196106 Desert Magazine 1961 June

8/14/2019 196106 Desert Magazine 1961 June

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J u n e 19614 0 C e n t sagazine of theO U T D O O R S O U T H W E S T


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LETTERSFROM OUR READERSphotographed the oldHopi chief a fewyears back. He did notlook like clay asin theMcGrew cover painting.

Tewa-quap-tewa was 106 years old whenhe died.RUSS GRESSERLos Angeles

Recalling the Wrong Turn . . .To theEditor: I read with interest thestory, "The Wrong Turn," byArthur R.Benton (April Desert Magazine). I knowevery foot ofthe country Benton went over.In fact, I remember seeing his outfit whenhe drove through Beatty, Nevada. I wa sworking at thedepot there at thetime.

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My wife and herfather had a store inLeadfield all during theboom days.Benton was lucky that theroad out ofLeadfield toRhyolite was inpassable con-dition. We had tohaul all ourLeadfield-bound supplies around through Titus Can-yon from theDeath Valley side. It didn'tseem too bad then for all theroads wereabout thesame.

The worst part of the road Bentonfol-lowed, in myestimation, was thestretchdown the floor ofDeath Valley. That roadwent down through the middle ofthe Valleywhere thesilt randown in front of thewheels, and the hotdust was sothickwehad toroll upthe car windows tobreathe.We'd have tostop every few feet totry todetermine where our road had disappearedto .

W. H. BROWNBeatty, Nev.

The Leadfield Hotel . . .To theEditor: Despite thesign hangingover thedoor, thebuilding in thephoto-graph accompanying A r t h u r Benton's"Wrong Turn" article is not theLeadfieldHotel.

The hotel sign was found approximately100 feet north of the building shown.There were some foundations near therethat probably marked the site of the hotel.Two C.C.C. boys nailed thesign to theshack as a practical joke. I know this fora fact, for these boys were part ofmy crewwhile wewere maintaining theLeadfield-Titus Canyon Road. We occupied the"hotel" while working in this vicinity.

ARCHIE L. MERRILLBellflower, Calif.

Titus Canyon Adventure . . .To theEditor: The experience of ArthurBenton and his friend, whomade "thewrong turn" inDeath Valley in 1925, re-minded me of the time my husband and Ihad a very difficult trip going down TitusCanyon.

We traveled amid theheavy sand andsharp rocks washed down inrains the win-ter before. I know just how Benton andhis companion felt when they looked upat the crack ofsky between those awesomecliffs, andsaw heavy clouds gathering. Isalute them for accomplishing thetrip upthe canyon.MARGARET E. SUMNERChula Vista, Calif.

Tewa-quap-tewa IsDead . . .To theEditor: Tewa-quap-tewathe sub-ject of R. Brownell McGrew's brush andpen in your May issuepassed away re-cently. McGrew's article on the oldchapwas in poor taste, anyway.

I saythis advisedly because 1 met and

Artist McGrew's Prose . . .To theEditor: ForBrownell McGrew totake two full pages of valuable space totell how hecame topaint theportrait onyour May cover isgoing too far. I am infull accord with earlier letter writers whotook McGrew to task forhis "yawning sowhat" attitude on the Rainbow Bridge scene.

E. M. VAUGHANYucaipa, Calif.

War Pony . .

B O B ' S P O N Y ( C IR C L E D )

To the Editor: YourApril cover broughta dream tolife formy eight - year - oldson, born andbreda desert rat. To meand you, your coveris as all a d u l t swould see it: sky,r o c k s , c a c t i andflowers. But,Bobspot ted somethingm o r e : an Indianchiefs war pony.

MRS. CLAIREGILMOREHinkley, Calif.

Prosper i ty Comes toHarry . . .To theEditor: I want to tell you howwonderful Desert Magazine hasbecome.But, there isone thing inyour publicationI miss: Harry Oliver's Almanac. IsHarrystill around?

VIRGINIA M. MAXWELLCosta Mesa, Calif.(We haven't seen Harry since he raisedthe price of hisDesert RatScrapbookfrom "one lousy thin dime" to 25c. Ed.)

Entertainment, Education . . .To the Editor: As anoldtimer who livedand worked in eastern Utah andwesternColorado around theturn of thecentury,and who, since the '90s, has wandered overmost other parts of theWest andSouth-west, I think Desert is a magazine peopleeverywhere should read.

You are doing agood job in away thatis both entertaining and educational. Evenan oldtimer like myself canlearn manythings from your pages."TUMBLEWEED" TOM MOSS

Los Angeles

Erratum . . .To the Editor: I ammost sorry toreport


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an error slipped into my story on oco-in the May issue.On page 24, column 3, paragraph 2,Idria columnaris for Pachycor-

EDMUND C. JAEGERRiverside, Calif.

the Editor: I was very much interestedon Calico in theher mention of Her-who, in 1882, was hired byto constructfor handling the ore at the mine.Mr. Mellen is still living. He was 94May. He is my next door neighbor, anda wonderful old gentleman with a twinklehis eye.I am sure there are not many, if any,men left who worked in the original

HELEN MANDEVILLELa Crescenta, Calif.

o the Editor: Since the passage of the bill1959 prohibiting the pursuit and captureby airborne and motorizedon Public Lands, I have been onmy doctor, due to ex-and emotional exhaustionfrom the long years of day and night workthat went into the project.I had planned to follow up the passageof the law with a movement to establishprotective areas for the animals here in theWest. Such areas would assure these ani-

mals of adequate feed and shelter, with aview to restoring them to the physical con-dition and appearance they should have,instead of the pitiful condition they are inas a result of the pursuit and harassmentover the years of commercial exploitation.It is still my hope that some organizationor individual will take this on as anotherstep in the preservation of some of thewonderful things we have in the West topass on to future generations.My mail still contains letters from allover the world from individuals interestedin our wild horse population, as articlesabout the fight for the legislation appear inpublications in exotic corners of the world.I appreciate the publicity you gave to the

horses in your magazine ("Wild Horse An-nie Fights to Save the Mustang," June '59Desert Magazine), and it was because ofthe interest aroused in readers all over thecountry that we were able to build up somuch support for our legislation in Wash-ington. Thank you for all that you havedone for this worthwhile project.VELMA B. JOHNSTONReno

F A T H E R ' S D A Y. . . a Desert Magazinesubscription is athoughtful gift

$4 for a year of Best W ishes(use the order blank on page 38)

c_M a g a z i n e of the O u t d o o r S o u t h w e s t

Volume24 Con t en t s fo r June 1 9 61 NumberTHIS MONTH'S COVER: "Old Faithful" log in Arizona's PetrifiedForest. Photograph is by Carlos Elmer of China Lake, Calif.6 HERPETOLOGY: Memoirs of a Snake Pit Operator

S IMON HEN RY W A LKER11 CONSERVATION: New Mexico's Ghost Ranch Museum

W . T H E T F O R D L eV IN E S S14 SHORT-CUT: The Paria River Valley Road

N E L L M U R B A R G E R16 DRIVING: Auto Breakdown: What to Know, What to Do

J. A. T H O M P S O N19 INDIANS: The Morning Star

L AU R A A D A M S A R M E R22 IMPRESSIONS: An Eastern Artist Discovers the Mojave

H E N R Y M O C K E L24 LOST MINE: Sullivan's Lost Ledge of Gold

HA ROL D O. W E I G H T31 NATURE: The Golden Bush Called Rabbitbrush

E D M U N D C. J A E G E R40 PHOTOGRAPHY: Favorite Pictures

C H A R L E S W. H E R B E R TBACK COVER: Henry Mockel's painting of Thistle SageDEPARTMENTS: R eaders' Letters 2S outhwest Books 5H ard Rock Shorty 21June Poetry 27Classified Ads .28

Utah TravelArizona Travel .-Editorial

2934363739

The Desert Mogazine, founded in 1937 by Randall Henderson, is published monthlyby Desert Magazine, Inc., Palm Desert, Cali fornia . Re-entered as second classmatter July 17, 1948, at the postoffice at Palm Desert, California, under the Actof March 3, 1879. Title registered No. 358865 in U.S. Patent Office, and contentscopyrighted 1961 by Desert Magazine, Inc. Permission to reproduce contents mustbe secured from the editor in writing.Unsolicited manuscripts and

BARSTOW^vpphotographs submitted can- -no t be returned or acknowl-edged unless full returnpostage is enclosed. DesertMagazine assumes no re- "sponsibility for damage or "loss of manuscripts or pho-tographs although due carewi l l be exercised. Subscribersshould send notice of changeof address by the f irst ofthe month preceding issue.Address all editorial andcirculation correspondence toDesert Magazine, Palm Des-ert, California.Address all advertis ingcorrespondence to Aaron D.Viller, 8217 Beverly Blvd.,Los Angeles 48, Calif. Phone

OL 1-2225.CHARLES E. S H E L T O NPublisherEUGENE L. C O N R O T T OEditorEVON N E RIDDEL LCirculation Manager

TLOSA N G E L E S * "&" !"


