193903 desert magazine 1939 march

8/14/2019 193903 Desert Magazine 1939 March

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. . . W e W ill BuyYour First EditionWe will pay O N E D O L L A R for each copy

of V o l. 1 ,N o . 1 (November, 19 37 ) . . of theDeser t M agazin e . . . delivered to our officein good condition.

Anticipating a large sale for back copies of the Desert Magazine we printed960 copies of the first edition for our reserve stock. During the year all weresold except a handful which we are jealously guarding. We do not want tosell out completely; we need more copies. We will pay $1.00 for every copydelivered to us in good order.

NEW PRICE FOR VOLU ME 1 '4.50Now effective, the price for the first twelve editions of the Desert Magazine , com pletely index ed an dbound in handsome gold-embossed binder is $4.50, shipped post-paid in special carton anywhere inthe U. S.

SCHEDULE OF SUBSCRIPTION PRICESSing le co pies ea ch number excep t first edition .25Go ld-em bos sed loose-leaf binder (specify volu me number) 1.00Volu me 1 com plete (12 cop ies an d binder) 4.50Volu me 1 without binder 3.50Volum e 1 with binder and one-year ad va nce subscription 6.50Volu me 1 with binder an d two-year ad va nc e subscription 7.75Volum e 1 with binder and three-year ad va nc e subscription 9.50REGULARSUBSCRIPTIONRATES

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All ab ov e prices effective J anu ary 15, 1939. If sing le copies are missing from your files, you can fillthem at 25 cents a copy. Specify month and year when ordering. These copies are also going fast; or-der while supply lasts.Single copies of the first edition are withdrawn from sale except in 12-month volume as listed above.

597 State Street TH E El Centre Californiam fl G n z i n E


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MARCH

Civic groups in the desert area areinvited to usethis column for announc-ing fairs, rodeos, conventions andotherevents which have more than local in-terest. Copy must reach the Desert Mag-azine by the 5th of themonth preced-ing publication. There is no charge forthese announcements.FEB. 26 TOMARCH 5Arizona StateCitrus show and fiesta at Mesa,Ari-zona.M A R C H 1 Southwest Museum, LosAngeles, will open exhibit of Ameri-can Indian portrait paintings by E. A.Burbank. Fifty of Mr. Burbank's col-lection of 125 figures, will be pre-sented.MARCH 3-10Livestock show at Tuc-son.MARCH 4-5Sierra club of Californiato camp near mouth of Carrizocan-yo n in Santa Rosa mountains andexplore lower sector of Deep canyon.Don Kelly, leader.MARCH. 5Lecture on "Silverwork ofthe Navaho Indians" at SouthwestMuseum, Los Angeles, by ArthurW oodw ard .MARCH 5Annual t rek of theD onsof Phoenix to Superstition mountain.James A.Murphy, chairman.MARCH 5-13Annual Imperial ValleyMidwinter fair at Imperial. DormanStewart, Secretary.MARCH 11-12Convention of Inter-national Four States Highway Associ-

ation at Brawley, California. BobHays, secretary.M A R C H l l - 1 2 ^ D o g s h o w at Tucson.MARCH 13-15Highway 66( the Wil lRogers highway) convention andfiesta at Albuquerque, NewMexico.W . H. Black, chairman.MARCH 15Dr. John J. Thornber tolecture on "Plants of theDeser t" atAll States club house inTucson.MARCH 17Freder ic H. Douglas ofDenver Art Museum to lecture atthe Herad Museum, Phoenix.MARCH 17Desert Circus at PalmSprings, California.MARCH 18Annual northern Arizonahigh school debate at Arizona StateTeachers' College at Flagstaff.MARCH 22-25 Pioneer miners tohold celebration at Miami, Arizona.MARCH 23-27Annual Arizona horseshow to beheld in Phoenix.MARCH 24-25 Second annual con-ference on roads and streets at Tuc-son, conducted byUniversity of Ari-zona engineering department.MARCH 25-26Sierra club of Cali-fornia to camp in RedRock canyonon Mojave desert andexplore Petro-glyph canyon. George Diack, leader.

Roads Closed bySnowAccording to theArizona State high-ay department , the fol lowing roadsfor thewinter due to

IO W :Jacob Lake to N o r t h Rim of G ra n dtoEagle creek; State 72, from Mc-toGreer Junction.

V o l u m e 2 MARCH, 1939 N u m b e r 5C O V E R

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W h i t e S a n d s of NewM e x i c o , P h o t o g r a p h byN . J. S t r u m q u i s t , D e m i n g , N e w M e x i c o .M a r c h e v e n t s on theD e s e r tP r i z e w i n n i n g p i c t u r e sG l i m p s e s of theA n c i e n t sB y R U TH FA LK E N B U R G K IR KG e n t l e P a d r e I n v e n t o r of N a v a h o A l p h a b e tB y M R S . W H I T E M O U N T A I N S M I T H . . .A n n o u n c e m e n t of p h o t o g r a p h i c c o n t e s t . . .S a g a of O l d P i c a c h o

B y J.W I L S O N M c K E N N E YC l a s s in D e s e r t B o t a n y 14S o u t h w e s t W i l d e r n e s s J o u r n e y sBy EVERETT RUESS 15H a r d R o c k S h o r t y of D e a t h V a l l e yB y L O N G A R R I S O N 16Th i s is MyD e s e r t S o n gB y O R A L.O B E R TE U FFE R 17

P H O T O G RAP H E R Z u n i W h e r e C o r o n a d o T r o dB y J O H N S T E W A R T M a c C L A R Y 20" F e e l " of theD e s e r t 21H o w theG r e a t C h i e f s M a d e the SunAs told toH A R R Y C. J A M E SPERSONALITIES T h e y G u a r d theC a v e s inP r o v i d e n c e M o u n t a i n s

B y R A N D A L L H E N D E R S O NR e s u l t s of D e s e r t M a g a z i n e r e a d e r p o l l . . . .Pit of the D e a dB y J O H N S H A R R I N G T O N" T h o s e F u n n y S h a p e d R o c k s "

B y J O H N H ILTO N 29D e s e r t t e m p e r a t u r e s d u r i n g J a n u a r y 32S u n s e t on theD e s e r t , ando t h e r p o e m s . . . . 33H e r e andT h e r e on theD e s e r t 34P r i z e a n n o u n c e m e n t forM a r c h 37C o m p i l e d by T R A C Y M. S C O T T 38H i g h l i g h t s of m i n i n g n e w s of them o n t h . . . . 40W r i t e r s of t h e D e s e r t 41R e v i e w i n g p u b l i c a t i o n s of theD e s e r t 42J u st B e t w e e n Y o u a n d M e , by the Ed i to r . . . . 44C o m m e n t f r o m D e s e r t M a g a z i n e r e a d e r s . . . 45

CAL E NDARP H O T O G R A P H YI N D I A N SPERSONALITYPRIZESMININGB O T A N YCO NT E NT M E NTFICTIONDESERT HOME

C A M E R A A R TLEGEND

S URVE YADVE NT UREG E M S

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WEATHERPOETRYN E W SL ANDM ARKP L ACE NAM E SMININGCO NT RI B UT O RSB O O K SC O M M E N TLETTERS

The Desert Magazine is published monthly by the Desert Publishing Company, 597State Street, El Centro, California. Entered as second class matter October 11, 1937 at thepost office at El Centro, California, under the Act of March 3, 1879.Title registered No. 358865 in U. S. Patent Office, and contents copyrighted 1939 bythe Desert Publishing Company. Permission to reproduce contents must be secured fromthe editor in writing. Subscription rate $2.50 per year in U. S. A. or possessions. Singlecopy 25 cents. RANDALL HENDERSON, EditorTAZEWELL H. LAMB, Associate EditorJ. WILSON McKENNEY, Business ManagerManuscripts and photographs submitted must be accompanied by full return postage.The Desert Magazine assumes no responsibility for damage or loss of manuscripts or photo-graphs although due care will be exercised for their safety. Subscribers should send noticeof change of address to the circulation department by the fifth of the month preceding issue.

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Marie Guassic By MRS. BILLY ANDERSON3517 Rowland AvenueBurbank, California

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First prize picture in the Januarycontest sponsored by the DesertMa gazine. Mrs. Gua ssic is a 113-year-old Cahuilla Indian woman re-siding near Thermal, California. Thephotograph was taken with a Leicaat 2:30 p. m., December 31. Exposure12'5, time 1/100 second.

Death Valley DunesBy HARRY DACQUET710 West 108th StreetLos Angeles, California

This picture awarded second prizein the January contest. Taken with aZeiss Super-Ikomat 616. S. S. Panfilm, 1/25 second at f16. Making useof the delayed shutter action in hisZeiss, the photographer took thispicture of his wife, Amelia and him-self in the early morning hours.


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Art sketch by Gloria Widmann

e A ncien tsWhat manner of man inhabited the desertarea of the Southwest before the dawn of the civi-lized era? For years the men of science have beendigging into ancient ruins and exploring cavesand burial grounds and prehistoric garbagedum ps seeking the ans wer to this question . Vol-umes have been written as to the findings and con-clusions of those engaged in this research. Sincefew readers have the time and opportunity tostudy all this material, Ruth Kirk in the accompa-nying text, has condensed the entire story to abrief outline for those who would like to get thegeneral picture at one reading.

By RUTH FALKENBURG KIRKPhotos Courtesy School of Ameri-can Research Museum of NewMexico

HAT the man looked like, andhow he was dressed, is purelya speculative matter. That he

erd of bison grazing nearby, a predatoryMaybe he got his prey, maybe not.

