194402 Desert Magazine 1944 February

8/14/2019 194402 Desert Magazine 1944 February

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GOLDEN MIRAGES

POETIC STUDY LIFTSMASK FROM DESERTIn Laura Adams Armer's SOUTH-WEST there is a charm and spirit whichare rare in today's books. The author haspenetrated the extraneous, obvious ma-terial at hand and gone deep into the in-scrutable Southwest with its "60 millionyesterdays."At first one might suspect its develop-ment into a travel book, although Mrs.Armer states that it is neither that nor ahistoric treatise. In a way it is both. Thereis movement throughout, but the move-

ment is in the form of subtle migrations ofan understanding spirit. The mask ofhardness and drabness often concealing thereal desert is lifted from its gaunt face.The author has lived among the Indians,has tasted of their sorrows without herselfbecoming sorrowful. She has seen themagic of the Navajo healings, the powerof the rain dances, never doubting the cos-mic forces that have performed miraclesfrom the beginning of time.Two things particularly remain with thereader: theexquisite beauty of diction, thecharming choice of words to describe even

the comm onplace; and the author's under-standing love and reverence for the aridlandits people and its glory. Her chieffear is that "greedy hands will crush itsephemeral beauty," causing the loss of agreat heritage.The illustrations from paintings by theauthor display the same rare delicate im-pression which permeates the text.Longmans, Green and Co., New York,1935. 224 pp. $3.00.TRACY M. SCOTT LOCKWOOD ADDS TO HIS

ARIZONA PORTRAIT GALLERYTo supplement his publication entitledARIZONA CHARACTERS, now out ofprint, Dr. Frank Lockwood has prepared anew volume entitled MORE ARIZONACHARACTERS. This little volume is inthe form of one of the quarterly bulletinsissued by the University of Arizona.In it Dr. Lockwood reviews the high-lights in the lives of four Arizona pio-neersHorace C. Grosvenor, mine super-intendent; Al Sieber, early day army scoutin northern Arizona; Captain John Hance,guide at Grand Canyon for many years andJohn L. Hubbell, Navajo Indian trader.79 pp. 40c. E. H.

CONQUEST OF COLORADORIVER BY COLLEGE MENGoing D O W N THE WORLD'SMOST DANGEROUS RIVER long hadbeen Clyde Eddy's secret ambition. In1927, with a group of 12 young collegemen he fulfilled his dream by daring theColorado river's 300 bad rapids fromGreenriver, Utah, to Needles, California.Having but 50 successful predecessors,and as many more who failed, Eddy andhis crew in three flatbottomed row-boatsset a remarkable record, coming throughthe ordeal with loss of one boat being the

only mishap.His achievement was all the more re-markable when it is considered his menhad been selected by mail from applicantsthroughout the United States who hadlittle advance information and no ex-perience.The expedition was in no sense a scien-tific one. It washigh adventure. The menfaced death a dozen times a day. Therewere back-breaking days when the boatshad to be carried around the most danger-ous rapids. There were days of discourage-ment and moments of near-mutiny.Eddy's style, while not outstanding,holds the reader's close attention becauseof its sheer excitement. Its simplicity andadventure make it an enjoyable reading ex-perience for youth; its intense excitementwill catch the interest of the fiction reader,and it is sufficiently informative and accu-rate to suit the more critical reader.Frederick A. Stokes Co., New York,1929. Photos, endmaps, 293 pp. $2.50.RAND HENDERSON' CONDENSED GROWING GUIDEFOR CACTI AND SUCCULENTSScott E. Haselton, from whose AbbeyGarden Press in Pasadena have come suchpractical guides for hobbyists as CACTIFOR THE AMATEUR and SUCCU-LENTS FOR THE AMATEUR, has justwritten and published a profusely illus-trated 68-page booklet CACTI ANDSUCCULENTS, And How to GrowThem, for only a quarter. It has the samepractical approach as the other books, butin more condensed form.Includes Cultural Directions, Propaga-tion, Pest Control, Collecting, and lists ofcommon and botanical names of popular

cacti and succulents. Cover photos in color.Illustrated with photos and excellent linedrawings.

The thrill of man's struggle to findlegendary lost gold mines of theWest pulse through Philip A. Bailey's"Golden Mirages." It is a gold mineof Americana, containing the history,legends and personalities of oldCalifornia and the Southwest."Without question the mostcomplete record of PeglegSmith lore ever to be print-ed"Randall Henderson.

Illustrated with many photographs,maps. Bibliography, index. 353 pp.$3.50

California buyers add 9c tax.DESERT CRAFTS SHOP636 State St. El Ceniro. California

W E W I L L B U Y .BACK NUMBERS OFDESERT MAGAZINE

They should be in fair condition to per-mit resale. Check your list of DesertMagazines and if you have extrassend them to us.

November, 1937 $3.00August, 1938 1.00January, 1939 1.00February, 1939 1.00May, 1939 .. 1.00June, 1939 .. 1.00August, 1939 1.00December, 1939 1.00April, 1940 1.00February, 1942 1.00

If you wish to secure back copies tocomplete your files we will be happy tosend you a list of single copiesnow available.

THE fM+M+jyJ~ fnAGflZIIIE636 State St. El Centre California

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D E S E R T

Wins ome l i tt le Navajo gi rl on thismonth's cover is a cousin of Cathley andLily, dairymaid sisters of " N o m a d s ofInside-the-Rocks" on page 17 of this is-sue. John Blackford, in trying for thisshot, lifted her up into the hole-in-the-rock, which is about 150 yards south ofthe goat corral seen on page 21. Imme-diately a high wind sprang up, "whip-ping her hair in her eyes, driving sandinto mine, as well as into the camera."She apparently has no English first name,an d the family made it plain they didnot want to disclose her native givenname. We think Jerry Laudermilk was in-dulging in some professorial humoiwhen he said we all would go raving upthe street, tearing our hair, when we readhis latest "excursion into the past ." Atthe very least, he promises all Desertreaders they never will be the same afterreading about the Rock from Hades. Thisis another treat soon to appear especiallyfor rockhounds, but everyone will bespel lbound by the terrifyingly realisticrecreation of the era when Pisgah Crateiin the Mojave desert came into being. Black Canyon in northwestern Mo-jave desert rarely is visited. In prehis-toric times it was the home of Indianswho showed considerable artistic skill .Only knowledge of them seems to havebeen derived from an examination ofetchings they left on canyon walls. Thesetell of their daily lives, their clothing andoccupations. Vernon Smith of LagunaBeach, California, has described, photo-graphed and made tracings of many ofthe petroglyphs for Desert readers. O vera period of years he has made an inten-sive study of petroglyphs throughout theSouthwest. Just now he is serving as ex-pert consultant with U. S. signal corps ontraining films. His mapped story willbe published soon. Dese rt readers are going to meet theSpiderweb Lady in an early issue. NanSonger is directing the efforts of BlackWidows and other spiders in war work.She has a large "crew" of them spinningsilk threads. Not content with the fineness of them, she proceeds to split them,sometimes into strands as fine as five onehundred thousandth of an inch. Govern-ment uses spider silk for microscopes; in-struments for taking blood count; survey,astronomical and navigat ion inst ruments;range finders; bomb sights; gun sightsan d in any telescopic instrument requir-ing precision.

CREED OF THE DESERTBy J U N E L E M E R T P A X T O N

Yucca Valley, CaliforniaMan made the citiesperhaps they areneeded;For each, there's a place that is best.But there was a cry that long went un-heeded,So God kept the desert for quiet andrest.

Volume 7 FEBRUARY. 1944 Number 4

COVER

BOOKSCLOSE-UPSPIONEERING

BOTANY

ARTISTQUIZADVENTURE

INDIANS

PHILOSOPHY

WILDLIFE

MININGART OF LIVINGLETTERSNEWSCRAFTSHOBBY

COMMENTPOETRY

LITTLE NAVAJO MAID, Photo by John L, Blackford,Libby, Montana.

Southwest, an d other revi ews 2Notes on Desert feat ures an d their writers . . 3They Built an Island Home in the Desert

By CHARLES KELLY 4Shr ub That Smells Like Turpen tine But Isn't

By MARY BEAL 8Blue WaterArtist of Te suq ue

By MARGARET STONE 9A test of you r des ert kn ow le dg e 14Escape from Navajo Land

By LYNDA R. WO ODS . ' 15Nomads of Inside-the-Rocks

By JOHN LINDSEY BLACKFORD . . . . 17Soliloquies of a Prospector

By FRANK a nd DICK ADAMS 22Adventure of Boomer

By WELDON D. WO OD SO N 23Curr ent briefs from dese rt regi on 26Deser t Refuge by MARSHAL SOUTH . . . . 27Comment from Desert Magazine readers . . . 29Here an d There on the Desert 31Am at eu r Ge m Cutter, by LELANDE QUICK . . 34Gems and Minerals '

E di te d b y ARTHUR L. EATON . . . . 35Just Between You and Me, by the Editor . . . 38Pioneers, an d other po ems 39

The Desert Magazine is published monthly by the Desert Publishing Company, 636State Street, El Centro, California. Entere d 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 1944 by the Desert PublishingCompany. Permission to reproduce contents must be secured from the editor in writing.RANDALL HENDERSON, Editor. LUCILE HARRIS, Associa te Editor.BESS STACY, Business Manager. EVONNE HENDERSON, Circulation Manager.Unsolicited manuscripts and photographs submitted cannot be returned or acknowledgedunless full return postage is enclosed. Desert Magazine assumes no responsibility for damageor loss of manuscripts or photographs although duecare will be exercised. Subscribers shouldtend notice of change of address by the first of the month preceding issue. If address is un-certain by that date, notify circulation department to hold copies.