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D e s e r t B o o k s F o r S u m m e r R e a d in gPAINTERS OFT H E D E S E R T by EdAins-wor th . Large, handsomely printe d. Thir-teen color plates, 67black-and-white pic-tures. About artists of theSouthwest.Thirteen chapters featuring 13 artists:Dixon, Forsythe, Hilton, Swinnerton,Klinker, Buff, Procter, Lauritz, Perceval,Fechin, Eytel, McGrew, Bender. $11

H AR D R O C K S H O R T Y -A T H IS W O R S T . AHumorous Look at the Desert Country bythat fictional character, Hard Rock Shorty.A compilation of whimsical stories thatappeared in theDesert Magazine in thepast two decades. 21chapters without aw o r d of truth in 'em. Tall tales forgreenhorns. Published 1960. Paper-bound. $1

G H O S T S OFTHE GL ORY TRA IL by NellMurbarger . Oldmining camps of theWest come to l i fe again in these vividand historically accurate tales of 275boom towns. Includes aGhost Town di-rectory. 328pages, historic halftones.Fourth printing. The author is recognizedas the topwriter on thesubject.Non-f ict ion. $5.75

GEOL OGIC A L STORY OFDE ATH VALLEYby Dr.Thomas Clements. Num ber Oneof theDeath Valley '49er publications,this paperbound booklet is a brief, auth-entic report on thegeologic history ofDeath Valley. I l lustrated. Table of Con-tents. The author is head of the Depart-ment of Geology at theUniversity ofSouthern California. Revised edit ion. $ 1 . 5 0

S O V E R E I G N SOF THESAGES O V E R E I G N S O F T H E S A G E byNell Mur-barger. True tales abou t intere sting resi-dents and unusual places inthe SagebrushCounty of Western America. Filled withhuman interest, humor, and history. Ofdocumentary value. The author was per-sonally acquainted with most of those ofwho m she wro te. Excellent Westerniana.$6

A N T H O L O G Y OF DESERT POETRY. 65poets of the desert country delineate thedelicate colors, the harsh outlines, thehaunting lure of thearid wastelands ofthe West. Some il lustrations. 40pages.Paperbound. (Sequel: POETRY - DESERTIN SPIRED, is now available; same format,price.) $1.50

L OST MIN ES A N D B URIED TREA SURES byJohn D.Mitchel l . 51stories of lost minesand hidden trove along the Old Frontier.Maps to set theexplorers to planningwestern trips. Fabulous tales of fadedtreasure trails. Spanish andIndian eg-ends, and stories of theearly explorersand Mountain Men. Hardback. 240pages. $5

O N THE TR A IL OF PEGLEG SMITH'S L OSTGOLD by J. Wilson McKenney. The fa-mous Pegleg legend of the lost blacknuggets grows with each succeedingyear. Southern California's most fantas-tic lost lode story is setfor th, completewith map. Photographs provide clues ortreasure seekers. Paperbound. $1.50

A H T I I U L I S r SD E A T H m m

G O O D B Y E .DEATH VALLEY!

A NATUR ALIST'S D EATH VALLEY by Dr.Edmund C. Jaeger. The dean of desertnaturalists tells of the fine art of survivalfor plant andanimal l ife in America'smost arid testing lab, fabled Death Valley.I l lustrated with photos and sketches.Paperbound. Indexed. 68pages. $1.50

GOODB YE, DEA TH VA L L EY by Burr Bel-den. The story of the tragic trek of theJayhawker party that gave Death Valleyits name and first fame during the1849go ld rush. Belden isan authority on thewes tern dese rtland. Pen sketches. Paper-bound. $1.25

it. men (.unit

(Please add 15c per book for postage; Califo rnia residents also add 4% sales tax.)omptly filled by Desert Magazine Book Store. , .. , Palm Desert, Calif.


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NEW DESERT BOOKSThough not exclusively a Southwestern

Indian Art in America is such anotice and com men dation. Less

Undoubtedly the finest thing ever doneIndian Art in America was aciety. Dockstader,

Heavy with excellent color plates andfellowship in anthropological art. The

Released for the first time this month,It is a "must" gift for anyo ne

The book may be ordered as indicated

1920 LIFE ON THEThe archeologist and author, Elizabeth

The Desert Was Home. The Camp-

Mrs. Campbell tells of the first settlersnd how they met and faced their prob-

This 265 page book contains numerousook Store (see below).

TO WARNER'S "CORRIDOR"Limited to 500 copies, Lost Oases Alongthe Carrizo is an exhaustive work on the"lost" palm oases dotting the corridor that

led from the Colorado desert sink up tothe Vallecito and Warner's Ranch area.Written by E. I. Edwards, the book waspublished last month by the WesternlorePress of Los Angeles, and is another excel-lent regional publication by that printinghouse.

Lost Oases is detailed, and more thanhalf its pages concern themselves with bib-liographical material. The book's appealis limited, but intense. Though it may betoo restricted in subject area for the aver-age desert visitor, it will make an excellenttraveling companion for the true desert ratwho likes to retrace the historic routes andways of the pioneering men who trekkedthe wastelands between Yuma and South-ern California. A Norton Allen map illus-trates the end sheets. The book, 126 pagesof high-quality printing, is amply illustrated.Foreword by Harold O. Weight. Price:$12:50. (See details below for o rderingthis book by mail.)

COMPACT GUIDE TOCALIFORNIA BIRDSHandbook of California Birds is a con-veniently-sized guide that will fit the coatpocket and the pocketbook budget, too.Prepared by Dr. Henry Weston, Jr., andVinson Brown, the booklet is a compactdirectory of the shore and land birds ofCalifornia.Especially helpful in identifying the 368species appearing in the handbook are colorsketches of 165 of the more common varie-

ties. Black-and-white sketches supplementthe color pages. Cross-references to helpidentify birds are listed in a flight-patternsection, a food foraging behavior pattern,and a bird-sound section. The 156 pageguide is indexed.The paper-bound edition is priced at$2.95; the cloth-bound handbook sells for$4.50. Just off the press last month, thispractical field guide to California's birdsmay be ordered through the Desert Maga-zine book store as outlined below.

A GUIDE TO THEEXOTIC PALM TREESPalms is the title of a new paperbackvolume written by landscape architect, Des-mond M uirhead. This excellent book pro-vides a comprehensive study of the historyof palms and their uses in landscaping. Theprofessional gardener and the amateur aswell will find much valuable informationhere. Palms covers in detail the origin,identification, cultivation and care of palmtrees. Also included are notes on palm-likeplants such as tree ferns and yuccas.Palms is illustrated with photographs andline drawings 66 drawings, 43 photos.144 pages, paperbound, $1.95. (Washablevinyl cloth binding $3.20.) (See footnotefor purchase details.)

Books reviewed on this page can be purchasedby mail from Desert Magazine Book Store,Palm Desert, California. Please add 15c forpostage and hand ling per book. Californiaresidents also add 4% sales tax. Write for freebook catalog.

N E W . . . N E W . . . N E WTERRY'S1961 CATALOGB I G G E R A N D B E T T E R

U n u s u a l m o u n t i n g s a n d f in d i n g s . G o o d s e l e c-t i o n o f j e w e l e r s ' t o o l s , e q u i p m e n t , s u p p l i e s ,s i l ver , books , cu t s tones , e tc . Co v ing ton l a p i -d a r y e q u i p m e n t . T o p q u a l i t y m e r c h a n d i s e a treasonable pr i ces .S E N D 50 c T O D A Y FO R Y O U R C O P YMoney refunded on first $5.00 order

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L E A R N . . E N J O YCrafts and Culture ofthe American Indianbeautifully illustratedIn color and black andwhite photos . . . auth-oritative articles"INDIAN LIFE"Magazine $1.00 PP

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M e m o i r sS N A K E - P I TO P E R A T O R

B y S I M O N H E N R Y W A L K E R

I N 1930, WHEN I was l iving atIndian Wells in the Coachella Valleyof Southern California, a man andhis wife saw a rattlesnake crossing theroad in front of my place. Theybacked their car to the house andasked for a gun to shoot the varment.I sent my son, Frank, out with a shot-gun and he killed it.The stranger said the snake wasvaluable for its oil, skin and meat.He took the dead reptile with him tothe auto camp where they lived.Next day I went to see the man to

learn the particulars about sellingrattlesnakes. There was a Depression,and I was not making much moneyfarming. He gave me the address ofa buyer in Pasadena who re-soldsnakes wherever he could make aprofit. I knew there were lots ofsnakes in the Coachella Valley, andI could figure out a way to catch themif there was money in it.I had half-way studied snakes eversince my nine-year-old cousin died ofa diamondback's bite on the heel whenwe were boys together in Tex as. Some

years later a 14-inch sidewinder killedmy brother-in-law.While riding after cattle one morn-ing when I was a single young cow-

hand, my horse trotted over a bigrattlesnake without seeing or smellingit, and was bitten between the fore-legs. The horse jumped and jerkedthe snake along about 10 feet beforethe snake let go and crawled into aprairie dog hole. My horse bowedup several times and didn't want tog o , so I took off the saddle and walkedthree miles back to the ranch house.When I told the rancher what hadhappened, he said the horse would beall right. We went back the next dayand the horse was dead. Yes, I knewquite a bit about rattlersbut I hadplenty to learn.And so, I got into the snake-catch-ing business. My first catch was abig diam ondb ack. I was picking cot-ton near Indian Wells in September,1 9 3 0 . There was a mesquite thicketat each end of the cotton field. Rattle-snakes denned in the thickets andtraveled back and forth through thecotton field at night during the Sep-tember-October mating and feedingseason. (The spring mating and feed-ing season is April and May.)

To catch the snake I used an eight-foot stick with a slipnoose on one end.I dropped the noose over his head andjerked it tight. Then I dragged myfirst Catch a half-mile to the house and

put it in a dry-goad febx./ I caught 11more snakes at that ranch and soldthem to a Chinese merchant in Indio,who re-sold them to a Chinese doctorin San Bernardino.

