196008 desert magazine 1960 august

8/14/2019 196008 Desert Magazine 1960 August

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A U G U S T , 1 9 6 04 0 C e n t s

" T H E M I N I N G T O W N " B Y C L Y D E F O R S Y T H E( see pa g e 2 )


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O N T H I S M O N T H ' S C O V E R :

T h e G o l d R u s h June cover

T h e M in in g C a m p July cover

T h e M i ni ng T o w n This month's cover

T h e G h o s t T o w n September cover

T E E M I N I N G T 0 W NT H E T H I R D PA IN T I N G I N T H E F A M O U S " G O L D S T R IKE "

S E R I E S B Y T H E D I S T I N G U I S H E DW E S T E R N A R T I S T

Th e 1926 Gold Rush to Wahmonie is over; the tent cityMining Camp has come into being; and now it is time for lumberto replace canvas, for the Mining Town to take its place underthe Nevada su n. But Wah monie fails to reach this pinnaclethe gold vein disappears the boom fizzles the camp dies.The artist, ever resourceful and licensed to portray "essentialtruth" (in this case: gold strikes beco me mining c amps and then

mining towns), decides to do what the miners could not: createa town. In the following chapter, Clyde Forsythe tells how hecame to paint "The Mining Town."

O UR WEEK AT Wahmonie, Nevada, had paid off in richexperience. I realized that I had been most fortunate in hav-ing participated in that rare event: the start of a gold strike.But there was no thought as yet of doing a painting.We sent a wire to my wife's brother-in-law, Harold Gay, amining engineer working in Mexico. Gay joined us in South-ern California for a jaunt back to the camp to sample our claims.Cotta's sister, Anabel Gay, went along. Going by way of La sVegas, we made the trip in a day.In the two weeks we had been away, the camp had grown.

The cafe had moved to higher ground and was screened in. Veryfancy. M r. M inette had put up an office and invited Gay an d meto sleep in it that night. Ou r wives slept in the luxurious Fran klin,a modest distance from the "congested are a." At 2 a.m. Gay 'scot collapsed and dumped him on the board floor. My iron bedwas sturdy.After a breakfast at "The Palace" we got into the Franklin,and with Davis and Ryan following in their wheezy little Chevie,we proceeded up to our claims. Harold Gay had been m iningfor 25 years. We walked the claims end to end for several hours ,taking samples of small outcrops, mostly jasper and quartz witha few white streaks. With ore sacks filled, we returned to cam p.Then Gay paid a visit to the "strike" operation where the bossgave him a sample of the rich ore. It looke d good to his exp ert

e y e .Because Gay's time was limited, we said our "good-bys"to our friends in camp and headed for home. We decided toreturn by way of Death Valley, which none of us had ever seen,and we followed a road to Death Valley Junction where we spentthe night at the hotel.Next morning Easter Sunday found us rolling downFurnace Creek Wash, stopping now and then to pick up float.Gay found a chunk of fossil coral, proof that these mountainswere once under an ocean bed.In 1926, Death Valley roads were winding trails of sandand the wind! We passed roadside graveswagon wheelsbon es. It was a good place to leave behind , and it took th e restof that day to get outpast the borax mill, through the Amar-gosa Valley and into the hills at the southern-end of the ValleyThen through the black night, past Garlic Springs and on toBarstow for a late dinnerand home.This episode has to do with "The Mining Town," the third


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ARTIST, LEFT, AN D GEORGE SAUNDERS,NIE'S "LOCAL LAW" IN 19 26, SAUN-

own sprang up at W ahmo nie! IThey ran 25c to the ton in

!No town grew in Wahmonie because

pulled out of camp. Every-

Our $170 lot has a 34-year-oldf new creosote bush. Our

claims are gone with the wind. Bu tour memories are rich.In 1938 I painted "The Gold Rush"from those memories. A year later,after showing the picture in Los An-geles at the Biltmore and in the AlliedArtists of America show in New York,

the idea came to me to paint "TheMining Camp," using the same char-acters, of course, as in "The GoldRu sh." This I did, and a few yearslater "The Mining Town" demandedto be paintedagain with some ofthe same characters . . . the s limgambler and his gal-friend, the pros-pector with his burro. . . The manshaking his fist at the tipsy fellow ismyself, scolding a certain friend ofmine.By now we had a house trailer, andto get material for the "Town" we

headed one day for Randsburg andRed Mountain on California's MojaveDesert. The old stores and saloonsand mine mills were there to be usedat will. I sketched the stores and thechurch at Randsburg, the Kelley Mineat Red Mountain, and into the paintingthey went. They are real. The gamblerand his dame seem to have prosperedand are waiting for the stage to takethem to Los Angeles for a high oldtime.After all, this is how Wahmoniemight have looked if the "big strike"had turned out to be another Goldfieldor a mine like Randsburg's fabulousYellow Aster. When I was a 14-year-old at Elizabeth Lake, I heard thehomesteaders talk of the Yellow Aster.

A CRAP GAME IN FRONT OF THE WAHMONIECAFE-INSPIRATION FOR SIMILAR SCENE IN"MINING CAMP" PAINTING (JULY COVER)

H e r e ' s H o wY o u C a n O r d e rH i g h Q u a l i t yR E P R I N T SSUITABLE FOR FRAMING

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C A N Y O N D E C H E L L Y - - B e a u t y a tt h e E n d of t h e N A V A j O R A I N B O W

By THOMAS LESUREDesert Magazine's Arizona Travel Correspondent

TO SPANISH settlers some 250 yearsago and to Kit Carson a century-and-a-half later, Canyon de Chelly was justanother obstacle in the struggle to eliminatethe Navajo menace of costly and murderousraids. To the Navajos, though, this highlyscenic National Monument has been andstill is "home."During the ages, three distinct Indian cul-tures have dominated these sheer red sand-stone canyons. Earliest were the Anasaziwho built pithouses around 350 A.D . In

later centuries, Pueblo Indians erected elab-orate apartm ent - cities such as AntelopeHouse, Standing Cave, White House Puebloand others. Today, some 300 Navajos, liv-ing in summer hogans, pasture their cattleon the canyon bottom.Canyon de Chelly certainly is much easierto reach nowadays than in Carson's time,yet it remains an off-the-beaten-path destina-tion as far as most travelers are concerned.To those who like their West uncrowded,

the canyon is a blessing; yet it's a shamethat more people don't include this highplateau country in their itinerary.Nearest main-line departure point is Gal-l u p , N. M., on U.S. 66. The canyon mayalso be reached from Holbrook via thereservation route to Keams Canyon. Sincethe Canyon de Chelly turn-off point is justwest of Ganado on Reservation Route 3,the gorge is a logical addition to any tripacross the Navajo and Hopi Reservations.

The 33-mile drive over a dirt road northfrom Route 3 brings you to Chinle, onemile away from the national monumentarea.If you depend entirely on your car fortransportation, your sightseeing will be lim-ited in this 83,840-acre preserve. Mainroute is Rim Drive Road whichdespiteits relatively short lengthmanages to showoff a representative array of the section'sIndian ruins and awesome formations. Bestmethods, however, are hiking into the can-yon or taking a half-day or full-day tripalong the canyon bottom. For the latter,the Thunderbird Guest Ranch operates spe-cial vehicles that negotiate the tricky floorof the gorge. Minimum effort should be

the self-guiding trail to the White Houseruin which stands like bared teeth in thered lips of the sheer canyon w all. Parkrangers are on hand during the day toassist you. And if you'd like to linger, thereare camp and picnic grounds.The National Monument actually em-braces three canyons main gorge is 27-mile-long Canyon de Chelly with its smoothweather-stained walls rising some 700-1000feet above the river. The other two gorgesare Canyon del Muerto (so named becauseof the Spanish massacre of Indians there)and Monument Canyon near which SpiderRock and Face Rocktwo giant monolithssome 800 feet highrear from the canyonfloor like natural skyscrapers taller thanNew York's Woolworth Building.The breath-taking scenery is the chiefreason for visiting Canyon de Chelly, butyou must never lose sight of its historicimplications. For here in a section cele-brated for both its scenic and historic ele-mentsyou can open the book, so to speak,on the march of Indian civilizations inArizona from prehistoric times to the pres-ent.Yet there is more, toothe grandiosework of nature plus a sense of limitlesstime and space. Within just a few hours,you are dwarfed to insignificance, crowdedby fortress-like walls protecting hidden

treasures, awed by the overwhelming maj-esty of magnificent rock formations,crowned the "king" of all you survey, in-spired by the handiwork of the Lord, andgiven a new outlook on life and your roleupon this earth.Give yourself sufficient time, meet the

plications, and you'll understand why theNavajos pined away in their exile at BosqueRedondo. For, like them, once you leavethe area, you'll want to returnnot to live,perhaps, but surely to linger longer.Here's this month's schedule of events inArizona : Aug. 5-776th Annual PaysonRodeo (billed as the world's "oldest" WildWest show); Aug. 6-712th Annual SquareDance Festival, Flagstaff; Aug. 1341stAnnual Smoki Ceremonials at Prescott(white men re-enact Indian dances); Aug.15-Sept. 18Indian Artists Exhibit at theMuseum of Northern Arizona, Flagstaff;Aug. 28-30Coconino County Fair, Flag-staff; Latter part of AugustHopi SnakeDances (for exact dates, set 16 days beforethe ceremonials, write to the WinslowChamber of Commerce). / / /One California event of special interestin Augu st: The Old Miners Burro Raceat Apple Valley, Aug. 4-7.

