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^S  ON 
D  LAVA 


Presented  to  the 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 
LIBRARY 

by  the 

ONTARIO  LEGISLATIVE 
LIBRARY 

1980 


CAMP-  FIRES    ON 
DESERT  AND  LAVA 


The  Rainbow   Rams,   on  the  Lava  Peak 

Painted  by  Carl  Rungius,  after  sketch  and  photograph  by  John  M.  Phillips.    Page  197. 


'      '3 


CAMP-FIRES    ON 

o;  it  t  artti. 

DESERT  AND 


BY 


WILLIAM  T.   HORNADAY,   Sc.D. 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  AMERICAN  NATURAL  HISTORY," 
"CAMP-FIRES  IN  THE  CANADIAN  ROCKIES,"  ETC. 


PHOTOGRAPHICALLY  ILLUSTRATED  BY 

DR.  DANIEL  TREMBLY  MAcDOUGAL,  MR.  JOHN  M. 
PHILLIPS,  AND  THE  AUTHOR 


WITH  TWO  NEW  AND   ORIGINAL  MAPS  BY 
MR.  GODFREY  SYKES 

GEOGRAPHER  TO  THE   EXPEDITION 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1908 


COPYRIGHT,  1908,  BY 
WILLIAM   T.  HORNADAY 


Published  October,  1908 


DANIEL  TREMBLY  MAcDOUGAL,  PH.D.,  ETC. 

ALL-AROUND   BOTANIST,   ZOOLOGIST,  SPORTSMAN    AND   GOOD    FELLOW, 
WHO   BUILT   FOR  US   A   CHAIN   OF   CAMP-FIRES 

FROM   TUCSON  TO   PINACATE, 

ON  THE   GREATEST  DESERT  TRIP  IMAGINABLE, 

THIS   VOLUME  IS  DEDICATED 

FOREVER. 

W.  T.  H. 


PREFACE 

PRIMARILY,  the  expedition  described  in  the  following 
pages  was  an  exploration  of  a  genuine  terra  incognita. 
While  it  is  true  that  the  Pinacate  region  was  known  to  a 
few  Papago  Indians  and  perhaps  half  a  dozen  Mexicans, 
to  the  reading  and  thinking  world  it  was  totally  un- 
known; and  the  more  we  gathered  maps  and  inquired 
about  it,  the  less  we  knew.  On  all  available  maps  the 
space  around  the  Pinacate  dot  was  a  blank,  and  usually 
the  dot  itself  was  far  out  of  place.  There  was  not  a 
soul  who  knew  enough  about  the  country  to  say  "lava." 

Naturally,  the  animal  and  plant  life  of  the  Pinacate 
region  was  as  much  unknown  as  its  geography;  hence  our 
combination  of  botanist,  zoologist,  sportsman,  and  geog- 
rapher. In  any  wild  country,  that  is  "a  good  hand  to 
draw  to,"  and  with  the  three  jolly  good  fellows  whose 
company  I  shared,  I  could  enjoy  exploring  any  country 
this  side  of  the  Styx.  Indeed,  I  would  take  my  chances 
with  them  beyond  it. 

Ever  since  it  was  my  good  fortune  to  see  the  Rocky- 
Mountain  big-horn  at  its  culminating  point  in  British 
Columbia,  I  had  been  keenly  desirous  of  studying  that 
species  at  the  point  where  its  progress  southward  is 
stopped  by  fierce  heat,  and  scanty  food  and  water.  It 

vii 


viii  PREFACE 

seemed  to  me  that  in  the  Pinacate  region  we  might  in  all 
probability  find  one  of  the  jumping-off  places  of  the 
genus  Ovis  in  North  America;  which  we  did. 

Much  depends  upon  the  point  of  view.  No  man 
should  make  the  mistake  of  exploring  a  desert  in  hot 
weather.  It  is  equalled  in  folly  only  by  the  exploration  of 
the  polar  regions  in  winter.  A  hard  season  always  begets 
unreasonable  prejudices  in  the  mind  of  the  observer. 
The  choice  of  companions  also  has  very  much  to  do  with 
the  point  of  view.  Don't  visit  any  desert  under  the  handi- 
cap of  Indian  "guides."  They  are  enough  to  depress  the 
spirits  of  a  barometer;  and  some  of  them  will  even 
abandon  you  in  the  wilds!  Go  with  from  one  to  six  good 
white  men,  with  red  blood  in  their  veins,  or  postpone  the 
event. 

Of  the  books  that  I  had  read  previous  to  my  desert 
experience,  not  one  gave  me  a  clear-cut  and  adequate 
impression  of  southern  Arizona.  Of  the  northwestern 
corner  of  Mexico,  practically  nothing  had  been  written. 
I  based  my  expectations  upon  existing  records — and 
never  was  more  surprised  in  a  country.  This  book  rep- 
resents an  effort  to  show  the  Reader  a  strange,  weird,  and 
also  beautiful  country  as  it  looked  to  me. 

I  did  not  sample  the  terrors  of  the  deserts.  The 
seamy  sides  of  lands  and  peoples  do  not  attract  me.  I 
have  little  patience  with  travellers  who  are  eternally  get- 
ting into  scrapes,  and  having  heart-rending  "sufferings" 
and  "adventures."  In  all  save  the  wildest  of  the  wild 
regions  of  earth,  such  doings  indicate  bad  judgment  and 
a  lack  of  the  Savvey  of  the  Trail  which  every  explorer 


PREFACE  ix 

and  sportsman  should  possess.  It  is  possible  for  men  to 
have  terrible  "experiences"  anywhere.  Men  have  been 
frozen  to  death  in  the  streets  of  New  York,  and  very 
recently  others  have  perished  miserably  in  the  New  Jersey 
marshes,  within  sight  of  hundreds  of  electric  lights.  The 
deserts  have  their  dangers  also — for  men  who  ignorantly 
and  rashly  rush  into  them;  but  in  any  country  the  best 
travellers  are  those  who  know  how  to  do  their  work  and 
avoid  such  things. 

In  November,  southern  Arizona  is  fascinating,  no  less. 
The  boundless  space,  the  glorious  sunshine,  the  balmy 
air,  the  cleanness  of  the  face  of  Nature,  the  absence  of 
dust,  filth,  waste  paper,  polluted  streams,  dirty  humanity, 
and  many  other  things  that  wear  on  Life  in  a  great  city, 
strongly  appeal  to  me.  The  countries  that  will  grow 
corn  and  wheat  and  hogs  in  great  abundance  per  acre 
are  not  the  only  lands  worth  knowing.  Consider  Ari- 
zona. Certainly  it  is  a  Land  of  Health,  and  if  ever 
I  am  called  upon  to  die  in  the  East,  I  will  go  there 
and  live. 

The  Discerning  Reader  will  not  need  to  be  told  cate- 
gorically how  greatly  I  am  indebted  to  my  companions, 
Dr.  MacDougal,  Mr.  Phillips,  and  Mr.  Sykes,  for  their 
many  and  valuable  contributions  to  this  volume,  espe- 
cially in  photographs  and  maps.  Their  best  results  were 
generously  and  unreservedly  placed  at  my  disposal,  and 
he  who  reads  will  appreciate  their  value.  Mr.  Sykes  has 
mapped  the  Pinacate  region  absolutely  for  the  first  time; 
and  there  are  at  least  three  men  who  are  ready  to  vouch 
for  the  accuracy  of  his  work. 


x  PREFACE 

We  are  greatly  indebted  to  the  Mexican  Government 
for  the  authority  so  graciously  and  promptly  granted  to 
enter  Mexico  with  our  outfit,  and  also  to  President  Roose- 
velt and  our  Department  of  State  for  kindly  and  oppor- 
tunely bespeaking  that  favour  for  us. 

