194108 Desert Magazine 1941 August

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Apologies toShorty's Burro . . .Los Angeles, CaliforniaDear Sirs :

I have just received my first copy of DesertMagazine, and enjoyed it very much.I was particularly pleased with the articleabout Ballarat. I was there, as well as several ofthe ghost towns just a few weeks ago. Missedseeing Ol' Chris because the ra ins had madethe road to his place impassable. However, overat Harrisburg Flat I met old Pete Aguerberryan d had a long visit with him.Later I visited the grave of Pete's old pros-pecting partner Shorty Harris. I had met Har-ri s at Shoshone in the winter of 1933 and havea picture taken of him at that time.Which brings me to the reason for writingthis letter. On page 33 I find under DesertPlace Names an item about Shorty's grave. Evi-dently whoever wrot e this article took theword ing on the plaque from the Death Valleyguide book, page 40. In any case, the way youhave it is wrong , and for the sake of accuracyI am writing the correct wording.Shorty is famous for his tall yarns, and manyof them included burros or jackasses. So theepitaph might just as well have included thelatter. I checked the wording very carefully,an d as it is made of bronze, there is no mistak-in g the legend on it. It read:"Bury mebeside Jim Dayton in the Val-ley we loved; above me write : Here l iesShorty Harris , a single-blanket ]ackas>prospector. ' Epitaph requested by Shorty(Frank) Harris , beloved gold hunter ,1856-1934."Here lies Jim Dayton, pioneer, per-ished 1898.'To these trailmakers, whose couragematched thedangers of the land, this bit ofearth is dedicated forever."The words in italics were omitted in theDesert Magazine reference to Shorty's grave.G. A. G A L L A G H E R

Champion Quartz Crystal . . .Long Beach, CaliforniaD e a r Mr. Henderson:Finding myself in Phoenix wirh a Sunday onmy hands and recalling John Hilton's articleon quartz crystals in the Superstition moun-tains, I hied me over in that direction all set tocome out with some of the best of the crop.I did not reckon on my far from good mem-ory, and went out withou t a copy of Hilton 'smap. Consequently I spent plenty of t ime hunt-in g the road, and when I finally did find thetwo correct ruts through the brush it was onlyto encounter a deep wash that very definitelysaid "no" to my low-slung 1941 mode l .D u r i n g the search for the right route I hadthe p leasure of meeting Mrs. Sina F. Lewis onher claim in the Superstitions and spent a mostenjoyable two hours listening to her stories ofthe lost mines, including the Lost Dutchman.

I did not bring out any crystals, but I didhave the pleasure of seeing the champion ofthem allthe finest quartz crystal I have everseenin Mrs. Lewis' collection. No, I cannottell you where it came from. J. H. CZOCK Let's Make it Semi-Weekly . . .

Albany, OregonT o the Editors :I have been a reader of Desert Magazine formore than a year, and a subscriber for about 6months , so I feel qualified to make a sugges-t ion. I like the magazine so good. It seems theonly thing long about a month is the length oftime from one issue to the next, and with thatthought in mind I suggest that you changefrom a monthly to a weekly magazine. And ifyou comply with that request, then we shall askfo r a semi-weekly.C H A R L E S R O H R B O U G H

n: R O

Perfect Desert Car . . .Fort Ord, CaliforniaDear Mr. Henderson:Have noticed several comments in recentcopies of Desert on the need of a more satis-factory car for desert jaunts. The most recentone suggested shorter wheel-base and widertires.

I would like to suggest that the new "Jeep"or "J i t terbug" the army has adopted is the mostpracticable I have yet seen or heard of in eitherne w or antique vehicles. It has a very shortwheel-base, balloon tires, four-wheel drivewhen needed, a very powerful motor for itssize and weight, and is very low slung.Needless to say they are very homely, but

what true Desert Rat cares for looks in a man-made art ic le? T hese "Jeeps" are powerfulenough to carry four people and pull a loadedtrailer over very rough ground. The four-wheel drive, used only when the ground is slip-pery, muddy, sandy, etc., gives them plenty oftraction to go innumerable places a standardcar of any vintage will not go.This is a suggestionnot a sales talk.P V T . D A V I D E. S M I T H

Greetings toMarshal South . . .Orange , New JerseyDear Sir:It was with a great deal of regret that I readin the Magazine, the first part of the year, ofthe discontinuance of Marshal South's articles,

bu t I did not write and express my complaintand disappointment for I realized there must beothers you felt should contribute to your won-derful magazine.I am writing at this time to tell you howhappy I am to see that Marshal South has againcontributed his art of writing for the Maga-zine, in May and June numbers , and here'shoping it continues for I don't think anyonebrings one closer to the desert and its wondersthan he does. To an easterner, who has beenfortunate enough to have enjoyed a little pleas-ur e and relaxation on the desert, it is so inspir-in g and restful to read your Magazine.I have been a subscriber since its first pub-lication and I hope I can always continue to beone. ELSA E. L I V I N G S T O N

Information, Please . . .Inglewood, CaliforniaDear Sirs :This spring we went to see the wild flowersin the Arvin hills between Bakersfield and Te-hachapi. On one of the hills we found twograves, one surrounded by an iron fence. Eachha d a gravestone but no inscription.Could youtell me the history of these lonelygraves ? Why is one enclosed in a fence and theother not?We decorated the graves with wildflowers,and would be interested to know who they be-long to. MRS . F. KLUS S

/ / any of the Desert Magazine readersknou' the answers to Mrs. Kluss' ques-tions, we would like to pass the informa-tion along to her. R.H.

Error inGeography . . .Nutley, New JerseyDear Mr. Henderson:To tell youjust what Desert Magazine meansto me is not an easy thing to do in a fewwords.To come home from the day's turmoil with itsstrikes and wars and misgivings, and then tobury oneself in the Desert Magazine and betransported vicariously back to God's countryis a rare pleasure.I especially enjoyed your article On the Trail

to Rainbow Bridge. There was one minor errorI would like to point out. Consult your map ofsouthern Utah and youwill see that when Nor-man Nevills conducts his boat trips from Mexi-can Hat to Rainbow Bridge he travels most ofthe distance on the SanJuan river, not theColo-rado. After reading that article I turned backthrough myfiles andre-read John Stewart Mac-Clary's Shortcut to Rainbow Bridge in the May1939 issue. Although it is a little late to men-tion it there is an error in that article also.Con-sult your mapagain and youwill agree it wouldtake a magician to float down the Coloradofrom Lee's Ferry to Bridge creek.The recent May issue with its little surprisepackage, the splendid Utah booklet, was espe-cially enjoyable. I look forward to the daywhenDesert Magazine begins to use color shots inthe manner of the Arizona Highways Christmasnumber, and hope that I mayhave the pleasureof submitting some of my own.With every good wish for your continuedsuccess. M . S. CARP ENTERi Pinons in Massachusetts . . .

Springfield, Mass.Dear Mr. Henderson:Several months ago I purchased a sack ofpinon nuts advertised in your magazine.This spring I threw a handful of the same onmy garden. A few weeks later I was surprisedto see the Southwestern plants peeking shyly atthe strange NewEngland and different climatefrom their places in the soil.N ow the plants are over an inch in height,although some still are appearing. They aresomewhat of a curiosity, and I believe myfriends take as much interest in them as I do.W e are at present eagerly watching develop-ments.Even though I have subscriptions to both theNew Mexico and The Arizona HighwaysMagazines in addition to that of the Desert, Ihave seen no mention made of the pinon. "No-mah, the Navajo Weaver" in your April issuehad mentioned the fact that the Indians used itas a source of chewing gum.The Saturday Evening Post of April 26 hadan article on cacti anddesert plants, with natur-al color photos, which I scanned enthusiastical-ly without finding anything said about thepinon. However this seems perfectly natural tome as the pinon is a mountain and not a desertpine.Perhaps youcould send me a few hints as towhat measures I should take to best help andnurture it. I leave this to your discretion. I wishto compliment you and the staff on the finepublication I receive every month.M R . H A R L A N L E I G H T O N

Mr. Leighton: Desert Magazine of No-vember '39 carried a very complete storyabout the harvesting of pinon nuts by theIndians, written by Richard Van Valken-burgh. R.H. Worth thePrice . . .Payson, UtahDear Editor:Herewith my check for renewal of D. M.

The articles by Marshal South are worth theprice, and I have all the rest of the magazine fornothing. L. D. P F O U T STHE DESERT MAGAZINE


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D E S E R T

AUG. 1-3 Cowboys' Reunion, LasVegas , NewMexico. Ranchhands rodeo, one of the larg-es t inthe West.2-3 First annual charity horseshow, Flagstaff, Arizona. LeoWeaver, secretary.

2-16 Utah and Arizona vacation tripfor Sierra Club of SouthernCalifornia. Reservations beforeJuly 25,Irene Charnock, 2526Hyler avenue, Los Angeles.W. E. (Andy) Andrews, leader.2-19 Drawings of Yaqui, Seri andMayo Indians byEben F. Com-ins on exhibit at Museum ofNorthern Arizona, Flagstaff.3 Smoki Ceremonials inPrescott,Arizona at sundown. ClaudeHayes, chairman.4 Great Indian Corn dance, San-to Domingo Pueblo, New Mex-ico.9-10 Sierra club tohike Mt. San ]a -cinto and climb Tahauitz Rock.Dr. Marko Petinak, leader.12 Indian ceremon ial at SantaClara Pueblo, New Mexico.13-16 20th annual Inter-Tribal Indianceremonial, Gallup, New Mex-ico.14-16 Annual rodeo, Vernal, Utah.15 Corn dance , Zia Pueblo. 60miles southwest of SantaFe.20-22 State convention of20-30 clubs

in Salt Lake City, Utah. HaroldBerling, Fort Douglas, chair-man.21-24 Ame rican Legion state con-vention, Prescott, Arizona. Wm.P. Aven, chairman.22-23 Bean harv estin g festival androdeo, Mountainair, New Mex-ico.22-23 Flower show, Santa Fe. MorrisYashvin, chairman.22-24 Cavern City Cavalcade, Carls-bad, New Mexico. Rodeo.23-SEPT. 10 Indian paintings bvHoke Denetsosie, Navajo artist,at Museum of Northern Ari-zona, Flagstaff.28-30 Box Elder fair androdeo, Tre-monton, Utah.28-30 Kids rodeo in El Paso, Texas,followed on Aug. 31, Sept. 1, byRange Hands rodeo.30-SEPT. 1Oldtime Labor day cele-bration atMiami, Arizona.30-SEPT. 1 Nevada rodeo, Winne-mucca, Nevada.30-SEPT. 1Dig-N-Dogie Days, King-man, Arizona.30-SEPT. 1Nevada state fair, Fallon,Nevada. C. J. Thornton, Reno,manager .30-SEPT 1Santa FeFiesta inSantaFe , New Mexico. A.]. Taylor,chairman.

