194407 desert magazine 1944 july

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G A Z I N E,;;.,

1944S'"- ' "''' '"

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X -m ee t t k e... by your Union Oil Minute ManGloria, our beautiful Minu teMaid, and I had just op enedthe station last Saturdaywhen bedlam, itself, drivesright into the station!I t 's the Eager Beaver Patrol,Troop No. 17, Boy Scoutsof America, and their pals,jammed in CalW ithertree'struck. Cal's their Scout-master,and he's taking themout to collect waste paper.Before Gloria or I can say BePrepared, the station's swarm-ing with assorted Scouts.W hile Gloria asks Cal aboutg a s , I start to check the oil,

but a Scout beats me to it.He gives m e a smart saluteand exclaims: "A Scout iscourteous."'No w wait a minute," I tellhim. "The Union OilMinute Men are also"At this point another Scoutcomes scooting around thetruck dragging the w aterhose. I m ake a pass at it, buthesays: "AScoutisfriendly."'But dag-nab it, bud, so arethe Un ion Oil" I start toshout, but I'm interruptedby two more Eager Beavers

with th e air hose. "Hey ,now ," I yell,' this self-servicemight be fine at some places,but we Union Oil MinuteMen believe our customersare still the most importantpeople who come into ourstations, and we try to be"'Helpful!" exclaim the twoScouts"Boy Scouts arehelpfulpardon us, please."The whole thing is gettingserious. Then I get awonderful idea. I sneakaround the pump s to get thewindshield cleaner. But bythe time I get it the Scoutshave already got anotherbottle, have cleaned all theglass, and are all tucked backin again; and Cal W ithertreeand the truck and theassorted Scouts go roaringout of the station, leavingme standing by the pumpwith the bo ttle in my hand.I see Gloria watching me."No w you listen to me,Gloria ,"! say. "Remember

thisUnion Oil MinuteMen are"Gloria grins, and says:'Trustworthy, loyal, helpful,friendly, courteous, kind,obed ient, cheerful, thrifty,brave, clean and reverent!"Then she salutes and m archesinto the s tation. .. fromwhich I hear giggles!Say, doesn't anyone want agood deed done?The latcbstring is always outat Union Oil Minute ManStations. Courtesy, friendlinessan d essential motoring servicesare never rationed. We're busyas anyon e else, but we're...

flew oo m s t {t o k f c e l p f t l . '

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D E S E R T

New contributor this month is Dr.Philip A. Mun z, distinguis hed professorof botany, Pomona College, Claremont,who collaborated with Jerry Laudermilkon the story of plant adaptation. Hisbook on Southern California botanyproves his interest in flora of this desertand semi-desert region. But his specialinterest lies in his research throughoutthe western hemisphere on the Oeno-thera, genus of the evening primrose. Mabel Wilton, whose first contribu-tion to Desert Magazine appears in thisissue, started life in Michigan, has writ-ten articles, short stories and poems forreligious, nonsectarian and juvenile pub-lications under several pen names. Shehas appeared as speaker on numerousradio programs, she wrote skits andpoems for Fanchon Marco's drama classfo r a year, some of which are now pub-lished in book form, dedicated to heradopted daughter Patricia Ann, now inair corps, medical division, of the WAC. W hen entering Death Valley from theold Nevada mining towns of Beatty andRhyolite, one usually enters throughDaylight pass in Boundary canyon. Thosewho seek the remotest bypaths mightturn off this road before reaching thePass, following the trail through Lead-field and continuing through Titus can-yon. It is the high walls that narrow thiscanyon down to the point called TitusPorta l which are photographed by JosefMuench for this month's cover. Therocky road here shows only a faint trackas evidence that automobiles dare adven-ture into such a forbidding place. Next feature for those interested inmineralogy is a mystery story, such asonly a scientist like Jerry Laudermilkcould tell. It's a story of ancient Indianbeads of a mysterious red stone whichshows all the warm tones of color frompink to dark red and which sometimesglows with a deep velvety shade like thecolor of hematite . It took a spectrographicanalysis in a college lab to solve the mys-tery of this red stone's origin. Those whohave been skipping words like "spectro-scopy" in magazine a n d newspaperarticles, are going to become familiarwith its importance and the ways inwhich scientists use it to answer theirquestions.

CREED OF THE DESERTBy J U N E LE M E R T P A X T O NYucca Valley, California

There are tiny foot-prints on sandy roadsWhere quail crossed here and the re ;The designs they leave remind oneOf quilts at a county fair.

Volume 7 July, 1944 Number 9

COVER

CLOSE-UPSPIONEERING

BOTANY

HISTORY

HUMOR

ART OF LIVINGPOETRYPICTORIAL

LETTERSTRUE OR FALSENEWSMININGHOBBY

CRAFTCOMMENTBOOKS

TITUS PORTAL, Dea th Valle y. Phot ogr aph byJoseph Muench, Santa Barbara, California.

Note s on Dese rt feat ures a nd their write rs . .ParadiseAbove the Palms

By MABEL WILTONTo Sa ve Their Live sThey 're Tough

By JERRY LAUDERMILK an d PHILIP MUNZ .Sword Points and Dreams in Stone

By JOYCE ROC KWO OD MUENCH . 13Hard Rock Shorty of Death Valley

By LON GARRI SON 16Desert Refuge, by MARSHAL SOUTH . . . . 17Aban done d Homestead, and other poems . . . 1 9

Intimations of an Unse en WorldBy RICHARD L. CASSELL 20

Comments f rom Desert Magazine readers . . . 27A test of your dese rt kno wl ed ge 28Here an d Ther e on the Deser t 29Current minin g ne ws 32Gems and Minerals

Edi te d by ARTHUR L. EATON 33Amat eur Gem Cutte r, by LELANDE QUICK . . 36Saha ra Diary, by RANDALL HENDERSON . . . 37Revi ews of curren t des ert books 39The Desert Magazine is published monthly by the Desert Publishing Company, 686State Street, El Centro, California. Ente red as second class matter October 11, 1987, atthe post office at El Centro, California, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Title registeredNo . 358865 in U. S. Patent Office, and contents copyrighted 1944 by the Desert PublishingCompany. Permission to reproduce contents must be secured from the editor in writing.

RANDALL HENDERSON, Editor. LUCILE HARRIS, Associate Editor.BESS STACY, Business Manager. EVONNE HENDERSON, Circulation Manager.Unsolicited manuscripts and photographs submitted cannot be returned or acknowledgedunless full return postage is enclosed. Desert Magazine assumes no responsibility for damageor loss of manuscripts or photographs although due care will be exercised. Subscribers shouldsend notice of change of address by the first of the month preceding issue. If addreas is un-certain by that date, notify circulation department to hold copies.SUBSCRIPTION RATESOne year . . . . $2.50Canadian subscriptions 25c extra, foreign 50c extra .Subscriptions to Army personnel outside U.S.A. must be mailed in conformity withP.O.D. Order No.19687.

Addrxs correspondence to Desert Magazine, 636 State St., El Centro, California.J U L Y , 1 9 4 4


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Wilson Howel l is a man with a d r eam . A d r eam wh ich he has been labor ing for 17y e a r s to bring to fulfillment.In a wilderness empire above a vast deser t land he is building roads and trails and check dams. As he m a k e sp lan s for rustic cabins and r a m a d a s and outdoor barbecues , he b e a r s in mind the wild rustic beauty of the nat-ural sett ing. For it is such an env ironment tha t is n eed ed by artists, writers, scholars and scientists and thoseothers who are overworked an d s t ra ined to the breaking point. It is for these that Wilson Howell is creatingw h a t he calls his l i t t le paradise. He w a n t s to prov ide for them delightful hideaways at the end of dim aromatictrails an d such sports as tennis, swimm ing, horseb ack r iding, hiking. This is the story of how one man is build-in g a dreamfor others.

/HE interior of the little thatchedroof curio store at Ribbonwood, onPines-to-Palms highway, was COQJand inviting when we stepped inside. Theearth floor felt restful to our tired feet.

No one was in the store and there wasno answer to our repeated calls, so wemade ourselves at home, poking aboutabout among the articles on display, exam-ining the rings made from ribbonwood,the pine cone lapel pins.Finally we became uneasy, and curioustoo, about the continued absence of theowner, and were wondering what to doabout it when Patricia Ann, my daughter,discovered a note penciled on an emptypaper sack under a chunk of rock on thecounter. The note said, "I amworking onthe road over toward the rim of Palm can-yon. If you want me for anything juststrike the Indian gong hanging outside thedoor and I will come up to the store.Wilson Howell."

Since it was Patricia Ann who had dis-covered thenote, she felt she should be theone privileged to strike the gong. Shestruck it with such ablow it sent echo afterecho vibrating, with seemingly electricalforce from one mountain peak to anotherthrough thequiet summer air."Bravo!" I remarked with a chuckle,"that surely ought to awaken the dead, letalone bring the hermit from his lair. Say,that's apretty slick idea, that Indian gong,"I went on, "it surely leaves thehermit a lotof leisureOh! Oh!that must be Mr.Wilson Howell coming now." I had spiedthe tall slender figure of a man in fadedblue denim trousers and battered old felthat just rounding thecurve in the road thatleads off in the direction of Palm canyon."Yoo, hoo!" we called to him, throughcupped hands, and he "Yoohooed" backto us in the same fashion. As he approach-ed we could see that his face wastanned tothe color of brown parchment from thedesert winds and sun. His faded blue eyes

Wilson Howell under a Ribbonwood,the shrub for which his "paradise"was named.

B y M A B E L W I L T O Nheld a quizzical look, and they seemed totake us all in at a glance.