I made some improvements on my"catch er" and business picked -up. Ibegan selling snakes to the Pasadenaman the auto camp people told meabout . 1 once captured 45 diamond-backs in one day106 pounds totalweight. I caught 800 diamondb acksfor him in the next five years.A couple of years after I got started

as a supplier, a farmer who had heardthat I hunted snakes came to IndianWells to ask me to catch the rattle-snakes off his farm near the SaltonSea. I went back with him , stayedovernight, and caught 27 diamond-backs by 10 the next morning.The Pasadena man also boughtcertain kinds of lizards and hornedtoads, and all the big desert scorpionsand tarantulas I could catch. He paidme 10c each for scorpions and tara n-tulas, 25c a pound for sidewinders,30c a pound for diamondbacks, and

50c a pound for red racers becausethey are harder to catch.The first person to go snake hunt-ing with me was Dr. Mauser, a profes-sor of herpetology at the University ofSouthern California. He wan tedhorned rat t lesnakes (sidewinders), andas I caught them he put them into anordinary floursack which he carried


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his bare back . For several years

Dr. Cole, who took Dr. Mauser's

nake's bite wouldn't much harm an-ther snake, but would kill warm-looded creatures. Dr. Cole taughtme a lot of scientific things aboutsnakes and I taught him some fieldlessons. He told me once that I knewmore about the habits of desert rep-tiles than anyone he knew.On one trip to the mesquite snakecountry near Palo Verde, Dr. Colebrought one of his students along.Whenever I found a snake they would

note the air temperature and whatkind of place the snake was in. Onthis trip I caught a rare rattlesnake.Next morning it had 10 babies, andthe student gave me $10 for the bunch.Once my first customer, the Chinesemerchant in Indio, put in an order foran extra big rattler, and I caught along one for him. He put the snakein a burlap sack and placed it on thecar seat beside him, then started offfor San Bernardino where he was go-ing to deliver the snake to his doctorfriend. A few miles along the road

the snake found a hole in the sack andcrawled out. It bit the merchan t onthe shoulder. He stopped the car atWhitewater, but died before he couldreach aid.A Chinese doctor from Fresnobought all the dried rattlesnake gallbladde rs I could get for him. He paid25c apiece at first, but a few years laterI was able to get double that figure.I never killed a rattlesnake for thegall alone, but would always savethis organ when I dressed-out a snake.I also saved the skin, rattles and bones

of the vertebra. The strip of fat tha tis on each side near the heart and livercan be melted-out in a clean jar setin boiling water. This rattlesnake oilis used for rheumatism, stiffness, burnsand bruises. It does not harde n likeanimal fats. I have sold gallons ofrattlesnake oil at $2 an ounce.A Mrs. Pratt from Victorville usedto make jewelry from the vertebrabones of rattlesn akes . I cooked thebackbones until they fell apart, thenwashed them in cold water and driedthem in the shad e. She polished themsome way until they looked like pearls.I sold dressed rattlesnake meat at$5 a pound to people in Los Angelesand San Bernardino. Chinese would

buy all I had, and 1 cou ldn't alwaysfill their orders. The last rattlesna kesI dressed for meat were for twoChinese in 1949 . 1 got $25 for oneand $15 for the other. I dressedonly the extra big ones for meat asthey brough t the best prices. Th emeat looks good and smells like chick-en when it is cooking. I never ateany of it myself.To dress a diamondback you justskin it, take out the entrails, cut offthe head and about six inches of thetail, coil it up as you would an eel,and put it into a conta iner. The h eartwill go on beating for as long as 20minutes after the snake has been de-capitated./ kept tab on the number of dia-mondbacks I caught between 1930an d 1939 because someone told methat the state or county might pay abounty on venomo us snakes. In those

" BE F O R E I C O U L D M O V E , ITG R A B B E D T H E B R I M O F T H E B I GS O M B R E R O I W A S H O L D I N G . . ."

nine years I captured nearly 10,000diamondb acks! After I found outthere would be no bounty, I stoppedcounting, but I know that the totalcatch up to 1949 was at least 15,000diamondbacks, 5000 sidewinders andI don't know how many non-poison-ous kingsnakes, racers, bullsnakes andothers.I have shipped live rattlesnakes to

all parts of the nation and Canada.The snakes are sent by express inwooden boxes, screened inside, withventilation holes at the side. I mark edall boxes "Keep Out Of Sun" because15 minutes of direct hot sun will killa snake.Western diamondbacks stay in themesquite thickets in the daytime, butcome out at night to hunt for theirsuppe r. I would hunt them aftereight o'clock in the evening, using alantern to spot them . With a lantern


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" A FE W Y A R D S I N T O T H E W E E D P AT C HI F O U N D T H E D E A D D O G , A N D 1 0 -

FE E T A W A Y L A Y T H E D 1 A M O N D B A C KT H A T H A D K I LL E D H I M . I Q U I C K L Y

C AP T U R E D I T , A N D T H E O W N E RO F T H E D O G O F FE R E D M E A D O L LA R F O R

T H E P R I V I L E G E O F K I L L I N G T H E S N A K E .I R E F U S E D . . . "

I could find their trails and see theirbodies glistening 20 or 30 feet away.I also hunted them early in the morn-ing, but after nine o'clock when thesun begins to get hot, they bed downalong the edge of the thickets.A diamondback's track nearly al-ways goes in a straight line, and thereis a sort of heart-shaped or thumb-like marking every two or three feetdepending upon the length of thesnake. The small end of the thum b-like print shows the direction of travel.Except for that special marking, thetrack of a kingsnake is very similar.When I find a diamondback's trackgoing into a mesquite thicket, I goaround to the opposite side to see ifthe trail leaves the thicket. If it

doesn't, I go in and hunt until I findand catch him.For this work I carry the snake-catcher I made, and a five-gallon canwith a darned good lid. My catcherhas a noose on one end, and a smallshovel on the other which comes inhand when I have to dig out a denned-in diamo ndb ack. I poke a stick intoevery likely hole in the ground, andif a rattlesnake is at home he will givehimself away by shaking his rattles.If you try to catch a rattlesnake bygrabbing his tail when he is crawlinginto a hole, he will double-up andperh aps bite you. It is better to lethim get all the way in, and then dighim out. It is easier to get the catch eraround his body when he rears up to

strike. If you catch him too closebehind his head, he will thrash aroundand break his own neck.One time I caught a diamondbackwhose head was sticking out of a badg-er hole. I got 10 more snakes bydigging out that ho le. I sold the big-gest for $14 to the manager of a zooat Phoenix, and kept the others formy snake show. I caught more than300 diamondbacks in that one areain two years.

Catching a diamondback in the openis easier and less risky than huntinghim after he gets into a thicket. Ifyou know how to do it, you can pickup a rattlesnake out in the open spaces.When I get within three-feet of asnake, I stop and brace myself witha stick so I won't stumble, raise myboot over his head and just ease downon the snak e. The snak e will settleto the ground, and then I've got him.But I wouldn't advise a tenderfoot totry this.Hunting sidewinders is much harderbecause they are the same color as thesand. They work themselves downinto the sand, leaving only their headsand necks expose d. You can pass byand never see them.When I first started catching rattle-snak es, I was afraid of them. Nowa rattlesnake knows I am not afraid,and will run from me. Most wildthings know if you are afraid of them.In the spring of 1933 when I wasstill new at snake-catching, my UncleJim Walker of Texas and I were hunt-ing at the Cook Date Ranch eightmiles west of Indio . On e morning wefound the track of a big diamondback,and trailed it to a small mesquite

thick et. Since his trail did not leavethe thicket on the opposite side, Iwent in to find him. I came t o a bigmesquite limb laying on the groundwith a lot of desert rat holes aroundit. I began poking into these holes,knowing the snake would rattle whenI found the right one.The next thing I knewas I turnedat a rustling soundthe rattlesnakewas coming right at me. Before Icould move, it grabbed the brim ofthe big sombrero I was holding in myhand. I let the snake keep the hat,dropped my catcher, and got out ofthere pronto! But I went back in andgot the snake when he had movedaway from my catche r. It was a five-foot-long female, and the fightin'est

rattler I ever caug ht. I dragged herout into the open and turned her looseso we could have a good look at her,and she kept circling around ready tofight. Even after I put her in the canshe kept fighting, and so I tied thelid on extra tight. We w alked a mileback home, and she kept rattling allthe way. That's the kind the custom-ers like to see.In the spring of 1934, while mywife was visiting in Oklahoma, anotherfellow and I were batching in an oldhouse on the desert near Indio . I wascatching snakes, and he was workingfor a truck gardener.My friend had a habit of throwinghis pants on the floor at night. Onemorning when he was getting dressed,a big scorpion which had crawled intothe seat of his pants, stung him onthe left hip. He whooped and shucked-off his pants in a hurry, and then

stomped that scorpion as it ran acrossthe floor. As he killed it, the scorpionstung him on his left foot.I chewed some tobacco and put iton the stung spots. It looked as if hehad been stabbed with an icepick. Hisleft leg was numb all day, but wasbetter the next day, though still pain-ful. I had seen lots of desert scorpionsin Oklahoma, but was never stung byone. After this experience, I treatedthem with respect and my friend wascured of his lax habit.One day I crawled into a mesquitethicket and| caught a diamonb ack about5V i feet long. A man who saw measked how in the world did I find thatsnak e. With a straight face, I toldhim, "I crawled through the thicketand the snake grabbed my coattail andhung on while I dragged him out."One June morning in 1934 I caught10 diamondbacks near the CoachellaValley High School. It was rather hotthat morning, so on the way home Istopped at a beer joint at Thermal.The proprietor was standing on the

sidewalk in front of his place, and heasked, "What you got in that box?"When I told him, he said, "Don't youknow them snakes puts out pizen gas?That's what killed the Chinaman atInd io." I tried to convince him thathe was wrong, but he would not changehis mind.Another morning I had caught sevensnakes south of Indio when I foundmyself between two mesquite thickets.In a small space between the thicketsI saw a big rattler coiled in the deadbrush. I put down the can and tookoff the lid. Th e diamo ndba cks in thecan were quiet, and I knew theycouldn't get out unless they weredumped out. While I was trying tocatch the other snake, I stepped on a


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dry limb that upset the can, anddumped all my diamon dbacks. Theybegan to strike and rattle and take-offin every direction.That was the first time I was everin a real hurry, but I got all of themback in the can not one of themescaped.That spring near Indian Wells Isaw the widest diamondback track Ihave ever seen. It was as big as myboot sole. I noticed his tracks severaltimes, heading back and forth from therocks at the base of the mountain toa mesquite thicket about a hundredyards apar t. I was less experiencedthen, and thought it was too risky togo into the thicket after such a big one.The last time I saw his track, it washeaded up a little draw into the moun-tains. I was afraid to trail him intoa rocky canyon where he might hitme from a ledge before I would seehim. If I had known then what I

know now, I would have gone in andcaught him.The largest snake I ever caught inthe desert was a Western diamondbackmore than six-feet long, and weighing10-pounds. The biggest rattlesnake Iever saw anywhere was one I killed in