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LETTERSOUR R E A D E R S

. . .the Editor: Mary Jones Blackwell'sin the July issue was a

In fact it read like fiction.hy no picture of the woman who was lostthe Mojave Desert for five days in 1947?JAMES ARMSTRONGChicago, Illinoisfor a recent photograph ofBlackwell which arrived too late toin our July issue. Ed )

MARY JONES BLACKWELL

the Editor: I cannot refrain from mak-a few comments on the "Desert Ordeal"The participants admitted makingin judgment, the worst of which,my opinion, was allowing their misad-to appear in print.They ventured on and on into the desertto bring them backhad they not gotten stuck in the sand.They carried no drinking water.They back-tracked 18 miles to water (thee and only act of good judgment shownof walkingto the highway (12 miles) they doubled-to the stalled car, and took-off for ain the desert withouta return trail!In my wildest flight of imagination I can-of two people breaking all theof survival and surviving.L. C. DeSELMSan Diego, Calif.

the Editor: I compliment you on theof your July "heat" is-I do a fair amount of roaming byin the Death Valleyand found your articles interestingI would, however, like to take mild issueContinued on next page

Volum e Number

- m a g a z i n e of the O u t d o o r S o u t h w e s t -CHARLES E. SHELTONpublisher

EUGENE L. CONROTTOeditor EVONNE RIDDELLcirculation manager

Contents fo rAugust I960C O V E R

B A C K G R O U N D 2G H O S T T O W N 8

E C O L O G Y 11E X P E R I E N C E 12

A R C H I T E C T U R E 14A R C H I T E C T U R E 17

I N S E C T S 19N A T I V E C R A F T S 20

H I S T O R Y 22G A R D E N I N G 26

H O M E M A K I N G 40

"The Mining Town" the third scene inartist Clyde Forsythe's "Gold Strike" series.The story behind the cover Clyde ForsytheSilver City, Idaho Robert F. HarringtonThe Desert of Owyhee Earl J. LarrisonTony the Pony Laura Adams ArmerAdobe and the Southwest Henry ChapmanAdobe and You Harry OliverScorpion Sting Herbert L. StahnkeThe Last Basket Weaver Sam HicksArizona's Bogus Baron Oren ArnoldCactus for the Beginner Ladislaus CutakDesert Gardens Louise Price Bell

Arizona TravelCanyon de Chelly:

Readers' Letters:Desert Quiz:

Poem of the Month:Southwest Photo Tips: 31

Nevada TravelHumboldt River Trail:

also 3 4:3 5:3 5:

45

1818

3 2

36 :41:42:

Southwest News BriefsBook ReviewsUtah Travel Bluff EnvironsHard Rock ShortyNew Mexico Travel Billy the Kid CountryEditorial

The Desert Magazine, founded in 1937 by Randall Henderson, is published monthlyby Desert Magazine, Inc., Palm Desert, Cal iforn ia. Re-entered as second classmatter July 17, 1948, at the postoffice at Palm Desert, California, under the Actof March 3, 1879. Title registered No. 358865 in U.S. Patent Office, and contentscopyrighted 1960 by Desert Magazine, Inc. Permission to reproduce contents mustbe secured from the editor in writ ing.

Unsolicited manuscripts andphotographs submitted can-no t be returned or acknowl-edged unless full returnpostage is enclosed. DesertMagazine assumes no re-sponsibility for damage orloss of manuscripts or pho-tographs although due carewill be exercised. Subscribersshould send notice of changeof address by the f irst ofthe month preceding issue.

Address all editorial andcirculation correspondence toDesert Magazine, Palm Des-ert, California.

Address all advertis ingcorrespondence to Edith K.Whaley, 216 South Vermont,Los Angeles, California.

SUBSCRIBET O DatfiL or let ussend it to a f r iend

One Y e a r - $ 4 Three Ye ars -$ 10.50(Canadian subscriptions 25cextra, foreign 50cextra per year)

SEND DESERT MAGAZINE TO:

(mailing address)(city, state)If this is a gift, indicate how gif t card should be s igned:Mail this information and your remittance to: Desert Magazine,Palm Desert, California.


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L E T T E R S Continued from prece


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the "Devil's Playg roun d." I have oftened this region. It is, I believe, com-

The time is here that California shouldhis area aside as a state park . It would

JOHN W. MAXONUpland, Californiah e R e m e m b e r s H a r p e r's W e l l . . .o the Editor: We have only one big com-Desert Magazine"There justOne day after receiving our June copy,

The article by Walter Ford on "Harper'sespecially interesting to me. IModel T Ford. How well I

in the old road. IRENE V. HORNRoseville, Californiah e Va l u e of a M on ol ith . . .

To the Editor: My apologies to very graci-ous and kind Dr. Edmund Jaegerbut:Did any of the other readers share myhocked realization of mankind's blindnessafter reading Dr. Jaeger's article in the Mayissue, "Trails to More Outdoor Enjoyment"?He writes: "I cannot think that the menI had with me that evening will ever forgetthe story I told them. Surely the great rock('Hercule's Finger', a prominent landmarknear Lucerne Valley on the Mojave Desert),that before was only a spectacular piece ofstone, now took on a peculiar new and sig-nificant meaning."And what was the story Dr. Jaeger refersto? One of violence great suffering ofhorses and mules driven so hard they couldnot stop for water or rest, and perhapssome 1500 of them perished on the hotdesert; a gunfight between the horse thievesand the rancheros that took place in theshadow of "Hercule's Finger." A retellingf ignominious history: avariciousness,greed, theft, resentment, anger, killing, cru-elty to animals, the burying alive of a littleboy and girl to "serve" a dead Indian chief.Did the monolith take on "a peculiarnew and significant m eaning"? If so, what?Did what took place near its base changeits quality, value or beauty? Is there anyreason to associate it with violence and thedead past? Does the knowledge that bloodwas spilt here add to the charm of thisgiant of nature? If this stone could speak,would it not be more likely to say: "Please

PHOTO and ART credits(Unless otherwise specified below or in text,photographs and art work are by authors offeatures in which they appear.)Page 4: D. Clifford Bond; Map by Nor-ton Allen . 5: Leta Herndon. 11 : Map byNorton Allen. 14: New Mexico StateTourist Bureau. 15: (center) Fred Rags-dale; (bottom) New Mexico State TouristBureau. 16 (bottom) New Mexico StateTourist Bureau. 17: Bill King. 19: Rich-ard L. Cassetl. 24: Map by GreenfieldLawrel. 28: (top) Charles Redler. 32 and35 : Maps by Norton Allen. 40: Frank L.Gaynor. 41: New Mexico State TouristBureau.

don't associate me with the violence ofmenmy message is peace and quiet."Why can't we face reality? That am az-ing stone is adequate in itself and surelydoesn't need a story of bloodshed to giveit "a peculiar new and significant meaning."Nature has great power to talk to us.Isn't it better to listen than to superimposeour silly minds on her by saying : "Nownature you have a new and significant mean-ing because I have learned thus and so."

BESSIE SIMONOjai, Calif.I n v i t a t i o n t o R o c k h o u n d s . . .To the Editor: The response I have re-ceived following publication of my short

article in the March Desert Magazine aboutthe Fish Lake Valley, Nevada, Apache tearcollecting field is most gratifying.Some of the people who wrote haveasked if they could buy Apache tears fromus , but rockhounding is a hobby with mywife and me, and we are not in the rockselling business.To those readers of Desert Magazine

who plan to visit the Fish Lake field Iextend an invitation to stop in Bigpine tovisit us. Maybe we can exchange somerocks, yarns and ideas.There are plenty of Apache tears at FishLake. The supply has not been dented.

F. B. TERRYBigpine, Calif.

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8/44

Silver City -- Queen of the O wyhee

T h e g h o s t of S i l v e r C i t ym a r k s t h e p l a c eo n I d a h o ' s O w y h e e D e s e r tw h e r e o n e of t h ew o r l d ' s g r e a t m i n i n gb o o m s t o o k p l a c e . . .I R EMEMB ER ED THE words o f aSoil Conservation Service man whocommented that even the sagebrushin Owyhee County shows the torture ofgrowth under rigorous conditions. Wewere driving through the parched dustycountry between Bruneau and Mur-phy, county seat of Owyhee County,Idahothe latter town having fewerthan 100 residents. Fickle desertwinds capriciously lifted spumes ofsand and let them cascade back toearth.

The Owyhee Desert claims thesouthwestern corn er of Idaho . It is aland of superlatives. Near Bruneauare found some of the highest sanddunes in the world, the largest ofwhich, 452 feet high, is higher thanthe dunes of the famed Sahara by 150feet. Cu tting a ragged slash acrossthe face of the county is one of thedeepest and most narrow canyons onearththe Bruneau Canyon. In i ts67-mile length only one place has beenfound where a horse can get to water,and in only four places have men beenable to scale the rock walls. And 6000feet up in the Owyhee Mountains,where freezing winter winds whipsnow into drifts higher than a house,there lies for me the greatest superla-tive of allthe Queen of the Owyheethe ghost town of Silver City.

At Murphy we turned west on adusty county road, winding and un-dulating with the terrain toward theSilver City Mountains in the distance.As we ascended, the grand sweep ofRobert F. Harrington, who wrote the SilverCity story with the assistance of Nancy Felts,is the superintendent of schools at Elk River,Idaho . The 34-year-old educator does summerwork as a naturalist at Grand Teton NationalPark.

the desert below us, spotted with rockyridges and barren valleys, began tocrowd the horizon . Dus t lay deep inthe road, and vegetation was sparse.Paradoxically, the only sound camefrom our motor as we approached thetown where once the thunder of stampmills sounded above the creaking ofharness leather, the squeal of poorly-greased wheels and axles, and therumble of ore wagons on Silver Citystreets. Our road had once been en-livened by teamsters' oaths; the washesand canyons had hidden Indians intenton murderous deeds.