American Southwest contemporaneouslyAnother phantom on the horizon is the

nd even the tiny horse of the dawn-of-

stantiation for Mr. Bishop's Cap, sincehe might have come along somewhatlater, laid himself down to die on a heapof prehistoric bones, and then stirredaround until his remains were all mixedup with those of the long dead animals.There may have been an actual contactbetween the man and the beasts; theremay not have been.Now Mr. Gypsum Cave, Nevada, isanother matter. He was lucky enough notto leave himself in the cave with theground sloth, but he left convincing evi-dence of his occupancy at the same time.This evidence consists of knife blades,well worked sticks and even a stone-tip-ped spear, which he must have regrettedlosing. Ground sloths lived in this coun-try a mighty long time ago, so Mr. Gyp-sum Cave is really an ancient inhabitant.Whether it was he, or some of his un-discovered descendants who brought corninto the countryprobably from Mexi-can cousins to the south, we are suresome of these good people were responsi-ble, and a great boon they proved tocoming civilizations.We are a little short of dates about thewhole business, but by the time the

Basketmaker first left his imprint, a gooddeal of time had elapsed, archaeologicalcomputations dating him somewherefrom 2000 to 1500 B. C.This Basketmaker I manhis era isdivided into three phases was a no-madic soul, who lived on game, wildvegetables and such fruits as grew inthe untamed country around him. He

probably had inherited the corn of Mr.Gypsum Cave, but at the beginning of hisera he didn't take agriculture very seri-ously. We must pay tribute to this fel-low's basketry, because he earned histitle well. The baskets, sandals, rope andtextiles of this early period, made mostlyfrom yucca fibers, are fine and smoothlywoven, of intricate design and highcraftsmanship. This man was an artist,even when he had no permanent home,and little of anything else.Mr. Basketmaker II with his wife and

babies is a descendant of No. I, being asemi-hunting, semi-agricultural chap. Thecorn he grew was hard and flint-like, butit was food, and in time he learned tostore excess crops against scarcer days.The storage compartment was simply ahole in the floor of a cave the same1 9 3 9


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cave he had always used as a shelter intime of cold or stress. This No. II manwas a real expert at basketry, making bagsboth twined and woven, ropes and nets,sandals, etc. as well as baskets. Some ofthese are of an incredible fineness ofweave. He also knew how to make stoneknives and javelin points, and severaltypes of wooden implements. His offen-sive weapon was a short spear used witha spear thrower or atlatl.Mr. No. II slides rather smoothly intothe period of Mr. Basketmaker III. Bythis time a thousand years or more hadslipped by since Basketmaker I hadclaimed the center of the spotlight andthis early citizen was beginning to learnthings. He first lined his corn storage pitswith slabs of stone, and that proved tobe such a good idea, he next enlarged thehole, stuck poles and mud over the top,and crawled in himself. He was freed

from his homeless state, with only a caveas temporary protection. Some of themore venturesome climbed into the newfangled homes through a hole in theroof, but probably the more conservativesouls were those who insisted on a specialtype of entrance. First, the home ownerdug down into the earth at a little dis-tance from his pithouse, to excavate anantechamber, then he connected this ante-chamber to the pithouse proper with anarrow passageway, either in the form ofa higher level bench along which hecrawled to effect his entrance, or on alower level from the floor of the ante-chamber to the floor of the pithouse ina tunnel-like passage topped with a lowroof and filled with debris to the groundlevel. He had a hole in the roof to letthe smoke out, his fire being built in afirepit in the center of the room directlyArchaelogkal students on fieldassignment assist with the excava-tions at Chetro Ketl.

under the smoke hole. The householdgods were enshrined spiritually in a smallexcavation near the firepit, known as thesipap u.Later Basketmakers finally got aroundto evolving a side doorway, but this earlypithouse left an imprint that is borne tothis very day, as we shall see.Another big thing this third Basket-maker learned was to make a sort of pot-tery. At first it wasn't much good. Prob-ably from chinking in his roof with mudhe got the idea of chinking in his basket-ry; maybe the idea came from carryingmud in a basket for covering over hisroof. Sometimes, after mud had dried inthe baskets, chunks of it fell out, makinghandy little receptacles for uses such asstoring seeds. More often he smeared theoutside of the basket with mud, and thisidea didn't bolster the art of basket mak-ing. Why bother about a fine weave or alovely design when mud would cover itall anyway? So basket making declinedand pottery making was born the minutean accidental fire taught this last of theBasketmakers how to bake his clay.The same period added beans as anagricultural product, feather robes wereinaugurated to replace the furs worntheretofore, and word of a marvelousnew invention trickled in bows andarrows.

Roundheads Take the StageBut Mr. Basketmaker was not to enjoy

the fruits of his discoveries. A new peo-ple were upon him, a strange round-skulled type of mana Mongolian. It isa surprise to learn that these Basket-makers were not Mongolian; they werea long-headed people, of three distincttypes. To quote an eminent archaeologist,"The first of these groups is closelyallied to the fundamental brown-skinnedEuropean-African long-headed s t o c kcalled Mediterranean,' the second seems

to have been derived from an archaictype of modern man which is repre-sented, mixed with other elements, in thenative Australians and the Ainu; thethird was almost certainly negroid butnot negro." (Frank H. H. Roberts, Jr.in his report to the Smithsonian Institute,Bulletin 111.)The new race arrived in small groups.On some occasions there undoubtedlywas strife between the old and thenew. In some sections the newcomerssettled peacefully. Whichever the pro-cedure, as time went on the round headsabsorbed or destroyed their predecessorsuntil only round heads remained.Pi thouses and Graves Tell StoryHow can we know these things? Most-ly from remains of the pithouses andfrom graves. In many sections the pit-houses were destroyed by fire, possibly byenemies of the Basketmaker dwellers, andduring the long centuries since, in thisarid land, nothing has disturbed thecharred remains. A few tons of sandblown in were a simple problem for ar-chaeologists to solve, as sand is easilycleared away from the packed earth ofthe pithouse floor and walls, and oftenthe baked, fire-burned clay from the roof-top was found in the bottom of the pitjust as it had fallen in, still bearing themarks of each stick and pole used inbuilding the roof.The graves nearby, usually in the re-fuse heaps, tell the rest of the story, withtheir implements, feather robes, baskets,e t c . buried with the body. The skeletonsshow these old chaps weren't stretchedout comfortably in their graves, but weredoubled up, their knees under theirchins. Some of them are in a remarkablestate of preservation.The later pithouses, easily identifiableby differences in construction, accompanygraves where some round-headed folk liewith long-headed ones. Eventually thelong heads became scarcer and scarceruntil the dawn of the day when the new

people were completely in possession andonly round-headed corpses were buried.The day of the Basketmaker was over.The passageway entrance of our earli-est pithouse survived in the latest pit-house form of a ventilator, as we call it,only a few inches large. W hether thisevolution which turned an entrance intoa ventilator was the product of tradi-tion or whether the primitive man recog-nized the value of a ventilator we can'tsay, but at any rate it served its purposewell.The dawn of the Christian era was al-so the dawn of the Pueblo culturesofthe round heads who replaced the an-cient Basketmaker peoples. The Puebloera has been divided into five groups, theearliest, or Pueblo I, dating from about

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as it probably lookedthe pea k oj its Indian

g by R. M. Coffin jorIt was loaned to thedesert Magazine through

American Research.

ere rather progressive people, too. They

. asketmaker use of stone slabs to line hiseaving of cotton fabrics, a simple step

secimens of early co tton textiles fromMr. Pueblo II advanced these achieve-

nail villages, and perfected the art ofotterymaking and designing. He devel-oped agriculture, growing squash andother delicacies in addition to the usualo r n and beans.Some of the conservatives of his day,however, worried about religious observ-ances. They didn't like the new rectan-gular, adjoining rooms and were sure theirgods would resent the new surroundings.Was it to placate these "old guards" that

a pithouse hangover occurred? Becausehere and there as occasion required, pit-houses of the old type were constructedfir use solely for religious observancet ie first kivas. This custom persistedt irough all the Pueblo cultures, withSDme variations as to location, size, shape,

number, etc. but to this day our i-'ueblokivas are replicas of ancient Basketmakerpithouses. They retain the ventilator, re-mains of the former entryway; and theyhave a firepit, also the excavation knownas the sipapu. From being the householdshrine the sipapu developed naturally in-to the special abiding place of the spiritsin the modern kiva.

Pueblo Culture DevelopsPueblo II civilization marched on untilthe era gave birth to the greatest cultureof them all, Pueblo III (about 950 to1310 A. D.). This "classic era" did notdawn simultaneously all over the country,

however. The Basketmaker culture wasquite general and so was the early Pu-eblo development. The p iling up ofrooms to achieve many stories and thegrouping of villages into the great com-munal centers occurred more sporadically,and artistic development became morelocalized. This resulted in variety of cera-mics and other arts. One locality with acertain type of clay produced a potterydifferent from another section with differ-ent clay. Materials for use in decoratingjars differed in various localities. In thewest, for instance, a carbon mixture wasused for the design, applied before thevessels were polished, while toward theeast an iron paint was applied over thepolish. Shapes, sizes and designs varied.Today an expert can look at a pot, oreven a fragment, from this classic Puebloperiod, and know where it was produced.

More and more , due to r e g i o n a ldrought and ravages of wilder tribesfirst Shoshonean and then Navahothesmaller villages were consolidated andthe great apartment house developed.These immense dwellings, some of themhousing as many as 1000 to 1500 peo-ple, have been bequeathed to us in thespectacular ruins which may be seen atMesa Verde, especially Spruce TreeHouse and Cliff Palace, also in the Kay-enta region at Betatakin and Kietseel,and in the Chaco canyon where the civi-lization reached its height, in southernArizona and elsewhere. At Aztec, NewMexico, an early Chaco people moved in.Later the site was abandoned and eventu-ally a group of Mesa Verde people set-tled there. This is an interesting spot fortourists, as one of the large kivas hasbeen reconstructed to show how it musthave looked when in use.

