194310 Desert Magazine 1943 October

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OF YESTERDAY A N D T O D A Ya monthly review of the best literatureof the desert Southwest, past and present.LIFE OF JEDEDIAH SMITH ISPORTRAIT OF TRAIL BLAZER"It is that I may be able to help thosewho stand in need that I face every dan-ger. It is for this that I traverse the moun-tains covered with eternal snow. It is forthis that I pass over the sandy plains inheat of summer, thirsting for water, andam well pleased if I can find a shade, in-stead of water, where I may cool my over-heated body. It is for this that I go for dayswithout eating . . . most of all, it is for thisthat I deprive myself of the privilege ofsociety and the satisfaction of the con-verse of my friends."These words, taken from the journal ofCaptain Jedediah Smith, explain the vi-sion which led him in 1822 to begin ex-ploring and charting the Farther West.Maurice Sullivan in his book JEDE-DIAH SMITH: TRADER AND TRAILBREAKER tells the epic story of this partlegendary, remarkable figure. Althoughonly in his twenties when he did his dan-gerous work, he was honored as a greatleader by the men of his period. For hislollowers had seen him endure sufferingwithout complaint while lesser men quit,

T H E D O C T O f i H L O I I fc n i i ' T c u n t y o u ;By ROLF ALEXANDER. M. D.

The Desert Medicine men haveknown for centuries this factconfirmed by the scientists oftoday:The human mind can eitherslow down or speed up allhealing processes withinthe body.

After a lifelong study of the ef-fects produced within the bodyby the mind, Dr. Alexander, inthis simply written book hasgiven clear definite directions,whereby the invalid may co-operate with his doctor by men-tally spurring those forces ofnature which built his body, intospeeding the repair of it. AMUST book for all w hose healthis below p ar.$2.00 POSTPAIDC.O.D. IF DESIREDOVERTON P RE SS

ZEPHYR COVE. LAKE TAHOE. NEV.

despairing. They had seen him punishwrong-doers with his own hands, and theyhad heard him pray with the tenderness ofa father for the men who lost their liveson the trail.

Jedediah Smith was not without a senseof humor, for all his pious accounts. Atone time, when he was being held bySpanish padres in California, suspectedunjustly of causing mission Indians to re-volt, he found himself completely depen-dent upon an old overseer for food. Thepadres had made no provision to feed himwhile they held him prisoner. Later, Smithwas talking with one of the fathers: "Heasked me if I had anything to eat, think-ing, I suppose, that two or three days wasnothing for a heretic to go without eating. . . this was the first time he had men-tioned the subject, perhaps presumingthat I lived on faith instead of food." Re-ligious though he was, Smith was never-theless a very practical man.

Captain Smith was the discoverer of thecentral route from the Rockies to the Pa-cific, and he led the first party, a smallband of trappers, through the great SouthPass. He was the first white man to crossNevada and Utah. He conquered the Sier-ras, and in one scorching summer, enter-ing from an overland route on foot, wasthe first to explore the Pacific slope. Inbrief, he led the way for the expansion ofthe republic from Missouri to the Pacific.The well written character study and bi-ography by Maurice Sullivan lends colorand fascination to the story of one ofAmerica's greatest pioneers.Press of the Pioneers, 1936. 233 pp.Notes, index, illustrations. Special saleprice $3.00. Aliton Marsh

OLD MEXICO SETTING FOREXCITING ADVENTURE TALESILVER SADDLES is a modern ad-venture story for youthful readers, byCovelle Newcomb. Testing the ridingability of his two sons, Sam Ryder sendsyoung Flint 100 miles into the interior ofOld Mexico for a horsea beautiful Palo-mino quarter-horsethat had been givenhim by a friend.

Flint outwits bandits, takes part in areal Mexican rodeo and has exciting ex-periences in Ghost City in a desertedchurch.Published in August by Longmans,Green and company, New York. Illus-trated by Addison Burbank. Index. 262pp. $2.25. P.B.

DESERT STORIES TOLDFOR YOUNG CHILDRENThree charming children's books aboutthe desert are NEW MEXICAN BOY byHelen Laughlin Marshall , P I N K YFINDS A HOME by Margaret W. Nel-son, and THE BLIND COLT by GlenRounds. The first, written for ages 8 to12, is the realistic story of present-day de-scendants of the Spanish settlers of NewMexico, a story sweet and colorful.In the second book, Pinky is a toy plushrabbit who finds new friends and adven-tures when he is discarded on the desert.It is a gay little tale that would engage theattention of children 5 to 9 years old.THE BLIND COLT is account of alittle horse's life in desert badlands, ages8-12.Each story is told with imagination anddescriptive detail and is attractively illus-trated in full color. NEW MEXICANBOY, with drawings by Olive Rush haspictures done in the soft golden and roseof the land it describes. Pinky's story isfilled with odd little sketches and fullpage drawings in bright color. All of thebooks are excellent for storytelling.Holiday House, New York, 1942.NEW MEXICAN BOY and THEBLIND COLT $2.00 each, PINKYFINDS A HOME, $1.75.Aliton MarshSTORY OF MOUNTAIN MENIN NEW HISTORICAL NOVELMerritt Parmelee Allen who has won < \large following among young readers forhis stories and biographies of America'sheroes, has written a new historical novel,THE SUN TRAIL. Although especiallyfor teen age readers, adults will find ithighly entertaining as well as educational.Blazing the trails from Utah to Cali-fornia with Jedediah Strong Smith in1826, young Bob Evans, heir to an Eng-lish title, and his companions learn whatis means to be a mountain m an. Theiramazing adventures make THE SUNTRAIL a fascinating book.Mr. Allen has brought to life a chapterof western history in an alluring manner.Published in August by Longmans,Green and Co., New York. 198 pp. $2.00.Pearl BarterZANE GREY ARIZONA NOVELREADY FOR WESTERN FANSSTAIRS OF SAND, a drama of thewestern desert, is told in the best ZaneGrey manner with the usual action, emo-tional conflict and beautiful scenic de-scriptions. With the skill of an experi-enced Western writer, Mr. Grey seeks toreveal the mystery, magic and power ofsand swept lands and their effect on thelives of the weak and strong of the desert.Harper and Brothers, New York, 1943.321 pp. $2.00. A.M.T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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D E S E R T

In a forthcoming issue DESERTreaders will learn about a garden whichcame into being under strange circum-stances and in a hostile environment. Itwa s a dream realized by Sidney Armerand his wife Laura when they built theirhome in the Navajo country of north-eastern Arizona. "Laura" is LauraAdams Armer, known internationally forher photography, painting and writ ing.Her children's books are distinguishednot only for their authenticity but fortheir poetic quality and beautiful illus-tration in which Mr. Armer often col-laborates. Her book on cactus, illustratedby her husband, is standard. "Southwest"is her subjective interpretation of thedesert country. Unusual is DESERT'S presentationof the affidavit of Hashkeeneni Begaiin "Blood Revenge of the Navajo," de-tailing the murder of the two prospec-tors Walcott and McNally in 1884.Richard Van Valkenburgh, who tookthis statement from the original record,says, "It is a rare document and gives afirst hand account of how a Navajo feelsand how he gets rid of the whites whoimpose themselves on his country. Ac-tually it is a study in ethnic psychology."V an has in preparation more stories ofthe Indian country including originalmaterial never before made public. That detective language Jerry Lau-dermilk uses in "Case of the Split Rocks"is not all due to the scientific attitudeof the geochemist. He really has workedon the fine points of murder cases inalmost the same manner in which hetracked down the culprit in this month's"case." Once a story got out that hecould tell one's height by the structureof his hair. That was a tall tale en-gendered by the enthusiasm of a news-paper reporter. But he still cannot con-vince some people such a feat is impos-sibleeven for a man who "makes"mirages and geodes in his laboratory . . .Besides the thrill that a scientist natur-ally feels when successful in a quest,Jerry and his associate Ted Kennard hadthe satisfaction of seeing their term"lightning spalling," as applied to rockssplit by lightning, accepted internation-ally. Fred H. Ragsdale, long familiar withthe Navajo country, says of this month'scover: "Of the many photographs Ihave taken of Indian life in the South-west, this is one of the few that could betermed a true portrait of the Navs.joScene. Here in the gloom of the hoganis a Navajo woman melting silver forjewelry. By her side stands a young sonwhose thoughts are in some far remoteplace as he stares out through the en-tranceaway to the east across thebeautiful colorful country of northernNew Mexico. Studying the faces ofmother and child seems to bear out thestatement that to many Navajo beingconfined to one locale for the purposeof making a living is painful and con-trary to the nomadic nature of this race."

Volume 6 OCTOBER, 1943 Number 12COVER

BOOKSCLOSE-UPSPOETRYGEOLOGY

ARTIST

PRIZE STORY

DESERT QUIZART OF LIVINGLETTERSINDIANS

BOTANY

LOST MINE

MININGNEWSCRAFTSHOBBY

INDEXCOMMENT

NAVAJ O MOTHER AND SON, Photo by Fred H.Ragsd ale , Los Angele s, California.

