidence ofM A Y , 1 9 5 4 11


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The d ancers' face s are painted black,a s ta r t l ing contrast to the white oftheir costume s. The front of thisyoung dancer's headdress is madeof sticks lashed together with yuccafiber. Photo by the author.a friend now, someone other than amember of his tribe; for this was, itappeared, a matter of deep personaldisgrace. His wea thered face grewtense as he began to speak.Soon the harvest would be over, hetold me. Then follows the time tohuntfirst the deer in the mesas andcanyons near the pueblo, later bear inthe far off mo untain s. The last threeyears Raphael hunted tirelessly along-side the others but had not himselfkilled a deer. Fo r weeks during eachsucceeding winter he searched themesas, valleys and plains looking fordeer. He had even ventured to thedistant mountains alone to hunt alongthe snow covered game trails. Oncehe did see a giant fat buck standing inthe snow just ahead of him. He raisedhis rifle, took careful aim and breath-lessly squeezed the trigger. His bulletshattered a pine sapling inches aheadof the fleeting buck's shoulderhe hadmissed completely.

Word soon spread of Raphael'splight. Friends told him he was grow-ing old and need no longer go to huntwith the others. But Raphae l helddeep in his heart a much greater fear.He had begun to believe the godsthemselves willed that he should killno more deer.

Once, four winters before, hehad wounded a buck in the moun-tains and was forced by driving snowand darkness to leave the creature todie there in the cold, black night. Allthe way down the mountainside andacross the wide plain below he thoughthe could hear the anguished cries ofthe dying buck high in the timberabove . Never had he been able to ridhis memory of those haunting shrieks,and not since that day had he killedanother deer.As the time to hunt again drew near,Raphael felt he must do something toappease the angry spirits and freehimself of disgrace. He wanted onceagain to be able to share his kill amongthe others in the way of his people.More important was a promise madeto his son, that the year of his firsthunt he would wear a pair of mocca-sins sewn from the hide of a swiftbuck which Raphael had vowed toshoot for that purpos e. By the nextwinter the boy would be old enoughto take the old man's gun and go him-self to look for gam e. Non e of thiswould be possible unless the gods re-lented.

Already the village was preparinga dance in honor of the deer spirits.It was Raphael's turn to participate inthe ceremony and he felt compelledto do so. It would have been wrongand faithless not to dance when histime came; but inside him grew thedark apprehension that his presencewould so offend the spirit of thewounded buck he would make it for-bidden for any man of the village everagain to slay a deer.When the old man finished talkinghe looked again at the now almostblack water. His heart was heavy in-deed and nothing could have demandedmore concern than the thought thathe had lost, perhaps forever, his favoramon g the gods. In the light of hisfaith, born of necessity and nourishedby nature, Raphael had lived long andwell. Eac h year he watch ed his songrow strong and tall like the corn inthe fields. His home was always ahappy place and his friends many. Heaccepted with quiet dignity all thatlife offered and had passed the yearsat peace with himself and his godswho dwelled in the mysterious placethat was the world about him.

After a moment Raphael looked atme and spoke."Do you thing it be wrong if I don'tdance with my people this time?" heasked. "The re are plenty others todance and then I won't bring angryspirits to my village.""Raphael," I answered hesitantly,"you've been a man of strong faith fora long timenot one of your peoplewould deny that. If your faith had

never been tested before then 1 wouldsay you might have some reason toworry; but no one can live as long asyou without many such trials. Per-haps this is meant to be the biggest ofthem all, and to deny yourself thechance to conquer it would be a fargreater wrong than leaving behind awounded deer. Yes go and dancewith your people, but dance with moreand greater faith than anyone else. 1somehow feel that the spirit of thewounded deer will understand now."

"Maybe you be right," replied Ra-phael. "I must think much aboutwhat you say before the time to dancecomes."We shook hands and the Indianmade his way slowly across the deserttoward the pueblo . I watched until hefaded into the falling darkness, thensat a long time on the river bank won-dering if I had said something to helpease the old man's mind.Four days later the time of the DeerDance arrive d. It was a cold, clearmorning and the wind blew in shortchilling gusts sweeping little clouds ofyellow dust along before it. Wh en itstilled, blue streaks of fragrant pinyonsmoke floated skyward from the vil-lage. The plaza, the houses and cor-rals were bathed in soft light from themorning sun which promised to warmthe air as the day grew longer. The rewas restlessness everywhere, even inthe wind and dust.