"Ar e you the owner of this place?" weasked, and when he assured us he was, weadded, "But, aren' t you afraid to go away

off into the hills and leave the store wideopen to the public like this? Aren ' t youafraid someone will carry off everything inthe place?"" N o , no indeed," he said, his blue eyes

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~ . --Along Pines-to-Palms highway which no w curves down to the desert pastRibbonwo od. Fraskers photo.

smiling at us from beneath the brim of thedrooping old felt hat. "I just naturallytrust folks and I guess they just trust me,too. I never have had anything stolen yet,and I never yet have been cheated out ofany money ." He chuckled to himself asthough he just that minute had thought ofsometh ing amusing. Seeing our question-ing eyes, he explained, "Once I found anote on the counter in the store, saying thatthe customer had taken an article and hadhidden the money somewhere in the store,but of course he didn't say exactly wherehe had hidden it. Well, it took me exactlythree days to find that three dollars and25 cents. No," he added thoughtfully,"nothing is ever locked here at Ribbon-wood.""How do you happen to be living uphere all alone?" I asked.

"W ell, you see, it's like this. I have awonderful idea for a project, and I havebeen trying to get someone interestedenough in it to"-help me carry it through . Ican't make much headway alone. It's a bigundertaking, and it means a lot of hardwork with a lot of capital involved.""Project!" I exclaimed. "W hat projectdo you mean? Let's hear about it."That seemed to please him. I could seeit was a subject very close to his heart."I am trying to make this place into asort of community rest center, or in otherwords a rest resort for people in ill health.I want to make it into a place that is en-tirely different from the general run ofhealth resorts. A quiet, peaceful place withall the comforts of home, yet retaining asmuch of the natural scenery and atmos-phere as possible. Som ething entirely rus-tic from beginning to end where sick peo-ple can come for the rest and relaxationthey so badly need. I would prefer tomake it into a place where artists, writers,scholars and scientists, who are badly inneed of just such an environment, cancome and forget their work for a brief

One of the many check dams WilsonHowell has built.spell, yet at the same time they can be sur-rounded by a beautiful natural setting."Instead of just the two cabins I have

here now, I have visions of a group of logcabins up here on the top of this mountain,with lots of roads and trails leading to themost scenic spots. There could be a tenniscourt and a swimming pool, horseback rid-ing, hiking and all kinds of sports. Thereare all sorts of hideaway places here amongthese rocks and it's an ideal place to cometo get away from the hubub of city life."As he spoke his face was alight with manydreams."Do you know what I was doing upthere on the rim of Palm canyon?" heasked abruptly."No," I answered, "I wouldn't know,but please go ahead and tell me all aboutit.""I was working on a road I am breakingthrough to the very rim of Palm canyon.Some day I hope to have a good road wherecars can drive clear down to the canyon,and then I hope to establish a series oflakes there.""But, isn't that a tremendous undertak-ing for one man alone?" I asked doubt-fully."Well, yes, I suppose it is," he answer-ed. "Tha t's just why I need help. But, thatisn't my only problem. I have a lot oftrouble up here fighting vandalism andcattle grazing. The ranchers around herewill let their cattle run loose, and thenthere always are some people who will bedestructive."He seemed lost in thought for a fewminutes, then resumed his account."I have made a critical study of thiscountry up here and from the standpointof recreation and living conditions, I findit to be the most wonderful and exhilarat-ing spot in the whole Southwest. Thisplace could be made into a regular para-diseyes, it's a regular paradise in themaking," he added as his eyes turned al-most reverently toward the west and themountain peaks where the sun was settingin a peacock fan of multi-colored clouds.I broke in on his meditations to ask,

Through this wilderness How ell has been building roa ds and trails.

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"How long have you been living up herealone?""W ell, let me see now," he pondered,"I guess it's all of 16 or 17 years ago thatI first cut a trail through the brush up hereto this place." He leaned over to replacea stone I carelessly had o verturned with myfoot. Just then something crawled outfrom underneath another stone close by. Itlooked like a small snake, and I eyed it abit skeptically as it crawled toward me.Seeing the expression on my face, Mr.Howell reassured, "No need to be fright-ened of that. It is only a legless lizard.Poor things, they are almost blind andhave to practically feel their way about."Bending down, he picked it up and placedit on a rock in the sun.Sitting on a couple of rocks outside thequaint little curio store in the warm sun-light, I pieced together the story of Wil-son Howell and the dream that is hisproject.Born in 1888 in New Jersey, of an oldpioneer family he had ventured westwardin 1919 to settle on a ranch near the smalldesert town of Indio, California. His fond-ness for the desert had increased each year,but he found that the extreme heat of thedesert and the long hours necessary fordesert ranching were taking a heavy tollof his health. Reluctant to go far from h isbeloved desert, yet realizing that he mustmake a change, he began to look for someplace near the desert but high and coolenough to have the desired effect upon hisfast failing health.Taking what few provisions were neces-sary he made his way toward the hills. Hefollowed a trail leading up into the SantaRosa mountains. When night came hefound himself standing upon a rocky cliff

overlooking a vast desert area, as well as amagnificently beautiful canyon of palms.To him it seemed the ideal spot because ofits semi-desert character combined withthe high altitude.Living alone for a few years up in thatscenic area only served to convince WilsonHowell that this should become his perma-nent home. And since it had restored hishealth he recognized its possibilities as acommunity rest center for others whoneeded the same climatic change and en-vironment.With this idea formed, but lacking thefinance with which to buy the 2000 acresor more, he tried to arouse the interest ofhis neighbors and friends. His idea wasto form a cooperative group who wouldpurchase the property, administer it ac-cording to the Golden Rule, with one forall and all for one. It would involve thepurchase of Santa Rosa mountain land tothe south, with 7500 feet of virgin timber

at the top, bordered by Palm canyon andthe foo thills of San Jacinto.Failing in this cooperative purchaseplan, he negotiated a loan and bought theproperty himself. He found that at timesmerely keeping up the taxes on the landwas more than he had bargained for, andseveral times he nearly lost it.However, merely purchasing this prop-erty was not enough. A road must be madeto his door so people could come, andthere was no road except a trail which end-ed at Keen Camp, 12 or 15 miles away.Howell finally interested J. Winn Wil-son, late editor of the Indio Date Palm.In 1927, with the help of Wilson andother influential people, plans for a road-way were made and carried through. Theroad started at Idyllwild Jun ction and pass-

ed directly through Howell's property, toconnect with the Indio-Palm Springs roadat the opposite far end of the mountains.Today this road is known to thousands ofmotorists as the scenic Pines-to-Palmshighway.Despite the handicap of ill health,How ell set to work to build a store. Heerected a rustic lean-to with log beamedceilings, a thatched roof and an earthenfloor. The fireplace he built of stonesgathered from the hillsides. The counterand tables he made of logs nailed together.Not content with this, he proceeded tobuild another huge outdoor fireplace witha ramada to shade the tables and benches.This he intended to be used as a com-munity gathering place for parties andbarbecues.His progress was slow and at times dis-couraging for, lacking the funds to pur-chase materials such as nails and cement, inany large amount he had to buy one itemat a time. He would buy one sack of ce-ment or one sack of nails and when thatwas used up he would wait patiently untilhe had saved up enough money for moreand then would continue the work.

When he considered a name for his lit-tle rustic paradise, he thought there couldbe nothing more suitable than Ribbon-wood, because that shaggy red-barked rela-tive of the chamiso was the most abundantof the native growth su rrounding his place.A friend suggested Ribbonwood Land, butthe simple name of Ribbonwood appealedmore strongly to him and as such it now ismarked on road maps.Encouraged by the advent of the high-way, Wilson Howell started to beautifyhis surroundings. He broke roads andtrails here and there to every interesting

SANTA 'JZOSA'M

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Ribbon-wood picnic grounds, shop in left foreground, ca bins in back among theribbonwoods. Frashers photo.and advantageous scenic point on his prop-erty, always keeping in mind the naturalrustic beauty of the place, leaving enoughof the wild growth to retain the true set-ting of nature.

Breaking these trails and roadways re-quired lifting huge boulders and choppingdown a great deal of heavy underbrush,with plenty of filling in and leveling. Itwas an ambitious task even for a man inperfect health . But the vision of a dreamto be fulfilled led him on. Up to date hehas built at least 10 miles of roadway andtrails through the property. At intervalsthere are spots cleared for picnic grounds.Besides building roadways and trails,Howell has built about 300 fairly largecheck dams, and 100 small ones to stemthe tide of water that comes with winterrains and light snowfall. He plans to pipewater from various springs on the proper-ty to different areas, especially to one flatpiece of ground he calls his "little farm,"where he can raise his own garden stuff.Back of the curio store are two logcabins which sleep four each, and Mr.How ell's rustic tepee-shaped home. Th ecabins are well furnished and quite com-pact, with kitchenette and dinette com-bined. There are.a bedroom and a lavatory

with shower, while in the front there is acozy living room with a natural stone fire-place. The cabins are rustic throughoutwith beamed ceilings and cowhide rugs onthe floors or nailed to the walls. We likedthe little cabins and the owner's companyso much that we rented one of the cabinsfrom him and stayed several days.One morning as Mr. Howell and I satin the sun outside the little store, I noticedseveral metates ornamenting the groundsoutside. Inclining my head toward themI asked, "Where did you find those?"He eyed me thoughtfully for a second

and then said, "Years ago, in fact so manyyears ago that the Indians living aroundhere now can't remember, there used to be

an Indian camp up here. I found thosemetates on the spot where they had camp-ed. The re are a lot more at the camp site,but it is pretty well hidden. You couldn'tfind it unless I told you exactly where it is.I have never told anyone about it becauseI am afraid people would come and carrythem all away. Maybe some day when Iget this place all fixed up the way I want

Log cabin is rustic, with beamed ceil-ings and cowhide rugs, but comforta-ble and convenient. Frashers photo.it, I will bring a few more of them downhere for ornamental purposes."