V o l u m e 4 AUGUST , 1941 N u m b e r 10C O V E RLETTERSC A L E N D A RFIESTAHI ST ORYART OF LIVINGT R A V E L O GCE RE M ONI ALPUZZLERE CRE AT I ONI N D I A N C R A F T SC O N T E S TP H O T O G R A P H YE XPL ORAT I ONL A N D M A R KG E M S T O N E SWE AT HE RB O T A N YPOETRYFICTIONP L A C E N A M E SC O N T R I B U T O R SB O O K SM I N I N GHOB B YTRAVELN E W SC O M M E N T

N A V A J O Y O U T H , C o p y r i g h t e d p i c t u r e byD. CliffordBond , Ber k e ley , Ca l i f o r n ia .C o m m e n t f r o m D e s e r t M a g a z i n e r e a d e r s . . . 2C u r r e n t e v e n t s ont h e d e s e r t 3W h e n t h e T r i b e s m e n D a n c e atG a l l u p . . . . 4B i s b e e M a s s a c r eB y B A R R Y G O L D W A T E R 5D e s e r t R e f u g eB y M A R S H A L S O U T H 9W e C a m p e d inthe Devi l ' s Ki tchenB y B E T T Y W O O D S 11D a u g h t e r of t h e S n a k e C l a nB y M R S . W H I T E M O U N T A I N S M I T H . . . 15T r u e orF a l s e a t e s t ofy o u r D e s e r t k n o w l e d g e . 18253 , 000 Acr es Al lo t t ed toA n z a D e s e r t S t a t e P a r k . 18P o t t e r y M a k e r of S a n I l d e f o n s oBy HELEN CALKI NS 19P r i z e a n n o u n c e m e n t for A u g u s t 22C o n t e s t w i n n e r s for July 23A r c h int h e R e d r o c k sB y R I C H A R D V A N V A L K E N B U R G H . . . 24W i n d o w R o c kBy JIMMIE ELLISON 27O d d R o c k s f r o m a D e s e r t D r y L a k eBy JOHN W. H I L T O N 28D e s e r t t e m p e r a t u r e s in J u n e 30Y o u ' l l R e c o g n i z e V e l v e t R o s e t t eBy MARY BEAL 31I n d i a n W e a v e r , a n d o t h e r p o e m s 32H a r d R o c k S h o r t y ofD e a t h V a l l e yB y L O N G A R R I S O N 33O r i g i n ofn a m e s int h e S o u t h w e s t 34W r i t e r s of the D e s e r t 35R e v i e w s of S o u t h w e s t e r n b o o k s 36Briefs from the D e s e r t r e g i o n 38G e m s a n d M i n e r a l s

E d i t e d by A R T H U R L. E A T O N . . . . 39R a m b l i n g R o c k n u t sBy BERTHA GREELEY BROWN 40H e r e a n d T h e r e on theD e s e r t 43J us t B e t w e e n Y o u a n d M e b y theEditor . . . 46

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 1941 by the Desert PublishingCompany. Permission to reproduce contents must be secured from the editor in writing.RANDALL HENDERSON, Editor. LUCILE HARRIS, Associate Editor.

Richard B. Older, Advertising Representative, 416 Wall St., Los Angeles, Calif. Phone TR 1501Manuscripts 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, including gold-embossed loose leaf binder $3.00Two years, including binders for both years 5.00You may deduct 50c each for binders if not desired.Canadian subscriptions 25c extra, foreign 50c extra.Address correspondence to Desert Magazine, 636 State St., El Centro, California.

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W hen the ^Jtihelmen 2>ancea t QcdUup, . . .

/ 7 ND IAN S from 30 SouthwesternV tribes will assemble for their an-nual Inter-Tribal Ceremonials a:Gallup, New Mexico, this year August 13-16. This will be the 20th annual presenta-tion of a program that has gained nation-wide recognition as the most colorful In-dian pageant in America.Thirty-odd Indian dances in costume-are to be presented in the stadium each ofthe four evenings. The daylight programwill be featured by parades and games.Days before the program begins, Indi-ans will be trekking toward the "Indiancapital" on foot, horseback, and in manykinds of vehicles. Thousands of them gcthere to take part or to witness the dances.

Apache Indians, once themost warlike oj all ths west-ern American tribes, no wsend their best dancers to Gal-lup each year to present thefamous Devil Dance.

Sa n lldejonso pueblo Indian in cos-tume w on? in the Com anche dance.

N o less interesting than the ceremonialprogram is the great exhibit hall where thefinest crafts from all the tribes are enteredfor $1500 in prizes. Navajo sand-painters,Hopi katchina makers, potters, weaversand jewelry makers are seen at work inthe exhibit building.Sponsoring the Ceremonial program isa non-profit association of Gallup busi-ness men. Last year they erected a newsteel stadium with a seating capacity of4,000. Secretary of the association and theman who deserves much of the credit forits success is M. L. Woodard.The program for each of the four daysis as follows:WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 138:00 p. m.Indian dances, Lyon Me-morial park.AUGUST 14-15-1610:30 a. m.Parade through down-town Gallup.2:00 p. m.Games and other events,Lyon Memorial park.8:00 p. m.Indian dances, Lyon Me-morial park.

The Rainbow Dance oj theSa n Juan pueblo Indians isone oj the most spectacularceremonials in annual inter-tribal program held at Gallup


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The men ran down the street towhere their horses were tied andheaded out of town on a gallop,firing as they went to discouragepursuit.

By BARRY GOLDWATERIn Boothill cemetery at Tomb-stone, Arizona, are two weath-ered boards, one of them mark-ing the bur i a l place of five menhanged by due process of law,and the other recording the de-mise of a man lynched by amob. These grave markers aremute testimony to the truismthat crime did not payeven in1883 wh en banditry w as a popu-lar vocation on the western fron-tier. The even ts b ehind the tragicdeath of those six men compriseone of the bloodiest episodes in

early Arizona historyand hereis the story as disclosed by thearchives of that period.

r WO men, one of them masked,walked into the general store of A.Castanoda and Joe Goldwater inBisbee, Arizona, soon after dark Satur-day evening, December 8, 1883.The unmasked invader levelled his gunat Peter Dall, the bookkeeper. "Get yourhands up!" he commanded.Taken by surprise, Dall hesitated fora moment. The second bandit also turnedhis revolver in the direction of the clerkand the latter's hands went up withoutmore delay.Three other masked men had followed

the first two into the store and covered thecustomers and other clerks."Get that safe open and hand over the

payroll money!" demanded the leader,speaking to Dall. But Peter was only asubordinate in the store, and did notknow the combination.He told the bandit he was unable tocomply. The unmasked one was not con-vinced, and with an oath moved closer toDall and levelled the gun directly at hishead.At this crisis one of the masked robbersin the background moved forward, say-ing, "Hold on boys, don't shoot him. I'vegot the man in charge of the store here."The man he referred to was Joe Gold-water. As one of the owners of the place,he knew the combination, and with gunspointed at him he lost no time in openingthe safe.Two of the bandits, in the meantime,had returned to the sidewalk in front ofthe store and were patrolling the streetwith Winchester rifles. Just as Goldwaterwas swinging open the door of the safe,those inside the store heard one of themen outside shout an order, "Come on inhere!" Evidently a passing citizen sawwhat was going on and intended to spread

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the alarm, for he replied, "No you don't." At this, the other member of thegang shouted out, "Let 'im have it," punc-tuating his words with two blasts from hisgun. The man staggered a few steps, andthen fell dead against the Bon Ton saloon.

Thus began one of the bloodiest inci-dents in all of Arizona's turbulent historythe Bisbee Massacre. The man killedwas Johnny Tappenier, and before thewhole affair was over nine other personswere to follow him to the grave.The shooting of Tappenier changedthe whole aspect of the affair. No longerwas this just another payroll hold-up,fairly common in those days. It had be-come the deadly serious matter of mur-der. The bandits realized that capturenow would mean the noose, so they hadno reluctance about using their guns.Earlier in the evening D. T. Smith hadbeen in the store trading with Joe Gold-water, but had left to go to a restaurant.He was sitting at a table with Mr. Boyle,the owner, when the shooting started.Jumping up, he rushed into the street,armed with an English bulldog pistol. Henever got to use it, for a bullet through thebrain made him victim number two of thatruthless slaughter. From then on, the gun-men shot at anyone who showed his headin the street.

It was this promiscuous shooting thatbrought death to the third person. Mrs.W. W. Roberts, a young woman of 33

Early day picture oj Bisbee miningcamp. Photograph courtesy Arizonastate library.years, had just recently come to Arizonafrom her native state of New York. Sheunknowingly stepped into the street, anda bullet brought quick death to her.