A few people had come from nearbySanta Fe and Taos and were crowdedtogether in patches of warm sunlightacross the plaza. Soon their numb ersbegan to swell with artists, tourists,priests, Indians and many others whohad traveled far to witness this ancientritual. They lined the plaza and roof-tops as they have done for years toexperience for themselves a people'sage old supplication to Naturethemother of all life.Today the Indians were to dance inhon or of the Dee r Spirit. They w ere

to pray that the bucks grow strongand heavy and the does remain fer-tile. It was never by will but of nec es-sity that the deer were slain at all, thusthe spirits of the dead creatures wereto be venerated in dance and song, llwas. in essence, a living tribute to themany small lives that must be givento preserve the unbroken spirit of ever-lasting life in all.Soon the throbbing of a deep drumcould be heard inside a distant kiva.All eyes turned expectantly to catchthe first sight of the dancers coming

from the great ceremonial chamber.To the Pueblos the kivas represent theunderworld from which all life origin-ally came, and it is said that many oftheir gods still dwell in this under-world, therefore in the kivas as well.12 D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Most rituals begin in the kivas; for itis there, in this sacred keeping placeof Pueblo religion, that the gods canmost surely be awakened to the prayersof the people.A feeling of hushed excitementstirred the waiting spectators. Some-one had caught sight of the dancersmaking their way to the plaza. From

the roof of the kiva they appeared,one after another, their grotesque cos-tumes against the brilliant sky liketiny gods coming up from the worldbelow. Inde ed, that is exactly whatthey were; for their faith was supposedto tranform each dancer into the im-age of the spirit they sought to ap-peas e. To the beat of a single drumthey walked in reverent procession intothe plaza amid those of us who waitedin respectful silence for the rite to be-gin. When they had all entered theplaza the drum stopped and quiet fellupon the village.I counted close to forty dancers inthe plaza, all men and boys heavilybedecked in costumes symbolic of thedeer. They wore beautifully madewhite leggings and white dance kiltstied about the waist with woven sashes.Their moccasins were of bleached deerskin trimm ed with animal fur. Ab ovethe kilts they were clothed in ordinarywhite shirts with blue and yellow armband s. Th e entire costum e of starkwhite was broken only by their blackpainted faces half hidden under a mas-

sive headdress of deer antlers, eaglefeathers and evergreen boughs thesymbol of lasting life. Eac h da ncercarried two straight sticks with whichhe imitated the forelegs of the deer,and his steps echoed the sound oftiny bells, turtle shell rattles and heavynecklaces of turquoise, silver and shell.When the great drum began to thun-der once again a chorus of bronzedold men started to chant in low, fun-ereal unison, and the dancers movedslowly into two lines up and down thelength of the plaza. Soon their feetwere stamping the rhythm of the drumbeats in the dry dust below until itswirled around their black faces almostmasking them from sight. As the chantbecame more intense, the chorus raisedtheir hands high in the air and beganto tell with gestures the story of manygood things in the people's life: birth,falling rain, growing corn, and thedeath of many deer during the weeksto come.Then, suddenly, in the midst of thissolemn prayer there sprang forth twoIndians dressed as hunters . One car-ried a rifle, the other a bow and somearrow s. They plunged into the linesof dancers sending them scattering inall direction around the plaza with thenervous movements of surprised deer

in the forest. Fo r a mom ent the deerdancers seemed to be in completechaos, then they moved farther downthe plaza, reformed their lines andcontinued to dance. No sooner waseverything again in order when thesame erratic drama was repeated andthe deer came scampering back.The steps and patterns were, in

fact, a kind of dance drama depictingthe struggle between the hunter andhis prey. The movem ents of the deerdancers became increasingly angry andfrightened. Their heads bobbed upand down in time to the drummingand they pawed the dust with thesticks. When one of the hunters cametoo close they would fling their hornedheads in the sky and leap away to aplace of more safety.Despite the confusion and excite-ment of the drama, never once did itseem to lose its form and meaning,

never was the rhythm of the chantswallowed up in the impassioned spec-tacle. Before all who watched passe dthe minds and bodies of a people car-ried to the heights of spiritual anima-tion by a respect for the elements ofnature thought so necessary to exist-ence that it had centuries before givenbirth to these dances, each of whichwas an ingenious overture to the darkmysteries of life somewhere beyondthe limits of human knowledge.It was not long after the dance hadbeiiun that I saw amid the swirling

dust the lean, aging form of mytroubled friend, Raphael Medina. Hishead was bowed under the weight ofthe heavy headdress and his handsclutched the deer-sticks with uncer-tain, wavering strength. I was glad tosee him there among his people, danc-ing in the manner of his father andgrandfather before him. To everyonehe seemed sure of himself, possessedof equal faith. I doub t that anyoneother than myself knew what he actu-ally felt within himhow much hefeared his very presence there in thesacred plaza on this day. 1 someho wfelt his courage would find reward, butI was none the less apprehensive ofevents to com e. If Raphael did notkill a deer this winter, I would surelywitness and feel some responsibilityfor the destruction of an old man'sspirit.All through the long day the cere-mony went on. Eight times the deerdancers disappeared into the dark kivato rest and pray, then return to theplaza to repeat again the drama thatheld me in motionless wond er. Tou r-ists came and left, but I wanted to re-main for the supreme moment I knewwas yet to come. I had not long towait.

Just as the sun's rays were turningto gold and the last group of dancersended their ritual, there was heard thesudden, sharp staccato of rifle fire in thehills behind the pue blo. Quic kly, with-Raphael had wounded the deer and, unable to fol low the bleeding buckthrough the snow, had left him to die a slow painful d eath. He was afraidhis deed had angered the gods so they would not al low him to ki l l anotherdeer, and he feared his participation in the pueblo's Deer Dance wouldspread their wrath to all the members of his tribe.