W.  T.  H. 

NEW  YORK,  June  15,  1908. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

MOVING  PICTURES  OF  THE  IRON  TRAIL 3 

Pinacate,  the  Mystery — A  Desert  Experience  and  an  Exploration — 
Dr.  Daniel  Trembly  MacDougal — Moving  Pictures  of  the  South- 
west— Four  State  Corners  in  One  Day — The  Threshold  of  the 
Great  Desert  Region — New  Mexico — Two  Oases — El  Paso,  and 
the  Small  Rio  Grande — The  Dreariest  Deserts — Arrival  at  Tucson. 

CHAPTER  II 

TUCSON,   AND   THE    DESERT   BOTANICAL   LABORATORY        .       14 

The  Amphitheatre  of  Tucson — A  Demoralized  Compass — The  Santa 
Cruz  River — The  Flavour  of  Mexico — The  Yaqui  Indian  and  His 
Industry — Impressions  of  Tucson — The  University  of  Arizona — 
The  Hand  of  the  Carnegie  Institution  of  Washington— The  Desert 
Botanical  Laboratory,  Its  Plant,  and  Its  Problems. 

CHAPTER  III 

TRAILING  INTO  A  NEW  WORLD 23 

Our  Social  Register—A  Model  Outfit— A  New  and  Different  World— 
An  Encounter  with  Indians — Our  First  Accident  Averted — A 
Cattle  Ranch  Around  a  Desert  Well— Animal  Life  of  the  First  Day 
—The  First  Camp-Fire. 

CHAPTER  IV 

FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AN  ARBOREAL  DESERT  ....    25 

The  Frame  of  Mind — The  Nursery  Idea — Strange  Association  of 
Plains  and  Mountains — Desert  Amphitheatres — Unique  Granite 
Mountains — The  Arroyo  and  Its  Uses — Millions  of  Specimen 
Shrubs  and  Trees— A  Flood  Basin. 

' 

'3 

CNnUn 


xii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  V 

PAGE 

A  DESERT  BOTANICAL  GARDEN 43 

The  Lost  Cactus  Garden— The  Beautiful  Palo  Verde— An  Un- 
worked  Table  Decoration — The  Deadly  Mistletoe — The  Acacia,  or 
"Cat-Claw"  Thorn— The  Unique  and  Wonderful  Ocatilla— A 
Bouquet  of  Green  Wands — The  Octopus  of  the  Desert — The  Iron- 
wood  Tree — The  Omnipresent  Creosote  Bush,  and  Its  Purpose. 

CHAPTER  VI 

UNROLLING  THE  PANORAMA  OF  THE  DESERT    ....    55 

Fine  Weather,  Hot  and  Cold— The  Best  Kind  of  a  Wash— Two  Ravens 
Pester  Our  National  Emblem — Coyote  Mountain  and  Well — Hayes's 
Well  and  the  "Well  Ahead"— A  Narrow  Escape — A  Papago  In- 
dian Village — Tank- Water  and  Well- Water— Camp  on  the  Santa 
Rosa  Plain — Animal  Life — The  Passe*  South-western  Indian — The 
Organ-Pipe  Cactus. 

CHAPTER  VII 

FROM  THE  QUIJOTOA  PASS  TO  THE  MEXICAN  OASIS      .     70 

The  Cubo  Valley— A  Typical  Flood  Basin— The  Prize  Giant  Cactus— 
A  Beautiful  Camp  at  Wall's  Well— The  Ajo  Lily— Montezuma's 
Head — Down  the  Ajo  Valley — A  Lava  Ridge — The  Grave  of  a 
Murdered  Mexican — Across  the  Boundary  and  into  Mexico. 

CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SONOYTA  OASIS 84 

An  Isolated  Community — Sketch  of  Sonoyta — Judge  Traino  Quiroz 
and  His  Family — The  Sorrows  of  an  Amateur  Photographer — 
Life  in  Sonoyta — Fruits — Absence  of  Grafters — Our  Official  En- 
trance into  Mexico — Lieutenant  Jesus  Medina  and  the  Fiscal 
Guard — An  Annoying  Slip  of  a  Pen — Mr.  Jeff  Milton,  Inspector 
of  Immigration— A  Man  of  Many  " Gun"  Episodes. 

CHAPTER  IX 

A  SMALL  DEER  HUNT  TO  THE  CUBABI  MOUNTAINS  .    .  102 

Cubabi  Peak— Coyote  and  Skunk— Rain  in  the  Desert— Disagreeable 
Trait  in  Mexican  Rural  Guides— A  Fertile  Mountain  Valley- 
Enter  Coues  White-Tailed  Deer— The  Repression  of  Charlie- 
Death  of  a  Doe — Its  Size  and  Food  Supply — A  Down-pour  and 
Darkness  on  the  Desert— Mr.  Sykes  Comes  in. 


CONTENTS  xiii 

CHAPTER  X 

DOWN  THE    SONOYTA  TO   THE    LAVA       .      .      .,,..*-.      .Ill 

The  Start  Westward— Bad  Mules— "The  Devil's  Road"— A  Ruined 
Hacienda — A  Lonesome  Little  Cemetery — We  Meet  Mr.  Daniels 
—The  Sonoyta  River  in  Flood— The  Water-Storage  Cactus— A 
Rattlesnake  in  Camp — Quitovaquita,  on  the  Boundary — Rube 
Daniels's  Passion  for  Powder — An  Accident — A  Japanese  Incident — 
Pinacate  from  Afar — Another  Rattlesnake  in  Camp. 

CHAPTER  XI 
AN  EVENTFUL  DAY  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  LAVA.     .     .  135 

The  Finest  Organ-Pipes  and  a  Red-Tailed  Hawk— The  Alkali  Plain—- 
The Ocatilla's  Flower — View  of  Pinacate — A  Much-Perforated 
Plain — The  First  Volcano  Crater — A  Circus  with  Prong-Horned 
Antelopes — My  Locoed  Coyote — The  Malpais  Plain — A  Bridge  to 
Cross  a  Ditch — Lost  Wagons  and  Benighted  Men — A  Bivouac  in 
the  Desert — Rescued  in  Spite  of  Ourselves — A  Long  Night  Ride. 

CHAPTER  XII 
THE  PANORAMA  OF  MACDOUGAL  PASS  AND  VOLCANO   .  154 

In  the  Tule  Desert— Farther  Than  Ever  from  Pinacate— The  Corner 
of  a  Vast  Volcanic  Area — A  Weird  Cyclorama — Monument  No. 
1 80 — A  River  of  Verdure — Pathfinding  Along  the  Edge  of  the 
Lava — A  Volcanic  Curiosity — A  Great  Choya  Field — The  Sand 
Ridge — A  Galleta  Meadow — The  Doctor's  Garden — Fresh  Moun- 
tain Sheep  Tracks— The  Papago  Tanks,  Found  in  the  Dark— Mr. 
Sykes  Finds  a  Huge  Crater — Nature's  Planting  on  the  Crater 
Floor— Two  Rifle  Shots. 

CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  PAPAGO  TANKS  AND  THE  LAVA  FIELDS    ^    .    .     .170 
An  Unpleasant  Episode  at  MacDougal  Crater — Mr.  Daniels  Leaves 
Us— By   Pack-Train   Across   the   Lava— The   Papago   Tanks- 
Aqueducts  Through  the  Lava— Our  Little  Oasis The  White 

Brittle-Bush — Vegetable  Life  on  the  Lava. 

CHAPTER  XIV 

EXTINCT  VOLCANOES  AND  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  .  .  .  .  186 
A  Blank  Sheep  Hunt  to  the  Author's  Mountains— Mr.  Milton  Scores 
With  Two  Sheep— Mr.  Phillips  Kills  Two  Rams— The  Clover- 
Leaf  Crater— The  Sykes  Crater— Awful  Lava  Cones— The  Dead 
Ram  and  Its  Surroundings — Mr.  Phillips  Tells  the  Story  of  the 
Rainbow  Rams. 


xiv  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XV 


PAGE 


DOGS  IN  CAMP 204 

Doubtful  Dog  Experiments— The  Troubles  of  Bob — The  Troubles 
of  Bob's  Friends — A  Dog  with  no  Savvey — Rex  and  Rowdy — A 
Canine  Glutton — Rowdy's  Contract  at  the  Papago  Tanks — His 
Waterloo— The  Sickest  Dog  on  Record— The  Bad  Break  of  Rex. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  CACTUS  DISPLAY,  FROM  TUCSON  TO  PINACATE  .    .  210 

Desert  Plant  Life  More  Interesting  than  Animal  Life — The  Cacti — The 
Giant  Cactus — Its  Culmination  at  Comobabi — Diminution  South- 
ward and  Westward — Structure — The  Organ-Pipe  Cactus — The 
Finest  Specimen — The  Barrel  Cactus  and  Its  Water  Supply — A 
Demonstration  Beside  the  Trail — Cactus  Candy — Small  Forms  of 
Echinocactus — Bigelow's  Accursed  Choya — The  Pain  of  an  En- 
counter— Mr.  Sykes's  Accident — Strength  of  Spines — The  Tree 
Choya — Opuntias — Leafless  Bushes  with  Water-Storage  Stems. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  JOURNEY  OVER  THE  LAVA  AND  ANOTHER  TO  THE  GULF  228 

Work  on  Specimens — Arroyos — Awful  Lava  Ridges  and  Lava  Plains — 
Mutiny  in  the  Line — The  Gulf  of  California — Two  Antelopes 
Killed  on  a  Lava  Plain— The  Highway  to  Pinacate— The  Tule 
Tanks,  sans  Tules— Our  Camp— Mr.  Sykes  Goes  to  the  Gulf, 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  GREAT  DAY  WITH  SHEEP  ON  PINACATE 241 

A  Scattered  Party— The  Distant  "Cut  Bank"— View  from  1,000  Feet 
Elevation— A  Lost  Aneroid  and  a  Maze  of  Coat-Pockets— The 
Choya  Peak— Hard  Travelling  for  Human  Feet— Two  Sheep 
Sighted— A  Run  for  Them— Bad  Shooting  and  a  Badly  Rattled 
Sportsman— Mr.  Phillips  Apologizes  for  Killing  His  "Bunger"— 
Chase  of  a  Wounded  Ram— Success  at  Last — Moonrise  over  Pin- 
acate Peaks— The  Lava  Field  by  Moonlight. 


CONTENTS  xv 

CHAPTER  XIX 


PAGE 


THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE  .     .    ...    , 256 

By  Saddle  Horse  to  the  Foot  of  the  Peaks — Weakness  of  the  Camera 
on  the  Lava  Beds — The  Notch — Mountain  Sheep — Pinacate  Peak 
at  Last — More  Mountain  Sheep — A  Fearless  Band  and  a  Great 
View  of  It — General  Aspect  of  the  Peak — A  Great  Extinct  Crater — 
The  Climb  to  the  Summit— A  Wild  Revel  on  the  Top— The  Cyclo- 
rama  Below — The  Sad  End  of  the  Sonoyta  River— "The  Big 
Red  Peak" — A  Circle  of  Photographs — Our  Cairn  and  Record — 
The  Doctor  Gets  His  Sheep— The  Flight  from  the  Summit— Three 
Decide  to  "Lie  Out"  Near  the  Two  Rams. 


CHAPTER  XX 

"  LYING-OUT"  ON  PINACATE,  AND  THE  FINAL  SHEEP    .  277 

A  Camp-Fire  in  a  Lava  Ravine — A  Dinner  of  Broiled  Liver — The 
Resources  of  the  Party  and  Their  Distribution — The  Gunny  Sack 
as  a  Producer  of  Warmth — Mr.  Phillips  Takes  Advantage  of  a 
Sleeping  Comrade — The  Coyotes  Spoil  a  Museum  Sheep — "Why 
Don't  You  Shoot  that  Ram?" — Curiosity  Long  Drawn  Out — An 
Unexpected  Trophy — Mr.  Sykes  Stalks  a  Mountain  Sheep  on 
Pinacate. 

CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  YARN  OF  THE  BURNING  OF  THE  "HILDA"  .    .     .  291 

The  Characteristics  of  Mr.  Godfrey  Sykes— A  Versatile  and  Re- 
markable Man — The  Yarn  of  the  Hilda — A  Quick  Transforma- 
tion Scene  on  a  Desolate  Shore — A  Foot-Race  with  Death — 
Impassable  Mountains — Seven  Hard-Tack  for  160  Miles — A 
Tough  Coyote — A  Fish  in  Time — Swimming  the  Colorado — A 
Bean-Pot  at  Last— The  End  of  Charlie  McLean. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

NOTES  ON  THE  MAMMALS  BETWEEN  TUCSON  AND  THE 
GULF 302 

Desert  Conditions— The  Pack-Rat  and  Its  Wonderful  Nests— The 
Kangaroo  Rat — Harris's  Chipmunk — No  Arboreal  Squirrels — 
Jack  Rabbit  and  Cotton-Tail— The  Coyote — Prong-Horned  An- 
telope— Deer — Peccary. 


xvi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

PAGE 

NOVEMBER  BIRD  LIFE  IN  THE  LAND  OF  LITTLE  RAIN  .     .  316 

The  Disappointing  Road-Runner — Gambel's  Quail  and  Its  Pursuit — 
The  Wisdom  of  the  Cactus  Wren— The  Crissal  Thrasher's  Nest- 
Western  Red-Tailed  Hawk— The  Red-Shafted  Flicker— Nests  in 
the  Giant  Cactus — The  Crows  at  the  Papago  Tanks,  and  a  Mur- 
der—Doves—A Bittern  Fishing— The  Mud-Hen  of  Sonoyta — 
Scarcity  of  Reptiles  in  November. 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  OF  MEXICO 329 

Bird's-eye  View  of  the  Genus  Ovis — Its  Vanishing  Point  at  Pinacate — 
Straight  Ovis  canadensis — The  Making  of  a  New  Form — Colours — 
Size— The  Feet— The  Pelage— The  Horns,  Skull,  and  Teeth- 
Habits — Geographical  Distribution  in  Mexico — Summary  of  Facts 
and  Conclusions. 

CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  FLIGHT  FROM  PINACATE 347 

Mountains  Being  Buried  by  Sand — The  Meeting  of  Desert  and  Lava — 
Antelopes  for  Mr.  Phillips— The  Represa  Tank— The  Mexican 
Wagon  Wins  Out— Heading  for  Gila  Bend— The  Ajo  Valley— Gila 
Bend — A  Dinner  Fit  for  the  Gods — Back  to  Civilization. 