At Pueblo Bonito and Chetro Ketlin Chaco canyon, New Mexico, one seesmagnificent masonry, in structures al-most too huge to believe. Here also arethe great kivas, the largest known. Someof the finest of the late Basketmaker pit-houses have been excavated nearby.As Pueblo III slips into period IV(1350 to 1700 A. D.) some of thesecommunal centers break down, whileothers expand. Notably among the latterare the great civilizations of the PajaritoPlateau, near Santa Fe, New Mexico, es-pecially Frijoles and Puye', which reachedtheir height early in the Pueblo IV

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Excavatingamong theancient ruins inChaco canyon

phase. This era is one of localized devel-opment instead of a general growth andit has been a tremendous task for archae-ologists to trace the trends of populationand house building in the various dis-tricts.How do we know all this? Patientlydigging under the blistering sun, for

many long seasons, archaeologists havelabored to piece together, bit by bit, theknowledge we have. It is still incomplete,but with scientific exactitude there hasbeen established a sound framework ofdata on which to build. Not one shakyfact has been allowed to stand in thisframework, so today archaeologists canpoint with pride, and say, "This muchwe know for sure."Tree Calendar Proves Dates

From the refuse heaps came potsherds.From abandoned rooms came householdutensils, seeds, weapons. From gravescame the physical selves and the artifactsof forgotten peoples. Dating was at firsthazy, based on a system of stratigraphybut without definite time marks. Later thedating problem was solved by Dr. A. E.Douglass' discovery of tree ring readings.

Checking sunspots and their relation toclimate, Dr. Douglass discovered thattrees growing in the same section showidentical reactions to moist or dry sea-sons by the width of the tree ring growneach year. Trees in a moist year all growa wide ring, in a dry year a narrow one.Checking back he found, for instance,that the last ten rings in a 50-year-oldtree would be identical in size with theinner rings of a tree just ten years old,

proving they had both lived through cer-tain seasons together. From living trees tothose cut some time ago, and back totimbers in old churches and old homes,then back further yet to timbers in an-cient ruins were the trees checked. Final-ly the time came when the talkative ringsproclaimed that such and such a tree inan abandoned village had grown duringa certain definite period; had been cutdown and used for the construction in acertain set year. The ruins were dated1Borings have been taken from timbers inall the ruins available, and from themhas been evolved a master chart whichpushes known dates back, year by year,to 700 A. D. Timbers from the muchearlier pithouses have been charted, butso far it has been impossible to matchthem to a master chart to date them. Fig-ures for civilizations earlier than 700A. D. are based on calculations as to howlong it takes for primitive ideas to devel-o p , and are therefore tentative, althoughbased on sound logic.

Some of the great cultures fell into adecline near the end of the Pueblo IIIera. Many of the palace houses wereabandoned because of droughts, the coun-try having undergone nearly 30 yearswith practically no rain during this peri-od. Others may have been decimated bydisease or the further encroachment ofsavage enemies. Often an entire com-munity would move out to settle besidea river, or on a remote mesa top. Thesemigration trends have all been traced;for instance the Mesa Verde people andCanyon de Chelley people moved intothe present day Hopiland and the folkfrom Frijoles and Puye' drifted down to

settle some of the Rio Grande Pueblos.The middle of Pueblo IV, with thisshifting of population, saw the comingof the Spaniards and their conquest ofthe Pueblo people. It is convenient toconsider the second phase of Pueblo IVas the time after the conquest, which sawthe Pueblo Rebellion of 1680 and the re-conquest by the Spanish in 1692.

Pueblo Indian of Today is No. VWhich brings us to Pueblo V, ourfinal and present phase. All of themodern Pueblo villages, from Taos toHopiland fall under this classification.Mr. No. V is our 1939 Pueblo Indiannot streamlined, but tenacious of old be-liefs and old customs. He is the rug andjewelry peddler you meet in the hotel,the dancer who entertains you so splen-didly with his quick, light steps and hissavage dance regalia. He is the hard

working farmer of Cochiti and SantoDomingo so primitive and colorfulwhen he threshes his wheat and shuckshis multi-colored corn. He is the patientbeadmaker of Zuni, forever drilling onbits of turquoise or wampum to string anecklace. He is the guard on duty beforethe kiva of Isleta or San Ildefonso, thestern visaged snake priest of Walpai orHotevilla.In his veins runs the blood of the an-cient Basketmakers. In his heart are theinstincts and pride of the great communalhouse era. In his fingertips is the artistic

heritage of his ancestors. In this littleknown and less understood Indian thewhole glamo rous past lives. In him, asCharles Lummis so aptly put it, we"catch our archaeology alive."T h e D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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One Navaho verb has nearly as many formsas there are words in the vocabulary of the aver-age English-speaking person. It is a difficult lan-guage to learn, and even more baffling is the prob-lem of reducing it to writing. Here is the story ofa mission father who has devoted 38 years ofpainstaking work to the solution of this problemto the end that the Navaho may understand andaccept the teachings of Christianity.

By MRS. WHITE MOUNTAIN SMITHFather Berard in his study.

man in the monastery ofSt. Michael's in northern Arizona,both in years and in service, is asnail gray haired monk, low voiced andunobtrusive. He walks quietly on san-taled feet, but the heart of St. Michael'steats in unison with his measured move-r lents."Father Berard is our historian, " or,When we need to know anything abouttie Navahos or their country we go tolather Berard." These were the answerswhen I questioned the friars stationedtiere in that beehive of the Catholicc hurch."I wish to know something of the de-\elopment of the written Navaho langu-age," I said, and then I knew why alli lquiries led to this Father Berard. Fortiirty-odd years he has occupied him-s;lf with learning and teaching one oftie most difficult of all Indian tonguestie Navaho.I hesitated before breaking in on the^ood Father's routine, but desire to hear1 rst-hand about his work spurred me on.U A R C H, 1 9 3 9

I drove along the winding road throughhills once creeping with hostile Navahosand revengeful soldiers, until I reachedthe stone mission snuggled down in asheltered ravine. This branch of thechurch is in the heart of the reservation,almost in the shadow of historic old FortDefiance, built in 1852 for the purposeof subduing and killing, if necessary, theNavahos of that region. St. Michael's waserected to save this tribe of Indians, bodyand soul, and help them become usefulChristian men and women. Since itsmodest beginning in 1897 it has grownsteadily with the years. When I rang thebell and asked for Father Berard I wasprepared to meet a very stern, perhapsimpatient person, who'd be resentful atbeing disturbed by an inquisitive woman.Instead, I found one of the most inter-esting and most human gentlemen I'veever seen in any walk of life.

Back in Ohio in 1874, a son wasborn to German parents. His parentsnamed him Jacob. All too soon they diedand the child was placed in an orphan-

age. Doubtless he and his companionsplayed "Indian" and made many a red-skin bite the dust, just as small boys havedone since our forefathers came to Amer-ica. Somewhere along the way JacobHaile decided to spend his life servinghis Church, and he was educated for thepriesthood at a Cincinnati seminary. Re-membering the placid old river city withits low, tree-covered hills, and the eternalringing of Church bells, I wonderedwhat possible connection his trainingthere in Ohio could have with barrenArizona and its 40,000 Navahos."When did you first plan to come outhere and work with the Indians?"The shabby old reception room withits battered furniture and well worn Nav-aho rugs was very quiet and peaceful inthe late afternoon sun. Over the piano apicture of Father WeBer, loved by everyone who ever knew him, dominates theroom. While I waited for the scholarlymonk to answer my question, I recalledthe many things I'd heard of this missionfrom my Navah o friends. They may

Gentle PadreIn ven to r o fA lp h abet forNavaho Tribe


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wander away from its teaching and in-fluence until some tragedy overtakesthem, or until they scandalize whateverreligious faction they've taken up, butthey return to St. Michael's and its help-ful fathers like small boys returninghome at dark. My thoughts were inter-rupted by a most unorthodox chuckle."I never remember giving Arizona In-dians a single thought until I found my-self obliged to come here!" Anotherpause. "A priest conducting a visitationtold us about the mission here and itsneed of workers. He asked volunteersand I was caught napping. I couldn'tthink of any reason for no t coming, andso here I am. I've been here 38 years."Thirty-eight years away from thethings he must have lovedgood books,fine paintings, beautiful music, woodedmountains, congenial friends, all the

things we associate with real living; butI doubt if he really has missed them. Hisfine brain and courageous heart have builtfor him a life that is not lacking. Hiskeen eyes sparkled with fun as he talkedof his first fantastic years at St. Michael's.I gathered that living here then wasboiled down to mere existence. The firstbuildings were makeshift affairs, and theyoung volunteer must have thought fre-quently of St. John's 40 days' fast in thewilderness. The mission had been estab-

rrBy A. BERARD HAILE, O. F. M.

Probabl y Navahi i i s of Tewa or igin, and the Apache band in-habi t ing tha t di s t r ic t was known to the Tewa Indians as "Apachesof Navahu". Fray B enavides in 1630, an d most Spanish autho rss ince tha t t ime Hispanic i se the name Navajo, as i s qui te na tura l .