The score now stood at two men andone woman, but the shooting was not yetover. A citizen named James A. Nallev,while trying to reach a place of Droter-tion. was fatally shot through the left sideof the chest. He too staggered to BobPierce's saloon before collapsing, and diedthe next day.The reign of terror lasted five or six-minutes at the mostbut it was longenough to bring death to four innocentpersons and robbery to the store of Cas-tanoda and Goldwater.While the killings had been takingplace outside, Joe was opening the safe in-side the store, emptying its contents intothe gang's jackets. Not content with theloot from the safe, one of the bandits wentinto the back room where Castanoda laysick, and forced him to hand over a bagof gold that he had put under his pillowfor safe-keeping when the shooting start-ed.

_ W ith the robbery finished, the fivemen dashed out of the store and raceddown the street, firing an occasional shot

over their shoulders to discourage pur-suit. They ran to the end of Tex s lumberyard where their horses were tied. Mount-ing, they headed out of town in full gal-lop towards Hereford.But where, while all of this was goingon, was Arizona's much-vaunted law?Deputy Sheriff Bill Daniels, who ran a sa-loon as a side-line to his law-enforcing,was playing billiards in his establishmentwhen the fireworks began. Rushing to thedoor to see where the shooting was com-ing from, he collided with a man comingin breathlessly who told him what wasgoing on. Daniels started toward the streetbut was swept back into the room by half-a-dozen men scrambling for safety.The deputy got two guns, give one to aman who had just come in. and the twoof them ran out the back way into the"gulch" behind the buildings. They raceddown to the postoffice, where they cameinto the street. By that time the banditswere running for their horses, and theofficer had to hold his fire for fear of hit-ting the townsmen who were filling thestreet. As the unmasked leader command-ed, "Get on your horses, boys," he cutloose at them. Their returning fire forcedDaniels back out of range for a second,and when he came out shooting again, thegang had started down the road. The

darkness made for bad aim, and heemptied his gun after the fleeing men,without apparently making a hit. He re-6 T HE D E S E R T MA G A Z I N E


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D A H O O W RR f 0 S A M P l fI B H O W AR DB t U D f U U K VM M K EL LYtlCAUVHANGED

These graves in B oothill cem etery at Tombstone, Arizona, record the pa ssing of six menwho made the m istake of killing \otir innocent bystanders in a hold-up.turned to the store, where Joe Goldwatertold him of the robbery.Daniels hastened to the Copper Queenmine office where Ben Williams offeredto furnish a few horses and all the gunsneeded for a posse. Returning to townDaniels met a boy who had just seen fivemen on horseback galloping furiously inthe direction of Hereford. Arriving inthe heart of town, he found everything inconfusion. However, he managed to re-cruit a posse and they saddled up andheaded for Tombstone to tell the sheriff of

what had taken place.Daniels himself then left with anotherman to go to Forrest's milk ranch to see ifthey could pick up a trail. On reaching theranch he was told that a party of five menhad passed there a while before. Here wasa trail, and Bill was anxious to get startedon it. Hurrying back to town, he found aposse ready to start. By this time it was3:00 a. m. They rode to the milk ranch,and camped until dawn. "When the morn-ing sun gave them enough light, theyheaded out on foot to see if they couldpick up tracks. After following the roadfor half a mile they were convinced thatthey were on the right track, and returnedfor the horses. Daniels was leading theparty down the narrow road when a man

named John Heath came dashing up fromthe rear and said that he had found sometracks branching off from the road backa ways.Darnels was an experienced tra'ler andhe hadn't seen the other tracks, but helistened to Heath's suggestion that theparty split up and follow the two trails.Heath took two men with him and head-ed in the direction of Tombstone. Danielswent westward, but an hour's search failedto show any trace of the gang. Somethingwas in the wind, something that smelled

of treachery! Tohn Heath would bear fur-ther investigation.Heath, however, was well alon^ theroad toward Tombstone by now, and therewas nothing to do but return to the trailthey had been on previously. After ridingfor some distance, a party of men wereseen to come up from Sulphur Springsvalley. These men, when questioned, saidthat they had seen a lone rider early thatmorning, but that he had changed his di-rection and ridden away when he sawthem. This same story was told by anotherman at Soldiers' Holes when the possearrived there near sundown. Daniels' mentook time to eat and water the horses, andthen pushed on. They were certain thatone of the fugitives was somewhere ahead

of them, less than 12 hours away. Thenext stop was White's ranch, where therancher said he had seen a party of ridersanswering the description of the wantedmen a few days before, at a neighboringranch. However, he had not seen the lonerider mentioned by the party of men thatday, so Daniels decided to call it a day.The trail was cold by now.The rising sun saw the posse againon its way, this time to Buckle's ranch,where Mr. White had seen the wantedmen. Arriving at the ranch around 10

o'clock, they found Frank Buckle had alot to tell them. Four of the five men hadleft there the Wednesday before, aftershoeing their horses. Two of the men hadbeen there before. One was described asbeing light complexioned, sandy-haired,and wearing a moustache, giving him avery debonair appearance. That, thoughtDaniels, could be no other than TexHoward, the unmasked desperado. Andthe other man fitted John Heath's de-scription to perfection. Now the story be-gan to take shape. John Heath and TexHoward had been friends before the rob-bery had taken place. Here then was thereason for Heaths discovery of anotherset of tracks. He had deliberately thrown

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Brewery Gulch at Bisbee hi 1905. Photograph courtesy Arizona state library.the posse off the trail. John Heath becamea wanted man.One of the horses was going lame, soDaniels sent the rider to Tombstone withorders to have Heath arrested if he showedup in that town. He also dispatched a noteto Ben Williams in Bisbee to watch forHeath in case he returned there.From what he learned from FrankBuckle, Daniels deduced that the gang ora part of it had gone to Mexico. He led theposse south, visiting Leslie ranch, the SanBernardino ranch, and the Erie Cattlecompany's lower ranch to find clues tothe movements of the desperadoes he wasseeking. After three days, he turned backto Bisbee. By this time, even if he was onthe right trail, the murderers would be-across the border, so further search in thatdirection would be a waste of time.

On the way back, he learned that Heathhad been arrested and was in jail in Tomb-stone. He determined to capture the otherfour of the band. After a few days in Bis-

bee, he was off again. Luck was with himthis time. Tracing Dan Dowd, one of thedesperadoes, to the border, he decided toignore the international line, and wentdown into Chihuahua. He found his manin Corrolitos, captured him, and smuggledhim back into the United States where hewas jailed in Tombstone.After Dowd's capture, the rest of thegang followed quickly. Bill Delaney, thesecond of the masked quartet, was arrest-ed in Ninas Prietas, Sonora, by a Mexicanofficer. Dan Kelly, a third, was caughtwhen a barber who was shaving him rec-ognized him as a wanted man and turnedhim over to the law. Tex Howard andRed Sample showed up in Clifton on themorning of December 13, five days afterthe massacre, and started on a spendingspree. A gold watch gave these two menaway. A quick-witted bartender, WalterBush, recognized a double-cased goldwatch engraved with the name "WilliamClancey "as part of the loot that Joe Gold-

water had been forced to turn over to therobbers in Bisbee. He notified the author-ities, and the last of the five were soonunder lock and key awaiting trial. Justicewas promptly meted out. They were triedimmediately, and were sentenced to hangon the 28th day of March, 1884.That, however, was not the end of thelist of dead or doomed which began withJohnny Tappenier on that fateful night inDecember, 1883. There was still the mat-ter of John Heath in jail under suspicionas an accomplice to the robbery and sub-sequent murders. Heath, like his friendHoward, came from Texas. He had ar-rived in Bisbee only 10 days before themassacre, and had gone into the saloonbusiness with a Mr. Wait. During thetrial, the information came out that heand Tex Howard had run cattle togetherfor three years in Texas. They had drift-ed apart, and then met again near thetown of Clifton, Arizona. During the tripfrom Clifton to Bisbee the two partnersincreased to six with the addition of BillDelaney, Red Sample, Dan Kelly, andBig Ben Dowd. Ben, Red and Yorke hadintended to go to Mexico, and Heath wasgoing to Bisbee to open up a legitimatebusiness. It was Tex Howard who plannedthe hold-up and persuaded the others tojoin him. Throughout, he seemed to bethe ring-leader.

But whether his intentions weregood or ill in coining to Bisbee, JohnHeath became involved in the massacre,and was sentenced to 20 years in the ter-ritorial prison at Yuma for being an ac-cessory to murder. Heath himself wasprobably glad to get off with no worsepunishment, but not so the citizens ofBisbee. Four of their townsmen had beenshot down in cold blood, and they werenot to be appeased with anything shortof death for anyone who had anything todo with their murder.

On the morning of February 22, 1884,over 50 armed townsmen rode over theMule mountains into Tombstone. Theyobtained a rope from a store, part ownerof which was the same Joe Goldwaterwho had opened the safe and handed overthe loot to the bandits on the night ofthe massacre. By the time the inhabitantsof Tombstone were up that m orning, JohnHeath was hanging very limp and lifelessfrom a telephone pole. The coroner's in-quest on the body read, "I find that thedeceased died of emphysima of the lungs,which might have been caused by strangu-lation, self-inflicted or otherwise."

Thus was justice meted out to the lastof that ill-fated sextet that planned andcarried out the payroll robbery of thestore of Castanoda and Goldwater whichturned into the bloody chapter in Ari-zona's history known as the Bisbee Mas-sacre.T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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At their desert homestead on Southern California'sGhost mountain, Marshal and Tanya South andtheir three children have no water supply exceptthe rain that falls on the roof of their adobe homeand is drained to the cisterns. Before the cisternswere built they had to haul water many miles, andthen pack it on their backs up the steep trail to thetop of the mountain. Rains are not plentiful in thisdesert regionand every drop of water is precious.Yet despite this fact the Souths have a little garden.It isn't large, and it has to be well protected againstrabbits and other rodents, butwell, let Marshal tellyou about it in his own words. Here is another inter-esting chapter in the story of a familiy that hasfound health and happiness in primitive living.

