The Log of a Tenderfoot's trip To

New Mexico

By AL Hull

August 1908

On July 1st, Callie, Callie Lucy, and Thomas went to Roswell, New Mexico, to visit May. On July 15th feeling rather lonesome I followed. They went by Memphis, Oklahoma to Amarillo. I went by Memphis, Texarkana, and Fort Worth to Amarillo, thence to Roswell. I left Athens Wednesday morning at 5 A.M., got to Memphis in time for supper, but found no supper and went supperless. Got to Texarkana next morning and Fort Worth at 5 P.M. Went to Worth Hotel and had a first class

dinner and a rest of two hours. Every sleeper was crowded and the train late. Morning found us on the prairie with prairie dogs in possession. Got a very poor 25 cent dinner in Amarillo and arrived in Roswell at 10:45 P.M. Saturday. I had come from Atlanta with Sarah Baxter and Carolyn Cobb, on their way to El Paso, and left them at Fort Worth.

Roswell is a pretty town, but pretty because of the cottonwood trees. Every street is lined both sides with large cottonwoods, and granolithic sidewalks, and they all look exactly alike. The houses are alike - almost all one story

cottages - Is no matter where you are you feel quite at home. The ground is level with just fall enough to turn the water. North Spring River rises from an Artesian spring near the town and furnishes irrigation. Many artesian wells irrigate the gardens and little farms around, giving immense yields of all the crops that are grown. Alfalfa is the greatest crop. It grows over waist high to a tall man and yields five cuttings in a season, two tons to the acre. When in bloom it perfumes the air for hundreds of yards around.

The Slaughter Ranch about three miles from Roswell is the home of an aristocratic herd of Herefords. The cows are all price takers and worth from $1000 to $1500 each. $7000 was refused for the bull in the picture. Mr. Slaughter has about 40 in the herd. Will and I drove out there in the buggy. The cows are as gentle as housecats.

May has a pony named Quito, tolerably lazy, but gentle and a tough little nag, which she drives to a buggy all about and around Roswell. Quito was a great help in seeing the country. When I got Roswell Thomas had learned everything about the place and evidently looked upon me as a tenderfoot. He was invaluable as a guide and driver.

Longstreet has a beautiful Buick automobile and gave us many a ride miles out in the country. The roads are smooth and well kept, and some of them ten miles without a turn - ideal roads for an automobile. Thomas has met his fate - for the time being - in Dorothy Walker, a pretty little girl, not bashful, who is also stuck on Thomas. Callie has hypnotized Dow and Roscoe Nisbet.

Will projected a trip to the mountains and we were his guests. Longstreet and R. L. Malone his friend went along in a rickety outfit of Malone's which I expected to break down every day. In our immediate party were Will and May, myself and wife, Callie and Thomas, and Rainbolt the driver; all in a mountain hack with two good stout bay horses. Leaving at the same time for a Baptist Camp meeting on the Ruidoso were Dr. and Mrs. Veal, the very salt of the earth; George Freidenbloom, a versatile barber and all around man; Dr. Longfellow a Baptist sort of preacher; Misses Greenlee and Sane, two public school teachers and Frank Young a youth with a gun. Started from Roswell Monday August 3rd at 1 P.M. loaded with provisions, blankets and rugs, grips with a minimum of clothes, frying pans and the various concomitants of a camping trip.

The road was good, pure prairie without a shrub in sight. About six miles from Roswell we struck the foothills and further on they rose prominently while El Capitan showed up on the right and the White Mountains away off ahead of us. It was there that we were heading for a hundred miles away.