INDEX  .    ,    .    .  V 359 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Rainbow  Rams,  on  the  Lava  Peak  (Colored  Plate)      Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Pinacate  Beetle 3 

Dr.  Daniel  Trembly  MacDougal 18 

A  Lucky  Strike  in  the  Desert 30 

Filling  the  Water  Cans  at  the  Papago's  Well 30 

Typical  Arboreal  Desert  Plain,  and  Coyote  Mountain     ....  38 

A  Typical  Desert  Landscape        42 

The  Deadly  Mistletoe  at  Its  Worst       48 

The  Beautiful  Ocatilla,  or  "Devil's  Chair" 52 

Papago  Indian  Houses  and  Oven,  at  Comobabi 64 

Adobe  House  at  Wall's  Well        64 

Mr.  Sykes  Reflects  Gloomily  over  the  Grave  of  a  Murdered  Mexi- 
can, beside  a  Creosote  Bush 68 

Organ-Pipe  Cactus  and  Young  Giant  Cactus 68 

Palo  Verde  and  Mesquite  Trees  in  a  Flood  Basin 70 

The  Finest  Giant  Cactus  (Colored  Plate) 72 

Wall's  Well  and  Montezuma's  Head     .  .  . .     ,:  ,;  y  .,,.,.    .  76 

The  Ghost  of  a  Dead  Industry,  at  Wall's  Well 76 

Gambel's  Quail,  and  Ocatilla  with  leaves  and  thorns      ....  80 

Nest  of  Pack-Rat,  in  the  Ajo  Valley 80 

The  Sonoyta  River,  where  Desert  Meets  Oasis 82 

View  Across  the  Sonoyta  Oasis,  Looking  South-west 84 


xvu 


xviii  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PAGE 

Sketch  Map  of  the  Sonoyta  Oasis  in  1907 85 

"Main  Street'*  in  Sonoyta,  Looking  East 86 

Stone  Mill  and  Forge  of  Judge  Quiroz 90 

The  Leading  Citizen  of  Sonoyta,  Judge  Traino  Quiroz,  and  His 

Family 90 

Desert  Vegetation  and  Jeff  Milton  (Colored  Plate) 100 

Horns  of  Coues  Deer  and  White-Tailed  Deer 108 

Santo  Domingo,  Looking  North-westward 1 12 

Details  of  Typical  Desert  Vegetation  on  Hilltop  at  Santo  Domingo  116 
The  Sonoyta  River  in  Flood,  Below  Santo  Domingo       .     .     .     .118 

A  Piece  of  Human  Drift- Wood  from  Japan       124 

Mr.  Milton  Contemplates  the  Passive  Rattlesnake 124 

The  Sonoyta  River,  at  Agua  Dulce 132 

The  Finest  Organ-Pipe  Cactus  (Colored  Plate) 136 

Pinacate,  as  It  Appears  from  Twenty-one  Miles  Due  North-east  .  140 
Prong-Horned  Antelopes,  and  Their  Feeding-Grounds    ....  144 

A  Desert  Botanical  Garden  (Colored  Plate) 154 

The  Edge  of  the  Lava  Field,  MacDougal  Pass 156 

Monument  180  on  the  International  Boundary 159 

Near  View  of  a  Tree  Choya  and  Creosote  Bush 160 

The  Outfit  Coming  Through  MacDougal  Pass  (Colored  Plate)     .  164 

MacDougal  Crater,  from  the  South-east 168 

The  Papago  Tanks 176 

Details  of  the  Lava  Wall  of  the  Upper  Tank 180 

The  Spiny  Smoke-Tree 182 

The  White  Brittle-Bush 182 

Our  Camp  in  the  Oasis  Below  the  Papago  Tanks 186 

Sykes  Crater,  Looking  South-eastward  (Colored  Plate)     .     .     .     .188 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xix 


FACING  PAGE 


The  Carnegie  Ram  on  the  Lava  Peak       192 

Measuring  the  Carnegie  Ram 196 

The  Members  of  the  Expedition,  on  Porous  Red  Lava,  at  the  Pa- 

pago  Tanks 204 

Extracting  Water  from  the  Barrel  Cactus,  or  Bisnaga     .     .     .     .216 

Bigelow's  Choya  (Opuntia  Bigelowi) 224 

A  Broad-Leafed  Prickly  Pear  (Opuntia),  at  Sonoyta        ....  224 

Into  the  Lava  Field  by  Pack  Train 230 

Mr.  Milton  Kills  Two  Antelopes  on  the  Lava 234 

Mr.  Sykes  and  the  Carnegie  Ram  on  the  Red  Lava  Peak        .     .  234 

The  Lava  Field  and  Our  Camp  at  the  Tule  Tank 238 

The  Tule  Tank 240 

The  Lava  Where  the  Rattled  Ram  Fell 246 

The  Author's  First  Ram,  and  Its  Lava  Surroundings      ....  250 

The   Sheep   Bed  in  the  Lava  Niche,  and  the  Sentinel  Cactus 

(Colored  Plate) 252 

View  of  Pinacate  Across  the  Lava  Field,  from  the  Tule  Tank    .     .  256 

Carnegie  Peak  from  the  Summit  of  Pinacate  Peak 268 

The  Camp-Fire  on  Pinacate 282 

Fortress  of  a  Pack-Rat  at  Tucson 304 

Tree  Choya  Cactus,  Containing  the  Nest  of  a  Cactus  Wren     .     .  320 

A  Cactus  Tree  of  the  Desert  Botanical  Garden 320 

Heads  from  Pinacate 330 

Left  Horn  of  a  Pincate  Mountain  Sheep        .     .          338 

The  Side  of  the  Awful  Choya  Peak 348 

The  Sand  Burial  of  the  Saw-Tooth  Mountains 348 


MAPS 

The  Sonoran  Desert  Region  Between  Tucson  and  the  Gulf  of 

California 22 

The  Pinacate  Region,  North-western  Sonora,  Mexico      .     .     .     .no 


CAMP-FIRES  ON 
DESERT  AND  LAVA 


Pinacate  Beetle  (Eleodes  armata) 

The  "  Bug-that-stands-on-his-head  " 


CAMP-FIRES    ON 
DESERT  AND  LAVA 

CHAPTER  I 

MOVING  PICTURES  OF  THE  IRON  TRAIL 

Pinacate,  the  Mystery — A  Desert  Experience  and  an  Exploration — Dr. 
Daniel  Trembly  MacDougal — Moving  Pictures  of  the  South-west — 
Four  State  Corners  in  One  Day — The  Threshold  of  the  Great 
Desert  Region — New  Mexico — Two  Oases — El  Paso,  and  the 
Small  Rio  Grande — The  Dreariest  Deserts — Arrival  at  Tucson. 

To  every  intelligent  human  being — so  far  as  heard 
from — there  is  something  fascinating  in  the  idea  of  ex- 
ploring the  unknown  and  mapping  the  mysterious. 

Dear  Reader,  would  you  like  a  swift  flight  over  a 
south-western  wonderland,  that  to  you  and  to  me  will  be 
like  a  visit  to  another  world  ?  Would  you  be  pleased  to 
go  where  everything  is  strange  and  weird  and  different  ? 
Would  you  like  to  go  hunting  in  the  most  wonderful 
desert  region  of  all  America,  visit  an  odd  Mexican  oasis, 
and  play  pathfinder  to  grim  and  blasted  Pinacate  ?  Then 
come  with  me:  for  this  time  the  game  is  worth  the 
candle. 