By MARSHAL SOUTHr HE days are hot now. Through the chinks of the rama-da thatch the noonday sun searches the patch of blackshade with thin, burning fingers. It is breathless in thehouse, even with every window flung wide. Our little ther-mometer, tacked against a temporary inside wall, hovers around110 degrees, andoften goes higher.The bigopen unfinished cistern that we have grown used tocalling the "lake" is dry. Where, awhile back, toy boats sailedand water beetles played, hot, thirsty cement nowglares to thescampering lizards and the hopeful bees.It is hard on the bees. Both our own and the wild ones havegotten used to the lake as a water supply. Now, again, theymust make long flights across the desert for their drinks. And,in consequence, they are mad. Habit is as strong in insects andall other living creatures as it is in humans. Like the needle ofthe phonograph, action impulses follow little grooves amongthe thought cells. Until there is a worn track which it is hardto turn from. "Thus did my father, and mygrandfather!" "Be-hold, this is right and this is wrong!" Thus and so is "the cus-tom."It is a good thing that the Great Spirit, in His infinite wis-dom, sees fit, every once in a while, to drastically upset the or-der of things. Else there would be no development of mind orsoul or initiative. Just a ghastly lock-stepeverything growingmore and more crystallized and stereotyped and patterned untilthe whole universe mummified. After all it is disaster and up-

heaval that are the stuff from which real progress is built.Our tame chukka partridges have learned to fit themselvesto conditions. They come for their drinks at fairly regulartimes, morning and evening. And at such times we go out andserve them their portion in a tiny pan beneath the shade of thejuniper tree. If they come in and find the pan dry they walk upand down prominently on the white gravel in front of thehouse, eyes cocked expectantly, until noticed. They are not theonly ones whohave learned, however. Thesquirrels, chipmunksand birds have learned too. Speedily, as the meal call sounds,guests begin to assemble for the banquet. The chukkas do notlike the biggrey squirrel, who is a hoarder. They scold angrilyas hewolfs thegrain. They don't like, either, the large red racersnake who comes periodically, trailing his long handsomelength for a drink of water. But the racer is a good sport andfills his appointed place in the scheme of things. He is an ad-juster inNature's balance. Ourmouse population, a problem ashort time ago, is nowback tonormal.

KaLRider South selects a warm sunny rock for hisoutdoorstudio. Sketching and painting are among his \avoritepastimes.Our tiny garden continues to do well, though it is rationednow on water from the drinking water cisterns. Every year thewater situation improves a little, as we get more andmore toe-hold. The thing is like a rolling snowball. The bigger it getsthe quicker it grows. We get a lot of comfort sometimes inthinking back tobeginnings. It's encouraging, and it is also an

illustration of inter-dependence. It takes water to mix cementand it takes cement tocatch more water. Sometimes we thinkwe haven't gone very far. Then we remember that we carriedthe first water to mix the first tiny batches of cement up themountain on our backs. And remembering thisas we now dipa bucket into a sizable cistern for our supplywe feel better.And sizable cisterns mean the ability to make bigger cisterns.So it grows. So everything grows. A fundamental law. Germsand mescal plants andhumans and civilizations anduniverses.Until, like an over-inflated bubble, they grow too big to standthe strain of their ownexpansion. Then they blow upand re-turn to beginnings, to start all over again. Hopeless? By nomeans. On the contrary, if you will reflect upon this mysteri-ous, unswerving law, you will find there the most definite as-surance of Hope and of Imm ortality. Life is a busy thing. Andpacked full of joy if it is lived sanely andsincerely.And the richest joy of life is work. Work and accomplish-ment. Not treadmill work, but individually constructive work.

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I don't think there are many pleasures equal to that of overcom-ing a seemingly hopeless problem. At any rate we get a thrill outof every cool green salad that comes up to the table these days,a thrill that is maybe childish and out of all proportion to thesize of the salad, but a thrill nevertheless. Sometimes our rarevisitors smile slyly as we enthuse. They are thinking of the lushfields where water in abundance flows docilely in ditches, andgreen things wax fat in pampered ease. But we are thinking ofour first garden. It was 12 by 18 inches in size. And, for lack ofanything better, we fenced it around with cholla cactusa ram-part against the mice and rats.We planted mustard in that garden. And doled it scanty por-tions of drinking water that we carried up the mountain on ourbacks in a hot summer. And the little plants came up. It was anew world to themnew and harsh conditions. Ten thousandgenerations of mustard seed behind them had never faced con-ditions such as these. W hen they were three inches high,dwarfed and spindly and tough, they realized that the end wasupon them. And, with the marvelous prompting of the GreatSpirit (a circumstance from which one can derive more assur-ance than from all the books and preachers in the world), theybegan to seedto put their last remaining flickers of life intoa desperate effort to perpetuate their kind. We had one saladfrom that garden. It was a salad that might have served as anappetizer for a squirrel. But it was a salad.The next garden was a trifle bigger. And only a trifle betterand more successful. Plants are like people. They acquire cer-tain habits and needs over long periods of reincarnation. Along line of ancestry had accustomed our garden vegetables tocertain civilized conditions. They did not like the desert. Theharsh soil upon which the mescals and the junipers and theramarillo bushes throve was too crude for them. So, as we hadno time to wait upon evolution, we had to compromisemakesoil that they did like.Far and wide, on desert excursions, we collected fertilizer,carrying it home and up the mountain in sacks. When the grass

and herbage flouiished in the spring we collected that too. Allof this enriching material we buried and dug in, into the stub-born earth. Then came the yelling winds, and the savage beat ofthe sun; the appreciative bugs; the mice and the squirrels andthe joyful birds. Many times, before these individual or collec-tive blitzkriegs, the garden went under. But, stubbornly, havingan inability to know when it was licked, it always somehow gotup on its hind legs and shook a defiant fist at the land hosts andthe air hosts.And it won out. Today it flourishes merrily, protected byframeslow enclosures completely covered with cheesecloth.Maybe you can't have a "garden estate" under such conditions.But you ca n have vegetables. In desert locations where water isscarce and high winds and pests are serious problems these

garden frames are the answer. Five or six feet wide, and of anylength convenient, they give complete protection. If you havehad trouble with your desert vegetable garden and have not hitupon this device, try it out. Make the side walls from old lum-ber, or anything else that is handy, and build them from 12 to18 inches high. If the materials are available it is an improve-ment to make the sides of fine mesh wire netting, as this letsin the air and light. There should be curtains of burlap or can-vas, to let down when hot or heavy winds blow. The tops of theframes can be covered with cheap unbleached muslin, tackeddown along one side and weighted with a long strip of wood onthe other. It should be wide enough to lap well over. Lathcovers, or covers of fine mesh wire, are perhaps better if theyare tight enough to exclude pests. Or glass can be used. Thegarden frame is a practical thing for dry locations. It is eco-nomical as to water, too.

Hot days and desert sunshine. How little any of us know

about life, despite the learned delvings and .soul-crushing sci-ence of our Age of Progress. What did the Chaldeans think, anddiscover? And the Atlanteans, and the Egyptiansand all theshadowy company beforewho groped and swaggered andtoiled through their respective cycles of growth and death.Dust in the wind! Mayhap I have the dust of dead world con-querors in the moist mud of the olla that grows in size and shapeunder the workings of my fingers. Perhaps in the dumpy littletoy dog which Rider fashions from the moistened earth lurksthe ashes of a forgotten saint."Imperial Caesar, dead and turned to clayMay stop a hole to keep the wind away.". . . And the world rolls on among the starsa throbbing,living atom amidst a glorious universe of unnumbered myriadsof other throbbing, living atoms. A universe of eternal, uni-versal life, in which the fleeting shadow that we call Death isno more than a brief, recurring night between the glow of end-less days.

The wind this afternoon whirls and roars. Perhaps that is thecharm of our desert mountain. There is no sameness; all is con-stant change. The hot sunshine streams into the house throughthe open back window and the three ears of golden corn, withtheir stripped-back huskscorn of our own raisingsway andswing from the twisted fiber cord that suspends them from aceiling beam. The back shutter of the kitchen window is openand sways and bangs at its confining hook. From the shade ofthe ramada, outside, come the mingled voices of Rider, Rud-yard, Tanya and Victoria, who are out there in the warm wind,trying to keep cool. Sketchily Tanya is wrestling with the jobof reading an instructive story aloud. Comes a sudden stop tothe narrativean abrupt termination upon which the small, de-termined voice of Rudyard throws explanation:

"I am thoroughly se-gusted (disgusted) with that book," hesays firmly, as he calmly removes it from Tanya's hand. "But Iam not 'gusted with this other one,"picking up another fromthe table and holding it out to her. "Read this. There's fairystories in this book."Beat of the wind. And heat in it. A hummingbird hurtlingpast and out over the little juniper studded flat with a sharpwhirra flick of sound passing in the dry, driving air like theswish of a speeding arrow. Or was it really an arrow? A ghostlyarrow from the ghostly bow of one of the long dead dusky war-riors who roamed Ghost mountain in the dim, fled years? Whoshall say? The "old people" were free. Their hearts were fierceand wild and brave and beat with every shade of human loveand a quenchless worship of Freedom. They died. But they werenot enslaved. And their spirits live on. Their arrows still speedacross the ridges; their ghostly chants still eddy in the whimper-ing wind.

Dawn to noonand to Dark. But the trail of the bare, reso-lute brown feet and the thin twang of the desert bowstringlead out across the wastelands. A thin, resolute wilderness trailthat has passed aforetimeand shall pass againthrough thered rust of crumbled machines and the weathered mounds offorgotten cities.Dawn to Dark! . . . And on to Dawn. The winds swirl outof emptiness. But the old, old trail goes on and on. On towardsthe Sunrise.

What then is Life? a n instant's breath,Of Joy and Strife 'tween B irth and Death.An instant's glance, of Search, of H ope,Of instant's chance to stretch our scope.Always the brink, ever the WayTill D eath will link ano ther Day.