Jede diah Smith, an d other re vie ws 2Notes on Desert features and their writers . . . 3Prospe ctor Jim, an d other poe ms 4Case of the Split Rocks

By JERRY LAUDERMILK 5His Art is Lusty a nd Bold

By OREN ARNOLD 9Apaches Scalped My Doll

By HELEN PRATT 13A test of you r dese rt kno wle dge 14Rese rt Refuge, by MARSHAL SOUTH . . . . 1 5Comment from Desert Magaz ine Rea der s . . . 1 7Blood Re ve nge of the Nava jo

By RICHARD VAN VALKENBURGH . . . 19Favorite of the Chuckawalla

By MARY BEAL 24Lost Josephine Gold Mine

By CHARLES KELLY 25Briefs from the des er t re gion 28Her e an d Ther e on the Deser t 29Amateu r Ge m Cutter, by LELANDE QUICK . . 32Gems and Minerals

Edi ted by ARTHUR L. EATON . . . . 33Index to Volume Six, Deser t Mag azi ne . . . . 3 6Just Between You and Me, by the Edi tor . . . . 39

The Desert Magazine is published monthly by the Desert Publishing Company, 636State Street, El Centro, California. Entered as second class matter October 11, 1937, atthe post office at El Centro, California, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Title registeredNo. 358865 in U. S. Patent Office, and contents copyrighted 1943 by the Desert PublishingCompany. Permission to reproduce contents must be secured from the editor in writing.RANDALL HENDERSON, Editor LUCILE HARRIS, Associate Editor.BESS STACY, Business Manager. EVONNE HENDERSON, Circulation Manager.Manuscripts and photographs submitted must be accompanied by full return post-age. The Desert Magazine assumes no responsibility for damage or loss of manuscriptsor photographs although due care will be exercised for their safety. Subscribers shouldsend notice of change of address to the circulation department by the fifth of the monthpreceding issue.

SUBSCRIPTION RATESOne year . . . . $2.50 Two years . . . . $4.50Canadian subscriptions 25c extra, foreign 50c extra.Subscriptions to Army personnel outside U.S.A. must be mailed in conformity withP.O.D. Order No. 19687.Address correspondence to Desert Magazine, 636 State St., El Centro, California.

1943


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CLOUDBURST ON THE DESERTB y W I L L I A M C A R U T H E R SOntario, CaliforniaWith scars aslant her withered breastThe wounded desert l ies.The hush of ages is her couch,Her coverlet, the skies.

Calm in her pain, she knows her woundsWith heal ing t ime wi l l mend,And to her fevered brow will comeThe kiss of whispered wind.And from a dune or lone dry washW ill lift for her a prayer-Some salvaged soul who gave to herHis burden of despair.Though maul ing Time may st rike, heknowsIt cannot break her will ,And when the stars at last go outShe'll be the desert stil l . MY DESERT

By FORRE ST PIT T S, A. S .Navy V-12 Uni tPocatello, IdahoGive me the desert, wide and free,The smoke tree and the snake,The sage as far as eye can see,And this my home I'l l make.Its vistas make men humble,Its bounty makes men free.Though some would growl and grumble,The desert is for me.Discard your plans and take your doleAnd cast them far away.Come play with me a desert roleWhere God speaks every day.For hours at eve cool zephyrs blow,The moon comes up in full ,And casts around its silver snow

Entrancing nocturnal cool .Here's where I'l l l ive, here's where I'l l die,Here 's where I want to rest .No more for "progress" wi l l I cryFor God's plan is the best.

Photo by H. M. Hall.im

B y J . W O O D M A G E ESparks, NevadaHe showed me the light that colors the hills.' He took me away where the white mistgleams.He taught me to listen where silence speaks,To keep and to live what the desert dreams.

He led me far to the ranges beyond,Where the gold might be, or a fairer view.He spoke of God in the way that he couldProspector Jimand I think that he knew.He brought me out here when my soul was tiredTo the healing strength of the sun and sand.We followed the lure of the silvered sage'Til we reached the beauty of dawn's ownland.We camped in the blue of the canyon's heart,W e found sweet rest whe re the trail flowerssmile.It seemed, with the peace of the stars so near,

That heaven could be but another mile.Prospector JimI can see him today,Looking away where the hills find the skies,Speaking of God in the way that he could,Watching the desert with love in his eyes. PETRIFIED FOREST

B y JE S S IE B R O W N T H O M A SWichi ta Fal ls , TexasOnce, in days of long agoOld trees stood here, row on row,Tall and straight, but by and byWere lying dead beneath the sky.Ages passed, and one by oneFallen trees were turned to stone.Petrified they're lying thereChanged by sun and desert air,To black and gold, red and brownJewels in the desert 's crown!

HERITAGEBy L E ST E R F. Z IE GL E RLos Angeles, CaliforniaWhen your two hind feet start i tchin'For a chunk of open ground,And your eyes get sorta' twitchin'For a man-sized look around;If there ain't no sweeter singin'Than the wind a tearin ' by,

And the sand and leaves a stingin'Burn your cheeks with cherry dyeIt's the Desert in your blood.If you've spent an evenin' strummin'On a battered old guitar,Whi le your lonesome fi reside hummin'Had your thought a rangin ' far;If you've learned each mesa's bearing,Call each twisted weed by name,Know the gold the sunset 's wearingNever twice will look the sameYou've got Desert in your blood.You'l l know heaps of sun and burnin 'Underneath a brassy sky,You'll see moons and stars a churnin'As the Milky Way foams by.You must do some fireside cookin",

Know each winding t rai l and t rack;Hunt for gold, but do your Iookin 'Where the rainbows arch thei r backWhen the Desert 's in your blood.It 's a place for mile-high dreamin',I t 's where honest dreams come t rue;It 's a land where folks ain't schemin'How to get the best of you.There 's a heap of downright pleasureFor the folks who've ceased to roam,When they find the peaceful treasureOf a Desert home-sweet-homeWith the Desert in thei r blood.

CREED OF THE DESERTB y J U N E L E M E R T P A X T O N

Yucca Valley, CaliforniaFrom crag to crag the lightnings flashLike cannons' boom the thunders roll .And o'er the waste the wind's wild dashSweeps clean the sand dune and the knoll.

THE DESERT MAGAZINE


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Buttes and m esas of M onume nt Valley are natural targets of the fury of the "criminal''tracked doivn by Jerry Lauderm ilk in "breaking the ca se" of the split rocks. Photo byChas. L. Heald.

Case of the Split RocksSome rockhounds may have thought it was the work of prehistoricIndians. Anyone with a fanciful turn of mind might have said a singleblow from a giant's hammer must have done it. The "old character" wasconvinced it was due to what he called "joint faultin' and wedgin' ac-tion." But sleuth-minded Jerry Laudermilk couldn't accept any of thesetheories. He ha d to trail the criminal, super-detective s tyle, until he caugh tup with him in the laboratories of California Institute of Technology.There he found the answer to the puzzle of the split rocks. Now thatDesert's rockhounds are going to learn about these heretofore mysterioussplit rocks they will be able to recognize them next time they visit a fieldsubject to severe electrical storms.By JERRY LAUDERMILK

/ y HA D been sent to Arizona for aV finishing course in tuberculosis.After about 90 days of the desert,the doctors gave me up as an inconsiderate,non-cooperative person with small respectfor the art of diagnosis. In fact, by then Iwas ranging the desert with an old "char-acter." We were looking for gold andfound very little. Our claims remained justwhat they wereholes in the ground andpiles of sun-scorched rock standing guardover dormant hope.The old "character" was an adept, I wasa novice being initiated into desert mys-teries.Hardly a day passed without some

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curious and apparently unexplained na-tural phenomenon showing itself. It mightbe acre after acre of desert varnish shiningin the sun, or some old weathered lavaflow that spoke of other days when thedesert was filled with fire and fury. Drift-ing dunes and rocks carved into fantasticshapes by desert sandblast gave evidenceof the relentless war continually carriedon between the weather and the rocks.Vast rock masses slowly were being re-duced to boulders, cobbles, pebbles andfinally sand.Among these broken rocks and cobbleswe saw day after day were many that hadbeen split and shattered from no apparent

cause. I was aware that nature has manymethods of reducing rocks to sand andsoil. Vegetation is an extremely effectiveagent. Roots secrete carbon dioxide w hich,in solution in water, attacks certain min-erals in the rocks and causes them to softenup , then the mere mechanical pressure oftheir growth forces the rock to pieces.Another agent is cold. Water sometimesaccumulates in small natural cracks. Infreezing, it expands and exerts a terrificforce and eventual breakage results. Ex-

treme variation in the daily temperaturealso may cause rocks to break. Tempera-ture of the rock itself may range from 150degrees in the middle of the day to nearfreezing at night.The minerals of which the rocks arecomposed do not all expand alike. As aresult, we can imagine some rock such asgranite actually squirming as its compon-ent crystals of quartz, feldspar, mica andhornblende heat up and crowd one an-other and then shrink back into theiroriginal positions as the rock cools. Inshort, there are many ways in which rocks

may be broken naturally. But the type ofrock breakage which fascinated me andwhich occurred so frequently, didn't fitinto the picture.


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Upper Lightning-spalled water-worn cobble of pink quartzite in place on thepebble m osaic. The spall A, which was jound beside the larger piece has been re-placed for photographing. Point of im pact is at B. Specimen w eighs about 20pounds.Lower Lightning-spalled block of blackish rhyolite. Rock w as thickly coated withdesert varnish. Point of im pact at A. Here chips of desert varnish have been flakedoff by the lightning stroke. Photos by T. G. Kennard.Typical scenery among the low foothills of Calico mountains, near Yermo. Cali-fornia. Lightning spalled boulders were abundant near summit of the hill. Theground is a m osaic of rocks which after a rain show many brilliant colors. Kennard

photo.

