193812 Desert Magazine 1938 December

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Swim -011U/intet

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Southern Pacific

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. . . one of the spectacular sightsof the southwest . . gushing mini-ature volcanos, belching livesteam and sulfurous mud . . . ina picturesque setting near MulletIsland . . .

. . . this interesting and uniquesight is only 30 minutes drivefrom Brawley, where every con-venience is available to visitors.For further information about theMud-pots and other attractionsnear BrawleyWRITE THEB R A W L E Y C H A M B E RO F C O m m E R C EBrawley, Calif.

W H E R E G E N U I N E W E S T E R N H O S P I T A L I T Y A B O U N D S

H O T E L & B U N G A L O W SRiding, swimming, golf, tennis, badminton, cycling,skeet, suntanning, famous "cowboy breakfasts" and"moonlight steak rides." Discriminating clientele.Management Warren 8. Pinney.

P A L M S P R I N G S , C A L I F O R N I AAmerica's Foremost Desert Resort


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D E S E R TCalendar.Civic groups in the desert area areinvited to use this column for announc-

ing fairs, rodeos, conventions and otherevents which have more than local in-terest. Copy must reach the Desert Mag-azine by the 5th of the month preced-ing publication. There is no charge forthese announcements .NOV. 15-DEC. 29Arizona andNew Mexico open season onwaterfowl.NOV. 19-DEC. 5Elk season intwo large northern Arizona areas.300 special permits issued.DEC. 1-3Arizona Education As-sociation convention, Phoenix.DEC. 1-3Arizona Vocational As-

sociation convention, Phoenix.DEC. 6Western States WaterEngineers and Water Commis-sioners convention, Phoenix.DEC. 11Sierra Club climb, Mt.San Antonio (el. 10,080), ex-pecting to use crampons and iceaxes.DEC. 10Northern Association ofSanitarians meet, Phoenix.DEC. 12Guadalupe Day at SantaFe, New Mexico and variouspueblos, usually seven days afterShalako at Zuni.DEC. 12-13 - - Western GrowersProtective Association m e e t ,Phoenix.DEC. 15State convention of newArizona Federation of Law-En-forcement Officers, Phoenix. E.J. Wyatt, federation president;W . C. Joyner, executive vice-president.DEC. 24Christmas Eve dancesat churches of San Felipe, La-guna, Isleta, Taos, New Mexico.DEC. 25Christmas Day dancesat Jemez, Santo Domingo, Tesu-que, Santa Clara and other NewMexico pueblos. Dance ceremon-ial at San Felipe starts 2:00 a.m.No chairman; just walk in;bring plenty of warm wraps.DEC. 25Los Pastores, related toancient shepherd plays, is givenin the Mexican communities ofNew Mexico.DEC. 31, JAN. 1-2Sierra clubexcursion to Split Mountain andbadlands of Borego Valley, Cal-ifornia.Continuous through fall and winter:series of public art exhibits in Fine Artsbuilding, University of New Mexico,Albuquerque. Featured are paintings byrepresentative New Mexico artists.Ralph Douglass, director .

V o l . 2 DECEMBER, 1938 N o. 2COVER

CALENDARCAMERA ARTCHRISTMASRECREATIONHISTORYRELIGIONNATUREHOLIDAYGEMSFIESTAPOETRYMININGBOOKSFICTIONWRITERSNEWSPHOTOGRAPHYPLACE NAMESLAND MARKCOMMENT

Holy Night on the DesertPainted by PARKE VAWTER (Dauber Dan) ofTwentynine Palms, Cal i fornia .De cem ber Events in the Desert 1"Feel" of {he DesertPhoto by WM . M. PENNINGTON 2When Sant a C laus C omes t o t he Dese r tBy VIRGINIA DUNCAN 3Home of the Whist l ing GhostsBy JOHN STEWART MacCLARY 6Hermann Ehrenberg, Seeker of High AdventureBy ARTHUR WO ODW ARD 9Shrine of the Desert PadresBy JO-SHIPLEY W AT SO N 12Dream Plant of the TribesmenBy FRANK A. SCHILLING 14We Found the Warm Heart of the DesertBy LILLIAN BOS RO SS 15Crystals for the CollectorBy JOHN W . HILTON 18Rhythm of Tom-toms in TortugasBy ANNA BLANCHE CUNNINGHAM . . . . 2 1My Burro, an d other poe ms 23New s notes on recent deve lopm ents 24Cow boy an d Archaeolog is t 26Hard Rock Shorty of Death Val leyBy LON GARRISON 28Co ntribu tors in this edition 28Here an d There on the Desert 30W inners in am ateur photo contes t 31Com piled by TRACY M. SCOTT 32Ca n you identify this spot in Utah? 35J us t B e tw e e n Y o u a n d M e , b y t he E DIT OR . . . 36

The Desert Magazine is published monthly by th e Desert Publish ing Company, 697State Stre et, El Centro, California. Enter ed as second class ma tter O ctober 11, 1937 at thepost office at El Centro, California, under the Act of March 3, 1879.Title registered No. 358865 in U. S. Patent Office, and contents copyrighted 1938 bythe Desert Publishing Company. Permission to reproduce contents m ust be secured fromthe editor in writing. Subscription rat e $2.50 per year in U. S. A. or possessions. Singlecopy 25 cents. RANDALL HENDEESON, EditorTAZEWELL H. LAMB, Associate EditorJ. WILSON McKENNEY, Business ManagerManuscripts and photographs submitted must be accompanied by full return postage.The Desert Magazine assumes no responsibility for damage or loss of manuscripts or photo-graphs a lthough due care will be exercised for their safety. Subscribers should send noticeof change of addre ss to the circulation departm ent by the fifth of the mo nth preced ing issue.D E C E M B E R , 1 9 3 8 1


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-, ;. .wsR '

THOROUGHBRED Photo by Wm. M. Pennington

reel oh tke. L/e5ettBy JOHN STEWART MacCLARY

No lengthy list of fancy names gives pedigree to the Navahorse. He wouldflee from the teeth of a currycomb as from a nest of mad rock hornets. He hasnever known caresses from the strokes of cuffing brush, and he'd founder ona nosebagful of oats.But, for all that, he's a thoroughbred!Wiry, tough and leanhe is what the desert has made him. Of hopelesslytangled ancestry, the fact that he has survived is proof that from myriad strainshe has drawn the elements required by his hazard-filled existence.

T h e D F R F R T M A f: A 7 T M F


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What would you do to create Christ-in your home if youin an arid land where there wereto decorate and no stores fromto buy tinsel and candles andall the tradition-al decorative materials were lacking?Virginia Duncan found the answer tothis question in a remote little desertshack. It's a story that will help youunderstand and appreciate the truespirit of Christmas.

When. Santa (?lau5to the

By VIRGINIA DUNCAN

FIRST CHRISTMAS ON THEDESERTB Y LOIS ELDER STEINF.R Phoenix, Arizona

Chris tmas Morn on the desert!A room with a brown board floor,A greasewood tree in the cornerCracks in the kitchen door.Someone playing a mouth-organ,Mem'ries of other years."B e it everoh, ever so humble"A choke in the throat, then tears.D o w n on the brown board floorThree pajama-clad figures I see,And the greasewood there in the corner

Gleams brighter than any tree.

Christmas Morn on the desert!What ma t te r the cracks in the door?The gold of the sun comes peepingthroughAnd brightens the brown board floor.All littered with string and cellophane,That eager hands have torn,Carelessly scattering the labels,"With loveon Chris tmas Morn!"Chris tmas Morn on the desert!O h , I know in after years,Just the scent of a desert greasewood

Will bring back the mem'ries' tears.

This artificial poinsettia setjuiie at home on a prickly peartits.

( J S a desert enthusiast I standI / amazed at the versatility of SantaClaus, especially after one per-sonal adventure with him. I had beenhurrying toward a Christmas Eve party,when my car skidded into a boulderandbroke down. In this hectic age I should,of course, have been grateful simply forlife itself, nevertheless I can think of nomoment when myspirits were lower thanon this particular evening. My wreckhadoccurred at a point between Tucson andPicacho, Arizona, in about the wildeststretch of desert North America affords.And in five minutes I realized I couldnot reach home until Christmas morning.

On a dirt trail more than eight milesfrom any main road, I knew that prob-ably no other motorist would pass fordays. I did the logical thing. I set out towalk to a light I could see "a mile or so"away. It turned out to be four miles -thanks to crystal clear air of which desertpoets singbut I made it. And it washere that I had my most memorable en-counter with Santa Claus.Now I am notgoing to wring tears, oreven try a sad-and-sentimental Christ-mas story. After all, this is a botanicaltreatise, which I hope proves the adapt-ability of human beings as well. That

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light proved to be in a home, a "desertrat's" nest if you will. The man was apoverty stricken miner, or who wouldhave been a miner if health had permit-ted. How he and his wife and four chil-dren managed to live, I never quitelearned. How they managed the Christ-mas spirit is our immediate concern.Within a radius of 10 miles of themgrew nothing but cacti; nowhere wasthere a single leafy thing save possiblya clump of greasewood and a few assorteddesert weeds. And yetthat next dawnfound a marvelously beautiful Christmastree in their front yard!Understand, no charity wagon came.No church or government agency sentout a sparkling holly, spruce or fir. Nev-ertheless there stood a tree, decorated,sanctified.M r s . - - - (I withhold her name) hadsimply slipped out in the dark cold nightand decorated a saguaro cactus. It was acentury-old thing , 15 feet tall. She hadused a ladder. She had made her decora-tions secretly, and her presents as well. Ihave never seen a happier set of children,and I have seen Christmas dawn in some

wealthy homes.This mother had made streamers fromcolored paper, some I recognized as ad-vertisements stripped from old magazines.She had added real tinsel preserved frombetter times. She had made popcorn balls