By six o'clock we made Diamond A Ranch, so called from their cattle brand. All cattle brands are registered in the Capital in Santa Fe. This ranch is a long low stone house at the foot of a high steep hill, opening out on a meadow and extensive lands along the Honda River which rives in front of the house. Mr. Bloom, the superintendent, treated us hospitably and gave us plenty of cowboy food. Some of us slept in the house, some in the yard, and some under the vehicles. Thomas had a ride on a cowboy's horse.

and made friends with the cowboys promptly. They tried to make him dance but he wouldn't. We went to bed early and were aroused by a cowbell at 5:30 A.M. Breakfast was ready at 6 and we made an early start. There are no women kind on this ranch and it shows it. Tuesday morning was misty and chilly, but when we got up on the hills the sun cleared the atmosphere and revealed the most beautiful shade of blue and brown and gold on the foot hills. Soon after this an old Indian who had camped on the range, came from his wagon to ours running to ask the road to "El plaza Roswell." He jabbered Spanish and Will and Rainbolt jabbered back at him until he appeared satisfied.

It was an uphill pull until we got to the top of "Picacho Hill" which took our breath away.

Picacho Hill is a mile long, down a mountain side from which all the soil has been washed away leaving loose stones galore and solid rock about as even as badly built stair steps. Everybody got out and walked. It was a strain on the horses to go down it. At the bottom we struck the valley of the Hondo and passed some rives of Billy the Kid's making. Winding around spurs and hugging high banks we followed the river until midday. Mexican adobes are scattered all along this road, unpretentious, but clean and some of them prettily furnished. Mexican women and the children scoot like young partridges if you come near them. I wonder if it is a survival of the self protective instinct which was developed when the Indians roamed over that country. These children are most of them quite pretty, though not always clean. I doubt if they ever bathe. In fact there is

no water for them to bathe in. The men are invariably polite and if you greet them with a "Buenos dios, Caballeros" off come their hats every time. We stopped for dinner at Circle Diamond Ranch, struck camp and made coffee and fried bacon. This was Dr. Veal's treat and it tasted good. Here was where George Friedenbloom showed his versatility. There is a fine orchard here and we got some splendid Gape plums, the finest of pears and apples, as many as we wanted for the picking. Mrs. Hamilton was so kind that Will arranged for us to stop there on our way back. A mile further on we came to the straggling village of Picacho, inhabited by Mexicans. All of the houses are adobe but one, a stone with a red tile roof. Governor Curry used to live here and

married a Mexican. He joined the Rough Riders, went to the Phillipines, and his wife thinking he was dead married a well to do Mexican farmer. When he turned up alive she stuck to her second choice. Rainbolt used to live at Picacho and his father is buried there. He owned part of the village and told us lots about the people. About eight miles further we came to the Junction of the Bonito and Ruidoso Rivers which there form the Honda. None of them are more than creeks except in flood times. One of these sudden rises had washed out the Bonito at the crossing. It was a fearsome looking place to drive a loaded team into but not dangerous. The road dropped sheer five feet to the water, and on the other side a steep pull to get out. Fortunately, the banks were sand which gave way under the horses and wheels and let us down easily.

Dr. Veal went first and our team followed and we were glad when we got on the level on the other side. The road wound with the Ruidoso after this with mountains on either side changing all shades of purple as the sunlight faded. Before sundown we drove into Glencoe which is Mr. Coe's ranch and struck camp. Through Dr. Veal's courtesy, Mr. Coe took our party in and made us very comfortable. The others slept out; Longstreet and Malone rolled up in their blankets and wooed the stars. Thomas ate supper in the camp like a regular cowboy to his great delight. After supper, the Coe aggregation gave us much music, first from a graphophone, then with violin, piano and guitar. Mr. Coe played the fiddle and gave us old tunes I used to dance to forty years ago.

Grandma Tulley, a sweet old lady, was charmed to have us to talk to. She had lived in Toronto and Chicago and didn't want us to think she was indigenous to the soil of New Mexico.

A few weeks before Mr. Coe found a skull exposed about two hundred feet in front of his dwelling and dug up a skeleton of a man who had been killed and buried there under a shallow covering. Coe has lived there 25 years and the man must have been buried before that time. But hundreds of men have been killed all along this road where the law was neither known nor regarded. We all had enough music. We thought Annie would never stop and her father never tire. And when they finally retired Grandma stayed on. I was to sleep in the parlor on an improvised bed and I thought I would never get to bed.