Miles rolled beneath our wheels.We entered a side-canyon where astream suddenly made its appearance.The water seemed out-of-place, butthe dry dustiness of the air disappearedand the scent of growing things tookits place.Th e 2 3-mile r oad into Silver C ityfrom Murphy is a good road as moun-tain roads go. It is narrowin manyplaces a one-car roadbut certainlypassable.Past New York Summit, where stagedrivers wrapped the reins around thebrake and spurred their teams into thespirited run which gave newcomers anunforgettable first view of Old Silver,

we entered a new world. The green-ness of Alpine fir reached out to wel-come us.Silver City is a place of crumblingbuildings set amidst hills scarred withthe usual mining wou nds. Weathered

SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR VOLUNTEERSPOSE FOR THEIR PICTURE BEFORE DE-PARTING FROM SILVER CITY IN 1898

buildings, some boarded-up, otherswith sagging doors, offered mute evi-dence of historic days and deeds.Altogether there are about 30 struc-tures still standing in the towntheMasonic Hall, second oldest MasonicHall west of the Mississippi; the IdahoHotel; the print shop where the Owy-hee Avalanche was published; theWells Fargo office is half-caved-in; achurch which time has stripped of de-nomination; the post office; powderbuildings; residences. Some of thelatter are shuttered. They are reputedto be completely furnished. It wasexpensive to freight heavy pieces toand from Silver City.We walked through Silver's dustystreets and fancied we could hear thetramping of miners' boots and feel thethrobbing of the earth as blasting tookplace in the mines. Behind theseshuttered walls the social life of a van-ished age had taken place: whistparties, stately dinners attended byGovernor Steunenberg and young at-torneys such as Bill Borah, who laterwas to achieve national renown as asenator from Idaho.Once there was a half-dozen busygeneral merchandise stores, two hotels,three barbershops and many otherbusiness enterprises, including eightsaloons where the boys celebrated suc-cess and forgot their failures. Th e


9/44

B y R O B E R T F . H A R R I N G T O N

avages of time and fire have takentheir toll, and the surviving buildingsseem to lean nostalgically toward thevacant gaps left by their departedcompanions.Leading from the ghost town likethreads of a spider web are the manyroads and trails to the once-activemines and prospect holes. Some ofthese roads are in fair shape, but most

exploring has to be done afoot or ina jeep. We found some interestingmineral specimens in the old minedumps nothing of much materialvaluejust "souvenir stuff."It all started in May, 1863, when29 adventurous men left Placerville,Idaho, to search for the famed "BlueBucket Diggings." According to alegend of early Oregon emigrants, agold field of such richness lay at thefoot of the Owyhee Mountains thatthe pioneers used gold for sinkerswhile fishing in the streams issuing

from the hills. It was this fabulouswealth that the 29 prospectors soughtas they ventured into the unexploreddeserts of the Owyhee, populated atthat time only by bands of hostileIndians.After crossing the Snake River atthe mouth of the Boise River, theparty traveled in a southwesterly di-rection until it came to a large streamwhereat it camped for one day. Thestream was named Reynolds Creekafter one of the men in the party. Thefollowing excerpt from the diary of

O. H. Purdy, a member of the groupand later a well-known citizen of SilverCity, describes the discovery whichfollowed:". . . Dr. Rudd, a verdant emigrant,not waiting to unpack his mule, tookhis shovel, and scooping up some ofthe loose gravel on the bank of thecreek, panned it out and obtainedabout a hundred 'colors. ' The excite-ment and amazement which followedthis 'discovery' can better be imaginedthan described."The men continued to prospect upthe creek for a dozen days. At a placecalled Happy Camp, the laws of the

A PORTION OF SILVER CITY IM THE WINTER j .OF 1897. MASONIC TEMPLE, AT LEFT IS [ )STILL STANDING, AND IN GOOD CONDITION. "

district were made, and claims werelocated. The party thereupon returnedto Boise Basin with news of the find.There followed a stampede into theOwyhee country.In July of '63, the first quartz ledgewas discovered in Whiskey Gulch byR . H. Wade and Company. Severaldays later the Oro Fino quartz ledgewas located by A. J. Sands and SvaleNeilson. A month later the same twomen hit the Morning Star ledge.Most spectacular of all the strikesof the Silver City heyday was the dis-covery of the Poorman Mine in 1865.The mine took its name from the factthat the discoverers were too poor towork it. In a fight for possession ofthe property, one set of "owners"barricaded the mine entrance andmounted twopieces of ordnance. Theynamed the fortified mine "Fort Baker."Ore taken from the Poorman readilysold for $4 an ounce, a figure said tobe well below real value! The ore wasan amalgam of gold and silver chlor-i d e , resembling lead, but tinted crim-

son, thus acquiring the name "RubySilver."Throughout the district were foundsolid slabs of white, shining silver.Such occurrence is atypical, for silveris normally found in association withlead, copper and zinc. But nothingabout the Silver City boom area wascomm onplace. This strike was one ofthe world's great bonanzas.A t the Poorman's 100-foot level asolid mass of ruby silver crystals,weighing 500 pounds, was unearthed.Specimens of this ore mass were ex-hibited at the 1866 Paris Expositionwhere they won a gold meda l. Firstclass rock from the Poorman yielded$4000 to $5000 a ton, with 2000 tonsof second and third class rock bring-ing the sum of $546,691.59. Tailingswent over $70 to the ton. Ore fromthe Poorman was so rich that largeamounts were shipped across the oceanto Wales for treatment.The electric-quick boom saw morethan 250 mining locations recorded


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between 1863 and1865. A numberof these mines, up to 1881, wereworked to depths between 150 and1500 feet.A dozen years of prosperity fol-

lowed theinitial Silver City discovery,in spite of the fact that only abouthalf of the silver could be extractedby milling methods known there. Muchof the orewas hauled bymule, horseor wagon train to thesmelter at SaltLake City, where the silver was re-moved and made into bricks forship-ment to theDenver Mint . Thecostof freighting a single ton of ore fromSilver City to Salt Lake City wasaround $50, but such high overheadpales into insignificance inview of thefact that onemine, The WarEagle,had a credited production record of$30,000,000, this value being takenout in the first 10years of the camp'shistory.

In spite of the prosperity of thecamp at Silver City, baddays camesooner than expected. The Bank Panicof 1873, leading to theeventualsus-pension of theBank of California in'75, brought the camp to its knees.The failure of this bank caused finan-cial paralysis, andmany large SilverCity operators withdrew.During these years of activity,sporadic Indian outbreaks occurredthroughout the Owyhee. As in allother things related to this county,it seems that here again a giant ofno mean dimensions was involved.Throughout the South Idaho area,especially in the narrow canyons afew miles south of theSnake River,the name of Nampuh was a scourgeto travelers. This huge Indian, whosename means Bigfoot, was 6' 8 W tall,and weighed 300pounds . His feetmeasured 17 Vi inches in length andwere six inches wide. He was rep-

uted sofast afoot that hecould cover50 to 80miles inone day. His depre-dations included thekilling of manysettlers, and attacks onstage and emi-grant trains. So serious a problem didhe become, that a $1000 rewardwas

E L E G A N T H O M E IN THECENTER IS THE M I N ES U P E R I N T E N D E N T ' S R E S I D E N C E AT B O O N E V I L L E ,A S I L V E R C I T Y " S U B U R B . " 1895P H O T O G R A P H .

offered atFort Boise forhis scalp andhis feet. Nam puh wasfinally killedby John W.Wheeler in 1868.Ten years later theBannock Indi-ans, led byBuffalo Horn, went on thewarpath andcrossed theSnake Riverat Glenn's Ferry, heading west in thegeneral direction ofSilver City. Alongtheir route a number of white menwere killed. News of the uprising wasreceived in Silver City by telegraph,an d on June 4 ameeting ofthe citizenswas held at Champion Hall for thepurpose of organizing volunteers toprotect the settlement. The citizenmilitia decided that thebest defensewas a strong offense, and on June 7it left Silver City tomeet theraiders.At noon of the following day the vol-unteers were attacked by Indians atSouth Mountain Creek. In this en-gagement two of thewhite men werekilled, one of them being Oliver Haz-ard Purdy, from whose diary the de-tails ofdiscovery were quoted. BuffaloHorn also was killed in the fight. Thewhites retreated to O'Keefe's ranchand remained there until thenext daywhen it was learned that the Indianshad moved on into Oregon.

The Bannocks tried to induce theUmatillas to join them, butfailing inthis undertaking, straggled back to

their reservation insmall bands. Alongthe return route they massacred whitesat every opportunity. It is believedthat more than 100 persons werekilled bythese Indians inthis uprising.In the late '80s a revival took placein the Silver City area. A miningcapitalist, Captain Joseph DeLamar,became the owner of a number ofproperties in September, 1888. Thesemines were vigorously developed byDeLamar unti l 1891when hedisposedof all hisholdings to anEnglish com-pany for $2,000,000 plus a stock in-terest which brought a considerableyearly income.The happy days did not last long,for thehandwriting was on thewall.In thenext score of years mining ac-tivity gradually shrank, and by 1920"Old Silver" waswell on its way to

becoming the ghost town that it istoday.In itsbrief history Silver City pro-duced anamount of precious ore sec-ond only tothat which came from thefamed Comstock Lode of Nevada . Itstill ranks second in Idaho in thetotalproduction of mineral wealth (the in-ternationally famous Coeur d'Alenearea is first in thes t a t e ) .Silver City didhave some "firsts,"however the first telegraphic newswire inIdaho, the first daily newsp aperin Idaho, and the first (and only)legal hanging in Owyhee County.As we started out of town westopped to look back at the dyingcamp. The shuttered, sightless win-dows of the buildings stared in thedirection ofthe Florida and WarEaglemountains, as though pointing tovastriches yet locked in these hills.Mos t of the 5000 people who oncetrod Silver City's streets have vanishedinto thedim hallway of thepast.To-night and every night thelonely windwill rove unchecked through vacant

alleys andalong deserted streets,andthe Owyhee's Queen will sleep herrestless slumber. / / /

MINING OPERATION NEAR SILVER CITY ('97)


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T H E D E S E R T O F O W Y H E EB y E A R L I . L A R R I S O N

A sso ci at e P ro f esso r o f Zo o l o gy at t h e U n i v ers i t y o f Id ah o ,and author of" O W Y H E E : T H E L IF E O F A N O R T H E R N D E S E R T " Transitions be-tween desert andirrigated land areoften abrupt, butyou will never sees o s t r i k i n g achange from lux-uriant lushness toarid harshness asis found in a drivesouth from Nam-pa, Idaho. Youstart in a land ofplenty where on-ions, alfalfa andc o r n p r o s p e r a sonly such c r op scan when raisedo n f e r t i l e w e l l -watered soil. Hay-stacks, large andc l o s e l y s p a c e d ,fine homes, well-maintained barns,and tidy lanes allreflect the wealtha n d p roduct ive -ness of the area.