When I didn't speak he hesitated a mo-ment, then went on. "There is a streamrunning back of the store, you know, andmost people would think the Indians

would camp right along the stream, butthey never did. Indian s never camped toonear the water, because it made it easierfor them to catch the wild animals whenthey came to drink. Rather a clever wayof bagging the unsuspecting game to pro-vide fresh meat for their meals."Impatiently I brushed a stray fly off the

end of my nose, while Mr. Howell remov-ed his shabby old felt hat and whacked itagainst his knee a couple of times, possiblyto straighten out a few kinks, or change thedroop to a new angle. Then squinting hiseyes up at the sky he remarked, "Well, itlooks like it might be pretty warm lateron this afternoon. If you and the young-sters want to go horseback riding you canhire some horses from the Indians abouttwo and a half miles up the road."It might, or it might not have been asubtle hint to get rid of me, and to stopmy infernal questions. I wouldn't know,but I do know I found Wilson Howell averitable encyclopedia. His conversationtouches on almost every subject under thesun, for he reads and studies all the cur-rent issues of the best magazines. He alsoreads spiritual and religious works and hasread the Bible through four or five times.Consequently he has a great, overpoweringlove for all wild animals and flowers anddeeply resents their destruction.Signs directing the way along the var-ious paths bear instructions such as these"ENJOY BUT DO NOT DESTROY,""DO N'T PICK W ILD FLOWERS -THEY ENJOY LIVING TH E SAME AS

YOU DO," "LET OTHERS HAVE ACHANCE TO ENJOY WHAT YOUMIGHT DESTROY." These signs alwaysare in plain view of the public and if youshould pick so much as the tiniest sprig ofwild flower, or move a rock or stone, I canassure you Wilson Howell's sun-faded,kindly eyes can very quickly turn to a coldsteel blue.Howell is familiar with every rock andflower on his land, and he touches themas reverently as a mother might fondle herbeloved child. Living alone high up in theSanta Rosa mountains has given him anintimate love and knowledge of nature.Wilson Howell's dream of creating aperfect paradise for those who appreciatenature's gift to mankind is far from beingrealized, but he feels that some day withhard work and the courage to back up hisdreams it eventually will come true.The night before we left for home wesat late before the open fire in the big out-door fireplace watching the red glow ofthe coals and talking in subdued voices ofmany things. And it was with the deepestreluctance that we departed the followingmorning.I don't know how the rest of our party

were impressed, but I felt that I had touch-ed something rare and beautiful, and veryvery close to the Infinite.J U L Y , 1 9 4 4


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These desert plants ocotillos, ncense bush, chollacactus and various annuals are adapted to overcome obstacles of beat,drought and foraging animals. G. E. Barrett photo.

ikeit Jlive&They're ToughIf you miss your footing and come to a one point landing on a bed of prickly pear cactus, don't blame MotherNature for your injured feelings. In her cod e anything goes that aids survival of the spe cies. And this baffling,stinging, burning entanglem ent of spines a nd g lochids is just one of her more obviou s defense w eap on s. Some-times s he reso rts to wh at Jerry Laudermilk an d Philip Munz call "und erhand ed tricks" an d "w eap on s of stealth."These two scientists tell Desert readers in plain language how desert plants can persist in an environment hos-tile to lifebut an environment in which the survivors are tough and conditioned.

By JERRY LAUDERMILK and PHILIP MUNZDrawings from original specimens by Jerry Laudermilk

r HE June day was hot and dry. Our canteens were run-ning low and we were thirsty. The w ater situation wasbecoming something to think about. All around us thedesert plants had to contend with the same problem but seemedto have the situation w ell in hand. There had been no rain formonths and still they flourished. Some even were brave enoughto blossom. Smoke trees were masses of blue flowers and de-spite the heat they had a cool and springlike look. No t onlythe smoke trees but the wild go urds blossomed and many smallerand less dramatic plants held their own against the drought.How were they able to live, let alone blossom, after months ofhigh temperature, dry air and dry soil? The answer is that thesesilent desert dwellers have adjusted themselves to their sur-roundings.Adaptation to environment involves countless and wonderfultricks to overcome adverse cond itions. Laymen sometimes taptheir heads and look knowingly at one another when a botanist

talks about plants and the subtle sort of sense they show inprotecting themselves from their enemiesboth the hostilenatural surroundings and the hungry animals. There are many

points about the adaptations of plants that grow in unfriendlysituations that will supply headaches for generations of botanistsyet unb orn. However, some surprising and interesting factsabout the structure and behavior of such plants are well under-stood.Many p lants have chosen a tough life. Mesquite, desert wil-low and several others have staked out their claims along washeswhere there is a reasonably ample supply of underground water.Their roots sometimes reach down as far as 50 feet. In fact,water close to the surface is indicated where these plants arefound. Another group including iron wood and palo verde alsogrows along washes but depends on flood water instead of trust-ing to long root systems. In this way they wait, and when thewater does come they take advantage of the intermittent supply.Many other plants, including the big cactus family, solved thewater problem by attacking it from a different angle. Theseplants have shallow and widespread roots near the surface wherethey can take advantage of the thin layer of moist top soil whenrain does come. Many of these plants grow on dry uplands ofthe desert where rains are rare, short and violent. The top soil



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is soon soaked and the roots work furiously laying away a waterreserve stored up in the cells of the plant itself against the hardtimes sure to come later in the season.Although desert plants always are on the lookout for water,permanent pools sometimes are found in unexpected places.Such water is likely to be highly mineralized. There will be butsparse vegetation around their margins but some plants canutilize such water. Cat-tails often grow in wa ter salt enoughto taste. They grow profusely along the canal beside the roadnear Newberry, California, on Highway 66 . A few other plantsutilize such water because their cell sap is adjusted to functionwith water containing a high concentration of mineral salt. Butfor most desert plants the problem does not seem to be utiliza-tion of water but how to surmount a lack of water.Annual plants solve the problem by being drought escaping.These take it easy and wait until the rains come. Then they popup and have a gay time while the soil still has some moisture.They flower, ripen their seeds and die all in a few weeks. Theseeds lie dormant until the next rainy season and then gothrough th e same short life span. Alth ough this system mayseem a little frivolous to the cacti which grow close by, the sys-tem works. Some of the lily family use a different approach.These plants, the desert lily, mariposa lily, wild onion andothers have underground bulbs or rhizomes. These bulbs andrhizomes are terrifically alive, little bombs of energy, ready toexplode when favorable times come. They do not apparentlystruggle against the drought. They simply die back to theground and the bulb carries onw aiting. This waiting gamealso is carried out in another manner.Some plants "play dead" d uring the drought. Perhaps youhave noticed when you were about to start your campfire, thatcertain bushes that looked like firewood refused to burntheywere green inside. These plants are drought enduring. Theysimply shut up shop temporarily when business is quiet and also

Joshua tree leaf has deep stoma ta in urn-shaped pits. Tinytwo-way valves to cut dow n evaporation are shown at A.B sho ws edge o f leaf from ivhich section was cut.Greatly magnified.

wait, but do it with their branchesthe entire plant w aits. Creo-sote bush and burroweed brave it out along these lines.Other plants are "water bankers" with the foresight to accu-mulate a surplus of water to tide them over the dry season. Theyinclude the cacti, agaves and the succulents. They have fleshystems, fleshy leaves or fleshy roots like the wild gourd. Theygorge their cells with water and can draw on this supply whenthe need comes. These plants are drought resisting. Obviously,desert plants are concerned with preservation of what water theycan store up or do without. Vegetable tissue dries out rapidly un-der unfavorable conditions and these are many.One of the quickest ways for a plant to lose water is throughlarge leaf surfaces. Plants breathe and lose water du ring respira-tion but this point comes up later on. So, nearly all desertplants have small and often thickened leaves. Some have goneso far as to discard leaves altogether and have turned over to thestem the work of food manufacture which is the function of thegreen leaf whose cells are tiny laboratories wh ere one of the mostimportan t of life processes takes place - - changing carbondioxide and water into sugar and starch. Here we are broughtface to face with a tremendous mystery which has to do with thesun and the amazing correspondences that exist between thebiggest thing in the solar system and humble little patches ofgreen pigment in the cells of plants.These cells have to be protected against water loss and so thesurfaces of all plants are covered by a transparent but waterproofskin. Th is covering or cuticle is secreted by the epidermal cells.

Section through ed ge of fiddle-neck leaf shows, at A, longsimple hairs which discourage a foraging animal. Whileglochids of a cactus hurt, these simply n ag. More highlymagn ified hair tip is at B. Section through leaf is at C.J U L Y , 1 9 4 4


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Wild buckwheat shows a different adaptation strategy. AtA. leaves are in wet weather stage; at B, the dry. C shoivshighly m agnified section through leaf at D, disclosingcuticle thick on outside at E but thin and protected withhairs at F, underneath. As leaf wilts it curls underon thin side as at B.

All plants, whether they live in the desert or not, must have thisprotec tion. A good exam ple of the value of this protection canbe seen by peeling an apple. Within just a few hours the waterwhich otherwise would have been stored up for months is lost.Some of the best examples of a thickened epidermis are furnishedby plants which really are blessed by having "thick skins"agodsend to anything, plant or animal. Desert tea, agave and allthe yuccas have especially thick cuticles. In some plants likescrub oak the leaves may be so heavily coated that they breakwhen folded. W he n plants wrap themselves in this waxy pro-tective coating the cells must maintain a connection with theouter air with which they exchange carbon dioxide and oxygen.