These broken rocks ranged from boul-ders the size of a water bucket or smaller torocks as big as a horse. All were crackedand shattered as if by a single blow froma giant's hammer. How it happened was amystery. Shorty, the "character," had anexplanation for everything, even thingsabout whose origin he was practically asignorant as myself. The exasperating partabout Shorty's explanations was that theywere just reasonable enough to be plaus-ible. But I couldn't be sure they were thecorrect answers. It was like drinking alkaliwater on a hot daythey wouldn't takehold.His solution to this rock splitting prob-lem was what he called "joint faultin' andwedgin' action." According to his theory,some small crack naturally happened to bein the right place. This crack filled withsand and dirt. Under the action of mois-ture, heat and cold and years of dessica-tion, the crack would open wider andwider and finally large chips would breakfrom the rock and fall into the crack to actas wedges. The rock never had a chance tosettle back into its original position. Eachchange was for the worse, the w edges sink-ing lower and lower until finally a pointwas reached where no rock could take suchpunishment any longer and a split boul-der resulted. This theory of Shorty's neversatisfied me and always was the excusefor an argument.We seldom agreed as we moseyed alongexpounding our theories. In the case of thesplit boulders, I pointed out that while hissolution might work for big rocks whentheir split faces showed evidence of cen-turies of weathering, how about smalldense rocks without the faintest sign of anoriginal break and with neat, clean, newlooking broken faces. Here Shorty wasapt to change the subject.These mysterious rocks often occurredin places where there was no chance thatthe agent causing the breakage could havebeen human. Much to Shorty's amuse-ment, I spent lots of time contemplatingthese split boulders. They all had beenbroken by a single stroke. This was evi-dent from the fact that always at somepoint on the upper surface where I couldfit the pieces together, just a few chips hadbeen knocked off over a small area, some-times no bigger than your thumb-nail.These rocks remained a puzzlea cipherwritten by Mother Nature.Ciphers always have fascinated me andI never forgot those split rocks of Ari-zona. Years later, when my chief interestcrystallized around the subject of geology,particularly the geology of the desert, Iplanned a systematic campaign againstthis problem. Finally, a few years ago,working with Ted Kennard of Claremontcolleges, we broke the case. It was detec-tive work of the toughest type.

Geology and geochemistry are morelike criminology than any other of theT HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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atural sciences. I say this because I workin both fields and know the rapport ofhese subjects. In geology we have to dealwith that tough old character Mother Na-ture and her gang whose aliases are vul-canism, pressure, heat, cold, solution, oxi-dation, wind erosiona whole string oftough stooges. Fortunately, these agentssometimes are careless and leave evidencethat may give away the entire story ofsome event in which one or more of themis under suspicion.Both geologist and criminologist haveto interpret evidence but first they musthave a corpus delicti or fact that somethinguntoward has taken place. For example, aprospector may report that in some hiddencanyon, the rocks are so full of radium thatthey glow red hot at night. T his is interest-ing and important if truebut he doesn'tbring any samples to bear out his story. Inthis case there is no corpus delicti andspeculation is useless.Evidence consists of anything apparent-ly connected with a problem. None of itcan be discarded until rigid exarhinationhas proved it to be unrelated to the case.The use of the evidence is like fitting to-gether a lot of pieces of a jig-saw puzzlewhich contain most of the picture you aretrying to put together, but the problem isalmost certain to be confused by the factthat there are other pieces which belong toa different picture entirely. These have tobe eliminated. Eventually, the pattern ofthe case begins to show and like finishinga jig-saw puzzle it generally ends with arush. A few pieces still may be missing butthere will be enough interpreted evidenceto convict some particular agent.In the lightning spalling case, Kennard

and I concentrated on a single localitywhere such split rocks as I had seen inArizona occurred abundantly. The local-ity is about IV i miles northeast of Yermo,California, where the foothills of the Cal-ico mountains are strewn thickly withcobbles and boulders of red and yellowjasper, chalcedony, rhyolite, limestone,clay-ironstone and silicified volcanic ashlocally called flint. Now and then thereoccur well rounded, water worn cobbles ofpinkish quartzite but these are not com-mon. All these rocks were on the surfaceor slightly embedded in the pebble mosaic.Certain features at this locality made thecase very difficult.In many instances, around a shatteredboulder, a circle sometimes as much asfive feet in diameter would be coveredwith chips and spalls of broken rock. Ex-amination of these pieces showed that theyhad been retouched and experimentedwith. Obviously Indians at some time hadbeen at work roughly blocking out rawmaterial for knives, spear heads and arrowpoints. These pieces had been discardedon account of some defect which onlv theeye of an expert could detect. Generally, atsuch sites, hammer-stones with batteredends further endorsed this evidence ofhuman agency. But in other cases, whereflakes and spalls were abundant, there wasno sign of human activity.There were shattered boulders sur-rounded by flakes, many of which lookedlike raw material for good knives andtools, but there was no evidence of re-touching or evidence that they ever hadbeen moved from the place where they fellwhen first split off the rock. Many of theserocks showed new-looking breaks as if

they had been broken for only a fewmonthsno chance that Indians had beenthe agents in these recent cases.There is a curious thing about flint andflint-like rocks. Long exposure to theweather develops a patina or dullish lookto the surface. Newer broken faces, origin-ally bright and glassy, become duller andduller as they age. Archaeologists, if theyknow the original circumstances and sur-roundings at the time of discovery, canestimate fairly well the age of an artifactby its patina. Flakes and spalls at theYermo locality showed everything frombright and shiny to dull and chalky sur-faces.Not only boulders of good solid flintbut chunks of worthless rock like lime-stone and clay-ironstone had been shat-tered in the way I describedby a singleblow. The broken rocks of the mysterioustypes were both large and small. Onespecimen, which weighed about 12 ouncesand was about 5 by 3 by 2 inches had beenshattered in such a manner as to eliminateany human factor. On its upper side, at apoint near the center of its flat surface,there was a definite point of impact. Butdespite its relative thinness the rock hadnot been broken in two. Instead, five radi-ating flakes had been knocked off andwere found close by. These were collectedand replaced on the rock where they fit-ted so neatly together that it was almostimpossible to detect the joints.Due to their uniform and exceedinglyfine grained structure, such rocks as flint,obsidian, jasper and many others havesome peculiar qualities. Wh en one of theserocks is broken by impact a definite signa-ture as to what has taken place is left.

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The au thor points to the bu lb of percussion on a ligbtning-spalled boulder. W henlightning breaks a rock, two po ints of impact develop, one w here the lightningstrikes and the other on the b ottom w here the rock rests on the ground. Photo byHelen Laudermilk.

From the point where the hammer strikesthe; rock, actual waves or rhythmic vibra-tiens are set up in the rock-mass itself.They travel outward and downward fromthe point of impact and eventuallyactu-ally in just the fraction of a split secondcause the rock to shatter into two ormore pieces.If you examine one of the broken piecesyou will notice several things that are in-teresting after you know what it allmeans. At the point of impact, one of thepieces will show a small rounded hump.Archaeologists call this the "bulb of per-

cussion." Extending outward from thispoint you will see grooves or ripple markswhich sometimes look like the ridges oncertain types of clam shells. This is calledthe "conchoidal fracture." There are fiveor six other signs of fracture by percussionwhich are of interest to experts but thetwo I have mentioned are the main ones.We found that there was a distinct dif-ference between the breakage of the boul-ders which had been broken by the Indi-ans and the mysteriously shattered rocks.Rocks broken by simple impact show asingle bulb of percussion, while the

strange thing about the questionable rockswas that they showed two, one at the pointof impact and a second on the oppositeside where the rock lay on the ground.You can't very well hit a large rock onboth sides at the same instant, but thiswas what the evidence said had takenplace. Rocks, no matter how big, had beensplit by a single blow. This was too muchfor any human factor and definitely ex-onerated the Indians, so they were elimin-ated from our problem.After months of study and severe cross-examination, some of the better knownsuspectscold, daily changes in tempera-ture, oxidation of such minerals as pyriteand hydrationwere cleared. The evi-dence pointed toward a tremendouslypowerful agent with a short temper, whostruck only onceand hard.Since the rocks which showed this par-ticular type of breakage, the corpus delictiin our case, occurred only on the highestpoints of the hills, the finger of suspicionwas beginning to point toward lightningas a likely cause.Lightning's record was not entirelyclear. Dr. Eliot Blackwelder of Stanforduniversity has something to say on thesubject and Dr. F. X. Schaeffer of theUniversity of Vienna mentions the possi-bility but does not go into detail. How-ever, up until the time Ted Kennard andI took this case under consideration, no-body ever had settled the subject experi-mentally. We would have found this im-possible had we not had the heartiest co-operation of Dr. A. W. Sorenson and hisassociates at the High Tension Electricallaboratory of the California Institute ofTechnology. We had to have somesamples actually struck by lightning andthen look for any evidence that mightmatch that found on the naturally brokenrocks.So we collected rocks of all the typeswe had found mysteriously broken at theYermo locality and took them to the elec-trical laboratory for the crucial experi-ment.Twenty great condensers, each capableof being charged to 50,000 volts by apowerful generator were brought into ac-tion. The discharge was capable of amaximum voltage of 1,000,000 volts butthe stroke probably took place at a lowerpotential which varied from 350,000 to700,000 volts. We were told that this wascomparable to a small lightning stroke.While this synthetic lightning was rela-tively weak, it was sufficiently powerfulfor our purpose.

The Yermo samples were subjected tothe artificial lightning discharge one ata time. Each specimen was placed on awooden stand, a wire grounded the speci-men by contact with the under side. Theupper wire, through w hich the current wasled toward the rock stopped short about(Continued on page 12 )T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Lon Megargee once thought he'dlike to be an arty artist, complete w ithsmock and beret. But there were twoobstacleshis own nature and thatof the Arizona-Sonora desert. Theyboth made it inevitable that his ideasand expression of them be honest,bold, unconventional. Now, hesnatches out a brush as if he werelifting a six-gun. When he fires, theresults are much the same. Butthrough all the audacity or tragedyor humor flows an imagination whichmakes this cowboy-caballero one ofthe "first" painters of the desert scenetoday.

By OREN ARNOLD/ y LOT of people like Lon Megar-7 gee and a lot of people don't. Theones who don't usually are hyper-sensitive souls who have to be coddled.Lon coddles nobody, himself least of all.He is the husky lusty he-man sort who hasmany of Rhett Butler's qualities. In 1843he would have made a magnificent pio-neer, seeing and exploiting the pictur-esque character of this desert land. In 1943he sees it and exploits it anywayin oilpaintings and sketches and block prints.