Americans, after the occupation of New Mexico, accepted thisHispanic i sed form, but e rroneously and somewhat tenac iously in-sisted upon i ts Spanish origin. That t radi t ion, i f we may cal l i t so,st i l l persists in the usage of the Indian office and government print-ing office which have adhered to the Spanish form of the spel l ing.It may be true enough that navaja connotes a knife or razor,an d if we des i red to der ive Navajo f rom na vaj a w e should impo seupon the sens ibi l i t i es of Spanish grammar. Las navdjas "kni ves"a n d los navdjos (my accenting) for "knifers," do not appeal to theSpanish ear . And so wi th other words in Spanish which seem topara l le l "Navajos ."C ommon usage among Spani sh speak i ng peopl e i n t he Sout h-west acknowledges the fore ign or igin of Navajo. Commonly weh e a r " u n a Navajosa," a Navajo woman; los Navajoses , the Nava-hos. Under the leadership of the la te Dr. Washington Mathews, U.S. A., the best schola rs ha ve dro pp ed the Sp anis h (?) form of spel l-ing, and have Angl ic i sed i t Navaho, as i t should be .You may res t assured tha t the Navahos themselves considerthis a foreign word. They pronounce i t na-be-ho (a as in father, e a sin met, o as in go). In their language they cal l themselves di-ne,meani ng " t he peopl e . "

In the center Pete Price, great singer of the Mou ntain Cha nt. He and the otherNavahos with him have great admiration for Father Berard but they are notready yet to aband on their tribal rituals for the faith of their friend.

lished two years when Father Berard, ourerstwhile Jacob Haile, took his place withits members.

"The Navahos spoke no English ofcourse, and we knew not a word of Nava-ho. We'd pick up some ordinary objectand name it. The Indian would repeatthe word over and over until he knew itand connected it with that certain object.Then we'd struggle with the Navahoname until we more or less mastered it.The trouble was so many things in ou rdaily life were nameless as far as theNavahos were concerned."I firmly believe that intimate contactwith any people must come through theirlanguage. Particularly is that true when atribe has no written language, and alltheir history, their legends, their beliefsand their endeavors are handed downfrom generation to generation by wordof mouth. And so all these years I'vebeen trying to put their thought intowriting, and their language sounds intosymbols. In the Navah o language aresounds that our limited 26-letter alphabetdoes not cover. It is therefore necessaryto invent a series of phonetic symbols.There is no precedent to follow in learn-

ing or teaching Navaho."I silently agreed with my instructor. Iknow of nothing more confusing than anattempt to reduce Navaho groans andgrun ts to intelligible oratory! And yet

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I " " 9 |j

Father Berard is helping the Navaho Tribal constitutional committee drajt thenew constitution and by-laws under which the Navahos are governing themselves.

hat promise the teaching of Navaho inix easy lessons, so to say."How many words are there in theNavaho language , Fath er?""My dear lady, how many stars are

"Do you find anything to indicate that

"Absolutely not.- Not in the slightest

imilarity. He had previously made a tudy of the M attole, an Athapaskan tribe,eally made comparative studies, andfaund no connection.""In what way does the Navaho alpha-: a sort of shorthand combination ofSDunds for which one character repre-ents several - - - !"I floundered on, sadly beyond myc epth, and the twin kling regard of Fatherlierard did nothing to put me more atase."Stay out of the technical side, I'd ad-ise you. It would only confuse you andyour readers. There are 26 characters intie Navaho alphabet I've worked out.Some of them represent sounds for which

two and three English characters wouldbe required, and even then, what wouldyou have? One has to have an ear forlanguages to understand the work I'mdoing. I'm afraid your ear for Navaho isatrocious!"Needless to say I'll practice my twoNavaho words no more in the presenceof Father Berard!"Have you tried your system on othersthan the friars under your tutelage?""Yes. Last year the government in-duced me to work with the Navahocouncil interpreters while the constitutionof the tribe was in preparation. And Iwas supposed to go to Fort Wingate andteach there but Uncle Sam ran out offunds or decided to use some othermethod of teaching the young Navaho.I'll stick to my own private classes fromnow on I think."

"Do you, yourself, have instructionperiods for the Navahos?"Oh, no. I instruct the workers only.I teach the friars, and they in turn teachin the schools and instruction centers.The Sisters have regular instruction andthey use their knowledge in the school-rooms."For awhile we spoke of the old-timecruel method of punishing Navaho chil-dren who spoke their native tongue inthe governme nt schools. It is only inrecent years Indian children are encour-aged to learn English and at the sametime retain their own language.St. Michael's mission was establishedto save souls of Navahos. In order to savea Navaho soul, the Navaho must knowhe has a soul and must have a desire tohave it saved. He and his spiritual ad-visor must have a means of communica-

tion. He must know what is being saidto him and in turn be able to express histhoughts and questions to his instructor.In short the Navaho must speak Englishor the fathers must speak Navaho. Allmust learn to put their words into writ-ing and read it after it's written, beforeany great progress can be made. FatherBerard, perhaps more than any other per-son of any existing institution, is span-ning the difficult gap that must be bridgedbefore there can be complete understand-ing between the Indian and his whiteneighbor.

Amateu/i ,Each month the Deser t Mag-azine offers cash prizes of $5.00and $3.00 for first and secondp l a c e w i n n er s in a ph o to -graphic contest for amateurs .Pictures must be l imited todesert subjects, but include awide range of possibil i t ies landscapes, c lose-ups of p lantand animal l i fe , character

s tud ies , I nd ians , canyons androck formations, in fact any pic-ture that belongs to the desertcountry .There is no restriction as tothe residence of the photogra-phe r and d ur ing the 15 mo nthsthe contest has been held morepr izes have been won by vis i t -i ng amateu r s t han by dese r tresidents . Fol lowing are therules:1Pictures submitted in the March

contest must be received at the DesertMagazine office by March 20.2Not more than four prints may besubmitted by one person in one month.JWinners will be required to fur-nish either good glossy enlargements orthe original negatives if requested.4Prints must be in black and white,2V4X3V4 or larger.5Pictures will be returned onlywhen postage is enclosed.For non-priz e-winnin g picture s ac-cepted for publication $1.00 will bepaid for each print.Winners of the March contest willbe announced and the pictures pub-lished in the May number of the mag-azine. Address all entries to:C O N T E S T E D IT O R ,D E S E R T M A G A Z IN E ,EL CENTRO. CALIFORNIA.

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vere starting westward when Mendivi!segan his youthful adventures with Ger-Dnimo's fierce marauders.He was about 15 years old when thesand was pursued by American cavalry,sent by the U. S. government to checkhe Apache raids and guard the overlanditage trail. By night he eluded the squawippointed to guard him and crept intohe camp of the Americans.During the remainder of the armyrampaign on the border Jose served theAmericans as guide, scout, and teamster.Granted an honorable discharge, heurned westward with the overland.vagon trains. In his pocket he carried asaper bearing the name of Mendivil.

Miners Reach New Gold HeldAt Fort Yuma Jose found feverish ex-:itement as miners and deserting soldiers"mrriedly left the frontier town for thelewly discovered rich placers of La Paz.50 miles north on the Colorado. Thejold fever may have urged him north-vard.

Dates are uncertain in the Mendivilitory, but it was about 1862 when Jose;tarted north along the river from FortIfuma. The Civil War was on and Joselad seen enough of army service, whichwas good reason for him to avoid theraffic on the Arizona road. He crossedhe river and started north alone on thelalifornia side. All day the bold outline)f Picacho peak stood on the horizoni>efore him.

In the gravel bed of a dry wash leadinglown to the river Jose found the Pache-:os, a Sonoran family, searching for gold,rle watched them curiously. They laid aslanket on the ground, shoveled a fewsounds of gravel on it, then two menvould grasp the corners of the blanketind flip it so that the breeze would carryiway the dust. The n laboriously theysicked the heavy gold particles from thelap of the wool.Jose knew enough about prospectingo realize that the source of the gold wason the higher ground where the washes!>egan. So instead of joining the Pachecos,le prospected the ledges several milesrom the river in the shadow of Picacho)eak.From where he stood he looked to:iorth and east, where sunlight glintedrom the face of the sinuous Colorado.Like a great serpent, the river woundhrough hills splashed with myriad col-ors. And rising behind him was the ma-estic form of Picacho, perpendicular

iides lifting 1500 feet up from theground on which he stood. "La Reinalei Desierto," he murmured to himself,is he tore himself from his dreaming toesume the search for gold.He found rich ore at his feet, not inquartz veins but in fractured granite. He-

/ Mine buildings in Picacho basin about 1906. The monolith in the back-ground is 1963-foot Picacho Peak, picturesque landmark of the fam ous miningregion. All buildings in this picture are now rem oved. Mendivil photo.Center: The general store and postoffice at Picacho about 1900. O n right isMrs. Fergu son, postmaster, and ne xt is her daughter Gertrude, who later becameBilly Horn 's w ife. Th e small girl is C lara Ferguson , youngest daughter, who isnow Mrs. Townsend of Yuma Valley. Clara Townsend photo.Bottom: This 450-ton stamp m ill ivas built at Picacho about 1 897 by Sen.Stephen Dorse y and associates. The long railroad trestle is the last lap of thefipe-mile run from the basin to the mill. Clara Totrnsend photo.