On sunny days carbon dioxide and water are combined in thegreen cells to form sugar and other food material and to releaseoxygen. At other times, glucose and oxygen are comb ined toliberate energy and produce carbon dioxide and water. In fact,the plant actually burns up its food reserve in practically thesame way that an anim al does. So to be able to give off thesegases the cuticle is perforated by tiny breathing pores calledstomata, a Greek word mean ing "m out h." The stomata actual-ly are slits between bean-shaped, specially formed guard cells.When thce is abundant water during the daytime, the guardcells are distended and pu ll apart. In fact, this is the way theplant opens its myriad mouths. When plants wilt from lack ofwater , the guard cells draw together and close the stomata.When the stomata are open and can function, they lose watervapo r from the wet interior of the plant. But desert plants havedeveloped a great many methods to guard their stomata and pre-vent evaporation.Often they have remarkable structures such as urn-shaped pitswith the stomata buried dee p in the bottom of the pit. Some-times the pit is constructed so that its neck will be almost as nar-row as the stomata itself and water vapor must escape throughtwo openings w ith a dead air space between. These m arvelous,microscopic, two-way valves are highly efficient in cutting downevaporation and are especially well developed in the leaves ofthe Joshua tree and century plant, or agave.If the stomata are protected by a thick, felt-like layer of hairsthe plant obta ins the same effect. The se hairs are of many andsometime s fantastic shapes. In the case of some plants likeburroweed, woolly marigold and some milkweeds, the hairsbranch t o' form a woo lly mat. In other cases like the buffaloberry, parts of the hair radiate from a center like the spokes ofa whe el mak ing a flat sheet of umbrella -like scales. Th e saltbushes have develop ed an especially fancy type of hair. The seare tiny balloons filled with gas which eventually open and showa shiny surface. W he n the hairs or scales are wh ite the leaf lookssilvery, like that of the desert holly. Th is reflects much light a ndheat, which still further protects the cells from the intense des-ert sunlight which is itself very injurious to protoplasm, the liv-ing part of the cell. Some plants like creosote bush a nd yerbasanta accomplish this light reflection by use of shiny, highlyvarn ished leaves. In these cases wax or shellac-like materials aresecreted by the epiderm al cells. O the r plants have solved theirwater problem by what would seem to be a rather extravagantmethod.

Many trees and shrubs lose their leaves entirely during thedry season. Palo verde, smoke tree, turpentine broom and oco-tillo, leaf out after the rains, but as the soil dries they shed theirleaves, thereby saving what little moisture they have. A th inlayer of cork forms over the scars left by the fallen leaves. Th isfurther protects the plant against evaporation.Innumerable schemes are employed by the leaves of plantswhen they have to tackle diff icult situations, and students ofSpecialty of white sage is its oil glands. At A is specializedcell full of oil, close-up at B. At C are two hairs and a bean-shaped stoma. Genera l leaf structure at D is vertical sec-tion through leaf at E, along line shown.

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plant-lore have many entertaining tales to tell about the inge-nuity of foliage and the sort of quiet wisdom plants show duringtimes of drought and during the rainy season when the foliageadapts itself to accord with moisture or the lack of it.Some perennia l grasses have their stomata all- on one surfaceand during dry weather the leaf blade may fold under from theedges or even fold lengthwise so that the pores all will be on theinside. Such leaves are ridged and furrowed longitudin ally and

so easily can curl under as the outer cells wilt. Th e leaves ofwild buckwheat of both the desert and the coastal valley curlunder from both sides and less leaf surface is exposed during hotweather. They may remain in this position for months. Perhapsthe outstanding example of curling to avoid drought is the resur-rection plant which grows in the deserts from western Texas toSonora, Mexico. This p lant rolls up its branches into a tight,dead looking ball during the dry season but after the first rainit flattens out again into a brigh t green plant . The resurrectionplant often is for sale as a curiosity.Some of the pea family are so constructed that when the leaf-lets wilt they fall one against another like overlapping shingleson a roof to protect each other from th e heat. It is a beautifullysimple and logical thin g to do. In some cases chemistry alsohelps the plants to overcome the water supply problem.The cacti, pickle bush, alkali weed and certain other fleshyplants are so adjusted that during the dry season chemicalchanges take place in the cell sap which enable them to retainthe water they have. Some of the complex carbohydrates in thecells are changed into simpler ones which form a sort of glue-like substance that is able to absorb and hold water. It is arather astonishing fact that when botanists attempt to mountspecimens of these plants, unless the cells are killed by immer-sion in boiling water, the specimen is likely to surprise the col-lector by having come to life and put out vigorous young sprouts.This remarkable quality of the juice in case of the cacti can beshown very simply. If a prickly pear stem (one of the pads, in-correctly called "l eav es") is peeled and its protecting cuticle en-tirely removed, it glazes over by a hardening of the surface andwill remain moist and alive inside for many months.Another adaptation of this fleshy habit which enables a plantto absorb and store water, is a bellows-like action shown to per-fection by the barrel cactus and the saguaro. In these plants, thewoody, mechanical tissue is in the center of the stem, surround-ed by a region of thin-walled ce lls. Just under th e epidermis isa heavy band of thick-walled tissue that is very strong and elastic.When the stem is gorged with water, the outer ribs move apartand as this supply decreases they draw together like the pleatsin an accordion. This action would not be possible if the woodytissue grew near the outside of the stem instead of in the center.This property of water storage is sometimes fortunate for so-journers in the desertthat is, humans who may need a drinkand need it badly. The juice of the saguaro is not good watersince it contains too much mineral s alt. But the barrel cactus isa reliable source of water for the thirsty individual who knowshow to attack the problem. To guard aga inst exactly this stateof affairs, this cactus is armed with a formidable array of spinesand fishhooks. On e way, probably the best, is to cut out the topand churn up the pulp with a stick. W ithin a few minutes,water will collect in the hollow. It may taste something like aPrickly pear cactus is a "water banker." Section of a padshows ivater storage and ep idermis. At A is tough, parch-ment-like cuticle reinforced ivith crystals of calcium oxalate.at B. C shows green cells full of chloroplasts {tiny livingthings wo rked by sun power to make sugar and starch a ndother food from carbon dioxide and water). D sho ws cellfull of chloroplasts more highly enlarged. L ayers E showcells gorged ivith water and containing a few chloroplasts.Greatly magnified section taken at P.

Desert holly's balloon-like hairs, at A, burst to give plantits silvery look, reflect heat of sun. Section is throughthe leaf at C.

I "~

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raw potato but is good water. Tenderfeet have died in theshade of these natural water tanks.Although the juice of the barrel cactus and saguaro arewatery,most cacti have glue-like sap. There is a surprising variation inthe sap of desert plants. This variation is a fact that applies toall plants, but is more evident in the plants of the desert. Thereason is simple. Syrup dries more slowly than water, so in thecase of cacti and related plants, the thicker and more concen-trated the juice, the more slowly they give up their water. Be-sides these direct adaptations to resist drought, desert plantshave a number of roundabout ways of surviving.

Some of the adaptations help slow-growing plants to defendthemselves from foraging animals that find little enough to eatin any case and are ready to try anything that isn't downrightpoisonous or doesn't taste too bad. Many plants of dry regionshave characteristic strong odors and tastessome rather pleas-ing and others very disagreeable. Most of these odors andtastes come from essential oils in the plants. Although many ofour best flavorings and seasonings come from these essential oils,when they are concentrated in the plant they are far frompleasant.These attributes which animals shun actually give desertplants much of their personality and charm. Some of the mostaromatic and flavorsome are turpentine broom, creosote bush,the sages and many others of the mint family. Creosote bushhas many virtues aside from its beauty which are not generallyknown. One of these is the fact that prospectors who run shortof tobacco can stop their longing for a smoke by chewing thetwigs which have an "ash tray" flavor quite satisfactory to anold smoker. Like agreat many other plants of the desert, creosotebush has potent medicinal qualities which were well known tothe Indians, especially the Coahuillas who knew their desertpharmacopeia to perfection. The essential oils are secreted bycertain specialized cells which are conspicuous in the indigobush and the turpentine broom. This latter plant is a close rela-tive of the oranges and lemons. Aromatic oils in plants may be

formed as waste products in the cells but are a highly effectivesource of protection. They also probably help in cutting downevaporation.Another liquid defense is latex or rubber milk, the white oryellowish, sticky juice which bleeds from the cut stems of suchplants as rabbit bush, milkweed, desert dandelion and severalothers. The Coahuillas made a typically American use of thislatex chewing gum. They used to collect the juice from a cer-tain species of milkweed, let it evaporate to thicken and thenused the product in the regular way. This gum at first has anextremely bitter flavor but this soon disappears and the "chew"that remains apparently could last foreverand why not, sinceit is practically pure rubber?This latex, which is of special interest in these days of rubber

shortage, is an emulsion of proteins, sugars, gums, alkaloids andother substances distasteful to animals. Latex also works me-chanically as an automatic sealing m aterial for any breaks in thecuticle of the plants. In the case of some euphorbias the latexis very poisonous and in the South African desert, the Bushmenused the milk of certain species as an arrow point. Several ofthese desert shrubs are a possible source for commercial rubber.Guayule is now being grown for that purpose.To protect themselves from their enemies, plants have stillother devices such as spines and spine-like hairsthe horrible,hair-like, m icroscopic glochids of the cacti. They linger in theskin like visiting relations. These spines are of many types.Some are simple outgrowths of the epidermis and vary fromsharp hairs like those of the fiddle-neck to tough, more perma-nent growths like cactus thorns of all sizes. Sometimes spinesare modified branches from which the leaves have fallen as inthe case of the smoke tree and buckthorn. They also may remainas the midrib of the leaf. This is a peculiar trait of the ocotillo.