It  is  not  yet  a  calendar  month  since  we  struck  He-la. 
Bend  (they  spell  it  G-i-l-a),  after  a  glorious  month  on  the 
trail  and  in  camp,  and  climbed  aboard  the  Golden  State 


% 

lidt'ta 


4  CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Limited.  We  were  half  dead  with  strenuous  exploring, 
but  serenely  happy  in  the  possession  of  countless  treasures 
stored  up  for  future  enjoyment. 

That  jaunt  was  undertaken  as  a  particularly  choice 
desert  trip,  combined  with  some  actual  exploration  in 
a  land  of  absolute  mystery,  and  hunting  such  as  the  red 
gods  might  permit.  For  more  years  than  one  likes  to 
confess  I  had  longed  to  become  acquainted  with  the  great 
south-western  desert  region,  and  had  suffered  mortifi- 
cation because  so  many  years  had  passed  over  my  head 
without  an  opportunity  to  do  so.  But  to  him  who  waits 
with  Determination,  all  things  come  to  pass. 

On  a  whizzing  cold  night  in  January,  1907,  Dr. 
Daniel  Trembly  MacDougal  said  to  me: 

"Look  here!  I  wish  you  to  go  with  me  on  a  fine  desert 
trip,  in  the  near  future;  and  I  also  wish  you  to  know 
that  there  are  mighty  few  men  whom  I  ever  invite  to  go 
with  me  into  the  deserts.  When  I  say  that  I  would  really 
like  to  have  you  go  with  me,  /  mean  it!" 

Recently  Dr.  MacDougal  was  the  Assistant  Director 
of  the  New  York  Botanical  Gardens.  He  is  now  Director 
of  the  Department  of  Botanical  Research  of  the  Carnegie 
Institution  of  Washington,  with  headquarters  at  the 
Desert  Botanical  Laboratory,  Tucson,  Arizona.  He  is  a 
botanist  of  distinction,  a  desert  specialist  of  the  first 
magnitude,  and  a  jolly  good  fellow  all  the  time  and 
everywhere.  It  seemed  to  me  that  my  Hour  had  at  last 
arrived.  In  one  fleeting  moment  a  compact  was  closed 
and  the  event  fixed.  After  long  and  careful  deliberation, 
we  decided  to  go  overland  from  Tucson  to  Sonoyta, 


MOVING  PICTURES  OF  THE  IRON  TRAIL      5 

Mexico,  and  explore  the  unknown  country  round  about 
Pinacate  Peak. 

Pinacate,  the  mysterious!  On  two  or  three  maps  it 
appears  as  a  small  blotch  in  the  midst  of  a  great  blank. 
On  two  of  those  maps  it  is  far  out  of  its  proper  place. 
Admiral  Dewey,  when  a  commander,  surveyed  the  Gulf 
of  California,  and  from  the  deck  of  his  ship  located  the 
peak  with  very  fair  accuracy.  For  two  hundred  years  of 
historic  times  the  country  surrounding  Pinacate  has  been 
totally  unexplored,  and  wholly  unknown  save  to  a  few 
Papago  Indians,  and  possibly  one  or  two  local  Mexicans 
who  are  unknown  beyond  the  Sonoyta  Oasis.  And  yet, 
curiously  enough,  Sonoyta  has  been  known  and  occupied 
by  Mexicans  for  at  least  two  centuries. 

Why,  we  asked  each  other,  is  the  Pinacate  region  un- 
known ?  Why  is  it  that  no  American  traveller,  no  ex- 
plorer, geographer,  sportsman  or  naturalist  ever  has  set 
foot  in  that  area,  nor  mapped  its  mysteries  ?  Why  is  it 
that  no  white  man  outside  of  Sonoyta  knows  where  the 
lower  half  of  the  Sonoyta  River  runs  ?  Some  one  has 
said  that  the  river  runs  north  of  the  mountain,  and  two 
maps  show  it  that  way;  but  does  it?  And  where  does  it 
end  ?  It  must  be  a  terribly  difficult  region  to  have  so  long 
remained  unmapped.  We  reasoned  that  the  absence  of 
water  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  well  of  mystery. 

From  January  until  October  Dr.  MacDougal's  con- 
stant efforts  at  Tucson  failed  to  find  even  one  man  who 
ever  had  been  through  the  Pinacate  region,  or  who  knew 
how  to  reach  the  mountain.  The  report  of  the  last 
International  Boundary  Commission — an  admirable  series 


6  CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

of  maps  and  documents — contains  only  one  three-line 
reference  to  Pinacate. 

And  so  it  was  that  up  to  November,  1907,  the  Sphinx 
of  Pinacate  had  not  spoken,  and  the  mystery  remained. 
On  November  2 — but  let  us  not  ignore  the  ante-chamber 
to  our  Wonderland.  There  are  many  things  of  interest 
this  side  of  Tucson,  and  a  few  that  we  cannot  ignore. 
From  Topeka  to  Tucson  (not  TW&'-son,  but  Too-sohn') 
the  moving  pictures  are  well  worth  while. 

It  is  in  southwestern  Kansas  that  one  sits  up  straight 
and  begins  to  take  note  of  the  flight  of  the  world.  When 
the  Golden  State  Limited  of  the  luxurious  Rock  Island 
route  has  passed  Alma,  perceptibly  loses  its  speed,  and 
for  five  minutes  or  more  runs  slowly,  you  notice  that 
something  new  is  happening.  It  is  the  southern  water- 
shed of  the  Kansas  River,  and  in  about  ten  miles  it  rises 
nearly  400  feet.  The  beautiful  maples  and  cottonwoods 
of  the  Kansas  valley  disappear  actually  before  your  eyes, 
and  a  vast  stretch  of  smooth  and  almost  treeless  prairie 
rises  like  magic. 

The  engine  labours,  but  half  speed  is  the  only  result. 
As  you  crane  your  neck  around  the  north-eastern  corner 
of  the  observation  car  to  look  ahead,  you  see  black  smoke, 
a  black  mass  of  iron  and  a  siding.  Presently,  like  a 
wounded  snake,  the  train  drags  its  slow  length  along,  and 
passes  a  big,  rusty,  untidy-looking  locomotive  that  stands 
alone  on  the  side-track,  like  a  solitary  buffalo  bull  with 
his  old  coat  but  half  shed.  Its  iron  sides  are  patched  and 
stained  with  rust,  and  it  looks  as  if  not  having  seen  the 
inside  of  a  round-house  for  a  year  and  a  day. 


MOVING  PICTURES  OF  THE  IRON  TRAIL      7 

As  the  last  car  clears  the  end  of  the  switch  we  notice 
that  a  man  stands  there,  and  with  some  haste  the  switch 
is  thrown.  A  moment  later  the  towering  black  mass 
glides  out  upon  the  main  track,  pauses  an  instant,  then 
comes  rushing  after  us. 

The  old  buffalo  bull  is  charging  us! 

Puffing  and  snorting,  he  rushes  up  close,  thrusts  out  a 
tongue  of  steel,  and  licks  our  coupler.  A  grimy  keeper 
waves  an  arm.  The  old  bull  bellows  twice,  then,  bang! — 
we  are  butted  straight  ahead.  Our  train  starts  forward 
at  twice  its  former  speed,  regardless  of  the  grade. 