S U B S C R I P T I O N R A T E SO n e y e a r . . . . $ 2 . 5 0 Twoy e a r s . . . . $ 4 . 5 0C a n a d i a n s u b s c r i p t i o n s 25c e x t r a , f c r e i g n 50 c e x t r a .Subscriptions to Army personnel outside U.S.A. must be mailed in conformity withP.O.D. Order No. 19687.Address correspondence to Desert Magazine, 636State St., El Centro, California.

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K

Remains oj the Wenner home on Fremont Island. Still visible is remnan t of topwindow where Mrs. Kate W enner used to signal. Clyde Anderson photo.

/keit Built an SJ&land4 \Q Uome In theBy CHARLES KELLY

OW'D you like to take a boatride on Great Salt Lake tomor-row?" a voice asked over thephone one day as I sat in a stuffy office inSalt Lake City."Fine !" I replied, glad of an opportunityto forget business a few hours. "W ho'sspeaking?""Johnny Jones," the voice replied."Meet me at the Saltair pier at nineo'clock."I already had made one delightful voy-age on the lake with Thomas C. Adams, ina specially constructed flat bottomed boat,an experience which whetted my desire tosee more of that mysterious body of water.John E. Jones, a prominent business man,had just completed another boat and thiswas to be its maiden voyage. I knew wewere in for a wonderful time.

"Where are you bound for?" I askedJohnny when I met him at the pier nextmorning."Nowhere in particular," he replied.Where would you like to go?""If we have time," I said, "I'd like tovisit Fremont island. An old prospectortold me he found a cross cut in the rock ontop of the island in early days. I'd like tosee if it's still there.""Sounds interesting," Johnny agreed."Maybe we could find an old date or some-thing. Cast off!"

So that's how I happened to visit Fre-mont island in Great Salt Lake. We foundthe cross cut in the rock and later identified

This is the story of a familywho lived on desert islandnotin the South Seas, but in GreatSalt Lake, Utah. Although theirisland home was but 20 milesfrom the mainland, they were att imes as effectively marooned asi f they had been sur rounded bythe ocean. During high stormwinds , the g rea t sa l t wa ves ma dea crossing too dangerous to at-tempt. A sail boat brought theirmail and food supply once amonth. Their primitive existenceon the little cresc ent - sh ap edisland was in direct contrast tothe gay social life they had en-joyed on the mainland, but asthey adap ted themselves to thenew env ironment they began torealize that much of their prev-ious l ife had been wasted on thetrivial details of the outside world.

Kit Carson as the man who cut it, as toldin a previous article in Desert Magazine(February, 1942). But another strangestory came to light as a result of that trip.While exploring the summit of theisland that day Johnny Jones noticed asmall bay in the shoreline and some dis-tance back from the beach a dark objectwhich looked like the ruins of an oldhouse. Borrowing my glasses he studiedit for a few minutes."I t is an old house," he said as he hand-ed me the glasses. "A two-story rockhouse. W ho do you suppose ever lived onthis desolate island?"

John E. Jones and M iss Blanche Wenner enroute to Fremont Island, 1943. MissWenner's first voyage, in 1886, in an open sail boat, required three days and nights.Photo b y Clyde Anderson, Salt Lake City.



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matter of life or death. Without hesita-tion the couple gave up their business andsocial activities and began to look for somep!ace on the desert where the husbandmight mend his broken health.Eventually they decided on Fremontisland in Great Salt Lake as the location oftheir new home, where it was believed Mr.Wenner would be benefited by desert sun-shine, salt breezes and complete isolationfrom the affairs of the world. So they soldtheir beautiful home in the city andbought the entire island.Fremont, one of several large islands,lies a few miles off the point of a promon-tory in the northeast part of Great SaltLake. It has an area of several square milesand a shoreline of 17 miles. From a lowshoreline toward the south and east it rises

John E. Jones (left) and group offriends who accompanied Miss Wen-ner to her old island home, seen inbackground. Clyde Anderson photo."Don't know," I replied, "but I'veheard a family once lived here. Maybe wecan dig up the story some day."That was several years ago. Subsequent-ly Jones made another trip to the island.Remembering the ruined stone house heanchored in the little bay and climbed theslope to visit it. He found near the ruina flowing well, evidences of sheep ranch-ing activities, and nearby a small plot en-closed in an iron fence. Inside was a gravewith the initials "U. J. W." outlined with

colored stones. On returning from thisvoyage he began making inquiries aboutthe lone grave and the ranch on Fremontisland and eventually was fortunateenough to get the whole story from thewoman who helped build that stone housea story written just before her death ayear ago at the age of 85.It was about 1880 when a young manfrom the east, U. J. Wenner, came to SaltLake City with his bride to begin a careeras a lawyer. In those days Utah 's capitalwas experiencing a big mining boom.Everyone was making money, and thecity social life was gay and exciting. Mr.Wenner soon established a profitable legalpractice and built a beautiful home. Thecouple participated in all the social activi-ties of the city, where young M rs. We nner,educated in Europe, was a favorite. Spec-ulating in mining stocks, as everyone did,they accumulated a small fortune. Twochildren were born and life seemed justabout perfect.But after five years of gay and strenuousliving, "Judge" Wenner, as he wasknown, began to feel tired and worn out.Consulting his physician he was told hemust take a complete rest from business,get away from the city and live in the openwhere he would have plenty of sunshineand fresh air. The doctor said it was a

U

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... s* i * .On the summ it o f Fremont Island Charles Kelly discovered the cross chiseled by Kit Carson in 1843.

to a height of nearly a thousand feet abovethe lake. Its vegetation in those days con-sisted of sagebrush, greasewood, and agood covering of native grasses, but therewere no trees of any kind.John C. Fremont, the explorer, first vis-ited the island in 1843, with a few of hismen including Kit Carson, in a rubberboat which nearly collapsed. He calledit Disappointment island because he failedto find any of the strange things trapperlegend has credited to that lonely place.No one ever had thought of living there.It was a barren desert island without treesor animal life, with only a few smallsprings of brackish water.On the shores of this desolate islandJudge Wenner landed with his family, ahired girl and one helper, on a summer dayin 1886, after a harrowing three day voy-

age in an open sailboat. W ith two tents,bedding, and a small supply of food, theywere starting life again, almost fromscratch. W ithi n a few days a shelter wasmade of driftwood. Later a small cabinwas built with lumber brought from themainland.At first it had been planned to remainon the island during the summer and re-turn to the city before winter. But Mr.Wenner's health improved so rapidly thatthe family decided to remain. Durin g thatfirst winter they built a comfortable two-story house of native stone, the walls ofwhich had attracted Johnny Jones' atten-tion on his first trip to the island.Mrs. Wenner, in her story of their ex-perience, remembered that she had forgot-ten to bring a mirror with her to the island,and it was six months before she got one.

Because of this, she believed, her hired girlleft at the first opportunity . From thattime on she did all her own w ork.Lack of water on the island made it im-possible to raise a garden, so all food sup-plies had to be brought from the mainlandby boat. After a few months they boughta boat and Judge Wenner or his helpermade monthly trips for supplies and mail.Each trip was an adventure, as the heavysalt water often kicked up dangerouswaves. The nearest place where suppliescould be bought was a small settlementcalled Hoop er, an all-day trip. The nearestcity was Ogden, Utah, about 100 miles tothe northeast.After their stone house was finished the

Wenners brought out some of their furni-ture and all their library. Life on the lone-ly island was a sudden and drastic changefrom what they previously had known, butthey soon learned to enjoy every minuteof it. They went on little explorin g expe-ditions to various parts of their islandkingdom, always finding something of in-terest, including evidence of previous hab-itation by Indians.For pets, the little boy and girl, four andtwo years old, had a pelican, horned toad s,lizards, and in time a burro, two Shetlandponies, goats and a shepherd dog. Theireducation was not neglected. Theirmother taught them from books in herlibrary. She even conducted her own lit-tle Sunday school.One time their baby son disappeared.

Rock cairn on Antelope Island con-taining metal tube left by Capt. How-ar d Stansbury during Great Salt Lakesurvey of 1850. Shaped like a spear-head over 15 miles long, it lies southof Fremont. Osborne Russell, a trap-per, was first to report buffalo and an -telope on the island,in 1841. An oldIndian chief told him buffalo used topass from mainland to island withoutswimming.



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eback. The children always hadhome. After half a day's

her soon had him in his arms. "H e"And he told us, 'Sometimes I laid

own on the shoreline and said, Now Ime down to sleep. I pray the Lord myto keep. And then I got up and wentn.' ""There was so much to do," continuedMrs. Wenner, "so much to think aboutin this new life away from the world thatI began to feel much of my life wouldhave been wasted in the outside world,imitating fashions, wondering about ourneighbors' affairs, worrying about mychildren's companions. W e learned toknow ourselves, enjoy ourselves, our chil-dren and our books."Some sheep were brought to the islandthe next spring, the nucleus of what intime became a large herd and a source ofrevenue. The island was an ideal sheeprange abounding in fine pasture, while noherders were needed to tend the flocks.During the next five years Mrs. Wennerleft the island only oncejust before thebirth of her third child. Dressed in her oldfinery she remembered with amusementthe stares of women as she passed downthe streets of Ogden in an expensive dress

three years out of date, followed by herchildren with their pet pelican.To change to an outdoor life had seem-ed to benefit Judge Wenner, who had

Judge Wenne r's boat Argo. Copied from an old photograph taken ivhen sails weretattered and salt-encrusted after a hard voyage to the mainland, for supplies.{Collection of George Knauss, Ogden .)hopes of a complete recovery. But sud-denly one stormy night he died.

Their helper had taken their boat to themainland the day before for supplies anda high wind had come up making it im-possible for him to return . For two daysand nights the distracted woman waitedfor help, building signal fires on the sum-mit of the island. Her signals were seen,but the waves were too high to risk acrossing.