Those cactus spines are not alwaysfriendly to humans but they makegood hang ers for Ch ristmas decora-tions.

with candied molasses (which weretasty indeed), of popcorn grown by theirown hands, watered with buckets. Herbed-ridden husband had cut whorls fromtin canslong strips of the shiny metalscissored around and around, then pulledout like a spiral springand these madesimply precious decorations. With ham-mer and nail he had poked a half-galloncan full of holes, wired on a top, and seta candle inside. It made delicate, sway-ing, mystery lights that Christmas even-ing, which brought life and added beautyto the entire tree.I did not have a chance to photographthat tree; I wish I had. But since then Ihave found others.Near Phoenix one year there lived ina desert shack a man who eked out aliving making rustic furniture. He (orhis wife) must have spent all of 25 centson decorations, for theirs was also a sa-guaro Christmas tree, with gaudy thingsfrom the town stores. The tree was notquite three feet tall, but lovely.Near a meat packing plant in Phoenixare three saguaro cacti growing about sixfeet apart. Fine healthy specimens, withfew arms, these are the only trees of any

sort near there, and yet each Christmasfor three or four years these have beentransformed into things of rare imagerysimply by stringing them with coloredelectric lights. Durin g Christmas weeklast year, my family and I chanced to passthere at 8 o'clock one evening, and sawnearly 20 young people grouped theresinging. I made a point of joining themfor a short while, and while we caroled"It Came Upon A Midnight Clear," Istudied the individuals. Most of themwere Mexican youths. Three werenegroes. All were obviously poor; onewas even barefooted (but this is no greattragedy, in our warm Southwest). I sangand looked, and then spoke."May I have the honor now," I sug-gested, "of buying everybody a bag ofcandy, in the little grocery up the roadaways?"Of course I was granted the honor.What I really wanted to do was gosomewhere and cry.I have tried making desert trees my-self, and to those who haven't I recom-mend it. Even to those persons who haveleafy evergreens in their yards, or canafford to buy them.The peculiar thorns of a saguaro,growing in thick sharp clusters, are per-fect for hanging almost any decoration orgift. With the slightest artistic ingenuity,any adult or child can make the fat

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A Catholic school decorates a saguaro

for last year I saw three hangingThe cholla cactus also can be decorated

It is said, without too much exagger-

The buckhorn, the Joshua tree, even

itself. And the desert'sleaf-

A saguaro on the desert or anevergreen in the parlor they alllook alike to Santa Clans.On the other hand, the thought ofdecorating leafless desert growths atChristmas is not exclusively a resort ofpoverty. In recent years, many an aristo-cratic home has gone in for this kind ofChristmas tree. W ealthy families from

the east have been delighted to establishwinter homes in the desert, and are will-ing to sacrifice northeastern traditions inorder to avoid northeastern blizzards andsnow. Nevertheless, they go in assidu-ously for the Christmas spirit. I am surethat one great saguaro, growing near theBiltmore Hotel in Phoenix, must have

held $100 worth of baubles last year. Itsmany electric lights flashed and twinkledmerrily at night, and the Christmas sunbe-jeweled its glass and metal by day.Of course, all desert Christmas treesare living trees.I mean, people do not cut desertgrowths and move them into the livingroom. This would never do! A cactus isout of place under any roof, and moreand more do desert people frown on de-struction of desert growths anyway. Andit is, of course, against the law. Th en,too, more people enjoy the decoratedtrees if they are left outside. Many homesare coming to the two-tree idea, with onedecorated on the front lawn, and a small-er conventional tree inside. If this besign of affluence and prosperity, so beit; let us therefore give thanks that welive where we do!It was the warm desert Southwest, in-cidentally, that started the fad of out-door decorations at Christmas time, re-gardless of desert growths. Until 10 or15 years ago, outdoor decorations werealmost unknown, except in a generalway such as on city streets and on munici-pal charity trees. It was fashionable tohang wreaths and lights in windows, andto go about caroling at night, but it wasnot proper to decorate shrubs and treesin the yards, nor the roofs of housesthemselves. All that has been changed.It may have been some astute electricutility man who conceived it, but at anyrate he did a good thing. In the South-west where people do get outdoors a lotin winter, campaigns were launched tomake houses beautiful at Christmas. Of-ten contests are held, with valuable prizesoffered. And even the humbler homes arelikely to show Stars of Bethlehem, or

Continued on page 25Out on the range the cowboys have their Christmastrees. They do the best they can ivith the materials athand and if the decorations are rather unconvention -al the Christma s spirit is there just the same.

Decorating a buckh orn cactus is a job that calls forboth skill and caution but those sharp spines have noterrors for this child o f the desert. After all, Christma sis ivhat yon make it.

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Enchanted Mesa rises 340 feet above the floor of the desert and hasan area on the*4op of ap proximately 40 acres. The only route alongwhich known ascents have been made is by way of the chimney markedwith the arrow. \

om e oW histling Ghosts

By JOHN STEWART MacCLARY

Acoma Indians of New Mexico say theirancestors once lived on the top of the En-chanted Mesa. According to tribal lore a hugeslab of stone served as a ladder until it fellone day, leaving three women of the tribe todie at the top, and stopping all passage up theprecipitous rock w all. The Indian story wa sgenerally regarded as just a legend until 1897when Dr. Frederick W. Hodge and a group ofassociates reached the summit with extensionladders and found numerous relics of an an-cient Indian civilization there.

rr9 T was an innocent challengethat caused me to climb the En-chanted Mesa the first time. Ahealth-seeker from the eastmuch olderthan Iwas telling me his experiencein making the ascent. He found it athrilling adventure to explore the birth-place of an ancient legend. I wanted tosee the place for myself. If he could climbto the top, so could I."Ed. P. Edlund paused in his recital.He did not know how badly I once hadwanted to make that same challengingclimb. That was in 1926 when my trail-mate Will Evans, his daughter Gwen andI were "exploring" west-central NewMexico. We had visited ancient Acomathree miles south from Katzimo as thenatives call Enchanted Mesa whosepresent inhabitants say their ancestorsonce dwelt on top of the smaller mesa.We had been reliably informed, how-ever, that Katzimo could not be climbedwithout ladders, ropes and a gang of mento handle the ladders. Our time waslimited. We left the lonesome little skyisland with determination to return and

explore itsometime. Non e of us haskept that resolution, but the hauntingmystery of Katzimo remains with meand here in my study was Ed Edlund,casually referring to the first time he hadclimbed Enchanted Mesa!"Do you mean to say," I gasped, "youhave climbed it more than onceKat-zimo, the home of the whistling ghosts?""Yes," Ed laughed, "I've been upthree times. I'd like to go againal-though the ghosts tried their best to driveme away."The mirth in his dark eyes and thechuckle in his voice assured me the an-cient spooks had not bluffed my friend.He seemed to expect more questions. Hegot 'em!"Well, how did you get up the firsttimewith an extension ladder and agang of helpers? Did you see any tracesof the ancient hand-and-foot notches inthe stone? How long did it take you tomake the climb?""That first climb was in 1931 whenmy wife and I were living in Albuquer-que. With a group of friends we packed

a picnic lunch and motored to the baseof Katzimo, leaving the highway (U. S.66 ) at the Spanish settlement of Parajeand following the trail that led to Acomapueblo. We had no ladders or ropes orany other special equipment. All in theparty had expected to make the climb,but a nearer view of the sheer 400-footcliff changed the minds of the others."There is only one route that can befollowed to the summit of Katzimothesame that was used by the prehistoric in-habitants. See that dark scar on the sideof the mesa, above the highest point onthe heap of talus reaching up from thebase of the cliff?" He pointed to thespot, near the right end of the picturewhich is reproduced herewith. "Thatscar is a natural chimney in the cliff. Itmay have been started by a crack in thesandstone caused by internal movementof the earth. It seems to have been en-larged by the wearing action of wind andwater."According to legend a huge slab ofstone once leaned from the valley floorto the throat of the chimney. In that slab



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As Edlund described his solitary climb

e had formed part of the an-ladde r rock. Some of them may

resulted in serious injury before theclimber could have accomplished theeasier half of the climb.Above the talus the cliff frowns in for-bidding steepness. The chimney was theobstacle that dared would-be climbers inboth ancient and modern days. I wantedto know exactly how Ed had managedit without ropes, ladders, pitons orhuman assistance."Any sort of help would have been ahindrance in that chimney," Edlund de-clared. I mean anything that requiredthe use of hands. W hen you start upthrough that crack you need all the handsand feet you have - - to keep yourselffrom being upset by the blast of air thatcomes up from the plain. I'm more thanhalf convinced it is the whistling of thatviolent air current which causes Indians

to believe Katzimo is haunted or be-witched or enchanted."When a movie company filmed RED-SKIN in 1928 they shot some of the se-quences on top of Enchanted Mesa. Atsome time in the past shallow holes havebeen gouged in the vertical walls of thenarrow crevice. Sticks of pinon and cedarhave been inserted in these holes to forma primitive sort of ladder up throughthe steepest part of the chimney. But thesticks were old and unstable when I wentto the top and I had to test each onecarefully before trusting my weight on it."The height to be climbed in this waywas about 50 feet, as I remember, andthe rungs were spaced at about two-footintervals. No t in a vertical or slopingline, as a conventional ladder wouldhave been, but following the outline of

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Ed. P. Edlund. who climbed the Enchanted Mesa three times, is shown herewith the sombrero that made one of the climbs necessary.the rockwhich at the upper part bulgedout in a precarious overhang. Wh at aclimb that was - - with the whistlingghosts constantly trying to tear me offthe shaky sticks that formed the crudeladder!

"Above the topmost stick the chimneyassumed a moderate slope. That is whereI used the ancient foot-holes which servedthe Indians as steps. As I crawled up-ward on all fours I couldn't help admir-ing the hardy aborigines who had carriedwater and supplies for several hundredpersons up that same trail. I had felt theroute was too treacherous even to be bur-dened with a camera."