He is one of the boldest artists the desertregion is likely to produce, and one of themost interesting individuals. I am one ofthose people who like Lon Megargee.I like him very much. I enjoy seeing theman's florid personality etched into thecanvases he brings to town. For one thinghe isn't "arty." I'm not quite sure whatthis means, but I think it means that hispictures aren't merely "pretty." Some ar-tists go in for prettyish paintings, delica-cies and dainties and sweetly sentimentallittle interpretations. Not Lon! That ca-ballero snatches out a brush as if he werelifting a six-gun. Wh en he fires, the resultsare much the same.I do not imply that his paintings aregory or tragic. On the contrary, they aremore likely to make you guffaw. You

Lon Megargee likes to ivear Mexican clothes.do not hang them in Aunt Minnie's sit-ting room or in the Y.W.C.A. You hangthemif you can afford to buy them,which I can'tin the living room of yourWestern pueblo residence, in your bigpine log lodge, in your dude ranch head-quarters, in your Spanish hacienda, or overthe bar in your million-dollar desert ho-tel. I have a few of his prints (gi fts).Some are tacked on my knotty pine walls,and one hangs in my bathroom. All arevery appropriately located.

Lon is a genius who loves ruggedness inscenery, in people and in art. He seesmodel value in the ugliest Apache Indianon the reservation. He sees not vulgarity,but beauty of color and form in the otherend of a horse. He shows cowboys doingunconventional things, Indians doing un-conventional things, the desert itself in

unconventional mood. Lon stalks aboutArizona, his home state, seeing and re-cording the extraordinary nature of theland and of the people who live there.

But too, Lon is incurably rom antic. Likemost stern but honest men, he is a senti-mentalist at heart. It has shown dramatic-ally in his personal life and it showsstrongly in his paintings, especially hismurals. In the fiesta room of a swankyWestern hotel, for instance, the four longwalls are a Mexican landscape with lifesize figures doing things in the glamor-ous manner of the senoritas and dons. Ican stay there by the hour just staring atthose walls, nourishing my imagination.It comes in exceedingly handy when Ihave to sit through stuffy speeches at abanquet there, as often happens.One of his intriguing canvases depicts

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"So W hat?" is title Lon gives this painting o f a cowboy and his sway-backed horse.notorious Billy the Kid fleeing from thesheriffand I long have been in lovewith that lovely, shapely, devoted littlemaiden who clings behind Billy on thesaddle as he flees. In real life Billy had nosuch maiden, possibly. No matter. LonMegargee thought he might have had,and so do I. I have no use for artists orother individuals whose thoughts and ex-pressions are not stimulating, w ho will notcultivate that ineffable quality we callimagination.Lon gets the same general effect whenhe depicts a colt and a mare and a stallion,or simply a sleepy cowboy leaning againsta swaybacked horse. He gets itsurely!when he paints an Indian man driving a

tractor under an umbrella while his wifelabors and sweats with the heavy plowbehind. He gets it when he shows in boldclose-up a gay ranchero about to hang uphis saddle and pick up his guitar. He getsit when he does an oil montage of Tomb-stone, the boomtown, with the Bird Cagetheater, Wyatt Earp and his pistols, theBenson stagecoach and two of the Clan-tons hanging by their necks. Imagination.The priceless ingredientfar removedfrom mere technical skill with paints andbrusheswhich many so-called artistsnever have.

We can be sure of one other thingLon Megargee has had a good time in life,no matter where he happened to be. ItLon likes to imagine that Billy the Kid fled the law in this romantic fashion.

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shows in nearly all his paintings. His"deep, studious interpretation" of ranchroutine? There'll be a wisecrack sketchedin somewhere! Or a bit of cowboy humor,or that extra something we call human-ness. His studies in old Mexico? They'remagnificent. They depict the poverty-ridden peon, the squalor, the toil. Butquickly, too, they include the dick-clackof castanets and the songs of fiesta. Lifeis not bleak to Lon. Even his famed"Home on the Range" and his "Camel-back Mountain," both lithos now in thirdlarge printing, are gay with the brilliantWestern color and liveliness, never aus-tere.Honesty and imagination and a gayheart these are the three things any cre-ative artist needs. There was a time whenLon thought he wanted to be an arty ar-tist. Even one of the kind with a smockand a beret. He probably went all-out seri-ous in that formative period of his career.And he produced quite a few canvases.Unfortunately artists have to eat, evenas you and I. Nobody was impressed withLon's serious paintings. After friendscharitably purchased a few for 10 dollarsor so, Lon knew he still had to maneuverfor groceries. So, he threw conventionover the sideboards."I'll eat first, then paint," said he. "Itain't romantic to starve no matter what thestory tellers say. And on a full belly I canpaint as I please."Upshot of that was a long period of

world travel and adventure. It took himto Spain, to Tahiti, to the A merican north-west, time and again into Mexico, ulti-mately into Arizona. Somehow theArizona-Sonora region most fascinatedhim, perhaps because it was colorful anddemocratic to the core. "On the desert,"says he, "I just seemed to belong."Formal occupation, if any, was that ofcowboy. Cowboys earn up to $50 a month,and grub. He had known a first taste ofcowboying years before when he ran awayfrom a Philadelphia home to seek his for-tune and landed in the Southwest. Afterthe period of drifting he simply cameback here. The border region is like that.It gets into your blood, breaks out with anitch if you leave it, makes you head rightback to the cactus land. Nothing in theworld pricks the imagination like a sa-guaro cactus thorn.In Mexico Lon did a lot of figurativeand some literal hell raising. Typical Me-gargee instancea woman back in thestates contended he owed her money. Hethought not, but she harrassed him. Onsudden whim one day he sent her a greatwad of money by mailbut it was Pancho

Villa money, when that famed bandit wasin swing!Lon talked a Mexican cowboy out of a

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


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$300 bridle, a gorgeous hand-tooled crea-tion of finest leather and silver and gold.He used it a while and it disappeared. Loncould guess who stole it, but couldn'tprove anything. Some time later, though,Lon was standing in a second hand storein Nogales when the Mexican cowboyin need of cashbrought that same stolenbridle in to sell! What happened? Well,Lon weighs pretty near 200 pounds, andthe bridle was hanginglast time I sawiton the wall of his living room in theMegargee hacienda near Phoenix, Ari-2ona.

That hacienda, by the way, is a resplen-dent Megargee work of art. Lon wantedsomething from the old Southwest, ahome just like the Spanish rancheros had.He thought he might sell it at a profit,and ultimately did so. But for a long w hilehe lived there, and he m ade a lot of it withhis own hands. I called there one day, forexample, and found him pouring ashesand oil down the front walls."What in the high hopping hades areyou doing that for?" I demanded.

"I'm adding three centuries to a brandnew house," said he.And so he was. Within a week thatfresh plaster was venerable with age. Allthe paint, all the woodwork and stone androof and everything, even the squeakycarreta outside, were items from thel600's. Inside were souvenirs picked upin Mexican travels. On the walls weremany of his finest paintings. I still think

that house, on the desert near Camelbackmountain, is the most picturesque dwell-ing in Arizona.Lon Megargee never went to art school.That is, he had no academy or collegetraining, nor a teacher for his brushes andpens. He learned painting the hard way by doin g it. Self-made, I b elieve is theword Americans love.Perhaps it would have been better if hehad been schooled more formally. I thinkof another artist friend who went throughall the usual pacesteachers, Chicago In-

stitute, New York, Paris. He wasn't selftaught at all, and he did well. His nameis John Steuart Curry. But then, the dif-ference between Curry and Megargee isthe difference between farmer and cow-boy. Curry is a conscientious son of theKansas soildetermined, solid, ratherplodding of mind. But Megargeeha,that ccwpuncher is likely to toss hispocketbook and conscience into the can-yon and head right out to the nearest fan-dango! I do not belittle either one of them.I think each is a vital part of the A mericanscene. I'm just telling you that a Megar-gee can interpret the West and the desertbetter than a Curry.

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Imagination and humor dominate this study of the "M ule Colt," withhis m other and the stallion.Around Phoenix they say that Lon wasbroke flat as a horseshoe one winter, andhe did a characteristic thing. He bargedinto the office of G. W. P. Hunt, thengovernor, and said, "Mr. Hunt, I needmoney. This state needs some good paint-ings. How about hiring me to do some forthe state house here?"George Hunt had a gambler's reckless-ness of his own, at times. "You think youcould do a set of paintings worth $5,000,Lon?"W ow! Lon would have jumped at $500.But $5,000!He took the job, and history chalks upa point for Hunt's shrewdness. The Me-

gargee paintings were worth the money inthemselves, but far more than the $5,000is the worth Lon since has been to his statejust because one struggling chap need-ed a financial lift and got it.Of Megargee incidents the telling couldgo on and on, but this is not the place fora full biography. Let's do record that henow is revising his book, "The CowboyBuilds a Loop." It is among the finest vol-umes ever produced in this desert region.Let's record that he is busy momentarilyhelping Uncle Sam win a waras everypatriotic American must behence his artis mainly his recreation until the victoryparade.

"Conservation" is a droll commentary on the meeting oj two civilizations.

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Capable handling of action and a superb sense of form are evident in Lon's "Busted.'

