194707 desert magazine 1947 july

8/14/2019 194707 Desert Magazine 1947 July

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THE

N E

19 47 25 CENTS


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C H A N G E O N L Y2 T I M E S A V E A R /

C \W H A T IF lovotuvt

M O R E T H A M A V M 6 ?EVEN IF YOU DRIVE TWICE AS MUCH AS

THE AVERA6E MOTORIST, NEWTRITON MOTOR. OIL WILL

GIVE YOUR. ENGINECOMPLETE PROTECTIONWITH ONLY 2 OIL

CHANGES AYEAR!Jjj ,J\

myOU SAY D I R T / OI LMEANSACLEAN MOTO R?

Y E S - A S P E C I A L DE T E RG EN T C O M P O U N Dirfi NEW TRITON ACTU ALLY CLEANS YOUR

ENGINE AS YOUD R IV E ! LOOSENED DIRT ISH E L D S U S P E N D E D BYT H I S C O M P O U N D

SO IT C A N ' T H A R M Y O U R AAOTOR. .T H I S MAY C A U S E THE O l L T O D A RK E N ,

B U T i r D O E S N T M E A NT HE OILS H O U L D

B E C H A N G E D !

T H E T H J N 6 S T H AT M A KEORDI NARY O ILS BREAK =DOWN AFTER 1,000 MILES

OR SO ARE A C I D I T Y , ..5 U J 0 6 1 N 6 ANDO X I D A T I O N . . .

D U R I N 6 THE W A R , U N I O NOI L SC I ENT I STS DEVELOPED

S P E C I A L C O M P O U N D S TOO V E R C O M E T HE S E W E A K N E S S E S . T H E S F C O M PO U N D SHAVE BEEN INCLUDED IN NEWT R I T O N M O T O R OIL.

NEW TRITON WILL NOTTHIN OUT IN b M O N T H SANY MORE THAN OTHEROILS W/LL IN A I,OOOM I LE PERI OD . ACTUALLY ,T H E A M O U N T Of OILTH I NNI N6 THAT TAKESPLACE INTHE AVERAGEC AR IS VERYSL I 6HT

A N Y W A Y .

UNION OILC O M P A N YOf CALIFORNIA

CHAN6ETONEWTRITON THIS WEEKAT Mif UNION OL STATION

T H E N C H A N 6 E ONLY

T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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D E S E R TC A L E N D A R

July 1-4Annual fiesta and devil dan,Mescalero Apache reservation, NewMexico.July 1-6Hopi arts and crafts exhibitfrom museum collections, Museumof Northern Arizona, Flagstaff, Ari-zona.July 3-6Annual Frontier Days celebra-tion and rodeo, Prescott, Arizona.July 3-52nd annual Bit and Spur clubrodeo, Tooefe, Utah.July 3-4Round Valley rodeo, Springer-ville, Arizona.July 4-5Western Motorboat champion-ships, Pineview lake, Ogden, Utah.July 4-5Amateur rodeo, Willcox, Ari-zona.July 4-6All-Indian Pow-wow and ro-deo, Flagstaff, Arizona.July 4-6Pioneer days fiesta, parade,barbecue, Banning, California.July 4-6Reno rodeo, Reno, Nevada.July 4-6Gallup Rodeo, Gallup, N ewMexico.July 4-6 State golf tournament, A lbu-querque, New Mexico.July 6Concert, Salt Lake City Taber-nacle choir, Tabernacle, Salt LakeCity, Utah.July 6Walker lake outboard motor re-gatta. Sanctioned races with 200 en-tries. Hawthorne, Nevada.July 8-12Ute Stampede and rodeo,Nephi, Utah.July 13-18National Governor's confer-ence, Salt Lake City, Utah.

July 14Annual fiesta and corn dance,Cochiti Pueblo, New Mexico. Pho-tography prohibited.July 14-19Days of '47 championshiprodeo, State fairgrounds, Salt LakeCity, Utah.July 16-19Heber City Rodeo, HeberCity, Utah.July 17-19Raton Rodeo, Raton, NewMexico.July 18-24Ogden Rodeo, Ogden, Utah.July 19-20 Mineral show, YavapaiGem and Mineral society, officesArizona Power company, Prescoti:,Arizona.July 20-24Field meeting of Society ofVertebrate Paleontology in northernArizona, starting July 20 at St.Johns and ending at Grand Canyonor Cameron, July 24. Professor Ed-win D. McKee in charge of accom-modations.July 21-August 10The Promise d Val-ley, Music-Drama, University ofUtah stadium, Salt Lake City, Utah.July 23-24Centennial parades, SaltLake City and elsewhere in Utah.July 24Dedication of "T his Is thePlace" monument, mouth of Emi-gration canyon, Salt Lake City,Utah.July 25-26 Taos fiesta, Taos, NewMexico.July 26Annual fiesta and green corndance, old Santa Ana pueblo. NewMexico. Photography prohibited.July 27-August 6Carbon County Cen-tennial program, Price, Utah.July 31-August 1-211th Annual Rob-bers" Roost Roundup, Price, Utah.

Volume 10COVER

CALENDARHEALTHHUMORPOETRY

GHOST TOWN

PERSONALITY

ART OF LIVINGPLANT LIFE

FIELD TRIPBOTANYPHOTOGRAPHYCONTESTLETTERSMINING iNEWS ;LAPIDARYHOBBYTRUE OR FALSECOMMENTBOOKS

JULY. 1947 Number 9CARLSBAD CAVERNS i n N e w M e x i c o . P h o t o -

graph, courtesy N e w Mexico State TouristBureau.

July events on the desert 3Healing Waters of Agua CalienteB y MARSHAL SOUTH 4Hard Rock Shorty, b y E V A WILSON . . . . 8This Gran d Ca nyo nB y CHARLES ARTHUR PORTER . . . . 9Golden Harvest a t AuroraBy JAY ELLIS RANSOM 10Tsianina Speaks for the IndiansB y HOPE GILBERT 14They Made th e Desert Blossomwith GladiolasBy EDA S . JOHNSTONE 17Pigmies of the Plant WorldBy JERRY LAUDERMILK 20Geode Hunters of SearchlightB y HAROLD O . WEIGHT 23Golden Desert P o p p i e s , b y MARY BEAL . . . 27Winners of 1947 Cover. Contest 28Announcement of July photographic contest . . 28Comment from Desert Magazine readers . . . 29Current News Briefs 30Here a n d There o n t h e Desert 31Amateur G e m Cutter, b y LELANDE QUICK . . 36Gems a n d M i n e r a l s , edited b y Arthur L. Eaton . 37A test of your desert knowledge 45Just Between Y o u a n d M e , b y t h e Editor . . . 46Current reviews of Southwest books 47

The Desert Magazine is published monthly by the Desert Press, Inc., 636 State Street.El Centro, California. Entered as second class matter October 11, 1937, at the post office atEl Centro, California, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Title registered No. 358865 in U. S.Patent O ffice, and contents copyrighted 1947 by the Desert Pre ss, Inc. Permission to reproducecontents must be secured from the editor in writing.RANDALL HENDERSON, Editor. BESS STACY. Busine ss Manager.HAROLD and LUCILE WEIGHT, Associate Editors.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 address is un-certain by that date, notify circulation department to hold copies.SUBSCRIPTION RATES

One Year . . . $3.00 Two years . . . $5.00Canadian 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.I Address correspondence to Desert Magazine, 636 State Street, El Centro, California.

JULY, 1 9 4 7


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Agua Cahen te cove, where many visitors have regained health in the mineralized springwaters. The springs and the more or less perman ent camps of Agua Caliente's "guests" arein the fringe of m esquite trees at the base of the mo untain.

Healing Watersat Agua Caliente

To the Mexicans who first ex-plored t h e Southwest , everyspring where warm water comesfrom the ground was agua cali-ente. In Spanish the words meanwarm water. Today there aremany Agua Cal ientes on themapand one of them is locatedin San Diego county, California,where Americans seeking healthcome to bathe in its mineralizedwater s. So far, this Agu a Calientehas resisted all efforts of thosewh o would commercialize it and Marshal South has written avivid account of life in a com-munity where there is coopera-tive democracy, without admis-sion fees or profit.

By MARSHAL SOUTH" / HE Indians have gone now, and so/ have the bighorn sheep. But in thehushed peace, where the desertwind rustles the mesquites and stirs thetall ranks of the arrowweeds, the hot andcold springs of Agua Caliente still spillforth their healing waters across the sun-lit sands.It was on a day in late April that I wentback to Agua Caliente, in San Diegocounty, California. I had not seen it formany years. But this day, all at once, theurge of it was upon me. Perhaps it was

the throbbing stir of the new springtime.Or perhaps it was the haunting voice of thewasteland calling. Or perhaps I was just

curious. "Agua Caliente has changed,"some people had told me. I wanted to seefor myself.Scarlet Buglers winked their gay flow-ers along the footslopes of the sierras, andas my old car wound its way out into thedesert, along the roadside there were livelyscurryings of quail. The mesquites werevivid green jewels in their new leafage,and here and there in the brown-greymonotone of the silent, stretching land,the Spanish bayonets were exploding infountains of creamy-white bloom. Sun-light, sharp and dazzling, beat upon theharsh flanks of the tawny hills, and thecanyons that lay beyond the low crests ofthe rolling fore-slopes were mysterious ina thin haze that was as blue and metallicas the fume from hot artillery. W arm quietlay over all the world. There was a faintstir of wind, but it was hushed and medita-tive. Away to the southeast a toweringthunderhead, rising above the dim dis-tance of Mexico, was a mighty carving ofivory, posed against the vivid blue of aninverted turquoise bowl.