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out warning, a dozen Indian huntersrushed into the plaza, crouched to takeaim at the startled deer-men, and be-gan firing into them. The se were thehunters of the pueblo who would soongo into the mountains and forests, andthis was the long awaited bountifulslaughter they hoped to make.As the bullets whined above the

deer dancers, they pretended to dropas though hit by the stinging fire. Someslumped down motionless; othersleaped high in the air and crumpled ina seemingly lifeless mass in the dust.Spectators scrambled for safety as thehunters dashed to claim their victimsand carry the limp bodies into the kiva.The whole scene was tragically beau-tiful, surpassing any play I had everseen. The deer had been slain, theirspirits honored by the reluctant tribes-men, and the Deer Dance ended.Night fell again upon the village,leaving the men to think of prepara-tions for the first hunt which was soonto follow. I did not see Raph ael againthat evening or for several days after.I believe it was fear that kept him fromthose who were shortly to witness whatwas to be the greatest test of his life-long faith.No one saw Raphael until the dayof the hunt the following week. Alight snow had blanketed the distantmountains which, it was said, woulddrive the deer down near the pueblo

into the lowlands where feed was stillabunda nt. The day before excitementin the village had been heightenedwhen an Indian reported that deer hadcrossed a trail in front of him as hewas bringing his cattle down from themesas. Meetings of the hunting partieswere held all over the pueblo thatnight, but Raphaelthe oldest hunterof them allwas not among them.He sat alone in his home waiting forthe dawn that never seemed to come.The weather which brought thesnow had also caused several days'

delay in the hunt. I had plann ed toleave to spend the winter in Albuquer-que on that day, but wanted, if possi-ble, to remain until Raphael returned.I had until the morning of the secondday before my schedule would forceme to leave Santa Clara.The next morning I came early tothe village to watch the small groupsof hun ters leave. Some rode away onhorseback, others in dusty trucksloaded with blankets and sleeping bags.They took rifles, sacks of food, andmost of them carried tiny stone hunt-ing fetishes and pouches of sacred cornmeal. In a distant corral I saw Raph aelsaddling his horse and checking to seethat his rifle and gear were secured forthe long hard ride ahead . His face

still had that grim, set look of deter-mination I had seen the day of thedance. He went about the last minutetasks with the cold precise manner ofa condemned m an. There could belittle doubt that Raphael's very soulwould die within him if he returnedthis time withou t a deer. Fo r fourlong years he had waited faithfully,danced, chanted and prayed that thegods forgive him his crime against thewoun ded deer. There was nothing leftto do now but to go and see.

Late that afternoon the first huntersreturned bringing with them three fineheavy bucks killed in a canyon a few

miles from the pueblo. Before longanother party arrived with two more.The re was no sign of Raph ael. Afriend told us he had wandered offfrom his party just after noon and hadnot returned by the time they wereready to leave."Raphael acted funny," the youngIndian said. "Kind of quiet and un-happy about something." There was

nothing to do but wait.The evening passed slowly. I re-turned to my house to pack a few lastthings and get them in my car. The nI went to Raphael's home to wait withhis family by the fire. We ate andlaughed, saying nothing about Raphaeland the serious task he was about.We all felt a certain tension but didthe most we could to dispel it. Ou t-side the quiet was broken now andthen by excited laughter along thenarrow streets as more hunters re-turned bringing in their bounty. WhenRaphael had not come by midnight.we felt sure he would sleep out some-whe re. His wife and son went to bedand I spread my bedroll on the floornear the fire.

When I opened my eyes again, thesun had climbed high above the snowcovered mou ntains. The pueblo wasalive with activity skinning freshkilled deer and hanging the red meatout to dry. By then most of the menhad returned, though not all hadbrought back deer. There were manydays left for them to try their luck.The morning wore on and I knewthat I must be on my way. Rap hael'swife, Dora, promised to write if hegot his deer, but there was anxiety inher voice even as she spoke. Aftersaying goodby to the friends I hadmad e in the little village, 1 starte ddown the rough, dusty road that windsits way toward Espanola away fromthe sun baked walls and green fieldsthat had been my home for threemo nths. I left behin d many m emo riesof the wonderful hours I spent there,but most of all I was leaving some-

thing unfinished the battle whichRaphael Medina, my friend, wagedwith his own faith and his deepestconvictions.I had driven about three miles fromthe pueblo and my mind was burieddeep in thought. Suddenly I heard ashout from high in the rocky mesa tomy left. I looked up . Th ere amon gthe massive stones stood an old In-dian man, his hand waving a friendlyfarewell as I drove past. I waved inreply, and strained my eyes to see whoit was . A careful look at his tired but

smiling face and I knew it was Raphaelcoming home at last. I looked againand could hardly believe my eyes.There, slung over his saddle, was ahuge lifeless bucka creature withheavy antlers that jutted into the brightsky like sha rp, black swo rds. I laughedout loud with happiness, and up on thehill Raphael's face twisted into a broadgrin. Our eyes met with unde rstand-ing and he turned to walk away towardhis village. I started on my way againfeeling that I would like to return againnext winterto take Raphael's placewhen the time of the Deer Dance came.