Since part of Edlund's youth and earlymanhood had been spent riding the cattle-ranges of western Kansas and easternColoradowhere arrowheads and otherIndian artifacts seem to sprout from thewindswept soilhis interest in exploringancient sites of Indian culture seemedwholly logical. Trained as a grinder oflenses he is interested in hunting for bitsof turquoise and petrified wood that hadbeen polished by primitive craftsmen.

You reached the summit without ac-cident," I reminded him, "What did yousee up there? What did you find?"John," he answered, "I'm not a super-stitious man. I don't believe in ghostsbut there is something QUEER aboutthat place! By the time I reached the top

an ugly wind had started blowingenough force to sweep a man off thenarrow little mesaand the whistle inthe chimney had become more like amoan. I sat down to rest, with my backagainst a boulder. There are a fewstunted cedars on top - - most of themdead for lack of soil, their naked rootsreaching down into cracks in the stone.The place I had reached was cut off fromthe main massif by a four-foot crevicethat seemed to extend down to the mesa'sfoundation.On level ground a four-foot distance

doesn't amount to much. But where astout wind is tugging at you and a slightslip might send you crashing onto brokenrocks 300 feet below, you w o n d e rwhether such a leap is worth the effort.I hadn't lost anything on the opposite-

side of the crack - - and I stood a fairchance of losing everything if my footshould slip. I had not found anything ofinterest on the side where I was resting.I decided to go back down the chimneyand rejoin my wife and friends. ThenI realized I did not know how to findthe way down."That may sound silly, John, since I'vetold you there is only one route to the topof Katzimo. But there are two ways toget down: either jump as did one of thesquaws in the legend, or find the ancienttrail which leads to the chimney. I chosethe trail, but I could not see it. The rimof the mesa is jagged with cracks andthey all look alike from the top. Althoughthere was chalk in my pocket, taken alongto mark some petroglyphs, I hadn'tthought of marking the spot where thetrail comes over the rim of Katzimo. Thestrong wind discouraged the idea ofwandering along the edge in search forthe chimney. I flopped down onto mybelt buckle and crawled around like arattlesnake looking for winter quarters.When I found the right chimney I wasso relieved I didn't mind having failedin my hunt for arrowheads and potsherds,and the shaky sticks in the ladder seemedas firm as a steel fire escape."His first climb netted Edlund nothingmore than the satisfaction of having ac-complished a hazardous undertaking. Theancient trinkets of Katzimoif anyyet remained where the ages had hiddenthem, waiting to be found. A year laterwith John Nusbaum of Albuquerque, Edagain climbed Enchanted Mesa.Piloting Harveycars through the In-dian country Nusbaum had b e c o m efamiliar with lore and legends of theregion. He had climbed Katzimo severaltimes. He led the way. W hen the tworeached the four-foot split on top of themesa Nusbaum leaped the gap andshoved across it a light wooden bridgewhich someone had left on the far side.Edlund crossed and the two searched the40 or 50 acres of the mesa's toplook-ing for artifacts, but finding none on thewindswept stone. After the fruitlesssearch Nusbaum declared: "A fellow's afool to take crazy risks like thislookingfor something he never will need. Mywife and baby son need me alive andI'm going back to them. Coming, Ed?"Nusbaum led the way down the make-shift ladder in the chimney. The usualblast of air was whistling up from thesandy plain, tugging at the men asthough forbidding their descent.

"It seemed the whistling ghosts didnot want to be left alone," Edlundcontinued as he described his second tripdown the narrow flue. "As I droppedoff the bottom rung of the ladder my bigsombrero was jerked off my head, sailed60 or 70 feet straight up into the air andContinued on page 33



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-- Seeker of High AdventureHermann E hrenberg

By ARTHUR WOODWARDArt by GLORIA WIDMANN

A visi tor once described the town of Ehren-be rg on the Ari zona bank of the Colorado r ivera s "the liveliest place this side of San Fran-cisco." That was in 1870 when mill ions ofdol lars in placer gold were being taken fromt he grave l washes a few mi les away . Todayth e old town has a lmos t d i sappea red . But them e m o r y of the man for w h o m the town wasn a m e d s h o u l d be prese rved by desert peoplefor he was an outs tanding personal i ty on theSouthwest frontier.S\ young surveyor with a white scar/ / across his forehead wiped theI * perspiration from his face andsquinted through his instrument. It washot muggy weather on the bank of theColorado river that August morning in1854.Four other men lounged in the scantshade watching the engineer. Occasion-ally they turned their eyes across thestream toward a cluster of low stick-in-the-mud houses on the west bank, where

stood the ferry establishment of L. J. F.Jaeger.The man at the transit was HermannEhrenberg, a young Saxon who had fol-lowed the high road to adventure sincehe was 15. Now at the age of 34, he wasstanding on the eastern shore of the Col-orado going through the motions of lay-ing out a town in the midst of uncivilizeddesert in the hope of bluffing ferry pas-sage for himself and his companions outof the stubborn Dutchman who carriedemigrants across the swirling waters at$25 a passage.With Ehrenberg were Charles D. Pos-ton, that strange, forceful pioneer-be-liever in the waste lands of the newlyacquired Gadsden Purchase, Peter Brady,H . S. Stevens and one other. This party

had arrived recently at the river after ,isix months' tour of reconnoissance inwhat is now Arizona and part of Sonora.They had visited the towns of Fuerte,Alamo, Guaymas and Hermosillo. Theyhad seen the quiet valley of El Altar andpressing west and north had come to thehead of the Gulf of California and thence-moved upstream to a point opposite FortYuma.They were worn out physically andtheir finances were exhausted when they

arrived at the ferry. They had nothing totrade and no means of earning money topay their wayacross the river. Jaeger wasa hard-headed Pennsylvanian who hadbeen in California since 1848 and hadestablished the ferry near Pilot Knob in1850. His price as stated, was $25. Payit or swim. That was his ultimatum.Poston and Ehrenberg didn't feel likeswimming and they had no money, sothey decided to make the Dutchmantransport them on their own terms. Theirplan was simple. Ehrenberg was a civilengineer. The land on the eastern side of

the stream was unoccupied. It was an ex-cellent site for a city. They would layout a city, sell the lots and maybe opena ferry in competition with Jaeger. Suchwas the rumor they started and in short

time it reached the ears of the ferryman.Day after day Ehrenberg continuedhis work of laying out streets andsquares. Lines of stakes appeared. Therewas every indication the new subdividersmeant business.The upshot of it was that Jaeger, whocouldn't bear to see any developmentgoing on without being in on the groundfloor, agreed to take two of the lots inthe new city in payment for ferriage ofthe entire party across the river.The story spread and soon everyonewho passed that way was laughing at themanner in which Jaeger had been hoaxed.The laughter died however when it waslearned that the madmen who had stakedout a 936-acre townsite among the mes-quites and creosote bushes actually hadfiled on the site in San Diego. Theynamed the town Colorado City. Later thename was changed to Arizona City anden February 3, 1873, it was re-namedYuma. Thus out of the need for trans-portation across the river, born of thefertile imagination of Hermann Ehren-

berg and Charles Poston, the thrivingcity of Yuma came into being.W ho was this Ehrenberg?He was born in Saxony in 1820. In1835 he ran away from the countingD E C E M B E R , 1 9 3 8 9


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house where his father had placed him,and took ship for New York. Apparentlythat metropolis had no charms for himand he set out for New Orleans. Frictionmatches were less than ten years old atthat time, hence they were a valuablecommodity and young Ehrenberg earnedhis living en route to the southern cityby making and selling loco foco matches.In New Orleans he found the air sur-charged with war talk. Far to the westlay a great undefined area known asTexas. A handful of American pioneersettlers were bent on wresting that landfrom Mexico. Volunteer regiments werebeing raised all over the south. Therewere the Mustangs of Kentucky, the Mo-bile Grays, the Red Rovers of Alabamaand the New Orleans Grays. Ehrenberg,with youthful enthusiasm for new adven-ture, enlisted in the New Orleans unit.On December 5, 1835, he received hisfirst baptism of fire at the storming of

San Antonio.Four months later Ehrenberg was oneof the 445 American prisoners w ho filledthe old church in the little Mexican townof Goliad. Their commander, ColonelJames W. Fannin, Jr., badly wounded,had surrendered March 20 to a superiorforce of Mexican troops under LieutenantColonel Nicolas de la Portilla. On theevening of March 26, 1836, the prisonersof war were celebrating their impendingparole. Within a few days they would be-on the way home. Unknown to them,however, orders had just been receivedby Portilla from his superior, the notor-ious Santa Anna, to execute every one of

the North Americans. It was a difficultorder for a soldier to obey. But Portillawas a soldier and he had to carry out rhecommand of his superior officer.Accordingly, at dawn on the morningof the 27th the Americans were marchedout of Goliad in three columns. Whenbut a short distance from the pueblo, theMexicans troops, acting as escort, suddenly wheeled and opened fire upon theunarmed prisoners. In that brief moment300 Americans lost their lives. Twenty-seven men, more quick-witted than theircomrades, dropped to the earth as thefatal volley was fired. Hermann Ehren-berg was one of these men. Under coverof the billows of black powder smoke hecrept into the tall grass and made his wayto the banks of the San Antonio river.Here he was seen by a Mexican officer onhorseback who pursued him. Down sweptthe officer's saber and Ehrenberg fell withh's face terribly slashed by the steel

blade. He carried the scar of that en-counter the remainder of his life.Left for dead, the lad revived andmade his escape. He found his way toan abandoned rancho. Later he was cap-tured by Mexican troops, but his youthand the condition of his wounds touchedthe heart of General Jose' Urrea who sethim free. Ehrenberg then followed inthe wake of the retreating Texans and

Blythe-Ehrenberg jerry in thehorse-and-buggy days. Some of thepresent residents in the Palo Verdevalley will recognize their old-timeneighbors in this picture.

was with them at San Jacinto where thelast important battle of the Texan warfor independence was fought.At the end of the campaign Ehrenbergreturned to Germany where he stayedlong enough to write and publish a bookon Texas.It is said that this volume, Der frei-heitskampj in Texas in jahre 1836, pub-lished in Leipzig in 1844, and nevertranslated into English, was an importantfactor in the post-war German emigra-tion to the Lone Star republic. Duringthis period, Ehrenberg also applied him-self to the study of civil engineering andin the roving life that followed, this pro-fession always kept him in bread andbutter.In 1844, the year his book appeared,Ehrenberg landed a second time in NewYork. At that time the wilderness terri-tory of Oregon was the talk of the town.Newspapers carried long articles concern-ing the marvelous opportunities awaitingsettlers on the shores of the Pacific.