Tanya South10 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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W e U-amyied in the Vevil5 Kitc henBy BETTY WOODS

Bet ty and Clee Woods campedone night in Skeleton canyon,where the ghosts of slain smug-glers are said to still lurk amongthe rocks and pinnacles. Thisplace, now far off the beatenpa ths , was once a main route forthe mule trains that carried con-traband between United Statesand Mexico. Mrs. Woods haswritten a story that will giveDeser t Magazine readers somenew sidelights on Southwesternhistory.

"We camped that night with thosetwo devils leering doivn at us fromthe rocks above."f/ ESIDE the black arrow are thel \ words, SKELETON CANYON 8

MILES. As we read this sign atApache, Arizona, on U. S. Highway 80, Ifelt a thrilling elation, for there to thesoutheast in the Peloncillo mountains laythat exciting pathway of history, whereGeronimo and his painted-faced warriorssurrendered; where the infamous CurlyBill and his outlaws shot 19 Mexicansmugglers; where a prehistoric tribe ofred people lived and perished, their storynever told; where buried treasure still l:esuntouchedperhaps. My husband and Ihave a passion for hunting out-of-the-wayand unusual places, and this strange ro-mantic canyon was just our kind of "pleas-ure hunt."At the sign we left the pavement andtook the good all-weather road that ex-tends southward across the lower edge ofthe San Simon valley. As Clee drove Iwatched the late afternoon sun paint thePeloncillos with rose and purple mist. Iwondered if Maxfield Parrish had everseen these mountains that now looked solike those in his fanciful paintin gs. Forseveral silent miles we watched the sym-phony of color change the nearly barrendesert to a world of dusty pink. Then re-luctantly I turned my gaze to a tall man onhorseback loping down the road ahead ofus. As we passed him he waved andflashed a smile."That's a Yaqui cowboy," my husband

Devil's Kitchenwhere Nature created the perfect campg round in Skeleton canyon.commented. "Ranchers hire them downhere."We passed two small and rather tired-looking ranch houses. Then came theprosperous-looking home and corrals of alarge cattle outfit. From here the road isrougher but still a good ranch road. Scrubmesquite grew thicker, and the sand hadformed hummocks around these thornybushes. The final turn to the south mademe feel that we'd surely run right into thePeloncillos. Suddenly we were in a beau-tiful shallow canyon wooded with blackwillow and sycamores, live oaks and cot-tonoodsthe mouth of Skeleton canyon.

Here I noticed four distinct species of

mistletoe. Clee stopped the car and we gotout to examine the parasitic growth moreclosely. The leaves of each variety seemedto take on the characteristics of the leavesof the parent tree. This was especially trueof the mistletoe on the cottonwoods.Across the dry creek on the low mesitaClee spied something lying on theground. A metate. A metate meant onlyone thing to him, an Indian ruin. Indianruins are his hobby. He was out in an in-stant."Look!" he exclaimed in wonder. "Me-tates lying all over the ground and ruinsstrung along the whole ridge!"When I reached the mesa I saw that he

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was right. There were the rocks outliningthe homes of an ancient race. How manythings you can wonder about when youstand on the site of a little dead city! Whatpuzzled us most was the fact that nearly allof the metates were broken in two. Allappeared to be deliberate breaks and notaccidents. Did these prehistoric Indiansfor some reason destroy their meal grind-ers before a mass exodus? Or did the

Apaches or the Yaquis break these rockutensils to free them of the evil spirits?W e w.ere inclined to believe th e latterfor we know that present-day Indianshave certain superstitions about where theold people" lived. Some Navajo will de-stroy any prehistoric pottery they happento find.W e watched the grou nd for potsherdsthat might suggest the time and the de-gree cf culture of these long-ago people.

A

6ERONIMOSI -COMANCHE WHITE'SGRAVEI PREHISTORIC RUINSHI GERONIMO'S SURRENDER - 3TS. OUTLAW OAK CORRAL1 HUGHES SMUGGLERMULETRAIN ROBBERYTZE DEVIL'S KIT CH EN m INDIAN CAVE -S^VHH GERO NIMO'S CH AIR '

OLD SMU GGL ER TRAIL TOMEXICO VIA ANIMAS VALLEV '

But we found so few varieties that wecould only hazard a guess that the ruinswere of an older type.When we turned back to the car wenoticed two upright stcnes we had missedin our excitement at seeing the ruins."This isn' t Indian," said my husband.It 's a white person's grave."There was no other marker bearingname or date.Walking a little further east on themesita I could see below us Ross Sloan'swhite ranch house and pole corrals inwhich once had stood the famous "out-law oak." Here, too, was a large dirt tankaround which white-faced cattle chewedtheir cuds in dreamy contemplation. Nearthis tank, on a slight rise of ground, I sawa big pile of rocks. It marks one of thehigh points of interest in Skeleton canyonwhere Geronimo surrendered to GeneralMiles.A strange fact in this dramaticevent that has heretofore been unnoticedis that this historic Indian surrender tookplace on the site of a prehistoric Indianruin! Standing there, awed by thoughts offierce, cunning old Geronimo, I also won-dered to whom or what these ancientpeople might have yielded.

When dusk was stealing in from theeast, we had yet to find the Devil's Kitch-en, that ill-fated and haunted spot wherewe planned to spend the night. About aneighth of a mile further on, the road endsabruptly at the Sloan ranch house.Ross Sloan's ranch is a sort of cross

roads to adventure. Near his house Ge-ronimo's north-south trail crosses the oldsmuggler trail that goes to Mexico. Westopped to get permission to camp in thisdrama-filled canyon.But a cowhan d told us the folks" hadgone for the mail and for us to drive on upa mile and make ourselves at home in theDevil 's Kitchen. Before driving on, weleft a note asking the Sloans to share ourevening campfire.From the ranch house the road is reallythe bed of Skeleton creek and only by slowand careful driving were we able to getover it at all. Through a grove of syca-mores and live oaks we crept along onwhat we knew had once been the trail toMexico. Now, as we bumped over therocks, I felt that we were riding with his-tory. Before us had come mule trains load-ed with 'dobe dollars and smuggler trainsloaded with contraband from Mlexico.Our tires left their imprints in the dustwhere once there had been only the im-prints of Yaqui and Apache moccasins.Over this same path Geronimo had mademore than one phantom-like get-awayfrom a bewildered United States army.The canyon was now widening and for

the first time we could see its wild beau-ty. The low hillsides were like vast cactusgardens studded with century plants, so-tol, bisnaga, rainbow and torch cactus,12 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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"Mr. and Mrs. Ross Sloan showed us the mound that marks the spot where Geronimo surrendered"pincushion and prickly pear. Christ 'sThorn and Devi l ' s Claw grew withoutspiritual differences in the same rockyhome .

Occasionally, weird sandstone forma-tions wquld shoot up out of the creek bed.and the farther we went the steeper thecanyon walls grew. Rounding a bend wecame upon the most picturesque and awe-some formations in the canyontheDevil 's Kitchen. There in the dusk itstood pinkish-yellow, a stage setting in afairy tale. The formation itself is a high-walled square, with only one side open.It has a tower-like pinnacle at each outeredge .

Clee drove the car right up into the"ki tchen." W hat a campsi te. Here , grow-ing at one side, was a huge live-oak thatspread wide its branches to almost roof theenclosure. So perfect a camping place thiswas you just knew it had been used bytravelers for endless years."Look at those towers," Clee pointed.Each tower top took on the shape of theDevil 's head!

"Nice thing s to have leering dow n at ,us all night," I commented."On this spot Curly Bill killed the 19Mexican smugglers," my husband re-minded me. "Maybe the devils will keeptheir ghosts away."W e gathered firewood and in no timecoffee was simmering in the pot. In thewest the quarter moon was a little silver

boat plowing down through the dead sun-set. From somewhere above us a cricketstarted his lonely lament and soon thewhole canyon was filled with sounds ofthe nipht. But another noise was comingfrom down the canyonthe hum of RossSloan's car.We 'd never met a more hospi tablewestern couple than the Sloans. Mr s.Sloan is a quiet, gentle lady, whose pio-neer parents settled in the Tularosacountry of New Mexico long before Billythe Kid started on his rise to bloody fame.Mr. Sloan is a large, silver-haired Texan, avigorous man who has spent 60 odd years

riding the border ranges and living thelives of a dozen men.Hardly before our guests were settled

at the campfire I started asking questions."Whose grave is that near the Indianruins?""Comanche White 's ," repl ied Mr.Sloan. "He was just a harmless kid fromComanche county, Texas, when theApaches killed him. It made my friend,Ben Clark, so all-fired mad Ben decidedto go after Geronimo an' kill him onsight. Ben learned that the Apache was tosurrender to the soldiers, so he set outwith seven men to beat the army there.For two days Clark and his men waitedfor that red devil to show his hide, butthe Indians were late. When the Apacheoutfit did show up, the soldiers were there,too. Ben and his men had been disarmedby General Miles' men.

"There 's an odd thing about Geroni-mo's surrender," said Ross Sloan. "Someof the Apaches then and there piled up arock marker nine feet high to mark theplace where they were giving up. Theykinda had a hunch they were makin' his-tory."But we listened to many startling talesaround the fire that night, tales that were

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Nineteen smugglers were killed near this spot.to make us appreciate more fully Skeletoncanyon's lurid history.The story of Curly Bill's slaughteringthe Mexican smugglers on the veryground where we now sat. I could almosthear the bells on Don Miguel's mule trainas it passed the "kitchen." I could picturethe unshaven face of a black curly headedman peering down from the rim above usthat day in July, 1881."Curly Bill and his gang waited till theMexicans had passed," Mr. Sloan wenton. "Then his rifle gave the signal and allhell broke loose!"