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satisfied himself there was much gold,but decided he had not the energy tlake it out. There were no nuggets lyingaround, the sun was too hot in middayJ:or hard labor, and he had only just be-gun his journey. So he moved along, tell-ing other prospectors about his find.The nature of the low-grade ore madelarge milling investment necessary andmining capital was interested in richerfields at the time. For almost 20 yearsPicacho basin remained unvisited by min-ing promoters.A miner named Dave (or James)Neahr built the first crude arrastra in1873, crushed a small quantity of oreand loaded it on flatboats for transportdown the river to Yuma.First mention of Picacho appears inthe state mineralogist's report for 1882with the brief note that 6,000 tons of ore

were raised during the census year,bringing an average of $21 a ton. Dr.DeWitt C. Jayne of Florida, N. Y., en-tered the field in 1879, built a 15-stampmill on the bluff overlooking the river,and hauled a great deal of ore by mule-wagon from the basin. The mill buildingwas constructed of rhyolite tuff quarriedon the site, a substantial structure thewalls of which still stand today. Dr .Jayne worked at Picacho for several

years, suspended operations after beingseriously injured by a runaway horse, anddied in 1898. The Jayne claims coveredMendivil's discoveries and included thefamous Goshen, Mars, St. George, andVenus mines.In the meantime Jose Mendivil wan-

dered north and got a job carrying themail by pony express between Needlesand Ehrenberg. Although he knew theChemehuevis well and spoke their tonguehe frequently rode into Fort Tison andFort Mojave with reports of narrow es-capes from unfriendly Indians.Married at YumaAbout 1872 Jose married Jesus"Jessie" Romo, a Sonoran girl who livedat Fort Yuma. Their first child, Ysidro,was born at Fort Yuma the next year. Asthe years rolled by they became parents

to five more boys and two girls, all bornin or near Picacho. It is to be assumedthat Jose worked in the district all thelatter years of his life.There are no available records thatgive Mendivil title to any of the largergold mines, though he had an interest inand did assessment work on several pro-perties. Imperial county (then San Diegocounty) records show that a homesteadpatent was issued to Joseph M. MendivilSi Ham lund, old Picacho prospector, with h is gold divining rod. He claimedit led him to rich deposits by pointing downward when he passed over gold.

At right is W alter Ferguson , principal of the P icacho school, who ha d just re-turned from a pro specting trip with H amlund when this picture was taken.Clara Townsend photo.

12

for 155.63 acres of land in sections 19and 24, T 13 S, R 22-23 E, SBM, onJanuary 17, 1895. This piece of land ison the south bank of the river, a flat areaaround which the town of Picacho wasto spring up overnight.That same year the town of Picachowas born. Mendivil may have been negli-gent in securing his gold discoveries, buthe showed rare diligence in protectinghis home-site against the army of squat-ters. There had been prospectors' shacksin the mesquite brush for many years,but not until the mining czars cast theireyes with favor on the district did thetown begin to boom.Within a radius of six miles fromPicacho, extending into the canyons andridges of the Chocolate range, literallyhundreds of claims were staked out.Some of the claims were known produc-ers, like the Jayne group, but many re-mained undeveloped . W hen it becameknown that important capital was comingin, claim-holders rushed in to do neededassessment work. Prospect holes andsmall dumps soon pock-marked the facesof the hills like rabbit warrens. Everylikely spot was attacked with pick andshovel except rugged Picacho peak,standing in solitary aloofness from thesefrantic proceedings.Mining Company is Formed

Stephen A. Dorsey of Denver, one-time senator from Colorado, was a min-ing promoter of great ability. He sawthe chaos, dreamed of the possibilitiesunder large scale production, and pro-posed a consolidation of claimants inone operating company. His dream cameto fruition in 1896 with the organizationof the California Gold King mining com-pany.Dorsey cut out for himself a laborioustask and he did not complete the con-solidation until 1902. Thirty claims wereincluded, with the four Jayne mines asthe nucleus. Sixteen of the claims werepatented, including the Apache, last ofthe great producers; the Dulcinea, thegreat glory hole near the basin mill-site;the Eastern California, Golden Casket,Extension, Mina Rica, Tierra Rica, andmany lesser claims, most of them bearingSpanish names.From 1904 to 1906 the stamps at thegreat river mill never stopped theirthunderous roar. The little steam loco-motives with their trains of swaying orecars clattered back and forth on thecrooked rails from the mines to the mill.Loaded, the trains went down-gradethrough high-walled washes and overdizzy wooden trestles, usually at break-neck speed. Dorsey's mill included a 450-ton unit, specially designed to treat largequantities of low-grade.Great mining engineers of the day, in-cluding Seeley Mudd and John HaysT h e D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Hammond, lent their genius to the de-velopment of the property.Hopes ran high but apparently profitswere low, for in 1906 the Colorado IronWorks company foreclosed after placingan attachment of $38,845 on the mill.Then followed years of legal entangle-ment. The consolidation was reorganizedas the Picacho Basin Mining company,and continued to operate the river milltwo years longer.Houses of adobe and arrowweed sprangup in the mesquite thicket within soundof the stamps. Saloons became the focalpoint of community life for the miners.In 1895 Mr. and Mrs. Walter Fergusoncame to teach school and found awaitingthem a neat white-washed adobe buildingwhich had been erected by public sub-scription. M rs. Ferguson later becamepostmaster and operator of the only in-dependent store. The mining companyoperated a cooperative mercantile estab-lishment across the road and put up along squat hotel building, topped by thelargest roof in Picacho. Billy Horn,saloon keeper, mail contractor, freighter,deputy sheriff, and stage operator, now81 years old and still living on his oldstamping grounds, was a central figurein community life. The town grew lustilywithout government and the law was theknife and six-shooterand Billy Horn.

New Gold Town GrowsAt the peak of production about 1904more than 700 men were employed atthe mines and mill. The population ofthe town reached 2500.Jose Mendivil built a substantialhouse on his homestead, planted grapesand date palms. His sons were growingup and finding work in the mines.Grandchildren climbed on Jose's kneeduring the long desert evenings. Jose wasa poor trader in matters affecting his fu-ture. Life, he thought, should be an un-troubled affair.In 1901 he deeded 28 acres of his landto the California King for a mill-site,which was defined in the records withcorners of mesquite trees and crossesmarked on rocks. Th e next year hedeeded the same company five acres fora pumping plant. Mendivil and his heirssubsisted for several years on the sub-division of the homestead.Michael says that his grandfathermight have become a rich man, "if hehad not been so big-hearted. " He wasbored by frequent business trips to LosAngeles and San Francisco, much pre-ferred to sit under his grape arbor athome. To the mining tycoons he wouldsay, "Go ahead and take it if you wantit. I got enough for me and my family."Michael relates the story of Jose refusingthe beach-front of San Diego in exchangefor the valuable Clip silver claim (Blaine

Son and grandson of J ose Mendivil, discoverer of gold in Picacho basin.Ysidro, left, has spent virtually all his 66 years in or near Picacho and was associ-ated with his father in mining for 20 ye ars. Micha el, his son . speaks perfectEnglish and knows the history and person alities of the Picacho region.mine) he had given away, simply be-cause he did not want to be botheredwith the worries of the wealthy.In spite of the legal difficulties, pro-duction was pushed to fever heat for thefour years following the reorganizationof the company. Some ore assayed ashigh as $700 a ton, but toward the endof the boom it dropped to $3 a ton,finally becoming too poor to work profit-ably.It became impractical to carry the oreto the river and in 1908 the mill wasmoved to the Diablo shaft, where mostof the wooden framework still stands.About this time construction started on

the Laguna dam between Picacho andYuma and the steamers could no longercarry ore down the river. Durin g theearly years concentrates had been shippedby boat to San Francisco for smelting.With the change in mill locations BillyHorn's 12-mule freight wagons becamethe principal mode of transportation.Zane Grey, famous western novelist,visited Picacho before the mill was shutdown in 1910. Out of his sojourn in thecamp came his "Wanderer of the Waste-lands ," published in 1922. His storygives a colorful, though romanticallyexaggerated picture of life among theMexican miners. High point in his de-

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Class in Desert Botany..Beginning with this number of the Desert Magazine a series of wild-flower pictures will be presentedone each month. The purpose cf thisseries is twofold: first, to test the knowledge of those who already knowsomething about desert botany, and second, to help identify the variousdesert blossoms for those who would like to become better acquaintedwith the colorful wildflower life of the desert region.Some of the flowers pictured on this page will be fairly common,while others will be selected from the rarer species. The flower presentedthis month is found only in limited areas. This specimen was photo-graphed in Nevada not far from Boulder dam by Charles Webber of SanLeandro, California. The picture was taken the latter part of April andthe color of the blossom is light yellow. The plant grows from 12 to 30inches in height.This is not a prize contest. Rather, it is just a botany class in whichthe more advanced students will help the novices become better informed

as to the natural life of the desert. The Editor of the Desert Magazine in-vites readers who recognize this flower to send in letters identifying itand giving all available information as to the plant and its habits andrange. The most accurate description received before February 20 willbe published in the April number of this magazine.scription is the bade, where gay musicand dancing feet reflect the care-freecharacter of the Sonorans. Cascaronesburst in dark hair and the flashing eyesof the senoritas made a fitting back-ground for the climactic struggle of hisstory.When the mines shut down Jose Men-divil and his family moved to Yuma,where the 78-year-old man died in 1916.With him passed all that was left ofPicacho's gay Sonoran life. Little re-mained of the Mendivil homestead. Asthe government took claim to the Im-

perial dam flood basin this year, title-companies found great difficulty in un-tangling the involved claims and counter-claims.Changes in corporate control settledthe mining properties on Jacob Ridge-way of Philadelphia, who died in 1908,leaving the estate in the hands of severalheirs. Title lay in a Quaker City bankfor 20 years, forgotten by all except afew promoters who knew the value ofrich ore still lying in the shadow ofPicacho peak.Five years ago an energetic mining pro-

moter, William C. Doak, bought thetitles and proceeded to lay plans for therehabilitation of the Picacho m i n e s .Death overtook him in 1935, leaving theunfinished work in the hands of theDoak estate and E. H. Page and wife.This combination in turn conveyed op-tions to the Picacho Gold Mining com-pany which began operations in 1936.During the past two years the companyhas been exploring and blocking out orein the basin. W ithin recent weeks thePicacho G o l d Mining company haspooled its interest in the property withthe Nipissing Mining company and theconsolidated group is operating as thePicacho Mining company.