Ehrenberg apparently saw the possi-bilities for a ycung civil engineer in sucha country. He joined an emigrant trainleaving St. Louis and trekked west overthe long difficult trail to Oregon. Trafficover one of the most famous roads inNorth America was just beginning andEhrenberg rode in the van. He eventuallymade his way to Astoria, that western out-post of American enterprise, founded byanother German lad.Here Ehrenberg set up his transit, laidout townsites and mapped tracts of landfor settlers. He did this sort of work for

10 T h e D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Ruins of old Eh renberg as they appeared in 1920. Only mounds of adobemark the site today. Photo by Frashers.

or the Sandwich Islands, thence south tohe Marquesas, Fiji, Samoa and Tahiti.hose lands seem to have held a charmor the men of the Caucasian race sincehey were first discovered. Like a home-less ghost Ehrenberg drifted through theunspoiled isles of pleasure for a year,then once more followed the gleam toSouth America.He was in Valparaiso when Stevenson'sRegiment of New York Volunteers putinto that port en route to Alta California.Ehrenberg promptly enlisted with theoutfit and sailed north, hoping perhapsto avenge a saber slash received ten yearsbefore on the banks of the San Antonio.In July 1847, Colonel R. B. Masondirected Lieutenant Colonel Burton toembark on board the store ship Lexingtonwith Companies A and B of Stevenson'sRegiment, destination La Paz, Baja Cali-fornia. Young Ehrenberg sailed with thisdetachment which relieved a naval force

holding that station. While on this tourof duty the regiment was besieged by theMexican forces for 30 days and Ehren-berg was in the thick of the fighting. InSeptember 1848, the ship-of-line Ohiotook the war weary men on board and re-turned to Monterey where the companieslanded in October. Several months beforethe soldiers arrived, a thin flat chispa ofgold no larger than one's little fingernail had been discovered in a new millrace at Coloma. That golden spark fireda conflagration that enveloped the wholeworld. Every man who was foot loose,and thousands more who were not, werecaught in the holocaust, blinded andburned by the magic gleam of that little-flake of raw GO LD .

Many of the discharged members of

Stevenson's Regiment left immediatelyfor the gold fields. On November 5,1848, Ehrenberg in company with T. E.Ketchum, Lieut. George Pendleton,James B. Morehead, a man by the nameof Young, and Sergeant Beasley, set outfrom Monterey for the mines.Thenceforth Ehrenberg was one whorubbed the golden lamp of dreams. Hesought the Genii of fortune in all partsof northern California. W hen not en-gaged in gold seeking he was surveyingmining property for others. He laid outa town at the mouth of the Klamathriver. H e led the gold rush to GoldBluff. From 1848 until 1854 he movedrestlessly from camp to camp.In February, 1854, Ehrenberg set outwith his friend Poston on a tour of theGadsden Purchase. W ith the maps andinformation derived from that trip Ehren-berg was able to draw the first good mapof Arizona. This was published in 1855.In this same year, Poston, who is worthyof a separate story, took the sketch maps

and data accumulated by his party andtraveled extensively in many large easterncities seeking to enlist capital on the sideof the Sonora Exploring company as theexpedition was termed. Ehrenberg re-mained in Arizona. He was in TucsonAugust 15, 1855, to welcome Poston andthe newly arrived members of the company Poston had brought from the east.Ehrenberg, already feeling himself afounder-citizen of this new land, was amember of a convention called at Tucsonthis same year to memorialize Congressto admit Arizona as a territory.The Sonora Exploring company wentactively into the mining business. Ic ac-quired 80 mines and 20,000 acres ofland, 17,000 of which were included inthe purchase of the old Arivaca rancho.

15 miles southwest of Tubac. In 1857,Ehrenberg, whose health was poor, re-mained in the desert looking after theinterests of the company. He made moretrips into Sonora and in 1858 joinedPoston on a second tour of the east, seek-ing more capital for their silver mines.Although the ventures of the SonoraExploring company eventually werebrought to a standstill by Apache hostili-ties and the outbreak of Civil war, theinterest in Arizona territory as a miningregion had been well stimulated by theefforts of Poston and Ehrenberg.Placer fields were discovered along theColorado and in the north central in-terior of the territory. Prospectors had ac-companied Captain Tohnson in the Gen-eral Tessuo on the e vnloration of theColorado in 1857. Gold slu^s found inthe pouches of slain Anaches causedwriters to dv h Arizona "The Land of theGolden Bullets." New towns mush-roomed alon


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Mission of San Xavier del Bac. Photo by Putnam Studios, Los Angeles.

Shrine of theDesertPadresBy JO-SHIPLEY WATSON

It was a gala day in the little Pima settlement of Bac on the southernArizona desert when black-robed Father Kino arrived in the heat of Septem-ber in 1692 to hold first Mass in an improvised temple of mesquite branches.The Indians liked the white man's magic and asked that a permanent missionbe established there. And that was the beginning of the Mission San Xavierdel Bac. Today one of the most beautiful churches in America, built by theFranciscan fathers, stands near the site of Kino's first missionand a worthypadre carries on the ministry that was begun 246 years ago./ y F I had met my milkman in chain armor or the grocerJ in doublet and hose, I would not have been morestartled than I was to come upon such architecturalsplendor on a desert landscape of cactus and sage.I got my first glimpse of the mission of San Xavier delBac in southern Arizona on a bright Sunday morning inspring. I was on an ancient trail. Fray Marcos and perhapsCoronado came this way in search of the Seven Cities ofCibola. Padres and trappers, Indian scouts and pioneers andsoldiersand today, touristsall have traveled the SantaCruz valley at Tucson.Our car swished through the tiny stream of the Santa Cruzriver and there, on ground somewhat higher than the valleyfloor, rose the gleaming white mission. A dazzling picture,as foreign to the desert as if by some strange magic it hadbeen dropped here from out a city in old Spain.

I was accustomed to think of old missions as of a dull drabh u e , the color of the adobe from which they were made. Buthere is a mission of marble whiteness. Its bricks are baked,its stones are carved, its marbles come from afar. Thus eventhe material of San Xavier contributes to the air of apartnesssensed at every turn.The church door, its huge panels mortised and dovetailedtogether, opens into a somber nave. The air was heavy withage and incense. A beam of light, slender and blue-dyed,pushed its way through a narrow Moorish window, deeplyset in the six-foot wall, and touched into life a rare mural ofthe Holy Family set high on the groined arch above.Below, two grim and ancient stone lions, mute symbols ofthe power of old Castile, stood guard at the altar rail. Sud-denly I became aware of two living figures kneeling before ashrine, as still and unreal as the images around them. Silently



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I retreated, leaving them in the shadowy stillness of the oldmission with heads bowed low before their saint.Outside was the brilliant and shadeless desert, edged roundwith purple and lavender mountains. The mission was motion-less and silent. I felt as if I were pushed back from ourmod ern high-tensioned life 200 years. Even the motor carlooked strangely out of place at the hitching racks below.Peace flowed about me and for one brief instant I caughtthe throb of life in the old mission and sensed vaguely the

consuming passion of the dauntless padre who founded thischurch.Father Eusebio Kino, Austrian born scholar and Jesuit wasthe first to bring Christianity to the desert Indians of PimeruAlta (northern Sonora and southern Arizona).When the Father turned northward toward Bac that Sep-tember in 1692 he dreamed of future triumphs of the HolyFaith in a vast new land. He would extend the boundaries ofChristendom even to the Apache strongholds.Father Kino packed his outfit like a seasoned pioneer. Hiscavalcade of soldiers, servants, pack mules and a drove ofmares left a cloud of dust like the smoke of a signal fire. Thevaqueros had driven the cattle many leagues, all the wayfrom Dolores in Pimeria Baja. Men and beasts were choked.For the Indians at Bac it was a memorable day. Not sincethe last raid of the dreaded Apaches had there been such afuror in the village.

The Black Robe Comes Today"To-day I do not build barricades and shoot arrows," saidlittle Chuco, son of the chief, as he strained his eyes towardthe south, "I sweep the paths and raise the arches, the BlackRobe comes."Father Kino's fame preceded him. Chuco was the first oneto meet the strangers. He carried an olla of water, the desert'sgreatest gift to man.Out of the desert and along a well-swept lane formed by

two files of Pimas in gala attire marched the procession, ledby the padre in a black robe, carrying a cross, and speakingthe Pima language. Kino was indeed a man of magic. Theramadas were ready for the famous visitor and his followers.Shyly the chief and his head man advanced to receive theberibboned canes of office. Men, women and children gazedcuriously at the horses, strange animals they had never seenbefore.Soon there was laughter and gayety, for the Pimas are afriendly people. When the packs were opened and they sawthe glass beads and bracelets, the scissors and knives, theirhappiness was complete.Eagerly the natives watched Father Kino enter the largestramada, a frame of forked poles covered with mesquite, tosay the first Mass before a portable altar. This rude temple ofpoles and branches was the first church at Bac, "the placeof the well."Chuco and many other children were baptized that day,and there were "long talks" in the evening. Writing aboutit later, Father Kino said, "I was received with all love bythe many inhabitants of this great rancheria." Father Kinodid not stop with this first rude temple. Eight years later hereturned and with his own hands laid the foundation of "avery large and spacious church."