CHANGE OF ADDRESSDesert Magazine is mailed tosubscribers on the 20th of thepreceding month (unless the20th happens to fall on Satur-day or Sunday, and in thatcase the mailing date is the22nd.) In order that there maybe no delay in delivery to sub-scribers changing their ad-dresses, it is requested the newaddress be sent in by the firstof the preceding month. Thank sfor your cooperation. W e wantyou to get your Desert on time.

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Much of the cl imbing was done on exposed face s. Here ,Ed. Gammon is leading the way up the ancient crater. Lillian I. Casler and Willard Dean pause for a rest nearthe summit. De an is chairman of the De sert Pe akers.

W e C lim bed an O ld V o lcano ...M o p a h Peak in the Turtle Mountains of Southern California haslong been a landmark for lost-mine hunters, prospectors and gemstone collectors. More recently this ancient volcanic crater has becomea challenge to the mountain-climbing fraternity, and here is the storyof a recent ascent by members of the Sierra Club of California.

By RANDALL HENDERSONMap by Norton Allenigneous rock which serves as a land-mark for lost gold hunters, prospectorsand gem collectorsand as a goal forthose mountaineers who like to trytheir skill in difficult places.

For 75 years lost mine hunters havebeen drawn to the Turtles by stories ofa fabulously rich placer field whichonce yielded great nuggets of goldand then was lost. This is the localeof the legendary Lost Arch mine.Then, 15 years ago when the newfraternity of hobbyists known as rock-hounds began to swarm over the des-

IN February this year 1was a member of a little groupof Sierra Club members whoreached the summit of Mopah Peakin the Turtle Mountains near the Colo-rado River in the southeastern MojaveDesert .We were not the first to scale this

ancient volcanic crater, or what is leftof it, for the forces of erosion havebroken down most of the walls of thevent from which lava once spewedforth on the surrounding terrain. Whatremains today is a great pinnacle ofM A Y , 1 9 5 4

ert terrain in quest of semi-preciousgem stones, some one reported thatchalcedony and agate were weather-ing but of the seams in the volcanicrock of the Turtle Mountainsandtoday collectors are still climbing theslopes and combing the surroundingmesaand getting lovely specimens ofcreamy chalcedony roses. This is agem field that will never be exhausted.My first trip to the Turtles was in1940 when I accompanied Louise andthe late Arthur Eaton on a rock col-lecting trip to the newly discoveredchalcedony field. We camped alongan arroyo five miles from the base ofMopah Peak at an elevation of 1100feet. Th at great spire of rock was achallenge I could not resist, and whileother members of the party roamedover the desert and climbed the lowerslopes in quest of gem specimens, Iexplored the possibility of reaching the

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M o p a h Peak jrom the northwest side . This route wasabandoned in favor of a more feasible ascent

from the southwest.At the summit, left to right, seated: To m Cor r i gan ,

Lillian 1. C o s i e r , Ed . Gamm on, Pauline A. Savior.Standing: Bob Bear and Wil lard Dean.

summ it. The northeast face of Mopahis almost vertical and I contouredaround the base to the south face wherethere appeared to be a feasible routeupward in a great couloir or gully ofbroken boulders. It was a hand andtoe ascent and as I worked up overthe loose debris 1 came to the conclu-sion that this was the vent of an an-cient crater with the south rim entirelyeroded away. Shoulders of rim-rockcut off my view both to the east andto the west.

Eventually, I reached a point wherethe climbing appeared too hazardousfor a lone ascentand turned backwhere my altimeter registered 3260feet.Early this year the Desert Peakssection of the Sierra Club scheduledMopah for one of its week-end climb-ing expeditions, and as I was to be aguide on the trip I went out the pre-vious week to see if I could find aroute to the top.

Camping at an old stone corral nearthe base of the mountain, Cyria and

1 had the same experience EdmundJaeger wrote about in his "DesertCampfires"' story in the April issue ofDesert Magazine. The rocks out ofwhich we had improvised a little fire-place began to explode. I realizedthen that they were the same type ofandesite Jaeger had described, andhastily replaced them with other stones.On this trip I followed approxi-mately the same route as in 1940, butagain I was turned back within 500feet of the summ it. I was sure I hadclimbed higher this time than on theprevious attempt. I crawled into ashallow cave to rest before startingdown the mou ntain. The re was evi-dence that bighorn sheep had beenusing this cave for shelter.