Wednesday August 5th we made a late start as the Veal party had only 17 miles to go and we but 32. We had reached the timber line in the White Mountains. The road followed the Ruidoso and revealed some of the most beautiful views I ever saw.

The valley opens out at Tulley's place from a half to a mile wide, where the road climbs the hill two hundred feet above. From here the scene is one of great beauty. The fields of alfalfa and grain, the little farm houses, the cattle and horses grazing, the hay makers building up long stacks of hay, the little river fringed with cottonwoods and the mountains rising up beyond, rough with rocks and stunted junipers, all made a picture to remember. At the head of the valley the Veal party separated from us, turning to the right to the camp ground a mile or two away, while we went on to the post office of Ruidoso, which is a store and a dwelling. And here we saw the first pine tree since leaving Arkansas. We spread our blankets on the grass in the yard, made a fire and cooked bacon, potatoes and coffee. May had provided a full supply of everything and we had an elaborate lunch. In the store we had the first sight of Apache Indians -- two young women, who would not answer a word to us although they can speak English fairly well.

About half a mile from this store we entered the Reservation of the Mescadero Apaches, and rode fifteen miles in it without meeting a soul. The

Reservation is a tract 25 miles square, finely timbered, with fertile valleys. The road is well laid out and kept up and for miles it looks as if we are riding through a park. We reached an elevation of 8500 feet but without any appreciation of it, and from that point for eight miles there is a gradual descent to the Agency, 2000 feet lower. The Agency at Mescalero was a revelation. We expected to see an adobe house with a store attached, Indians sitting around and the general appearance slovenly. But as we drove in a trot down the long lane we saw a village of attractive houses newly built and painted, and of very modern styles. Driving up to the Agent's house, Mr. Carroll came out to meet us, dressed in elegant fashiong and welcomed us cordially as fellow Georgians. There are 24 new buildings in this group, all new, conveniently located around a square with an artificial lake near the center. The purest water from a reservoir on a hill above furnishes an ample supply to every house, with fire hydrants around the square. A power house run by the same water furnishes electric lights to all the premises. In the houses are sanitary plumbing and porcelain bath tubs. Surrounded by mountains, with a valley along the Tulerosa river in full view, the village presents a very pretty picture. We stayed here a week, enjoying the hospitality of Mr. And Mrs. Carroll, who made us their guests. Eloise, "Burch" and "Baby" comprise the rest of the Carroll family.

Indian tepees or tents are scattered around the Agency with wickyups attached, which are rude brush arbors to keep the sun off. Four Indian policemen occupy cottages, who patrol the roads and report any disorder. Indian laborers are employed grading the grounds. They work steadily but in perfect silence. Indian women, with children tagging after them or a papoose on their back, pass to and fro, clad in blues and reds and with the inevitable shawl or blanket wrapped about them. Three Indian girls from the school wait in the dining room, stolid dull looking creatures, moving slowly and never handling more than one dish at a time. A Chinese cook, Ah Wau by name, makes the best bread I ever ate and cooks other food equally well. The atmosphere is ideal, the moonlight brilliant and it is a joy to be alive in such a place.

Our time is spent in reading, playing pool, walking around the Indian tepees and eating. Fishing at the Tulerosa is good at times, but Longstreet,

Malone, Thomas and I had no luck. Mr. Carroll however came back one evening with eight or ten beautiful rainbow trout which he sent to our table. Thomas found a companion in Burch, but most of his time was spent with Mr. Rainbolt who was just about his caliber. He also made friends with Marshall, an Indian employed in the stables. The Indian women would never talk except when we wanted to buy moccasins or belts, when they said, "dos pesos" or "cinco pesos" very readily. At best however they are not garrulous. Their tepees are dirty and blackened with smoke. The furniture consists of a blanket, a skillet and a cracker box.