Oklaho ma. That one was eight-feet-10-inches long and weighed 40 pounds.In the fall of 1936, I was visitingmy son, Ed, at Frank Lawrence's dateranch at Indio. My son, Cu rtis, (nowdead) was playing the violin whileEd picked a guitar. Billy, the baby,was out in the yard asleep. When theboys stopped playing, we heard a rat-tle and saw a diamondback coiled un-

der the baby's bed. I captured thatone in record time.My wife and I were living in atwo-room house at Hinkle's ranchthat year. Hinkle had given us theplace in payment for catching the rat-tlesnakes in his cottonfield so his pick-ers wouldn't quit.Working ahead of the pickers, Icaught 54 diamondbacks in that cottonpatch . The last morning I was there.14 new hands came to help finish thefield. They had picked 40 or 50 yards

down the row before I went into thefield. (It was cool and the snakeswere still bedded down, or so I hadfigured.)I made a tour through the field andcaught a big diamondback a few rowsfrom the pickers . I started back with

the snake in a cotton sack, when Ispotted another diamondback a fewyards from the wo rkers. The sun waswarming-up by then, and the snakerattled. The pickers straightened upand stood looking with open mouthswhile I put the second snake in thesack.Then they dumped the cotton outof their bags and ran out of that fieldin a body. They w eren't going to sharea cotton field with no rattlesnakes!I went snake hunting at Point Happysouth of Indian Wells in October,1937, and among several diamond-backs I captured on that trip was onethat was six-feet-two-inches long. 1took them home and put all of themin with the other snakes I had in abox equipped with a wire screen top.The next day someone came to seethe rattlesnak es. 1 pulled back thecanvas covering the wire top, and that

big diamondback struck at me throughthe screen. He hung his fangs throughthe wire and squirted venom into myleft eye.It burned like fire, and temporarilyblinded me. I thoug ht sure I was agoner. I knew better than to rub

T H E A U T H O R , LE FT , E X A M I N E S A N E W M E M BE R O F H IS M E N A G E R I E


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the eye. My daughter-in-law fixedsome warm soda water for me tobathe the eye, and it was two hoursbefore the burning stopped. Nextmorning my eye was swollen shut.That same October I went to Hemetand caught a "red rock" rattlesnake.It becam e a fine pet. He was a quietmale and never tried to bite me. Thefirst step in taming him was to pickhim up by the back of the neck. SoonI could lift him by the tail; finally bythe middle as if he were a piece ofhose. I would lay him across myshoulders and hold his head in thepalm of my hand but 1 kept my eyeon him and watched his tongue. Youcan tell by the tongue when a snakeis going to strike . He curls it backagainst his head.When spring came (1938), I spentseveral days hunting snakes at Mecca.

On e of them had 37 bab ies. 1 soldthem to a student of herpetology atthe University of Southern Californiafor $1 each.That same day, a man living nearmy camp asked me to go home withhim and look for his dog in a nearbyweedp atch. He said the dog had justyelped in the weeds, and would notcome out. The dog had killed about50 rattlesnakes before then, but hadnever been bitten. The man was afraidto go into the weeds because of thesnakes.A few yards into the weed patch Ifound the dead dog, and 10-feet awaylay the diamondback that had killedhim. I quickly captured it, and theowner of the dog offered me a dollarfor the privilege of killing the snake.I refused for I wanted the diamond-back for my show.I had only one serious bite duringthe 20 years I handled rattlesnakes.That was in 1938.Some Hollywood people with moviecameras had asked me to put a few

rocks in the show pit to make it looknatural. A snake was coiled by oneof these rocks. Thinking it was oneof the smaller diamondbacks, I walkedpast it. How ever it was big enough tostrike over my boot top, and it caughtme just below the left knee.With my pocket knife I stabbed thefang punctures deep to bleed out theveno m. The n I tied a fishing cordbetween the bite and my knee tokeep the remaining venom from get-ting into the bloodstream until I couldget an anti-venom shot.A customer took me in his car tothe hospital in Indio where I was givena full shot of anti-veno m. I had tostay in the hospital six days.For two years before the time I wasbitten, I had been having heart attacks

caused by hardening of the arteries.I had even been hospitalized for thiscondition. When I was bitten by thesnake, I nearly died of a heart attackbut I never had another one afterI recovered from the bite or anytrouble from hardening of the arteries,either! How ever I wouldn't adviseanyone to get bitten by a rattler inorder to cure heart disease.When the diamondback bit me, itfelt as if I had been hit with a club.My leg became numb right down tomy toes for about 10 minutes, thenit began to burn as if red-hot ironswere sticking through it.

The only other time a rattlesnake'sfangs broke through my skin was soonafter I had opened my show pit at

" S O M E T I M E S B O Y S A R O U N D 1 0 O R 1 2Y E A R S O F AG E W I LL R E A C H T H E I RL O N G A R M S A S FAR D O W N T H E W A LL SO F T H E P IT A S T H E Y C A N . "

Palo Verde. A customer asked me ifI could handle a rattlesnake, so Ipicked up a diamondback and heldit as I always did when I talked tothe audience. Somehow the snakesquirmed loose and turned over in myhand . She got one fang clean throughmy left forefinger. I wen t to the PaloVerde Hospital and was given one-fourth of an anti-venom sh ot. Th eswelling in my hand and arm wentdown in a week's time.

The word got out that I sometimesbought snakes which were in goodcondition. One day, upon returningto the farming community at the footof the Coral Reef Mountain after asnake hunt, I found a little six-year-old boy waiting for me. He was calm-ly holding a deadly sidewinder in hishands.I ordered the boy to put down thesnake. He did, and the snake, per-fectly health y, wiggled away . I told

the boy that he must not catch snakesfor me, and that I would not buyfrom him. I got hold of his fatherand told him how lucky his boy hadbeen.

snakes in the pit. Some of these folksare very unruly. My reptiles have hadlighted cigarettes and rocks thrown atthem. Some customers have spit to-bacco juice on them. Snakes are easi-ly injured, and many of mine havebeen killed by people who shouldknow better.I 've had intoxicated young men andwomen try to climb into the snake pitwith me, claiming they had as muchnerve as I had. Nerve, perhap s; sense,no.Sometimes boys around 10 or 12years of age will reach their long armsas far down the walls of the pit asthey can. An extra big rattlesnakemight be able to reach them someday. The most worrisome time comeswhen parents drive up and let severalsmall children come in alone.I always keep my cashbox right over

another box placed in the center ofthe snake pit. The snakes hide in thebottom box when they are frightened.I often run the show alone, and whenI have to get away for a few minutes,I leave the cashbox right where it is.So far nobody has seen fit to steal it.But once I did suffer a most unus-ual theft. In the fall of 1940 I madea hunting trip to Gila Bend, Arizona,in company with another snake pitoperato r. We camped about 10 days,and in that time he caught 23 dia-mondbacks w i t h h i s forked - stick.Using the special catcher I invented,I caught 52 diamondbacks and onebig green Arizona rattler.As soon as we got back to IndianWells, I put my 53 snakes into my18-foot pit. This gave me a total of125 rattlesnakes plus numerous non-poisonous snakes.My friend hurried on home to gethis show in shape. One morning abou ttwo weeks later I turned up for workand discovered that 75 of my biggestrattlesnakes were gone. There was noway they could have gotten out ofthat pit unde r their own power. I waspretty sure who it was that took thosesnakes, but I couldn't prove a thing.It was a big loss to me.

(Ed itor's Note: In April, 195 1, Si-mon Henry Walker died in the SanDiego County Hospital of rattlesnakebite. He was 72 years of age. Thefatal bite occurred while Walker washunting snakes near Descans o. Hewas grabbing for a hand-hold on arock ledge above him when the rattlerbit him on the left wrist. W alke r'sbody was laid to rest in Indio. Theoriginal manuscript from which the fore-going article was taken, was submittedto Desert Magazine by Walker's daugh-t er .) / / /


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P A LE O N T O L O G I S T S R E M O V E A P LA S T E R - O F- PA R IS B LO C K O F F O S S I LIF E R O U S R O C K FR O M Q U A R R Y

naked, forbidding arroyo tells a particu-larly dramatic story of destruction, dev-astation and repair.The crevice is about 75 feet wideand 60 0 feet long. Geologists think ithas been possibly 60 years in the mak-ing. Almost every rain tumbles moreof the surrounding soil into the cut. Somesevere storms in recent years have re-moved as much as five feet of earth atmuseum level and dumped it into thechasm's depth.A succession of well-placed labelsgives museum visitors the grim, unsa-vory picture . Only the last one strikesan optimistic note. It describes theearthen dam, 25 feet high, which has

been built to check erosion and protectthe sides of the wash from further crum-bling."Work of this sort represents one ofthe most valuable conservation effortsin our country," says Mr. Carr, a nat-uralist with many years' experience inmuseum plannin g. "Bu t the distressingsight of the land disappearing forms thecrux of this exhibit and gives us a chanceto discuss aspects of con trol." Museumpersonnel talk regularly with groupsgathered at the arroyo's edge, using thearroyo and the dam as illustrations.Ghost Ranch was a part of the oldPiedra Lum bre Land Gran t. It firstbroke into history when the priest-ex-plorer, Silvestre Velez de Esca lante,mentioned its cliffs in his diaryAugust

1, 177 6. It has long been developedfor luxury ranch living. Several famouspersonalities have made their homesthere, among them the painter of West-ern scenes, Georgia O'Keefe. It was in1955 that its owner, Arthur N. Pack,presented the place to the Presbyterians.On July 11, 1959, Ghost Ranch Mu-seum opened its doors to the public.