Ocotillos flaunted their crimson flagsalong the ledges of Box canyon. And inthe lower reaches of Mason valley the tallgreen spears of the mescals already wereT HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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flaming to goldL It was lower here, andwarmer. Blossoms were further advanced.The mesquites were showy with featherytassels and the canary-yellow flowers ofthe creosotes were already well interspersedwith the silver spheres of developed seedpods. The car radiator boiled lustily, de-manding frequent stops for refilling fromthe battery of five gallon cans which Ialways carry. The radiator, like all the restof the car, is old and tem peramental. It hasbeen that way so long that I would not feelquite at ease if it were to reform.

Past Vallecitpsthe sleepy b r o w nadobe of the restored old Overland Stagestation brooding its memories against thegreen of the tule marshesand along awinding road that followed a wash andthen lunged between sere ranks of savageBigelow cholla. And then, suddenly, threeand a half miles beyond Vallecitos, a bat-tered metal sign: "Agua Caliente Springs!"I swung into the side trail and threaded be-tween the thrust of thirsty foothills.And, abruptly, there w as green thesoft friendly green of clustering mesquitesand catsclaws. And there was the sway ofarrowweeds, and the shadows of little gul-lies and canyons and the sunlit glare ofgrotesque formations of white, chalkyearth. There was the brown blur of tentsand the flash of the sun upon the metalsheathing of parked toilers. Agua Cali-enteHot Water. Yes, since last I hadseen it, the place had changed.But changed for the better. Somehow Iknew, even before I had parked the carand climbed out. You sense those things.All places have an atmosphere of theirowneither for good or ill. And therecertainly wasn't anything ill about my firstimpression of Agua Caliente. It was de-cidedly friendly, and refreshing and dif-ferent. I was aj: home and very happyabout it. Because I had come prepared tofindwell, never mind what I had comeprepared to find. As long as the worldrolls, I suppose, there will be a certainclass of people who will spread maliciousand unfounded reports. They would spreadthem about Heaven itselfand have, infact, done so. But it is nice, sometimes, toexplode their fabrications.

Figures were moving among the trees.From the quiet, unobtrusive assurance oftheir actions they might very well havebeen a part of the long dead days that arepast. These people were not Indians,though. They were modern Americans.There was no sound of voices or campactivity or clamor. Peace moved with thewind through the sunlit green of the mes-quites and the catsclaws. And the ruggedstrength of the backing, everlasting moun-tains lay like a benediction over the littlecove. The old spirits of the desert had notbeen dispossessed. They still ruled. Youforgot the glint and the shapes of the city-built trailers. They had been transmuted.The two fig trees were still thereandthe two pepper trees. By whose hands theyJ U L Y , 1 9 4 7

Mrs. D. J. MacDonald the "mayor" of Agua Caliente, beside one of the poolswhere many have found relief from their ailments. The campers drain and clean the'larly.

sites. Some of the citizens of Agua Cali-ente have been there a long while.Civic office, title and honorall of itpurely complimentary and unofficialgravitate naturally, in Agua Caliente, tothe residents of longest standing. I there-fore set out in search of Mrs. D. J. Mac-Donald, who, by virtue of residence seni-ority, now holds the office of "mayor." Iwas not unmindful of the fact that I hadbeen promised the keys of the city shouldI ever happen to come to Agua Caliente.I found the mayor in an attractive "of-fice"-which was a cozy, tree-shadedtrailer, tucked away in a peaceful camp-spot. She was reading a book of philosophy.

had been planted I do not know. But theyare lusty trees now. They fitted the land-scape too, and were part of the picture withthe native vegetation. But the little cabin,which in former years had stood nearthem, had vanished as though it had neverbeen. Torn down and hauled away to thelast board and nail by other desert dwellersperhaps. Or perhaps burned. Anyway itwas gone.There was a box lettered "U. S. Mail"nailed to a post. And near it a neat sign

which directed me to the "City Hall."There were other signs too, very neat andorderly, which gave the names of estab-lished residents and indicated their camp-


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But this was laid aside in order that properofficial attention might be given to mystated mission. The promise of the keys ofthe city was recalled. But diligent searchfailed to locate them. It was concluded thatthe last person to be so honored hadpocketed the keys and forgotten to returnthem. Only one of the keys was any good,anyway. That was the key of an old Yalelockwhich had been lost. The other twokeys were of the kind used to open coffeecans. W e concluded to do without the keys.But the mayor graciously consented to actas my guide and escort in a tour of the city.The squad of motorcycle cops were awayon vacation, and the "official" city carwas laid up for repairs. The mayor sug-gested, apologetically, that we walk-pointing out, as a happy afterthought,that only a burro, or a pedestrian, couldnavigate the narrow trails anyway.

Agua Caliente is unique. I know of noother place in the desertor in all theWest, for that matterjust like it. As anatural health resort it has a long and hon-orable history, stretching further back intothe mists of the past than we can ever hopeto penetrate. For how many yearsor cen-turiesthese healing springs, both hot andcold, have welled from the earth andspilled their precious waters across the

glinting desert sands no man can tell. Butthe Indians knew of and appreciated thewaters and the locality. For long it hadbeen their custom to bring their sick therefor healing. In those days the bighornsheep were plentiful in the neighborhoodand the dusky dwellers of the wastelandsand the nearby mountains used the springsnot only as a sanatorium but also as a hun t-ing base.Perhaps, of any man now living, BobMcCain, that grand, picturesque andfiercely individual western cattleman,whose stock have ranged the surroundingdesert for decades, could tell you the mostof Agua Caliente's past history. FrankStephens of the San Diego Museum, couldhave told you tooand dear old CharlieMcCloud. But Frank is dead now. AndCharlie also has gone on the final pros-pecting trip across the sunset ridges. Thehistory of Agua Caliente wavers towardsthe confusing shadows.But what matter? The waters are stillthere. And so is the sun and the peace andthe song of the wind through the mes-quites. If you want history the gentleghosts can tell it to you. You can find themanywhere in the desert if you will lie inyour blankets in the still of the starlightand listen for their whispering voices.

Cures? Well, one could tell many storiesof well-authenticated cures which the wa-ters of Agua Caliente have wrought. Butthe mayor, as we made our rounds of thepools and bathtubs, scattered through themesquites and arrowweeds, was insistenton restraint in this matter of the healingpowers of Agua Caliente's water. "Pleasebe cautious," she urged. "We would notwant to misrepresent or to give any er-roneous impressions. Our waters here arehealing. They confer great benefits andthey work wonderful improvements, it istrue. But the word cure is very wide andpositive. I w ould not w ish anyone to buildtoo much hope, and be disappointed."

I agreed with the mayor. She is like thatthe soul of sincerity and integrity. But,even as I agreed with everything she said,I studied her a little as she stood againsta tall thicket of arrowweeds on the marginof a limpid, rock-lined pool. And I couldnot help remembering, as I noted thehealthy desert tan of her cheeks and theclearness of her level eyes, that a yearago, when she had come to Agua C aliente,a sufferer from arthritis, she could barelywalk or move and couldn't use her hands.She had been in a bad waymuch worse,as she admits herself, than many other suf-ferers who had resigned themselves to the

One of the outdoor bath houses installed by the ca mpers at their own expense. T he"VACANT" sign hung on the outside is reversible and reads "OCCUP IED" when some-one is using the bath.



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This tunnel is said to have been blasted out by one of the con cerns which sought to acquirethe springs by filing mining claims. Occasionally it is o ccupied by a transient viistor atthe springs.rospect of spending the rst of theirarthly spans in wheel chairs. But sheadn't fancied an exit of that sort. Shehad no taste for wheel chairs. So she cameo Agua Caliente instead. And she hasdone reasonably well.Less conservative was my old friend JoeEdwards of Julian. I hadn't expected tofind Joe at Agua C aliente, but as I roundedthe corner of a tfail there he was, hailingme from his seat at the foot of a mesquite."Cures?" said Jofe, as we sat in the shade."No w let me tell you about cures. Especial-ly of rheumatic fever! Just look at my son,will you?"I looked at the fine young man, whohad just then come up. Bare skinned to thewaist he was the picture of sun-tanned,healthy vitality. "The springs did it," saidJoe with deep feeling. "Why, do you knowthat boy lay in bed for five months dyingwith rheumatic fever. We'd about des-paired of being able to do anything forhim. Then we brought him down herelast year. Up to now, off and on, he's beenhere between seven and eight months, Thesprings did it."

Yes, the springs had done it. Thespringsand the sun and the desert. Italked to young Joe Edwards. He is almost19 nowsupple and tanned as an Indian,J U L Y , 1 9 4

and good to look at. He showed me hisown tub where he takes his mineral waterbaths and sun b aths. Like all the other tubsand bathing facilities which the campersat Agua Caliente have installedby theirown labor and at their own expenseitwas scrupulously clean. The clear, crys-taline warm water bubbled in through apipe, and there was also an ingeniouslydevised shower. The bath-house was roof-less and the warm desert sun beat in withelectric health. Outside the wind camedown the flanks of the mountains andacross the mesquites in a gentle rustle thatwas somehow full of peace and healing andabundant promise. I sincerely believe thatit would be hard to stay sick at Agua Cali-ente. There is a something there.And it is that very something which thepresent residents of Agua Calientecampers, all of themare especially anxi-ous to hold and to protect. They don'twant the springs commercialized. Forthey realize that the minute this happensthe something will be killed. The virtuewill be goneand these free healing deserthot springs will be lost, for all time, to thevery people who need them most.And they face a very real danger. Forall down through the record there havebeen attempts to grab Agua Caliente. To

commercialize itto exploit it as a profitenterprise. There are such plans in theoffing right now. Fostered by interestedparties, all kinds of rumors are in circula-tion regarding Agua Caliente. The place,you will be told, needs supervision andcontrolmeaning that it should be madeto pay a profit to someone. To a greatmany warped minds it is nothing short ofa scandal that there should be a desert spotwhere the general public can go freely and,without cost or fee, enjoy the waters ofhealing which the Great Spirit designedfor the benefit of all his children.Thus the undercover agitation for thecontrol of the springsfor the erectionthere of some sort of a charge sanatorium.It is the old story. Many attempts have beenmade to tie up the area. Men have tried tohomestead itworking in secret agree-ment with commercial interests. Other menhave dug holes in the ground and en-deavored to hold the territory as a miningclaim. Th ere have been all kinds of subter-fuges.But uncannily, every one of theseschemes has failed. Misfortune anddeathhave been the weapons which theGuardian Spirits of these healing watershave wielded against every designing in-dividual. And with deadly effect. For no