Callie went into one but soon backed out. Will tried several snap shots with his camera but always had to pay them for the privilege. After two delightful days we started Friday morning for Cloudcroft, taking Eloise with us. The road is excellent following the canyons up to the divide, which is a terrible pull up and a long hold back going down. Resting an hour for lunch, we boiled coffee and cooked bacon and potatoes and it all tasted mighty good. Beyond the divide the road lead us through a beautiful canon, lied with immense spruces and beautiful firs, with here and there a plantation of young cottonwoods. The mountain and hillsides were covered with a profusion of wild flowers of various shades and colors, looking like a fancy carpet in the sunlight. Wandcroft is 22 miles from Mescalero and the last five miles is an awful pull over the mountains. On this whole ride we met an Indian family and a white man hauling a train of new buggies. Several times we thought we were lost but the buggy tracks encouraged us to believe we were on the right road. Our tram was heavily loaded, but Callie and Eloise got in the buggy with the boys and lightened the load by about 275 lbs and Will and I walked up all the worst places. Getting over a spur of the mountain Cloudcroft came into view and we were glad to see it. We drove up to the Lodge at 5 o'clock, and had nice rooms awaiting us. This summer resort is 8860 feet high. There are a number of pretty cottages built in the forest which has never been cut off, and a little village is outside the enclosure.

The Lodge is a pretty rustic hotel, well kept and comfortable. It is quite cool there and a big fire is kept burning in the hall. The dining room is attractive. White waiter girls serve dainty meals, and an orchestra plays fairly well the while. Three deer, a fawn and a pair of eagles gave entertainment to Thomas. Longstreet and Malone took Eloise Carroll and Callie to a show which all pronounced keen. From the "Point" near Cloudcroft is the prettiest view I ever beheld. On either side the mountains rise up covered with firs, and winding in and out in sharp curves and switchbacks is the railroad to Alamogordo, 12 miles away. A lowly valley stretches out set in varying shades of green and brown and hemmed in by a mountain range. Above this range and thirty odd miles beyond the "Sands" appear, shining white as clouds, like an inland sea and

Back of them the Organ Mountains, blue as indigo form an undulating background. It is indescribably beautiful, and a picture to remember for a lifetime. Saturday morning, Malone was taken ill and Longstreet stayed behind with him. The rest of us left at 10:30 on our return to Mescalero. After we got over the mountain spurs we made good time to the saw mill where we stopped for dinner. A hard rain caught us here, put out our fire, spoiled the coffee and threw us back on cold bread and canned goods. The mountain showed was soon over and we took the down grade driving into the Agency at 5 o'clock. There were some fine oats on this road, raised by Indian farmers.

Sunday, nothing doing today. Longstreet and Malone drove in in time for dinner, leaving Cloudcroft at 11 o'clock. Ah Wan was at his best in the kitchen, while Garnett, Frances and Mary as usual made a trip for every dish. A little boy died near the village and as there was no minister at hand, Mrs. Carroll had to read the burial service. Monday, Eloise got two horses and took Callie riding. They left at 1:00 and at 5 Will started out to look for them. At 5:30 Longstreet got on a horse and followed. Soon after the girls came tearing down the lane at a full run. They had ridden to the summit - 8 miles and back. Callie had never been on a horse before and paid for his frolic the next day. Tuesday - Down the Tulerosa road, about a mile lives a squatter, whose little boy was buried Sunday. I walked down there and found him making a blue print of a mechanical drawing! A lovely valley stretches out along the river from here.