Scientists had already been busy atGhost Ranch . In 1947 its Triassic rockshad yielded the fossilized, claw-like toe-nail of a Coelophysis. Paleontologistsconverged on the quarry, and soon 18skeletons of this "granddaddy dinosaur"were found. Dr. Edwin H. Colbert,Curator of Fossil Reptiles, Amphibians,and Fishes at New York's AmericanMuseum of Natural History and Pro-fessor of Vertebrate Paleontology atColumbia University, said they werefully 175 million years old. It was oneof the important fossil finds of this cen-tury.Several of the skeletons were takenEast and displayed at the AmericanMuseum . One has now been returnedto New Mexico for the Ghost RanchMu seum. It is on permanent exhibitionin the main gallery thereprobably theonly dinosaurliving or deadto makea 4000-mile round trip.Coelophysis (pronounced: see-lo-/?'-sis) was an early reptile, small as dino-saurs are usually thought of. Its length(including a long, tapering tail) rarelyexceeded six feetabout the size of a

turkey. Cold-blooded and scaly, it wasa two-footed meat-eater, light enoughfor swift movementa vicious carnivorewhich preyed upon slow-motion amphib-ians and fresh-water fishes of its day.Coelophysis was a direct ancestor of the10-ton monster of similar habits, Tyran-nosaurus Rex. It also preceded the land-giant of all time, Brontosaurus, the 40-ton herbivorous quadruped most com-monly associated with the term "dino-saur."

Visitors learn lots more about thisancient reptile at Ghost Ranch Museum.Coelophysis, for example, was amongthe first creatures to lay amniotic eggswith a hard shell to protect the embryo.This was a significant step in evolution,and it helped the reptiles gain suprem-acy over the amphibians, and dominatethe earth till the rise of the mammalsabout 6 0 million years ago. Practicallyall the reptiles have since died out; justfive types still survivesnakes, lizards,turtles, crocodiles, and rhynchocephali-ans.

In the room with the dinosaur exhi-bition at Ghost Ranch Museum is anassortment of living lizards, bull snakes,rattlesnakes, salamanders, frogs, andtoads . All are displayed, as much aspossible, against backdrops of environ-mental appurtenancesfor detailed ob-servation and study.A back door leads to an open-airamphitheatre, where lectures are given

as the audience sits facing the rock cliffsto the east. These perpendicular for-mations, variegated and majestic, are avast and wonderful exhibition in geol-ogy-To facilitate viewing these cliffs andfurther dramatize the Ghost Ranchstory, the museum has erected a seriesof steps, appropriately called "Walk Upthrough the Ag es." On each step is atelescope, focused upon a certain levelbeyond the church school buildings. Theone on the first step shows the Triassicrock in which the fossils were found.This is the oldest of the Ghost Ranchstrata; it is early Mesozoic, and nearthe cliffs' bottom . Oth er 'scopes are ar-ranged to show later Mesozoic rockEntrada, Todilto, Morrison, and Da-kota in chronological order. Nea reach instrument is an actual specimenof the stratum being viewed; the samplemay be picked up and handled. Atopthis "geologic staircase" is a shaded pa-vilion, with room for groups to congre-gate.About 200 million years of earth his-

tory is depicted in this exhibition, eraby era, as nature patterned it. Dinosaurswere dominant roughly two-thirds ofthat time, and the mammal Man hasruled supreme for just a few thousandyears. But on the pavilion is a mirror


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and a sign with the intriguing mes-sage:This represents the highest formof life on Earth YO U the onlyone with Spirituality, the only onewho can save the world or destroyit.

Natural history provides another greaton-the-spot exhibition at Ghost Ranch.Antelope and mule deer graze thereundisturbed. The gray fox and coyoteconstantly feed upon the fast-reproduc-ing population of jackrabbits, whilepredatory birds control the insect in-crease. Snakes and lizards are encount-ered frequently in the warm months ofthe year.Again, Ghost Ranch Museum hasmade it easy on the visitor. Beyond the"Walk Up Through the Ages" is a seriesof sturdy enclosures which may beviewed from e ither side. In each cage,or pen, a species of animal native toGhost Ranch or its immediate vicinityis on display. Pet names have beengiven most of them. As in other sec-tions of the museum, signs and labelsplay an important role; there is a signnear the cage of Bushy the squirrelwhich reads: "D o Not Feed YourFingers to the AnimalsTheir Diet IsCarefully Supervised."Needless to say, both Bushy and thesign are great favorites with small-fryvisitors to the museum.Perhaps the most popular occupantof the Ghost Ranch cages is GeorgeMountainlion. The museum staff hasbuilt a penthouse for hima shadedplatform above his quarters with a rampleading up to it. George spends lots ofhis time in these luxury surroundings,

T o P AG O S A S P R S . COLO.11 Q ~N.M?X~"fCharria ',!'.,

J ierra AmarillaVodoCebc

6 H 0 S TRANCHMUSEUM

6 4ernanclez

E s p a n o l a-kf '- To SANTA FE

gazing out the maximum-security meshscreens in all directions. Adults andchildren alike enjoy observing this per-manent resident of the establishment inall the vicissitudes of his personality.

Most of the other animals on displayare small. The re is a family of prairiedogs (with a label stating why these ro-dents are valuable assets in the day-by-day balance-of-nature survival drama).Raccoons, bobcats, marmots, and bad-gers are shown, too. At first, Mr. C arrand his associates planned to exhibit abear in this section of the museumgrounds, but it didn't quite work out.They raised a frisky cub, Yogi, for afew months, but when he got too bighe became difficult to manage with safe-ty. Yogi was sent as a gift to the largemunicipal zoo in Albuquerque.

There are a few birds. Oscar, ahorned owl, keeps watch day and nightover the museum 's donation box. (The

museum has free admission, but con-tributions to help defray expenses aregratefully received.) A sepa rate buildingon the premises houses a beaver pondand dam.This beaver house includes appropri-ate descriptions of trapping. One label,for instance, tells of the "mountain men"along the Rio Cham a 100 years ago,

when the now-sleepy village of Abiquiuwas one of the leading fur centers ofNew Mexico."The models in this building showthe superiority of beaver dams onmountain watersheds, as compared withthe kind made by man," says Mr. Carr."The beavers control soil erosion at thesource upstream. Our man-made damsonly catch and submerge the uselesssoil after it has been removed fromhigher places."Bill Carr should know. He has spent

most of his life"boy and man," hesays interpreting natural history andconservation to the public. Ou tdoor ex-hibitions have been his specialty. As ayouth in New York he prepared dis-plays for the popular Bear MountainTrailside Museums. Later, he foundedthe Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum inTucson, and directed it till he went toGhost Ranch. The program he has pur-sued at all three establishments is ap-propriately summed up in a bulletin,"Signs Along the Trail," published forthe Bear Mountain project by the Am-erican Museum of Natural History in1927:"The idea is to encourage the publicto realize that the information we pro-vide is worth having, that the objectswe display are worth seeing." / / /

V I S I T O R S T O G H O S TRANCH STAND BEFORETHE ANIMAL CAGE S .EXHIBIT INFORE GROUND DE ALSW I T H D E S ER TG R O U N D C O V E R A N DS O I L C O N S E R V A T I O N .

< < * * * .


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S H O R T - C U T By NELL MURBARGERT O C A N Y O N S A N D C O L O R . . .

THOUSANDS OF ACRES of spec-tacular desert scenery, hithertoaccessible only by four-wheel-drive vehicle or horseback, were open-ed to automobile travel by completionof the 40-mile Cottonwood Short-Cut,a road built in its entirety by funds andlabor supplied gratuitously by a smallgroup of southern Utah citizens.

In 1957, when the Utah State High-way Department was considering whichof several potential routes would bemost feasible as the main access high-way to Glen Canyon Dam, residentsof several Utah counties proposed andstrongly advocated a road to divergefrom State 54 at Cannonville, in theshadow of Bryce Canyon NationalPark, thence proceeding down the east

side of the Paria River Valley andthrough Cottonwood Canyon to thedamsite. When highway engineers re-jected this proposal as infeasible be-cause of asserted high cost of construc-tion and other factors, and settled uponthe now-paved route leading easterlyfrom Kanab, advocates of the so-calledCottonwood Short-Cut stubbornly setout to build their projected road atthe expense of their own labor andcontributed funds. Und er the chair-manship of 72-year-old Sam Pollackof the small village of Tropic, andsome $5000 in cash raised by publicsubsc ri pti on and t hrough b e n e f i tdances, box socials and ballgames, theroad was pushed through to comple-tion in the summer of 1958.

This splendid example of concertedcommunity effort had come to my at-tention through the columns of severalweekly newspapers published in thatsection of Utah, but my own acquain-tance with the Short-Cut was not madeuntil last autumn when my mother andI were traveling Route 89 betweenPage, Arizona, and Kanah, Utah, withour sights set on the cool pine timber ofBryce Cany on. At a point 26 milesnortheast of Glen Canyon Bridge, weglimpsed a small signboard lettered,"Cannonville," with an arrow point-ing to the right along the course of asunswept graded road. Distance citedon the board was, I believe, 47 miles.

The fact that this byway wouldcarry us to our destination some 80, - - > . -* si*--

To NORTH RI M


15/44

* V* -r-- , t f c

^T H E R O A D W I N D S T H R O U G H C O T T O N W O O D C A N Y O N

miles sooner than the main route in-fluenced our choice far less than didthe element of adventure and chal-lenge offered by a side-road our wheelshad never traveled, and when Momsaid, "Why no t?" I turned the carupon it.After leading through dry rollinghills for a half-dozen miles, the littleroad dipped into the wide cottonwood-fringed wash through which the shal-low Paria River makes its meanderingway.Winding through the narrowing can-yon that cradles the desultory desertstream, we found ourselves thrillingto a land that grew steadily wilder andmore broken. In the high sheerprecipices across the wash, we couldglimpse the yawning mouths of oc-casional caves, and wherever the can-yon widened briefly there were at-tractive natural campsites shaded bycottonwoods. As we gained elevationwe entered the realm of the junipersand pinyons, and 25 miles from theturn-off we were bisecting a regionof colorful pinnacles and promontoriesand fins in myriad shadings from whiteto buff to red. The little dirt road wasvery good, wide enough in nearly allplaces to permit passing, not evenvery dusty, and without any grades ofundue severity.Twenty-eight miles from the pave-ment we camped for the night in apretty grove of pinyons. Next morn-ing, after driving scarcely more thana mile down our road we came to the

turn-off to Grosvenor Arch in ButlerValley, 1.2 miles east.Time-chiseled through a fin of buff-colored sandstone rising sheerly fromthe gray-green sea of sage, GrosvenorArch comprises a pair of windows, onelarge and one small. According to

measurements by the U.S. GeologicalSurvey, the larger of the two openingsis 152-feet in height, 99-feet wide,and only four-feet thick at the top ofthe span. Cattlemen of the region,who had known of the arch for some70 or 80 years, were understandably"amused" when the arch was "dis-covered" in 1939 by an elaborate ex-pedition carrying flags of the NationalGeographic Society and the Explorers'Club of NewYork City, who thereuponnamed the span in honor of Dr. Gil-bert Grosvenor, president of the So-ciety.We found it possible to drive almostto the foot of the arch, where severalpretty campsites are available on ajuniper-speckled flat. Mom declaresshe will never be completely satisfieduntil we can go back to Grosvenor andcamp at its foot at a time when thatgreat picture window is lighted by afull moon.