Far to southivest of Frem ont is circular isle of Carrington, about two miles across.This is triangulation point erected in 1850 by Capt. Stansbury, who named islandfor Albert Carrington who assisted with 1850 survey.

At sundown of the third day the windsubsided and the helper returned withtheir boat. That night he built a roughcoffin which Mrs. Wenner lined with atreasured shawl. Next morning theyburied Judge Wenner in a plot near theisland home he loved so well. At the headof the grave the children formed the let-ters "U. J. W." from colored beach peb-bles, and below spelled out the word"LO VE ." Later an iron fence was putaround the grave. W hen Johnny Jonessaw it 50 years later, the letters still werevisible except the first two in the word"Love."After her husband's death Mrs. Wen-ner left the island and later remarried. Butshe retained ownership of her little islandkingdom as long as she lived. She died atthe age of 85, soon after she sent Mr.Jones the memoirs of her island experi-ence.On June 13, 1943, Miss Blanche Wen-ner, of Seattle, Washington, only surviv-ing child, came to Salt Lake City bearingthe ashes of her mother. John E. Jonesand a party of friends took her back toFremont island, her childhood home,where she buried the ashes of her motherbeside her father's grave, fulfilling Mrs.Wenner's last request.When the war is over Miss Wennerhopes to return to Fremont island, rebuildthe old house, restore the ranch and make

it her summer home. Certainly therecould be no more ideal spot in which toforget the outside world.F E B R U A R Y , 1 9 4 4


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It isn't a source of turpentine and it is not abroomyet this little desert mountain shrub smellslike turpentine and its switch-like branches make itlook like a broom . Strangely e nough , it belong s tothe fragrant-flowered citrus family. But the oil yield-ed by its blister-like glands is a powerful irritant andhas been used by Indian medicine men to inducestrange visions. Mary Beal describes the twospecies found in the Southwest.

3ttuL That 3nelL /Likelutv2entLne--Mut 1/6n t

By MARY BEALPhoto by the author

f I T IS NOT one of the gay assembly that marks the springV / flower parade with arresting color, but this odd littleshrub, leafless for most of the year, attracts notice by itsinteresting peculiarities, most compelling of which is the odor.It may stretch the imagination of a novice to associate turpen-tine odor with the fragrance of orange-blossoms. Actually thisrank-smelling little shrub is a cousin of the citrus fruits, bothbelon ging to the Rue family. It is also a relative of the SpiceBush, Cneoridium dumosum, best known in San Diego county,California.The common name of Turpentine Broom is rather mislead-ing, for it is quite unrelated to our source of commercial turpen-tine, which are species of the Pine family. But it produces a

good imitation of turpentine odor although it is not as persistentas that of its namesake. Freshly-bruised stems give off a strongoffensive odor at first but it dries to a sweet delicate aromasimilar to that of lemons, or as some describe it, a cocoanut-likescent.Its genus name comes from the Greek thamnos, bush, andosme, odor, and its specific name montana is from the Latin formountain, or as we would say, "odorous bush of the moun-tains." It was reported by Fremont on his Rocky Mountainexpedition of 1845.Such a highly aromatic plant naturally would be consideredto have medicinal qualities. The blister-like glands yield anoil which is a powerful i rritant. This was found by the Indiansto be valuable in the h ealing of wou nds, as well as a remedy for

certain diseases.Brewed into a tea its tonic effect could be increased to inducevisions which the medicine men could utilize to good advantagein some cases. Jaeger quotes an old Indian woman who de-scribed the effect: "They soon wen t crazy like coyotes, butwhen they were that way they could find things long lost."It is a low yellow-green shrub of arid mountain slopes, notmore than a foot or two high and somewhat spiny. The manytough, switch-like branches are smooth and hairless, set withtiny blister-like glands, partly embedded in the tissues. Leafageis scanty and soon deciduous. Th e few little leaves are oblanceo-late, half inch or less long, and only sparingly glandular.The flowers are quite an oddity, the corollas a dark purple-

blue, almost black, which fades as it ages, urn-shaped or ob-long-cylindric, half an inch long or less, on short scaly pe-duncles. The 4 erect convex petals almost close but are rolled

Turpentine Broom. It sm ells like turpentine but it isn't.out at the very tip, leaving only a tiny opening, through whichthe style peeks out. The fruit is a leathery capsule not qu ite ahalf inch broad, deeply parted into 2 globose lobes, the em-bedded glands giving it the texture and appearance of orangeor lemon skins. The seeds are smooth or somewhat wrinkled,about 1/5 of an inch long.

The flowering season is variable. You may find p lants inbloom from January to April or even as late as May in someyears. They flourish, often in local abundance, on dry stonyhills and mesas in mountain areas from 2000 to 5000 feet eleva-tion, in the Colorado and Mojave deserts, the Death Valleyregion, Nevada, southern Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico.In Arizona Turpentine Broom is found in Grand Canyonarea of Coconino county, in Yavapai, Mohave, Pinal, Maricopaand Yuma counties, nearly always at 4500 feet or lower, ondesert mesas and slopes. It reaches across the international lineinto Mexico in the states of Sonora and Baja California.

Thamnosma texanaThis is an herbaceous, leafy p erennial, very different in as-pect from T urpentine Broom. Wo ody at base and only slightlybushy, it has no spines and the green of the herbage is whitenedwith a bloom. The num erous small leaves are linear to thread-like, and persistent. Th e bell-shaped corolla is very small, 1/8to 1/5 inch long, the petals yellowish or brownish-purple. Thecapsule is conspicuously 2-lobed as in the preceding speciesbut the tiny seeds aren't more than half the size, and tuberculate.It too is found on dry rocky slopes and mesas, above 2000 feet,ranging from southern Arizona and northern Mexico east andnorth to west Texas and Colorado. In A rizona it is found inCoconino, Pinal, Cochise, Santa Cruz and Pima counties from2000 to 4000 feet elevation. It usually blooms from March toJune. The Texas turpentine bush was described in a U. S.-Mexico boundary report in 1859.T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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ed city. Your Indian friends all miss youand they wonder why you stay away solong from the desert and from them ." Iwondered too, there in the great salon ofMarshall Field's.Tesuque, Place of the Red Willows, isone of the Rio Grande pueblos. Nin emiles north of fabled Santa Fe, it wasancient when that proud city was settled.

Thousands of curious tourists from SantaFe visit Tesuque where the Indians greetthem with courtesy, sell them inferior pot-tery in the shape of the small grotesquerain gods, or ash trays, fashioned for justsuch souvenir seeking travelers. When thevisitors depart the Indians brush the whitetaint from their hands and turn again totheir own tribal affairs. W hite civilizationpasses harmlessly over their heads. Onlyabout 160 Tesuques live in their ancientvillagethat is, when they are all at home.Now that most of the young men are fight-ing with the armed forces 125 will includethe old men, women and children.They raise a little wheat and beans, havea few cattle grazing on their pitifully smallpastures, produce enough chili peppers togive indigestion to the entire Southwest,and eke out their frugal existence by the

sale of pottery and gaily painted toydrums.But this is the story of Blue Water, girlartist and potter of that little canyonpueblo of Tesuque."One summer morning when I pushedmy blanket aside and sat up on the sheepskins placed on the raised ledge in ourhome, I saw that the room was full of peo-

ple and that my mother was not there.Duri ng the nig ht she had gone to our Placeof Souls. From then on I remember onlymy grandmother in our home and hergoodness to me. She was one of the bestpotters in our tribe, and the lovely bowlsshe made were not placed among thebrightly painted ashtrays, rain gods andsmall jars in the plaza, for the souvenirhunting tourists to grab. They were tuckedaway in a storage room and brought outonly for discriminating buyers."Each piece of pottery she made wasshaped with loving care, and the paints,mixed with oil from melon seeds, wereapplied in the old designs which mean somuch to our people. Perhaps she paintedthe outlines of one of the stately mountainspushing into the blue sky behind ourhome. Or it might be a cloud dripping

with rain, or the sun's rays on a blue back-ground, but as she shaped and painted shetalked to me, a small motherless girlnestled against her knee, of what the paint-ing meant and how good the Great Spirithad been to the Tesuque people to let themlive under New Mexico skies in the color-ful desert near snowcrowned mountains."It was from her I absorbed my love of

color and design, and I never make thesimplest bowl without seeing her sensitivehands caressing the pliant clay. I neverdraw my yucca fiber brush across thesmooth surface without remembering hervoice as she talked to me about the sacredcolors, and what they mean to the Tesu-que." Blue Water, with the fragrant gar-denia tucked behind her ear forgot that wewere in one of the biggest dreariest citiesin the world, and she smiled to herself asshe dwelt on her childhood memories."Grandmother was good to me and tomy older sister. She made the good corn-bread we liked, she sang songs to us as sheworked, and whenever she sold one of herprecious bowls she bought some little treatfor us. Sister did not care for the Indianways. She slipped away to talk to the whitevisitors and just as soon as she was old

Watercolor painted by Rufina, depicting San Juan Day procession. San Juan is beingbeing carried to the Sacred Bower.

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Governor Julio Abeyta oj T esuque, one of the 19 ancient pueblo villages in NewMexico. Each is a distinct political unit, electing a tribal council headed by a gov-ernor who serves without pay. U. S. Indian Service photo.

am afraid the rest of the things the kindteacher broug ht to my attention were sadlyneglected. Many years later I spent dayspainting a mural for the schoolroom andit gives me pleasure to know that my sis-ter's children can see it there as they learntheir lessons from white school books. Istayed in that school for many years, stayeduntil my grandmother died, and then Iwent to the art school at Santa Fe. Thisschool was organized by wise artists whorecognized the fact that Indians have anoriginal style of their own and that anyeffort to make them conform to conven-tional rules merely stifles native talent.There I began to draw and paint pictureswhich were sold by the organization.Sometimes I would work a week on onepicture, having no p attern except themental images remembered from mygrandmother's stories of our people andtheir gods. I was a very excited girl whena picture was sold for $25 and the money,25 silver dollars, poured into my lap."