A loose rock in a little niche in thewall of the cave attracted my atten-tion, and when I pulled it out therebehind it was a little match box con-taining the card I had left there Feb-ruary 25, 1940, when I turned backat this same place.A week later I camped near the old

stone corral againbut on this Satur-day night there were a dozen othercampfires, and bedrolls of 42 mem-bers of the Sierra Club and their guestswere scattered among the rocks onthe desert floor at the base of the Tur-t le Mountains.Bob Bear of the Desert Peaks groupwas leader of the party, and amongthose present was Willard Dean, thisyear's chairman of the Desert Peakers.Within the membership of the Si-erra Club, a California organizationof which John Muir was one of thefounders, are various sections withspecial intereststhe Rock Climbers,the Ski Mountaineers and the DesertPeaks clan. Thro ugho ut the year thesemountain climbing folks scheduleweekend and vacation trips to the vari-ous summits in California and Arizona.

Between the Tehachapi Range and theMexican border are 192 peaks withelevations over 5000 feet, and the goalof all Sierrans who like mountaineeringis to become members of that smallgroup which has climbed 100 of these16 D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


17/44

fSw^ewyFSs

SCATTERED CHALCEDONYROSES FOUND OVER THISENTIRE AREA

pea ks. It is a little game initiated byWeldon Heald in 1945and severalof the Club members have qualified.Not all the Sierrans at the campfireSaturday night were there to climbMo pah Peak. Some of the wom en hadbrought their small children, just fora weekend outing on the desert, andamong those present were rock col-lectors who had joined the TurtleMountains expedition to hunt for chal-cedony, or gather garden rocks.Our camp was five miles from thebase of the Peak, and a rough pros-pector's road winds among the rocksand through the sand in the bottomof Mopah dry creek to within a mileof the base of the mon olith. Th e nextmorning two jeep station wagons trans-ported 21 prospective climbers up thewash to undertake the ascent.Since Desert Peaks members gen-erally do not go in for the rope-climb-ing technique of the Rock Climbingsection, I wanted to find an easier routeto the top than the one where I hadtwice failed.Tom Corrigan, who had oncereached the top of the Peak and haddone considerable exploring of the

mountain, suggested that we attemptthe ascent by way of a steep couloiron the west side. Th at was our firstobjective, but it soon proved imprac-ticable for so large a party with limitedexperience in rope-climbing.

Then we circled the base of themountain to the southwest approachwhere the face of the old crater ap-peared to offer adequate hand and toeholds . This was the rou te that finallybrought success to seven members ofthe party. But it was a slow tediousclimb with frequent use of the ropefor security. It becam e evident therewould not be time enough in one day

for all the members of the party towork their way up over the route, anda majority of the party continuedaround the base of the crater in quest ofanother or a better route to the top.With Tom Corrigan and Ed Gam-mon taking turns in the lead, sevenof us slowly worked our way to thesumm it. Th e volcanic rock in thismassif is highly fractured, and we hadLooking out on the Turtle range from one of the many c aves in the volcanicrock. These c aves are used frequent ly for shel ter by bighorn sheep.

M A Y . 1 9 5 4 17


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to test each hand and foot hold care-fully before trusting our weight on it.We began the ascent of this routeat 10:45, and at 1:10 we were lookingdown on the world from the highestof the three pinnacles which crownthe ridge of the old crater.There was a small cairn at the sum-mit, but no record of previous ascents.The elevation was 3675.Mo pah is one of twin peak s. Theother, approximately the same height,is a pyramid type of mountain lackingthe challenge to climbers offered byMopah.From the summit we were lookingdown on Mopah Spring, a waterholewell known to all prospectors in thatregion, located in an arroyo northwestof the Peak. When I photograph edthis spring in 1940 there were twoWashington palm trees there. Todaythe two palms are there, with fouryounger members of the same speciesgrowing nearby.At the top of Mopah, one has agrandstand seat overlooking a vastpanorama of Mojave desert terrain.To the east are the Whipple Mountains,with Lake Havasu occupying a canyonwhich was once the course of the Colo-rado River. To the South are theRiverside and Maria Mountains whichmark the boundary between the Mo-jave and Colorado Deserts. To thewest are the Old Woman Mountains

and to the north the SacramentoMountains, with Needles just beyond.Perhaps the first person to climbMopah was a Chemehuevi Indian inthe 187 0s. This was told to me byCharles Battye of San Bernardino,California. Battye is a veteran rail-road man, now retired, who for manyyears was stationed at Needles, Cali-fornia. He spent his off hours e xplor-ing that desert area and became inti-mately acquainted with many of theIndians living in Chemehuevi Valleythe valley now occupied by LakeHavasu, the reservoir behind ParkerDam in the Colorado River.In September, 1940, Desert Maga-zine published a map of the TurtleMountains in connection with a fieldtrip story about the chalcedony gemfield. At that time we marked thevolcanic crater as "Moabi" Peak, be-cause that was the only name I couldfind for it on the old maps available.Following the publication of thismap, Charles Battye wrote, advisingthat the name properly should be Mo-pah, as he had distinctly heard theChemehuevi Indians pronounce i t thatway. Battye stated that his Indianfriend, Hi-ko-rum, related the follow-ing history: In the 1870s a mem berof the Chemehuevi tribe was beingsought by U.S. soldiers from Fort

Yum a on a charge of homicide. Alieutenant and a half a dozen trooperscame up the Colorado to ChemehueviValley on a steambo at. The culprit,learning of their approach, fled to Mo-pah Spring, and with his Winchester,some water and food, climbed the peakand defied his pursuers.The lieutenant, after surveying froma safe distance the impregnable posi-tion of the fugitive, and not caring tosacrifice the lives of his men, held aparley with the Chem ehuevis. Hepromised them that if the man wouldsurrender, no harm would befall him,and as payment for their good officeshe gave the tribe a substantial quan-tity of provisions.Everything worked out accordingto plan, and the steamboat with thesoldiers and provision left for Yuma.All arrived safely except the Indian.