A 2000-ton mill recently purchased inNevada has been transported to thePicacho site and is to be erected as soonas a five-mile pipe line can be completedfrom the Colorado river to supply waterfor mixing cement for the foundations.Since the completion of Imperial darnand improvement of roads in the YumaIndian reservation, many motorists havefound the trip to Picacho an interestingadventure. Turning north off U. S. 80highway at a point a mile east of Winter-haven, California, the Picacho road dipsunder a railroad trestle and continues duenorth across the reservation five miles,where it crosses the new All-Americancanal. The road continues north upPicacho wash, climbing to an elevationof about 900 feet as it passes through arugged range. Always ahead is the pro-file of Picacho peak, shaped like a hugeorgan console. At a point 17 miles fromthe highway may be seen a group of min-ing buildings: this is the center of thebasin mining district.Picacho did not find fame comparableto the great boom camps of Nevada:Tonopah, Goldfield, Bullfrog, Rhyolite,and Rawhide, probably because its spanof life was shorter and its gold produc-tion was much lower. Statistics aremeager, but Ysidro Mendivil says Wells-

Fargo handled $13,000,000 in Picachogold. Picacho had romantic color otherboom towns did not have. It was set ina background of turbulent river andmesquite, many-hued hills and picturesquePicacho peak. It was the battle-ground ofmining tycoons, the field of honor forknife-and-pistol fights between hot-temp-ered Sonorans, encounters which usuallyended in rows of white crosses on Ceme-tery hill.Picacho basin may again become thescene of mining activity on a grandscale. But it will be a coldly modern andefficient system. The Fergusons, theHorns, and the Mendivils will not bethere; they look on from a distance, re-membering when Picacho was the homeof care-free miners and rough ad-venturers.

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This month the Desert Magazine publishes anotherof the letters written by Everett Ruess, young artist-vagabond who dropped from sight in the desert wil-derness of southern Utah late in 1934, as told by HughLacy in the September, 1938 issue. No trace of Everetthas yet been found, but the unusual character of thisyoung man is disclosed in the fascinating letters hewrote to friends during the wanderings which precededhis disappearance.

SouthwestWildernessJourneys

By EVERETT RUESSIllustrated by G. A. Randall

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Ben Reynolds:After leaving Roosevelt in May, I had a very adventuroussummer. Although I did not accomplish much in a tangibleway, I had some worth-while experiences. There was verylittle routine for me. After the Henderson cowboy brotherscaught my bronco, I traded him for Pacer, a middle-agedoutlaw horse who knew all kinds of tricks. I forded the Saltriver and climbed up the opposite side of the valley in theterrific heat. After a strenuous day I reached a cool, darkcanyon below the asbestos mine, and made camp by moon-light. The next day I rode to the mountain top and stoodin the wind, looking down on the lakes and blue peaks andranges, on the sweltering valley that I had come from. I wasvery grateful for the pines and firs and flowers. Pacer wantedto eat all of the lupines he saw.That night Pacer broke his rope and started home. Itracked him until it was dark, and I saw him on the roadahead. Then began a furious chase. He was hobbled, but hegalloped nevertheless. Past black canyons, blue vistas, forestsand fields we raced in the moonlight. Whenever I was justibout to catch him, he would break into a gallop again, and[ couldn't seem to get around him. Finally he tired and I:aught him and rode bareback to the darkened camp, arrivinglate at night.Then I went up and over the mountain, coming down asteep trail to Cherry creek and Flying H ranch. I killed tworattlesnakes which were coiled in the trail. After a day orrwo at the ranch I went up the creek and explored some side:anyons with unusual cliff dwellings. There is one dwelling:hree stories high in a narrow crack in the cliff which goesjack about a hundred feet, then turns and comes out in asalcony on the other side of the cliff. I had to find my ownway up the canyon. No one had been there in a long time,ind the trails disappeared every now and then. I followedM A R C H , 1 9 3 9 In Canyon de Chelly 15


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across the creek, crossing and recrossing,urril I came to waterfalls Pacer couldn'tclimb. Then we forced our way throughthe dense manzanita brush until we wereon the plateau. Four or five times Pacertried to get away from me in pastures.He was not in condition either, so inPleasant Valley I traded him for twolittle burros, Peggy and Wendy. W ecrossed the Mogollons, stopping atranches now and then. The people in thecow country were all very friendly andhospitable.Peggy and Wendy were fine littleburros, friendly and good, always stayingwith each other, very droll and lovablein their actions. I used always to carrycorn for them. I myself made many mealson parched corn and jerky. Before long,however, it became evident that Peggywas going to be a mother. When I wason my way to Holbrook from Zeniff, a

rancher stopped his car and invited meto stay at his ranch as long as I pleased.It was hailing at the time, so I turnedback to his place, where I stayed for awhole month. I learned to brand cowsand wrangle horses. I did not learn tomilk, and I was thrown from a horseonce. I did all kinds of work, and at theend of the month my rancher gave me asaddle, another rancher gave me a horse,and I bought another old horse for sixdollars.Camp in Deserted H o g a n

Northward I rode, wandering throughthe Painted Desert and the Navajo coun-try. I spent days serene and tempestuousin Canyon de Chelly, then traveled upCanyon del Muerto in the shade ofsheer, incurving cliffs, breathtakinglychiseled and gloriously colored. I passedthe last Navajo encampments and stop-ped for a space in a deserted hogan,constructed of smooth clean-limbed cot-tonwood, with singing water at the doorand sighing leaves overheadtall, grace-fully arched trees screening the sky witha glistening pattern. All day I wouldbrood in the cool of the hogan, lying onthe diamond saddle blanket I boughtfrom old Dilatsi. Beneath it was a swirlof crisp brown leaves, over the earthfloor. Now and then a trickle of sandpouring through a crack in the roofwould sift down, rustling the leaves,and the circle of sunshine from the sky-light would move from hour to hour.At evening I would go out into the gladeand climb high above the river to thebase of the cliff. I would gather scarletflowe rs and come down when the starsgleamed softly. Sighing winds wouldeddy down the canyon, swaying the treetops. Then the leaves would cease totremble; only the sound of rippling waterwould continue, and the spirit of peaceand somnolence would pervade the

grove, as the red embers of my fire oneby one turned black, and shadows deep-ened into a gently surging slumber.It was while I was staying at this hoganthat I made the drawing for the printwhich I am sending you.When I was climbing out of the can-yon, Jonathan, my gentle old pack-horse,

missed his footing on a steep trail, andwas killed. I cached the saddle in an un-visited cliff dwelling and went on afoot,leading tricky old Nuflo, my white horse.When I reached the Lukachukais of NewMexico, I could go no further, so I restedat the edge of a lake among the aspensand pines. I saw a big brown bear. ThenI went on toward Mesa Verde, but be-fore I was halfway to Shiprock mystrength failed me, and I stopped againin the heart of the lonely desert, stayingin an ancient high-vaulted hogan, withjuniper logs night-black, darkened by thesmoke of many fires.

White Horse Falls in RiverIn the Mancos river, Nuflo fell into thefloode d stream from a narrow trail on aledge, and I had to jump in after him tosave the pack. The camera was spoiledby the alkali water, and I could hardlyget the tarpaulin out. Nuflo was not hurt,but it began to rain as soon as I spreadthings out to dry.I went through the Ute Reservationand entered Mesa Verde from the can-

yons. There I spent the month of Au-gust. Part of the time I stayed in theranger quarters. I explored the mesa andhad some adventures in Wild Horse can-yon. Then I turned Nuflo loose with aband of other horses. In late August Idecided I would like to go to college forawhile, so I started west, but I stoppedfor several days at the Grand Canyon,descending alone to the depths, to sub-merge myself in the steep silence, to beovercome by the fearful immensity, andto drown everything in the deafeningroar of the Colorado, watching its snakywrithings and fire-tongued leapings untilI was entranced.

In the canyon I killed my eighth rat-tler of the summera rare species foundonly in the Grand Canyon.But I turned my back on the solitudes,and one chill, foggy dawn, I arrived inLos Angeles, where I discarded my som-brero and boots for city garb.I don't belong in college (U.C.L.A.)but it has been another experience, andanything that happens is of value as anexperience, when it's over. Today was thelast day of school this year, and I thinkI shall go up the Coast of Carmel andPoint Lobos to do some work and con-sider a few problems. After months inthe desert and months in the city, I long

Sez HardRock Shortyof

DeathV a U e yBy LON GARRISON

"Windy? You t h i n k this iswindy?"Hard Rock Shorty spat experi-mentally over the porch rail."Naw, it ain't really windy whenspit don't feather more'n that aforeit hits the ground. Not that it don'tget windy around here sometimesthough . . . "Hard Rock pulled his hat downover his ears to keep it from blow-ing away and went on with his taleof the year of the big wind."Here three-four years ago I wasup at Windy pass in the Panamints,an' stopped at lunch time to cooka pot o' coffee an' some bacon. Itwas blowin' some all right, but Inever thunk nothin' of itit wasalways that way up there. I lickedtogether a little pile o' greasewoodsticks to get my coffee water heatin'an' then to fry the bacon I startedanother little fire off to one side.I was holdin' the fryin' pan withthe bacon over the little fire whendurned if the wind didn't blow thefire right out from under the fryin'pan. Blowin' so hard, too, that itdidn't blow the fire to pieces blowed er out all in one lump,Well sir, I took out after it, a tryin'to hold my fryin' pan over the firewith the wind a kitin' it alongabout four foot off the ground, an'do you knowby the time I gotthat bacon cooked I was four milesfrom the coffee pot!"

for the sea caves, the breakers crashingin the tunnels, the still tropicolored la-goons, the jagged cliffs and ancient war-rior cypresses.Of all the families I have met, therewas none I liked better than yours, andnone where I felt more at home. I willalways remember your hospitality towardm e . It was deeprooted and sincere, I

know, and has meant much to me.I wish you a very happy Christmas anda blithesome New Year.Sincerely,EVERETT.16 T h e D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Life in a remote desert settlement is no hardship to Mr. and Mrs. Oberteuffer. They've been too busy crea ting this cozyhome to worry about the so-called "cultural" disadvantages o\ the frontier.