Indians Prove to be Good FarmersThe present San Xavier Mission, a perfect Latin cross, isnear these ancient foundations. Years later, in a letter to

King Philip V of Spain, Kino gave a glowing account of Bac.He said, "There are already very rich and abundant fields,plantings of wheat, maize, frijoles, lentilsthere are manyCastilian fruit trees; as fig trees, quinces, oranges, pome-granates, peaches, apricots, and pear treeswith all sorts of

Father Mark B ucher ivho carries on the work startedby Father Kino 246 years ago. Photo by Al Buehman,Tucson.garden stuff such as cabbages, lettuce, melons, garlic, anise,mustardand Castilian roses and white lilies."Today sagebrush and mesquite trees cover the site of thisformer paradise.I stood in the walled atrium looking south as the neophytesdid of old, but the desert gave no hint of clanking conquista-dores and sandaled padres having passed this way. Heat wavesran like quicksilver over the waterless plain. The past was asthough it had never been. Yet this lonely land not only Tvasknown, but books were written about it as early as the six-teenth century.Only one living thing ties the present to that adventurouspast. Th e giant saguaros, casting their shadows across thepaths of the Spanish conquerors and the missionary Padres,still grow beside the forgotten trails. If these mute suppli-cants of the desert could talk what strange tales they wouldhave to tell.Fifty-six years after Kino's death the persevering Jesuitswere expelled and the gentle Franciscans took charge of theSonora chain. From about 1828 when the Franciscans were

Continued on page 25D E C E M B E R , 1 9 3 13


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Dream-Plant of the TribesmenBy FRANK A. SCHILLING

^ o N Zufii-land when the A'shiw anni, or rain priests, go( J at night to ask the birds to sing for rain they place a~* very small quantity of the powdered root of U'teaweKo'hanna into their eyes, ears and mouths. They say the birdsare never afraid to tell A'shiwanni that they will sing for themwhen they have the powder in their eyes, ears and mouths.

When the plant is gathered by the rain priest, four plumeofferings are prepared, two for the two children, A'neglakyaand his sister, and two for his deceased predecessors. Eachoffering is deposited separately in an excavation made by thepriest with an ancient bean-planter, with appropriate prayersthat the rain may come and fructify Earth M other and makeher beautiful.The Zuni Indians say that two children, A'neglakya and hissister, who lived in the center of the earth, often came to theouter world visiting the people. They observed closely every-thing they saw and heard, repeating all to their mother. Thisdispleased the Divine Ones, who concluded that the twochildren should be banished from this world for all time.Flowers sprang up where the two children disappeared intothe earth, flowers exactly like those worn by the children intheir hair.This plant, so sacred to the Indians of the Southwest isknown to the white man as the Jamestown, or Jimson weed,or the thorn apple. In his account of the medicinal plants ofNew Spain, Hernandez describes a species of Datura of east-ern Mexico, having pubescent leaves, and known as "toloat-Z t n " (inclined-head). This name was modified to the form"toloache," and applied to several species of Datura, or James-town Weed. Modern botanists have classified these plants, andin California and the southwest there are no less than fourspecies, namely: Datura meteloides DC (toguacha) which isfound as far north as the Sacramento valley, along the coastand extending eastward into Texas and southward into Mexi-c o ; Datura discolor Bernh.. growing in the Colorado desert:Datura tatula L (purple thorn apple), a native from tropical

America and widely distributed in California, but infrequent;and Datura stramonium L (stramonium ) also known as theJamestown or Jimson Weed.All are coarse, rank-smelling herbs, with large leaves andfunnel-shaped flowers, resembling a giant morning-glory. Thebotanical name Datura is derived from the Hindu nameDbatura, Asia being the land of origin of the plants accordingto some authors, while others attribute the origin of the Ameri-can Datura stramonium to Europe.The Nightshade family, to which the genus Datura belongs,includes a large number of narcotic plants, among them to-bacco; the mandrake, a potion of which Cleopatra askedCharmian to give her so that she might sleep out the periodof Anthonys absence; and the belladonna, or Beautiful Lady,a name given to this particular plant from the practice oncecommon among women of touching their eyes with it to makethe pupils large and lustrous. To this family also belong sev-eral cultivated plants and vegetablesthe potato, tomato, egg-plant, cayenne pepper and chili, and the petunia.The Daturas are highly narcotic and contain drugs thatproduce visions and hallucinations of terrifying aspect. Thenarcotic properties are unquestionably the cause of the tre-mendous supernatural powers ascribed to the plant and re-sponsible for its selection as the foundation of an importantritual. The vision-prod ucing effect was enhanced by severaldays of fasting before taking the drug.The Jimson weed was a top ranking medicinal and cere-monial plant among the early Indians of the North Americancontinent, especially in the southwestern part of the UnitedStates. Among the Zuni the medicine of the Jimson weed was

the property of the rain priests and the directors of the LittleFire and Cimex fraternities. The Zuni doctor used the root ofthe plant as an anesthetic while performing simple operations,such as setting fractured limbs, treating dislocations, makingContinued on page 28



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Many folks dream of a littleshack on the desert where thereis peace and freedom andhealth. Lillian and Dick Rossfound the way to make thisdream come true. To them, thedesert was an unknown land,but they brought enthusiasmand friendliness to their crudelittle cabin homeand the des-ert gave back to them in heap-ing measure. Here is a narra-tive that will help you under-stand the fascination of the landof cactus and greasewood.

We Foundthe W armH eart ofthe Desert

By LILLIAN BOS R O S S

/OS ANGELES streets were rain-rivers, a driving February delugesplashed down on us as wedashed from house to car. We began ouradventure on a dark, cold four o'clockmorning hour, but to us it was thebrightest dawn of many a day.

Our old pattern of life had beencrumpled up and dropped into a doctor'swaste basket. We had to seek not only aroad back to health, but a sign post thatwould show us a new way to earn a liv-ing.We still had an old car with four thintires and a total capital of $35; we bothhad covered-wagon grandparents, had in-herited a disregard for difficulties and ahunger for new horizons. Neither of ushad ever been in the desert, both of ushad wanted to go. Now we were on ourway.

As we drove south, rain pelted the caruntil we left Riverside behind us. Thenwe dived into a brilliant white fog. Thisfog was warm, like white wool, andluminous with the sun that almost camethrough. At Palm Springs the sun wonout, and we had our first sight of the

"We were rich in sun andsand and silence" wrote Lillian Ross jrom her littleshack on the Borego desert. This is the "studio" where Lillian and Dick turnedprofessional writer and woodcarvev.desert, but not the desert we were seek-ing.We stopped an hour in Palm Springs,saw luxurious hotels with bright patios,brown happy looking strollers on thestreets. We had shed overcoats and muf-flers ten miles back, and still we lookedlike visitors from Mars. Conventionalstreet clothes set us apart from thesefolks in shorts and sandals.

It was mid-morning when we left thegay little city, and the sun of middayhung hot in a blue sky when we came todie place where our chosen road met themain highway. There had been no fami-ly conflict over road choice. We hadstudied a map of the great Colorado des-

ert and together had settled quickly uponan empty space marked "Borego DesertState Park." One road was shown leadinginto this new state park and the rest of itlooked almost as unsettled as in the dayswhen DeAnza and his men marchedthrough.It was an exciting moment when weturned our car off the main highway andwe were on "our own road Westward."After the first half-mile civilizationexcept for the road we were followingwas blotted out. It was a golden world offolded sand and strange new plant forms.The desert cacti wear as many faces asthe mixed population of a cosmopolitancity. At this first seeing, nameless, they

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flowe d by our m oving car as beautiful, in-teresting strangers.I had visioned the desert as a flat, dun-colored expanse, exhilarating in its emp-tiness. The real desert was a series ofvivid and subtle colorings. Far on itsedges floated mountains, blue, pink androse. The sand was not sand color at all,nor was its color fixed. Depending uponshadow, or plant growth, or the angle ofthe sun, it was as vari-colored as themountains that rimmed it.After 18 miles of warm, empty desert,we came to a trim white house; a white-painted gas station, and a big whitewatertank and windmill. The owner wasas friendly as the handful of trees thatcompleted this oasis. W hile we weregetting gas and oil we inquired aboutcabins in the state park and learned thatour nice big empty state park was reallyempty! No cabins, no accommodationsfor tourists at all.We had a bad moment, a Babes-in-theWoods moment without even strawberryleaves to cover us; a feeling that the des-ert was indeed wide and empty.Then the man polishing the wind-shield looked up to say thoughtfully,"We got a little shack yonder," pointingto a tiny cabin on a little rise. "We rentit out now and again, you could take itfor the night"How thankfully we took it!As the black velvet silence of the nightfolded around us and the widest skyeither of us had ever seen traced newstar-roads above us, we knew we werenot going to leave the desert. We lovedit. We woke with a nagging thought ofwhere and how we should live. The cabin

we were in was $1.50 a night, but with$35 to last as long as we could make itlast, a second night of such extravagancewas unthinkable!We Get Kindly Tip

In the morning, while Dick packed thecar, I paid our host for the cabin. Hisvoice was so kindly, his eyes so friendly,I found myself telling him what we werelooking for, and why."You could camp in one of the de-serted cabins," he said. "Plenty of 'emaround." He gave us directions for find-ing three places, adding, "Pick out onewith screens; flies get thick when thesheep come in to pasture on the flowers."