"What did you do with the money, doyou remember?""Do I? I bought myself some clothes,the kind of Sunday clothes the other girlswore. W e were allowed to wear our owndresses on Sundays and holidays, providedwe had any to wear, and always before I

had worn the school uniforms, lackingclothes of my own. Do you know that agirl can't be entirely happy unless she isdressed in the same way her companionsare?"I bought a clear yellow linen dress anda brown linen coat and brown oxfords andyellow anklets. No matter what fine thingsI may be able to wear during my lifetimeI'll never be as dressed up as I was then."Rufina Blue Water stopped. She seem-ed to think that her story was told, but Iknew the rest of it, having known herfrom childhood days. After that first sale

she went on to a modest fame among reallovers of Indian art. Her symbolic paint-ings were in great demand at the local

art shops, and almost any little sketch withits "Rufina" in the corner was quicklysold. Th ere was a subtle touch of inspira-tion which set her paintings apart. I haveone of her earlier pictures hanging in myliving room, and as certain lights strike itthe figures seem to come alive. A long-legged fawn, its sensitive head held high,is ascending a mountain facing the risingsun. Behind the fawn is a rainbow, a per-fect gem of color. For some reason, shewould never tell me the fable this pictureillustrates.

The little Tesuque girl was the fashionamong Santa Fe artists. And then some-thing happened that broke her heart andtook the very soul out of her work. Thepaints were scornfully thrown away, theeasel broken, and Rufina went home toher own race. She shunned white visitorsand when friends from the art school cameseeking her, she was all Indian. Slenderand proud and distant she faced themacross an abyss they could not bridge.But genius burned too strongly to beignored. She turned to the pottery makinglearned from her grandm other in thehappy years of childhood . Little by littlethe calm unhurried life of the village still-ed the storm and she was happy again. Shelived in the low whitewashed house of hersister, dressed like other Tesuque women,and shared their every task and pleasure.For months she fought the urge to useher canvas and paints again, rememberingthe despair of months before. Each morn-ing she'd watch the men go out to theirtiny fields to cultivate the crops. Eachevening she'd watch them come home andgreet their wives and children. Every In-dian woman baking her crusty loaves ofbread in the outdo or oven, each oneshaping and painting pottery in the shadeof the cottonwoods, cried out with a pic-ture she longed to paint.She returned to the art school. Andfrom there she went to the Dells in Wis-consin with other Indian artisans. Hun-dreds of white visitors listened to her sing-ing as they sat around the nightly camp-fire, and she could not paint pottery andpictures fast enough for their demands. Shewas happy again, because she was doingher own kind of workand she was inlove. At the Dells she met a Winnebagolad, as ambitious and high bred as herself.It was a perfect love story. When summerended they were married and went backto Tesuque . They worked so hard theywere granted the right to build their ownhome on tribal land, and in the meantimethey made an abandoned house into a

studio where both were always busy, shewith her sculpture and painting, he withthe silverwork and leather he turned12 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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enough she begged so hard to go to the bigschool in Santa Fe that Grandmother lether go. I remained with my grandm other.Soon I was helping her dig clay for themaking of pottery. This was found about amile from our home, down in a canyonunder a layer of sand blown there by thedesert winds. When I can first rememberwe spread our shawls on the ground andpiled the lumps of damp clay on them aswe dug it."Then we carried it back to the villageand spread it on the flat rooftop of ourhouse where it dried quickly in the hotsun. It then was poun ded as fine as possi-ble with a stone hammer and soaked inwater we carried from the one small springwhich then furnished water for all the peo-ple living in Tesuque. You may be surewe never wasted any water! W hen theclay was soft enough my grandmother andI would plunge our hands down into itand sort out all hard particles and bits ofrock. Then it was allowed to sink to the

Old Tesuque pottery. Wedding Jar in center is used in tribal marriage ceremony,the bride drinking from on e mouth of the vessel and the bridegroom from the other.Rufina says, "I think it teaches that husband and wife should shave the sweet andbitter waters of life together!'Tesuque grandmother and child. U. S. Indian Service photo. bottom in a smooth soft mass. The waterwas carefully drained off and the clay laidon flat rocks to reach a dryness where itcould be kneaded like bread. I have model-ed with the finest commercial clay sincethen, but there is something in the feel ofour own pottery clay that inspires me farbeyond anything that can be bought.

"Grandmother loved to make the wed-ding jars, those two mouthed vessels witha gracefully twisted handle by which tolift them. But it was many years before shethought I knew enough to shape or paintone of them. Even now when I begin tomake a wedding jar I seem to feel hersharp old eyes on me, and I am careful thatthe vessel is not marred. This is the jarused in our tribal marriage ceremony, thebride drinking from one mouth of the ves-sel and the bridegroom from the other. Ithink it teaches that husband and wifeshould share the sweet and bitter waters oflife together. Our pottery is the soft brownshade of the desert sand, and my grand-mother would paint designs in blue, deeporange of the sunset and the red of ourevening sky. So beautiful were the colorsthat I used to ache inside to try my hand atpainting with them . But it was many yearsbefore I was allowed to paint a weddingjar. One m ust be a good potter before suchwork is permitted.

"As I grew older I went to the schoolfor Tesuque children and the white teacherthought my name of Po-Sah-Wa was aheathenish name. So she called me Ru-fina,' the name I use with white friends.It didn't please me much when she toldme later that she named me after a petpony she had back east!"At this school I was given crayons andcolored chalks, the first I had seen, and I

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into belts and moccasins and hatbands.Through his interest in the tribal dancesshe began to put on paper the intricatemovements of their colorful ceremonies."I like best to paint the Eagle Dancers,just as I like best to watch that dance.There is something so graceful and dra-matic about it, and then I think I like itbest because I know of all the hard workthat must be done before a dancer canqualify. Do you know the story of ourEagle Dance?" she asked me. When Ishook my head, wishing to hear her ver-sion of it, she lost herself again in memo-ries and her voice fell into the soft minorcadence of the older Indian women. Iknew she was repeating word for word hergrandmother's legend of the dance."Long, long ago no rain fell on thefields of our people for many m onths. Th elittle children fretted and wailed in theshade of the cottonwoods where theirmothers took them to try to relieve their

suffering. After awhile even the cotton-woods died of thirst. All the people grewthin and ill and when a sickness struck thepueblo there was no healing rain to washaway the evil spirits. The older people fast-ed and prayed to our gods to send rain."Because we always had been a peace-ful people and never harmed other tribes,the Great Spirit heard the cries for help

and he hid himself among the feathers onthe back of an eagle and came to see justhow badly we needed help. He was sosorry for us that he had the eagle call othereagles and they flapped their wings anddrove all the clouds in the country to aplace right over Tesuque. Then theThunderbird was summoned, and he shotlightning into the clouds with lightningarrows so that the rain poured through theholes and wet all the land around the vil-lage. W here there were no holes in theclouds the eagles flew and shook raindropsfrom the tips of their wings until all thefields were refreshed. Since that day wehave honored the eagle so that we may notagain suffer d rought. W e dance to showhim our appreciation. Is that not a beauti-ful reason for a beautiful dance?"

Rufina and her husband Ben lived intheir ancient house while they earnedmoney for the new home they planned. Alittle son, brown eyed and happy as hispretty mothe r joined the family. "Benny",was the pet of the pueblo, and dressed intiny velvet shirt, white linen trousers andsmall silver trimmed moccasins, he dancedfor admiring white visitors. His smoothblack hair was bound with a scarlet hand-kerchief and I often wondered why Rufinalooked anywhere else for a subject whenshe picked up her brushes and paint.

"Why have you never painted a pictureof Benny?" I asked her as we sat there inChicago."Because I am Indian enough to feelthat it would be dangerous to draw atten-tion of the spirits to him in any way. I lovehim so much I try to act as though I hardlysee him so that chindees won't noticehim."The family was perfectly happy theretogether. Then came Pearl Harbor andBen along with a dozen other young menfrom Tesuque went to fight for a countrythat has not always deserved loyalty fromits red children."I was so lonely I thought I would die,"said Rufina. "But I looked at Benny andremembered that a little child needs itsown mother. I thought of Ben somewherefar away fighting to keep cruel men fromcoming to our land, and so I said to mysister, "I must not stay here doing no thing.There is some way that I can help so that

Ben and the other boys can come safelyhome again. W ill you keep my baby safeand happy while I work for all of us?" Thesister agreed. After her white schoolingshe was more than willing to go back andbe a Tesuque Indian woman."I left while my boy was asleep, and Itook the only picture I have of Ben anda very small one of Benny that his father

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snapped when I wasn't watching, and Iwent to the art school and asked them how1 could help . They said the Victory BondDrive needed me. I went everywhere itseemed and told white people how the In-dians had gone across the sea to fight forAmerica, and how the Indian women aregiving a day's work each week on potteryand baskets and beaded rabbit feet to theRed Cross, and how many of us have givenblood to be used on the battlefields."Here she stopped and looked impish."What would happen if one of our peace-ful Tesuque boys was given a transfusionof fighting Apache blood? W ould it makehim go on the warpath sure enough?

"Everybody seemed to buy bond s. Iknow, because I said I would make a littlesketch or donate a small bowl of mymaking to each buyer. I think I must haveused a ton of clay. I drew pictures of In-dian ponies and Thunderbirds and chilipeppers against dobe walls until I'm al-most cross-eyed. From tha t work I cameto Chicago. Here, as you know, I havemade pottery and painted it for the publicto see. And I have made water colorsketches of things I remember in ourpueblo for people who didn't want pot-tery. Out of each dollar I earn I take tencents and give it to the Red Cross becausemaybe Ben will be hurt and they can helphim if they have plenty of money. He issomewhere in the Pacific. See, here is hislast letter." From the blouse of her Indiandress she took a crumpled letter warm w ithher heart beats and laid it in my hand.