Mile  after  mile  we  go,  our  black  helper  puffing  and 
swaying  until  at  last  we  reach  the  top  of  the  water-shed  at 
Alta  Vista.  There  the  old  buffalo  withdraws  his  tongue, 
shuts  off  his  steam,  and  halts  to  wave  a  black  smoke- 
wreath  in  farewell.  It  was  a  long  climb,  and  the  roof  of 
Kansas  now  looks  very  bald,  indeed. 

In  one  short  half  day  on  the  Sunset  Limited  you  see 
Kansas,  Oklahoma,  Texas  and  New  Mexico,  and  the 
flatness  of  the  world  at  those  four  corners  is  really  beyond 
compare.  Mile  after  mile  and  hour  after  hour  there  is 
naught  but  treeless  prairies,  as  level  as  a  lake.  Any  land 
ten  feet  high  would  be  a  hill  of  notable  proportions. 
There  are  no  hills;  but  there  are  farms  by  the  thousand, 
each  tiny  wooden  homestead  marked  by  its  own  indis- 
pensable windmill.  Once  I  counted  twenty-four  wind- 
mills in  sight  simultaneously  on  the  eastern  side  of  the 
line,  each  one  a  monument  to  agricultural  endeavour. 

Although  very  new,  the  country  looks  decidedly  pros- 
perous, for  the  dwellings  are  painted,  and  the  barns  and 


8  CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

sheds  are — for  a  new  country — luxurious.  The  young 
trees,  that  nearly  always  furnish  a  setting  for  each  home- 
stead unit,  even  now  are  very  much  in  evidence.  At 
present,  to  a  lover  of  pastoral  scenery,  the  country  looks  a 
trifle  monotonous  and  uneventful,  but  in  the  season  of 
green  things  it  must  make  a  really  beautiful  picture  of 
thrift  and  prosperity. 

It  is  good  to  see  people  scattering  thus  over  the  face  of 
Nature,  and  by  strength  and  keenness  winning  for  them- 
selves good  clean  homes  and  independence,  instead  of 
piling  up  like  senseless  human  sheep  of  one  idea,  as  do  so 
many  millions  of  people  in  the  congested  East.  Every 
effort  at  making  a  farm,  a  ranch  and  an  independent, 
self-supporting  American  Home  is  entitled  to  the  highest 
respect;  and  as  the  train  speeds  by  the  checkerboard 
farms  of  Oklahoma  and  adjacent  states,  we  wish  the 
home-makers  God-speed  with  all  our  hearts. 

But  this  picture  soon  dissolves  from  view,  and  we 
enter  the  great  arid  region  of  the  South-west.  Speaking 
generally,  we  may  say  that  the  deserts  of  eastern  New 
Mexico  begin  a  few  miles  south  of  the  town  with  the 
melodious  Indian  name  of  Tucumcari.  Here  ends  the 
farm,  and  here  begins  the  ranch,  the  naked  and  rocky 
buttes,  and  the  gray  and  melancholy  wastes  of  low  mes- 
quite  and  greasewood  brush.  Here  begins  the  always- 
green  yucca,  or  "soap-weed,"*  which  looks  like  an 
understudy  of  the  well-known  but  more  robust  Spanish 
bayonet.  It  stays  with  us  more  or  less  continuously  to 
the  eastern  line  of  Arizona,  where  it  ceases  to  be  a  notable 

radiosa. 


MOVING  PICTURES  OF  THE  IRON  TRAIL      9 

feature  of  the  desert  vegetation.  It  reaches  its  zenith 
just  north  of  El  Paso,  where  over  hundreds  of  acres  it 
grows  so  thickly  and  luxuriantly  that  it  has  the  appearance 
of  being  cultivated.  What  a  pity  'tis  that  this  thrifty 
plant  is  of  no  important  use  to  man! 

For  some  distance  down  from  Tucumcari,  the  agri- 
cultural energy  of  the  north  has  overflowed  on  the  deserts 
of  New  Mexico;  and  on  many  odd  bits  of  debatable 
ground,  beside  hopelessly  inadequate  water-holes,  plucky 
men  and  lonesome  women  are  striving  to  create  homes 
and  land  values,  and  rear  stock.  Here  you  see  the  first 
signs  of  the  great  struggle  between  Man  and  Desert  which 
is  going  on  over  a  wide  empire  of  territory  stretching 
fifteen  hundred  miles  from  western  Texas  to  the  Pacific 
Ocean.  This  is  now  our  Irrepressible  Conflict;  and  its 
features  and  phases  are  of  very  great  interest  and  impor- 
tance to  this  nation. 

Not  far  below  Tucumcari  you  see  the  first  adobe 
houses,  quickly  picked  out  by  their  flat  tops,  their  walls 
of  brown  earth,  their  tiny  windows  and  meagre  dimen- 
sions. To  this  day  I  am  wondering  how  on  earth  those 
practically  level  earth  roofs  ever  shed  rain.  We  can 
understand  their  small  windows,  because  in  this  mid- 
summer glare  of  130  degrees  Fahrenheit,  the  darkness  of 
those  earthen  boxes  is  much  cooler,  or,  I  should  say,  a 
little  less  fiercely  hot — than  would  be  a  well-lighted  room. 

Three-quarters  of  the  way  down  the  eastern  desert  of 
New  Mexico  we  come  to  a  practical  demonstration  of 
what  water  can  do  for  aridity.  At  Tularosa  there  ap- 
pears, a  mile  away  to  the  eastward,  and  seemingly  at  the 


io          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

foot  of  the  Sierra  Blanca,  a  mass  of  green  jungle  stretching 
away  north  and  south.  There  are  at  least  half  a  dozen 
shades  of  green  in  that  lovely  bank  of  foliage,  and  in  front 
of  it  lie  level  meadows  of  alfalfa  as  green  as  the  finest 
malachite.  This  means  irrigation. 

By  way  of  contrast,  the  brushy  desert  on  the  other 
side  of  the  railway  stretches  away  twelve  miles  to  the 
west,  dull  and  hopeless,  until  it  meets  the  waves  of  a 
billowy  desert  called  the  White  Sands,  that  seem  to  wash 
the  eastern  base  of  the  San  Andreas  Mountains.  That 
desert  of  glistening  white  gypsum  sand-dunes  is  a  sur- 
prising feature.  With  our  glasses  we  try  hard  to  get  the 
details  of  its  waves,  and  the  bits  of  plant  life  that  seem 
to  float  upon  it  like  so  much  wreckage  on  a  heaving  sea. 
The  glistening  strip  of  sand — about  eight  miles  wide— 
seems  brilliantly  white  in  contrast  with  the  dark  gray 
desert  in  front  and  the  gloomy  mountains  beyond.  They 
say  that  under  the  action  of  the  prevailing  westerly  winds 
it  is  slowly  moving  eastward. 

But  the  Tularosa  Oasis  is  only  a  curtain-raiser  to  what 
lies  thirteen  miles  beyond.  At  the  western  foot  of  the 
really  imposing  Sacramento  Mountains  lies  Alamogordo, 
and  there  the  train  halts  with  a  thrill  of  pride  that  vibrates 
clear  through  it  from  cow-catcher  to  rear  platform. 

c< Trees!     Trees!    Look  at  the  Trees! 

"And  water!     Running  water! 

"Is  that  an  orchard?" 

"By  all  the  powers,  it  is  a  public  Park!" 