Returning to the Short-Cut, werambled on through desert-scapes ofmost diverse naturesandstone cliffs,pinnacles, eroded knolls, sage flats,rolling slopes and neat groves of jun-ipers arranged by nature in almostparklike precision, following one uponthe other. Ten miles from the side-

road to Grosvenor Arch, we turnedupon a marked trail leading to Ko-dachrome Flata name that irks meterribly. From the time this regionwas first settled by pioneering Mor-mon cattlemen, this lovely hidden val-ley had been known to all as "ThornyPasture," a nomenclature as rustic andguileless as the men who bestowed it.Bu t due, presumably to high coloringof the formations studding and ringingthe valley, the aforementioned partyof National Geographic explorers hadseen fit to discard that time-honoreddesignation in favor of a copyrightedtradename of the Eastman KodakCompany.But whether you call it KodachromeFlat or Thorny Pasture, it is a spotthat embraces some of southern Utah'smost colorful and spectacular scenery.Reached by two miles of good dirtroad, the little "lost" valley is a placebristling with pinnacles and towers in

gray and brownish-red sandstone, with1000-foot snow-white cliffs rising likea rampart along the north. One ofthe great brown pinnacles looks exact-ly like a fairytale giant, even to thepeaked cap and belted coat. Ano ther,in grayish-white sandstone, made usthink of a medieval tower in whichsome story-book princess might beawaiting her rescuing knight. Whenthe turn-around at the end of the autoroad left us with an appetite for more,we spent a couple of delightful hoursmeandering over the clean sandy floorof the valley, photog raphing its strangeformations and reveling in the peaceand quiet.Back on the main road we soon re-entered the Paria River Valley, andbegan passing picturesque old logcabins, barns, and corrals built in thelong ago by strong pioneering hands,and now all virtually dese rted. Earlyin the afternoon we rejoined the pave-ment at Cannonville, a pleasant villageembracing a few nice old homes anda couple of small general stores. Onlya few miles to the northwest rose the

orange-red turrets of Bryce CanyonNational Parkour destination.Including our two side-trips to Gros-venor Arch and Kodachrome Flat , wehad traveled 51.7 miles since leavingpaved Route 89 nearly 24 hoursearlier, making it rather obvious thatthe Cottonwood Short-Cut had gainedus little or nothing in traveling time.But time, when Mom and I go brows-ing over the desert, is of relativelylittle consequence. We prefer to gaugeour trips by the meter of fascination,interest, and adventureand fromthese standpoints we felt much richerfor having followed that little windingroad through the Kane County hills.


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I I A u t o B r e a k d o w n What yo u should knowWhat yo u should d o

By J. A. THOMPSON

A N ENGINE FAILURE anywhere is a troublesomeinconvenience; a failure in the desert especiallyduring the hot summer monthscould have seriousconseque nces. The fact that it doesn 't happen more oftenis a tribute to the durability of the American automobile.Paradoxically, many of the breakdowns that do occur arebecause of this very quality. Because the average car enginewill keep running long after its peak performance has passed,many car owners neglect minor adjustments and repairsuntil a major breakdown finally forces them into a garage.Car owners who pay careful attention to engine performanceand watch for the first signs of trouble seldom find them-selves afoot.

A desert traveler need not be an experienced mechanicbefore daring to venture beyond the asphalt. Th e abilityto recognize trouble symptoms in the engine or other partsof the car is as mechanical as any of us need b e. The chartbelow outlines the more common indicators of car trouble,with appropriate corrective measures. Should your car evi-dence any of these signs, it would be most unwise to driveit very far from the repair facilities of a garage.BEFORE YOU START THE TRIP

Symptoms of TroubleEngine has become progressivelyharder to start over a period oftime.

Engine skips or misses at all run-ning speeds.(Occasionally wil l display thissymptom only when rounding acurve at highway speed.)

Engine "pings" excessivelywhen pulling up a grade.

Corrective MeasuresReplace spark plugs if they havebeen in the engine more thannine or ten thousand miles, other-wise have old ones cleaned, fl Re-place breaker points in distributorif old ones appear burned or pit-ted, fl Examine automatic choke tomake sure it moves easily. Cleanit with carburetor solvent if i t ap-pears to stick or move with diffi-culty.Push all distributor wires f irmlyinto their receptacles. H Checkspark plugs as above-

Use a higher octane gasoline, fl Ifthis fails to correct trouble, have

Engine makes a hard poundingknock when pulling up a grade.

E ngine makes a loud rattlingknock at regular highway speeds.

Temperature gauge reads abovenormal while traveling athighway speeds.

Electric ammeter gauge showsdischarge or zero reading (or redindicator light flashes) at normalhighway speeds, or when engineis not running.

O il pressure gauge shows zero orbelow normal reading (or redindicator light glows) at normalhighway speeds.

E rratic or diff icult shifting ofgears, or unusual growls ornoises in the transmission.

Brake pedal slowly gives understeady foot pressure.Lights brighten and dim as the

engine speed is increased ordiminished.

a mechanic check the ignitiont iming.Main crankshaft bearings are worn.Must be repaired by an experi-enced mechanic.Caused by worn connecting-rodbearings. Must be repaired by anexperienced mechanic.Check radiator first for leaks.Small leaks may be repaired bypouring a special anti-leak l iquidinto the radiator. Larger leaks orclogged radiator core wil l requireservices of mechanic, fl Replacefan belt i f broken or badly worn.fl If cause of trou ble is not in ra-diator or fan belt, have a mechaniccheck distributor t iming. A re-tarded spark wil l sometimes causeoverheating.This can be caused by a short orground in any one of the severalcircuits in the car's electrical sys-tem, and will require the servicesof an experienced mechanic.First check for low oi l level. Ifoil level is normal, then wornconnecting rod bearings are prob-ably at fault, and must be repairedby an experienced mechanic.Caused by worn transmission partssuch as gears, bearings, valves,etc. Must be repaired by a trainedmechanic.Wheel and/or master break cylin-ders leak; should be replaced bytrained mechanic.Caused by a low battery charge orc o rr od e d t e r m i n a l c o nn ec ti on s.Check battery charge f irst withhydrometer. I f okay, then removecables and scrape terminal postsand insides of cable clamps to ashiny brightness.


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for loose wires. Push any of the heavy ignit ionwires that may be loose f irmly into their recep-tacles .


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t igi LIT.

A P H O T O G R A P H OFH O P I L A N D T A K E N IN 1923 BYT H E A U T H O R

THE MORNING STARWith this chapter, Desert Magazine brings to a close the previ-ously unpublished series by

Laura Adams Armerin which she recounts her experiences among the Navajo andHopi Indians during the years 1923 to 1931. Mrs.Armer, now 88years of age, is not only one of the first writers to become estab-lished as an authority on the culture of these tribesmen; she isamong the most gifted persons with pen and camera ever totravel the beautiful trails of northern Arizona. Desert Magazinetakes this opportunity to pay public tribute to Mrs. Armer, andto express its deep gratitude to her for having chosen this publi-cation as the medium for presenting this summing-up of herIndian land adv entur es. The Editor

ORAIBI BOUND, I arrived at theHopi village in time to witness

a bean dance in an undergroundkiva. On the morning before thatperformance I arose at dawn that Imight see the Katchina hand out thesprouted beans grown and forced in

the kiva. These were given to thechildren of the village along with Kat-china dolls and toy bows and arrows.The day dawned still and calm, dis-closing bashful little children standingin doorways waiting for the presents.The older ones tagged along after the

bearer of gifts, reminding me of thechildren following the Pied Piper,only this mancarried a rattle. It wasdramatic and impressive, a sort ofHopi Santa Claus celebration.

At night I went down the ladder


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into the crowded kiva. A central stovegave forth heat . I found a seat andwatched the young men descenddressed in colorful costumes. Theywore enormous conventionalized cow-head masks. There ensued consider-able mooing before the whole herdcommenced the song and dance. Ab-sorption in the ceremony broughtassurance that the mooing and singingwould materialize plentiful food. Pres-to ! The masked dancers producedsteamed corn on the cob and stringsof red apples which were distributedto the audience. All ate apples andthrew the cores on the floor near thestove. The attendant swept them upwith a native grass brush to get readyfor the next group of dancers.