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schemeor schemerhowever suave andplausible, has ever succeeded. The minershave been broken, and thwarted and frus-trated. The homesteaders have pulled outin disgustor have died. Strangely, grim-ly, the Spirits of the springs guard theirown.But the citizens of Agua Caliente today,are nevertheless keyed to watchfulness andare fired with a resolution to uphold theirfreedomand the freedom of the waters.With a regular population of about 20campers (the number fluctuates), thesprings run themselves as an ideal, mutual-interest community. It is a reversion to theold Indian system. A community whichfunctions after the manner of those of theHopisthe peaceful ones. The presentorganization (or absence of organization)of the Agua Caliente community is unique.It is a model of order, neatness, content-mentand cleanliness. Nowhere will youfind more orderly, spick-and-span camps.Every camper seems to take pride in hiscampsite. There is no evidence of trash orlitter. Many of the campers have tinygardens in which a few gay flowers nodbravely to the desert sun. Peace and fellow-ship walk the trails through the arrow-weeds and mesquites. Those individualswho are fond of dreaming of the brother-hood of man and of the idyllic life mightstudy the pattern of this unique little com-munity with interest. The average stay ofresident campersother than transientsis about three or four months. There arecold springs as well as warm ones. For theuse of the warm, healing waters, the camp-ers have erected several free communitybath-houses (one tub each) . I visited thesebath-houses and found them scrupulouslyclean. There is nothing pretentious aboutthem. But the work that has been done,with the available materials, has been welldone. The temperature of the warm wateris about 100 degrees as it issues from thesprings. The supply is a little limited, andwith the installation of more tubs thetemperature tends to dim inish. At the pres-ent time, due to this, the temperature inmost tubs runs about 92 degrees F. Thewater is said to contain sulphur and iron.But I have no analysis to consult at thistime. However such technical details areof small moment. The important point isthat there is healing virtue in Agua Cali-ente water and in its sunshine and dry air.It is a combination which is of great bene-fit in cases of arthritis, rheumatic fever andsinus troubles. The springs are about 38miles from Julian, California, and bestreached over State Highway 78, whichconnects with a good graded road thatturns off at Scissors Crossing12 milesfrom Julianand goes to the springs byway of the old Overland stage station ofVallecitos. The springs are three and a halfmiles beyond Vallecitos.

As a final word, I would say to inter-ested readers: Don't go to Agua Calienteunless you are a real desert lover and are8

serious. It is distinctly no place for whoopeeparties of the merely curious. The com-munity is not at all like thatand itsdwellers resent such atmosphere.If however you are a genuine lover ofthe desert, and the freedom of the greatopen spaces where peace and freedom andhealth still walkand if you are genuinelyin search of healingthe unique com-munity of Agua Caliente will welcome youwith sincere human brotherhood. Theirdesert is precious to them. And so are theirhealing waters. Let's hope they willalways remain free! HOOVER DAM; BOULDER D A M -NOW HOOVER DAM AGAINPresident Truman brought official,though possibly not actual, end to 15-yearcontroversy when he signed congressionalresolution, approved by house and senate,which made Hoover dam legal name of bigColorado river structure which has beenknown as Boulder. Dam once before car-ried Herbert Hoover's name, being named

for him by Interior Secretary Ray LymanWilbur in September, 1930, followingprecedent used with Roosevelt and Cool-idge dams.When Harold L. Ickes became secretaryof interior in 1933, he started controversyby changing name to Boulder dam. Withreturn of Republicans to power in last con-gressional elections, bills were introducedby Representative Anderson, Republicanof California, and Senator Hawkes, Repub-lican of New Jersey, to restore Hoover'sname. President Truman signed bill withfour pens, which he sent to LawrenceRichey, Hoover's former secretary, withthought that Hoover might wish to dis-tribute them.

Hoover, as secretary of commerce, pre-sided over joint federal-state committeewhich, beginning in 1921, worked outprogram for financing structure. As presi-dent, in June 1929, he issued proclamationwhich made project effective. Ickes, aftermeasure was signed, declared, "It's goingto be Boulder dam for me."

Hard Rock Shortyof D eath V alley . . .By EVA WILSON

"Naw, yu can't beat Nature,"Hard Rock Shorty was saying as hefitted his back against the post infront of the Inferno store and gentlymassaged his spinal area."No sir! Th' feller that uses theforces o' Nature shows brains. Thebest payin' mine me an' Pisgah Billever had was worked by Nature.Piled up nuggets while we slept."Shorty slid down two vertebramore, then took his pipe out of hismouth, while the occupants of thebench against the wall waited forhim to go on."Me an' Bill got t' missin' thingsaround the shack, like the nail I used

to hook my suspenders onto mypants, an' the rock Pisgah used fer athimble. It went along that way forawhile an' then the spoon I used t'stir my coffee disappeared. I remem-bered dropping it on the floor, but itwuzn't there next mornin'.We startin huntin' aroun'. Yep,I'll bet you've guessed itpack rats!An' what do yu think them unlogi-cal, teetotalin' varmints left in ex-change? Gold nuggets! If I neverleave this here porch, them rats hadbrought in a nugget for every article

they took away. We found 'em stuckin corners and cracks all aroun' theroom.

"Then Pisgah began gettin' ideas.Why not go out and trap a lot morepack rats and get 'em workin fer us.It was a sure thing we could tote insmall objects and leave 'em layin'around faster'n any crew of pack ratscould carry 'em off. The more rats themore nuggets, see?"So Pisgah rigged up one o' thembox traps and set it over on EightBall creek where they wuz a lot of thevarmints. And sure enough he caughtfour of 'em the first night. Pisgah fig-gered we hafta sort o' train the newrats fer their job . So he put 'em in thebox where we wuz keepin' the nug-gets. 'Gotta make 'em acquaintedwith the stuff we want,' he explained."Next day me an' Pisgah had to goover an' do some assessment work onour zinc mine, so we put some feedin the box and left 'em there fer acouple o' days."When we got back, he rushedover to the box t' see how the packrats wuz gittin' along. When heturned around I could see somethin'wuz wrong." 'Shorty,' he sez t' me. 'I'm agosh-darned ol' blather-head if themvarmints ain't double-crossed us.They gnawed a hole in that gol-durned box and toted off them nug-gets, an' look what they left in placeof em. Hunk s o' jumpin' cactus!' "T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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IS GRAND C A N Y O NBy CHARLES ARTHUR PORTERLos Angeles, California

Copyright by the AuthorIn early dawn of this dark earth,

When planets formed from chaos still,The rush of water, fire and airBegajn to leave their marks untilThis hour. Thus we behold epochsOf the Universal Will.'Tis but for us to stand enthralled,With vision of the plan divine,To witness here the rise and fallOf Humankind upon its climbTo depths and heights as written hereIn stone, the records of all time.The Universal Laws that governManifested Life, revealedIn form and structurecolorlight.The Mystery of Life is sealedFrom those who worship Error's shrineBut tD Truth's worshippers, revealed.These deep, red walls reveal the bloodThe race has shed in ignoranceOf Life; and reaps a just rewardFor all its vaunted arrogance.The tearsLie here as muted evidence.and sighs of all tie past

And yet, the happiness and joyOf all the past, re-echoingFrom wall to wall, ascending,Joins the Symphonies of H eaven.When earth and sky are joined in peaceAll things unto mankind are given.

The verdant lines which mark the depthsOf this great gash upon earth's breast,Bespeak the freedom we have now,Since all the earth's from war at rest.Beware! lest pride of VictoryWill lose our fight in future test.Then too, in spite of wind and storm,There is a peace serene that hovers here.And since it is a peace divine'Tis not of indolence nor fear,For in the still of the nightOne listening, hears wings draw near.All this and more we see and feelAs we stand mute, at Nature's Shrine.So let us then rede dicateTo God, our lives for future time,That Love may grow among mankindAnd crown the earth with Truth's own Shrine.

Photograph by Ben D. GlahaU. S. Reclamation Bureau

^ .

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During the boom days most of the hillside in this picture was covered with the tents andshacks of miners and camp-followers. Main street is in the foreground between the ruinsof b rick buildings.

Golden Harvest at AuroraMillions in gold came from the shafts at old Aurorabut that was longago. Today a lone prospector lives in the deserted communityand ishap py when his $25-a-ton ore produces food and shelter and an occasion altrip to the outside. Here is the story of a ghost mining camp which nearlystarted a war between California and Nevada.

By JAY ELLIS R ANS OM/ ^ U G U S T 26, I860! A tr io of d is-J /couraged, desert-weary prospectorscrossed a low divide near BeautyPeak, Nevada. The three men, E. R. Hicks,J. M. Corey, and J. M. Braley, descendedinto a meadow at the juncture of threecanyons just below timberline at an eleva-tion of 7415 feet. A sparse covering ofpinyons dotted the grey sagebrush slopes.A tiny stream of clear water scarcely a footwide meandered through the meadow.As a heraldic sunset blazoned over the

upflung mountains to the west, Hicks saidwearily to his companions, "If you'll getcamp set up, I'll take a look up the draw10

where this creek comes from. Might be adeer coming down to drink, and we needfresh meat."With his rifle over his shoulder and hisfrontier Colt strapped to his hip, Hicksfollowed the thin trickle of water into anarrow canyon. Turning over in his mindthe vagaries of fortune that attended pros-pectors, and the perversities of deer in par-ticular, he scrambled up the narrowinggorge, his prospector's eyes unconsciouslysearching for any likely ledge or fleck ofcolor. He noted the rhyolite and andesiticoverlay on a granite unconformity brokenby intensive faulting.