Even our old car seemed excited as wedrove away and within a mile, came tothe first estate on our list.It had screens, and windows!We ignored the half of the roof thatwas gonewe'd heard it seldom rained

in the desert. We got the door and thewindows opened, chased out a vine-garoon and a lizard(who walked rightback in, so we named him Bill and toldhim to make himself at home) and feltthat we ourselves were home.We drove back to the gas station andgot the name of the owner, so we couldwrite to him, and that was only the be-ginning of what we got. The pioneerspirit of hospitality and generosity flour-ishes in the desert of today, as it didwhen the old West was waiting, vast andunknown.We drove back to our half-roofed pal-ace and again I was surprised not to seeit until we were almost upon it. The des-ert looks so flat, but it has a jrentle rise

and fall, getting its look of flatness fromthe far horizon.From our door, the desert stretched a-way to the Vallecito mountains on thesouth, to the Santa Rosas on the north,between them sand, cactus and silence,no house, no moving thing. This emptysilence, as warm and living as a friendlyhand, seemed the last word in luxury.We swept the floor, made the bed, put afire in our little black stove, and felt likeAdam and Eve in a golden paradise.

We gave this day to housekeeping andwere sleeping soon after the first star waswinking at us through the piece of roofwe didn't have. By the next nightfall wehad cupboards and chairs out of boxes,and were getting under control the intri-cacies of living a mile away from water.That night it rained! Our bed was un-der the solid piece of roof. We scurriedabout with a flashlight gathering up oddsand ends and we were soon all ship-shape and rejoicing in the storm. We'dset out everything that would hold water.We woke in bright sunshine and foundwe'd caught about enough rain water towash a cup.I decided our house should have aname. Dick got a smooth board and hispaints and soon we had a sign hangingbeside our door. A gaily dressed witchwas stirring a huge cauldron hung on atripod, and the name "Gypsy's Warning"was in bright colors.Then we decided to add exploration toour program and from the "Gypsy's

Warning" we set out to see the new andstrange in our strange new world.It was 18 miles to the Borego post-office and the road was a track through



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soft sand on which the car swayed andturned as though it had a mind of itsown. The trail kept climbing up until wecould see Superstition Mountains, blueabove the golden sand, seeming to floatin the air. The sparkling Salton sea glim-mered toward the east, and to the norththe cone-shaped hills of the Borego bad-lands loomed, desperately alike. That wastheir dangermile after mile of glitter-ing golden cones all the same shape,height and hotness.Sorting of mail after the stage arrivedwas a leisurely business. The stagebrought a few supplies, a lot of mail or-der catalogues, and newspapers.Looking at the papers was always ashock. In the cities flood, war, murder,and disgrace; in the Borego desert ourworld-shaking events were the slow open-ing of the beautiful desert lily, the find-ing of a flint arrowpoint.As one day of blissful sun and silencefollowed another, the little "Gypsy'sWarning" came to mean everything thathome can mean. It was as though MotherEarth had taken us for her children. Thebirds had nests in the mesquite, the pack-rat had his burrow in the ground, andwe had "The Gypsy's W arning. " W ewere rich with sand and sun and silence.We went to see mountain tops of an-cient shells looking down on the silentsand. We climbed high in the wild can-yons and found the rock formations ofwhat we called the Circle Houses. Theseenduring reminders of some forgottentribe were like abandoned houses onewould expect to find on the mountainsof the moon. The rock circles were per-fect, the door spaces as definite as whenthe copper feet of the Old People pausedthere long ago.We marveled at wind carvings, thous-ands of them, all from the desert sand-stone by the winds of centuries. Therewere strange trees, animals, sandstonepeople, some grotesqueall weirdlybeautiful. An d every day we saw themiracle of dawn in the desert; of sunsetover what Dick called "The Unbeliev-able Mountains."

My husband was completely happywith the beautiful wood he found on thedesert, some of it bleached and sand-blasted to an incredible smoothness. Put-ting ironwood in the cook stove madehim restless every time a piece was sacri-ficed to the household gods. Ironwood isas heavy as it sounds, as dark as ebony,and a marvelous wood to carve.At first Dick's carving was a sort ofbusy work, something to do sitting in thedoorway watching the sunset waitingfor supper. But as he grew stronger,calmer, so did the carvings. They were assimple as our days on the desert, as cleanof line as the windswept dunes. An age-less peace was in the figures he carvedfrom desert woods.

When tourists' cars passed, our sign,"Gypsy's Warning," attracted the curiousand the friendly, even the souvenir hunt-er with money to spend! One day I askedan obviously opulent passing stranger into see our house. Queerly enough, I hadasked him out of pity. As he read our"Gypsy's Warning" his eyes had thewistful look of a little boy who doesn'tknow the game that's being played, butlongs to have a hand in it."Artists, aren't you?" he asked as hestepped inside. He looked around withbrightening eyes and said, "This is thereal thing!"

C Y P f Y ' ff c R N I N G

Passing tourists w ere a ttracted bythe odd sign that hung at the door-way.I liked him. He was right. This wasthe real thing.Brown beans were bouncing merrily,doing a bean ballet on the jolly blackstove with the clove of garlic, the bit ofbay-leaf, a ham bone and some wild sage.Bill, the lizard, was at his favorite perch,the northeast leg of the stove, waitingpatiently to snap up an occasional ant.Dick had decorated the lazyback chairs,made from packing boxes, with carvingsof the birds and beasts of the desert.Empty tin cans, the labels soaked off,made half a dozen silver wallvases tohold desert flowers and vines. Gaypainted curtains of pleated butcher paperhung at the windows, and my husband'swater colors of the desert brightened thewalls. The shelves he had put up weregetting crowded with his carvings. I hadbeen writing letters, so my typewriterwas out, with papers scattered around.The stranger asked, "Which is the ar-tist and which is the writer?"I was shocked to hear my own voicesaying, "I'm the writer." I saw my hus-band's amused face and wanted mybrash words back.We talked of this and that, places andpeople, trends and taxes. Finally our visi-tor got up to go, saying, "I envy you two.I'll think about all this, many times."He looked around and picked up asmall sandstone carving, asking, "Howmuch is this?"Dick's mouth was opened to say,

Take it along; glad you like it" I knew.That was what he always said when someone liked one of his pictures or carvings,but this time I jumped the gun.I said, "It's only a dollar." It was thewrong thing to say. I know now, that thefirst patron felt that if a work of art wasvalued at only a dollar, it was scarcelyworth that! But he put down a roundsilver dollar, a real dollar, and went outas though he did hate to leave.From his car he called back, "I've gota friend who's crazy about art. Could Itell him to look you up?"Assured that he could, he drove away.I went back into the house, got desperate-ly busy stirring the beans."Well, as a writer, you're a blamedgood cook," said Dick, after dinner.I defended myself, "Well, a writer issome one that writes. I always intendedto be one, someday. Very well I'm awriter. And no more amateur stuff foryou, my fine fellow! YOU are an artist!"

My husband spun the dollar thought-fully on the scrubbed table. He finallysaid, "I must be I've sold some art. Ialmost passed out when you turned mer-cenary 'It's only a dollar' weshould have given him that crazy littlegadget. Didn't take me ten minutes tomake it.""Swell!" I answered, hardhearted asScrooge.A week went by. I wrote. I wrotereams, having more fun than I hadthought possible; also moments of heart-break.Dick was carving at a big ironwoodIndian, boldly tried giving him seashelleyes from shells picked up on an old seabed, now a desert. I named the Indian"Khewah" and thought he was nice.The friend of our Passing Stranger ar-rived and I saw the same reaction to ourwork shop in the desert.We were very gay as we waved him"Good-by!"W e could be. W ith him, standingproudly upright on the front seat of hiscar, went "Khewah," staring at the worldwith his seashell eyes! We watched him

out of sight and went back inside the"Gypsy's Warning."Dick and I approached the table cau-tiously, not sure we hadn't dreamed thewhole thing. On the table, quietly rest-ing, not skipping about like our gallop-ing hearts, were two tens and one five-dollar bill.I tottered to the typewriter and smug-gled a couple more yellow men across theborder. Dick sank down in his chair andpicked up the one luxury we had brought,a new book of poems by John Holmescilled "Address to the Living."I stopped clicking keys to call excited-ly, "Dick, I've done it! I just thought of

Continued on page 33D E C E M B E R , 1 9 3 8 17


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When John Hilton went in-to the Rainbow canyon areanorth of Twentynine Palms tolook for geodes, he supposed ofcourse they would be back inthe hills. He failed to find themtherebut he made some otherdiscoveries which will be of in-terest to gem collectors. Later helocated the geodes. They werein the wrong placeall of whichproves that desert gem stonesare where you find them. Hereis a story that will make youwant to pack up the camp outfitand start for Rainbow canyon.The accompanying picture is abroken segment of one of thestones in the field.