"Dear W ife: I wish I could tell youwhere I am, but that might cause some ofour brave men to be killed by the Japs. Ican tell you that your brother Felipe is inUran, and that he was wounded but is al-most well. The news came to me throughthe Red Cross. I think always of you andBenny and the house we will build whenthis war is over and I can come back to theones I love. W hen you pray in the missionask our saints to watch over me so that Ican come back, just as I always pray thatyou and Benny will be safe and well andguarded while I am gone."

I couldn't read more. I gave it back toRufina and she opened a round gold lockethidden under her Indian jewelry. It heldtwo pictures, one of Ben and the other oflittle Benny, his arms tight around an un-happy puppy."Tomorrow I will write my sister I'mcoming home. I have saved enough moneyto build our house when Ben comes back,but I won't tell him so. I want to sur-prise him. I'll go back and take care ofmy son, and I'll ask my grandfather toteach him the first steps of the EagleDance. My sister will make some corn-bread for me like Grandmother used tomake, and I'll paint and make pottery andwait for Ben." She took the fragrant gar-denia from her hair and looked at it wist-fully. "I wish gardenias grew in Tesuque."

AIII7 Here's a bit of geology and mineralogy, Indian life'lI U ' legend, history and archeology, geography,plan t and animal life. If you do not know the cor-rect answers off-hand, you might do one of two things start review ing yourDesert Magazine "lessons" for the past several months, or make some lucky-guesses. If you score 10 right answers you are as good as the average person in-terested in the Southwest. Quiz editor will rate you a "Desert Ra t." If you answer1 5 or more correctly, you belong to S.D.S., tha t exclusive fraternity which drawsso many of its members from among Desert Magazine readers. Answers on page 36.1During the year Marshal South and his family were away from their home onGhost Mountain, they wereHunting for the Lost Dutchman mineTraveling for pleasure Looking for another home Seeking localcolor and material for a new novel2M eteors are found inV olcanic areas only Anywhere on earthJust in the desert In temperate zone only3Author of "Cowboy" isClarence Buding ton Kelland Zane Grey---Ross Santee J. Frank Dobie4Laguna, one of the Rio Grande Indian pueblos in New Mexico, is locatedonR io Grande river Rio Puerco river San Jose river Pecosriver5Starlite isArtificially colored blue zircon Asteriated quartz

"Fairy Crosses" Low-grade sapphire6Entire length (nose to tail-tip) of Kit fox, or Desert swift, is most likely tobe 18 inches 25 inches 36 inches 45 inches7Navajo Indians believe the legendary Holy TwinsWere the first beingscreated Saved the world from evil Were the chief mischief-makersamong the Navajo gods Are responsible for safe birth of children8Am ong miners, highgrading is Condoned CondemnedIgnored Non-existent9Monument to Hadji Ali (Hi Jolly), camel driver for Lt. Edward F. Beale, islocated in which Arizona town Ehrenberg Quartzsite SalomeTucson10Rampart Cave, in the cliffs above Lake Mead, is interesting because itHasbeen created by national park service for recreational purposes Washome of extinct giant ground-sloth Yielded remains of prehistoric In-

dians Was hiding place for Hole-in-Wall gang11To become petrified, wood must be subjected to one of these conditionsHigh ly alkaline water solution Exceedingly low tempera turesDep ths greater than 50 feet Areas where bacteria flourish12W hen Roadrunners are first hatched they are Soft and white with nofeathers or down Semi-covered with speckled feathers Covered withwhite down Black and almost naked13If you were in Phoenix, Arizona, and you wanted to go to the Mexican borderby way of Tombstone to see the Bird Cage theater, which U. S. highwaywould you choose60 66 80 8914H ualpai Indians liveIn a deep Arizona canyon On level plain nearbase of Shiprock, in New Mexico On land adjoining Papago Indianreservation On plateau northwest of Flagstaff, Arizona15Chrysocolla isColorful variety of quartz crystal Silicate of copperIron oxide Sulphate of strontium16Montezuma's Castle isRemains of a "bonanza king's" home in a Nevadaghost town Relic of northernm ost point of Aztec civilization in theSouthwest A reminder of Coronado's expedition in 1540 "Apart-ment house" constructed by unknown Indians in Southwest17For material to be considered as sand, diameter of the grains must be no morethan 1.5 millimeters 5 millimeters 1/4 inch 1/10 inch18Papago Indians of southern Arizona are called "Bean People" becauseBeans are principal commercial crop of the tribe It is translation of theirIndian name.- Certain steps in their tribal dances require a jerking motionwhich white people jokingly compare with the Mexican jumping beanA species of bean is common native plant on their reservation19Jet is found inCoal deposits Volcanic strata Saline lake bedsLimestone country

20Lee's Ferry, famed way-station for river explorers, is located onShores ofLake Mead Colorado river Little Colorado river San Juanriver14 T H E D E S E R T M A G A Z IN E


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''Helplessly we watched the stream surge higher and higher

In northern Arizona a vast high desert plateau isdrained by the San Juan and Little Colorado rivers.There lies a silent em pire. Silent remotetimeless.Its far bright cliffs hold the secrets of antiquity. Lifein this Indian Country moves s lowly , unevent ful ly .But when the g o d s of earth and sky are mo v ed , aswif t change of tempo may bring vivid and tragicevents , in dramatic contrast to the quiet , motionlessla ndsca pe . Such an exper ience is told by Lynda R.W o o d s of San Jose, California, in this last of aseries of nine prize-winning adventure stories pub-l ished during the past year .

By LYNDA R. W O O D SIllustration by John Hansen11/ HEN we decided to extend our two weeks tour of theW Southwest wewere excited with anticipation of thrillingdays ahead. The romantic and fanciful namesChil-chinbito, Dinnehotso, Tonalea, Canyon del Muerto and Canyonde Chellyevoked thoughts of high adventure. Notmany hourspassed before wewere to encounter adventure beyond anythingwe had imagined.There were four of us in the partymy husband Don andour nine-year-old sonDavid, our aunt Elizabeth andmyself.We

torn /vavawere at Kayenta, in northeastern Arizona, when we turned eastto start on the 77-mile drive to Canyon de Chelly, planning toreturn by way of the Hopi Indian villages of Oraibi andWalpi.Just three hours later, as a wounded bird plummets in-gloriously to earth, our joyous and memorable vacation buriedits nose in murky flood waters, coming to a climactic end. Wewere anhour out of Kayenta when Donstopped the car abruptlysaying, "I think that's the road we want but let's make sure.Dinnehotso isn't far." Thus a simple unmarked fork in a desertroad led to disaster.Just as the roofs of Dinnehotso came into view a large mud-hole blocked theroad and wewere stuck. Don ran to the tradingpost and in 15 minutes, for the munificent sum of 50 cents thekindly trader hadpulled us out and started usback to the turnoffand on towards Canyon deChelly. Wepassed a windmill ninemiles from the trading post. A sudden shift of wind broughtclouds directly overhead and changed a sunny sky-blue day intosodden greyness. Five miles beyond the windmill a heavydrenching shower descended upon us. For tenminutes it poured.Then as the rain slackened a sharp turn in the road revealed asmall narrow wash. We tested the sand and found the roadbedsatisfactory. Thewater wasonly a few inches deep and abouta foot wide, but the farther bank wassandy and steep. We re-mained out of the car to lighten the load.Driving carefully Don safely crossed the narrow stream. But

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the car wouldn't take the steep bank, so he backed down for abetter run. Then IT HAPPENED. The rear bumper and theexhaust buried themselves in the sandy bank causing a loss ofpower. Th e back wheels began to spin in the shallow water.Repeated tries brought no results. W e decided to wait a while,then try again.Getting into the car to put on dry clothes we were startled byDavid's sudden cry, "Where does all this water come from?"One glance at the swiftly rising torrent disclosed our peril. Donmade a broad jump to the bank. From there he urged us tohurry. Carrying our shoes we waded ashore barefootedall butDavid, who in the excitement left his shoes in the car.Calamity, striking suddenly, left us speechless on the fartherbank. On e moment we noticed the water level was falling rapid-ly and the next an angry rising flood was swir'ing around thecar. For us the rain was over but the stench-laden waters rush-ing past us came from a cloudburst on Black Mesa some 30 milesaway, effectively blocking our escape toward Dinnehotso.Helplessly we watched the stream surge higher and higher,find its way into a back window, and begin pouring out on theopposite side. Food, clothing, drinking water, down beds, airmattresses, a stove and a tent, were now hopelessly beyond ourreach. But our lives were more valuable to us than our posses-sions, so there was nothing to do but let the torrent take its toll.As we turned sorrowfully away a sudden ghastly sound rentthe desert stillness. In this isolated spot the long continuous blastof the auto horn was a sound that pulled at our heartstrings.Then some 20 minutes later with the same startling suddenness,the horn stopped. Curious, we hurried back, for the water hadreceded some. We discovered Elizabeth's suitcase floating up onthe steering wheel had caused the horn to blow.Seeing the lowered water level Don slipped off his clothesand wading waist deep mounted the upstream running boardto fish out from th e car whatever he could reach. W e spread therescued dripping clothing on nearby weeds hoping it and themud-encased kodaks might dry between showers.Darkness carne quickly. David dropped wearily upon the wetearth with only his half-soaked mackinaw as insulation. Eliza-beth threw her wool slacks over him and I covered him with amou nd of sticky suffocating Russian Thistle. This divertedmuch of the now recurrently falling rain and he lay quietly whilewe three huddled shiveringlv beside him. Through four succes-sive thunderstorms we huddled, shifting and turning to find asofter or a dryer spot.The tedium of the long dreary hours was cut sharply whenin the blackest part of the night the pile of weeds moved sud-denly and David's terror-stricken voice cried out, "Mother, are*ny of us going to DIE?" To comfort him I sang. Twice throughthe stanzas of "God Will Take Care of You" my quaveringvoice faltered. Then all was quiet and I knew he slept.Th e chill wind of morning began to blow. Gradually thegrumblings of the Thund er G od ceased. The first gHmmer ofdawn revealed the holocaust strewn about on the bank beside us.Protruding from the mound of weeds were David's feet encasedin a pair of his father's shoes tied fast to the ankles. In themorning light I saw that the water was low enough to wadeacross the road, the only direction w here help lay.We threw our shoes to the farther bank and Don led Davidthrough th e swiftly flowing stream. But it was not with thehopelessness of the nigh t before that we were leaving. Eventhough help was 18 muddy miles away our hopes were rising.Slowly our little cavalcade started back over the road we hadtraveled so light-heartedly the day before. Today we were agroup of refugees plodding along the road, each carrying apathetic little bundle of possessions.With pools alongside, each step on the almost level road