But, before youhave traveled the18 miles to theSnake River, theirr igated sectionends with an al-m o s t s t a r t l i n ga b r u p t n e s s .Browns and graysr e p l a c e g r e e nlushness, and onlysmall clumps ofgrass a n d othervegetation have af o o t h o l d i n t h edesert which nowstretches before you. Th e vistas within the irrigationlimits are shortened by lines of trees raised for protec-tion, but there are no such windbreaks beyond the Snake.Instead, great light-colored patches mark the miles ofancient lake beds which lie between dark masses of rockof the higher levels. Cliffs and odd-shaped mounds pro-ject here and there with an irregularity which makes aspectator feel he is looking at a scene of confusion anddisorderliness. The hard-surfaced road is the one markof modernity in a desert which embraces, except for afew strips bordering the mountain streams and highlandsand a little irrigated land, all of Owyhee, the southwestcounty of Idaho. Mo untain ranges stand in the distance,their lower elevations dry, brown and smooth, their upper

flanks roughenedby growing shrubsa n d t r e e s , a n dtheir higher peaksstriped with banksof summer snow.There are fewsites which indi-cate the possibil-ity of shade andmoisture on theD e s e r t O w y h e e .Oregon bounds iton the west, theSnake River onthe north, Nevadaon the South, andits eastern boun-dary lies a hun-dred miles fromits we stern. It isa l a r g e c o u n t yeven as Westerncounties go, con-taining only 300square - miles lessthan the combinedarea of Connecti-cut, Delaware andRhode Island.

O n e w o n d e r show so much landcan look so bar-ren. Stunted jun-ipers grow in scat-tered clumps insome sections, butthere is little ofsoftness to relievethe scenery. Flow-ering plants springup early in theseason, hasteningto produce seedwhich may lie for years before the time is favorable forgermination. Nothing breaks the view; nothing ap pearsto limit it. Th e whole scene reach es magnificently intospace as the road leaves the lake-bed area and climbstoward the steppe plateau which lies between the SnakeRiver and the Nevad a line. But this land's impressive-ness gives no feeling of softness and kin dliness . It is thedesertmysterious and harsh.The human population is as limited as vegetationis sparse. The last census listed 630 7 in Ow yheeCou nty's 7648 square-miles. Of this num ber aboutthree in 10 reside in small town s. M urph y, the countyseat, has a population of only several dozen persons,continued on page 30


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W H E N WE LEFT Blue Canyon,traveling to Kayenta, we decidedto visit the cliff dwellings of Be-tatakin. Horses for us and a guidewith pack animal were procured atthe Wetherill Post. The trip up a can-yo n of red rocks was glorious. Theguide chose our camp for the nightand took care of the horses while weprepared the supper. I wondered whathurt he had suffered in the past , forhe seemed so reserved. We openeda can of peaches for dessert and passedsome to him. His acceptance answeredmy pondering.

"Thank you, folks. I sure do likepeaches. That last party I took toRainbow Bridge liked them too, mostas much as he liked himself. He atethem all without so much as givingme a sniff.""Why was that?""Must have been a habit learnedin a city. Out in this country when

a man thinks of number one every

". . . HE HADBEEN IN GRAND CANYON AT THETIME CERTAIN VERY SMALL PONIES WERE FOUNDTHERE. HE PHOTOGRAPHED THE FINDER ANDTHE PONIES ON THE NORTH BANK OF THECANYON . . ."minute, things usually happen to lethim know there are other inhabitantsaround. For instance, there was thatrubber mattress of his. It had to bepumped full of air every night. Hecouldn't sleep on the ground. I had topump it at night and pack it on themule in the morning. It was sort ofnatural toward the end of the trip tostow the rubber contraption so it wouldget a puncture."

The young guide joined us at thefire, all shyness gone as he repeated:"I sure do like peaches." We openedanother can. When twilight came as asoft blanket to enfold us, the guidetold stories of remote cliff dwellingsin Utah, in some green, watered val-ley which must have been Eden, soalluring did he make it. He told ofold pottery, remains of baskets, theusual mummy or two, but he saidwhat he liked best in that wateredvalley were the wild ponies. He pro-ceeded to tell us a yarn which is ofno archeological value. It was too

weird a tale to take seriously, but itfitted the eerie atmosphere of the cliffdwelling country which for thousandsof years had known the struggle ofman's mind and body to come closeto the powers of nature in his greatneed to survive and to know that"Which is, and which was, and whichis to come." The guide continued:"You know I'm a born horse-wrang-ler. I had my ropes and I started outat sunrise one morning to look forwild ponies. I was riding Tony, thetoughest little pony for getting overrough places. Now Tony, with nolead from me, frisks straight up amountain with the sun in our faces.He was quivering to beat the band.Once in a while he whinnied, excited-like. I gave him the reins and helanded on top of a ledge where grewa bunch of aspens. The leaves werenot shaking, but there seemed to besomething alive in the trees. Maybe itwas only the light shining throughthem, but that Tony, he saw some-thing else. He went tearing along be-tween the scattered aspens, with thesun still in our faces. Believe it or notTony and I found ourselves viewingten small white ponies pawing theground in a circle near a dark poolof water. I made Tony stand still. Hewas trembling. It was enough to makea man feel queer, let alone a horse ."

The guide looked wistful and dis-turbed as he continued:"The queer thing is about me, aborn horse-wrangler. I never thoughtof roping those white beauties. Theywere undersized animals, who acteddifferent from any breed I knew. Theypawed the ground on the east sideof the pool, then on the south, thenwest, then north. I couldn't help think-ing about the Fire Dance in the corralwhen the Navajos, all painted white,move around the fire in the same di-rection. While I was thinking about

those spooky Fire Dancers, I heardan owl hoot. The ponies vanished. Bythat time the sun was no longer inmy eyes. I got off Tony and walkedto the pool. There wasn't a hoofmark in sight. To ny followed afterm e, nibbling at grass. He seemed asmuch at home in this green place asyou and I do on Thanksgiving Daywhen we eat turkey with the old folks.It seemed like he was extra happy onthat high mesa."My son asked if there were any cliffdwellings in the neighborhood, and

was told there was a cave facing south,a u r a f i d a m s f i r m e r " T o n y the P o n y " is the fifth in a s e r i e s ofarticles by Mrs. Armer tel l ing of her ex-p e r i e n c e s in the l a n d of the N a v a i o s . T h ise p i s o d e o c c u r r e d in 1925.


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ot a very big one, with ruins of ain it, with plenty ofand someof black on white. Thehis yarn."While I was poking around in theat the back of the cave I came

but so small I couldn'tmy eyes. When I found ait wasn't much bigger than aThe jaws showed wherehad been forty-two teeth justas Tony has. If you haveyou look inmouth. Here was I finding a fos-in an old cliff dwelling. That'stoo, because today IndiansThe Nav-chinde. That meansin their language. What I likedup there on the mountain was theay I felt about Tony. I knew hehis ancestors cameHe knew it too. He had thatof belonging to a place."The guide looked wistfully into theof the campfire. Heighed and said:"Sometimes I wish I was a horse ."He moved off into the dark. Weay down in our bedrolls, quite con-ent to be together in the great wilder-ess. In the morning we saw Betata-in. That is a Navajo name meaningillside House. On our horses wepproached a reddish sandstone cliffade all the redder by the comple-mentary green of the woods at itsbase. A shadowed cave in the cliffawned wide, roofed by the overhang-ing ledge. The trail to Hillside Houseleft the woods to wind around the foota tallus slope dotted with pinyons.ust as we climbed to the floor level,our guide, who overnight had becomethe official statistician and exponentof material facts, pointed to a springcoming out of the rock. Above it apictograph showed a human figurewith upraised arms on each side of

TWENTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD PHOTOGRAPH SHOWSA SMALL SHEPHERD BOY TENDING HIS FLOCK

which was a curved line. Next tothis personage some kind of hornedanimal had been painted. The guidesaid:

"It can't be a mountain sheep be-cause the horns are not spiraled. May-be it's an antelope. Now let us viewth e old houses. The cave is 450 feetlong and 250 deep."Hillside House was my idea of ahome site. Here were what could havebeen advertised in cliff dwelling daysas modern improve men ts: runningwater, solar heating, shade and sheltermade by a beautifully colored sand-

stone roof. My desire for a house inthe wilderness increased as I picturedthe possibility of working quietly,painting murals in my private apart-ment, weaving perhaps, and studyingtrees and flowers of the magic land.I was brought back from the flightof fancy by the guide's remark thatwe must return to Kayenta. We said

good-by to Hillside House and rodeback down the canyon. The spell ofthe country stayed with me. Whenthe guide told the legend of a springin the neighborhood which occasion-ally gushed forth, showering the rockswith carved turquoise, I felt that mymind could absorb no more. I knewthat the desert had claimed me for alltime. There was no turning back onthe turquoise trail. I played with thethought that man's unconscious mindgoes back to the time when he wasbrother to the animals, understandingthem, loving them at the same timethat he ate certain of them for food.I knew that I had touched early ani-mistic belief. I knew that our guideto Betatakin could not help but feelits influence. To him, Tony the ponyha d as much right to a soul as him-self. In a desert land, living is sodifficult, providing of food so con-stant an occupation, that man needsrecreation. He finds it in fancy, inthe making of ephemeral sand paint-ings on the floor of the medicine lodge,an d the dancing of Katchinas in thepueblo plazas.