Paul Jette rode in from a sheep ranch about 20 miles away, to meet his sister. However she didn't come. Walking around we came upon several Indian squaws playing three card monte with Spanish cards. They took no notice of us, treating us with silent contempt while we looked on. It is a queer race. All the younger Indians can speak English but won't unless compelled. They answer no questions and look as if they didn't hear. The little fellows run like rabbits when a white man comes near. Wednesday, August 12th we bid the hospitable Carrolls good bye and started on our return trip to Roswell. It was a slow walk to the divide, but a trot down to Ruidosa where we ate dinner on the porch as it looked like rain, but didn't. The valley had lost none of its beauty since we left it. We passed the place where we saw two coyotes trotting over the hills and arrived at Coe's before sundown. The crossing of the Bonito had worn down and had no terrors now. The Coes received us hospitably and we gathered much fruit from the orchard. After supper with a little encouragement we might have had some more music, but Will and May made a fire by the wagon and sat by it till bedtime, pretending to admire the moon, but really to escape the threatened concert. However, Grandma gave us several piano solos, ancient waltzes and marurkas. It was remarkable for an old lady of 85 years. Thursday Longstreet and Malone left us going on ahead with an early start to make Diamond A that night. We breakfasted late, helped press some cider, hitched up ad pulled up for Picacho. We came near pitching into a arroyo before we saw it, and on a narrow road around a spur, we met a wagon with a family of Mexicans in it. It took some engineering to pass them without one of our teams pitching down the mountain side. Picacho was Rainbolt's old stomping ground and he drew freely on his memory and imagination for stories of Billy the Kid, the "Howell War" and Mexicans killed and gone - some remains as we passed along.

We drove through the village of Picacho to circle Diamond Ranch - a mite beyond and stopped there for dinner and the night. Mrs. Hamilton treated us fine and showed us a store of preserves, jellies, and hams, all homemade and gave us a might good supper. Saturday we had Picacho Hill ahead of us. Before attempting it, we drove to a Mexican's shanty which smelled very goaty and watered the horses in the Honda for there would be no more water for 25 miles. Most of us walked up the rocky hill and were glad when it was passed. We took a road to the left after this, avoiding the steeper grades, and stopped for lunch at a water hole, where the horses got some very stagnant water while we sat in the sun. Roswell came in view at the "Six Mile Hill" and at the same time a black cloud. The rain met us just at the edge of town and we drove up to the house in a deluge of water. Nobody got wet and we all got in after a most delightful trip, on August 15th. The days passed in charming quietude and I enjoyed the dolce far niente after a ride of 240 miles in a mountain hack, during which everybody gained weight as well as pleasure. Rides about Roswell marked the days, out to the Country Club, the Bercuda, to Hagerman's, to Lovers Lane, North Spring and the Bottomless Lakes. The roads are so good and level that a drive of six or eight miles is nothing, and Quito was always ready.

The prettiest place about Roswell is Mr. DeBremonds. He has a beautiful home in a grove of cottonwoods; finest varieties of grapes and fruit, blooded

horses, fine sheep and cattle, with a finely equipped farm under high cultivation and all under irrigation. Longstreet took us in his auto through the Hagerman place, with its 500 acres of apples and to the Bottomless Lakes. These lakes lie across the Pecos River. They are deep holes, caused by the sinking of parts of a volcanic ridge. Their depth has never been measured. The water is clear, but with a strong sulphur odor. A large area adjoining is as smooth as asphalt entirely destitute of vegetation and rumbles under the wheels of a vehicle as if it was hollow underneath. It is a curious formation.

A picturesque character we met, who took lunch with us in Roswell, was Capt. Etienne Bufac. He is a lawyer, a ranchman, a cowboy and a hail fellow well met, who lives in Carlsbad. His family was from Maryland; he was born in South Carolina, married in Colorado Springs, was in the army in the Phillipines, and talks like a mountain breeze. Monday, August 24th we rose early, got a breakfast before day and started on an automobile for Torrance. Baggage had been sent ahead on

Saturday, and as day was breaking we bid farewell to Roswell. The morning air was cool enough to make an overcoat comfortable. As the sun rose, the trees on the hills were lovely. El Capitan shone white on the left and the White Mountains showed up blue on the horizon. The bridges over the arroyos looked skittish as we approached them but the auto wheels followed the troughs and went over without a hitch. Two coyotes slinked away on the route and the chauffeur took a shot at them, but missed. Sometimes antelopes are seen but we saw none. The auto road is cut or rather smoothed for that use and no other so we met no travelers on the route except the mail car coming from Torrance.