Spines of the larger types generally are smooth. Others like themicroscopic plant-hairs are frequently barbed or provided withhooks down the sides like those of the sandpaper bush and eve-ning star. Some plants which are harmless when growing indamp places become ferocious when they come into conflictwith the desert. In fact, a certain species of fuchsia from theChilean desert has extemporized very effective thorns by hard-ening part of the leaf.The forbidding look of these spiny plants should be a warn-ing in itself. The rather gentlemanly Opnntia parry/, close rela-tive of the beautiful but terrible "jumping cholla" admonishesyou 10 times with its longer thorns before it finally gives up andlets you "burn" your fingers on the devilish little glochids at thebase of the cluster of long spines. Despite this armament ofspines and glochids, animals desperate from hunger sometimeswill eat the cactus anyway. The little antelope chipmunk andother rodents start at the base of the stem, carefully avoiding thespines, and eat the pulp by working upward. Old, tough rangecattle frequently eat the deerhorn cactusthorns, glochids andall. This is probably the last word in food "roughage." Butnothing under heaven could eat the jumping cholla, a regularplant demon, entirely covered with stiff spines.Plants of the desert have to be hard in order to survive. Theyhave many tricks, sometimes underhand tricks which they al-ways are ready to use against an enemy. In the majority of casesthese means of defense are weapons of stealth, a type that seemsto be a favorite with all living things. But in the code of MotherNatureanything goes that may preserve the species.

DESERT C REOSOTE HAS23-LETTERWORD MEANING "CRISP," "CRUNCHY"Scientists whohave been studying problems of food preserva-tion believe an important contribution can be made by one of theSouthwest desert's most common shrubsthe creosote. Thosewho call the resinous heavy-scented shrub or small tree just plain

"greasewood" would never suspect that scientists have found itcontains such an imposing substance as nordihydroguairetic acid.This acid, "Ndga" for short, is a powerful antioxidanr capableof increasing the stability of oils thereby preventing rancidity.Foods such as cookies, crackers, potato chips and confectionswhich have been prepared in oils stabilized with this acid willremain fresh and crunchy. Results of experiments with it weretold at recent meeting of American Oil Chemists society. H. C.Black of Chicago, Swift andCompany chemist, said hiscompanyhad used a similar antioxidant, gum guaiac, obtained from aWest Indian tree. "We have been using gumguaiac for stabiliz-ing shortenings and oils for several years," Black reported. "Ittakes shortening out of the ice box and puts it on the shelf with-out fear of early spoilage."Main credit for advancement in study of antioxidants wasgiven to necessity of economical storing of foods over longperiods for armed forces. Its postwar value, in aiding to feed theworld, was seen to be of even greater benefit.First application for harvesting greasewood in New Mexicofederal grazing area was made by L. A. Sullivan of Hatch forW . J. Strange Co., of Chicago, who requested an increase to oneton per day. Sullivan already had furnished eight tons of creo-sote "strippings." In harvesting, only the leaves and smallbranches are needed to obtain Ndga.Creosote is common throughout the Lower Sonoran life zoneof the Southwest in California, Arizona, Nevada and New Mex-ico. This is the typical low humidity, low rainfall, high sum-mer temperature area in which plants have developed greatestadaptive characteristics to withstand such climatic features. Itis estimated that in New Mexico alone there are 10,000,000acres of the shrub which will keep the world's cookies crunchy.



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Near the base of the 200-foot cliff of El Morro mesa are carved the signatures and messages and declarations of more than threecenturies of Southtvest "invaders." Even before the first Spanish name, there were marks and scrawls of the native Indians onthe sandstone rock that was to become a diary of the Southwest. Frashers photo.

.SwotJ.Voin.t5 and'Pteam.5 in StoneIt might have been the drowsy sound of summer insects that lulled them to dreaminessbut they are sure theyheard sounds strange to the ears of modernsa rhythmic jangle of metal, then an increasing volume like thesound of many voices. As Joyce and Josef Muench rested at the foot of the great mesa of El Morro the pageant ofSouthwest history passed before themthe scarlet and gold magnificence of Spain's conquistadores fired bydreams of treasure, the slow trudge of the brown robed bearers of the Faith, the later crisp sound of marchingfeet of Americans ending the Spanish era, the long creaking roll of pioneer wagons all these came on likewaves that broke upon the rock where each caravan left the story of its hopes and triumphs and failures.

B y J O Y CE R O C K W O O D M U E N C H

ESERT heat lay like a heavy cloak1^ pressed down upon the earth. Itwas July and we were on our way tovisit El Morro, the Inscription Rock whereNew Mexico ' s his tor ic "autographs" haveaged in all kinds of weather for more thanthree centuries. Our car labored over thedusty 65 miles southeast from Gallup tothe great plateau whose extreme rim is cov-ered with extinct volcanoes, into the valleywhere once there ran an ancient road fromJ U L Y , 1 9 4 4

Z u n i to the Rio Gr ande . Am ong its greatmany colored sandstone mesas stands thegreatest of them, El Mor r o .Wea the r ed by the ages it loomed like agreat headland or bluff, giving an effectof bastions and turrets of a Spanish castle.Appr oach ing as we did, the insurmount-able peak of a mighty wedge rears over 200feet high and the wings sweep back forthousands of feet. Once behind its battle-ments the wedge shape is seen to be open,

with shrubs and trees, a small undulatingvalley lying w ithin its protecting arms. Atthe apex is a natural basin, reinforcedrecently, which catches the rain water andsaves it for the thirsty traveler on this fabu-lous old roadway.My husband and I climbed wearily outof the car and spread a blanket upon theground. Stretched out upon it we lookedup at the 200 feet of cliff that soared aboveus. The ruins of a prehistoric village set13


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on each of the wings like a crown can bereached by an ancient trail of foot holes,a few hundred yards south of the tower.They were builtthe villages and thetrailby the people of Pueblo IV, the cul-ture which followed the great Classicalperiod which ended about 1300. Some ofthe crude petroglyphs found on the rockmay have been made by them, thus makingEl Morro's record cover more than 500years.

The noise of summer insects floated overus, enveloping and lulling us to a forget-fulness of heat and discomfort. I was in amood to believe that El Morro itself mightbe ready to speak. There came an under-tone to the drone of the bees and the fliesthat soon took command and drowned outthose busy voices. I tried to place its com-ponent parts. There was a jingle to it, thesound of metal on metal and a rhythm toothat was overlaid by something whicheluded me. Before long the volume hadso increased that the elusive sound becamerecognizable as voicesmany voices."A large party of horsemen is comingthis way," I said to my husband as wepuzzled over the different sounds and wait-ed to see what manner of a cavalcade thismight be. Why so much metal in with themarch of men's feet and the drum ofhorses' hooves? Aroun d the corner they

came at last, swinging along, and as theprocession swept up to where we were,near the edge of the pool, we gasped inastonishment.A lean native, surely an Indian, led theway. His simple clothes appeared to be ofhand woven cotton. Behind him came firsta magnificent figure on horseback. Theanimal was almost covered with a finelychased equipage and the rider held thegold and scarlet flag of old Spain restingin his stirrup. He was dressed in red velvetand a handsome plume bobbed in his hat.I turned my eyes from him to see the otherswho began to file into view. Some of themwore jackets of fine flexible mail. Theyall had swords that clattered with everymovem ent. W hen the first man reachedthe edge of the inviting pool, he swung off,his mount and a soldier materialized fromthe crowd to hold it. For the next few min-utes there was bedlam.

Wave after wave of men and horsesreached our resting spot and the air wastumultuous with Spanish voices, the whin-nying of horses and all the noises that acrowd of men and animals can spread uponthe air of a summer day.(I had no time to wonder at the momentwhy we were not seen or how this strangeprocession could be here before our eyes.

Something had happened to time and itskimmed by in a most capricious manner.)When a few horses had had water theymade room for others and it soon becameapparent that this was to be the campsitefor the night. While fires were beinglighted, horses bedded down at a little dis-tance, and our Spanish soldiers chattedamong themselves with much gusto andgood humor, although they were verytired. A jaunty young man detached him-self from a group and taking out a shortpoinard walked over to the wall of ElMo rro. He started to prick out letters withthe sharp point. Some other men walkedover to watch him and one read in apompous voice:"Paso por aqui el adelantado don Juade Of/ale al descubrimiento de la mar dels/ir a 16 de Abril ao 1605 ." (Passed byhere the provincial chief don Juan deOnate from the discovery of the Sea of theSouth on the 16th of April year 1605.)The man in scarlet then was politely in-vited to inspect the work. His approvalwas immediate and he stood looking at the. delicate Spanish letters for so long that Iwondered if he could be glimpsing thesome 150 inscriptions that were to followthis, the first, cutting into the rock therecord of Spanish exploration in a newworld. Then this must be Onate, the dis-

Translations of the Xlth century Spanish inscriptions sometimes vary. In any version, the poetry of such an entry as this one ofGovernor Nieto's in 1629 loses much o f its musical rhythm. Joseph Muench photo.