It was years later when my husbandan d I had moved to the redwood coun-try of northern California that a pho-tographer came to our little town. Hehad been in Grand Canyon at the timecertain very small ponies were foundthere. He photographed the finder andthe ponies on the north bank of thecanyon. Generously, he gave me thenegatives and prints he had made. Tobe sure, the ponies were not white,but they were so small the finder couldhold one in his arms. In that greatSouthwest, I agreed that there was nouse asking questions. / / / Next installment: "When the Thun-der and the Snake Are Asleep"

HANDS OF THE SAND PAINTERS - ANEARLY-DAY PHOTOGRAPH BY MRS. ARMER


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SCATTERED THROUGHOUT THE SOUTHWESTARE ANCIENT INDIAN PUEBLOS, CHURCHES AND MODERN HOMES

MADE FROM THE EARTH ITSELFFROM THEDESERTLAND'S MOST COMPATIBLE BUILDING MATERIAL: ADOBE

By HENRY P. C H A P MA N

HOW ADOBE BRICKS ARE MADE. AT LEFT, MIXING THE ADOBE; RIGHT: SUN-DRYING THE BRICKS.

L O N G B E F O R E THE G I L D E Dbreastplates and plumed helmets ofSpanish Captain-Generals flashed inthe Southwestern sun, multi-storiedIndian apartment houses rose out ofthe desert to scrape the turquoiseskies.In 1539, when the exploringmonk Marcos de Niza returned toMexico City after his expedition to"the northern wilderness" (New Mexico) , he told thrillingtales of discovering the legendary Seven Golden Cities ofCibola. Each of the cities was reputed to be larger thanSeville; each outglowed the cities of the Aztecs in richness

and magnificence. It was later learned that what the goodFray Marcos had actually seen were Hawikuh, Kyanawa,Kwakina, Kiakima, Matsaki and Halonathe six sun-gilded metropolises of the Zuni Indians.The disappointment in finding cities of mud instead ofgold failed to discourage the march of the conquistadoresinto the Southwest. Coro nado came first, in 1540, resplen-dent in chased gold armor and leading over a thousandsoldiers, servants and slaves. Chamuscado followed in1581, Espejo in 1583,Sosa in 1590,Bonilla and Humanain 1593, and Don Juan de Onate in 1598."Pueblo" was the Spanish word that the first fortune-hunters applied to the cluster of mud dwellings that madeup an Indian settlement. The parada of conquistadores

who followed in Captain-General Coronado's footstepsdiscovered a prodigious distribution of these mud pueblos,populated by hunters and farmers, in "the wild new Mex-ico" they had come to tame. They rode upon one thrivingIndian "city" after another: San Felipe, Santo Domingo,Zia, Jemez, Tesuque, San Udefonso, San Juan, Acoma . . .

These mud metropolises are still in existence; they are stillpopulated.In northern NewMexico stood the architectural wonderof the strange arid land. Mountains of mud were shapedby Taos Indian hands into "skyscrapers"four and five-storied apartment houses. If Coronado's Captain Hernandode Alvarado, who rode into the Taos Pueblo's plaza in1540, were to return today he would find it the leastchanged of all the pueblos. The 1210Taosenos living heretoday are forbidden the use of natural gas, electricity, adomestic water system, sanitation facilities and telephonesby their Pueblo Council. Wa ter for drinking and cookingis hauled in ollas and tin cans from the silver stream thatruns through the village. In many other Rio Grandepueblos bread is baked in modern electric or gas ranges.At Taos the baking is done as it has always been donein homos, igloo-shaped mud ovens lumped in groups out-side the mud mansions. This freezing of "progress" stemsfrom a desire on the Indians' part to cultivate the importanttourist trade.Indians whobuilt the first mud mansions of the South-west used the "puddled mud" (or "poured mud" or "pice")method of construction. Walls were raised by pouring alayer of puddled mud into forms made out of animal hides.After the sun dried one layer of mud, another was pouredatop it, and so on until the desired height was reached.Beneath the New Mexican sun, in Santa Fe, there stillbakes an ancient and excellent specimen of puddled mud

architecture known as "The Oldest House in the UnitedStates." Its exact vintage is plastered in mystery, but it isbelieved to be pre-Spanish. During recent restoration workit was detectedaccidently or purposelythat this build-ing's venerable and anonymous architect employed amaz-ingly sound engineering principles, among them the "taper-

MUD MANSIONS


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ng wall." Walls were made three-feet thick at the base,Mixed into the mud mortar of this old house is aegend that Montezuma's Aztec chieftains often parleyedDuring the Pue blo Rebellion of 1680 Ind ians triedto destroy all the mud mansions in the Santa Fe area, butleft this building standing . Its pud dled mu d con structionmutely testified to the fact that the house was built by In-

dians, not in the fashion of the hated Spanish conquerors,and thus it was saved from destruction.Casa Grande, 50 miles southeast of Phoenix, is theonly existing example of another method of earth construc-tion employed by prehistoric Southwestern Ind ians. Six-hundred years ago a shifting band of Pueblo Indians peace-fully settled among the Hohokam (a modern Pima Indiandesignation meaning "The Ancient Ones" as applied tothe Indians who tenanted the Gila Valley about the timeof Pompeii 's destruction by an eruption of Mt. Vesuvius).To protect their crops and villages, the Puebloansraised a 30-foot combination watchtower and apartmenthouse from which they could spot approaching marauders10 miles away in all directions. Th eir building m aterialwas caliche mud, made from nitrate of soda clay foundon the subsurface of the desert floor. Without forms,moulds or bricks, these Indians piled the putty-like mix-ture in a two-foot high horizontal strip, allowed it to dry,then added the next layer. The completed structure wasfour-stories high, partitioned into 11 rooms. To this daythe hand swirls made by the builders while plastering thewalls may be seen etched inside the Casa Gran de. Thewatchtower is now a national monument.Mansions of mud are indigenous to the arid areas ofthe New and Old Worlds alike. Mud architecture extendsfrom our Southwest through Mexico and Central Americainto Peru. It is prev alent in Spain, No rth Africa and in

the desert countries east of the Mediterranean Sea. It wasthe conquering Moors who introduced into Spain duringthe Middle Ages a new method of preparing mud forconstruction purposes which was later to become wontin our Southwest.In 1598, when one of the Hispanic knights, Don Juande Onate, established San Gabriel, Nuevo Mejicu's firstSpanish colony, he imbued the Southwestern Indians withtheir first knowledge of the Cross, of King Philip II andof the Moors ' adobe"sun-dried brick."Upon the site chosen for the first capitol of the newterritory there sprawled poured-mud ruins of part of theYunq ue-Yunque Pueblo on the Rio Grande River. Onaterenamed the populated Indian village on the east bankSan Juan de Los Caballeros. The ruins on the oppositeside were rebuilt as homes and stables for the colonists, andcalled San Ga briel. Indian labor was conscr ipted for thereconstruction, during which time these people learned theSpanish-M oor m ethod of building with bricks. They wereshown how to mix straw into the clay mud for addedcohesion. This mixture was poured into moulds and laidout in the sun to bake into adobes. Some of the SanGabriel walls were put up in the old poured-mud manner,but for strength and durability rough stones and rubblewere added as reinforcem ent. In less than two weeks thefirst church in New Mexico was erected.In 1610, after the failure of San Gabriel, Don Pedro

de Peralta, third governor of New Mexico, chose a sitefor the new capital city. He nam ed it La Villa Real de laSanta Fe de San Francisco de Assisi, and he decreed thata Palacio Real, "fit for a king ," be built. It wa s out of amixture of straw and mud.Through the turbulent centuries that aged New Mexico

fe ...P R E H I S T O R I C C A S A G R A N D E . . .

. . . TAOS PUEBLO . . .

. . . " M O D E R N " S A N T A FE

into history, the salas of this royal mud mansion served ashead quarters for an assortment of autho rities: Spanishhidalgos, Indian rebel chiefs, Mexican politicos, Confeder-ate generals and American go vernors. In one of these mud-plastered rooms Territorial Governor Lew Wallace pennedthe final chapters of his famous novel, Ben Hur. The royalmud mansion endures to this day as "The Palace of theGovernors," and its three-foot-thick walls guard the South-western historical treasures of the Museum of New Mexico.On June 17 a WA cent postage stamp was issued by the


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Post Office Department to commemorate Santa Fe's 350thanniversary. Featured on the stamp, first of its denomina-tion, is the ancient mud palace.Not far from the old capitol and directly across thenarrow calle from The Oldest House stands another sun-baked Spanish mud mansionthe San Miguel Chapel. Itsadobes still wear scars inflicted during the uprising of 1680.After failing to breach the mud walls with lances and fire,

the Indians stabbed fire-tipped poles into the protrudingwooden vigas supporting the heavy foot-thick dirt roof.An hour later the roof caved in. The smoke-stained wallsof adobe, which had echoed the Te Deum of monk chor-uses from the first days of Santa Fe, stood as silent asshrines for 12 years. Then came General Don Diego deVargas' peaceful reconquest of the Adobe City and repairswere begun on the church. Tradition insists that Generalde Vargas is buried beneath the sanctuary, but there is nosubstantiating evidence.The capital city of New Mexico was plastered with thenames "Adobe Town" and "Mud City" by Americantrappers and traders who pioneered commerce with thethen Mexican villa in the early 1800s. "Folks hereabouts

live inside piles of mud,"accounted a mountain man from

. % * ' m f r > r w ^ v ^ : " v . ' THE RUINS OF FORT UNION . . .