The halfway house was reached at 7:30, where we found a good hot breakfast waiting for us. Mr. Stockhard, the Superintendent was there with his car, and the Collie dogs absorbed Callie's attention. After a short rest we started off, Callie and I in Stockhard's car, making clipping time. Soon the junipers came in sight and near a ranch house, the tire of the yellow car burst. That meant a loss of half an hour to put in a new time. At 11:20 A.M. we drove up to the station at Torrance, with ten minutes to spare before the train came up. Torrance is 104 miles from Roswell and we made it in six hours. This is the longest auto route in the world and carries a daily mail each way. This auto trip was Longstreet's gift to us.

The train from Torrance to Santa Fe is almost as rapid as an ox team. We

dragged along at a tiresome pace, stopping at new towns, just fledged each with a full quota of barrooms. Estancia is about the best. All look alike. Before reaching Santa Fe a broad and fertile valley comes into view which needs only irrigation to make it a garden. Now the mountains loom up and some lovely views are seen, and at 6 o'clock we roll into Santa Fe. Taking carriages we drove to St. Vincent's Sanatarium, where Will had engaged rooms for us.

Santa Fe is a charming old town. Its charm is in its old buildings, its quiet, its atmosphere, and its scenery. The Sisters at the Sanatarium were lovely to us. Sister Mary - don't know her surname - was the executive and managed everything well. The dining room was beautifully kept and the cooking good. A little maid waited on our table and asked in a high pitched little voice, "steak or bacon?" "Tea of Coffee?" Her name is Nora. Father Somebody, an amiable old French priest, took us over the Cathedral, showed us the old vestments, old pictures, old carriages, the old iron bound contribution box, and wooden image of the Virgin, all from 200 to 300 years old, dating from the time the Spaniards first conquered New Mexico. It was all intensely interesting. The old part of the Cathedral with its heavy mortar beams and adobe walls is just as it was two centuries ago.

We went over the State Capitol in which Will took great pride as he was one of the Commission appointed to build it. The old Governor's Palace is a quaint row of adobe rooms opening on the street with a Colonnade in front. All the Governors have lived here from the time of the first Spanish Governor. It belongs to the Territory. The Post Office is in the corner room.

In the block above, lives Ex Gov Prince who has a splendid collection of Indian and Mexican curios and rugs. It is one of the sights of Santa Fe.

The Plaza, a public square, is in front of the Governor's Palace. Everybody congregates here when they have nothing to do at home. In the

center is a monument to Federal Soldiers killed in New Mexico "by the Rebels" -- the only monument in the United States with the word Rebel on it. Candelario's old curio store is an interesting place. He is a Mexican, a great friend of Will Pope, and has a huge stock of Indian goods of every description, and many beautiful rugs some at $500 each. It was impossible to get away without buying some of his goods. The Ex Governor of the Pueblo Indians at Tesuque with his wife and little boy came in and we had an introduction to them.

A drive around the City one afternoon brought us to many interesting places. First out Palace Street as far as the reservoir, then through a Mexican settlement, typical in every respect. We passed the oldest building in America, an adobe of course in a bad state of repair. Nearby is old San Miguel Church. The front has been braced by abutting walls to keep it from falling. It is only occasionally used for services now.

Driving around by the Palace Hotel the best in the place, which is owned and kept by a Negro, we divided up to Old Fort Marcey. This fort was built during the Mexican War when Sante Fe was captured by the U. S. Troops and the hill was occupied which commanded the entire town. The view from here is beautiful.

A fine view is also to be had from the dome of the Capitol. When we got back, we were late for supper, but they kept ours for us.