Suddenly, where the canyon turnedsharply west, he stopped and whistled. Athis feet lay exposed a narrow vein of qua rtzgleaming with free-milling gold. A ll abouthim other veins blue with silver criss-crossed the rocky walls. With the glory ofthe recently discovered Comstock in hismind , Hicks raced back to his party, pocketsbulging with hastily gleaned samples."W e've struck it!" he yelled as he nearedthe little camp. "We've struck anotherComstock! It's gold, and silver. There'smillions!""Where?" shouted Corey and Braleywith one breath. They glanced over thespecimens pouring from Hicks' pockets.Excitedly he led them in the gathering duskto the newest of the great bonanzas thatwere to make Nevada one of the most fab-ulous states of the nineteenth century. After

staking out their claims, and scarcely ableto contain themselves with their newvisions of wealth, the three prospectorsT H E D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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waited out the night until they could strikeamp and hasten back a hundred miles toarson City to register their claims and topread the good news. Thus was born thegold camp of Aurora.August 10, 1946! Eighty-six years laterI turned my car from the smooth pavementof Nevada State Highway 3 at Wellingtonand started over the route blazed by Hicksand his companions with their ploddingburros. I sought neither gold nor deer, butonly photographs and a story. Time haswrought many changes in Nevada. Burrotrack has become paved highway. Tentcamps are now modern cities. The stageand freighter have been replaced by auto-mobile and airplane. Aurora, the wicked-est, the wildest, the richest, the goriest,and the greatest camp ever to flame acrossthe Nevada heavens, has become a ghostcity of desolate ruins.Ahead of me the dirt road twisted andturned among barren hills with ever chang-ing vistas of mountain ranges before myeyes. No sign posts pointed the way.Lonely cattle estancias marked the links ofprogress at long intervals. Finally, atFletcher a cowpuncher showed me the lastlap of the route to Aurora. Rough andrutted, the old road wound into the moun-tains. The last five miles was a last gasp,low gear grade over a road cut to bedrockby the passage of 80 years, and rutteddeeply from recent rains. As I passed theenormous cement foundations of the 100-stamp mill, like breached battlements of anold fortress, and crossed the divide todescend into the narrow valley whereHicks discovered his Eldorado, anotherflaming sunset crested the hungry moun-tains, and touched the sagging buildingsof Aurora with an unreal fire. Windowsgleamed a ghostly welcome.

The structures were in ruins. Streetsstraggled up the canyons, lined withcrumbling brick walls, with a lush growthof sagebrush between them.I drove up famed Antelope street wherewheel tracks were kept free of obstructionby the occasional rancher on the look-outfor cattle. At trie end of the street whereit ran halfway up a canyon, I found ahodgepodge of old shacks, near one ofwhich stood a late model pick-up truck.A thin whisp of smoke pouring out ofthe tin chimney of the most prepossessingshack indicated that Aurora was not en-tirely deserted. Parking my car, I went tothe back door. Inside the house a graying,stoop-shouldered man in faded denimsand a patched blue shirt was slicing bacon.The table was set for two people.

"Come on in/' L. B. Stevens greeted mehospitably. "I saw you drive in and figuredyou'd find me. Got the table all ready forsupper.""I'm certainly glad to find somebodyhere," I said heartily, shaking his gnarledhand. "Back at Wellington there wasn'tanybody to say whether Aurora was in-habited or not, but on the map they've got

it marked like any regular town where abody could get food and a bed.""There's a bed with a mattress in thenext room," Stevens grinned. "Stay as longas you like. I haven't seen anybody for solong, I've almost forgotten what it's liketo have a guest."While I washed up in a tin basin ofwater, I asked him how he happened to bein Aurora. After some reflection the oldman related his story while he finishedsetting out steaming plates of food. As wesat down to a meal of thick, fried slabs oflean bacon, potatoes boiled in their jackets,and a fluffy stack of soda biscuits withhoney, he told me his story."I've been here 15 years," he began."Back in the depression days of 1931 Icouldn't get a job mining with the big

companies, so I figured I might be able tomake day wages mining for myself. Well,sir, I've been doing it ever since and neverfelt healthier or more satisfied in my life."As darkness deepened and the brilliantwhite glare of the gasoline lamp thrust theshadows back under the red hot stove, hetold me something of the early history ofAurora as he had heard it from old-timerslong gone. "This is the Esmeralda miningdistrict," he said slowly. "It stands astrad-dle the California-Nevada border. Onceboth states claimed it, and even fought abattle over custody of some desperados."In the morning I'll show you Gallowshill where the vigilantes hung the four rin gleaders of the John Daily gang. Let's see,"he said musingly. "That was on the 9th ofFebruary, 1864. Yes, it was in the armoryJ U L Y , 1 9 4 7 11


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Aurora's lone occup ant today is L. B. Stevens, seen here working a t the mouth ofhis Yankee Kn ife sh aft where at 60 feet he is b ringing out ore whichyields $25 a ton.at the mouth of this very canyon, acrossfrom the courthouse round the bend, thatthe vigilantes were organized. It's a his-toric spot. If you go up to Boot hill, you'llsee the graves of the desperados, and someof the vigilantes too."In order to tame the wild west of thesixties and bring civilization to the rawfrontier in an era when gold dust passedfor currency and the six-shooter ruled theroost, men's passions had to be bridled andlaw and order forcibly established by plaincitizens. No other region was quite so wildand lawless during the short span ofyears, 1860-1870, or quite so defiant ofthe Ten Commandments. Few sections ofthe mining west brought forth such im-mense wealth in so short a time.12

"Thirty million dollars from Aurora innine years. Seventy million from Bodie inthirty!" The old man's blue eyes gleamedas he recalled the adventure and excite-ment of those days.As I slid into my sleeping bag, the nightair of that high country streamed throughthe doorway, crisp and keen, odorous withpinyon pine and sagebrush. Then, morn-ing came abruptly with a loud poundingof a long-handled spoon on a frying pan."Come and get it," Stevens' voice wasimpelling with the promise of a full day."Breakfast's ready."My w atch said 5:30.1 rose and shiveredinto my clothes. Fresh bacon smell was inthe air along with the tang of new-madecoffee. After breakfast Stevens brought

out some specimens he had picked uparound Aurora. He showed me a hugecalcite geode nearly a foot in length. "Ifyou're interested in rocks, there's lots ofquartz, chalcedony, and jasper. The jasperin this region is criss-crossed with chal-cedony veining. I've got a hundred poundchunk up at my Yankee Knife I'll showyou. It's beautiful stuff to polish."I rode down to the center of town withhim and he pointed out Gallows hill, thearmory, and the crumbling walls of thecourthouse. Across the narrow valley thethree hills which comprise the mineralstrike of the Esmeralda district raised theirbald domes. "Over there on East hill," heindicated a large mine dump, "is the Del-monte, one of the greatest mines of thesixties. The Durand you can see on Centerhill. My Yankee Knife shaft is just to theright of the Durand, cutting into the hillfrom an angle never tried in the early days.To the right of that, across the creek, isSilver hill wh ere some big mines operated.

That's where I've found considerablequantities of jasper."I climbed Gallows hill slowly, enjoyingthe keen morning air. All about lay thebleached bones of history. Mine dumpspocked the mountain sides, with here andthere a broken and crumbling stamp millsagged crazily upon its decomposingfoundations. Decaying cabins gutted bytime and marauders stood scattered amongthe pines. I passed through Boot hill. Theepitaphs, w hile reflecting the easy philoso-phy of life and death so characteristic of thatviolent era, yet overflowed with true senti-ment and love, expressed in the stark sim-plicity of the pioneer heart.A year after Hicks reported his strike, somany people had rushed into the new dig-gings that on November 2 5, 1861, the Ne-vada territorial legislature established Es-meralda county and made Aurora, the onlycity in an area larger than most easternstates, its county seat. By 1864 Aurora wasa metropolis of 10,000, with two news-papers, a brick school, a two-story court-house and jail, two armories with fullyequipped companies of soldiers, two brassbands to play at public functions, and blocksof pretentious buildingsconstructed ofbrick shipped from Sacramento, 30 hoursdistant.I picked up many fine specimens ofquartz crystals, finger size and smaller, thelarger pieces being topaz in color. WhenI reached the Yankee Knife, Stevensshowed me some beautiful rose and lilacchalcedony which is found on a base ofalmost white chalcedony in an amygdalo-idal rock. He pointed out his chunk ofjasper."That's worth hundreds of dollars if itwere cut up and polished." His words helda cool disregard for values not associatedwith hard-rock mining. "Quite a changefrom the old days. People aren't lookingfor gold and silver nearly so much as foragate and jasper."T H E D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Fam ous courthouse, police station and jail w here the administrative officers of two statesheld forth until it finally was revealed that Aurora properly belonged in Nevada.He straightened up and turned his eyestoward the lower canyon, his keen mindalready bridging the river of history alongwhose banks he had spent so many years."Down there," he gestured mildly, "oncestood a big opera house where all the bestNew York opera companies played. Theycame down from Virginia City by stagecoach. When Aurora died, the theater wasmoved to Bodie and converted into a

quartz mill!"The fantastic glory of the new Eldoradoenticed more than its share of rowdies,murderers, bandits, gamblers, highway-men, and camp hangers-on. Gamblingplaces, honkytonks, s a l o o n s , roominghouses, and business establishments ofevery description mushroomed and thrivedfor a decade.He showed me through the tiny three-stamp mill he had built from odds andends picked up around Aurora. "I getabout $25 a ton when the ore is crushedand panned outl" he said proudly. Then

he led the way through a cross-cut tunnelinto his Yankee Knife shaft and weclimbed down into stygian darkness, litonly by the pallid flickering of his miner'sJ U L Y , 1 9 4 7

lamp. He pointed out the hanging wallwhich marked a fault line."I'd sure like to know which way to dignow," he mused. "No telling which waythe vein's slipped. But that's characteristicof this district."At noon we climbed into his truck anddrove back to his cabin. We passed theremnants of the famous courthouse whereboth California and Nevada maintainedfull judicial offices for several years whenthe states almost came to blows over thejurisdiction of the district."At one time," Stevens related, "thespeakers of both state legislatures wereelected simultaneously from this one camp.People used to vote first for Nevad a in oneset of polls, and then in a different set ofpolls vote for California on the same day."The boundary dispute finally was set-tled when surveyors located the true linethree miles west of Aurora and five mileseast of Bodie, in Mono county, California.Today the old military post with its empty,dust-filled horse watering trough stillstands squarely on the border where oncesoldiers patrolled in the interest of main-taining peace and security between twolawless and incorrigible cities.