^

. . . CRISTO REY CHURCH IS OF RECENT CONSTRUCTION

Kentucky. In Commerce of the Prairies Josiah Gregg con-fesses mistaking Adobe Town's mud architecture for brick-kilns scattered over the countryside, until a friend informedhim that: "It is true those are heaps of unburnt bricks,nevertheless they are houses-this is the city of Santa Fe."An imposing tribute to building with mud is the historic"Queen of the Desert" which reigns over the cactus king-do m of southern Arizona . Guided by Franciscan padres,

the Pima, Papago and Sobaipuri Indian builders of theSan Jose de Tumacacori Mission, went a step further inpreparing some of their mud bricks. They baked themunder extreme heat inside kilns. The result was a redbrick, much harder than the sun-dried ones. These burnt(or fired) adobe bricks were used for greater strength andendurance in such sections as the exposed tops of wallsan d the bell towe r. Eno ugh b ricks, both fired and sun-baked, went into the building of this mission to form astack three feet high, three feet wide and a mile long.Secularization of the mission by Mexico kept the queenlymud mansion of the desert from being completed.Today new mud mansions rise in the vicinity of the

Southwest's ancient mud mansions. Only 20 years agofour centuries after Coronado's entrada into New Mexicothe Cristo Rey Church was built on Canyon Road inSanta Fe. Into this job went 15,000,000 pounds of mud.N ot too long ago the least expensive item on a South-western home-builder's list were adobes at $15 per thou-sand. Today the going price is five times fifteen. Pay ing$75 for every thousand mud bricks needed for an adobecasa is enough to make many budget-minded builders for-sake adobes for the less romantic commercial cinder blocks.Some people beat the high price by making the adobesthemselves.Southwestern paisanos who can determine the qualityof soils by gritting them between their fingers, snort at thepopular belief that the more clay in the soil the better theadobes. Through their graying mustaches they will tellyou that too much clay will result in adobes that shrinkand crack. Too much sand will make adobes crumble. Inmany areas of the Southwest, Mother Nature has alreadymixed the soil in proper proportions of quartz sand andclay for superior adobe material. Where such a ready-mixis not available, sand and clay are brought together andblended into a satisfactory mixture.M ud for the adobes is prepared in a hole about threefeet wide and twice as deep. After an all-night soakingwhich allows the water to thoroughly saturate the mixture,straw is kneaded into the mud. Old-timers can recall whencorn husks and horse manure were used instead of straw.Forming the adobes comes next. The mud mixture ispoured into a wooden form which shapes four bricks, each14 inches long, 10 inches wide, 2>Vi inches deep. After theform is lifted, the bricks are left undisturbed to dry in thesu n for several days. When sufficiently dried for handling,the adobes are loosely ricked on edge, three or four high,and left to the sun and wind for further drying and curing.Like vino, adobes improve with age. When ready for build-ing, the same mud mixture used for forming the adobes isprepared for the mortar .Old Fort Union, the largest U.S. Army fortificationof the Southwestern frontier during the third quarter of the1800s, was built with adobes prepared in the manner de-scribed above. But, it was at Fort Union that adobe wallswere first topped with burned-brick copings in New MexicoTerritory, a practice which led to the "Territorial" type


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ot architecture which today vies with the "Pu eblo " style Am erican adobe architecture mingles as harmoniouslyfor popularity in Santa Fe. The ruins of Fort Union re- as its peoples. From N ew Mex ico to California puebloscently becam e New Mexico's ninth national m onum ent, and royal palaces, mission churches and kivas, forts andThe Southw est is strewn with mud mansion s h and - mus eum s, stagecoach stations and office buildings, cantin asbuilt by four cultures. Indian, Spanish, Mexican and and modern homes stand side by side. / / /

T h e O l dM i r a g e - S a l e s m a n

h a s t h e s e c o m m e n t so n t h e s u b j e c t of

CJ If built right a one-story adob ehouse is fireproof. I t 's earthquake-proof, dustproof, soundproof, heat-an d cold-proof, rat- and termite-proof,bulletproofand almost proof againstbad design. This is due to the thick-ness of the walls, and danged if thesewalls don't take on more character asthey age.


18/44

city council, then in session, left in ahurry. The clerk, a man of rules andregulations, wanted the minutes of themeeting to read legal. It took somethought, but finally he put down: "Onmotion of the city hall the counciladjourned."


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H O W TO GETB y

H E R B E R T L. S T A H N K EDr. Stahnke is head of the Division ofLife Sciences and director of the Poi-sonous Animal Research Laboratory atArizona State University. As the per-fecter and principal advocate of theLigarure-Cryotherapy (immersing woundin ice water) method of treating snakebite, his name has been much in thenews in recent years.

TH E P R O B A B I L I T Y of your be-ing stung by a scorpion is greaterthan you think. Scorpions arefound in all of the continental UnitedStates except the New England andGreat Lakes states.

In order to get stung you will haveto know where to find scorpions. Theirdwelling places are many and common.This is indicated by the following listcompiled from collection reports ofthousands of individuals:Scorpions are found under boards,boxes, rocks, sheet metal, sacks, bricks,rabbit pens, roots of trees, stumps,loose bark of trees, cement blocks.Other outdoor hiding places are:sand boxes, outside walls of houses,ditch banks, sidewalks, lawns, chick-en-houses, walls of wash-houses.Indoor hiding places reported were:the floor of any room of the house, ondavenport , in washing machine, inbread-box, under wash cloth in bath-room, on dining room wall, on kitchenwall, in egg crate, on bed, in bedunder covers, inside old mattress, incellar, in bath ti |bpractically anyplace you can name.If. in addition to observing the com-

mon scorpion habitats, you give heedto a few scorpion behaviors, your suc-cess in setting up a "scorpion rendez-vous" is greatly enhanced. For ex-ample, scorpions are nocturnal. Theydo all their wandering around, court-ing and whatever else is a good night-time activity, after dar k. When h idingunder an object during the day, manyspecies cling upside down on the un-derside of the object.Physicians' reports reveal the fol-lowing list of activities that a fewmembers of the '"Scorpion Club" wereengaged in w.hen stung:

AGE PART OF BODY AND CIRCUM-STANCF.S WHEN STUNG

1 Thumbreached for pan in kit-chen cabinet, scorpion in pan.

S t u n gS c o r p i o n

1 Vi Handreached for doll, scorpionunder doll 's clothes.1 Vi Foot scorpion fell off ceilinginto bed.1 Vi Leg sleeping on floor of jailwith mother.2 Thumb picked up sprinkler,scorpion in sprinkler.2 Thigh dressing, scorpion inclothes.2 Footgett ing out of bed, steppedon scorpion.3 Footplaying in rock pile.3 Hand reached up on top ofdresser for toy.3 Fincer lying on rug watchingT V .4 Toestepped on scorpion in oldhouse.4 Hand playing around cementbrick wall.4 Hand picking bark off tree,scorpion in crevice.

667< S

1 21 212131717

Kneeplaying on ground.Fingerplaying in sand.Fingercrawled under bed.Handon school grounds, scor-pion hiding in dust rag.Cheststung while asleep.Footscorpion on towel, motherbrushed it off, landed on foot ofpatient.Hip and thigh scorpion introusers.Handstung finger as scorpionwas brushed from trousers.Thumbplaying with calf skin.Finger put hand on outsidewindow sill.Fingerreached into floor drain.Thumbpicked up newspaper.Toesit t ing on lawn chair.Fingerworking under car.Wristcleaning house.

continued on page 29

B Y A


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T W O O F J U A N I T A N E J O ' S B A S KE T S . S P I R A L E FF EC T I S G A I N E D B Y L E A V I N G T H E B U T T -E N D S O F P I N E N E E D LE S E X P O S E D .

L a s t of t h e B a s k e t W e a u e r sInto the pine needle baskets of 77-year-old Juanita Nejo

are woven the memories of childhoodBy SAM HICKS

J UANITA NEJO was raised on theAynaja Reservation of eastern SanDiego County where the high roll-ing hills of the California Coast Rangeare spotted with stands of pine timber.These trees remain the unchangedcolor of green jade in spite of a sum-mer heat treatment which tempers thesurrounding vegetation to a burnishedgold. In this high timber co untry over 70 years agoJuanita Nejo wastaught the tribal art of weaving basketsfrom pine needles.Indian baskets served many pur-poses. Some of these household uten-sils were so tightly woven they heldwater; all were so carefully handcraftedthat the finest meal could not siftthrough them. The fresh appetizingscent of pine constantly surroundsthese baskets, and their hard smoothinterior surfaces are easily cleansed.They are attractive in appearance, ex-tremely durable, and were formerlyfashioned in a host of sizes and shapesto fit the Indians' various needs.These pine needle baskets are calledcanasta jimaras by Juanita and thefew remaining people of her tribe. Al-though these tribesmen of the Aynajastem from the Mission Indians, theyspeak their own tongue a definiteIndian dialect softly intermingled withSpanish. The word canasta is, ofcourse. Spanish for basket; jimara is

apparently an Indian noun that fur-ther identifies the basket.Juanita and her husband, Angel,now live in the south-end of the Te-mecula Valley. Once each year theydrive their ancient Pontiac past LakeHenshaw and Santa Ysabel to theJulian country to gather pine needles.On their way they skirt the base ofpine-covered Palomar Mountain, butthey pass the side-road that leads tothe great observatory because Juanitainsists that the pine needles there are

D I A M E T E R O F T H I S B A S K E T H A V I N G B E E N D E -T E R M I N E D , J U A N I T A B E G I N S S H A P I N G S ID E S

not the right kind for her baskets.My observations lead me to believethat needles from the young Colterand Ponderosa pines of Palomar areidentical with the ones she and Angelgather another 30 miles beyond. But,Juanita has little interest in the shin-ing aluminum dome which houses thefamous 200-inch astronomical mirror,nor does she hold any special affectionfor the pine trees atop Palomar Moun-tain which she regards as comparativestrangers. At Julian are the trees un-der which Juanita gathered pine need-les when she was a little girl.The cluster of needles used in Jua-nita's baskets are carefully pickedfrom the boughs of young pine trees the three-needles-to-the-cluster va-riety; selected for matching length andthickness, then neatly arranged in card-board boxes for the trip back home.After filling all the empty cartons oc-cupying the back seat of their Pontiac,the Nejos return to their place inTemecula Valley where the harvest isspread out in the shade to cure. Careis required in this process. Sunlightdries them too quickly and causes

them to become brittle. Too muchshade triggers a black fungus growththat permanently discolors the needlesand makes them useless. From eachcarton of needles, roughly the size ofan apple box, Juanita estimates she