CASE OF THE SPLIT ROCKS . . . rocks was precisely the same as we had(Continued from page 8) studied in the cases of the naturallybroken specimens. The skinning effect onthin rocks and the two bulbs of percussionon thicker samples were well shown.There are two simultaneous stresseswhen lightning strikes, the first where thestream of electrons enters the rock andthe second the "kick-back" when it leaves.These are of almost equal force and twobulbs of percussion result. While nothingsolid hits the object struck we still havebreakage. This is the result of local heat-ing to a very high temperature over anextremely short period of time.Any heated object expands and anyarea heated in a locally cool mass does thesameit takes up more space and acts as

six inches from the top side. The artificiallightning had to jump this distance andstruck the rock with the noise of 100shotguns.When lightning strikes in nature, a gi-gantx spark, sometimes thousands of feetlong, bridges a gap separating two op-positely charged bodies, generally twoclouds or a cloud and an object on theground. While the stream of electronscomposing the lightning flash actuallyrepresents an infinitesimally small amountof substance, the result is the same as apowerful blow from a solid object. Theeffeo: of the artificial lightning on our

12

a wedge. Breakage is in effect the result ofa wedge of more solid substance driveninto a hole in weaker material.We had to have experimental evidencebefore we could positively say that heatwas produced by the artificial lightningdischarge. It definitely occurs when build-ings are struck by natural lightning andare set afire. Pine trees actually explode

from steam generated during the fractionof a second that it takes the current to tra-verse the trunk.Here again, Dr. Sorenson and his asso-ciates helped us out with a difficult point.A small billet of hard maple about a footlong was boiled in parrafine so that itwould not conduct electricity. A nail wasdriven into each end, these to act as ter-minals for the lead wires from the con-densers, through the stick and into theearth. When the switch was closed andthe thousands of volts shot through themaple stick it was blasted into three longi-

tudinal sections. The path of the currentwas seen clearly as a scorched line on thesplit faces of the wood. Definitely, heatwas produced in the short time it hadtaken for the spark to jump from end toend of a single foot of wood.The heating effect was not alwaysshown when the object struck happened tobe a reasonably good conductor. A stickof white pine without the parrafine treat-ment was shot in exactly the same way asthe maple billet. This also was split butthere was no evidence of scorching. Thetrack of the electrons showed as a neatclean groove about one-sixteenth of aninch deep following the grain of the woodfrom end to end. What had happened herewas this: the billet contained enoughnatural moisture to make it a reasonablygood conductor and being white pine,which is softer and more splittable thanmaple, it actually blew up from the steamsuddenly generated.That extremely high temperatures arecapable of breaking brittle substances suchas glass by instantaneous contact wasproved in our laboratory. We applied thetips of both the blow pipe flame andwhite-hot carbon rods to thick glass bot-tle stoppers and obtained on a small scaleprecisely the same effects we had seen asthe result of both natural and artificiallightning. In one case we produced theskinning effect and in other cases deepcracks developed.So, after we had collected all our evi-dence and verified our suspicions, light-ning stood convicted as the agent that goesabout over the waste spaces of the desertbreaking rocks in a peculiar manner, to theconfusion of geologists and archaeolo-gists. The whole story with all the detailsis to be found in the American Journal of

Science, Vol. XXXV, February, 1938,"Concerning Lightning Spalling"asneat a piece of detective work as ever cameout of a geochemical laboratory.T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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First prize winning story in Desertest ap pe ar ed in Decem ber, 1942, is-ue. This month the seventh story inthe series is being published, withtwo more to follow in later issues.This is an episode in the life of EthelCaughlin during the days of Apacheraids on settlers in New Mexico, astold to Helen Pratt.

ApachesScalpedMy Doll

By HELEN PRATTD raw ing by J ohn H ans enCs THEL Caughlin was looking outr over the wide sweep of BaldyMesa as it lay stretched under the

burning afternoon sun on the southernrim of the Mojave desert. I had reachedher tiny home, almost hidden by scruboak and juniper, after turning from thehighway onto a rough dirt road thatwound n and out among squat desertshrubs and jolting over its ruts and wash-outs. New as we stood looking across themesa memories of her childhood in NewMexico came flooding back."The view from here always remindsme of the rolling hills and mountains ofNew Mexico. And of the experiences therethat left a lasting and deep impression."Although many years have passed itseems only yesterday that the Apache In-dians swept down upon us, with all theslyness and cunning imaginable. Like aband of naughty children, fearing to at-tract the attention of the soldiers, theywould sneak off the reservation to annoyand frighten the white settlers."Instantly I became curious to knowmore of her story, and begged her to con-tinue."Of course, they are very different nowthat they are educated and understand ourways," she prefaced."Our homestead was on the outskirts ofSilver City. A large double house of adobe,its huge fireplace in the front room mak-ing it comfortably warm through longwinter days. There was a delightful wide

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"Realizing someone was trying to attract their attention, my father and uncle cameup to the top of the m ine to investigate."porch running around the entire housewhere cool breezes found their way insummer."A beautiful natural lawn of short wildgrass stretched away to the edge of themesa and valley, where acres of white deli-cately scented Matilija poppies witheredand scattered to the winds in a few days."In the evening while the mockingbirds filled the soft air with their song,my brother and I would go into the poppyfields and gather baskets full of the whitepetals, and have a rollicking imaginary"snow battle.'"Bush after bush of golden rod, thatseemed to have absorbed all of the sun-shine, lingered, brightly glowing, in thelong summer twilight. I still shudderwhen I recall how the beauty and serenityof that peaceful countryside so often wasdisturbed by the childish pranks and ruth-less depredations of the Indians."Our family consisted of my father,mother, my brother and myself. Havingbeen brought up in a rough country, we allcould readily endure the hardships ofthose early days."Father was a mining man, owning sev-eral mines, both gold and precious gems.The gold mines were in the Bear Moun-tain district, which was highly mineral-ized. The turquoise was in a different sec-tion of the country."This exciting incident happened whenthe Apaches were especially hostile to the

white settlers." She looked at me with atwinkle in her dark eyes, rememberingthe day."Summer vacation was at hand, andfather had bought two Indian ponies anda buckboard for us. One pony was a pinto,black and white, the other was all white.We were tremendously excited as wegathered up our belongings and startedoff merrily for Pine Dell, where we had acabin and could be near father at themines."Most of us know how sweet and tastya freshly pulled turnip can be. Brother andI had planted a patch in order to make afew extra pennies for our church, as every-one was helping, and brother had built awater wheel in a nearby stream to irrigatethe garden. We also had chickens and hadstored many eggs to be taken into townlater."Then one day while still at Pine Dell,father and mother had an unusual argu-ment, mother hitched up the buckboardmuch to our disappointment, and bundledus off to town."Upon arriving there we found a de-tachment of soldiers encamped on theflat just below our home, and we learnedthat they were expecting trouble with theIndians."In mid-afternoon, the soldiers depart-ed in the direction of our cabin at PineDell, and mother became alarmed forfather's safety. She again hitched up the

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blackboard, taking brother and leaving me,and started back to Pine Dell to warnfather.'They followed the soldiers until oneof the officers discovered them, and in-sisted upon their turning back, as it wastoo dangerous, but mother's explanationof father's danger and her determinationto go to him, won the argument. Motherwas a tiny person, but courageous, and In-dians meant little to her when father need-ed help.'In the meantime, father and my unclewere working down in the mine when theyheard a small stone drop down the shaft;then another and another. Realizing thatsomeone was trying to attract their atten-tion, they came up to the top to investi-gate, and found a man from the moun-tains, who was much excited, saying hewas warning all the settlers that he hadseen Indians approaching, and fearing tocall down to them lest he be heard andattract them to the spot, used the rock sys-tem."By the time father was ready to leave,the Indians had raided a cabin not farfrom ours, killing some beef that belongedto the settlers in the valley. He becamealarmed, fearing that his little familymight be overtaken and attacked on ourway home. He immediately set out to walkinto town. My uncle remained there to beof such assistance as was possible."Presently they met father, hurryingaloag the road. Grateful and happy thatthey were all safe, they drove back to Sil-ver City.' W e learned afterward tha t a Mexicanwoodcutter and his wife, who lived near-by, had fled into the woods, leaving theirchildren, a small boy and his sister, also at i n ) - three weeks old infant, alone in theircabin.' The Indians came nearer and nearer,pillaging everything in their path, and intheir terror, the Mexican children hid thebaby under a mattress, and ran into thewoods. The Indians killed the baby, andthis made such a frightening impressionupon my child mind, that I sank sobbinginto mother's arms.

"The small Mexican boy, failing tofind his parents, made his way afoot intoSilver City, quite a distance from PineDell, carrying his little sister upon hisback. A heroic act for such a small child.They both were exhausted, hungry andweeping, but were well cared for by thesettlers."The soldiers quickly quieted the up-rising, and the Indians soon were on theirway back to the reservation."We all gave thanks that we were safeat home together, then drove back to PineDell to see what damage had been done

to our place."The first thing that my brother and Isaw was our prized turnip patch. The In-dians had ridden their horses back and