Death cries from the Mexicans filledthe canyon. But not for long. The outlawssaw to it that not a smuggler was leftbreathing. Afterwards, they rounded upthe mules, drove them to Al George'splace and divided the silver."Every now and then we find thebones of some poor fellow."Clee added fresh wood to the fire, andthe flames made strange, dancing figureson the rock walls."You've heard about the Outlaw O ak?"Mrs. Sloan inquired. "It used to stand inthe corral, but when it died Ross had itcut down."Only a month after Curly Bill waylaidthe smugglers, another outlaw gang ledby Jim Hughes attacked and robbed a sec-ond smuggler train. Zwing Hunt, a cow-boy outlaw, was seriously wounded in thefight. He lay under the oak tree, writhingand groaning, while Bill Grounds dressedhis woundgiving the tree its name. To

their loot of silver the outlaws added abox of diamonds and golden statues froma church in Mexico. Legend says that they

buried most of the plunder in Davismountain. No one today knows whatmountain then bore that name. The fabu-lous treasure is supposed never to havebeen recovered. Treasure hunters still digdeep holes over this southeast corner ofArizona."Not long ago," Mr. Sloan went on, "acowpuncher found 72 dobe dollars in anold aparejo lying among scattered mulebones.""Also," added Mrs. Sloan, "there actu-ally was treasure dug up only a quarterof a mile from here. Tomorrow, we'll gosee the spot.""It happened about 20 years ago," herhusband amplified. "One day an old pale-looking fellow with a long white bearddrove up with a sorry-looking teamagray mule and a poor white horse. A littleboy was in the wagon with him. The manwanted to know if this was Skeleton can-

yon, and I said it was. The old man said,That's all I wanted to know,' and droveup the canyon."The next day one of our sons went upto see where the outfit was camped. Butthey were gone. You could see where alarge box had been taken out from un-der a big rock. Years later, Sam Olney toldme about an old man's coming to his smel-ter with some silver bars for treatment.The fellow told him he got them fromSkeleton canyon."The early-morning smell of earth andgrass and trees filled our nostrils as we

set out with Mrs. Sloan the next day."First," she said, "let's cross to theother side of the canyon. About 300 yards

back from the creek there is something Iwant you to see."Up on a low hill a small, egg-shapedcave yawned at us from a great graniteboulder. Of course, we had to climb upinto it. The ceiling was blackened by thesmoke from generations of Indian fires.In front, in the rock floor, was a holeabout 10 inches deep and six inches across,in which the early cave owners hadground their food.Coming down the hillside a few min-utes later, we had a good view of theDevil's Kitchen and other rock formationsfrom this opposite side of the canyon.Every new bend in the trail brought usenticing vistas of beauty. Cacti grew wan-tonly among brilliant-hued rocks. Beargrass, buck-brush, rabbit bush, tea bushand numerous other shrubs persistedwherever they could find root room. Andon the creek banks were the live-oaks, syca-mores and black willows. We watched fora glimpse of javelina, deer or mountainlion, but we weren't that lucky.The walk now was taking us amongmore grotesque sandstone formations.The pinkish-tan spirals and domes andtowers speckled with green lichen, lookedlike things Walt Disney might have con-ceived. All through this fairyland ofrocks the ground was strewn with bits ofchalcedony, related to opal. Occasionallywe'd see shining flakes of obsidian on thehillsides.About a quarter of a mile from the"kitchen," beside a sandstone wall, Mrs.Sloan stopped and pointed to a large rock."This is where the old man dug up thesilver bars." Even after 20 years the weed-choked hole was quite plain. Perhapsthis was due to the rock that overhung thehole partway. (Secretly, I wished we hadbrought along a shovel.)"Every so often," Mrs. Sloan said,seeming to guess my mind, "a treasurehunter comes to dig."While I still wondered if we were walk-ing over any more such caches a great red-earthed hill came into view. Spilled outon its side were the tailings of a small goldminethe only one now operating in thecanyon. Everywhere I saw holes dug bygold seekers and treasure hunters.Across on the southern mountainsidestood a cluster of sharp, red pinnacles.Close to them squatted a huge rock shapedlike a chair."W hen my son was just a little fellow,"explained Mrs. Sloan, "he named the rock'Geronimo's Chair.' We've called it thatever since."

For 13 more spectacular miles this eastfork of the canyon goes on and ends inNew Mexico. The Sloans insist that thescenery becomes more beautiful up above.Some day we want to return and see forourselves. Some day, too, we want tocome back and follow Geronimo's trail toMexico, for it is paved with humandrama and adventure.

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Some t ime in Augus t th i s yea rthe exac t da tes wi l l not beknown unt i l a few days be fore the eventsthe Hopi t ribes-m e n at W a l p i and Mi s hongov i in northern Arizona wil l holdthe i r annua l ra in ce remonia l s , the S n a k e d a n c e s . The S n a k epriests who perform these s t range r i tua l s ha ve be en wide lypublic ized for the i r apparent immuni ty to ra t t l e snake venom.But there are othe r pa r t ic ipants in the c e re m on i a l who fillequa l ly important though le ss he ro ic ro les . They are thew o m e n of the Snake c lan . Here is the story of a Snake Priest-ess- -told by a writer whok n o w s the Hopi int imately.

U a u a k t e t oh tkBy MRS.WHITE MOUNTAIN SMITH

( 7 MALL White Eagle, Hopi girl,j watched her grandmother grindthe yellow corn into meal tosprinkle over the pumpkin patch. Shewatched her grind red corn to fertilizethe peach trees, and white corn for thefields of corn in the valley below. Andthen, after the village priest had blessedthe meal she trotted along with her grand-mother, who is Snake Priestess, to scatterthe meal on the crops.From earliest childhood this little Hopimaiden knew that water, either too littleor too much, spelled doom to the corncrop so essential to the life of her people.She knew thegrains of corn must beplant-ed deep under the sandy dry soil, downin the substratum of clay which holdsfor a long time anymoisture wh ich reachesit ; and she knew that the Water Godsmust always be placated by friendly SnakeBrothers if the Hopi were to raise cornupon which to live. What she did not yetknow was that she,herself, was an impor-tant member of the Snake Clan and oneday destined to become Snake Priestess inher grandmother's stead.

Small White Eagle's first baby crymingled with the dying sigh of her moth-er. Thesmall Snake clan in the village ofWalpi had lost one of its members andgained another at the same time. For onemust be born into that exclusive clan, orelse, by the hazardous trial of rattlesnakebite, win the right to be adopted.This was not known to the little Indiangirl during her first happy years. Sheplayed with the other naked children onthe edge of the cliffs rising like battle-

ments from the desert below and onwhichher home was built of rocks and clay. Asshe grew older she watched her grand-

White Eagle is not hertrue name bu t she is aSnake Priestess in theHopi Snake clan.

AUGUST CEREMONIAL DATESAUGUST 3Twenty-first annual presentation of Smoki dances atPrescott, Arizona. This beautifully costumed pageant is presented in the

evening.AUGUST 13-14-15-16Inter-Tribal Ceremonials at Gallup, New Mex-ico. Parade, games and Indian exhibits during the day, dances in thestadium at night.HOPI SNAKE DANCESTo be held this year at Walpi and Mishon-govi. Dates for the annual Snake dances are determined by the HopiSnake priests according to certain signs of the sun and moon. The timeis not given out until ten days before the dances, but they always occurduring the last half of August.The dance is performed in five Hopi pueblos, each village holding onedance near sundown on the day fixed by the priests. Walpi and Mishon-govi hold the dance on odd years, and on the even years it is at Hote-villa, Shimopovi and Shipaulavi. The dance is never held in more thanone village on the same day.When the dates are determined they are announced at sunset byvillage criers on the housetops.

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Typical Hopi architecture. The mud and stones in this ancient dwelling in thevillage of Shimgopovi were laid in the 16th century. Photo by Milton Snow.

mother make everything ready for thedance with the snakes, but, childlike, sheabsorbed it along with the excitement ofrabbit hunts, butterfly dances and thesticky sweetness of peach drying days.But the time came, in her eighth year,when she was told that she was the onlygirl in the Snake clan on that mesa, anashe must prepare herself to carry on thework when her grandmother was too o ldto gather potent herbs, grind sacred mealand take part in all the trying tasks inci-dent to her high office in the clan.Small Whit e Eagle is a grow n w omannow and no longer carries the baby namegiven her 21 days after birth when she wascarried to the edge of the mesa as the sunrose and sprinkled with meal by theSnake Priest.When I asked her to give me a detailedaccount of her duties as a daughter of theSnake clan, she hesitated."My people would be very angry if theyknew I even told you," she said.

But I promised not to use the name shecarries now if she would tell me the story."I was about eight years old when mygrandmother, Snake Priestess of Walpitold me I must now begin to learn myduties so I could take her place when she

is gone away. Although I hate and fearsnakes I was born into the clan and willalways be a member no matter what I sayor do."My first initiation was down in theSnake kiva. I carried a little plaque piledhigh with meal I had ground on the me-tate. My grandmother went down therewith me. When I descended the steep lad-der and looked around I saw a big whitescreen stretched tight a few feet from thewall, and a few inches above the floor. Ithad seven bright suns painted on it andon the floor in front of it was a miniaturefield of growing corn and pumpkins.Seven rattlesnakes came wriggling outfrom under the screen and moved aroundamong the hills of corn. I was told by mygrandmother to sprinkle sacred meal frommy basket on each one of these snakes. Sodim was the light down there and I was soterrified I did not know that the snakeswere stuffed buckskin painted and movedaround by my uncle the Snake Priest hid-den behind the screen. Anyway I passedthat test.

"The work connected with the dancethe first two times it was held in our vil-lage after that did not frighten me. I hadonly to go with my grandmother to get

white clay for plastering the outside ofthe house and red clay for the floor. Everyhouse in which a member of the Snakeclan lives has to be thoroughly cleanedand replastered before the Snake Brotherscome to dance with us. Water is carriedfrom springs at the foot of the mesa. Thevare blessed by the Snake Priest andsprinkled with meal, and the clay allowedto soak into thin mud before it is put onthe house and rubbed smooth with ourhands.