brought up a load of tenacious gumbo mud. It pulled the shoesoff Elizabeth's feet and part of the time she walked barefooted.W ith great effort David pushed his clumsy shoes along. But de-

spite difficulties progres s was mad e. Slowly the hours passedwith no break in the monotony save when a flock of Mourningdoves flew alongside and when the single orange was dividedfour ways.At last Don spied the dim outlines of the windmill and soonafterward he saw an Indian hogan nearby. He set out at once tointerview the inhabitants. Weary, lame and hungry we reachedthe windmill one by one and had our first drink in 24 hours.While an Indian went for his horse we ate a can of spaghetti,one of grapefruit, and a small can of salad fruits. W e openedthe cans with a pocket knife and ate with the blunt end of *nailfile.When the Indian returned with his horse Don gave him allour small change, $1.75. The Navajo diligently counted thequarters, nickels and dimes and held up four fingers saying"Pesos." In desperation we decided to add a check. The Indiansmiled, spoke a long unintelligible paragraph and started off to-wards the hogan. W e thought our cause was lost. David con-soled us saying, "He's not angry. He smiled when he did allthat talking."As we started wearily down the trail we met the Indian re-turning at a rapid pace. He took the money and a note Don hadwritten to the trader, and after carefully scrutinizing the checkhe nodded and rode quickly toward Dinnehotso.By 2:30 we began to look for signs of a rescue party. Threeo'clock came, then 3:30 and 4:00 . Still there was nothing onthat silent desert road but ourselves. Th e hours since noon hadseemed endless. The afternoon was hot. Our faces were burning.W e were all thirsty. W e had let David drink from a rain puddlebut the water was red and tasteless. Ho pe of rescue had beenabandon ed. Soon David sank down almost too exhausted tomove. I dropped down beside him th inking we would have tolet the others go on though we had resolved we would notseparate.Suddenly I sprang to my feet. I heard the most glorious soundin the world the sound of a motor in low gear. I pulled Davidto his feet and suppo rted him as he shuffled along toward thetruck. Mr. Bloom field's cheery voice called out, "Come on, oldfellow! You 're only five miles from food and she lter." Therebes'de him sat the Indian who had carried our message.At the trading post a lady offering hot water, clean clothes,food and beds caused the weight of centuries to drop off ourshoulders. Gratefully we sank into our pillows and slept.But our tribulations were not over. After a gruelling Sundayat the fatal wash, Bloomfield, Don and three Indians had toabandon the car a second time. Ano ther cloudburst had washedit a half mile from where we had left it Saturday morn ing. Col-lecting the silted contents of the car they returned to the tradingpost in the truck.Here we were, four stranded souls and a pile of muddy lug-gage in the loneliest section of the United States without trans-portation. All roads to Dinnehotso were blocked by the wide-spread storm. Only the one to Farmington, New Mexico, viaMexican Water trading post offered an escape. We were cutoff from the rest of the world except for a slender line of wire,yet that slender thread carried our cry for help hundreds ofmiles away. Sunday at mid night came the assuring words fromSan Jose, California, "Your insurance covers."Tuesday a government truck going to Farmington had roomfor Elizabeth. Don piled bedd ing into the back of the truck andbounced his way along that 132-mile roughest-road-of-all.Luckily, David, the luggage and I were transported later by theGibsons of Mexican Water. Wednesday morning four dis-heveled persons boarded the bus for Gallup, New Mexico,thence to Los Angeles.As we left the strange Navajo world, which is guarded by

Shiprock at its eastern edge, our harrowing experiences alreadywere lessening in our minds. Unanimously we said, "Let's goagain. Just as soon as we can!"16 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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"1 had at last reached the heart of Tsey-begeh . . . Through stony gates loomed the fan-tastic buttes and cliffs of Monument Valley . . . Colorful walls lunged upward a thousandfeet from the sandy desert floor . . . White-floivered shrubs scented the air . . ."

As John Blackford drove away from Harry Goulding's trading post, hewent even deeper into a fantastic land which would have been more be-lievable in a legend. Canyons ran criss-cross through red rock, mesawalls rose a thousand feet sheer from the desert floor, spires and mono-liths cut red gashes from a May-blue sky. But when he reached the veryheart of Inside-the-Eocks he found a secret age-old paradise . . . HereLeon and his family dwell, tending their herds of sheep and goats, grind-ing their multi-colored corn, weaving their blanketsyet so unencum-bered they can move from pasture to pasture with the seasons, relinquish-ing none of their precious freedomexcept when Leon has to ride in tothe trading post to sign for his ration card!

By JOHN LINDSEY BLACKFORDPhotographs by the author

* / OR a dozen miles out from Gould-/ ing ' s t rading pos t the car straddledcavernous washes , scraped o v e rsharp r ims of rocky arroyos, and churnedacross pow dery sand. Back beyond thepost a score of miles dozed Kayenta, Ari-

zona, America's most isolated postoffice.Farther back were Marsh pass, lonely Cowsprings, the tawny, drif ting, treacheroussands of Tonalea; then Moencopi andTuba City. Past all of them, I had at lastreached the heart of Tsay-begeh.

This tongue-teas ing Nava jo n a m emeans Inside-the-Rock. And that is whereI found myself. Cavernous canyons gash-ed the red sandstone in every direction.Colorful mesa walls lunged upward athousand feet from the sandy desert floor.Behind and beyond, through stony gatesloomed the fantastic buttes and cliffs ofMonument Valley. No more alluring landcan be imagined in which to become ac-quainted with the Navajo way of life."Taniyazi's sister-in-law," as my Navajoguide Leon spoke of her, was at road's endto bring me to his hogans ."Yah-ah-tey, hello," I said, and in a mo-ment pointed to my camera. The slenderNavajo gir l , s tanding at the curving crestof a dune, presented an irresistible picture.Quickly I captured the scene, while thewind tossed her hair and the sand siftedabout us."Lah-ah, hogan-go," I struggled withth e few "Navvie" words I knew. Soon

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Taniyazi's sister-in-law looks on while his wi\e works at the loom, weaving abeautifully patterned dee-yo-ki, or blanket.she was leading the way mounted on herwiry pony.Ghostly grey trees just coming into leafleaned against the precipitous wall of themesa. Wh ite-flow ered shrubs scented theair . Da rk black brush stretched away end-lessly dow n canyon corridors. Soon wepassed a diminutive dam braced across anar row gorge that hoarded scanty winterrun-off from the mesa top . Later I was todiscover the great, sprawling tracks of ablue heron in wet sand below the poola

mystery here beneath sheltering cliffs, un-numbered miles from any mentionablebody of water . Up on round ing a shoulderof the rock, we glimpsed three hoganshumped on a broad dune between tower-ing canyon walls."Hogan," I pointed. Then s troking herpony's sleek shoulder as we paused, I in-quired for the Navajo word by turning tomy companion with tongue-tied expres-sion."Klheenh," she volunteered.

Grandmother ivas grinding many-colored Indian corn on her m etate.

I tapped her saddle questioningly."Klheenh-begeh." W e laughed as I triedthe nasal syllables. Literally they say"rock-on -horse." I touched the bridle."Zah-tee."A Navajo prefers to greet you silently.I merely sat down upon a wagon box on ar-r iving, while Grandfather, who saw mefirst, wen t on trying to coax a nosebag over

the suspicious ears of his unruly mount.Less stoical about palefaces, the horse rear-ed, dragged the old fellow off his feet, andwith a distrustful snort raced off wildlyshaking corn from the feed bag. Grand-mother came smiling to the door of theadobe-covered, Mandan-type structure thatis the perfect home for these nomadic peo-ple . Then granddaughters Cathley andLily, six and seven, peeped roguishly frombehind the doorway blanket. Un able torestrain curiosity longer, they soon weresitting for photographsand candy.Within the countless miles of the spa-cious Navajo reservation, time has broughtlittle cha nge from th e past. Life still isnomadic, centering about the hardy f locksof sheep and goats that provide liveli-hood in this desolate land. Seldom aremore than two or three neighboring ho-gans group ed together. A family headbuilds several hogans, and ranges betweenthe different locations with his herds asseasons and pastures dictate. Sometim escorn is cultivated at the summer hogan,but usually the freedom-loving Navajo re-fuses to bind himself to his thirsty soil. In-

stinctively he has preserved his way of life,and continues to tread the ancient paths.Once, as hunters and raiders, Navajoroamed widely over four states. Pushedback from waterhole to waterhole, theydiscerningly took from the white man'sadvancing civilization those things thatbulwa rked their ow n; all else they reject-ed. He rdin g was early borrowed from in-vading Spaniards . S i lversmithing a n dgem-setting from itinerant Mexican crafts-men. W eav ing they say was taugh t themby Spider Woman, but long before they