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Here is a threat oj vengeance jor the death oj Father Letrado, signed "Lujan" on March 23, 1632. Near it are the signatures ofyoung Lt. ]ames Henry Simpson and R. H. Kern, the artist who illustrated the reports Simpson wrote on his military reconnais-ance from San ta Fe to the Navajo country, which took him past El Mono in 1849. To the left of the Lujan inscription, stir-rounded by the imposing names of history, is the simple entry, "I am from the hand of Felipe de Arellano\6th oj September soldier:' Muench photo.coverer of New Mexico, who had foundedSan Gabriel de los Espanoles in 1598second oldest town in this country andwho was now on his way back from a tr ipto the Gulf of California! Th e first gov-ernor of New Mexico turned away fromthe inscription with a sigh, and without

warning the whole procession faded. Butstill we were not alone.Other soldiers, adventurers and priestswere to be seen milling about the pool. Isaw many writing upon the wall. I haveforgotten most of them but there was thatone signed "Eulate" that says:

"I am the captain-general of theprovinces of the New Mexico for the Kingour Lord. Passed by here on return fromthe pueblos of Zuni on the 29th of Julyof the year 1620 and he put them in peaceat their petition asking him his favor asvassals of his majesty and anew they gaveThis extended announcement of July 29, 1620, tells of the captain-general's establishment of peace in the Zuni tow ns and theIndians' "petition asking him his favor as vassals of his majesty and anew they gave the obedience . . ." Muench photo.

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the obedience all of which he did withclemency and zeal and prudence as (a)most christianlike (obliteration) most ex-traordinary and gallant soldier of unend-ing and praised memory (obliteration)."I heard men talking of strife, of blood-shed and of the rebellious native Indians.There was rage over their own failure tofind gold and precious stones. They stilltalked of the Seven Cities of Cibola wherethey had been promised streets paved withgold and of more wealth than any mancould use. Spain was far away and manyof them longed for home and their ownland.Soon another larger group of men trudg-ed wearily up to the rock. They sang asthey came along the dusty road as thoughto encourage themselves and even theirhorses, for only about half of them weremounted. Their leader was a gracious manand he talked hopefully of peace. It washe who wrote with his own hand:

"Here passed the governorDon Francisco Manuel de Silva N ietoW hose indubitable arm and whosevalorHave now overcome the impossibleWith the wagons of the King our Lord(a) thing that he alone put into effecton August 9 (one thousand) six hun-dred twenty nineThat one may to Zuni pass and the faithcarry."He looked at it carefully and then read italoud to his men, this record which was tobe almost all that is now known of him.Then he and his men were gone, to be fol-lowed by a handful of riders who stoppedonly long enough to water their horses andto eat a little food themselves and to writehurriedly on the rock:"They passed on the 23rd of March ofthe year 1632 to the avenging of the deathof Father Letrad o." It is signed by"Lujan."Francisco de la Mora Ceballos was thengovernor of New Mexico and he had sentthis expedition of which Lujan was a sol-dier, "to avenge" the death of the mis-sionary, killed by the Zunis that year.I recall one swaggering leader who call-ed out for any man who could write, sincehe himself could not. A slender youth ofhardly more than 18 stepped forward withdagger in hand. He carefully m ade thewords in the rock as they were dictatedto him."In the year of 1716 on the 26th of Au-gust passed by here Don Feliz Martinez,Governor and Captain-General of thisKingdom, to the reduction and conquest ofM oqui; and in his company the ReverendFather Fray Antonio Camargo, Custodianand Judge-Ecclesiastic."When the captain-general had finishedreading it aloud he turned to the motleycrew that loitered near. He gave them akind of pep talk. It was evident that theyneeded something of the sort. There was

dissatisfaction and even fear upon some ofthe faces. A scouting party was sent outand came back within a few hours with twoIndian prisoners. These they carried offwith them in a hurried retreat when a partyof Indians threaten ed an attack. This wasthe Martinez who was to be recalled in dis-grace from his governorship and is remem-bered as one of New Mexico's worstleaders.Still others wrote their names upon therock, many whose humble position neverput them into any other record. The re wasthe soldier who wrote:"I am from the hand of Felipe deArellano, on the 16th of September, sol-dier. " He is believed to have been one ofthe Spanish garrison of three men left atZuni and killed there by the Indians in1700.More companies of soldiers and smallbands of raiders continued to come likewaves that broke upon the rock and thenreceded to be followed by another wave.Once in a while a pioneer and his familybroke the chain of the Spanish influx, andgradually fewer and fewer soldiers andpriests came by. Then upon the summerair came the crisp sound of marching feetand a company of soldiers, this time of thenew United States. They made camp, re-freshed themselves and left their markupon the rock.It was in 1849 that Lt. J. H. Simpsonand R. H. Kern, artist, came to the rockand first copied the inscriptions.The Spanish "invasion" was over andmore than 150 inscriptions could be seenaround the base of El Morro in tha tlanguage. But the rock still looked thesame. The same warm air in summer beatupon it, and the same errant breeze liftedmomentarily the blanket of heat.And then we found ourselves still lyingon a blanket in the shadow of El Morro ona hot day in July, after our dream of overthree centuries.In 1906 presidential proclamation madea national monument of El Morro in Va-lencia county, New Mexico. Now whenthe traveler leaves U. S. highway 66 atGallup he goes on state highway 32through Ramah to this spot where a sub-stantial custodian's house has been tuckedin the woods out of sight of the rock.Copies of ancient ladders help the visitorscale the walls to the ruins.The Spaniards no longer take the roadthat leads to Zuiii and (as they had hop ed)to the Seven Cities of C ibola. But one needonly to close his eyes for the procession tostart moving down the valley. The echoesof stirring days have beat against the rockand need only the eye that wants to seeand the ear attuned to them to recount thatold story again. The priceless inscriptionsupon the rock will be preserved for all mento see. And New Mexico holds as one ofher richest treasures this page of auto-graphs in stone.

Sez HardRock Shortyof Death Valley . . .By LON GARRISON

"Jack rabbits," vowed Hard RockShorty, "generally are good for stewif you catch 'em young enough an'are like to starved to death yourself.Aside from that I dunno any waythey do more'n a poor job 0' deco-ratin' the landscape. There 's excep-tions o' courselike John the petjack rabbit I had up in the Panamintsonce."Hard Rock filled his pipe with hispersonal mixture of fumigating pow-der and settled back in his chair on

the Inferno store porch."John really had some wolf inim, I guess. I got im when he wasjus' a little feller an' by keepin' 'imaround camp an' feedin' 'im mybeans an' sourdough hotcakes hegrowed 'til he was most as big as acoyote. He learned to gnaw hambones an' then it wasn't long til hestarted huntin' meat for himselfinfact he went on a meat diet '0 mice,squirrels an' rabbits. Even saw 'imeyin' my leg once or twice but henever got nerve enough."The coyotes'd give im fitsthough. They'd chase 'im butcouldn't catch 'im an' then he'dchase them for a while. He couldcatch 'em too but he hadn't teethenough to kill 'em an' aside from acouple he managed to trip an' kickto death, coyotes was quite a prob-lem to 'im. H e'd set by the tent whencoyotes run by an' cry like a baby,wantin' to catch 'em an' couldn't."He was purty good at diggin' uprabbits though, an' one day afterhe'd been diggin' rabbits out Inoticed that his front feet was in badshapethe rocks'd wore his clawsout an' his feet were jus' like acouple o' tooth aches. I cut up acouple o' old iron spoons I had an'strapped 'em on back of his frontfeet so he could dig with 'em butthey didn't interfere with his run-nin'. John tried a couple 0' runswith the spoons on an' they workedreal good. He come back to campan' thumped out a 'Thanks Shorty'message an' jus' then a coyote walk-ed by."John galloped out to this coyotean' if I hadn't saw it I wouldn't be-lieve it, but he beat that coyote todeath with them iron spoons!"



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Andy was just a white-footed desert mousealittle brown-grey elf with bright black eyes and largesensitive ears. But he was more than a mouse to theSouth family. He had been accepted as a memberof their Yaquitepec household. Now Andy is dead.No more will he perch on Marshal's toes. Or nibblejuniper berries and pinon nuts by the fireplace. Orcome at midnight to watch Tanya write poetry bylamplight. For Andy died in battle under mysteriouscircumstances. Marshal writes the final tribute totheir favorite of Ghost Mountain's "little people."

By MARS HAL SO UTH

N D Y , for so long thefriendly little sprite of Yaquitepec,has passed on. Andy was a white-footed desert mouseof more than ordinary intelligencewhich is saying agood deal, for the white-footed mice are an intelligent andlovable tribe. But Andy was exceptional, even among his ownpeople.