This Is My Desert Song9 ByORA L. OBERTEUFFER"lf\O U can't lick the desert!" wasthe warning hurled at us fromJ all sides when my husband andI announced to the little windswept vil-lage of Trona that we were going in fora yard and patio. That was 15 yearsago, and I rise now to remark that if wehaven't got it licked, at least we have itso well roped and tied that we can golooking for trouble in greener fields.

So, at the risk of being regarded as afemale trouble-hunter, I am hereby start-ing a friendly feud with those DesertMagazine readers who have establishedhomes, gardens and patios in placeswhere the goin g is easy. I am ratherproud of the fact that out here on theMojave desert of California we literallyhave created a show place out of NOTH-ING! Where you who dwell in morefertile lands have soil that is deep andM A R C H , 1 9 3 9

They live on a desert wherethe soil is drifting sand, wherethe water is salty, the tempera-ture some t imes reaches 140 de-grees, and the air is saturatedwith chemicals and yet theyhave created a home that is ashow place. If you wonder howsuch a miracle could be per-formed read this delightful storywritten by Mrs. Oberteufferabout her own experience onthe Mojave salt flats.

rich, we have drifty white desert sand,heavy with salt. Where you have freshpure water for irrigation, we have saltwater. Where you have soft gentle rainsand sunshine, we have practically norain at all, with the thermometer burst-ing at 140 degrees in the sun, and con-trary to the popular opinion that the des-ert is always hot, dropping to around

12 and 14 above zero in the winter. Forgood measure, the chemical plant, whichis the sole reason for this little desertvillage, keeps the air saturated with life-sapping chemicals, covering everythingwith a white dust which resembles aheavy frost.My husband is a civil engineer andin the 20 years of our married life wehave gone from one assignment to an-other, each time making at least a sem-b'ance of a home, growing what we couldin the ground and where that was notpossible, having potted plants and hang-ing baskets to nurse and care for. But inall construction work the end of the jobmust come eventually, so up would comethe stakes and on we'd go to the nextassignment to start all over again.When we came to the little village ofTrona, nestled on the edge of dry Searles

17


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Business life in Trona centers around the op eration of the big plant of the AmericanPotash and Chemical Corporation.Copyright Spen ce Air Photos.fated Manly party which dragged itsweary way through this valley after allbut perishing in Death Valley in 1849.There are C hinese rice-whiskey flaskswhich formerly held the native drink ofChinese coolies employed by John Searlesshortly after he discovered the lake in1862. There are old pack saddles, goldpans, miners' picks, Indian baskets, anda papoose carrier.

We have an enviable collection of oldiron kettles and cauldrons. One big oldblack fellow recently found by my hus-band while on a surveying trip in themountains had been left as a marker ata section corner by the original govern-ment surveying party in 1859. For 78years it stood guard over governmentrecords. There is also a hub of a wagonwheel used by Rimi Nadeau who firstfreighted ore through to San Pedro fromPanamint City and Skidoo on 20-muleteam wagons. Included also is our prizecollection of purple bottles, bottles whichhave been lying out in the desert sun

and sand for so many years that theyhave taken on the deep violet rays of thesun. In fact, our little museum is fairlypacked with the romance and tragedy ofthe early days on the desert.As for potted plants and baskets, wefound that certain succulents will thrive-in pots, which, added to various speciesof our local cacti, give the entire place acool green fresh appearancea real oasisin the heart of the desert. W ith home-made rustic tables and benches, gay can-vas chairs and swings, and colorful pot-tery purchased from roadside vendors invarious parts of Southern California, thewhole takes on a romantic glamour thntonly the desert can know.To give color, as well as a more mod-ern note, we wanted some dinner gongs,so we salvaged three old automobilebrake drums, different sizes, from an an-cient dump pile, removed the rust bysand-blasting, then painted them greenand orange. Each drum has two distinctmusical tones. We dissected a three-tier

wrought iron flower stand, purchasedfrom a mail-order house, and hung eachgong on a "leg," then topped each onewith a gay colored pot of trailing ivy.Building our patio has been great fun,

but the greatest fun of all comes whenwe sound off on the gongs to summonkindly friends and neighbors for barbe-cued steaks. For our cocktail, while thesteaks are sizzling, we'll drink in thebeauty of the desert sunsetnow paint-ing the mountains with a wine-coloredglow, now fading gradually into mauve.Then suddenly the myriads of stars, andthe moon, like a giant Japanese lantern,spilling a shimmering light over the des-ert sands and the white "snow" of thelake bed. If you could drink in this pic-ture with us you would indeed say withmy husband, "Ain't that somethin' "!

That's my Desert Song and I'll chal-lenge all readers to name a more hellishplace to accomplish such a heavenly re-sult.M A R C H , 1 9 3 9 19


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23/46

INGENU ITY By Wm. M. PENNINGTON

reel ok the L/elattThe "waffle" gardens of Zuni are picturesque examples of what may beaccomplished by native ingenuity. Incidentally, the term "waffle" is used onlyas descriptive of the seed bed plotswhich are used for plants requiring muchwater and needing protection from strong winds.Like the terraced fields of the Incas, these checkered gardens of Zuni mayhave been conceived in days of antiquity. Topographic problems of the regionforbade the use of dams and irrigation ditches lined with stone in the cliffdweller fashion. Torrential floods of the Zuni river discouraged agriculture inlow areas along the banks of the stream.But the problem was solved by old-time Zuni farmers and their system isstill in use. Half-buried sections of logs divide the plots into small rectangleslittle basins. A wall of wooden staves reinforced by adobe surrounds the plot,

protecting it from damage by violent floods, breaking the force of destructivewinds, barring hungry burros and sheep.Zuni women carry water from the river in earthenware jars skilfully bal-an ce d on their he ad s, faithfully supply ing the thirsty plants. Perha ps the in-genuity was of masculine origin.

M A R C H , 1 9 3 9 21


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mquoti? ka

How the Great Chiefs Made the SunAs told toHARRY C. JAMES

Starved by famine in the underworld, the prehistoric ancestors of theHopi Indians migrated to the surface of the earth. All was dark when theyarrived and so they made the moon. Harry C. James told the story in lastmonth 's Deser t Magazine . And now the next s tep i s to c rea te a sunand thi sis the legend of how i t was done. W. Mootzka, Hopi Indian boy, has givenhis concept of the creat ion of the sun in the above sketch.LTHOUGH the moon made itpossible for the people to movearound less stumblingly, its light

was so dim that frequently the workersin the fields would cut up their foodplants instead of the weeds. It was stillso very cold that the fires had to be keptburning around the fields all the time.The chiefs again met in council withSkeleton and again they decided that thevmust do something.This time instead of taking a piece ofbuffalo hide, they used a piece of warmcloth which they had woven themselveswhile they were still in the underworld.They fashioned this as they had the diskof buffalo hide, but this time they paintedthe face of the circle with a copper-col-ored paint. They made eyes and mouthon the disk and decorated the foreheadwith colors that the old chiefs decidedupon according to their beliefs. Around

the circle they then wove in a ring ofcorn-husks worked in a zig-zag design.All around the circle of corn-husks theythreaded a heavy string of red animalhair. To the back of the disk they at-tached a small ring of corn-husks throughwhich they poked a circle of eagle feath-ers. To the tip of each eagle feather theold chief tied a few little red feathersfrom the top of the head of a small bird.On the forehead of the circle he attachedan abalone shell. The sun disk was nowcomplete.

Again the chiefs chose a young man tostand on top of the disk which they hadplaced on a large sheet. They raised thecloth by its corners and swung it backand forth again and again until with amighty thrust they threw the man andthe disk far into the air. It travelled fastinto the eastern sky and disappeared.The onlookers watched carefully and

in a short time it grew light in the eastas if a great fire were burning. Soon thenew sun rose and warmed the earth withits kindly rays.Now with the moon to light the earthat night and the sun to light and warmit by day, the people decided to pick uptheir provisions and go on. As theystarted they divided and the white peo-ple took a trail far to the south, theHopis one to the north, and the PuebloIndians one midway between them. Thusthey journeyed on from Sipapu to theplaces where they were to live. TheHopis wandered a long time, buildinghouses and planting at different placesuntil they arrived at the mesas where theynow live. The ruins of these ancient vil-lages are scattered to the very beginningsof the great river of the canyon theColorado.



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There are two main reasons why thousands ofpeople go to a remote sector of the Mojave desertevery year to visit the Mitchell caverns. One at-traction is the fantastic arrangement of the stalac-tites and stalagmites with which Nature decoratedthese great underground caves. The other reasonis the hospitality of Ida and Jack Mitchell, whoown the homestead where the caverns are located.Here's how two westerners lost $100,000 in a min-ing venture and then started life anew at an agewhen most folks are ready to retire.