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can make two large baskets. To hera basket 12 to 14 inches in diameteris grande.After the curing is completed, thebutt-ends of the needle clusters areskillfully cleaned of excess bark andpitch. Then with a string Juanita tiesthe needle clusters into bundles to bestored until basket-making time.A tubular green reed grass (calledkuanaya by Juanita) that grows aroundthe spring at the head of PachangaWash, is next gathered by the Nejosfor the baskets. These peculiar hollowreeds grow long and pointed, somereaching five feet in length. The bot-tom 12 or 18 inches of each stem isa pretty reddish brown color whichremains permanent while the uppertwo-thirds of the stem changes fromgreen to yellow as the reed is cured.Shortly after these reeds are pulledfrom the moist earth where they grow,each stem is carefully split into thirdsand slowly allowed to dry. The pitchis then scraped from the inside surfaceof the reeds. After scraping eachstrand, Juanita wraps them into iden-tical circular coils, and stores themaway.These reed strands are amazinglystrong, and after soaking them in waterto make them pliable, the thongs arepointed on one end with a razor-sharpblade. They are used to bind the pineneedles, layer on layer, to eventually

form the basket. Juanita uses a sim-ilar binding materialthe long tendershoots of squaw bush which she callspaschaato form the nucleus of herbasket. Occasionally, as work on thebasket progresses, Juanita interspersessections of this paschaa bind so that itappears in pleasing white contrast tothe reddish-brown and yellow of theKuanaya reed.A long tough broom grass gatheredfrom the high ridges surrounding Rain-bow Valley is added one stem at atime by Juanita as a filler during her

basket weaving. As she works, thepine needles are placed with skill sothat they completely surround thestems of coarse grass, thereby prevent-ing the latter from showing on eitherthe inner or outer walls of the finishedbasket.At approximately every two - inchinterval on the growing basket, Juanitaadds three clusters of pine needles heldevenly so that the butt-ends of theneedles are exposed on the outsidewall of the basket and there, with theuse of her awl and the reed thong,

she binds them securely in place. Thepoint of one needle from each individ-ual cluster of three is broken off abouttwo inches back in order that morepine needles and occasionally another

- r * -

stem of grass can be added withoutchanging the diameter of the layer ofmaterial being bound in place. Asthe basket material is woven outwardfrom the center of the bottom and up-ward to form the sides, an interestingspiral effect is created by the exposedbutt-ends of the needles.It takes Juanita about one week tomake a small basket, two weeks toweave a large one. These particularbaskets have never been regarded as

show pieces by Juanita or the othermembers of her tribe, but are consid-ered as practical utensils much in de-mand because of their great strengthand durability.To me they are a fascinating pieceof American handicraft and one ofthe most interesting products of theIndians' weaving skill. As nearly asI can determine, Juanita, now 77 yearsold, is the last living person whomakesthese pine needle baskets in this area.Local Indians have told me there wasone other Indian lady who lived nearWarner Hot Springs who made andsold similar baskets in the last decade,bu t she passed away four years ago.So upon Juanita Nejo there probablydepends the sole responsibility for per-

HOLDING IN HER MOUTH THE AWL WITHWHICH SHE PUNCHES HOLES FOR BINDING,JUANITA ADDS PINE NEEDLES TO BASKETpetuating this phase of her people'sheritage.

It is true that when Juanita's wistfuleyes fondly examine her last completedpine needle basket, the art of makingthem still will not be considered "lost."The Smithsonian Institution in Wash-ington, D.C., has, for instance, recon-structed the method used by the RockyMountain Indians in the complicatedprocess of making hunting bows frommountain sheep horns. It is the Smith-sonian's stated opinion that this par-ticular art, though now unused formany years, is still not officially lost.

And so it will be with Juanita'sbaskets. The white man will knowwhat materials to use and may some-day eventually become proficient inthe art of making these baskets frompine needles, grass and reeds. Hemight even invent a machine that willmanufacture these baskets by thethousands at the mere touch of abutton. But no white man, regardlessof his ability to perpetuate knowledgeor to produce in quantity, can everweave into the form of a pine needlebasket Juanita's childhood memories.


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B o g u s B a r o n o f A r i z o n aA m a z i n g Jim R e a u i s a nd his m a g n i f i c e n t f r a u d

Uy Oren ArnoldI challenge any author to put Jim R eavis in fiction and not havefirst the editor and then the public say it is gross exaggera tion. And yet // was here to our Southwest that the most extraordinary men andwom en came to fight, and live and love and play. 1 swear to you now,in preface, tha t the story I am about to tell is taken from authenticsources, especially the cold factual records of a United States court.O r en A r no l d

ON ONE SUNNY morning in the1880s, loafers in the courthouseplaza at the frontier town ofPhoenix were startled to see a mag-nificent horse-drawn carriage cominginto view. Not two or four, but sixgorgeous white animals were dashingup the dusty street, and the coachthey pulled was rich with color toppedby a golden coat of arm s. The d riverwas in uniform, and a footman satbeside himjust like something outof a storybook."Ho-o-o-o-o!" the driver reined in

beneath a shade tree. The footmanbounced around to open the coachdo or. Slowly, with infinite dignity andhauteur, a tall gentleman of obviousSpanish heritage stepped down. Hewore the picturesque clothes of oldSpain."Proceed to the leading hotel andsee that the Baroness is made thor-oughly comfortable," His Excellencycomm anded. "I shall first make myofficial call."The carriage drove on, and thestately gentleman, nodding to the knot

of staring men, asked at once to seethe commissioner in charge of UnitedStates lands. When he had been es-corted to that official, he spoke."I have the honor to announce my-self, sir," he bowed formally, "as DonJames Addison de Peralta - Reavis,owner of La Baronia de Arizonac."The commissioner, duly impressed,hastened to give him a chair, and thensaid, "Please be seated, Don James.I have been expecting you."The land commissioner had trulybeen expecting Don James, but no one

else had . The re had been posted acertain "manifesto," suggesting that hewould be coming. But the manifestowas a thing in legal phraseology andnobody had quite understood it. No-

body, that is, except the officers, andthey were reluctant to explain its con-tent. The few citizens who had both-ered to ask were told, and then mostlywent away scoffing. The w hole thingwas fantastic, too much so for themto accept.Now here, however, was the Baronhimself. He presented credentialsnot that any were necessary for soimposing a manand stated that hisagents would be here immediately toattend to business details."Dona Sofia Loreto, the Baroness,

and I will remain for a short timealso," he stated. "W e wish to relax abit, hiking and hunting in the baronialhills.""Yes sir," said the commissioner.News of the baron and his equipagefollowed promptly by a more effici-ent retinue of secretaries and suchtook the countryside by storm.Arizona farmers and ranchers andminers dropped their work and cameto town. Qu ite a few, it is told , evencame with rifles and knives, being un-sure of the kind of catastrophe nowthreatenin g. But it was not a matterfor violence (although the talk didbecome vehement at tim es). It wasa matter of convincing the people thatthe startling news was true, a task inwhich the officers for both the federalgovernment and the Territory had tocooperate."Yes sir," the commissioner summedOren Arnold of Phoenix ( in the winterm o n t h s ) a nd Laguna Beach . Oilif., (inthe summer) has heen a free lance writerfor 25 years. His work has consistently

appeared in top national periodicals , andhe is the autho r of 22 books ( two moreare scheduled for publication in the nextfew mo nths ) . Adele and Oren Arnoldhave three daughters , two granddaughtersand a t iny grandson.

it up to a group, a serious committee,"whether you like it or not, friends,this here is the real owner of most ofthis state. He is the real Baron ofArizona, just like he says, and he gotall this land from the Spanish king.He has been investigated thoroughly,and it's every doggoned bit true, I'msorry to say. Everybody here is squat-ters on his land, and under law hecan run you off or make you pay.That's just what he's here to do.""But my lord, man, this here isAmerica!" the chairman objected

strenuously. "Th is is not Spain! Hecan't come in here and . . .""Th at don 't matter. Under theTreaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, in 1848,when the United States got Arizona,this nation agreed to respect the pri-vate land claims as granted underSpanish dom inion. And away back in1748 old King Fernando VI grantedthis Baron y to a friend. Th is man h erenow, by marriage to that Spanish wifeof his, is the legal heir. Shu cks, men ,I don 't blame you! But there's noth-ing to be done, 1 tell you! W e beentrying for weeks to dodge this thing.It can't be dod ged. It's been taken toWashington, and to Madrid, and toMexico City and everywhere. It 'slegal as night and day!"

"Good god!" breathed the commit-teeman, a prayer more than a pro-fanity. "His papers the inheritance i t ? ""Yes sir!" the commissioner em-phasized. "W e've looked into thatthorou ghly. Had certified copies ofthe whole thing sent here from Madridand Mexico City, right from the mon-

asteries where they keep official docu-ments over there . Th e line of con-sanguinity, the blood relationship, isperfect. It comes down to this Don aSofia, which Don James married . It's


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ers, right enough, and therefore hisby marriage. Men, I'm sorry as hell,and we've done every possible thingo find a crack somewhere, but thereain't none. It's federal law.""But say," a citizen cried, "I beenon my ranch for nearly 20 years! Nowto stay on it I got to pay him over$3000! I can't do it. I never had$3000 in my life! And I got friendswho're being charged from $500 to$5000 for quit-claim deeds to theirproperty. He oughta be hung!"The commissioner shook his head."I 'm as sorry as can be, men," herepeated, "but there just ain't a thingto be done ."Incredible as it sounded, the situa-tion had to stand.Don James was not pre-emptory.He regretted sadly (so he said) to seenumerous families thrown out of theirhomes. But, business was business.