As we sat down to a cold lunch of breadand bacon slabs left over from breakfast,my kindly friend told me a story illustra-tive of the wildness of those times. TheBodie mines did not begin to produce theirgreatest wealth until Aurora, her candleblazing furiously at both ends, had cometo extinction. The riff-raff which had in-fested Aurora and had been run out bythe viligantes, then made Bodie famouswith a phrase current for decades." 'Bad man from Bodie,' they calledthem then," Stevens laughed.

After lunch I prepared to leave forBodie. As we shook hands, Stevens' eyescrinkled with a heart-warming invitation."Come back and stay longer," he said. "Iwill," I promised, and I meant it.Except for this weather-beaten hard-rockminer, Aurora is today utterly abandoned,and has been for the most part since thelast mines closed back in 1882. There arenone amon g the living, to recall at firsthand the glory, the battles, and the excite-

ment among those lonely mountains threegenerations ago. But the evidences of thefrantic activity remain scattered throughoutthe golden hills.13


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Tsianina in the early days of her singing career.By HOPE GILBERT

/ / S the rays of dawn spread fanwisef / above the canyon wall, tingeing thetips of the tall spruce trees, the richvoice of the Indian singer Tsianina intonedthe stirring words of the Zuni Invocationat Sunrise.It was a thrilling moment for those ofus who were privileged that August morn-ing at Mesa Verde national park to standat daybreak on the brink of the canyon andlisten to the Sunrise Call by the foremostsinger of her race. Only two months be-14

fore, Tsianina had sung before an audienceof 47,000 in the Hollywood Bowl. Now,standing on the edge of the 500-foot cliffand looking across the narrow canyon wecould discern in the ancient ruins of SpruceTree house the arrow-straight figure of theIndian woman. The cliff wall behind herserved as a perfect sounding-board as thesolemn tones of her clear voice came wing-ing across.Sunrise at Mesa Verde was one of the

highlights of the 1200-mile archeologicaltour through New Mexico and Coloradowhich a small group of artists and schol-

Many years of acclaim as oneof the foremost Indian musiciansin America have not dimmed theloyalty which Tsianina feels forher tribesmen. She retired fromher musical career long a go, butin the quiet of her Southern Cali-fornia home the famed Indiansinger does what she can to se-cure justice for the men andwom en w ho still live on the reser-vations.

TsianinaSpeaksfor theI n d i a n sars enjoyed in the summer of 1926. It wasmy good fortune to accompany this group.The late Dr. E dgar L. Hew ett of the Schoolof Am erican Research in Santa Fe was o urguide.The party included Charles FletcherLummis, Lansing Bloom of the Universityof New Mexico, Kenneth Chapman, artistand archeologist of Santa Fe, Hartley BurrAlexander, professor of philosophy andauthor of learned volumes on Indian folk-lore.Charming in manner, erect, graceful incarriage, with a ready smile and a twinklein her eye, there was moreover a fo rthrightdignity about Tsianina that at once com-manded respect and admiration. This ismy memory of her as I knew her that sum-mer when she was at the peak of her sing-ing career, and this impression of her stillholds today.Since returning to Pasadena from SantaFe on the same train with her, followingthe fiesta of August 1926,1 had known shemade her home in Southern California.But my contact with her had been broken.So when I learned she is now living inBurbank, arrangement was made to call ather home. At the end of a warm bus rideshe met me and drove me to her delightfulhome in the shadow of historic Cahuengapass. W ith Tsianina lived Irene, a C hoctawIndian girl.

Tsianina would be a remarkable womanin any race. As an Indian she commandsT HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Tsianina was born near Muskogee, Okla-er a Creek. She received he r early edu-

"When I look around and observe theked with an engaging grin,

Tsianin a's love of music has had a stronge over m r from her earliest years.and go to Denver to study music

She had not been long in Denver when

himself, by Burton,ranged between the composer and the

After six more months of diligent study

1914 was an immediate success. Tsianina'sof the emotional life of the Indian throughis songs had become a dazzling reality.

Her concerts in Colorado were followedy a tour of the East. Everywhere the tal-ented Indian girl was received with en-thusiasm, not alone because of her voicebut also because of her forthright person-ality.

It was during her tour of the West thatI first heard her in concert with Cadmanand was thrilled by her singing of In theLand of the Sky Blue W ater, By the Watersof Minnetonka, and others. Little did Idream then that a decade later I was to beprivileged to know this unusual artist.Tsianina's tour of the United States wastemporarily interrupted by World War I.Moved by her d esire to contribute her shareto the war effort she volunteered to goabroad to help entertain our soldiers. Fromvarious camps she assembled a group ofIndians from Southwestern states. Withthese boys she formed a troupe whichJ U L Y , 1 9 4 7

Tsianina and the troupe of Indian soldiers who toured France duringWorld War I as entertainers.called themselves 'Indians of Yesterdayand Indians of Today.'She laughed as she told me of the timeshe and her boys borrowed the general'scar and scoured a large section of Germanyin search of feathers for the boys' costumes.For nine months they toured the Alliedcamps in France and Germany. Tsianinasang, and the boys gave spirited Indiandances and take-offs of their palefacebrothers. They were adjudged one of eightbest entertainment groups of the A.E.F.

With the termination of her war activi-ties Tsianina resumed her musical career inher native land. The story of Shanewis,based in part upon her life and written byher, was developed into an opera by Cad-man and produced at the Metropolitanopera house. Although Tsianina did notsing in the Metropolitan performance shecoached Sophie Braslau in the leading role.In June 1926, Tsianina herself sang theleading soprano role of Shanewis in theHollywood Bowl before 47,000 people,up to that time the largest audience everto assemble for grand opera. Rafaelo Diazof the Metropolitan sang the tenor role,and Oskenonton, Mohawk baritone, sangthe part of Tsianina's brother.For nine years Tsianina was a leadingattraction of the Santa Fe fiesta. She wasmade a citizen of Santa Fe, and became amember of the governing board of theSchool of American Research, with head-quarters in the capital city of New Mexico.Altogether Tsianina was associated withCharles Wakefield Cadman 15 years.Never in all that time did the two musici-ans find the need for a written contract;

always their verbal agreement was ad-hered to. Speaking of Cadman, Tsianinacommented, "He was a wonderful personto be associated withan effervescent en-thusiast about music. To me he is an ex-pression of that infinite spark which is theessence of life."From her desk, as I sat watching the playof expression on her face, Tsianina pickedup a check. "This," she exclaimed withas much pride as any budding author uponthe acceptance of his first brain-child, "ismy first royalty check for a song writtenin collaboration with Mr. Cadman." Atmy request she then played the movingsong My M other Taught Me How to Pray,for which she had written the lyric fromthe depths of her own experience. She isnow writing a book, based upon her musi-cal career and her happy association withCadman, to be entitled Where Trails HaveLed Me.

Tsianina retired at the peak of her sing-ing career, 12 years ago. Laughingly shetold me, "I decided to step down from thestage when I was still able to do so grace-fully, rather than wait to be pushed off.""What is the happiest memory of youryears in the concert field?" I asked her."The friendliness of people," she re-plied. "Wherever I went, the friendlinessof people caught me up and carried mealong. What truly thrills me now is thatso many persons remember me. Hardly a

week goes by that some one does not speakto meon the street, in the market, or atthe ration board offices where I did vol-unteer service for a yearto tell of having15


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Ira H. H ayes, Pima Indian w ho helped raise the Am erican flag o n Iwo Jima.heard me sing somewhere in the MiddleWest, in the East, or even abroad."There is a fascination in stand ing on astage and winning applause," she franklyconfessed. "Nevertheless, since my retire-ment I have found life to be just as full,just as satisfying."Today Tsianina's prayer is that theAmerican people will awaken to theplight of their red brothers and demandlong-delayed justice. In speaking of theunfortunate position of her people, thous-ands of whom served in the armed forcesand in the defense plants but who are de-nied the rights of free citizens, Tsianinaspoke with intense but restrained emotion."Over 150 years ago," Tsianina told me,"President George Washington promiseda group of Indien chiefs, 'So long as thegrass grows green and the water flows, theNew Republic will respect your rights.' Inthe light of the record of the past centuryand a half, the exploitation of the red manby the people of this country is a pitifultravesty of the words of Washington.Robbed of their patrimony and their means16

of livelihood, and shorn of their rights asself-respecting free men the American In-dians are today living under as complete adictatorship as can be found anywhere."If America is to lead the nations ofthe world," Tsianina affirmed, "she mustfirst become an upright leader. If she is toadvocate the Four Freedoms, she must firstapply those principles at home. If she ex-pects treaties to be honored, she must firstcarry out her own obligations."Immigrants from other lands come tothe United States and within one genera-tion they and their children are grantedfull citizenship. But we Indians are stillheld outside the pale of citizenship in theland where we and our ancestors before uswere born! Indian soldiers like Ira Hayesof Arizona, one of the survivors of thehistoric flag-raising on Iwo Jima, foughtfor the broad principles of freedom notalone for the paleface Americans but fortheir own race as well. Indians are a proud,justice-loving people. We fail to under-stand the logic of a governm ent that forcedour young men to fight for the freedom of