They reported he had fallen overboardand drowned.Later, Capt. Polhamus, skipper ofthe steamer which transported theparty, told Battye that the report was

a mistake, for he had seen the Indianmany times after that.According to Battye there were nopalms at the spring when he first sawit 50 years ago.Those who reached the top on thisexpedition were Bob Bear, WillardDean, Ed Gammon, Tom Corrigan,Pauline A. Saylor, Lillian I. Casler andthe writer. We adde d a few rock s tothe cairn and left a small note bookthere as a register for future climbers.By 5:10 we were back at base campagain, having come down with the useof ropes by a route inside the couloirby which I had twice tried and failedto reach the top.

For those who like rugged climbing,Mopah will always be a challenge.Probably a score of routes to the topwill be found where the ascent couldbe made without the use of pitons orthe other paraphernalia of the rock-climbing fraternity. Bu t it will alwaysbe advisable to use ropes for security,for much of the climbing must be doneon exposed walls.

P h o t o C o n t e s t kt M a y . . .It is the driest year on record for many Southwestern areas, andthat means the photographer will have to look carefully for goodwildflower pictures. But, though the annuals may lag and their blos-

soms once open be scraggly and small, the cacti will be flowering for"business as usua l" in the camera-posing field this spring. May andJune are the best months.A good cactus blossom shot may win Desert Magazine's Mayphoto contestor an animal study, a sand dune pattern in black andwhite, contrasts in shadow and light on a canyon wall, the character-lined portrait of an Indian patriarc h. Any subject is eligible as longas it comes from the desert Southwest.Entries for the May contest must be in the Desert Magazine office.Palm Desert. California, by May 20, and the winning prints will appearin the July iss ue . Pictures wh ich arrive too late for one contes t areheld over for the next month. First prize is $10; seco nd prize $5.00. Fornon-winning pictures accepted for publication $3.00 each will be paid.

HERE ARE THE RULES1Prints for monthly contests must be black and white, 5x7 or larger, printedon glossy paper.2Each photograph submitted should be fully labeled as to subject, time andplace. Also technical data: camera, shutter speed , hour oi day, etc.3PRINTS WILL BE RETURNED WHEN RETURN POSTAGE IS ENCLOSED.4All entries must be in the Desert Magazine office by the 20th of the contestmonth.5Contests are open to both amateur and professional ph otograp hers. DesertMagazine requires first publication rights only of prize winning pictures.6Time and place of photograph are immaterial, except that it must be from thedesert Southwest.7Judges will be selected from Desert's editorial staff, and awards will be made

immediately after the close of the contest each month.Address All Entries to Photo Editor

'Deoent THoyofitte PALM DESERT, CALIFORNIA18 D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


19/44

Exp l o r ing t h e Ke l s o Dune s . . ."A thousa nd wonders are calling. Look up and dow n and 'roundabout you." Edmund Jaeger early heeded John Muir's advice and has

spent a lifetime exploring Nature. In this second story in a ne w DesertMagazine series, Jaeger tells about the Kelso Dunes in the MojaveDesert of Californiaa desolate yet beautiful expansive desert sandpile which miraculously sustains plant and animal life.By EDMUND C. JAEGER, D.Sc.Curator of PlantsRiverside Municipal MuseumMap by the Author

AK TOWARD the eastern endof San Bernardino County ofCalifornia, just beyond SodaLake where the Mojave River finallyends its long northeastward courseacross the Mojave Desert, lie the highcurving hummocks of the Kelso Dunes,sometimes referred to as the Devil'sPlayground. They cover an area ofat least 57 square miles and the highestparts reach an elevation of at least500 feet above the surrounding desertfloor which marks them as the highestsand dunes in California.

This extensive ripple-surfaced de-posit of aeolian sand is seldom seenexcept by persons traveling on theUnion Pacific trains. The railwaypasses along their northern side butno major highway lies within manymiles of their boundaries; high ridgesand bold mountains cut off a view ofthem from almost all sides. Becauseof this isolation, these remarkable hillsof clean shifting smooth-textured sandshave retained their primal beauty in avery marked degree. Only the mostprimitive roads lead near them andsome of these are very treacherous be-cause of loose sand and rock. How -ever, persons willing to hazard the tripmay reach them by going north froma point near Amboy or south from therailway station at Kelso.