"They Guardthe Caves inProvidenceMountains

By RANDALL HENDERSONr HIS is the story of the house that Jack builtnotonly the house but the garage, the water system, thetrails, the campground, the bird pensin fact, Jack'senterprise in this case has transformed the rocky slopes of aremote desert mountainside into a complete habitation withall the comforts and many of the luxuries of a modern Ameri-can city.Jack's wife helped with the job. According to his own ad-mission she supplied much of the work and all of the brainsfor the project.The folks I am referring to are the Mitchells, Jack and Ida,of Mitchell's caverns, located high on the alluvial slope atthe eastern base of the Providence mountains on the Mojavedesert of California.These caverns are well known to those who travel the Mo-jave country. Thousands of peoplestudents, scientists andcurious motorists, visit them every year and wonder at thebeauty and symmetry of nature's handiwork.It required several million years for the natural elementsto form these strange caves and decorate them with stalactitesand stalagmites. The Mitchells had nothing to do with thatachievement. Their task has been to make these caverns ac-cessible to the public, and to protect them from thoughtlesshuman beings. They have done their work well. Near theentrance to the caves they have created in stone and cementand wood a little haven of rest and peace where visitors maypark their cars and enjoy the hospitality of a friendly deserthomeand go into the caves if they wish.The Mitchells have a 160-acre homestead. They built their

J ack and Ida Mitchell on the veranda of the stone housethey b uilt near the entrance to the caverns.spacious cabin of native rock. The house faces the east like aNavajo hogan and the front yard is a typical desert landscapeof sand and rocks and greasewood and cacti. Guests sit on theveranda of the home and watch the sun come up over a moun-tain range that is 120 miles away to the east in Arizonaandthey witness the coloring of beautiful sunsets in the sky abovethat same range.Those who have lived in the mountainous areas will under-stand this paradox. The Mitchell home is crowded close be-neath the precipitous slopes of the Providence mountains.The sun drops behind the range and their cabin is in theshadows by midafternoon.But nature, as if to compensate for the barrier which shutsout the western sunset picture, provides a reflected spectaclein the eastern sky which often is more colorful than the truesunset.From the doorstep of the stone house a gravel road winds

M A R C H , 1 9 3 9 23


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across the floor of the desert to the little town of Essex, 23miles away on U. S. Highway 66 . The Mitchells always knowlong in advance when they are to have callers. During theday a little cloud of dust is seen moving along the road fromEssex. At night the dancing headlights of incoming cars givethe same advance notice.The visitors may be motor tourists who have come to seethe weird formations in the limestone caverns. Or they maybe bug-hunters or botanists out for a field trip in the Provi-dence mountain region. Some come to spend a day or a weekin the guest cabin, or to camp on the little plateau which hasbeen levelled for that purpose. Many drive long distancesjust to enjoy the quiet and freedom of the desert outdoors inan atmosphere of friendly hospitality such as always prevailsin this off-the-beaten-highway desert homestead. All are wel-come.Perhaps I should make on exception to this last statement.I stood by the rock-built terrace in the front of the cabin withJack Mitchell a few weeks ago. Suddenly the quiet of thelate afternoon was broken by a series of shots, evidently fromthe floor of the desert some distance below us. Mitchellfrowned. "They're killing my birds," he said, and there wasannoyance in his tone.The Mitchells do not welcome the intrusion of game hunt-e r s . Much of the surrounding desert is public domain andthere is nothing they can do about it. But like many otherswho have lived long years on the desert and have themselvesknown something of the struggle for existence which is nec-essary if life is to survive in the arid region, they rebel at thethought of killing for mere sport.Jack and Ida were not strangers to the desert when theymoved out to the Providence mountains and established theircamp on the slope at the base of the jagged juniper-clad peaksnine years ago.They are natives of Texas. Jack came to California in 1911 ,and a year later Mrs. Mitchell followed him. He was a painter

and decorator by trade and soon built up a successful con-tracting business.That was during the period when the Southern Californiametropolitan area was making its most phenomenal growth.From the painting of houses to the complete building of them

was a logical step, and Mitchell soon was in the home con-struction business on a big scale. He made $100,000 buyingand building and selling Western avenue real estate andhouses. He gives Mrs. Mitchell much of the credit. "I foundthat if I followed her advice I seldom went wrong," he ex-plains today.In one of his real estate deals Mitchell acquired an equityin some mining claims in Arizona near Flagstaff. He didn'tintend to go into mining, but he wanted to see if he hadanything worth holding and so he invited a friend who wasa mining engineer to go with him on a hunting trip, and in-cidentally to look over the claims."If I had gone on a big-game hunting expedition in Africait wouldn't have cost me one-tenth as much as that trip toArizona." He laughs as he tells the story today. "As a resultof that trip I decided to develop the property. That was in

1 9 2 3 . I sank $103,000 in those mines." Y e s , we took out some gold. But we never took it outfast enough to pay the expenses. I had invested severalthousand dollars before we began milling the ore, and then Ikept putting in more trying to recover what I already hadinvested."Finally when all my capital was gone my family persuadedme to give it up and return to Los Angeles. I not only hadlost my money but I was crippled with rheumatism and hard-ly able to work."During my mining operations I had acquired 20 claimsin the Providence mountains, including the caverns. I didn'tgive the caves much thought at first, but when I learned thatvandals were going out there and destroying those beautifullimestone crystals I had to go out and protect them."That was nine years ago. They have been busy years forthe Mitchells. They lived in a tent at first. Stone by stonethey gathered and carried in the rocks to build their house. Itwas necessary to haul water a long distance. They solved thisproblem by running a pipe line down the canyon from aspring 6000 feet away. Ordinarily it would require severalthousands of dollars in capital for such an undertaking. Theydid not have the money so Jack arranged to salvage somepipe from an old mining property, and he carried much of

B A R S T V W



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t up the rocky slopes himself. It was hard work, but he re-ained his health in the task.There were long periods when the Mitchells had littleore than flour and beans and coffee for their three meals aaybut they were doing a creative job and they did notind. As long as there was food in the cabin they had se-urity and independence.They have never made more than a living out of the cav-rns. They charge $1.00 for adult admission with a specialate to children and to student groups and Boy Scouts. Thencome has all gone back into the improvement of roads, thenstallation of an electrical plant, the building of trails, mak-ng the caves accessible to visitors.The big living room in their home also serves as a museumwhere an interesting collection of mineral specimens and In-dian artifacts is kept. A trip to the caves includes a lecture inthe museum for those who are interested."I am neither a mineralogist nor an archaeologist," ex-plains the host. "I never went to school much. All I knowabout these things is what the scientific men have told me."And then he proceeds with his lecture in non-technicallanguage which is more informative to the average visitorthan if the terms of science were used. He tells the story ofthe Indians who inhabited the caves during countless gener-ations before the white man came to this country.Chemehuevi Indians Lived in CavernsThe archaeological history of these caverns has been piecedtogether by M. R. Harrington, Arthur Woodward and otherscientific men who have visited them. Woodward and a groupof associates spent several weeks excavating the floor of thecaves and sifting the dust for evidence of prehistoric dwellers.The task is still incomplete, but the archaeologists believe theChemehuevi Indians lived in these underground cavities untila comparatively recent date. Probably they were occupied bymore ancient tribesmen before the period of the Chemehuevi.

A rocky bench on the slope below the Mitchell home hasbeen levelled as a camp ground for motor visitors. Water hasbeen piped and fireplaces built on the campground and motor-ists are always welcome here. Adjoining the camp is one ofthe old Indian mescal pits, used by the aborigines for roast-ing the hearts of the agave, which was one of their stapleitems of food. The pit has been restored for the benefit ofvisitors.Partly as a hobby and partly to provide added income forthe development of their resort, the Mitchells have gone infor wild game breeding as a sideline. They have hundreds ofmountain quail and other species of game birds in airy run-ways in a well-sheltered cove. Some time ago they released aflock of chukker partridg es at their hom estead. T hese birdsroam the slopes of the Providence mountains and return tothe home pens morning and night to share the food of theircaptive brothers and sisters.While Jack has been absorbing archaeology and mineralogyfrom the men of science who frequently camp at the Mitchellplace while they are carrying on their field work in the vicini-ty, Mrs. Mitchell has made desert botany her special study andcan answer most of the questions about the wildflowers andshrubs which grow here.The area is rich in interest for the desert explorer, whetherscientist or just a lover of the rugged outdoor landscape. Inaddition to the two caves opened to the public, there are twoother caverns on the Mitchell property which will remainclosed until archaeologists have had an opportunity to com-plete their research.Over the ridge northeast of the Mitchell home are the re-mains of the old ghost town of Providence, and the work-ings of the Bonanza King mine, once a big producer of silverand lead.Another interesting sidetrip is the Hole-in-the-Wall region


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H e r e Are the AnswersThey say the first year in a new magazine publishing venture is thehardest. And so, having guided the Desert Magazine safely along thedesert trail on the first 12-month journey, the publishers last Decembersent out a questionnaire to learn how the subscribers were faring. Thequestion blanks went to 1001 names, picked at random from the mail-ing list. The purpose was twofold: first, to find out what kind of peopleread the magazinetheir occupations, incomes, travel expenditures,etc., and second, to learn what special types of feature material theyprefer to read in this magazine. The response to this survey was mostgratifying. Within 30 days 329 answers were receivednearly 33 per-cent. Assuming the information obtained from these questionnaires willbe no less interesting to the readers than to the publishers, a brief sum-mary of the results is presented herewith:

EADERS were asked to indicateby number1, 2, 3 etc.,theirpreference among the 12 generaldivisions of subject matter appearing inthe magazine. Of the 312 subscribers whoresponded to this poll, 121 named themap-travelog features as their first choice.The complete tabulation of first placepreferences is as follows:Map-travelog features 121Historical features 109Nature features 64Landmark features 48Desert gem features 47Editorial comment 47Personality sketches 40Place Names department 31Monthly news briefs 17Book reviews 16Letters page 10Poetry page 7

(NoteThe tota l f igures in the abovecolumn exceed the number of reply cardsreturned for the reason that several mag-azine readers indicated "first choice" pre-ference for more than one feature onthe list.)The questionnaire cards were then re-checked by another method. All the first,second, third, etc. votes given to each typeof feature were averaged together. Underthis plan of tabulation the results wereas follows:

Historical features 2.69Map-travelog features 2.82Personality

193903 desert magazine 1939 march

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