His beginnings are shrouded in mysteryeven his name.For we yet don't quite know how we came to call himAndy. Hemust have been with us for some time before we noticed him,for the twilight shadows of Yaquitepec are full of soft-movinglittle people, and one mouse looks very much like another. Bythe time we had begun to recognize Andy as an individual helong since hadadopted us as his friends.To trust the human race usually is a fatal error for thecreatures of the wild. But Andy seemed tohave decided that the

roof beams of Yaquitepec covered the Lodge of Brotherhood.So he boldly put behind him all the teachings of his forefathersand took us whole-heartedly into his life.He made himself a member of the household. Someone tobe looked for and to be sharply missed on those rare occasionswhen he failed to appear. With the first twilight shadows, andoften long before the lamps were lighted, he would be with us.Coming from we knew not where and scurrying back and forthbetween thelegs of the table andchairs, like a busy little brown-grey elf, in his search for crumbs. We learned in the course oftime that Andy was set apart from other mice by a distinguish-ing branda tiny nick on one of his soft gnome-like ears. Anancient battle record, probably. It wasAndy's brand.Not that we needed the identifying mark. For we soon cameto know Andy through his special m annerisms. He had a con-fident gait and poise. While his tribe-folks slipped softly byalong wall ledges or peered at us with bright beady eyes fromthe corners of shelves or cupboards, Andy would come boldlydown, running nimbly across the perpendicular faces of adobewalls and slipping confidently about between our bare feet, ashe hunted for dropped bits of bread or fragments of pinon nuts.Sometimes he ran over our feet. And on occasion would usethem as lookout stations upon which to perch while he scannedthe surrounding terrain. On such occasions we would say,"Andy, please! This is my footnot a watch-post!" And wewould jiggle ourtoes a little, and he would hop down. But notin fear. He had made friends with the "gods" and he knew thatthey would do him no harm. He knew, too, that manna fre-quently came down from "heaven" in the shape of various spe-cial tid-bitseven w hole pinons . These he would accept withperfect politeness, taking each one delicately from between the

Andy, of the bright eyes and trustful heart.

offering fingers and squatting dark-eyed and trustful upon hishaunches while he nibbled the morsel to the last fragment.Nor was his range confined to the floor. He explored thewhole house, hunting into every odd corner in his search foredible items of interest. We never knew him, however, to beguilty of doing any damage. His was a simple little soul andhe asked nothing save the crumbs and left-overs. One of hisfavorite ranges wasupon the bigflat top of the fireplace. There,among the jumbled collection of "treasures" that Rider, Rud-yard and Victoria collect, he often would discover chia seeds,grains of Indian corn, sweet juniper berries or fragments of oldtortillas. Whenever hemade such a find hewould carry his prizetriumphantly to a favorite spot at the extreme northwest cornerof the fireplace top. There he would squat down gravely and,

holding the morsel daintily in his forepaws, would proceed toenjoy his meal.Andy did not live under our roof. He had a little personalwickiup outside somewhere among the rocks and mescals andcactus, towhich hedeparted when hegrew tired of adventuring.He had his ownparticular pop-hole near the summit of one ofour unfinished walls, which he used for hisgoings andcomings.But some nights he stayed in the house a long while.Often Tanya, whose habit it is to get up at midnight andwrite poetry in the silence while all the rest of the household iswrapped in slumber, had him for attentive companion. Out ofthe shadows hewould come, climbing nimbly up a table leg andappearing above the far edge of the long table top. Here hewould pause a moment, as though to give polite notice of his

presence. Then hewould come pattering down the length of thetable and would choose a vantage point, usually upon a book,where he could be within a foot of Tanya's moving pencil.There, in the lamp glow he would squat, silent and attentive,his large delicate ears and sensitive nose twitching with intenseinterest, as his bright eyes followed the movements of her handat its writing. Sometimes Tanya would speak to him softly andhis nose and ears would move as though in answer. But he saton unafraid; undisturbed even by the movements and rustle ofthe paper when she turned pages. After a long while he wouldget down from his perch and silently go away. Perhaps he toowas apoet. Whoshall say? Thegreat pianist Paderewsky had asimiliar experience with a tiny spider which came regularly tolisten to his playing.Now Andy of the bright eyes and trustful heart is dead. Nomore will he perch upon our toes. Or nibble juniper berries

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upon the corner of the fireplace. Or come in the silence to wor-ship the mystery of the moving pencil in the lamplight.Andy died in battle. Never w ill we know the whole storyof Andy's ending, any more than we will know the details of hisbeginn ing. All we know is that, going out one morn ing, wefound in the bottom of a dry shallow water cistern, upon whichwe were making repairs, five white-footed mice. Three of themwere huddled, heads together, in a little grey ball in one corner.Two others lay out in the center of the cistern floor, mangledand dead. And one of the dead mice was Andy.The sides of the cistern were smooth plastered, and once init the five had been unable to escape. But how did all of themmanage to tumble in together? And just what sort of a bitterstruggle had been waged there in the night darkness? The b attlehad been savage, as the blood, spattered plentifully all over theplastered floor, bore w itness, and as the chewed feet and tails ofthe dead combatants attested. Th e three trembling and fear-numbed survivors gave us no clue. One of them was badlywoun ded. And wh en we had lifted them gently out of theirprison and turned them loose beneath the shelter of a spreadingjuniper they vanished into the cover of the rocks and grass,carrying their secret with them.Every once in a while, one or other of our correspondents,mistaking the reasons which inspire our love of the desert andour revolt against Civilization, see fit to chide us, more or lessgood naturedly. Allud ing to our ideas of clothing and of foodand to our disdain of many of the gadgets of progress they ac-cuse us of "aping the Indian s." To which we often reply that thecharge is no insult. Th at on the contrary if some m embers ofour population would "Indian the ape" much good wouldaccrue.Not all of our well-wishers quite understand the barb in thisretort. Those who do, however, and whose "come-back" lettersrecall that heroine of Kipling's who "spread her anger hot asfire throu gh six thin foreign sheets, and m ore" are very definite.We grow a little annoyed sometimes at the aspersions often

cast upon the original inhabitants of this great land which ournation has appro priated for its own. Altho ugh the Indian wasno paragon of all the virtues, as some would have us believe,neither was he the inferior and ignorant savage, as too many re-gard him.The American Indian is a human being fashioned of thesame clay as we all are. He is our blood-brother, as are all othermembers of the human race, irrespective of creed, nationality orcolor. An d just as no one man can gather all the treasures ofthe earth into his own satchel, so is it impossible for any onenation or race to be the possessor of every good quality and vir-tue. The w ise man seeks for pearls of beauty and und erstandingin every quarter. An d havin g found such treasures is rejoiced,counting it of no m oment w hether they came from the mussels of

a river or from the oysters of a tropic sea. In many ways thephilosophy of the Indian and his simple natural way of life weremuch superior to those stilted fetishes before which our vauntedcivilization bows. It is all a matter of balance and choice andof common sense. I have no sympathy with "m ass" thoug ht.Brains were given the individual to think with. In this regardthe actions of many people reflect the lament expressed in Kip-ling's ballad, "The worst we took with sweat and toil. The bestwe left behind."The Indian, particularly the desert Indian, was the embodi-ment of nature's freedom. In these days of permits and formsand of cluttering of every action of speech and motion by amultiplicity of civilization-engendered rules, the Indian standsout as a bright light in the darkness. W e like to remembersometimes the tang of the winds that come down over the redcliffs of the Navajo reservation., A spurious tang. For there is

in the very nature of a "reservation" little of freedom. Still thereis something free in the breath of that vast silent land and thefeel that comes to one from contact with its dark-skinned reso-lute people. There is a sense of fundam ental things, of be-ginning s. In silence and great spaces was liberty born. Alwayshas the flame of it burned brightest in the hearts of silent peo-ples, tending their flocks beneath the desert stars.Summer, the magic weaver, favors now the bright trails ofGhost Mou ntain and its surrounding desert. Already, among

the junipers and the tall blossoming stalks of the mescals, shehas set up her loom. Th e warp is stretched. Brightly dyedskeins of color lie ready to her hand, and already she has begunthe weaving of that magic blanket which each year gathers intoone perfect whole all the freedom and fascination of the wilder-ness.Watch now, as the design grows under the nimble brownfingers. Mystery and Symbology, Sunlight and Shadow. Fore-ground and dim purple distance. Hope and Fear. All of man'slongings and frailties, his hazy future and his mysterious past.See! Here is a friendly thread of brown, an inquisitive racersnake, gliding like a painted shadow between the dry stems ofthe dead buckwheat bushes. And over here is sharp contrast, asplash of brilliant scarlet woven from the flame tips of the oco-tillos and the ruby berries of the wolf bushes. Look, too, at thisbroad band of yellow, more dazzling than all the useless gold ofall the world. It is fashioned from the honey-laden blooms ofleague upon league of tall, gently swaying mescals. Th e shim-mer that dances about it is wrought of the jeweled wings ofmyriad honey-bribed bees.Over here, again, is an odd patcha queer design of a drowsylittle horned toad asleep on the top of a rounded grinding stone,a stone which perhaps has not been disturbed since it last wastouched by the hands of an Indian woman half a thousand yearsago. And see this other patternthis triangle of indigo shadow!This is Silencethe silence of a deep canyon whose secrets ofthe past no man ever shall unlock. And what is thisthese zig-zag threads tha t pass beside it? Ah , that is a forgotten trail, thetrail into the purple distance down which perhaps the Indianwoman went, from her last task of grinding, and her four browndesert children with her, and the stalwart desert brave who washer matedow n, down and on into the dim distance.And what is this shimmering design where the threads crossand mingle so bewilderingly? That? Wh y, that is Mystery, themystery of the desert. For, do you not see, the pattern is notfinished. Nor will it ever be finished. For here the roads endand begin. Here Progress halts and its tinsel trappings crumble.For here dwell the old gods of the desert who keep the portal,and scatter the dust over the tracks of the passersand over theirbones. The Spaniard lies hereun der the dust. And here liealso those who went before the Spaniard. And those who wentbefore those, also. T he sands shift and shimmer. The mirages

swim. The fingers of Summer, the weaver, fly faster and faster,blending the threads, wearing the pattern of the blanket. Butthat bitthe pattern of Mysterynever shall be finished. Mys-tery belongs to the gods of the desertand to Eternity.

D A W NDaivn lights the heavens with her flameAnd lights the mind with new resolve.No longer do we see the sameAs in the night. The shades dissolve.So with our lives our faith and truthIn ever dawning wider scopeEnlight our ignorance and youthWith wisdom and with greater hope.