others, yet denies to them the very rightsfor which they fought."Legally the American Indian is a citi-zen of the United States, is he not?" I in-quired."In 1924 Congress granted citizenshipto the Indians. But citizenship and ward-ship do not mix. As one senator wrote toan inquiring Sioux, 'Citizenship for theIndians was merely a friendly gesture.' Inpractice the reservation Indians, of whomthere are some 250,000, still have thestatus of incompetent wards whose everyact from birth to death is under the super-vision of the Indian bureau. Not one ofthese Indians may sell a cow, bequeathproperty, hire a lawyer, go to court, orengage in any kind of business, withoutexpress permission from an agent of thebureau."The Indian tribes have little controlover the expenditure of their tribal funds.Th e Indian commissioner and the secretaryof the interior to whom he is responsibleare virtual dictators of a quarter millionsubjects."When he appointed John Collier In-dian commissioner, President Rooseveltpromised the Indians a new deal," T sianinacontinued. "At first my people felt a slightsurge of hope. But it soon became app arentthat the so-called 'new deal' meant merelya doubling of Indian bureau personnelfrom 5000 to 10,000 employes, and a fur-ther depletion of tribal funds.""Has the Wheeler-Howard bill of 1934improved the lot of the Indians?" I asked."The Indian reorganization bill mademany fine promises to the Indians. But theeffect has been to regiment them even morecompletely under the paternalistic thumbof the Ind ian bu reau, to emphasize segrega-tion, and to force upon them a collectivistsystem.""What solution do you see for the In-dian problem?" I asked her."If the Indian is given the right educa-tion to live as a free citizen, responsible forthe conduct of his own affairs, he will lifthimself by his own bootstraps. To spoon-feed him like a child, to treat him as anincompetent incapable of making theslightest decision for himself, is to rob himof all initiative and hope. The Indian istired of being treated as a museum piece.Let him grow up and take his rightfulplace in the land of his birth."

THE MINDBy TANYA SOUTH

The mind is still the key unto the soul,And unto all good living. Let us thenPay strictest care, the while our thoughtsunrollThat they reflect no malice and no painFor others! That their purity unsoiledIs utterly unquestioned ! And their bright,Clear outlook unto heights and dreamsunspoiledWill lead us unto Truth and Love andLight.



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The Seyfried home w as built entirely of discarded railroad ties, with tincans for shingles and a d irt roof.

It w a s n ot until i l lness overtook them that Esther and Ernie Seyfried, pastmiddle-age, learned that there is health and peace and security on thedesert for those who are willing to do the necessary hard work. But theywe re w orkers, despite the crutch that Ernie use d to carryand here is thestory of what their industry brought them.By EDA S. JOHNSTONE

/ IFTE EN years ago Esther and Ernie/ Seyfried would have ridiculed thesuggestion that they build a homeon the hot sands near Dateland in thesouthern Arizona desert. Who would wantto live in such a place? And how wouldone make a living? These are the questionsthey would have asked.And yet today, the Seyfrieds are livingin a cozy home on that same desertahome they built themselvesand theyhave found sources of income even beyondtheir essential needs.Their home was built of discarded rail-road ties1500 of themput in place bya man almost entirely unaided, past 50years of age, and crippled. There is notonly a hacienda-style structure that has be-come the home and guest-house of twodauntless people, but there are five masterJ U L Y , 1 9 4

bedrooms, a 20x40 living room, threestone fireplaces, a den, kitchen and sun-porch.The first year there was no bedroom, bu teach year one was added. Now there areaccommodations for 16 guests at one time,no more, for Esther has never wished tolose the personal touch, the homelike at-mosphere. It would not be a resort. Thereis plumbing and an electric light plant, allwork done by Ernie.All this was because an arthritic condi-tion caused by carbon monoxide gas fumesnecessitated his giving up a lifelong busi-ness in the city. For years he owned andoperated one of the largest repair and stor-age garages in Los Angeles. His physicianadvised escape to the desert. Having hadfriends in Arizona, they had often visitedthere. Always they observed that after a

few weeks in the healing rays of the desertsun, Ernie's condition improved. He waseven able to throw down his crutches andbecome active. Then upon returning to thecity, the old pains and stiffness returned. Itwas then they determined to acquire someacreage on the desert and build a homethere.They sold out their business in the city,Esther giving up an active and popularsocial life. They selected ten acres thatwere available at a point 75 miles east ofYuma on Highway 80.Practical and systematic always, the twosat down and drew a plan of exactly whatthey wanted. The use of railroad ties sug-gested low, Mexican-style constructionwith angled wings. Many times were theplans altered or corrected before work wasactually begun.The Southern Pacific railroad had forsale an abandoned section house contain-ing 235 ties, which Ernie bought for tendollars. He also acquired an abandonedschool building and a dance hall built ofties, which had been used at least 40 yearsbefore. Ernie tore down the building, tieby tie, and hauled them 17 miles in a two-wheeled trailer drawn by a small coupe

17


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with a box built on. As many as 50 tripswere made hauling these ties. He was stillusing a crutch.Then one upon another, like logs in a logcabin, Ernie laid the ties, hammered themtogether with railroad spikes, and chinkedthem with cotton packing. Plaster cementput in the seams and ends made a neat fin-ish. The ceiling he beamed with bridgetimbers and telegraph poles, in whichholes from the linemen's spikes are stillvisible. The lifting of these huge timberswas almost a giant's job, and it was onlythen that Ernie enlisted help. He was stillusing a crutch. For many hours he pulledand stacked and hammered with a crutchunder one arm. But after a few weeks, hediscarded it.

First the living room was built. For 60days these two worked to complete livablequarters before the heat of the summerwould make work outside impossible.They moved into one room on their wed-ding anniversaryMarch of 1936.That first year Esther cooked on an oldwood range. Ernie took out one windowfor the chimney. The fireplace openingEsther used for a dish cupboard. One ofthe ties had a hole completely through it,and the idea came to Ernie that this holewould permit a drain-pipe for a sink, andso running water made their temporarycooking quarters more livable. He put abarrel on the outside, and hauled waterthree miles while they were putting downtheir own well. The well-rig was madefrom old tractor gears and part of an oldautomobile frame which were salvagedfrom the desert.Then Ernie built a long table andbenches of flooring, and polished the tableto a mirror-like finish. Having no plane orsandpaper, he used a piece of broken glass.The benches were upholstered in gaychintzes by Esther. They seat 12, and shemade dinner and breakfast sets of damaskwith edges of bright red and w hite checkedgingham. Checkered red and white ging-ham also adorn the windows of the kitchen.The ne xt year Ernie put an old Ford gas-oline tank on the roof, which had to befilled by hand with buckets, and piped thewater down into their shower and lava-tory. If the water is not piping hot, it ispleasantly warm for a good shower bath.Now two tanks repose atop the housefor the several showers in the separateroomsone hot and the other cold. Thesolar heating system also is attached to therange to provide hot water on cold winterdays when the sun does not get warmenough.

The second year the kitchen and bed-room took shape, and all ends were leftunfinished so that additional rooms couldbe added if desired.The floors are cement, covered byhooked and braided rugs made by Esther.There are 12 hand-hooked rugs and in-numerable braided ones. Dainty curtainsare in the showers and dressing-room; ex-18

Ernie walked with a crutch when hecame to Dateland and now he putslong hours in his flower gardens.cellent inner-spring mattresses, and thick,soft wool blankets on the beds.

The sunporch and patio porches havefloors of flagstone, taken from abandonedcabins on the desert 15 miles away. Theywere broken into pieces and cemented to-gether.Five thousand quart oil cans were usedto shingle the roof of the living roomalone. Procured from filling stations bothfar and near, Ernie and Esther workedweeks cutting off tops and bottoms withcan openers and tin shears. The remainingparts were flattened into shingles with a

hammer and an old tie for a base. Then upa ladder went both Esther and Ernie, andon the ties which formed the ceiling, thetin shingles were nailed into place. Over

these, six inches of dirt was thrown, drawnup by buckets from the trailer.Being a novice at carpentering, Estherput her shingles on w rong. She worked forhours, unnoticed by Ernie, laying themfrom top down instead of working fromthe eaves upward so they would overlapand shed water. W hen Ernie returned froma hauling trip and discovered what she haddone he grinned and suggested that eithershe would have to change the shingles orthey would need raincoats and umbrellasto live in the room beneath.

Throughout the construction, inside andout, every piece of wood and stone camefrom the desert. Cobblestone for the fire-place of volcanic rock, Ernie hauled 17miles in a two-wheeled trailer.Outside, ironwood trees grow at the endof each angle, and tamarisk trees surround.The soil will grow a garden, too. Tablevegetables fresh from the garden are a de-light to th e guests. Here Esther picks broc-coli, tomatoes, green peas and beans, car-rots, turnips, beets, and spinach. Tom atoesmature early in December. Now 100 datepalms have been added. But it wasn't thedates that hit the jackpot and made a smallfortune for the Seyfrieds.No home can be complete without theflowers that brighten the rooms with gaybouquetsnot even excepting a deserthome. E sther planted petunias, stocks, andmarigold close to the house under the iron-wood and tamarisk trees. In the rich, sandyloam they flourished beautifully.But the pride and joy of Ernie's heartwere his exquisite white gladiola which heplanted as a border along the V-shapedentrance to the house.As the years went by Ernie experi-mented with one thing or another in at-tempting to make his desert place pay.Tomatoes were a good idea, but the rab-bits got the young plants. House guestswere nice to have, but the idea of Estherspending the rest of her life in the kitchenworried him, even if their friends felt therewould be something missing in their livesif they would be deprived of the goodfortune of partaking of Esther and Ernie'shospitality and the delight of their home.

One day a visitor from Phoenix, admir-ing Ernie's white gladiola, mentioned thedifficulty of getting fresh cut flowers dur-ing the winter months. If Ernie wouldgrow an abundance of these flowers, hefelt certain there would be a good marketin Phoenix and Yuma.