The next morning Will took us out to Tesuque to see the Pueblo Indians. The air was crisp and fine. The road was good if a little chilly, and the drive of 8 miles was delightful. We met several Mexicans afoot, bringing wood to Santa Fe on their little burros. The wood is cut in small sticks loaded on a sort of saddle and strapped

to the burro. The price of a load is two bits. All the wood used in Santa Fe is brought in this way. Will took a snap shot of some of these little donkeys after paying the Mexican for the privilege.

The mountain view beyond Tesuque is perfectly beautiful. The air is so clear that we could see many miles away. The shades of blue and brown, white and green, made an exquisite picture. Going down from the divide we came to the Tesuque River which the road crossed and recrossed before coming to the village. These old adobe houses have stood from time immemorial. They were here when the Spaniards came 300 years ago and no one knows how long before. There are not many Indians here. It is a small colony. All are good Catholics and they are a law abiding people. A Governor is elected periodically, who acts as Judge in all their affairs and is the agent of the tribe in all public affairs.

The wife of the Ex Governor whom we met the day before at Candelario's was winnowing a pile of wheat in the yard where we drove in. She is a buxom young woman, good looking for an Indian, and evidently the glass of fashion in the tribe. She recognized us and invited us in her house, called her husband. They were polite and we conversed as well as we could, both speaking different languages.

The Governor de facto, who had a houseful of children, and wore a red handkerchief tied around his head - I suppose the badge of office - was also quite friendly and we took his picture while standing by the carriage.

We went into most of the houses, and met a welcome in each. The women showed us into all their rooms, which we found clean and well swept - all with clay floors and funny little fireplaces in the corner. The furniture consisted of a roll of blankets, a skillet, sometimes a table, and in some a very uncomfortable looking bed. The second story houses are built on the lower ones and set back so as to give a small promenade in front. Access is by a rickety, uncertain ladder. The tops of all these adobe houses are of the same sundried clay laid on rafters. The houses are water tight and warm in winter and cool in summer. Quite often grass and flowers grow on the roofs. For a quarter and the promise of a picture the aforesaid Indian woman let her photo be taken, first with Callie and then with Thomas sitting near. First however she went in, put on her newest buckskin leggings - if the term may be permitted in connection with a lady - her red shawl and blue dress. The drive back to Santa Fe was fine.

All along the road we saw numbers of beautiful Indigo bird, as blue as indigo in every feather. We drove in a little late for dinner but Nora was waiting for us with "steak or mutton?" We found Hugh Harris at the Sanatarium recovering from a serious lung trouble. It was like a piece of home to Hugh to see us and we were glad to meet him. We met also Mrs. Dye and Miss Mary Dye from Augusta, and Rev Mr. Dye and his wife, all Georgians. An interesting old house is the old Exchange Hotel the objective point of the wagon trains and stages on the Old Santa Fe Trail in the fifties. The trail came around the mountain and entered the town by the street seen in the picture.

August 27th - We left Santa Fe at 8:30 A.M. on the branch road to Lamey going by the Penitentiary and the Indian School - same way we came in but on a different road. At Lamey we took the through train from San Francisco to Kansas City, leaving May and Callie and Will to return to Santa Fe. We had tolerably comfortable berths in a dirty tourist sleeper, but the best eating on the route I ever got on a railway route. All the eating houses were the Harvey Houses and all uniformly kept at uniform prices. We passed through Las Vegas and got dinner there. The scenery is very beautiful in certain parts of this route. Raton Pass is wild and the train puffed and struggled to get up the grade to the tunnel.

Kansas was tiresome until we reached the eastern part of the state, about the Kaw River and this was a succession of beautiful farms until we reached the Missouri River. Kansas City did not impress us favorably. What we saw was a dirty, noisy crowded city and we were glad to leave it at 6 P.M. Friday. Arrived at Memphis next morning and Birmingham in the afternoon and reached Atlanta at 9:30 P.M. Saturday Aug. 29th after a delightful trip, full of pleasure and not an incident to mar it.