The sands of which these dunes arecomposed are a very light tan in colorand are supposed to have been derivedfrom the deposits of loose sand alongthe lower reaches of the Mojave River.Strong winds blowing from the westcarry this sand and, because of pe-culiar local eddies in the wind currents,deposit their loads here. During theyears they have built up the sandshigher and higher until this extensiveaccumulation has resulted. The sandsappear to be very deepnot a meremantle hiding some high rocky core.

Because of their width few personshave ever ventured to cross these dunesof dazzling sand, either on foot, on

horseback, or even by jeep. Only thecoyotes, kit foxes and lonely wander-ing bob cats really know much aboutthem. These hardy mammals travelwidely over the smooth sand at night.Cleverly they stalk and gobble up ro-dents, such as kangaroo rats (Dipo-domys), pocket mice and white-footedmice. The ro dents are able to live inthe dunes in fair abundance becausecertain plants such as perennial grasses,spring's annual flowers and a few hardyshrubs yielding seeds and fodder cansubsist on the near humus-void sands.The plants also furnish food for a fewspecialized insects which, in turn, makelife tenable for several species of largeand small lizards. Both insects andlizards as well as rodents in turn fallprey to sidewinders, those small rattle-snakes specially adapted to progressionover loose sand. Yes, here as in somany places, life presents a vast and

Edmund C. Jaegercomplicated pattern of conditions forexistence.I have spent enough time investigat-ing the Kelso Dunes to know there isin spite of their apparent barrennessa surprising amount of life of variouskinds. Of this the best evidences arethe numerous animal tracks of differ-ent kinds. Life, both plant and animal,is most abundant about the fringe areawhere there is the greatest abundance

Dipodom ys, the kangaroo rat, and a few other rode nts are able to live inthe barren Kelso Dunes because certain plants, such as perennial grasses,some spring wildf lowers and a few hardy shrubs yielding see ds and fodd er,can subsist on the near humus-void sands. Photograph by Gayle Pickwe ll.

M A Y , 1 9 5 4 19

ON DESERT TRAILS WITH A NATURALIST-II


20/44

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A Y , 1 9 5 4 41


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Hetween If on and. M e

By RANDALL HENDERSONN MARCH the California Federat ion of MineralSocieties held its annual convention and rock showon the desertat Indio in the Coachella Valleyand for three days I had an opportunity to mingle withone of the gayest and most informal fraternities of humanbeings I have ever know n. I guess most hobby groupsare that way.The rockhounds collect and cut and polish stones forthe fun of it. An d when they come togethe r from all overthe West for California's big annual reunion they leavetheir business and professional worries at home and spendthree days swapping stones, admiring the gorgeous gemrocks on exhibit, and bragging about the rare beauty theyhave discovered in some obscure deposit of country rock.Since about 98 percent of the solid substance of thisglobe is rock of various composition, the stone collectorswill never run out of material for their hobb y. The irs isa great outdoor pastime which brings many benefits in

addition to the acquisition of brilliantly-colored specimensof quartz, and copper and iron ores. To those who havenever been initiated into the hobby of rock-collecting 1can only suggest that the next time a mineral show isheld within driving distance of your home town you visitthe exhibit and become better acquainted with the artistrywith which Mother Nature put this old planet together.It was a wondrous achievement.Thanks to the courtesy of Tom Lesure, writer ofPhoenix, Cyria and I had the opportunity in March toaccompany the Dons Club on its annual Lost Gold Trekto Arizona's Superstition Mountains.The Dons are Phoenix business and professional men50 of themdedicated to the purpose of perpetuatingthe best of the tradition s of their state. Th e Trek to S uper-stition Mountains is held annually to keep alive thememory of the Dutchman, Jacob Walz, and his long lostgold mine.I have read about this Lost Gold Trek for manyyears, and somehow had gained a wrong impression ofit. I though t it was a swanky affair staged for the ente r-tainment of the rich dudes who flock to Phoenix everywinter season.Actually it is a glorified family picnicopen tomo ther and dad and all the youngsters. And w hat a glori-ous field day we had in that lovely setting of Saguaros

and Palo Verdes out at the base of the rugged Supersti-tions.Over 600 Arizonans and their guests were present atthis year's Trek. Of this num ber 350 persons took the9-mile trail hike up into the Superstitions on a mock hunt

for the legendary lost mine. Members of the trail partywere assigned to groups of from 30 to 50 hikers, with aDon, in the costume of old Spain, as the leader of eachgroup . At the frequent rests along the steep trail, theleaders gave informal talks about the mysterious Dutch-man's mine, and the geology and botany of the mountains.For those who felt the hike would be too strenuous,a lively day of entertainment was provided at the basecamp. A Mexican band and a cowboy orchestra tookturns serenading the crowd. A quartet of Papa go wom enspent hours making their native bread and there wasalways a long line of patrons waiting to get free samplesof the delicious produ ct. Th e Powder H orn Clan , a groupof old firearms hobbyists, held target practice with theirmuzzle-loading guns, and next to them the Phoenix PoliceDepartment did some crack target and trick shooting.Dr. Herbert Stahnke of Arizona State Teachers Col-lege, the Southwest's leading authority on the venomous