practiced it, this art was known to theirsedentary puebloan neighbors.Children, especially little girls, quicklyaccept respon sibility for the flocks. Leoncame silently from a neighboring hogan,and together we followed the youngsters tothe cor ral to watch the morning milkingbefore the herd moved out to graze. Leon'scorral is a natural wondera deep caverneroded in the mesa rock, a hundred yardsacross, almost as hig h. Such a hug e cavityis not unusual in Tsay-begeh, but this oneis distinguished by a giant stone bridge

arching magnificently over it. Roving sandparticles, hustled along by gusty desertwinds, have chiseled and etched the cross-T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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bedded sandstone into many intriguingforms.A mounting sun beat hotly upon thesandy floor of the great cave. Goa ts andsheep milled in noisy confusion as Cathley,Lily and their little cousin raced in amongthem. Tog ether they chased a nanny en-thusiastically about until she escaped intothe wooly, blatting mob or else they had

her securely by the horn s. Th en, whileone or two held the she-goat in neu tral, thethird dairy maid pumped vigorously onthe animal's short teats. Every minute orso she thwacked the old goat's udder withflattened palm to hasten the nanny's "giv-ing down" of her milk. Meanwhile thecarnival progressed with the riotous bunt-ing and scrapping of agile kids, the bleary-eyed staring of patriarchal old billies, andthe customary idiocy of frightened sheep."You like pictures up there?" inquiredLeon, pointing up to the huge red stonearch that cut a blue circle from the sky

above the corral. He led up a steeplysloping ledge some distance away. Hislithe figure was sinewy in tight-fittinglevis and jacket, topped by coiled blackhair and tall, black, uncreased cowboy hat.The wall bulged sharply outward as wescrambled along, half-leaning against therough rock. A smooth, dry groove show-ed where infrequent rain wore deep intothe stone, and spilled in a thin, ephemeralwaterfall to the sand two hundred feetbelow.' 'Had-i-twoh?" I grinned, using theNavajo phrase Leon had taught me whenasking for water. "Deh-bah-si-lee, I'mthirsty."To my surprise he motioned ahead."A h," he said, "Yes." W e mounted to a. little shrub-bordered dell, then on to deeptinajas or potholes in the rock. Some were15 feet across. They were limpid, emeraldpools reflecting high circular rims and thecloudless May sky. Climbing on again,we saw the Totem Pole and other majesticmonoliths rise superbly against the rustyrim of the desert. Heat wrinkled the mys-terious distances.Atop the bare mesa, two wind-embat-tled ;unipers crouched in a shallow, rockydale. Their clutching roots strove to holdevery particle of earth gathered beneathlow protecting crowns. Suddenly a largeArizona spotted owl sailed from his ver-dant retreat deep within their gnarledbranches and banked off steeply on curvedpinions into the dizzy canyon depths.Within this little paradise against thesky, cool breezes allayed the heat of sunand barren rock. I could hardly suppressthe irge to stretch out on my back and

stare up endlessly into the dreamy bluethat canopied our high oasis. Leon indi-

Leon took me to the red sandstone bluff w here weird long-horned beasts leapedacross the face of the rock.cated the cropped herbage within the valeand remarked that the ponies sometimesroamed the mesa top, ascending over thesame steep-shelving rock as we had done.Although aware of their agility, I was as-tonished at this uncommon deftness offoot.

Now we slid down to stand at the pre-cipitous wall of the sheep corral. Thestone bridge swung up its curving spanbefore us. Far down below, the flock rest-ed on the yellow sand. A shout in Navajoto its small caretakers aroused the herd into

swirling motion. I set the Speed Graphicat 1/00 sec. and captured the unique pic-ture; then shot again as the wooly cur-rent eddied around the dune against thefarther wall. As we descended, the darkgreen pools cradled in the rock glinted inthe shimmering sunshine and beckoned usin for a swim.Half a mile away a second cave invited.It arched a stony dome above two curious,prehistoric pueblos. One, round like awatch tower squatted near the lip of thecavern. The other, of two circular rooms,

Some of the tinajas were limpid emerald pools 15 feet across.

F E B R U A R Y , 1 9 4 4 19


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John Blackjord followed the sandy rocky road beyond Goulding's trading post toroad's end, where Tan iyazi's sister-in-law met him and led the wayto Leon's hogans.

hugged the recesses where the roof slantedabruptly upward. There we lingered incool shade."Show me the pictures-on-rock, Leon,"I urged as he drew weird animals in thesand, illustrating rock writings on an an-cient cliff. Again we plodded over therippled dunes and flinty floor of the can-yon corridors. Where slabs of a red sand-stone bluff had cleaved flatly away, pro-

viding a perfect plane for the mural, long-horned beasts leaped across the face of therock. The figures, chipped out in profile,with long, recurved horns, resembledgazelles more closely than native prong-horn antelope, adding to the strangeness ofthe petroglyphs and the mystery of thoseforgottenartists.Back at the hogan, Grandmother hadbeen grinding many-colored Indian cornon her metate. Leon and I lounged uponsheep pelts covering the sand floor, whileshe poured batter into a black iron kettle.A length of stovepipe descended through

the crossed roof logs to stand on the sand.Its base had been split and spread to con-tain the coals of a small fire that glowedagainst it, sending fragrant juniper smokecurling up the battered pipe. This simpledevice made the most handy portable"stove" I had seen.To delicious corn cakes and balls frommeal of her own grinding, Grandmotheradded boiled mutton, karo syrup, andstrong black coffee.Beside me the children busied them-selves putting out a small wash, its irre-

pressible yucca suds bubbling out of thepan. Cathley and Lily buried jet-brighteyes beneath untamed shocks of hair andgiggled infectiously when I held up their

;$': u ran, .\::\

I T0 KAYBNTA-33M/LES.NOTE: AELATIVC POSITIONS orMONUMENTS S OTHER PFATUITESABE ONLY APPROXIMATE.

_ AFTER BLACKFOHO

20 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z IN E


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Leon's corral is a natural wondera deep cavern eroded inthe mesa rock, a hundred yards across,almost as high.They chased the nanny until they had her securely by thehorns, then while one held her in neutral the otherdid the milking.


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he rubbed his sunken belly impressively,an almost painful expression reflected onhis weathered face. At the same time theother hand, in its vigorous gyrations,seemed about to be thrust down his throat.My faith in sign language revived imme-ditely.In these remote, red canyons are scat-tered some of the most hospitable peoplein our fortunate country. Secure nowamong us in their own way of life, it is notinappropriate then that even on their far,wind-combed, desert ranges America'snew fight for freedom has not passed thesesturdy nomads by. Tall young Navajoleave familiar seats of their high Spanishsaddles for bucking backs of jeeps andtanks. As I steered back through the shift-ing sands of Tsay-begeh, it was to takeLeon out to the trading post to sign for hisration card.

Lily and Cathley are but seven and sixbut already they are experienced littledairy maids.

pet and, with a foamy yucca root, demon-strated how the kitten might be given abeauty bath."Perhaps Taniyazi's wife will show usher weaving, Leon?""She ready now," he agreed, and soonled the way to her roomy hogan. It wasn'tlong until I found myself conducting theshow. Only the young matron and I wereinterested in the beautifully patterneddee-yo-ki, or blanket, that she was creating

upon her rough loom. All the others, in-cluding men and boys, crowded within towatch the camera being adjusted on its tri-pod, to note the synchro-flash mountedpart by part, and to comment jocularlyabout the nervous shutter-shooter. Everyone blinked and laughed as the bulbsflashed, but the swift batten of the weavermoved unhesitatingly to draw the woofdown firmly.One evening, while camped at my car,Grandfather put in a sudden appearance.To entertain him I turned through thepages of a Pow Wow program. He at

once went into a long speech, gesturingand semaphoring emphaticallywhich Itook to mean that he was acquainted withsome of the pictured braves. But he de-parted somewhat frustrated. Promp tly thenext time Leon was in camp, he rode inand again unburdened himself. Grandpopwanted his picture took!Just at dusk a caravan of sheep, goatsand strange Navajo swept by, with onlythe sound of soft scuffling of hoofs in theyielding sand. I was opening a package ofdates, and seeing this an ancient, skinny

elder detached himself from the motleyprocession. Sitting his delapidated mount.

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Boomer is a lizard. He is outon the desert now, where he firstwas discovered by Lucille andKeith Boyd. But he proved hecould adapt himself to city lifewhen for a brief period they"adopted" the little collared liz-ard. Boomer did more than, en-tertain the Boyds and their friendshe helped dispel the idea thathe was a "dangerous character"and he made more than one per-son conservation-minded.

fldventuteoomet

By WE L DON D. WOO DSO N

1/ EITH BOYD and his wife, Lucille,/ \ were out in their favorite desert re-treata stretch of country near theCalifornia-Arizona line north of Needles.They had reveled in their study of plantand animal life native to the region, and,being entomologically minded, had takenspecial note of the insects nestled close tothe earth. They had just bent down ontheir knees to scrutinize the markings of aspecies of beetle unfamiliar to them, stoodup and were about to resume their ramb-lings when Lucille said, "Look! W hatare those men doing?"Keith peered some quarter of a mile dis-tant and saw two men and a boy about 14years of age get out of a car and cautiouslywalk over to one side of the road. Theyarranged themselves in a sort of huddleand directed their gaze upon an object thatapparently lay at their feet.Keith said, "I wonder what they're look-ing at? Let's find out."When they were within ear-shot theyheard the boy exclaim, "Let's kill it!""Kill what?" Keith summarily said ashe nudged his way in. He is an ardent ad-vocate of the conservation of desert wildanimal life, and few things can arouse hisire more than to hear anyone suggest theirdestruction."Kill this poisonous lizard," answeredthe elder of the two men, who evidentlywas the boy's father. "It's d eadly."The Boyds looked down and there on aslab of rock cringed a greyish, spottedlizard. Its tail was turned up part wayaround its body. If it had been outstretch-ed, the creature's entire length would havebeen fully 10 inches. Its fore-legs were