Crystals for t h e CollectorBy JOHN W. HILTON

Phot ographs by HAR LOW JONESr O say "geode" to a rock collectoris enough to start him on mostany kind of an excursion. Thesesurprise packages of the mineral worldare a never-ending source of pleasure andastonishment to the gem hunter. No mat-ter how many of them are opened therenever are two exactly alike.And so when word came to me thatvisitors were finding some very prettystones in a recently discovered field nearTwentynine Palms, California, I wantedto go and see what I could add to myown collection. Also, I knew that if thefield was worth while the editor of theDesert Magazine would be interested.It had been several years since I hadvisited the Twentynine Palms region andI was not fully prepared for the surpris-ing development that has taken placethere recently. The newcomers were allstrangers to me but I found them cour-teous and obliging. A majority of themare well informed on desert subjects, andenthusiastic in their loyalty to their own

community and its scenic assets.I was fortunate enough to have Har-low Jones, young Twentynine Palms pho-tographer, as my guide and companion18

on the trip to the geode field. We startedoff toward the far horizon with a tankfull of gas, plenty of water and lunch forthe day. Our objective was Rainbow can-yon, north and a little west of the Twen-tynine Palms settlement.Find Landmarks on Trip

The first important landmark we passedalong the way was Mesquite dry lake.Like many other playas the bottom ofthis basin is as flat as the proverbial barnfloor and provides an excellent landingfield for the army and civilian planeswhich come here occasionally. Jones toldme that a robot plane, capable of takingoff and landing without a pilot, wastested here by the government.Beyond Mesquite lake we found fourmiles of rather rough road and then wecame to Deadman dry lake. According tolocal legend this playa got its name dur-ing an early day cattle feud when mensettled their differences with gunpowder.Leaving Deadman lake we started up

a gently sloping arroyo in which weremany smoke trees. W e were travelingnorthwest, parallel to the main range ofthe Bullion mountains. Ahead we could

see where the granite portion of thisrange ended in an area of highly erodedsedimentaries. These in turn had beencut through with igneous intrusions andthe heat of the latter had baked the sedi-ments into fantastic colors. At the pointwhere the range turned to the west vol-canic material was much in evidence.As we neared this volcanic formation Isaw fragments of geodes scattered in thearroyo. We stopped and Harlow pointedout an area where he said was an abund-ance of geodes lying on the ground.On the basis of previous experience ingeode fields I concluded that if therewere so many of them on the flats wewould find even more of them in thehills above. We were directly south of astriking rock formation which I havemarked on the accompanying sketch asGeode Butte. It is a good landmark toidentify the spot. A fairly large canyonopens up to the right of this butte and Idecided to explore that first.We were soon on our way up the can-

yon. For equipm ent, I carried pick andspecimen bag, and Harlow his camera.Lest the reader visualize Harlow Jones asclimbing lightly over the rocks with aT h e D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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miniature camera swinging from hisshoulder I want to say that his picturetaking apparatus was an 8x10 view affairin a carrying case big enough to cause astrike in the porter's union if he evergoes to the city with it. A photographerwilling to carry such an outfit into thedesert deserves to get good pictures.Crystals Show in CliffsA short distance up the canyon weencountered red cliffs on our right thatsparkled in the sunlight with hundreds ofcrystals. This must be the home of thegeodes I thought. But the crystals turnedout to be calcite of the dogtooth and nail-head snar varieties. There is an abund-ance of th ;s material and it is an attrac-tive add't'on to any collector's mineralcabinet. These crystals occur in irregularcavities which are connected through themother rock by stringers of calcite.

Continuing up the canyon we encount-ered mere calcite in various fo rms. but nogeodes. Some of the calcite filled bubblesin the rock and one would expect geodesto be found here. I found a few speci-mens almost equal to the o^t'cal grade, ofthe tvpe known as Iceland spar. Thesecrystals can be cleaved into nearlv perfectrhombs and if placed over a dot on apiece of paper will show two images. Thisis du e to the double refraction of Ice-land spar. A few of these specimens ex-hib'ted beautiful moss-like inclusions ofblack or brown and make desirable stonesfor exhibition purposes.We left the canyon and climbed theleft bank where we found some ratherattractive veinlets of agate, but still nogeodes. Reaching the summit we en-countered a few small geodes and manyspecimens of vein agate, some of whichwere beautifully marked with yellow andblack bands.From this summit we could look outacross the Twentynine Palms plain andsee the greater part of the Joshua Treenational monument. To the west the highpeak of San Gorgonio was the most con-spicuous landmark. To the north and eastextended the Mojave desert in all itsquiet beauty, with such landmarks asBristol dry lake and Amboy crater in thedistance. This scenic view is worth thetrip even if no geodes were to be found.The banded agate here would be a wel-come addition to the collection of anyamateur gem hunter.

Finds Green CrystalsWe circled Geode Butte, following theridges back to the arroyo where the car

was parked.It was near the base of the butte thatI made my best find of the day. I wasattracted to the green coloring in a rock

. ^ C R Y S T A L C A N Y O N

T W E N T Y N I N EPALMS wllo.o

D E C E M B E R , 1 9 3 8 19


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Above is Geode Butte, a land-mark which serves as an excellentguide for those visiting the Rainbowcanyon area.formation. This type of green stained vol-canic rock is not uncommon in geodeareas. But here, instead of geodes werebubbles filled with Iceland spar. Unlikeany calcite I have ever seen these crystalscontained green moss-like inclusions. Acleaved section resembles a polished pieceof extra clear green moss agate.

I decided to have a look at the areawhich Harlow had first pointed out asthe place where the geodes were to befound. Sure enough, they were there inliberal supply, all sizes and shapes. I waspuzzled to know why they were so abun-dant out on the flat while few were tobe found in the hills above. Across a nar-row ravine I found the answer.Here were geodes in place, inbeddedin the soft rock which formed the wallsof the arroyo. They had not traveled fromthe hills above but were weathering outof the rock underfoot. This area extendsover a mile along the flat lands near thebase of the hills. Any collector will findgood specimens here.The hills back of the geode field mayhave other prizes for the stone collector.I would like to explore them further.We wanted some pictures of Rainbow

The white stones in this photo-graph are the ivhite chalcedony seg-ments of geodes, most of thembroken in theweathering process ofthe ages. Unbroken stones are foundin place in the wall of the arroyonearby.

canyon sowe returned to the car and tookthe road in that direction. It was a fairlygood trail at first, but the summer rainshad done much damage. We followed anarroyo for a distance and then found faintcar tracks leading out of the wash on theright. These led over a rocky terraincrossed by several sharp dips.Finally we turned to the left andheaded into an arroyo andback into thehillsand then we knew howRainbow

canyon got its name. Great masses of tansandstone have been split and broken,and fine threads of green volcanic stainhave pushed their way up through themforming intricate patterns resembling anoriental textile. Over the hills are pinkand lavender clays, or white volcanic ashcapped with black lava.Nearly any conceivable color combi-nation can be found here, and every-where the patient hand of erosion hassculptured these superb materials intomasterpieces of design.

Persons planning the side trip intoRainbow canyon should keep a carefullookout for the faint trail turning to theright out of the first wash. The entirearea from Rainbow canyon to GeodeButte appears to be promising countryfor the mineral and gem collector.This is not a difficult trip for seasoneddesert travelers, but is not recommendedas a first excursion on the desert for the

uninitiated driver. The road should notbe attempted without plenty of gas ando i l , and there should be a shovel alongjust in case. Although some of the washesappeared rather sandy we did not find itnecessary to use a shovel on this trip.

The accompanying map is a reliableguide forthose d esiring tovisit this geodefield. Many pretty stones will be foundhereand a large area has not been ex-plored. Sooner or later I am going backthere to follow some of those canyonsinto the mysterious hills beyond.

*t " * ",**" r'tli' ; . - ' ' ; - ' . * '

/ ? r - * ; ^- . ' . / . . / ' - . , . . ..-***?

' * , " * -?-- ?/,*'-.- -.

* , T P > ~ ' ; ;* * * - / fll3J

y&


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Visitors will gather in the little New Mexico vil-lage of Tortugas in December to witness a strangespectacle. The Tortugans will be observing theirann ual Fiesta of Our Lady of Gu adalu pe. Theirfestival is a curious mixture of ancient tribal cere-mony and Catholic ritual, in which the nativesdance to the rhythm of tom-tomsand pause intheir pagan rites to pay homage to the Virgin.An odd form of religion, perhaps, but in the heartsof these villagers are faith, hope and tolerance.So what matters the mode of their worship?

Rhythm ofTom-toms

In TortugasBy ANNA BLANCHE CUNNINGHAM

fl T is the evening of December the eleventh. Over the( / J agg ed peaks of New Mexico's mountains the sun ' casts a gorgeous red light which quickly intensifiesto a somber purple. Suddenly, as darkness comes on, a lightappears on the side of Tortugas, the little lonely tortoise-shaped mountain between the valley and the Organ range.Another light appears, and then another, until they form afiery cross which grows m ore distinct in the gathering dark-ness. In the northwest the volcanic chimney of Mount Picachois likewise decorated with a glowing cross.In the valley below, row on row of luminarias glorify theflat-roofed adobe houses in Tortugas village. Here and there,women, their figures shadowy in the faint light, move about

outside the houses completing the preparations of a busyweek. The Fiesta of Our Lady of Guadalupe already has be-gun and soon the streets of the little village will echo withvoices, some happy with the prospect of Fiesta, others sightseerscurious, and perhaps a little scornful.Juan Pacheco, standing outside his casa,has been watchingthe flames as they leap upward in the clear dry atmosphereand then gradually sink into a nest of bright red embers. InJuan's faded eyes and deep-lined countenance there is no ex-pression of emotion. He is a little weary from last night'sVirigio, where in the cold gray church he knelt with a littlecompany of men and women renewing their vows to the Vir-gin and doing penance for their sins. Th e long vigil haspurged his soul and heartened his spirit. Fiesta, rejoicing, is

the order nowdancing, feasting, gay laughter.Being a member of Los Indios group (there are twoother groups, the Danzantes and the Matachbies), Juan willnot join the procession of men and women who make theD E C E M B E R , 1 9 3 8

Juan Pacheco, chief of the dancers, is about to start theancient tribal ceremony which is carried on to the accom-paniment of tom-toms. Rives Photo.mountain pilgrimage to light the fires in honor of the Vir-gin. But year after year since early childhood he has been anactive participant in other features of the celebration. To-morrow, old though he is, he will lead the dancers, directingtheir intricate steps, keeping time to the tom-toms, his faceserious and immobile as befits the sacred character of thedance. For weeks he has been in training in order to be ableto endure the strenuous nature of the exercise.