"The floor is swept and then the red clayspread smoothly on it. After about anhour we take stones and polish the surfaceinto gleaming hardness. We work fromthe wall toward the door thus polishing allevil thoughts and evil spirits right outinto the yard and the floor is too slick forthem to get back into the house. Spiritscan't travel except under special condi-tions, you know. That's the reason all ourstories and legends about our gods aretold down in the kivas in the winter timewhile ice and snow keep the Kachinasand other gods trapped on the San Fran-cisco peaks. W e do no t have books withstories in our language and the only wayto learn is for the wise old men to teachus ."When the houses are all clean and therocky spaces around them swept until theyare bare and sweet smelling, it is time tobegin making the baho prayer sticks ofeagle feathers and pinon twigs to place inthe snake shrines and to hang from theceiling of our houses. These arc made bymembers of the Snake clan. Then baskets

are to be woven from which to sprinklesacred meal on the snakes after the dance.Long before now, grandmother and I hadgathered the yucca leaves, some of themwhile they were tender green and othersafter they had turned yellow, and thesewere brought out now and torn into stripsand put in wet sand to soften. Bunches ofsquaw grass, gathered the fall before, werealso put to soak in damp sand so the mate-rials would be flexible and easy to workwith ."All the women of the Snake clan gath-er in one place to work on these baskets.And the work goes fast while they visitand gossip just l ike white women do. Inbetween weaving baskets we grind mealto make the sweet pudding to be eaten bythe dancers after the snakes have beentaken back into the desert. This puddingis called pigime and is made of meal andsmall brown seeds that grow near themesa. They are about like grains of brownrice and give the pudding a sweet tasteand a flavor. The meal and seeds aremixed with boiling water and then pouredinto a big piki bowl lined with green cornleaves and put in an outside oven to bakeall night. The next day it will still be

warm when the dance is over."Many rolls of piki, the thin wafer likebread baked on a hot stone and folded and16 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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3HIM0C K

C A M E R O N , * * I P _ _

TAw w ^ by Norton Allen shows the roads leading from U. S. Highways 89 and 66 to theHo pi villages ivhere the snake dances are held in August each year.These are all graded dirtand gravel roads and become hazardous in p laces immediately following heavy rains. Dam-aging rains seldom come, however, before the snake dances are held.rolled into cylinders, have to be stackedready for the feast which will follow thedance. All food to be consumed by thedancers must be prepared by women be-longing to the Snake clan. There is themutton stew thickened with hominy thatis put to simmer the day before the danceand kept slowly bubbling during the en-tire night and the morning of the dance."All this food must be ready for theSnake Priests as soon as they have washedafter the dance. It is carried to the kivawhere they feast together the first night.After that they return to their homes forthe next four days and eat with their fami-lies but must return to the kivas to sleepbecause they are still in communion withthe gods."Small White Eagle and I both smiledat this idea, but she continued with thestory: "While the baskets are beingwoven the Snake Priestess always recountsthe legend of the Snake dance."One of our Hopi men went down intoGrand Canyon and married a daughter ofthe Water God. He brought her back hereand the women who would have liked tomarry him themselves were very jealousand not nice to her. She gave birth tosnakes instead of children and then shewas driven out of our village. Her hus-band went with her, and when they left theWater God became angry at the treatmentgiven his daughter by the Hopi and hewould not allow any rain to fall on theirfields."The springs dried up and there was a

great famine. After awhile the Hopi wentdown into the desert and collected theirSnake Brothers, children of the WaterGod's daughter, and brought them back tothe village and gave a great feast and dancefor them. Since then there has always beenrain on the fields of the Hopi and water inthe springs at the foot of the mesa."I shall not have to be Snake Priestessfor awhile because a few years ago an oldHopi lady was gathering grass for basketsdown below the village and a rattlesnakebit her. She was cured by the Snake Priestand Priestess and dedicated her life to theclan. She is learning the work from mygrandmother and will take up where sheleaves off.""Do the Hopi people ever die of rattle-snake bites?" I asked."No. Not if they get the Snake Priest todoctor them. Last year I was standing onthe edge of the mesa looking across thevalley when the village priest called froma housetop for all the people to go intotheir houses and stay there until he gavethem permission to come out. They wereto close their doors and not to look out ofthe windows. It was some time before Ilearned why we had to go inside. One ofthe men, a member of the Spider clan washunting rabbits and chased one into a holeunder a sage brush. He put his hand in forit and a rattlesnake coiled there in theshade sank its fangs into his wrist near

the big blood vein."Members of the Snake clan workingin their fields brought him quickly to the

Snake kiva and gave him the treatment tocure the bite. First he had to agree to jointhe Snake clan and work with them in thedances as long as he lived. They kept himthere in the kiva four days and I had tohelp my grandmother prepare the foodthey allowed him to have. No salt was putin it. I went with her to gather herbs forthe drink and for the poultices to put onthe bite. The only herb I know that shegathered is what we call Golondrina,Swallow weed (Euphorbia prostrata). Itgrows always where rattlesnakes live."They kept the man in the Snake kivafour days and then allowed him to gohome and finish getting well. Had any ofthe Hopi people disobeyed the villagepriest and looked out as he was broughtto the kiva he would surely have died."On each Hopi mesa are Snake clans.The ceremony is performed every otheryear at the base of Snake rock in the plazaat Walpi. At the head of the clan is theSnake Priest, chief actor and director ofthe dance. He holds this office by right ofbirth and while he lives and is strongenough to perform his duties no otherman shares the secrets of the priesthoodwith him. As a companion with whom towork and share the important secrets, hehas the Snake Priestess. She is never hiswife as they are both members of theSnake clan and therefore cannot marry.Small White Eagle's uncle is the Snake

Priest in their village and he wove for hera white cotton robe and decorated it withthe colorful yarn embroidery. When sheA U G U S T , 1 9 4 1 17


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sprinkles sacred meal on the snakes afterthe dance is over she wears the native bluedress, with one smooth brown shoulderand arm bare. Around her waist is thewhite and red handwoven sash also madeby her uncle and on her feet are whiteleggings with the built-in moccasins, eachone of which requires a full deer skin. Theeffect is very beautiful."I was scared when I was taken downinto the Snake kiva before the dance andmade a regular member. My uncle tookboth arms and pressed them back againstmy breast and blew his breath on myhands and in my mouth. Then he said:'May the light of our medicines and godsbe shed upon you, and meet you, mychild!'"When the Spider clan man, bitten bythe snake and healed by my uncle, wastaken on the hunt for rattlers for thedance he was given these instructions:'When you see a rattlesnake you are to

pray to our father, the Sun, saying, 'Makehim be tame; make him bring no evil tom e , ' and then the sacred meal is to besprinkled, and the snake stroked with thewing of an eagle before it is picked upclose behind the head and placed in thebag made of thick skin."One really must live a clean and use-ful life to be a good member of the Snakeclan.""Do the Hopi have different names forthe varieties of snakes they use in thedance?" I wanted to know. They seem totreat them all alike.

"Oh, yes. The rattlesnake is calledChu-a;Le-lu-can-ga is a bull snake; Ta-hois the swift racer that gives our priests somuch trouble trying to hide in the crowdaround the dance plaza, and Pa-chu-a isthe water snake. But to me they are allsnakes, and I don't like any of them!"said this daughter of the Snake clan.

T R U E O R F A L S E Here's the monthly I. Q. test for the desertfraternity. But you do not have to live amongthe dunes and cacti to make a passable score.The questions cover a wide range of subjectshistory, geography, Indians, min-eralogy, botany, and the general lore of the desert country. These monthly lists ofquestions are designed both as a test of knowledge for desert students, and ncourse of instruction for those who would like to become more familiar with theSouthwest. The average person will not give 10 correct answers. If you score 15you know more than many of the desert rats, and only the super-humans do betterthan that. Th e answers are on page 37.1You can tell the age of a rattlesnake by counting its rattles.True False2The Hualpi Indian reservation is in Arizona. True False3The paved road between Needles, California, and Kingman, Arizona isU. S. Highway 66 . True False4M angus Colorado was a famous Navajo chieftain. True False5Father Garces was killed at Yuma, Arizona. True False6The largest city visible from the summit of Charleston peak in Nevada is LasVegas. True FalseA lbuquerque is the capital of New Mexico. True False8Desert Indians used a baho for killing wild game. True False9The predominating color of an adult Gila monster generally is black.True False10Organ Pipe national monument in Southern Arizona derives its name fromfluted rocks found in that area. True False11For automobiles to cross the Colorado river at Parker, Arizona, it is necessaryto use a ferry. True False12Deglet Noor is the name of a species of date grown in the Coachella valleyof California. True False13The Smoki people hold their annual snake dance at one of the towns on theHopi mesa. True False14Winnemucca, Nevada, was named in honor of a Paiute Indian chief.True False15The Mormon leader Joseph Smith never saw the Great Salt Lake.True False16C atsclaw sheds its leaves whe n frost comes. True False17Calcite is a harder mineral than feldspar. True False18Dr. Herbert Bolton's book "Rim of Christendom" is devoted mainly to the

expeditions of Juan Bautista de Anza. True False19H eadwaters of the Salt river are in New Mexico. True False20St. Johns, Arizona, is in Apache county. True False

253,000Allotted ta

State PathI i EARS of controversy over the selec-t s tion of lands for the Anza DesertJ State park in Southern Californiareached a successful climaxsuccessfulfor proponents of the projecton June28 when a little group of men in the U. S.land office in Los Angeles paid over thefinal filing fees necessary to acquire 253,-000 acres for park purposes.

When the final selection of lands wasmade, $1,200 was needed from privatesources to supplement state funds in pay-ment of required federal filing feesatthe rate of $1.00 for each 80 acres. Thanksto the interest and loyalty of many privatecitizens in the Southwest, the money wason hand. The Sierra Club of California,through the efforts of Arthur B. Johnsonand a special committee, contributed$704.50. The Anza Memorial Conserva-tion association headed by Tohn R. Adamsraised $300, and Mrs. Scripps of SanDiego, who has been a liberal donor toCalifornia parks for many years, addedthe final $200.