T R U E O R F A L S E Here's an easy review lesson for thosewho have been reading Desert eachmonth. If you are a newcomer to theDesert Fraternity, taking this month's quiz will be a good way to find out if youare a tenderfoot. If you score less than 10, you need Desert badly! If you chalkup 10 or more, you can call yourself a Desert Rat; if 15 or more, take your placeamong the Super Desert Rats known as Sand Dune Sages. Answers are on page2 8 .1Father Kino was the first of the Franciscan friars to establish a mission inArizona. True False2The desert sidewinder (horned rattlesnake) seldom grows to a greater lengththan two feet. True False3Formation known as The Temple on Lake Mead is found in Iceberg can-yon. True False4Refuge for thousands of white pelicans is in Pyramid lake, Nevada.True False5Garnets sometimes are called "carbuncles." True False6Panamint range forms the eastern boundary of Death Valley.True False7Monument Valley, though usually approached from Arizona, lies wholly

within bounds of Utah. True False8General Kearny was in command of the Mormon Battalion, which marchedin 1847 from Leavenworth, Kansas, to San Diego, California.True False9Most of the mineral wealth that came from Calico mountains, Mojave desert,during the boom period was silver. True False10Mark Twain once worked on a newspaper in Goldfield, Nevada.True False11Shiprock, famed landmark, is on the Navajo Indian reservation in NewMexico. True False12Fossil coral is found in the desert. True False13Gas and volcanic disturbances make it hazardous to descend into Amboycrater on the Mojave desert. True False14Desert Trumpet belongs to the buckwheat family of plants.True False15W estern burrowing, or Johnny owl, makes no sound. True False16Alamogordo, near White Sands national monument, New Mexico, is onU. S. highway 66 . True False17G old is found along the Colorado river. True False18In firing their pottery the pueblo Indian women of the Southwest generallyuse cedar wood . Tru e False....:19True onyx is a variety of agate. True False20Papago Indian children climb the saguaro cactus to gather the fruit.True False

forth over it until nothing was left of ourcherished garden but a mass of trampledmud."They had not burned the cabin, buthad ripped open mother's fine feathermattress, then had broken all of our storedeggs into it and stirred up a most terriblemess. Under the strain, mother burst intohysterical laughter at the sight of this, butbrother's toy gun lay broken, and hecouldn't laugh."Nor could I, for the greatest tragedy ofmy childhood days swept over me when tomy horror I discovered my beautiful waxdoll, the only doll I had, lying prone uponthe cold hard cabin floor, entirely scalped,her lovely golden curls torn from her headand carried away."My heart began to pound wildly andI experienced all the pangs and sufferinga young mother could have felt for her

only child in such a plight, and there wasOh! such a pain, right here in my 'tum-my,' " she explained, in little girl fashion,"and I wondered how any one could pos-sibly be so mean and wicked."For a time, Ethel Caughlin sat very still.The hour was growing late. The brightrays of the setting sun had painted a gor-geous picture. The first stars of eveningswung low, and the cool night wind whis-pered clear and sweet, as if wafted fromthe mid-most sea, into a light that has athousand variations of color and shade.Infinite space, in which the soul may growand expand."How far removed from the past I seemto be," she said softly. "Just why I remem-

ber it all so vividly, I cannot tell. The In-dians too, loved the great wind-swept des-ert, and the 'Great Spirit' of the red menstill broods over us all."14 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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By MARSHAL SOUTH/ 7 T W AS early morning in the little town of Mesquite,

_ / Nevad a. As I entered the cafe to get a cup of coffee hiswas the first face I saw. He sat at the counter snatchingan early breakfast. It was obvious that he was one of the passen-gers on the bus parked at the curb outside. We never had seteyes on each other before. But he hailed me with the enthusi-asm of an old friend. "Come, sit here," he said affably, indicat-ing an empty stool at his side. "Have a cup of coffee on me!Have areakfast with me as my guest! . . . Come. Come on.Please." he urged, as I hesitated. "This is my treat. Really. 1want you."His face was alight with enthusiasm and a sort of boyisheagerness that was compelling and would take no refusal. AsI slid into the seat beside him he patted me genially on theback. "I'm feeling facetious, this morning," he said, grinningin explanation of his joviality. "For once in my life I'm thor-oughly happy. I'm on a tripon a vacation. The first one I'vehad in a long time. And I'm just going to enjoy myself in myown way. What'll you have?""Just the coffee," I told him. "I've been driving all night.Got to keep awake."He nodded. "But something with it," he urged. "Some ofthese crullers . . . Something . . .""Well, a couple of donuts, maybe," I conceded."Donuts. Donuts. Make it donuts with the coffee, too," hewaved the order genially after the demure little Mormon girlas she departed. They did not understand him, these grave,wholesome little desert misses who waited upon the cafe cus-

tomers. But I did. We grinned at each other as old friends. Hiseyes roved over me appreciatively. "You fit this countrythedesert," he said frankly.I had been on a long hard scouting trip, alone. Tanya andthe youngsters had been left safely established in a camp by awaterhole and now I was on my way back to them. The journeyhad been tough and hot and sleeplessand punctuated withmore tire trouble than I cared to remember. I wasn't feelingparticularly picturesque. Nor did I care, at the moment, whetherI "fitted the country" or not. I ran appraising fingers over aten day bristle of beard and grinned at him wryly."But that is nothing!" He waved the matter aside with a dis-missing gesture. "It is the spirit that counts. The fitness. And

you are particularly part of this desert scenery somehow. Look!Isn't it strange that we should meet! Here am Isixty-six yearsof ageand released for a few days for care-free vacation in thisdeserl: that I love. And we encounter each other. Ah, this won-derful desert. You know, in the writings of George WhartonJames: . . . his Indian blankets . . . baskets . . Perhaps you knewhim?"Yes I had known him. "And Charles F. Lummis? You re-member him too, maybe?" I suggested.His face lit like a lamp. "Knew him well. Ah . . . the olddays. You remember on the Los Angeles Times . . ."We were off. The puzzled and a little scandalized younglady brought the coffee and the donuts. But they went untasted

as did my friend's breakfast. What are such things as breakfastand coffee when two kindred souls bump into each other likevoyaging ships in the midst of the loneliness of a vast ocean.Such an eager comparing of notes. Such a digging and rum-

Spines of this Utah c actus hold no fear for Victoria.

maging in the precious memories of fled days. Was this Mes-quite, Nevada? Or wasn't it? We had forgotten.The passengers had all trooped out to their places in the w ait-ing bus. The driver, seated apart at a little table writing up hisnotes and accounts, was the last to go. He swept his papers intohis leather satchel and buckled it. As he passed the lunch coun-ter on his way out he tapped my friend upon the shoulder."We're leaving," he warned. "Better hurry!"And my companion woke, as from a dream. He hadn'ttouched his breakfast. There it lay in the platter before him. Acrisp salad, fried potatoesan assembled appetizing combina-tion of different foods. But all, fortunately, things that couldbe transported. Frantically he signalled to the little waitressand she came hurrying with waxed paper and a big paper sack.She swept the food together and packed it expertly in a jiffy.

The bus outside tooted impatiently and my friend snatched thesack. "Your name," he cried breathlessly, lingering an instantwith outstretched hand. "I don't even know your name."I told him. In that hectic instant of parting, while the bushorn blew angry blasts, I mentioned the Desert Magazine."Why why of course! " he cried delightedly. "Th e DesertMagazine! I take it. Couldn't do without . . ."He bolted through the door and was gone, plunging head-long for his seat just as the bus was backing out. The heavymotors roared and the dust skirled in the roadway. Then silenceslipped down from the mountain tops again and he and hisfellow passengers were just a memory, a fleeting blur whirringout along the desert highway on their way to Salt Lake City.Mechanically I began to munch my donuts and drink mycoffee. On the other side of the counter the demure little misswho had eyed us both askance passed, and paused.

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"] think," she said disapprovingly, "that he had had a glassof b


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. . .

Frank Fox grave with new headstone.. . .Jacumba, California

In the June, 1940, issue of Desert you

An old friend of mine, Bud Sackett of

HAPPY,The Old Man of the Mountainslogist Impatient to Prowl . . .

Washington, D. C.A friend of mine sent me Desert Maga-

At present I'm engaged in geological

ROBERT L. SMITH

A Desert Rat Squeaks . . .Indio, CaliforniaDear Desert:Here's a squeak from a desert rat. Per-haps this report on things as they aremight cure some lad suffering from nos-talgia for the desert:The peace of the desert's a thing of thepastDon't return to us here while this darnedwar shall last.You drive along back country roads, thetanks go clanging by,The drone of airplane motors never leavesour desert sky.You plan to make a camp beside a desertwater holeBut the challenge of a sentry halts you e'eryou reach the goal.You climb familiar hills and as up the trailyou creepYou oft times step behind a rock to dodgea charging jeep.The Colorado desert "hath suffered a seachange,"And every favorite stamping ground ismarked "artillery range."Our pastel colored mountains are stillwaiting there, we trust,But the army's on maneuvers, and youcan't see them for the dust.MRS. JANE WALKER August Cover's Two Kids . . .San Bernardino, CaliforniaDear Lucile:Just had to write a word about that Au-gust coverThe Two Kids, brunet andblond, are absolutely "It." You certainlydo know how to make fetching covers.And they don't belie the contents of themagazine, either. EMMA J. C. DAVIS

Rockhound on a Coral Reef. . .U. S. NavySouthwest Pacific AreaDear Miss Harris:For the past three years I have receivedDesert Magazine as a Christmas gift.Coming under the well known heading of"rockhound," as well as being a devotedlover of the desert, I certainly appreciateyour efforts in publishing such a maga-zine.It portrays the highlights of interest inthe Western states for the unfortunateones who are unable to enjoy our desertsotherwise. I have explored in the vicinitiesof many of the places your articles havementioned. And as I peruse the illustratedmapped articles I can recall many pleas-ant trips and experiences I have had. Keepup the good work.Like Randall Henderson, I too am in'the jungles, in another corner of theworld. But I ask you, how can one findmaterials like agate, petrified wood, etc.,suitable for cutting and polishing, on acoral reef? It just isn't done. So after read-ing Desert Magazine I get very homesick.I am anxious again to take my prospector'spick and sack and go in search of thosetreasures which only the desert holds.I am enclosing money order for the fourDesert Assortments to go to my homeaddress. I treasure them too highly to takechances on their being lost out here; there-fore I deprive myself of reading them un-til I return, which I hope is soon.