"Then  where  is  the  Zoo?" 

"Right  over  yonder.     Get  onto  that  live  bear!" 


MOVING  PICTURES  OF  THE  IRON  TRAIL     n 

It  was  all  true,  as  set  forth  in  the  exclamations  of  the 
alighting  passengers.  There  was  really  a  public  park  of 
unknown  acres  of  cottonwood  trees  set  in  rows,  with 
running  water  close  beside  them  laving  their  greedy  roots. 
Between  the  tree-rows  grass  grew.  Yes,  there  really  was 
a  live  zoological  black  bear,  in  a  very  good  wire  cage,  on 
public  exhibition;  and  we  respectfully  remind  the  world 
that  a  zoological  park  is  the  high-water  mark  of  civiliza- 
tion. 

Alamogordo  is  truly  an  oasis  of  the  first  water.  The 
enacting  clause  of  this  pretty  place  comes  from  the 
Sacramento  Mountains,  on  the  top  of  which  is  the  sum- 
mer sanitarium  and  refuge  of  El  Paso  at  Cloudcroft, 
twenty-six  miles  up  by  rail.  In  this  oasis  are  grown 
fruits,  alfalfa,  shade  trees  and  vegetables  galore. 

On  the  station  platform,  a  sad-visaged  Mexican  of 
Indian  descent  was  selling  apples  that  were  as  yellow  as 
gold,  three  for  "dos  reales"  (twenty-five  cents).  So 
great  was  the  novelty  of  golden-yellow  apples  for  sale  in 
a  desert  that  the  stock  went  off  like  a  shot.  Long  live 
Alamogordo;  and  may  it  escape  the  fire  that  usually 
wipes  out  every  frontier  town  at  least  once. 

The  country  immediately  north  of  El  Paso  is  pictu- 
resque, but  sadly  desolate;  and  El  Paso  itself  seems  like 
a  city  that  has  been  built  in  cheerful  defiance  of  all  possi- 
ble discouragements.  The  size  of  it,  and  the  seriousness 
with  which  it  has  been  made,  are  amazing;  but  the  ride 
in  to  its  Union  Station  is  certainly  the  slowest  railroading 
on  earth.  It  seems  like  four  miles  an  hour;  but  I  would 
not  do  even  a  railroad  an  injustice,  especially  in  Texas. 


12          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

In  ten  minutes  all  my  preconceived  expectations  re- 
garding the  Rio  Grande,  the  bridge  across  it,  and  the 
Mexican  shore,  were  rudely  wiped  off  the  slate.  Instead 
of  low  banks,  a  wide  river-bed,  a  long  bridge  and  a  flat 
hinterland  in  Mexico,  everything  was  exactly  the  opposite. 
The  banks  were  high,  the  river  runs  through  a  very 
decided  gorge,  both  stream  and  gorge  are  absurdly  nar- 
row, and  the  bridge  is  ridiculously  short.  I  did  not 
measure  it,  but  the  stream  looks  about  four  hundred  feet 
wide.  The  White  River  at  Indianapolis  is  nearly  double 
the  size  of  it.  But  we  must  remember  that  any  river  in 
a  dry  land  is  a  Great  Thing,  and  deserves  to  be  made  much 
of;  so  we  forgive  the  Rio  Grande  for  not  being  quite  so 
Grande  as  imagination  called  for,  and  accept  it  as  the 
biggest  thing  of  the  kind  between  the  Mississippi  and  the 
Colorado. 

After  a  very  brief  "  pasear "  *  across  the  corner  of 
Texas,  we  are  again  in  New  Mexico,  and  the  deserts  are 
dreary  enough.  The  only  interesting  plant  is  the  yucca, 
and  the  attempts  at  ranching  and  stock-raising  are  so 
difficult  they  make  one  feel  sad.  The  worst  of  it  is, 
irrigation  seems  only  a  dream,  for  there  is  no  water  any- 
where that  by  the  wildest  stretch  of  the  imagination  can 
be  called  available  for  anything  outside  the  narrow  strip 
of  lands  close  beside  the  Rio  Grande. 

Strategically,  it  is  all  right  for  the  finest  desert  region 
in  Arizona  to  burst  upon  us  in  the  purlieus  of  Tucson, 
after  we  have  left  the  Golden  State  Limited.  But  it  is 

*  In  northern  Mexico,  a  pleasure  trip  of  any  kind  is  lightly  spoken  of  as  a 
"pas-e-ar"'— a  Spanish  word  that  means  "walk." 


MOVING  PICTURES  OF  THE  IRON  TRAIL     13 

rather  hard  on  Tucson  that  no  one  can  take  it  or  leave  it 
save  in  the  smallest  and  most  gruesome  hours  of  the  night. 
Going  or  coming,  the  train  passes  through  between  one 
o'clock  and  three  A.M.,  provided  the  trains  are  on  time. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  making  two  daily  visits  to  the 
depot  to  see  the  trains  come  in;  and  the  habitant  with 
time  on  his  hands  loses  much. 

By  good  luck,  our  outward  train  was  nearly  four  hours 
late,  and  we  slept  the  night  through  until  gray  dawn. 
Then  we  alighted  in  a  rain,  if  you  please,  and  found  the 
streets  delightfully  muddy!  In  the  immortal  word  of  our 
most-recently-arrived  English  cousin,  "Fahncy!"  Mud  in 
Arizona! 

Taking  it  as  a  good  omen,  we  domiciled  at  the  Santa 
Rita  (very  well,  indeed),  rang  up  the  Doctor  on  the  tele- 
phone, and  dared  him  to  come  on  with  his  old  outfit  and 
make  good. 


CHAPTER  II 

TUCSON,  AND  THE  DESERT  BOTANICAL  LABORATORY 

The  Amphitheatre  of  Tucson — A  Demoralized  Compass — The  Santa 
Cruz  River — The  Flavour  of  Mexico — The  Yaqui  Indian  and  His 
Industry — Impressions  of  Tucson — The  University  of  Arizona — 
The  Hand  of  the  Carnegie  Institution  of  Washington — The  Desert 
Botanical  Laboratory,  its  Plant,  and  its  Problems. 

A  WIDE-SPREADING,  wide-awake  little  city  on  a  level, 
sub-tropical  plain  that  is  encircled  by  granite  mountains; 
a  city  with  a  strong  Mexican  accent,  a  city  neither  fast 
nor  slow;  a  city  with  wide,  clean  streets,  good  buildings, 
abundant  electricity  and  all  the  respectable  concomitants 
of  a  metropolis — this  is  Tucson,  Queen  City  of  cactus- 
land. 

Its  elevation  above  the  sea  is  2,200  feet. 

The  ampitheatre  of  Tucson  is  thoroughly  satisfactory. 
The  plain  lies  as  level  as  a  lake,  and  it  is  almost  encircled 
by  steep  and  rugged  mountains  of  gray  granite  that  seem 
to  rise  only  just  beyond  the  corporate  limits.  North-east- 
ward the  splendid  mass  of  the  Santa  Catalina  Mountains 
looms  up  grandly,  its  highest  peak  only  seventeen  miles 
from  the  University.  Eastward  and  a  little  farther  away 
is  the  hazy-blue  Rincon  Range.  Westward  rises  the 
brown  and  mostly  bare  Sierra  Tucson,  and  in  the  north 
the  view  is  bounded  by  the  Tortolitas.  The  very  nearest 

14 


THE  DESERT  BOTANICAL  LABORATORY      15 

mountains  of  all  are  Tumanroc  and  Sentinel  Hills,  which 
actually  rise  and  shine  almost  within  the  city  limits. 