Ernie thought that one more experimentcould not harm, so the following fall theyplanted one-third of an acre in gladiolabulbs. Irrigation was not a problem, for hehad his water. The plants flourished.There were not the problems of other lo-calities. No lath houses were necessary.There was no anxiety over the weather,for on the desert in winter time theclimate is moderate. Sometimes the windwill blow furiously, but consider the liliesin the fieldthey have nothing on gladi-T H E D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Seyfried in the flower garden that gives a colorful settingto the house of railroad ties.olas. Seven hundred blossoms alone werepicked on the last day of the season. Thewealth accrued was beyond their wildestdreams. For the|y had made as much inthree months as many people make inthree years! For the first time in ten years,after passing the sixty mark, these two un-tiring people could draw a breath of re-lief ; for the first time they were out of thered.

If the days were filled with drudgeryand tedious work, there was compensation,for as evenings drew near and the shadows

lengthened, the soft mauve and coral color-ings of the landscape were a delight to be-hold. They would gaze out over the wide-spreading desert dotted with mesquite andclumps of cactus and ironwood treessplashed with the yellow of the palo verdetrees, to the distant mountains, purplingin the evening haze. Here and there theflaming ocotillo and the lacy tamarisk withplumes of lavender mingled with the but-ter yellow of the palo verde blossoms. Thefaint breeze carries spicy scents of sage-brush and faint mingling of underbrush inhot sand.

In their years of pioneering on the Ari-zona desert the Seyfrieds have discoveredthe truth that"To those ivho come to the desertwith friendliness, it gives friendship;

to those who come with courage itgives new strength of character. Thoseseeking relaxatoin find release fromthe w orld of man-m ade troubles; forthose seking beauty, the desert offersNatu re's rarest artistry. This is thedesert that men and wom en learn tolove."With water, the Arizona desert produces luxuriant flowers. H ere Erniepicks the first gladiola of the season.

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Pectocarya penicillata {no common name). This tiny whiteflower is abo ut the size of an ordinary pin head or twomillimeters across. The x-shaped object on the stem whichlooks like a d ecoration from an illuminated m anuscript isactually the fruit.

White pigweed (Chenopod ium album). One of the com-monest of introduced weeds but beautiful for all that.Flowers are greenish and about 1/16 inch across. It isfound in Arizona and in widely separated areas overthe world.

By JERRY LAUDERMILKDrawings by the Author

I J / HERE the unaided eye saw just aVV reddish haze over the crackedsoil, my pocket lens showed a hostof delicate plants of curious shape withstems, leaves, flowers and fruit all packedinto vegetable midgets no bigger than thefirst two joints of my finger. Instead of be-ing any regulation shade of green theywere all tricked out in red, brick-red andpink on the stems and a carmine-like gran-ulated ruby on the tiny flowers.Even my friend Joe Aguilar, w ho, out oflong experience on the Arizona desert hada name for just about everything, could nothelp me out in this case. In fact, he sug-gested that such an insignificant memberof the vegetable kingdom was probably

nameless. I felt pretty sure this was a badguess. Some other snooper armed with amagnifier and a knowledge of botany had20

Covering the floor and slopesof the desert country duringmany months of the year is agorgeous display of bloom thatfew people ever see. This is theworld of pigmy flowers a worldin which a blossom 3/16 of aninch across is oversize. JerryLaudermilk estimates that one-fifth of the flow ers in the South-west are in the pigmy class. It isan interesting world, as yo u w illdiscover in read ing Jerry's storyof what he discovered when hebeg an sleuthing around with hismicroscope.

almost certainly provided the plantlet w ithan impressive Latin title and filed its de-scription away somewhere.To make a long story short, my redmidget put up a brilliant fight against

identification but finally gave in. It provedto be a species peculiar to the extremeWest, frequently growing on sunstruckground from Oregon through Californiaand southern Arizona, and oddly enoughit occurs again down in Chile. The scien-tific label for this particular species isTillaea erecta and "believe it or not" itscommon name turned out to be Pigmy-weed. No plant could have a better claimto the title.My drawing shows some of the char-acteristics of pigmyweed as it appearswhen highly magnified. The red coloringmaterial that fills many of the cells is a pe-culiar substance belonging 'to the com-pounds called anthocyanins. These are thecause of the reds, blues and lavenders ofsome of our most beautiful flowersalsoof red cabbage and black beans.Since my identification of the red pigmyhad provided such a fascinating pursuit, Ibegan to hunt for other flowers on whichto try my new hobby. The challenge wasT H E D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Purslane (Potbright yellow flowers are one of the fewexceptions to the rule that most pixyflowers are white or pale colored.

immediately accepted by plants of all sizes.The b ig ones were not particularly diffi-cult. It was the denizens of Lilliput thatrequired long hours with the microscope.I began to notice pixy flowers in all sortsof places. Some were the blossoms ofbushes and treei which until now I hadtaken for granted as rather messy-lookingtassels dangling from the ends of twigs.Others were the microscopic flowers ofherbs that w ere only midget-size from rootto top. In some cases they were so tiny that

Squaw bush (F.hus trilobata). The pet-als of the cream-colored flowers areabout 2 millirheters long. They growlike a cluster of tulip-magnolia, flowerson a hairy twig. Beautiful.

Croton calif ornicus {no commonname). One of the strong-characteredSpurge family. The blossoms are typicalexamples of floivers without petals.

it would have taken a dozen to make a de-cent corsage for a cricket. But these weretrue flowers with as much beauty in theirdesign as any yucca or wild rose.In this game of plant identification, theonly way to a sure conclusion (unless youcheat and ask somebody) is to take yourflower to pieces and study the parts untilyou are familiar with its makeup and thenrun it down with the help of a good wild-flower ma nual.The world of pixy flowers bristles with

Poison oak (Rhus diversiloba). Left, apollen grain and a seed capsule with ves-tigial stamens. Upper right, a femaleflower; below, a male flower with anth-ers and pollen.

Pterostegia drymarioides (no comm onname). A beautiful little rose and greenflower of the buckwheat family; com-mon but hard to see. Flowers are abouttwice pin head size.interrogation points that await the ex-plorer in unexpected places. What tricksdo these flowers use in order to succeed?What guests do they entertain? What at-tractions do they offer insect visitors?W hat significance is to be attached to theirchoice of places to grow? Do they indicatesoil with peculiar chemical qualitiesacid,alkaline or otherwise? In many cases thereis no ready answer since botanists have notyet gathered up all the loose ends to theirproblems.

Chickweed (Stellaria media). The fullyopened flower is about 3/16 of an inchacross. Upper left, a seed capsule with astamen and on e of the c uriously cleftwhite petals.


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Plantain (Plantago hookeriana). Anelegant little flower with papery, whit-ish flowers which depend upon thewind for pollination. Total width of theopen flower is about 3/32 of an inch.With few exceptions the pixy flowersare white or very light colored and evenmany of the very smallest have their favor-ite insect patrons who do the importantwork of carrying pollen from plant toplant. In the case of the red pixy it was along time before I learned how it handledthis p'roblem. I searched stands of Tillaeaat all hours of the day and night to learn

who called and when. During the heat ofthe day the ground beneath the plants wastraversed by processions of ants that ig-Pigmyweed ^Tillaea erecta). Upperleft, open flower would fit loosely in-side a circle the size of a pin head. Seeds,bottom left, ripen in four boat-shap edcarpels. Tip of style is shown ~magn ified at middle left.

Euphorbia melanadenia {no commonname). This curious little flower is com-mon on dry slopes and m esas. "The tinyflowers a re rather noticeable from theirwhite and purple contrasts.nored the flowers entirely and this ap-peared true for other insects that passedthat way. It was the same at night. A fewinconsequential gnats were loafing aroundbut doing nothing useful. Then one noonwhen a stiff breeze blew I saw each tinyplant shaking like a pigmy tree in a minia-ture forest. I arranged a dozen microscopeslides smeared with glycerine to act as dusttraps in strategic places down-wind fromthe midget forest. After an hour I exam-ined my traps and every one showed from

Galinsoga parviflora {no com monname). This might be a midget arti-choke about 3 millimeters high. Thesmall flowers of this weed, rather com-mon along irrigation ditches, are ex-tremely a ttractive.

Bed straw {Galium aparine). Bea utifuland delicate flowers like tiny stars ofwhite enamel. A single flower wouldjust fit on top of a pin head. Upper left,cross-section of stem.a few to many pollen grains of the pigmy-weed. This was one question to bescratched from the list for it was clear nowthat the wind was the go-between for thepixies in red.Here is a chance for Desert readers totake up a new hobby combining all the at-tractions of esthetic appeal, sleuthing, puz-zle solving and hours in the great outdoors.Simply buy yourself a good Western wild-flower manual and a magnifier and youhave the keys to Elfland.

Apiastrum angustifolium (no commonname). A delicate, white flower whichwill just fit loosely into the top loop ofa letter g in this cap tion. Flower, upperleft. Bottom, flower in pro file and viewsof seed capsule.