Thus was spring brought to Oraibiwith the first ceremonial of the year.On the hill little weeds grew jade-green leaves that hugged the groundlike gem stones. Th e Ho pi childrenasked me to draw with them, so I wentto school five days a week as I haddone on previous visits to Ora ibi. Igathered the day's work and returnedto my room to mount the preciouspaintings on gray paper. I intendedto take them East with me. Seekingmaterial for the new book kept mebusy. Lorenzo Hubbell, Jr., the trader,helped in every way. Onc e, when mymind seemed empty and blank, hesaid:

"This is a bright, sunny morningwith no wind. Tak e your paper andpencil and a lunch . Hav e one of theHopi boys drive you up to the top ofthe mesa. Just sit and wait for some-thing to hap pen . I'll send the boyback for you at three o'clock."So I went to a place suspended be-tween heaven and earth, where theair was clean and pure, the sparseshrubbery pungent with health-givingincense. It was so quiet and the dis-tant mountains so far away, I let my-self rest. I did not thin k. I sat in the

sunshine alone in far reaches of des-ert. How blue were the distant hills!How imperceptibly they became blue.From my feet resting on pink gravel,the desert stretched away pink andsoft gray-green, and then it was bluewith a blue sky above it. Th e blue-ness was vibrant with vitality descend-ing and ascending from sky and earth.Time was no longer. I shut my eyes.My ears heard no sound, but some-where, somehow in the shell of me Iknew that heaven and earth and Iwere one. I walked in the middle.Sitting on the high mesa with theglory of sunshine enfolding the desert,I heard someone walking toward me.A very old Hopi from Hotevilla stoodbeside me. Short, brown and wrinkled,his gray hair hanging about his face,

" ' * -

he seemed like some gnome of therocks, some genie from the ArabianNig hts' tales. I won dered if he wouldpresent me with a lamp to rub. Heleaned down, touched my white dress,felt of my shoes, looked into my facewith a puzzled expression whichseemed to say: "Is this a hum an orwhat?" Then he spoke the only Hopiword I knew: "Lolam i." That wordmean s beautiful. I stood up and wavedmy hand toward the western mountain,snow-capped; toward Navajo Moun-tain in the north; toward the wholeencompassing horizon where earthmelted into sky and I said: "Lolami."The genie had given me a lamp torub. It was the word beauty. Hewalked toward H otevilla. I began towrite of the Navajo idea of the cos-mos. The old medicine man, Na Naihad told me of the four sides of theworld where men of turquoise, whiteshell, abalone and jet sparkle in theirstrength, upholding the heavens above;

twelve men at every point; north,south, east and west, holding the skyin place. He had told me of the sacredmountains and he said to rememberthe song in the heart of the MorningStar. I had not been sure about that

AN OLD HOPI MAN, AN OLD KIVA, AN OLD BE LIE F

song. Na Nai took it for granted thatI knew it. Why was I making sandpaintings if I knew not the songswhich went with them? I remembe reda day when I visited Na Nai in hishogan and found him in earnest con-versation with the learned Snake priestof the Ho pis. They were sharing theirwisdom. On the floor of the hoganNa Nai outlined with his finger a figureof a four-pointed star. The snakepriest watched, nodded approval. Icould not understand their words, butI knew that Sontso, the Morning Star,was under discussion.

On the mesa-top, just sitting andwaiting for something to happen,knowledge came to me. Before merose myriad turquoise-tinted dreams ofthe desert; white shell dreams, rain-bow-hued dreams of abalone; jewelspolished by generations of poets seek-ing the same assurance as white menseek: constancy and peace. The tinteddreams became personified. Theywere dancers from the four quartersof heaven and earth, those dancerswho played their parts in the hundredsand paintings I had copied. Whenthey do not dance in lines of four,


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they move around a circle, alwaysgoing sunwise. The circle is the deepcenter.I remembered a painting from theBig Star Chant where a black star isthe center. It is four-pointed, outlinedwith white rays of light. It serves asthe fire in the house of the stars. Thestar people in the four quarters are

of the four colors, dressed in armor,similar to that of the warrior gods, inthe Upward-moving Chant . Each hasa bow and arrow. From the armshang long strings with arrow pointsattached. The headdresses are madeof five arrow points. I knew thatSontso represents Venus, the MorningStar. There came to my mind thesong of Nayenezgani, child of theSun-Bearer, Slayer of the monsters,savior of the people of the earth:"The slayer of the Alien Gods,That now am I.The Bearer of the SunArises with me,Goes down with me;But sees me not."

Then I knew that the beautiful Tol-tec story of Quetzalcoatl, the Feath-ered Serpent, white god of the air,saintly ruler and civilizer, had reachedthe Hopis and the Navajos. Mexicanlegend tells how Quetzalcoatl taughtmen to follow his austere and virtuouslife, to hate all violence and war, tosacrifice no men nor beasts, but tomake mild offerings of bread andflowers. He taught picture-writing andthe calendar, also the artistic work ofthe silversmith.Native tradition holds that whenQuetzalcoatl was driven from hiskingdom by the artifices of a magician,he journeyed to the seacoast, donnedthe feather ornament and the mask ofturquoise mosaic, as the dead werearrayed on the funeral pile, and cre-mated himself. The heart flew up toheaven and transformed itself into theMorning Star. This story, so full ofthe hope of a tortured people, hasfiltered into the legends of the tribesin the north. It suited the minds ofthe Navajos weary of war. It suitedthe Hopis who call themselves thePeaceful People. It became the song

in the heart of the Morning Star. Itwas Lolami.So absorbed had I become with thelegends of the great land which knowsno boundaries in thought, that I wasa bit dazed when the automobile cameto take me back to Oraibi. I had beentraveling on rainbows, on clouds andrafts of sunbeams. I was filled with

great joy and wonder when I arrivedat the trading post. Mr. Hubbell no-ticed my exuberance and asked me totell him what had happened. I de-scribed the old Hopi who had touchedmy garments and said lolami. I con-fessed that I had felt a certain fearthat he might become too curious,too intimate. Mr. Hubbell said:" N o . It was only that you are sowhite, that he said lolami. Besides,yo u are wearing the turquoise."A s I look back upon my Navajo-

Hopi experiences I think that the twomonths spent working on my book inOraibi, held more peace than any twomonths of my life. Fine old medicinemen spent hours telling me of theirlegends. Mr. Hubbell translated withrare understanding . W hen it cametime for me to leave for the railroad,he took from his safe necklaces ofsilver and turquoise, bracelets of raredesign, rings set with blue-sky stones."Show them to the people youmeet, wear what you care to, sell anyyou can," he said. "Keep the turquoise

near you, then you will not forget ushere on the desert."I was wearing on my finger the bluepiece I had found in the sand thatThanksgiving Day years before. Itwas set in old silver made by somelong - haired silversmith working be-neath a turquoise sky. I would notforget, nor would there be erased frommy memory a sand-storm which ragedfor four days before I left. It blewdust under the doors, in every creviceof the house, piled it up on the porch.It obscured the disk of the sun, turn-

ing it and the dim rays it sent to tur-quoise blue. It stood looking out uponthe desert world and I marveled thatthe orb itself had become a turquoisependant in the deep above. / / /

I:I I :

I I I :IV :V :V I :

V I I :VIII:IX :X:

Laura Armer's Desert Magazine SeriesMarch 1960: "Navajoland In 1923"April 1960: "Because I Wore TheTurquoise"M a y 1960: "AVisit To TheHopi"June 1960: "Days Spent In Blue Canyon"Augus t 1960: "Tony ThePony"October 1960: "When Thunder and Snake Are Asleep"December 1960: "TheUnfinished Ceremony"February 1961: "IGive You Na Nai"April 1961: "The Big Snow"June 1961: "TheMorning Star"

H A R DR O C KS H O R T Y. . . OF DEATH VALLEYMisery Mike walked up thesteps of the Inferno Store. HardRock Shorty, seated on the porchin his favorite spot, was waitingfor him with a question.

"Did ya see th' revenooer?"Shorty asked."Fella weren't no revenooer,"answered Mike."Th' fella I seed at yer cabinlast night looked like a revenooerto me," said Shorty in a knowingvoice. "He had thet 'I'm th' law'look about 'im.""He's the law, all right buthe ain't no revenooer," said Mikewith a sigh. "He's got somethin'to do with thet new World War Ilaw 'bout income tax.""Checking into you?" askedShorty."Yep. Made me feel real im-portant 'til I understood him tosay it might cost me some cash."Mike took a chair next toShorty's and then reached for hiscorn cob pipe. When his smokewas hanging thick in the hot stillair above the two men, he wenton with his report."This here fella says: 'Mr. Mike,accordin' to yer own statement,you been prospectin' fer 41 years.Thet's a long time an' surelyyou've made yerself a respectfulpile o' money in them 41 years o'huntin' minerals in these hereparts.'"But, I'm up on thet city fella." 'How 'bout deductions?' I asks

him." 'Thet counts in yer favor,' heanswers.' 'Well, thet no good mule yon-der is a special deduction o'mine,' I tells him straightaway."This here income tax manstarts protestin', but I explains:'TrueI been prospectin' fer 41years, but I figured out a whileback thet I spent only four o' them

years actually huntin' fer min-erals. Spent th' other 37 ahuntin'thet danged mule every time he'dstray from camp.' "


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MONUMENTBOUNDARY. Nomarkers are necessaryto show the boundariesof Joshua TreeNational Monument.Neat little homesextend right up to itsline. Under theHomestead Act, everycitizen is entitled to apiece of the U.S.On the desert, thisdream becomesa reality.

See This Month'sBack Coverfo rHENRY MOCKEL'S

painting ofTHISTLE SAGE

the road. By preference th ey us e As it is a fair certainty there will be no rainhe night, such ec onom ies c an be indulged in.

OLD AND NEW . Som etimes it's hard to tell the differencebetween a ghost mining camp and a modern-day operation.In fact, many of the old camps are used by part-time pros-pectors who have families and permanent residences else-whe re. The worth of mining claim s cannot be estimatedby the passing tourist. The owner might gain an annual$1000 or $30,000and again he may be dreaming of theda y his hard work realizes its first pen ny . / / /


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M ETAL TAKES a long, long timeto corrode away in the dry desertsof the Southwest. So it is possiblethat two ancient bullet-riddled five-gal-lon kerosene cans still exist somewherein the lonely land between the CargoMuchacho Mountains and the ColoradoRiver. But if so, they must be prettywell out of sight. M en includin g JimSullivan, who shot these cans full of holeshave been hunting them since at least1900. They areor werethe onlyreal clue to the golden ledge Sullivanfound and lost.