H e did not demand all the moneyinstantly. If a few weeks or monthswould help until crops could beharvested, ore smelted or sold, cattletaken to market , or some other ar-rangements madewhy certainly. Heopenly chastised an unrelenting agentfor being too hard on a pleading far-mer; cut the farmer's feudal fee ex-actly in half, from $2000 to $1000 ,and gave him six months to gatherthat. Oh no, Don James had no dis-position to be unkind!Meantime, too, the magnitude ofthe land claim was gradually beingunderstood by the people, and withthis understanding came a new andt ranscendant awe of the Baron him-self. People began to study a map ofthe official Barony of Arizona. It be-gan in New Mexico, near the townof Silver City, and spread across east-ern Arizona to a line west of Phoenix.North and south, it was 75 miles; eastand west, 225! Twelve million acres!In that decade of the 1880s, whenwild Apache Indians were still a prob-lem in Arizona, the land was worth nomore than $5 an acre or so, on theaverage. But $60,000,000 has alwaysbeen a goodly sum.Except for Tucson, virtually everymajor town in the Territory waswithinthe baronial bou nds. Some of theworld's finest grazing lands, mineraldeposits and lumber stands were there,no t to mention the farming sections.A poor farmer could do nothing buttake his medicine, pay or get off. Butthe big interests fought back . Theycould afford it. A group of attorneyswere hired by the Southern PacificRailroad to defy the imperious Baron,but in a few months the railroad closedthe matter by writing him a check forONLY KNOWN PORTRAIT OF THE BARON,JIM REAVIS, IS THIS PRISON PHOTO

$50,000fee for a right-of-way acrosshis lands! Similarly did big mine op-erators look into his claimsand pay.One estimate says that mines paid himmore than $100,000.When attorneys tried to find a loop-hole in the legal armor of Don JamesAddison de Peralta-Reavis, Baron ofArizona, they faced two things; first,a flat statement from the United Statesgovernment that this country had tolive up to its Treaty with Mexico;second, the fact that Don James hadbecome intimate, in a social way aswell as in business and politics, withsuch nationally-influential men as Ros-coe Conkling, Charles Crocker, Rob-er t G. Ingersoll and Coin's P. Hunt ing-ton. The Baron went into their homes,heard them tell the public that theyhad looked into his records and foundhis astounding claims just and t rue.The Baron and Baroness traveledextensively. They maintained elabo-rate homes in Washington, D.C., andSt. Louis, and were planning to erecta rancho grande in Arizona on theirown lands. They loved to go abroad.In Madrid, the American ambassador

to Spain once entertained the pictur-esque couple at a formal banquet andball. They were received by state of-ficials everywhere, honored by fiestasin Mexico, presented with preciousgifts. The y gave genero usly to charityand public service funds. One publicdrinking fountain cost the Baron$1500 .When in Arizona, the Baron andBaroness would mingle democraticallywith the common folk, attending thelarger dances and social functions.After a while the couple had twins;everybody said the little fellows,dressed like their parents in Spanishfinery, were irresistibly sweet. All ofthis served, in time, to impress theArizona citizens deeply. They whohad been hardest hit, forced to payuntil it hurt, were actually developinga loyalty to the Baron, saying that hewas the outstanding citizen of the

American West .The success of his amazing claimof course prompted other people todig up forgotten land grants, and whilemost of these were small in compari-son to the Barony, they did become

*

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an annoyance. These claims grew intoa big political issue, resulting in thecreation of the Federal Court of Pri-vate Land Claims, charged with inves-tigating all land difficulties." I t is an excellent idea," Don Jamesthe Baron said. "I am annoyed byconstant bickerings anyway. For thiscourt, why notbring the original papers

from Mexico and Spain, not copiesbut the actual signed grants, datingfrom the creation of the Barony? Theycan be brought here safely under seal,inspected then returned."The land commissioner in Phoenixwelcomed the suggestion. It wouldindeed stop the lingering questions ofsuspicious folk, settling the matteronce and for all.The Spanish and Mexican govern-ments cooperated, and within a fewmonths the original papers, from theforeign monasteries, reposed in aPhoenix vault. And this is where TomWeedin comes in.Tom Weedin was a humble printerfrom Florence, Arizona. For a hobbyhe collected old documents, old man-uscripts, samples of old printing of anysort, and loved to inspect those hecould not own. Naturally, he wasanxious to see the Baronial grant doc-uments, and obtained permission todo so, under guard.He sat for long hours inspecting thequaint old documents, reading them,

comparing them, studying them witha hobbyist's keen pleasure.Then, with no preliminary hint atall, he suddenly made a discovery."Good lord!" he exclaimed, star-ing at a page.The guard became curious, but Tom

revealed nothing then. He hastilylooked at several other sheets, holdingthem up to the window light. "IIgo t to go!" he cried, hastening away.He went quickly but quietly to afederal officer."L-1-l-listen!" he stammered in hisexcited whispering, "them Peralta-Reavis papers the Baron's land them papers is faked!""Hey? What 's that?" the officerwas instantly alert."I t 's a fact! I been looking at them.

AFTER BUBBLE BURST, DONA SOFIA BECAMEA C H A M B E R M A I D , FA D E D IN T O O B S C U R I T YThere's one printed from a type in-vented in 1875but it's dated more'na hundred years earlier1748!""You mean ? Why Tom!" theofficer was amazed."Y-yep! And another'n says it was

printed in Madrid, Spain, in 1787.But it's got a watermark on it from aWisconsin paper mill. And that millwasn't even founded until after theCivilWar!""Most amusing," said Don James,"as well as annoying. Give the mana little money and have done withhim."H e was talking with his agents, whohad come to him with news of TomWeedin's discovery.But they couldn't bribe TomWeedin.Moreover, in a very short time DonJames himself was under arrest. Atfirst he acted indignant. He ravedgrandly, denouncing and threateningand warning of reprisals, but the fed-eral officers went quietly ahead untilcourt convened . They had not actedimpulsively. They had sent operativeseverywhere to gather evidence to

California, to Missouri , to MexicoCity, to Madrid. They were preparedwhen court convened.Don James still tried to maintainhis magnificent bluff. A lot of ordin-ary citizens were indignant for him,declaring he was being "framed" bywealthy folk. But the federal officerswent right ahead. They pounde d athim, tearing down his claims step bystep. There had really been no landgrant, said the officers; no Baronia deArizonac, no long line of inheritors,no baron or baroness. Don James de

Peralta-Reavis was simply Jim Reavis,ex-Confederate soldier, former mule-car driver in St. Joseph, Missouri, whodreamed of grandeur and had cometo the desert country to make hisdream come true! There hadn't beenany Dona Sofia Loreto, she whom

ARIZONA Winslow

Prescottri PhoenixGila Bend I Florence

NEW MEXICO

Gallup

1ij j Silver City

2 2 5 M I L E S

TucsonLordsburg

| MEXICO


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waif, parentage

The lady herself admitted that, in"Oh it is true!" she sobbed dramati-"H e took me from my home

with a rich inheritan ce. I lovedieved him. But I knowHe had faked records of her an-

The records told every de-Sofia L ore to w as born .Still further, Reavis had never really

The wedding ceremonyShe never suspected until he

But as to the astounding land claimhow was it created? Were not thedrid? Did not the government

Surveyor General?Truly so. But for a man of Jim

He had conceived his daring plan,item mostly forgotten. On thatbegan building. Head ing

o newspaper. It paid him afor Spain. In the mea ntime he

He went into the monasteries and. Obligingly, the guard ian priestsnd monks let him in, even aided him.

aily for several days."It was easy to hire printers or

ocum ent I desired. They could im-itate old script and language style per-ectly. By careful s tudy, I was ableo dictate documents in the same styleof those filed in the 1 700s . I evenimitated their quaint phraseology andidiom."I would take these faked sheets

into the monastery vaults, tear out afew of the old true pages, and insertthe faked ones of my own. Th e priestsnever knew."In curio shops of Madrid," Reavistestified, "I found a number of oldhand-painted miniatures of men andwom en, people long forgotten. Ibought them for a few centavos, gaveeach a name, told my wife they wereher ancestors. They were pretty paint-ings, aged just enough to be convinc-ing. She believed." These were intro-duced in court as evidence againstJim. One named the first Baron ofArizonahe who was so close a per-sonal friend of King Fernando in 1748that the king gave him 12,000,000acres in Arizona.

That first baron, incidentally, hadbeen given a very thorough build-upby his creator, Jim Reavis. His nam ewas recorded as Don Miguel Nemecio"the legitimate son of Don Jose Gas-ton Gomez de Silva y Montes de Ocade la Cerda y de Carrillo de Peraltade las Falces de la Vega."9 t

. * *TO PROVE HIS CLAIMS, JIM REAVIS INVENTEDARISTOCRATIC PROGENITORS FOR HIS WIFE.HE ASSERTED THAT THIS COURTLY GENTLEMANIN PORTRAIT WAS "DON MIGUEL NEMECIO,THE FIRST BARON OF AR IZONA , AT AGE 3 0 ."

All told, the documents tracing theancestors, personages, titles, descrip-tions, emoluments, boundaries andincidentals of the vast Baronia de Ari-zonac, brought right down to 1885,totaled in excess of 80,000 words!Imagine the patience and industrynecessary to forge so many documents.Few modern novels are that long.(This art icle runs about 4000 words,as a further basis of comparison.)

That Jim Reavis, a mule-driver,should have the imagination to con-ceive so audacious a forgery, is thefirst miracle in his career. Secondand greatestis the fact that he actu-ally carried it out, did all the work,did it so perfectly that he completelyhood-winked first his wife and thenthe shrewdest investigating officers ofthree countries.Despite the fact that she had neverreally been married, Dona Sofia

196008 desert magazine 1960 august

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