While Keith re ad the evening paper, Boome r would perch himself uponhis shoulder.short, its hind ones long and powerful.Two black bands separated by a whitishspace formed a double collar about theupper p ortion of its neck. Its eyes werebright and prominent, and it periodicallyopened and closed its eyelids. It possesseda distinct and well shaped neck, whichjoined onto a squared head that seemedhuge when compared with the remainderof its body.It opened wide its mouth and revealeda black throat, which caused the two mento shudder and the boy to declare, "See!Its dangerous.""No, that's where you're wrong,"countered Keith. "It's a collared lizardand harmless as a lamb. It opens its mouththat way when scared. Sure, if you annoythem much they might hu rt you. But theycertainly aren't poisonous. It's a wonderit hasn't skeltered away. Now don't moveand I'll show you something."He stealthily crouched down, extendedhis cupped hands, and with a quick thrust

clamped them upon the lizard. The crea-ture was not hurt but it was momentarilystunned with surprise. Keith carefully gotto his feet, gently held his hands enclosedabout the lizard, and remarked, "Take apeep at it." He spread apart his thumbs,and each in his turn looked in.Then he told them about some of thecharacteristics and life habits of the collar-ed lizard. Its name was due to the twoblack stripes across its neck which sug-gest a collar. Their color varies from grey,bright green and orange to yellow, withpolka dots of brick red, white or brown.The male is of a livelier color than thefemale, but at the time of mating bothmay take on brighter tints. The femalecollared lizard during the month of Au-gust deposits within a little depression inthe desert sand from 15 to 21 eggs. Eachegg is about half an inch in diameter, and.of a whitish color and delicate texture.Only a small proportion of those whichhatch will reach maturity for they are

F E B R U A R Y , 1 9 4 4 23


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Close-up of Bailey's Collared lizard, taken a mom ent after having swallowed a Sand lizard.The two b lack shoulder bands easily distinguish it from other harmless desert lizards.Photo by Joe On, Los Angeles, California.preyed upon by natural enemies, such asthe larger snakes.Keith further told his audience, whilekeeping the creature comfortably caged inhis clasped hands, that collared lizards arefound not only in the country round aboutthem, but also in Utah, Nevada, Arizonaand New Mexico. They may dig a bur-row under flat stones, where they retreatshortly before sunset and remain untilthe sun is well up the next day. They in-variably remain in this hide-out duringcloudy and rainy days. They have anenormous appetite, but find little difficultyin obtaining ample food due to the unusualvariety of their diet. It includes swifts,horned lizards, young snakes, grasshop-pers, crickets and mealworms. They evenmay eat the blossoms and tender leavesfrom desert plants. They tuck their fooddown into their cavernous mouth by meansof their front feet."Suppose I were to turn this lizardloose," Keith concluded. "D o you knowwhat would happen? W ell, it probablywould take one squint at us and skimaway, to attain full speed after a few feet.Its tail would rise sharply, the fore-part ofits body would rear up, and on its hindlegs, kangaroo-fashion, it probably would

run for 75 feet or more. Should it en-counter a hole or small ditch, it wouldpress its body snugly against the ground,fold its hind legs like a frog, and leapacross the gap and land on the other side."The boy and his father nodded, and theother man said, "And to think that I hadalways thought of Boomersthat's thename I have known them byas deadlypoisonous! Well, we'll never kill anyaga'n. So long."They climbed into their car and spedaway. Keith exclaimed, "Boomer! Didyou hear that? That's its name. Hello,Boomer! I think I'll take you home andlearn more about you. And you'll haveplenty of nice juicy worms to eat, too.W on't he, Lucille?"She smiled tolerantly at his enthusiasm.She didn't know that shortly she too wouldbe as interested in Boomer as he.The lizard readily adapted itself to itsnew home. The Boyds loosed it in theirfront room and soon it selected for its nestthe right corner of an overstuffed chairalong the cushion and arm. It would re-treat to its den at sunset, coming from awindow ledge, down the curtain orwherever it might be. It would not scurryout the next morning until the house was

warm, either from the sun or stove. Onceit made its appearance, however, it wouldspend the livelong day scurrying here andthere, and often would perch upon Keith'sshoulder as he read the evening news-paper.And Boomer was a source of fascinationto visitors at the Boyds' home. Once thepastor of their church called, sat down inBoomer's chair, and launched into afriendly discussion of the happeningsabout the parish. Th e conversation beganto lag after a b :t, and Lucille asked, "Doyou like lizards?""Lizards!" commented the reverendgentleman, a little taken aback by theabrup t turn of conversation. "W hy, cer-tainly. I enjoy all of nature . Surely, I likelizards.""Well, you are sitting on one," Lucillequietly informed him."Ooooh!" exclaimed the otherwise calmminister as he arose from his chair. Helooked back down at the vacant space, per-ceived no lizard of any shape or form, andwith a little embarrassed laugh said, "Oh,well, that was a good joke on me. Ithought for a moment there actually wasone in the chair."Lucille then revealed that Boomer was



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Boom er on the kitchen table taking water ]rom a teaspoon.ensconced in the niche provided for him,down in the right side corner of the1 armchair. This incident aroused the minister'sinterest in desert life, and upon every pos-sible occasion he joins the Boyds in theirexplorations in Arizona and neighboringstates.Boomer's eating habits kept the Boydsentertained. At times they would feed itblack crickets. It would grasp one by itsforelegs, cram it part way into its mouth,scamper up the back of the sofa and strad-dle the top. Here at its leisure it would

work the insect down. At other times theygave Boomer green tomato worms, as bigas one's second finger, from their garden.It would grab onto the worm, thrust itinto its mouth head foremost until abouthalf of it remained out, then slam itagainst the floor like a fox terrier with arat until the worm was weak and could behandled with ease. The Boyds confess thattheir tomato crop was ruined because theypermitted the tomato worms to thrive sothere would be plenty for Boomer.Even its procedure of drinking water

fascinated the Boyds. Keith would let itrest upon the back of his left hand, holda teaspoonful of water in his right, andgive it a sip at a time. It would ho ld-upits head and let the water run down likea bird. Lucille would quench the lizard'sthirst in a similar manner, only she wouldplace it upon the kitchen table. At othertimes it would greedily take a drop of wateroff the finger tip.Keith once focused a No. 2 photo floodlamp in a metal reflector upon it as it layon the caroet. A plate of water stood near-bv. The lizard would bask under the light.Then when the temperature grew too hot,it would run over to the water, take adrink, and come back for some more ofthe heat. It repeated this performance halfa dozen times.There came a day, however, when theBoyds decided to take a trip to the vicinitywhere they had found Boomer. Thev tookit along as a companion. They had hardly

reached the range of its former home be-fore it held up its head and seemed to sniffthe clean refreshing desert air. They droveon a few miles and Keith lapsed intosilence. Lucille sensed his thoughts.They stopped their car, got out, and Keithplaced Boomer down upon the earth. Itsat there for a few seconds as if undecided.Then off it raced, first on four feet andthen in kangaroo-fashion upon its hindlegs.Keith and Lucille since that time haveencountered scores of collared lizards(they now call them Boomers), but they

never think of capturing them. They havebeen converted to the belief that Boomer,as well as all natural life should be per-mitted to run free and unmolested in thedesert environment.Boomer would graspa cricket by its fore-legs, cram it part way into its m outh, thenscamper up the b ack of the sofa to work the cricket down.

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C v H X X ,Denver, Colorado . . .Joint meeting of western division,American mining congress, and Coloradomining association was scheduled here forJanuary 27, 28 and 29. Wartime prob-lems of the industry were to head discus-sion topics. How ard I. Young, presidentof the congress, is serving on war produc-tion board as director of minerals bureauand director minerals resources coordinat-ing division. Washington , D. C. . . .War production board, under Green actwhich authorized treasury to sell "free"silver (metal not held as backing for cur-rency) to essential war industries, hasauthorized use of $25,000,000 worth assubstitute for scarce metals in engine bear-ings, brazing alloys, solder and other waritems. Phoenix, Arizona . . .Five of Arizona's largest mining com-panies were assessed $1,495,609.14 in un-collected income taxes for 1940, 1941 and1942 by state tax commission. Interestcharge was additional $135,624.01. Fail-ure to collect the tax before has cost tax-payers several million dollars because stateis prohibited by law from collecting onearlier income. The additional assess-ments were made on that proportion of

the net income charged off to depreciation,for it was stated the companies long agodepreciated their properties to the fullvalue allowed by law, making their entirenet income, less federal taxes, subject tothe state tax. Phelps Dodge corporation,operators of four large mines, was heaviesthit. Winnemucca , Nev a da . . .Reb uilding of 250-ton concentrationplant" of Nevada-M assachusetts companywhich was destroyed by fire on ArmisticeDay will start soon, according to CharlesH . Segerstrom, president, and Ott F.Heizer, manager. Mill was leveled byflame in one hour, burning on the 25th an-niversary of its existence. Mining con-tinues at property, ore being stockpiled. Niland, California . . .Lease of 520 acres state-owned landbordering north shore of Salton sea wasvoted in December by state lands commis-sion to Pure Oil company of Chicago forwildcat oil drilling. Und er 20-year agree-ment company will pay $5 an acre plusroyalties ranging from 12.5 to about 50per cent of any oil produced. Companyfurther is obligated to drill a well on otherstate-owned land adjoining lease territory,within 18 months.

Gallup, New Mexico . . .Navajo tribal council recently passed aresolution calling upon Indian

Documents

194402 Desert Magazine 1944 February