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/l&a+tdatted JiameiieadB y K A T H A R I N E B U O Y K E E N E YPortland, Oregon

The empty house stands silent and alone.Tall rye grass bends above rough weatheredstoneNow fallen in a heapa lonely cairn,The out-doot cellar sage has overgrown.A picket fence surrounds this wildernessOf desert growth dully gray and flowerless.A snake warns with i ts ra t t le to beware,Destroying silence where its whirrs transgress.Abandoned, yet the empty rooms betrayAn unseen presence living there todayGhosts of young pioneers whose children nowReview the years they spen t in youthfu l play . . .They touch the walls with questing fingertipsWhere faded paper hangs in tattered strips;They try the pump from which no waterf laws,Remembering the taste on thirsty lips.Then sense the spectral shapes that drifting strayAnd mingle w ith the sh adows d im and gray . . .

That little boy and girl with Mom and Dad,Whose presence haunts this house of yesterday.

M E S A M O O NB y L AU R A L O U R E N E L E G E A RLong Is land, New York

The low-bent moon is a yellow rose,A sunburst on the stem of night,Crying its color against the soulLike amber butterflies in flight.Metallic moon like a molten flower,Shedding thin sunlight on the sea,These blown-gold petals slow the pulse,A yellow wind has hallowed me.

A S O N G T O A H O R N E D T O A DB y M . W. B U C K I N G H A MNorth Hollywood, California

O h! Come, my little friends, I 'm not the onewhom you should dread;I'll not begin to harm a single thorn upon yourhead.You scamper off real quickly then you play likeyou are dead;The desert is your mansion and its sand-box isyour bed.You borrowed from the kings so you could havea fan-like crown,A small, fantastic, stately fan with webs re-moved between.Two pits of onyx jewels are encased where men

would frown;And since you have no merry voice, your life isquite serene.Sometimes, you droop your jaw and I can see acrimson gleam;Then, when I turn you over, I can see a patchof snowWith polka dots of grey revealed in blots oflemon cream;But how you keep it tidy is a thing I'll neverknow.A gown of splendid thorns adorns the skin uponyour back,A prickly coat of armor that would put theknights to shame.Those odd designs in fancy trails impressed my

mental trackTo eulogize in parody the fame that you canclaim.

A prospector's hom e in Bailor at, ghost town of Panam /nt Valley, California,Photo by Robert J. Schulz, Los Angeles.RETURN TO THE DESERT

B y J E A N H O G A N D U D L E YPalomar Mountain, CaliforniaSick of the city's clamor,Of wearisome words and faces,I will go down againTo the lonely desert places.There's beauty in desert scenesThe lovely curve of a dune,The silhouette of a palmAgainst a rising moon.There I would find once moreSilence as deep as dreams,Stars hung so close to the earthA hand could touch them it seems.Ragged stretches of rockWhere flowering cactus grows,And yucca, serene and white,(Our Lord 's Candle) grows.In the stillness, night and dayWould pass with their changing hues,Leaving a hoard of peaceWealth I never could lose.And like the prophets of oldWho the wilderness had trod,There I could blend my soulWith the infinite spirit of God.

o T HE E NCHANT E D L AND

B y I . M . SC H A N N E PSalem, OregonWhere is that enchanted landOf which we speakIn bated breath, by wave of hand?Is it the land or the life we seek ?Where is the land of soul's content.Though hardships march on every hand,And none have cause for just lament?W her e is the enchanted land ?The mountain meadows have their urge.And desert plains allure;The seashore bears its human surge,The valley's crops are sure.Enchantment is for every land

Where human souls abideAnd dwell in peace 'til God's commandAnd neighbors not deride.

C A C T IBy W A L D O O ' N E A LClovis, New MexicoA ghost of the silent desertWith arms up-lifted in prayer;A proud and stately warriorWith an armor of spears, beware!A lone surviving soldier,All the somber desert mocks;A fountain in a furnace,Is the desert's paradox.

WI T H PROPE R AWEB y M U R R A Y SK I N N ERLos Angeles, CaliforniaOppressive silence of the desert landCompels conceited man to give it heed,Standing on lava rock and sliding sandMan's ego is deflated with sharp speed.

Majestic areas of burning blueConfuse the vision and conceal the goal,And straining eyes grow blurred with sweepingviewUntil self-pride is sponged from out thesoul.Two-legged mite, set to a sluggard pace,Wound up and running like some young-ling's toy.Man shrinks before such condescending spaceFrom manhood to the stature of a boy.

DEATH VALLEYB y I R EN E B R U C EReno, Nevada

The wind wants no flowers growingWhere he and the wind go blowingOver stern sands.No dew dares to enter the groundWhere day without any soundStretches hot hands.The sun's acres must be kept cleanWhere he stares with his sterile mienDown at the lands.No trespassing allowed, not a cloud!Only ghosts of men are allowed,No building stands.Winter once wandered the region,But sun took over his legion,Stealing his brands.Now all of the seasons are bare,And only wind has a share;Death, his demands.

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nieen W e

TEXT and PHOTOGRAPHS by RICHARD L. CASSELLMuch has been written of the desert's sculpturedpromontories, its parad ox lakes , its grotesque flora, itspicturesque peoples. But those who would seek theintimate must dep art from the grandio se an d fantastic.They will behold a world of delicate charm and poign-ant violence . A world of tiny creatures myriad s ofthemwhich rarely are see n. Only intimations ofthat unseen world are visible, patterned precisely andunerringly in the sand.

In wonder they will gaze at the winding trails ofminute prints and lace-like scrolls of countless in-sects, large and very small. Intermingled with themare footprints of the higher animalsthe predatorsand those preyed upon, the pursuer and the pursued,the strong and the weakat play and in death. Be-fore these stippled tracings in the sandswept waste-lands, we have entered the desert world of the inti-mate and the humble.


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tNow our eyes will become ac-customed to seeing the beauty anddrama which is evident in the recordsincised in every sand dune, such asthat on the Yuma road 30 miles eastof Calexico, California (photo 1).That which has the greatest appealto my fancy is the delicate tread ofinsect life. The artistic patte rns an dscrolls of micro-prints festoon thesand beneath small creosote orgreasewood shrubs in a sandy areabetween the L. S. Watts ranch east ofCalexico and the All-American canal(photos 2 and 3).Sometime in midsummer, afterdark, retrace your footsteps of a morn-ing hike. The hot and barren sand

which was devoid of a vestige of lifeunder the sun has become a fairyplayground with the end of day. Itis during the night shift that the Cali-fornia prionus (4) asserts himself. Hebumps his noisy way in the upperreaches of creosote and mesquite.Eventually he crashes to the groundand we can observe how it is that hesimulates the track of a small lizard.It is his "undercarriage" that dragsthe sand as he paddles along to abuzzing fresh take-off into the wind.Nearby, the ciliated sand beetle (5)scuttles among "boulders" of sandgranules. His stippled wanderingsare among the tiniest and achieve themost delicate filigree. In his scurry-

ings he encounters myriads of flight-less ground beetles (6 and 7) trundlingabout feeding upon small inorganicmatter and organisms of a micro-scopic nature.Snake tracks especially stir theimag ination . Does this one (8) implyprologue or epilogue, traged y or com-edy? Is it coming or going, at homeor ab roa d? It could be that of a rattleralthough it is quite narrow. Moreprobably it was made by a Pacificgopher snake, which is common inImperial Valley.Gopher snakes are lured by thesucculence of tender young rodents.Notice the many small tracks aboutthe entranceand add two and two.


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i 5 \

10

11

Evidently the snake entered the hole,dined on chipmunk and remained ina contented stupor while digesting hisloot. Why did I say "entered?" Be-cause a snake track so narrov/ couldnot have been made by a snake witha full tummy.Mother Nature protects m any of her"little fellows" with the art of camou-flage. The desert ch ipmunk (10) istypical of those who must run awayfor life. Such a tende r morsel soonwould be among the vanishing if itwere not for his sun-bleached, wash-ed-out, protective co loration. Try toimagine his vividly striped, red-head-

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'It:13ed cou nterpart of the mo untains trans-planted to the arid sand-grey tones ofthe Colorado desert, and you willagree that neither sunstroke nor oldag e would be his fate as a Swa inson'shawk careened among the mesquitean d creosote! Proof of his ma nyenemies may be seen in the foot-prints about his doorstep. The desertfox, coyote, badger and other preda-tors, besides the birds of prey, alw aysare unwelcome guests of the desertchipmunk.Special mention is deserved by onedesert insect whose species has beenknown for more than 200 years with-out having acquired a name in itsadult stage. The only name todaythat serves as identification is theadu lt ant-lion. He is a long bod ied,long winged insect resembling thedamselfly, variegated grey in color.His disposition is amiable enough.He apparently does nothing worsethan beat his head against electriclight bulbs at night.

But this is the Jekyll an d Hyde of theinsect kingdom both physically and"spiritually." For in its imma turestage (11) it perhaps is the mostferocious larva in the world. Physical-

s

ly he is quite a delicate gremlin ex-cept for his head, which is the onlypart that ever shows above the sandduring his entire larval existence.Rest of his body always is under-ground, even when "walking" which is bac kw ard s (9)! Place the ant-lion on top of the sand and he imme-diately crash-dives.Like the orb spiders, the ant-lionalso builds a trap in which to captureprey, but in the form of a funnel-shaped excavation about an inchacross and an inch in depth in sandor loose earth at the ap ex of which hewaits without a move, sometimes fordays at a time with only his hugewide spread jaws visible. The sandtrap is made by the larva travelingbackwards in ever decreasing spiralsflipping out earth with its head.Let a sow-bug, ant or any othercreeping or crawling creature smallenough slide into the trapand clash

go the great jaws ! If the prey is toolarge and breaks away and attemptsto craw l up the sides of the crater, thepowerful head commences to flick dirtupon the victim, causing it to tumbleto the center where again the jawscome into play . Wh en the prey at lastis subdued, it is sucked dry of bodyfluids, then flipped with great vio-lence from the pit. The carca ss some-14

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