The 253,000 acres made availablethrough this transaction is contiguous to209,000 acres already set aside as the Bor-rego Desert State parkproviding a totalarea of 462,000 acres of desert, mountainand valley lands in Southern California tobe reserved permanently for recreationaland scientific purposes.Under the Burnham bill, passed bycongress five years ago, California had un-til June 29, 1941, to select lands from thepublic domain for state park purposes.Since June 29 was Sunday, the actualdeadline was 12 o'clock noon on June 28.It was just 10 minutes before the final

hour when a little group of men, includ-ing Guy L. Fleming of the state park de-partment, Robert Hays of El Centra cham-ber of commerce, Arthur B. Johnson ofthe Sierra club and Register Paul B. Wit-mer of the U. S. land office completed thecertification of the records, and announcedthat the deal was completed, and the parkdefinitely assured.A detailed map of the new park will bepublished in Desert Magazine as soon as itis available, but in the meantime friendsof the project will be interested to knowthat the new area includes most of Fish

Creek mountain, Split mountain canyon,Vallecitos mountains, Carrizo badlandsand a considerable area around Dos Cabe-zos spring and Dos Cabezos palm canyon.18 T HE D E S E R T M A G A Z I N E


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Every traveler in the Southwest has seen and admired the beautifultwo-tone black pottery which invariably occupies a conspicuous placeon the shelves of stores and trading posts where Indian craftswork is sold.Much of this ebony pottery comes from the Pueblo of San Ildefonso in NewMexico where clay-working has become a fine art. In the accompanyingstory, Helen Calkins takes you into the home of one of San Ildefonso'smaster-craftsmenand you will enjoy meeting the clever Indian womanwho can paint a winged serpent on the side of a round bowl with neithera pattern nor an arm-rest to aid her.

ei oon5o

f }By HELEN CALKINS

balanced a bowl on the out-spread fingers of her left handand gazed at it thoughtfully. Shedipped a fine-tipped brush into a cup ofheavy white liquid and drew a smootheven line on the rounded surface.I stared. Her arm wasunsupported; theelbow swinging free, yet the design wenton evenly and quickly. Soon I could seethe outlines of a serpent, a feathered ser-

pent, that coiled around the bowl withcloud symbols above the undulating body.She neither hesitated nor hurried. Eachmark, each stroke was permanent."How do you do it?" I exclaimed. Sheshrugged but there was a pleased expres-sion on her quiet Indian face.It seemed unbelievable, this paintingon curved surfaces. Unbelievable althoughit had been developed by generations ofRose Gonzales, master craftsman of SanIldefonso, in herfiesta costume.

Typical specimens of San Ildefonso pottery. Photograph by Frashers.A U G U S T , 1941 19


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pottery makers, each more skilled than thelast. Each had added a little to the knowl-edge, a little to the patience, until now theebony-black pottery of San Ildefonso,New Mexico, with its dull designs on pol-ished surfaces was a part of every exhibitof fine native American craftsmanship.Late afternoon shadows of vegas hadslanted across the wall of Rose Gonzales'

home the day before when I knocked atthe blue-trimmed door.The brisk February wind bit throughmy heavy coat and I was glad when thedoor slowly opened a crack and a big-eyed child stared up at m e. I smiled,"Hello, little Marie." She giggled andspoke to someone in the room and backedaway clinging to the door.I stepped over the high doorsill andpaused, blinking after the brilliant sun-light of the plaza. Rose was sitting at akitchen table with unfinished pieces ofthe pottery that had made her famous be-

fore her. She greeted me with a friendlyhandclasp and a half-shy smile, then wenton with her work while I warmed myhands over the big black cook stove thatfilled one corner of the room. Rose wasmoulding a large curved plaque. Herblack well-kept hair fell forward as sheshaped the clay, and she brushed thebangs away from her face with the backof a clay smeared hand.I knew the clay she used had beengathered from the side of a dry arroyo afew miles from the pueblo. Back at thevillage the pebbles and small lumps hadbeen removed. There were two kinds of

clay; the regular reddish pottery clay, anda greyish earth called temper which actedas a binder to hold the pottery clay inshape during the moulding and firingprocesses. Experience and sensitive fingertips told Rose when she had the propermixture of the red clay and the grey tem-per. This was important for vessels of animproper mixture would collapse whilebeing moulded or fired.I watched Rose scoop a handful of theprepared clay from a pile and work it inher strong fingered hands. Then shepressed one end against a clay pat that layin a shallow mould. Turning the pat shepinched the clay rope into the edge of ituntil a complete circle had been made.Then she broke it off and started a sec-ond coil of clay working it into placeagainst the first. Her hands movedswiftly and she kept her head bowed overher work. I sat quietly in a straight backedkitchen chair near the friendly heat of thebig range. I knew it would be some timebefore Rose became accustomed to mypresence. Then she would talk; tell me ofher two children, the boy away at theschool in California, and little Marie whohad met me at the door. She would tell

me news of the people in the village Iknew, and I would politely ask about allher relatives. There would be talk of the

dances of the week before, beautifuldances of eagles, and buffalo, and ante-lope. Rose was a graceful dancer, and hadtaken part in these, moving with smallsteps between the prancing buffalo fig-ures. And after a time she did become ac-customed to me and we talked andlaughed, for Rose loves to laugh, whileher hands went swiftly about their work.By the time twilight filled the roomseven or eight bowls of various sizes stoodon the table ready to dry overnight, andRose pushed back her chair to stretch. Istretched too, and we both laughed."M y," I exclaimed, "It made my back achejust to watch you.""It doesn't bother me much now," shereplied, "but when I first started to makepottery, when I was learning, my backached all the time."She crossed to the dark range, andopening the front of the fire box pushedsticks of red cedar in on the ruddy coals.

They caught quickly and the flamessnapped and cracked noisily up the chim-ney.She lit a coal oil lamp and said, "Nowwe eat. The pottery must dry until morn-ing."She went to the door and called,"Marie!" The little girl came running outof the dusk of the plaza. Her motherspoke to her in their language and gaveher a coin. The child dashed off aroundthe corner of the house.Rose returned to the preparation ofsupper. She wore the traditional dress ofPueblo women, long sleeved, knee-length, with the red pueblo belt smoothlyabout the waist. It seemed right on herstrong straight body, as did the whitedeer-skin, high - cuffed moccasins. Shewore her black hair in a long bob withbangs over the forehead and as she bentover the noisy stove the two sides of herhair swung forward like dark wings oneither side of her face. Rose Gonzaleswas a master of her craft, and had a proud-ness and reserve in her manner. Her houseis clean and orderly.Little Marie dashed in w ith a paper bagand I watched expectantly while Rose

lifted a can of corned beef out of the bag.And my hope of a meal of Indian stew andIndian bread vanished. But so did thecorned beef and succotash and store breadRose placed on the table when we satdown to eat. There were just the three ofus, but before the meal was over visitorsbegan to drop in. They all stepped overthe high doorsill with a scuff of moocasined feet, some with a quick greeting,some silently. The men were in overalls,blue shirts and wide-brimmed hats. Thewomen were dressed much like Rose.Some of them I knew, and w e shook handsand talked about dances we had gone to,or missed, and people we both knew. Oc-casionally one would announce with abackward jerk of the head, "This is my

brother, John." And a dark face wouldshow in the yellow lampligh t over hisshoulder. I would shake hands and try toremember the face just in case I shouldsee it at a dance in one of the neighboringpueblos. Pueblo Indians love to visit oneanother's dances. They all sat in chairsaround the walls of the room under thesantos, and the photographs of Rose madeby a famous photographer.The visitors sat silently smoking.Sometimes one would make a remark andit would be answered with a consciouslaugh. I tried to carry on a conversation,but it was too forced, and too many werelistening, for it to be a success. And aftera time they drifted out one by one, untilRose and I were left alone, for Marie hadgone to sleep long before. The villagewas filled with shadows as the lights inthe windows went out, one by one, and ahushed silence settled over the darkhouses. Neither of us had much to say soRose took the lamp and guided me

through a whitewashed door to my room.The excited barking of dogs and theneighing of horses in a near-by corralawakened me the next morning. Throughone of the windows in my room I couldsee thin blue smoke rise in wavering col-umns from bottomless chimney pots. Theair was crisply cold and I welcomed therich aroma of freshly made coffee thatgreeted me when I stepped into the kitch-en. At the sound of my door Rose turnedfrom the range to greet me, the morningsunlight glossing her black hair and glist-ening on the heavy Hopi necklace at herthroat."Good morning."

"Good morning, Rose.""You sleep good?" anxiously as a goodhostess should."Like a top."She threw back her head and laughed."You say such funny things. You sleeplike a top . . . a top goes round andround."It was my turn to laugh. "But I didn't.I stayed in one place. Your bed is so soft."She was pleased, but said nothing and

carried the granite coffee pot from therange to the table, and we sat down to ameal of hot and unsalted Indian bread(what I had hoped for the night before)which we broke with our hands from theround crusty loaf. Little Marie was al-ready off to the government day school onthe edge of the pueblo. After the cups andsaucers had been washed in a pan of warmsoapy water that was on the range, and thecrumbs brushed from the table, Roseturned again to her pottery. Only on fies-ta days, and Saturdays when she wentshopping in Santa Fe did she leave herwork.Now she placed an odd dozen pieces ofmoulded pottery on the table for scraping.Not here the lock-step operations of mass

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Heaping m anure against the framework ofcans surrounding the the o ven m ade of tricycle wheels and tinpottery to be fired.production but the sure, careful work ofthe skilled craftsman. This was the laststep in the shaping, the last opportunity tosmooth and thin the walls. She dipped apad of cloth in water and slightly moist-ened a bowl, then taking a battered kitch-en knife deftly removed a bit of clay hereand there. Soon all the pottery had beentouched up. She leaned back and sighed,"now I slip and polish." And I watchedcarefully for I had never seen this done.

She went to a

Documents

194108 Desert Magazine 1941 August