I first heard of the Lost Sullivan adozen years ago, on a moonlit yarn-telling night at old Picacho camp, at theedge of the country where the ledge ishunted. Ed Rochester told the story.He had learned it long before from BillyHoran, and Billy was Sullivan's bosswhen the Irishman made his strike.

Ed was very sketchy about detailsthat night for he was still actively search-ing for the Sullivan. In fact, he thoug hthe had it cornered in one square mileof desert. He was just waiting for rain-fall to fill the few natural tanks of thatarea. Then, without the problem ofpacking in every drop of water he wouldneed, Ed was going to screen that final620 acres for the elusive golden outcrop.Wateror rather the lack of it in that

waterless land, due to his own careless-ness broug ht about Sullivan's m isad-ventures when his Indian friend firstguided him to the rich ledge. The exactdate that Sullivan had his one chance

at fortune is forgotten now . It has beengiven as the early 1 900 s. But the strikewas made while Billy Horan was atHedges, in the Cargo Muchachos, andBilly told me he was in that camp be-tween 1892 and 1896.The Cargo Muchachos consist of asmall group of rugged peaks in the farsoutheastern corner of Imperial County,just north of Mexico and between thegreat sand dunes and the mountainsbordering the Colorado. Rich gold minesand placers have been worked in thislittle range since the memory of manrunneth no t. A California Division ofMines report dates the first mining inthe region as early as 1780-81.Hedgeswhich later became Tum-co and is now Tumco ghost townwasthe largest camp in the history of the

Cargo Muchachos. It was located in asmall valley on the west side of therange, near its northern end. The firststrike there may have been made in1877, but Hedges began its real boomabou t 1 89 2. Its mines chiefly theGolden Cross grouphave been cred-ited with a total production of at least$3,000,000.Billy Horan was active in freightingand staging during most of his life. Heworked the first freight road from Yumato Hedges through the Cargo Mucha-chos, following American Girl Canyonwhich lies south of the camp . Billy alsowas constable at Hedges and co-ownerof the Stingaree Saloon.Jim Sullivan was Billy's floor man-

ager at the Stingaree. Billy describedthis saloon as being in a district outsidethe company town, "a rough place downin a hollow at the edge of Hedges wherethere was plenty of knifings and killings."Sullivan must have been a rugged man,since his most important duty was"bouncing" customers who got tootough for this toughest part of a toughcamp, and he seems to have experiencedno difficulties with his job. He waslarge, heavily built, and well suppliedwith muscle and physical courage.

Also, he apparently felt free tochoose his friends where he wished, sinceone of them was a Christianized MissionIndian working as "swamper" (clean-upman ) at the Stingaree. This Indian hadlived for years, probably with in-laws,on the Yuma Indian Reservation alongthe Colorad o. But although he was farfrom his home tribe, he remained stead-fast enough in his religion to covet dear-ly a large gold crucifix Sullivan habitu-ally wore dangling from the heavy goldwatch chain spread across his vest. Andhe considered himself on good enoughterms with the Irishman to ask for it asa gift.

Sullivan was not parting with his cru-cifix. Bu t instead of refusing b luntly,he made a counter-proposal."You bring me gold," he told hisIndian friend, "and I'll make you onejust like it."Sullivan's offer may have been puregood will, but there are reasons to be-lieve he had something else in mind.

SULLIVAN'S LOST GO

By Harold O. Weight


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Without doubt he was aware of the uni-versal traditionwhich still existsthatthe Yuma Indians knew the location ofmany gold ledges but never had andnever would lead a white man to one.And the swamper at the Stingareegave the expected response: "I knowwhere there's lots of gold, but Indiancan't get any of it.""You don't have to take any," Sulli-van said. "Jus t show me where it is.I'll take it. Th at's different. If thereis a curse, it will fall on me, not you."In time Sullivan wore down the In-dian's fears and objections. The Indianagreed to guide the Irishman to gold.Ed Rochester believes Sullivan was suc-cessful only because the Indian was nota Yuma, but an "outlander" living withthem. Yum as of the old days, he says,not only were unwilling to guide whitemen to such deposits, but were certainthere would be reprisals from their gods

and their fellow tribesmen should theydo so. Even today the old men will nottalk about such things to whites, andhave not passed details on to theirAmericanized sons.By the time Sullivan and the Indianwere agreed and ready, hot weather hadcome upon the lower desert. It was notime to go prospecting. Not that thisstate of affairs ever seemed to botherthe oldtimers and pioneer prospectors.They were as likely in August to headinto Death Valley or the Salton Sinkas they were in Decem ber. And they

were tough enough and sufficiently wisein desert ways to get away with it mostof the time. But Sullivan was askingfor trouble when he dared the summerheat. He was neither desert man norprospec tor. Ha d he been either, thereprobably would be no Lost Sullivantoday.Besides all his other activities, BillyHoran maintained a small blacksmithshop along the Yuma freight road east

of the Cargos, between the mouth ofAmerican Girl Pass and Black Butte.He was heading for the shop to shoesome mules at the time Sullivan wasready for his big adventure . Th e Irish-man and the Indian hitched a ride withBilly in his buckboard as far as theblacksmith shop. All their supplies andequipment were packed on a big burrotied behind the buckboard.When they arrived at the blacksmithshop, Billy went to work and paid nomore attention to the goldseekers. Buthe was certain that they headed east.Ancient and deep-cut Indian trails crossthis part of the Colorado Desert andconverge on American Girl Pass. Sinceit is likely the Indian saw the goldenledge while traveling such a trail, they

T H E L AT E BIL LY H O R A N W A S J I M S U L L IV A N 'SB O S S W H E N T H E IR I S H M A N FO U N D A N D LO S TT H E G O L D E N LE D G E . H O R A N LAT E R H E L PE DS U L L IV A N H U N T FO R H I S LO S T M I N E A N D W A ST H E M A I N S O U R C E O F D E T A IL S O F T H E S E A R C H .

PE BBLE M O U N T A I N , O N T H E P IC A C H O R O A D ,W A S T H E P LA CE F R O M W H I C H S U L L I VA N C O N -D U C T E D H I S M A N Y S E A R C H E S F O R H I S LO S TLE D G E . H E C A MP E D S O U T H O F T H E M O U N T A I N .

probably followed one of them. Butonly Sullivan and the Indian knew wherethey went. And it is not of record thateither ever detailed the route they tookor the place where they finally stopped.It was perhaps 15 air miles fromBilly Horan's blacksmith shop to theColo rado River. Toda y this desert, forthe most part, still is wild and lonelya country first of wide washes and can-yons, and then of broken and confusedvolcanic buttes, mesas and hills thatreach almost to the river. Somewhere inthis region, on the Indian's instructions,they made cam p. If Sullivan's latersearches were anywhere in the right area,that camp must have been east of thepresent Picacho road and not too farfrom the odd hill of boulders calledPebble Mo untain. The ledge must havebeen somewhere near that camp . TheIndian took Sullivan to it. The Irish -man knocked off pieces of ore in whichhe could see native gold.Besides the canteen they had usedup enroute, the gold hunters' entire w atersupply was contained in two five-gallonkerosene cans packed on the burro. Re -turning from the ledge to camp, Sullivandrank from oneand found the watertasted strongly of kerosene. He triedthe other. It was as bad. Half drunkand just plain mad, Sullivan hauled outhis revolver and perforated both cans.After watching the water vanish intothe hot ground, there was nothing leftto do but backtrack to the nearest cer-

tain supply Billy Horan's blacksmithshop.As Billy remembered it, he saw theadventurers returning the third day afterthey left. Sullivan, nearly unconsciou s,was riding the burro . He was ridingbecause even if not suffering from thirstand heat, he would have been unable towalk. He had worn low dress shoes onhis expedition. They had gone to pieces,and his feet were cut and swollen and


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THE MALPAIS COUNTRY BE TWE E N THE COL-O R A D O R IVE R A N D P IC A CH O R O A D . T H I SRUGGE D T E RR AIN E XPLAINS W HY S U LLIVANC O U L D N O T R E L O C A T E T H E G O L D E N L E D G E .

blistered. But he still had his goldensamples.Billy Horan loaded the big Irishman

into his buckboard and hauled him backto Hedges. There the ore was assayed,reportedly by Andy Trumbo, assayerfor the mining company then operatingHedges. The values were $100 0 a tonand higher in gold. Th e ore appearedto be of two kinds: yellowish-red withlimonite, and chocolate brown withhem atite. Iron and gold in quartz. Suchore does not resemble that found atHedges or elsewhere in the Cargos, orat Picacho.It soon became evident that to re-cover, Sullivan needed more care thanwas available at Hedges. He was againloaded in a wagon, hauled down to theSouthern Pacific at Ogilby, and shipped"inside" to a hospital. When h e leftthe hospital he went on up to the min-ing town of Park City, Utah.The following winter Jim Sullivanre-appeared at Hedges. He was look-ing for his Indian sw amper friend. Butthe Indian had vanished. Sullivan couldnot locate him there or on the YumaReservation. Quite possibly those In-

dians had punished him for guiding Sul-livan to the ledge, or he had decidedthat he would be healthier if he left thecountry. And if one believed in an In-dian curse on the gold, it would seemthat Sullivan had indeed taken it uponhimself. Not only had he almost diedon the desert, he now began a seriesof fruitless searches for that golden for-tune that had once been in his hands.

Uncertain of the location of the goldand without the Indian to guide him,he decided to attempt to retrace theroute they had taken from Billy Horan'sblacksmith sho p. This effort led himacross the Picacho road near PebbleMountain and into the broken countrythat Ed Rochester calls "the malapai"beyond it. Here he searched until hissupplies ran out. He then returned toHedges and hired Billy Horan to haulhim and supplies and water out thePicacho road to Pebble Mou ntain. Heunloaded his gear and set up camp atthe southern end of the mou ntain. Hespent the entire winter in an unsuccess-ful search for the ledge. Then h e wentaway.

Sullivan returned the winter of 1

Documents

196106 Desert Magazine 1961 June