reptiles and insects, had an exhibit, under glass, of someof the poison denizens of the desert. Du ring the after-noon he gave a lecture on the subject. On the stage ofthe little outdoor amphitheater at base camp he handledscorpions, a sidewinder, a Gila monster, a coral snake anda rattler as if they were old friends. He even b rou ghtsome of the children up on the platform to pass a deserttarantula among them, as evidence this hairy spider isquite harmless.The climax of the day's events came in the eveningfollowing a program of Mexican and Indian dances, whena brilliant display of fireworks from the rim of the cliffs3000 feet overhead was the prelude to a gorgeous firefallwhich rivals the famous Yosemite firefall in California forimpressiveness.Sack lunches were passed out at noon, and a barbecuedinner served in the evening.The Lost Gold Trek is held in March each year, andis open to the public. A treme ndou s am ount of detailedwork is involved in the staging of such an event, and theDon's Club deserves the appreciation of all desert peoplefor the important contribution its members are makingin the preservation of Southwestern traditions.* * *As if to compensate for the lack of annual wildflowerbloom this yeardue to lack of rainfall during the winterthe Palo Verde trees this season have put on one ofthe most gorgeous displays of golden blossoms I haveseen in years. We call this a desert, and yet there is nomonth in this arid land when some of the trees and shrubsof this region are not in bloom . I think Ap ril is the mo stdelightful month of the year on the desert.

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


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B O O k S i M ' S O O W M S TLONG-LOST GOLD MINEIN THE SUPERSTITIONS

Within five miles of Weaver's Needlein Arizona's Superstition Mountains,so the story goes, lies a fabulouslyrich gold mine. But, though men havebeen looking for seven decades, noone knows just where it is.The mystery of the Lost DutchmanMine rivals that of Pegleg Smith'sblack nuggets for top billing in thelost mine lore of the West. JacobWaltz (other authors call him Walzeror Walz) is said to have been led tothe mine by its original owners andto have died after numerous profitabletrips to the site without having sharedthe secret of its exact location withanyone, although he dropped tantaliz-ing hints to a few. Facts became dis-torted as the legend grew.

In his recently published book, TheLost Dutchman Mine, Sims Ely hasattempted to separate fact from fiction.He repeats the Dutchman's story inwhat he believes to be the purest formpossible and tells the various legendswhich have grown up around JacobWaltz and his mine. He recalls others'attempts to find the hidden gold, bring-ing the chronicle almost up to the pres-ent with the account of a man whodied seeking the mine in 1947.The ending to Ely's story is yet tobe written possibly, he hopes, bysome unknown adventurer who hap-pens to read this book.Published by William Morrow andCompany. 178 pages, endmaps. $3.50.

IF YO U W A N T C O L O RIN YOUR DESERT GARDENThere are two classes of desert gar-

deners, the editors of Sunset WesternGarden Book decided: "those whoencourage the desert and its plants tocome to their door and those who holdoff the desert with flower color andthe green of growing things." Thelatter group faces more difficulties ina region where extreme high tempera-tures exist day and night for threesummer months of the year. To thesegardeners, the Western Garden Bookoffers invaluable help.The 384-page lie-flat volume offerseverything from an introductory chap-

ter on botany"How Plants Grow"to watering, pruning, pest control, agardener's lexicon and encyclopediasof annuals, perennials, bulbs, vines,shrubs, vegetables and trees. Drawingsand diagrams on almost every page

show the right and wrong of the sim-plest operation and illustrate peculi-arities of different plants.For purposes of planting timetablesand instructions, the West is dividedinto 12 zones. Zone 8 is the desertregion, Zone 8A the low desert, Zone8B the high. Map sketches show read-ers into which category their gardenfalls. A calendar in the back of thebook shows when to plant (and w h a t ) ,prune, spray, etc., for each zone.Years of research by the gardenstaff of Sunset Magazine have re-sulted in a truly Western gardenbook, guiding home gardeners of sea-coast, inland, mountain and desert.Published by Lane Publishing Com-pany. 384pages, spiral binding, index,numerous sketches. $2.95.

SHE REMEMBERS WHENPALM SPRINGS W A S Y O U N G"Minnie was the 'sittingest' horse Iever saw,"Maude Fox recalls. But inspite of Minnie's proclivity for staginga sit-down stike whenever she decidedher load was too heavy, Maude andher husband made it to Yucaipa Val-ley that early spring of 1910, there to

join other settlers in establishing thetown of Yucaipa, California.M r s . Fox remembers those pioneer-ing daysthe hardships as well as thegood timesin her book, Both Sidesof the Mountain. Besides the earlyhistory of Yucaipa, she tells of a tripthrough the mountain pass to PalmSprings, then "just a few shacks on thedesert," and relates the thrilling taleof Willie Boy, the Indian murderer,and his death after a wild posse chaseacross the dunes.Published byMaude A. Fox.printed

by Desert Magazine Press. 132 pages,8 histo

195405 Desert Magazine 1954 May

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