CARL BANGLE, CM 2/c Defines Sand for Quiz Editor . . .Santa Monica, CaliforniaDear Desert Magazine:I have subscribed to D.M. for over fouryears, reading it from cover to cover. Iespecially enjoy the friendly arguments onthe letters page and make my request tosit in this time.In True or False, June issue, you stateWhite Sands national monument is com-posed of gypsum rather than sand.Webster defines sand as small particlesof stone, smaller than small pebbles andlarger than dust. Winston defines sand asa mineral substance composed of smallseparate grains of rock.The greater percent of sand is composedof quartz (Si02). But sand also may becomposed of gypsum (CaS04.2H20) suchas White Sands national monument, or ofblack sand know n as m a g n e t i t e(Fe0.Fe203) which is often encounteredin sluicing for gold, or the black sandsbeach of Hawaii which is composed of ob-sidian, not usually termed a mineral butrather as natural volcanic glass. I also haveread of a beach along the coast of Wash-ington which is composed almost com-pletely of garnet and I have a bottle ofruby and sapphire sand in my collection.E. F. MONTGOM ERY

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Praise to Yaquitepec Story . .Fultonville, New YorkEiear Miss Harris:The D.M. came yesterday and thoughI was very busy I peeked through thepiges. The picture of Yaquitepec certain-ly must be, as you said, "well done." I canS(;e it in color in my mind's eye, with thehelp of Mr. Crocker's hints as to coloring.Then too I remember well the beauty ofthe western mountain country. The storya;i Marshal said, "gets under the skin."My heart aches for the family having toleave their little home. If I were foot-looseId go there and take up where they leftoff.Personally I think they will have a hardtime finding a place. Yaquitepec hassooiled them. Even in the pictures it isfascinating.You say Mr. Crocker is very modest inconsidering his ability. I find most peoplewho do worthwhile things let others tootthe horn and unfurl the banners. They asa rule are too busy and sincere. Mr.Crocker not only paints well but writeswell. When a man can by a few wordspaint the picture he did of lonely littleYaquitepec I'd say he was doubly gifted.MRS. ANNA C. BOSTWICK "Pilgrimage" Too Realistic . . .Salem, OregonDear Sir:"Pilgrimage to Yaquitepec" was fine.While reading it I thought I was on thatmountain top looking over the desert. Buton finishing the article I found I was onlyin my own living room! What a disap-pointment.Since coming back to Salem after 32years away, I am almost continuouslyhomesick for the desert areas and the won-derful trips with the Sierra club.When I get too homesick, I just readyour Desert Magazine and it does lend ameasure of peace and contentment.ALMA A. CHESSMAN Will Give D.M. to Service Boys . . .Pasadena, CaliforniaEditor, Desert Magazine:Words are inadequate to express thepleasure my friends, my family and my-sslf have had in reading your excellentmagazine.I have all the copies of 1940 to 1943inclusive, and now would like to disposeof them in some way that would bring asmuch pleasure to someone else. Shouldyou know of some camp of the armedforces situated somewhere on the desert,where you think the boys would enjoythem I would gladly mail them there.MRS. ELLEN HAAS

Dear Mrs. Haas: Any request fromdesert service camps will be forward-ed to you.L.H.

Frenchman Knew the Answer . . .Arbuckle, CaliforniaDear Mr. Henderson:Was introduced to your magazine inJanuary, at a time when some interest wasneeded badly. I started the year with abroken leg and various fractures. The fivemonths in the hospital were shortenedconsiderably while reading of the desert.It brought back the memories of smoketrees, the dream-like beauty of the desertin spring, and the stern beauty of the des-ert in summer.One of the great French writers hadspent 30 years in the Sahara. He was be-ing entertained by society in Paris. Al-though he was a kindly man he tired ofthese sheltered peoples' questions. Whena woman, who had been prattling aboutthe terrible desert, finally asked him point-blank what was in those great spaces tohave kept him so long, he replied, "God,Madame!" RALPH M. WILLIAMS DM in Service Reading Room . . .San Francisco, CaliforniaDear Friends:I first became acquainted with Deserttwo years ago when my sister sent me agift subscription, and it has been a sourceof joy to me ever since. I bring my copiesdown to our little book shop and leavethem in the reading room. So many of ourboys in uniform come in and read themand they enjoy every page.

VIRGINIA L. MEYER More on Shrine Legend . . .Mesa Grande, CaliforniaEditor Desert Magazine:In your June issue, Letters department,I was particularly interested in Mr. JulianD. Hayden's version of the four martyredchildren, sacrificed to stop a great flood.I was among the Papagos in 1920 andfirst heard the story from the Santa Rosagovernment teacher, since confirmed by anold Santa Rosa Indian. As the burst ofwater subsided after the sacrifice it brokeout in six or seven places a little belowthe shrine and large rocks were placedover these spots and can be seen there to-day.I agree with Hayden's description. Tomy mind, a drought in that part of Arizonais not unusual as summer rains are spotted.It may not rain in Santa Rosa, yet 20 milesaway there might be ample rainfall. Withapologies to Mrs. Muench, I do not be-lieve a drought among the Papagos wouldcause them to make such a heart-breakingsacrifice. But with a racial memory of agreat flood, when nearly every living thingwas drowned, that terrible calamity couldonly be averted by this precious sacrificeto an angry deity.

ED H. DAVIS

Black Butte "Disappears" Again . . .Winterhaven, CaliforniaDear Editor:The story "Black Butte Gold" in theAugust issue has aroused considerablecomment among prospectors of the Choc-olate mountains. While the youthful au-thor's geography is off a little, it is never-theless a good story. Many tales of blackgold have come out of the Colorado des-ert, and the black butte travels along withall of themsometimes one butte, some-times two or three. So persistent is the as-sociation of the two, that somewhere inthe region there must be a black butte withblack gold on or near it.

While the subject is hot, may I con-tribute a little more mystery to the myste-rious location of the Black Butte. In thefall of 1919 a prospector named Mooreand myself were herding our fleet of packburros across the mesa country north ofthe Cargo Muchacho mountains in south-eastern Imperial county. The animalswere picking their way through the heavyironwood and palo verde timber whichlined the m any washes we were crossing atright angle. On each of the narrow mesasbetween these washes was an old woodroad leading to the Tumco mines to thesouth.

At noon we stopped at the base of a lit-tle black butte to boil coffee and rest theanimals. After lunch we climbed to thetop of the butte to "look-out" the bestroute to a certain tank near where Impe-rial Gables is now.Being prospectors we instinctively ex-amined the rock formation of the butteand noticed many seams of quartz runningthrough the schist of which the butte wascomposed. Thinking the seams might bethrowing gold we run a few samples takenaround the base of the butte through ourdry-washer and found a little gold in allof the samples. Not anything to becomeexcited about but enough to warrant fur-ther investigation. That would have toawait some future time however for wenow were out of water and would have topush on to the tank still some miles dis-tant.With the passing years the probabilitythat the little black butte was the makingsof a gold mine became an obsession withme and I started out to give it a thoroughinvestigation. But although I run outeveryone of those old wood roads I couldfind no replica of the picture in my mindof the little black butte and the countrysurrounding it. Most likely when found itwill prove to be just one more of thosedreams we prospectors haveand whichimpel us eternally to search.

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' ' ? . .

through this sandy waste that Samuel W alcott and fam es M cNally trailed upwardjrom San Juan river to their deaths near El C apitan. View shows the T otem Pole, Monu-ment V alley, Utah. Milton Snow photo.

In presenting this document, Richard Van Valkenburgh throughDesert Magazine makes available to the public for the first time theauthentic story of an episode which took place in the wild MonumentValle y area m any yea rs ag o. It is a story which has b een told and retoldand cons equen t ly become so warped that it is today a lmos t alegend in the N ava jo country of Arizona and Utah. The simple directwords of the young Navajo's testimony will bring readers closer to thepsychology and common law practice of his tribe than any white man'swords can approach.From the Fort Defiance Archives and Containingthe S tatement of Hashkeneeni BegaiArranged by RICHARD VAN VALKENBURGH

11 / HEN Denis M. Rirodan, the Na-YY v a j agent at Fort Defiance, Ari-zona Territory, opened the dis-atches Drought him by the headmanHerrero Segundo from Lieut. J. P. Krebson the San Juan river he read, "Tworospectors, Walcott and McNally areaid to have been killed by the Navajoear Navajo mountain . . ."In the accompanying letter written bythe trader Mitchell the information wasiven that late in March, 1884, Samuelalcott of Baltimore, Maryland, and

James McNally of Illinois had outfittedat his post on the San Juan river for aprospecting trip. When last seen they werson the Indian trail that snaked its way up-ward through the shelved badlands be-tween the gorge of the San Juan and themist shrouded pinnacles of MonumentValley.Rirodan immediately sent Navajo Peteinto Monument Valley. After making aquiet investigation the scout returned toFort Defiance with Denetsosi. Slim Nava-jo. The young Navajo's rambling confes-

sion not only involved himself but alsoHashkeneeni Begai, the son of ChiefHashkeneeni. It verified Rirodan's grow-ing fearWalcott and McNally weredead!A few days later Hashkeneeni and alarge band of warriors rode into Fort De-fiance. With him was his son HashkeneeniBegai, Before Acting Agent S. F. Mar-shall and the tribal head chief, Henry CheeDodge, the young Navajo made the fol-lowing statement: STATEMENT OF OSH-KA-NI-BE-GAY, RELATIVE TO THE KILLINGOF TWO AMERICANS, BY HIMSELFA ND OTHER S N EA R N A V A J OMOUNTAIN ON ABOUT THE 31STDAY OF MARCH, 1884.