Juan can remember the days when men and women madethe journey to the mountain barefoot, or on hands and knees,in token of repentance for their sins, or in fulfillment ofvows made to the Virgin the evening before. The pilgrimageis less painful today, but faith in its purging power has notdiminished. Forgiveness of sin, healing of the sick, happinessfor the futurethese are the blessings sought by the peni-tents.It was from Juan that I had the story of the origin of theFiesta. In his veins flows the blood of both Spaniard and In-dian. He was a lad at his father's knee when he first heardthe legend of Our Lady of Guadalupe.Hundreds of years ago, he told me, in the year 1531 theVirgin appeared to Juan Diego the sheep herder, on thebarren hillsides near what is now Mexico City."Go to the priest, Don Quanahhago," she commanded,"and tell him I desire a chapel to be built on this very spot."

21


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She disappeared and the lad hastened todo her bidding.But the priest refused to believe theboy's story and the Virgin, appearingagain to the young sheep herder, offeredto give him proof. She caused roses togrow on the hillside, though it was themonth of December and very cold. Theboy gathered the roses and placing themcarefully in his tilma, hastened again tothe priest. Unfolding the cloak he foundimprinted on its fold a marvelous paint-ing of the Virgin. The priest was con-vinced of the miraculous revelation anda chapel was built on the spot where theVirgin had appeared. Ever since thattime the twelfth of December has beenkept as a great festival in Mexico, andcarried across the border it is observedamong certain Pueblo Indians in theUnited States. With the passage of yearscertain modern innovations have crept inbut the pattern remains the same.While Juan was relating the story thewinter moon gradually edged its wayover the mountains. The fires paled anddisappeared, and the little procession, sostrangely primitive, made its way backto the village. Juan took leave of me andwent inside his casa to prepare for hispart in the Fiesta.Already the village was crowded withspectators. Automobiles filled the openspace near where the dancing was to be-gin. The crowd was orderly and franklycurious. There was a slight delay and

then the dancers came.Grotesque indeed they appeared intheir tall feathered headgear, their pinkand blue shirts and white stockings.

~ . , - o r 3

]udii learned the Indian dances inMexico 40 years ago and todayteaches the intricate steps to theboys and girls in Tortugas.Paper roses, tiny mirrors, beads and rib-bon streamers added further ornamenta-tion, producing striking effects. From ashort distance away the flames from abonfire flared upward and lighted thefaces of the dancers. Gravely they bowedto the image of the Virgin and then up

Tortugas mo untain wh ere the firesare lighted on the evening preced-ing the fiesta.

and down, backward and forward, youngmen and old, some women and a fewchildren, began to trace the intricate pat-tern of the dance. A jester livened thescene for the onlookers, but the faces ofthe dancers were solemn, their thoughtsintent upon the ritual before them.New people arrive upon the scene andaugment the ranks of the spectators.

Many of those who have been watchingbecome restless and wander about thevillage, pausing occasionally at the rude-ly improvised stands where coffee andfrijoles with red chili are being served.But ever and ever continue the beat,beat, beat, of the tom-tom and the lowincessant chant of the dancers. The hourgrows late and the crowd thins, but thedancing continues. At last in the smallhours of the morning the dancers seek afew hours of rest and the village sleeps.The following morning, the twelfth,

finds dancers as well as village folk atthe church where Mass is being observed.Neither in Juan's deep-lined face nor inthe faces of the other dancers is theretrace of weariness. It would seem thatfor this occasion they are upheld by someinner urge that takes no account of fa-tigue. For two hours they remain in rev-erent silence after which the dance is re-sumed, this time in front of the church.Again the clear, winter stillness is bro-ken by the sound of tom-tom and weirdchanting. "Hi, yi, yi," over and over, orso it sounds, strange music and primitiveindeed to the uninitiated, but certainly

Continued on page 29



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CHRISTMAS TRYSTB Y LAURA C. PETERSPasadena, California

know a place which men have missedeyond a shield of jutting rock

t hides itself for me,

or some would come to pluck it outut I would only watch besideAnd share its secret joy.It knows I come but to adoreIts dainty comeliness;Ii knows when I have gone awayI send my heart to bless;And knowing all I give to it.It reaches back to meWith gifts of beauty born of love;It gives a sweet decreeThat I shall have, when winter comes.Its heart's most precious gift,As it unfolds through Autumn monthsA bank of leafy dri ft.And when I come on Christmas EveTo where its arms have spread.There, interspersed among its leaves.

Are bleeding spots of r ed;And where I saw but recentlyThe shaping of a bud,It gives me now its happy heartIn crimson drops of blood. CURIOSITY

B Y C O R A L. K E A G L EPixley, CaliforniaIndians at the westbound flyerGathered in to sell their wares.Met the gaze of eastern touristsWith unblinking, stolid stares.Then a lady, to a warrior,With a puzzled interest said."Can you be a full-blood Indian,You've no feathers on your head? 'Indian Tom, from Albuquerque,Answered her and gave this reason.Language courtly, just from college,"Madam, it's our moulting season."

BEARING MYRRHBY ROBERTA CHILDERSGoldfield, Nevada

The desert welcomes Christmas.It wakes from deep reposeTo throb with joyful greetingAbove, the same star glowsThat lit an older desert,And clean, sweet sage incenseIts winds bear ever upwardIn humble reverence.

THE DESERTB Y H A Z E L A. R E Y N O L D SEl Centro, California

A winding road across the desert floor.Enchanting haze and magic, full of lore,Bright desert flowers blooming here and there,Strange cacti and the graceful lily fair.From age to age, this waste shall bloom anddream,Mysterious and silent and supreme.

PRAYER IN THE DESERTB Y F L O R E N C E R. C O R B YLos Angeles, California

Oh, Lord, what worthy psalmCan my voiceless heart lay upon thy desert'saltar?What worthy thought to calmBefore the strength of hills that never falter >What brighter candles could I lightThan those made by Your handWhose ivory blossoms burn so whiteAgainst the desert sand.What greater sermon could I hearThan springs from desert weedsThat die then bloom, year after yearEternal life in small parched seeds.What finer rug from Persian loomUnrolled for sacred prayerThan this You made from flowers bloomThat scents the desert air.Oh Lord, look deep into my heartAs on Your rug I kneelI cannot say in whole or partI just keep stilland feel.

B Y R. S. BERRYLos Angeles, Calif.

My burro is a quadrupedWhose virtues may be truly saidTo lie in things that he has not,Compared with what your auto's got.Though while in speed he doesn't rateThere's other things what compensate.Fer one thing, it is good to knowThat safety lies in goin' slow.When we go travelin' down a hillWe need no brakes to 'void a spillOr bring us to a sudden stopTo 'void a pinch by a traffic cop.There are no gears to shift or grind,No steerin' wheels to brenk or bind,No tires to blow, no clutch to slip,No spark to miss, or cogs to strip.My burro has no lights to glareNo bell to ring nor horn to blare,He has no tank to fill with gas,No body all enclosed in glass.There are no joints to lubricate.No taxes fer a license plate,No battery to test an' chargeNor storage fee in some garage,No water tank to spring a leakWhen climbin' to some mountain peakNo sparkin' plugs to spit an' sputterWhen I drive him through the water.He needs no fuel to make him goAt speeds in high, his speed is low.An' there's no crankin' to be doneWhen the starter fails to run.That burro is a wondrous cuss.Say! How'll you swap fer your old buss?

DESERT HOLLYB Y EVA CARPENTER IVERSEN

Lone Pine, CaliforniaSmall shrub that lifts its prickly leaves.Pale grey, like wraith or ghost;Denizen of desert's arid wastesGrown in silence, where God lives most.Hardy and strong, though small and pale.Disdaining gauds and folly;Brave, are all things desert born,Lovely, silver-grey holly.Easy to break as a woman's heart,Strong, as her love is strongWild and untamed as the desert night.A part of the desert song.Pure and holy, on Christmas Day.It greets the dawning morn.Through tragedy it grew to grace.As did Christ, in Bethlehem born.

CREED OF THE DESERTBy J U N E LE MERT P A X T O N

Winds that come with breathuntainted;Sunshine with its boundless span,Quiet beauty, rich in treasure,This the desert, unspoiled by man.

D E C E M B E R , 1 9 3 8 23


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HIKING AND CAMPINGBASS BOOTS AND SHOESParticularly carried for the needs of theSIERRA CLUB and Other Mountainand Outdoor Clubs.

SLEEPING BAGSLight weight for Back Packing.Heavier ones for Auto Camping.Materials of Eider Down, Goose Down,Duck Down, Wool and Kapok.

KNAPSACKSNorwegian and Swedish Packs, TraderHorn and Trapper Nelson Pack Racks,Scout Racks, Swiss and American LightKnapsacks.

MOUNTAINEERINGEQUIPMENTIce Axes, Crampons, Climbing Ropes,Carabiners, Pitons, Swiss Edge and Tri-couni Nails, Alpenstocks, Parkas, SternoCanned Heat, Food Bags, Mountaineer-ing Books, Etc.

VAN DEGRIFT'SSKI AND HIKEHUT607 W E S T 7T H S T R E E T

Phone VANDYKE 6275 Los ANGELES

Mined. a*u Minuuf. .

MRS. A. S. C. FORBESManufacturer ofChurch Bel ls

AND CALIF. MISSION SOUVENIRS3 3 5 W .31st S T R E E T

RICHMOND 4732LOS ANGELES

Eventually, why not now VISITD E A T H VA L L EY"Jhe Valley of life "5T 0VE P IPE WELLSH O T E L * - " *LODGES

PO . Death ValLii Junciun.Mit

CHRISTINA V. FORSYTH607 S.SPRING ST. LOS ANGELESfor better reservations travel information

Please send me free, "Lure of Death Valley"NameStreet ...City State

(Please print name a

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193812 Desert Magazine 1938 December