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It was hot in Searchlight, Nevada, on the night ofAugust 29, 1946. Editor-Publisher Howard E. Mildrenwork ed late in his self-built concrete block printshopand office. The old mining c a m p had been without anew spaper for 30 years , and he w as m aking up thefirst issue of the Searchlight Journal. The town hadjust suffered the second-worst fire in its long history,which burned down the biggest gambling club intown, the hotel and a grocery. There was plenty ofnews for a new paper .Mildren put the last form on the anc ient Cam pbellpress. He had bought that press in Kansas City andha d diss ected it there himself, so that he wo uld k nowhow to reassemble i t in Nevada. Make-ready com-pleted, he turned on the power. The press rumbled,clanked in a tired sort of wayand stalled. Mildrenbacked it up by hand and tried again with the sameresult.The potential editor also was new at the printingbus iness, an d the stoppag e baff led him . An hour be-fore the press had been running smoothly. Then herealized that before, the press had run empty. Themotor had sufficient power to run an empty bed, butit could not turn the press wh en impressions had tob e m a d e .Berta Silveira and her husband, "Big lohn." dep-uty sheriff at Searchlight, came to the office to findout why the paper was d e l a y e d . Berta, long-timeresident of the town, was local news editor of thenew Journal, in addition to being Searchlight post-mistress. Editor Mildren's friendly grin was missingas he explained his trouble. "Big John" Silveiracircled the old press, eyeing it contemplatively fromall ang les . Then he grun ted an d stripped off his shirt.He picked up an iron bar and thrust it into a hole inthe f lywheel."You feed it, I'll turn it" he said. It was slow, hotwork and the night was almost gone before the lastcopy of Mildren's paper came off the clanking pressbut he had made his beginning at Searchlight.

/ V T was January, 1947, and the weekly Journal had reached* / the ripe age of 20 issues, when I came to Searchlight. Iwas checking a story about geodes "as big as houses"which were reported to have been found in the isolated southerntip of Clark county, Nevada, lying between the California lineand the Colorado river. And because a small town editor is sup-posed to know everything about everythingand usually doesI went to see Mildren. He was busy in the editorial office,which meant that no one was working in the printshop. Hadthe printshop been in operation, the editorial department wouldhave been vacant. The Journal really is a one-man paper. Thebody type is set in Boulder City, but Mildren does everythingelse. He even has succeeded as pressman after obtaining a morepowerful motor.When I asked about geodes, the sudden sparkle in Mildren's

J U L Y , 1 9 4 7

Sinah and Hoivard Mildren with one of the large brokengeodes in the field.eyes told me that I had found a fellow rockhound. He reachedfor his hat. "I'll show you," he said. He slapped the hat rakishlyon his head, shut the office door, and the Journal closed downfor the morning."I've heard about huge geodes, but I haven't seen them,"Mildren said as we drove toward his home. "Those I am goingto show you are big enough for m e." H e explained that the fieldlay on perlite claims owned by Clyde and Junior Cree of Search-light, but that the Crees had permitted collectors on the propertyin the past."I'm no judge of geodes, and no t all these have good centers,"Mildren went on. "My wife and I are only amateur rockhounds,but we like them and when I had the Boulder City Prospectors'club out here, they seemed satisfied."Mildren 's home is perched on a sidehill. The varied collectionaccumulating on all sides of it indicates that he is suffering fromacute rockitis. Fortunately his wife, Sinah, contracted the diseasewhen he did. Sinah is also a member of the Journal staff, actingas advertising manager. Sinah and Howard come from Ohio,where they married after his discharge from the army. She hasaccepted the desert with the same enthusiasm which Howardshows. Each weekend finds them at the end of rutted by-roads,hunting rocks and scenery.We obtained Clyde Cree's permission to investigate thegeodes on his claim, set the speedometer at zero where the Nip-ton road leaves Highway 5 in Searchlight, and headed westtoward Nipton. At 1.1 miles we turned south along the power-line road, leaving it at 1.5 miles for another dirt road whichextended in a straight line toward the Piute mountains in thesouthwest.Joshua trees were scattered through the valley, part of the bigforest lying between Searchlight and Nipton. Mojave yucca wasplentiful and there were Lycium, creosote bush, burroweed anddeerhorn cholla visible. Mildren pointed out the big ranch solong operated by Rex Bell and Clara Bow, to the north at thebase of Crescent peak. The road we followed was remarkablystraight."We are on the old Santa Fe roadbed," Mildren explained.

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By HAROLD O. WEIGHT


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"The line ran during boom days, but was taken out in 1924. Itlooks smooth, but don't speed on it until you know it by heart.Here's why."He swerved the car off the embankment into ruts whichslanted down into a wash and up to the roadbed on the otherside. Floods had cut a clean break in the railroad embankment."There's no warning. You could plow right into one of thoseholes," Mildren said, "and there are a dozen in the next sevenmiles. You have to keep an eye open for the detours."We left the Santa Fe roadbed at 10 miles, swinging left. At11.1 miles Mildren showed me obsidian lumps which werescattered over a bluff and its slopes to the right of the road. Theywere typical "Apache tears" and should polish well. We hadbeen climbing steadily since leaving Searchlight which itself isat an elevation of 3560 feet, and were heading into Piute pass.At 12.9 miles webranched left into a small valley almost sur-rounded by spectacular buttes and peaks, chiefly of Tertiary vol-canics. Only one thing marred the beauty of the spot. A recentfire had swept the center of the valley, killing Joshua and Span-ish bayonet, and burning the juniper.The road headed for a small but abrupt bluff on the southernside of the valley. At the foot of the bluff, 14.1 miles fromSearchlight, wepulled off the road and parked. So far as I could

determine from maps available, we were just about at the pointwhere the Piute and Castle mountains join, probably along theCalifornia-Nevada line.The road winds steeply from the point where we parked tothe perlite deposit on top of the bluff, a few hundred yardsbeyond. This is a private road, built by the Crees. No one visit-ing the field should attempt to take his car to the top of the bluff.The Crees generously have agreed to permit Desert Magazinereaders to collect geodes on their claims if they do not interferewith the work or damage roads or property. One careless orgreedy visitor could cause the field to be closed to all collectors.Sinab Mildren with typical geode specimensgathered in the field n ear Piute p ass.

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24 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Butte on the left marks Piute pass geode field. Geodes in this area are concentrated on thebench on top the butte, and on its eastern slope.Principal outcropping of geodes in this area is on the easternslope and top of the bluff. We reached it by following the mainwash east from the parking spot, swinging south up the little

gulch w hich drains th e bluff's eastern slope. Bits and chunks ofwhite and colorless chalcedony, which proved to fluoresce astrong green under ultraviolet light, were scattered about. At500 yards, we found geodes lying thickly on the surface.There probably is no field in the world in which geodes showmore varied exterior shapes than they do in this area. We foundsmooth ones, bumpy ones, pitted ones and beaded ones. Somelooked like overstuffed softballs, others were marked with linesand whorls. Sorrle were distorted into shapes I had never seenbefore. Twins arjd triplets are common. In diameter the geodesrange from one inch to three feet and better.Some specimens are solid rhyolite. We selected ours by at-tem pting a rough estimate of specific gravity, taking those whichseemed light for; their size on the theory that they must havehollows. Of a dozen chosen by this method, sawing revealed tenwith openings, one nodule filled with common white opal, andone dud.Most of the geodes tested were partially filled with whitebanded or botrypidal chalcedony, which also fluoresced green.Some have perfect chalcedony roses inside. The rhyolite matrixin ringed and banded reds, browns, tans and grey-lavendersis highly silicified and would polish well. But there must havebeen a shortage of silica when the centers were formed. In manythe coatings are thin and in some there are only hollows in therhyolite.

Noon came qjiickly, and we returned to the car with all thegeodes we wanted. As we ate lunch we discussed geodes.Howard Mildreo picked up a particularly misshapen specimen."I'd like to know just how these things form," he said.And that is a question. I imagine that there are as manytheories regarding formation of nodules and geodes as thereare individuals collecting them . Most collectors agree that some-thing made a hole and something filled it up.

The most widely accepted theory is outlined in Quartz FamilyMinerals by Dake, Fleener and Wilson. A cavity was formedby a gas bubble, or other method, in volcanic rock with highsilica content. Thi s cavity was filled w ith "mud " made of dis-integrated rhyolite when m agmatic waters were active. The mudball dried out, leaving a star-shaped hollow in the center whilethe outer surface conformed to the shape of the hole filled.Later, percolating silica-bearing solutions deposited the fillingwhich gradually crystallized, or evaporated to form agate orchalcedony.Accepting this theory, there must have been a strong earthmovement in the Nevada field when the rhyolite mud was notquite hardened, which crushed the geode shells in upon them-selves, creating the fantastic shapes so common at Piute pass.In the afternoon, we scouted the territory surroundin g the per-lite claims. W e found much chalcedony float and more obsidianof cutting quality. There were a few small patches of geodes,usually in association with perlite. The area would repay ex-ploration by rockhounds. And Mildren found a nearly perfectIndian arrowhead. One of the members of the Prospectors' clubalso had found one, he said. Possibly the area was an earlyhunting ground.

There appeared to be an unusually wide variety of cacti onthe slopes, and I recognized cholla, grizzly bear, beavertail anddeerhorn.As we walked, Mildren talked of his newspaper venture.During the war he served in Persia, Egypt and India, and ac-quired a liking for desert country. With Sinah he came to visitan aunt in Boulder City. She was interested in rocks and theMildrens soon were sharing her enthusiasm."I saw Searchlight in the spring of 1946. Building going onall over the place and 700 population. It was the Nevada townnearest Davis dam camp and was it booming! People thoughtthe workers at the dam would like a chance to gamble. I'd hada little newspaper experience and tho ught I'd like the work. A ndSearchlight certainly looked like the place to start one."J U L Y , 1 9 4 7 25


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He grinned. "I knew nothing about printing. When the firstfont of type came, I looked it over. I said to Sinah, 'There area lot of pretty things here, but what are they for?' But I put thetype in cases and cardboard boxes and started learning things."Among other things, Mildren learned not to depend on aSearchlight boom. Since discovery of the first ore in 1897, theold mining camp's boom and bust record looks something likethe fever chart of a malaria patient. The Davis dam excitementpassed. Workers didn't visit Searchlight in numbers expected.Many of the new gambling clubs were never completed. Thepopulation sagged back to 200.The passing years have frequently brought Searchlight towhat was presumed to be its death bed, but the old town hasstubbornly refused to become a ghost. The oldtimers are con-fident today. A new boom of some kind w ill come. It always has.And certainly there must be a future for a town which refuses todie. Editor M ildren thinks that: it may lie in the tow n's deve

194707 desert magazine 1947 july

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