"VIZ""One night I was sick and my friendswere singing over me all night to make me

well. In the morning I was better andstarted on horseback with my wife to goto her camp which was some distanceaway."As we rode along we came to the topO C T O B E R , 1 9 4 3 19


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Wild and desolate was the setting for the death of the "old man w alking and theyoung man riding." Milton Snow photo.of i little hill (Chaistla butte). My wifepointed off to something which she saidwas moving. I lookedbut could seenothing. I was sleepy. I rubbed my eyesand looked again. I saw two Americanson the trail."Just then a boya son of Belen la ki{B:li lakaih, His White Horse) came up,and we all rode to where the Americanswere. One was an old man walking (Sam-uel Walcott) leading some horses. Theother, a young man (James McNally) wasridng along."They spoke to us and gave us all sometobacco. My wife had some mutton tied toher saddle. The old American made signsthat he would like to buy some of it. Mywife told him that her sheep-herd wasnear the trail and when we got to themwe would sell them a whole sheep."After then the boy left."We rode along and when we came tothe sheep the American did not say any-

thing about buying one of them. I thenasked the A merican did he w ant a sheepbut he did not answer. Then my wife andmyself left the Americans and went to mywife's camp."When I got to the hogan I stayedaround all afternoon and when it got darkI told my wife I was sleepy and asked herto pull off my moccasins. I lay down andslept all night. About daylight I awokeand got to thinking that my mother hadsaid that she wanted to move away to an-other place and that she needed somehorses to help her move the things."So I got up and went out and broughtin two horses. As I was coming back tocamp with them I saw Ten-nai-tsosi (Dene-tsosi) and a boy dressing a sheep. I askedthem what they were killing a sheep soearly in the morning for. They said theywere killing it for two Americans whosecamp was only a little way off."I asked particular where it was. Then

I went to my camp and saddled my horseand went with the extra horse to the campof the Americans. When I got there oneof them had got up and was making a fire.I sat on my horse for awhile and then gotoff and went and stood around the firewarming my hands as it was very cold."The old American got out the cookingutensils and made coffee. While he wascooking Ten-nai-tsosi and the boy cameup with the mutton and some corn whichthey threw on a brush. Then all three ofus Navajo sat around the fire."About the time coffee was ready theyoung man got up and the two Ameri-cans sat down to eat their breakfast. Aftereating they throwed out the coffee, gavethe dog they had with them some breadand things that was left."Then the young man went to the sad-dle and got a rope and started right off inthe direction of where the horses were.He went a little way and I told Ten-nai-tsosi, 'Tell the young American where thehorses are.'"But Ten-nai-tsosi said, 'No.'"Then I said again, 'Tell him where hishorses are.'"But he said, 'No' again."Then the old man got out some fieldglasses and looked all round to see if hecould see their horses as there were a goodmany horses around. He called me andfixed the glasses and told me to lookthrough. I did and could see a long wayaround. I said they were a wonderfulthing'all the horses are close around.'

"Then Ten-nai-tsosi wanted to lookthrough, but the American refused andput them back in his pocket. Then he tookout his pipe and tobacco and filled hispipe and gave all three of us a little tobac-co."About that time the boy went toAcross this barren valley of the Laguna wounded James McNally fled ,

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With firm faces hard as the w ind shaped rocks, the Navajo of M onument Valleystill are a hardy and fiercely proud people. Hastin Lapaii, the Grey man, whoguides the Navajo of the southern sector of the Great Valley in th-e Rocks.Indian Field Service photo.Facsimile reproduction of part of young Hashkeneeni's statement given May 7,1884, before the authorities at Fo rt Defiance, Arizona.

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back. The boy went to them and told themto come up where we were. They came.Tug-i-yezzy said to them, 'We have killedone man.'"Tug-i-yezzy begged all these youngfellows to kill the American and swore atthem because they were so slow about it.Then he finally said, 'Give me your besthorse and let me go after the American. Iused to be a great one to fight the enemy.'"Then we all started toward the Amer-ican from different directions. Tug-i-yezzygot near the American from behind somebrush. The American saw him and shot athim four times. Then Ten-nai-tsosi com-menced to fire at the American and shotseveral shots with the rifle and pistol. Ishot several times with the gun and pistolas we changed about. We killed all threeof his horses.

"Tug-i-yezzy got up nearer to the Amer-ican from behind some brush. A s he raisedhis head the American shot him. Tug-i-yezzy laid there for a little whilethengot up and run little way and fell down.Then he got up and passed out of sightover the hill.

"We then all left and went to whereTug-i-yezzy was lying. I got there andfound that the ball had gone in near theeye and came out near his ear. He said,'Where is the American?'"I answered, 'He is back there lying be-tween his horses.'"Then Tug-i-yezzy said, 'I think I amwounded very bad, I wish all you boyswould try to kill this American. I thinkI will die.'"Then I went over to my father's campand told him all about it. My father Osh-ka-ni-ne (Hashkeneeni, Putting - Out-W a r ) , myself and another man startedback to where Tug-i-yezzy was lyingwounded. We reached there after dark.

"They told us that the American hadgone, but did not know which way hewent. We sat a long time and six of usstarted to look for the American's trail.We lit matches and saw the tracks goingon the trail. Then we went along. Ten-nai-tsosi and I were behind and he beggedme again, 'Don't give me away.'

"Going on a short distance we againlit matches and again saw the tracks.Three of the party went back, by myself,my father, and another man followed thetrail of the American."We came to a Navajo camp where wefound them all asleep. We woke themand told them all about it. We stayedthere all night and in the morning threeNavajo went for their horses and wentalong with us to trail the American."As we tracked him he turned off to-ward the top of the mountain (Blackmountain). Then we separated. The otherparty soon found the American's horse.Then they followed his foot tracks. And

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before long they found him. I was a littleway off ;ind heard the shooting."I went towards thenoise, and from thetop of a bluff (near the Fingers aboveChilchin bito Trading Post, Arizona) andsaw theAmerican and there wekilled him.W e all went to where he was lying andone of the Navajo took the pistol scabbardoff him. I looked and saw that his clotheswere very bloody, and which was dry,which ttiakes me think he was woundedthe daybefore. T his is all, and it is the truestatement." OSH-KA-NI-BE-GAYX (His Mark)WITNESS:S. E. MARSHALL

"I , Beleen-la-ki, know nothing moreabout this affair than that part which tellsabout proposing to raise a flag of truce,and the shooting up to the time the threehorses were killed, and Tug-i-yezzy waswounded and went to the rear."BELEEN-LA-KIX (His Mark)WITNESS:S. E. MARSHALL"I, Osh-ka-ni-ne have heard the fore-going statement read, it is true and cor-rect as lelates to all that transpired fromthe time I joined the Navajo that night atthe 'hogan' (hut) where Tug-i-yezzy laywounded, up to the time when the youngAmerican waskilled.

OSH-KA-NI-NEX (His Mark)WITNESS:S. E. MARSHALLSIGNED IN THE PRESENCE OFAND INTERPRETED BY:HENRY DODGEInterpreterNAVAJO AGENCYMay 7th, 1884. Some months later Navajo Pete guidedChee Dodge andLieut. George Alley fromFort Wingate to the shallow grave ofSamuel Walcott scooped out in the blood-stained sand near lonely Chaistla butte.Nearby lay the remains of the old pros-

pector's faithful dog. The remains ofJames McNally never were found and stilllie somewhere up in the Black mountainrim near the Fingers above Chilchinbito,Arizona.Of the eight Navajo involved in theMelee of the Monuments only ChiefHashkeneeni was punished. After beingheld by the military at Fort Wingate, NewMexico, for some time, he served a shortsentence at St. Johns, Arizona.In the stern eyes of white man's lawHashkeneeni Begai was definitely an ac-cessory to the killing of Walcott and Mc-

Nally. But in the common law and cus-tom of his people, he was justified in theprotectian of a fellow tribesmen in inflict-O C T O B E R , 1943

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ing blood revenge on those whowoundeda kinsman.Chief Hashkeneeni's turbulent spiritlong since haspassed into theDine "Landof the Dead" as have the souls of sixother Navajo involved in the affair. In1937 while wandering through the greatcanyon country west of Oljato, I came to

a Navajo camp nestling in the rinconadaof Nakaih canyon. A venerable old Na-vajo welcomed me and offered me thefinest of Navajo hospitality for the night.Later, when I asked the trader at Oljatoof him, he answered, "That's old Hash-keneeni Begaione of the best Navajo inthe country!"

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Mine

A few years ago Charles Kelly and FrankBeckwitli encountered an old grey man ploddingalong the trail near Poison Springs wash, inUtah. His odd appearance and his refusal toaccept c: ride aroused their curiosity. Since then,Kelly has uncovered information linking himwith a lost mine tale originating in New Mexicoand going back as far as the early Spanish daysof explcration. The fantastic part the little oldman plcyed in searching for the Lost Josephineis but one facet to the 150-year old treasure huntand is another reminder that truth is strangerthan fiction.

By CHARLES KELLYDrawing by John Hansen

N A hot day in early Septemberseveral years ago, Frank Beckwithand I were returning from an ex-to Poison Spring wash in Wayney, Utah, where we hadgone in searchwe saw a mancoming downus. Reasoning that any-on foot in such a desert must be in dis-I slowed down to offer him a lift ora drink of water. To our surpriseman passed without slackening hisor turning his head. His eyes seemedbe fixed on the distant Henry moun-and he appeared to be unaware ofHe was a small man, about

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75 years old, with stooped shoulders andgrey beard. Over his shoulder was slung alightly filled gunny sack and in one handhe carried a coffee pot half full of water."Guess he doesn't need any help," Isaid to Frank, stepping on the gas,1 "but Ican't understand why an old man wouldbe trying to cross this desert on foot. Iwonder if he knows there's no water forthe next 30 miles.""Too bad he's not going our way,"Frank replied. "I'll bet the old codger

could tell a mighty interesting story."We drove on down the crooked dustyroad, but we couldn't get the old man out

of our minds. Who was he and wherecould he be going? Why was he afoot andalone? What was the story behind hisstrange quest?Little by little, in the intervening years,I found some of the answers to those ques-tions and the story proves once again thattruth is stranger than fiction.The legend of the Lost Josephine mineseems to have originated in New Mexicoand is probably over 150 years old. Loca-tion of the legendary mine usually is

Documents

194310 Desert Magazine 1943 October