The  Southern  Pacific  Railway  flows  through  Tucson 
from  south-east  to  north-west.  As  an  engineering  prop- 
osition it  is  easier  for  it  to  go  through  passes  on  a  dead 
level  than  to  climb  mountains;  but  as  a  base  line  for  a 
stranger  it  is  a  dismal  failure.  In  no  other  city  of  my 
acquaintance  are  the  points  of  the  compass  so  horribly 
wrong  as  in  Tucson.  I  think  it  would  take  me  about 
ten  years  to  become  reconciled  to  the  wild  antics  of  the 
magnetic  needle  in  that  otherwise  sober  and  steady 
spot. 

The  brave  little  Santa  Cruz  River  which  attempts  to 
run  through  Tucson,  but  is  held  up  and  robbed  at  every 
turn,  actually  rises  in  southern  Arizona,  but  makes  a  loop 
away  down  into  Mexico,  below  Nogales,  nearly  a  hundred 
miles  away.  It  seems  strange  that  a  stream  so  very 
small  could  come  so  far  alone  through  the  desert  without 
getting  lost.  But  this  is  a  land  of  queer  things. 

When  you  land  at  Tucson,  in  the  cold  gray  dawn  of 
the  morning  after,  the  first  man  to  welcome  you  is  a  half- 
Mexican  carriage  driver  (there  being  no  such  thing  as  a 
"keb"  in  the  Real  West),  and  thereafter,  about  every 
other  man  and  woman  is  like  unto  him.  After  the  dis- 
gusting Bowery  English  of  New  York  in  the  mouths  of 
swashbuckling  drivers,  conductors  and  shop-girls  of  a 
hundred  kinds,  it  is  really  a  pleasure  to  strike  something 
less  raucous  in  sound  and  in  sense.  The  Mexican  may 
have  his  faults,  but  his  language  does  not  grate  on  the  ear 
like  the  filing  of  a  rip-saw. 


16          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Yes,  Tucson  is  full  of  Mexicans,  both  pure-bred, 
Indian  and  American  mixed.  You  meet  them  almost 
everywhere,  and  every  one  of  the  dozen  or  more  who  were 
called  upon  to  render  service  to  us  proved  eminently 
satisfactory.  I  am  told  that  many  Yaqui  Indians  come 
from  Mexico  up  to  this  city,  hire  out  as  labourers,  and 
work  hard  to  earn  dollars,  to  buy  Winchesters  and  car- 
tridges, to  take  home  by  stealth,  to  use  in  the  killing,  quite 
impartially,  of  both  Mexicans  and  Americans.  Going  or 
coming,  the  Yaqui  Indian  is  a  tough  citizen,  and  the 
quicker  the  entire  tribe  is  extradited  to  the  happy  hunting 
grounds  farther  south,  the  better  for  Mexico. 

Although  Tucson  is  a  city  with  a  flavour  of  Mexican 
chillis,  externally  it  does  not  look  it.  It  is  thoroughly 
modern,  with  adaptations  to  the  climate.  Its  beautiful 
Carnegie  Library,  its  State  University,  its  imposing  Santa 
Rita  Hotel  of  Spanish  architecture,  its  hospital  and  its 
schools  speak  to  the  Discerning  of  modern  thought  and 
enterprise.  True,  the  absence  of  ten  thousand  vacant 
"lots"  covered  with  twenty  thousand  tons  of  ghastly 
rubbish  makes  a  resident  of  New  York  feel  very  lone- 
some; but,  then,  Tucson  is  new,  and  the  herds  of  human 
cattle  from  the  overcrowded  cities  of  southern  Europe 
have  not  yet  arrived. 

It  may  be  that  Tucson  has  its  seamy  side — its  mid- 
summer  heat,  its  dust,  dryness  and  perspiration,  its  too 
much  this  or  that;  but  in  November,  A.  D.  1907,  every- 
thing was  as  it  should  be.  The  whole  city  was  very  much 
to  our  mind;  and  we  do  not  even  lay  up  aught  against 
mine  host  of  the  Hotel  Santa  Rita  who,  when  requested 


THE  DESERT  BOTANICAL  LABORATORY      17 

to  get  up  a  special  course  dinner  for  six  gentlemen,  was 
utterly  unable  to  do  more  than  lamely  offer  the  bill  of 
fare  in  evidence,  and  stand  pat.  He  did  not  seem  to 
know  how  to  lure  a  tenderfoot  by  subtle  degrees  of  tempta- 
tion from  his  proposed  $2.00  per  plate  up  to  $5.00  and 
make  him  pay  for  the  experience. 

We  found  the  sister  of  Tucson  Jenny  in  the  dining- 
room  of  the  Santa  Rita.  Her  smile  was  bright,  and  her 
hair  was  the  colour  of  the  lava  on  the  hill  above  the 
Papago  Tanks.  Mrs.  Rucker,  of  the  O.  K.  Restaraw, 
had  left  town,  but  a  little  later  on,  at  a  most  important 
crisis  in  our  lives,  we  found  her  in  Hela  Bend. 

If  it  is  good  to  make  two  blades  of  grass  grow  where 
only  one  grew  before,  surely  the  men  who  make  a  Uni- 
versity in  a  desert  shall  acquire  Merit,  and  deserve  much 
from  their  fellow-men.  Even  in  the  rainy  and  productive 
states,  the  making  of  a  seat  of  learning  that  shall  endure 
is  no  child's  play;  and  the  taking  of  a  hundred  acres 
of  waterless  gravel  and  creosote  bushes,  and  creating 
thereon  a  genuine  University,  with  various  schools,  is  an 
achievement  that  fairly  challenges  our  admiration.  Full 
of  enthusiasm,  we  started  out  by  electric  car  to  penetrate 
those  classic  walls,  felicitate  President  Babcock,  and  gloat 
over  Mr.  Herbert  Brown's  admirable  museum  infant; 
but  our  joy  was  short-lived.  Dr.  MacDougal  presently 
confessed  that  he  had  pledged  that  I  should  talk  to  the 
students  from  eleven  o'clock  until  noon — and  he  had 
almost  forgotten  to  mention  it  to  me  until  it  was  all  over! 
When  this  calamitous  situation  burst  upon  me,  my  first 
thought  was  of  flight;  but  afterward  I  decided  that,  being 


18         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

in  Arizona,  I  must  emulate  Dave  Tutt  of  Wolfville,  and 
for  once  try  to  be  "a  dead-game  gent." 

Despite  the  terrors  of  the  rostrum,  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
see  the  bright-faced,  open-eyed  young  people,  co-eds  and 
others,  who  filled  the  chapel  very  full,  and  bravely  took 
their  medicine. 

I  like  the  small  colleges  and  universities  of  the  bound- 
ing West;  for  verily,  their  work  is  just  as  great  as  is  that 
of  the  great  universities  of  the  farther  East. 

Once  upon  a  time  the  Carnegie  Institution  of  Wash- 
ington decided  that  the  vast  arid  regions  of  the  south-west 
needed  a  laboratory  devoted  to  the  study  of  the  physiology 
of  the  plant  life  of  the  deserts — or  words  to  that  effect. 

Having  the  price  safely  cached  in  Hoboken,  the  In- 
stitution looked  about  for  a  Man.  It  found  Dr.  Daniel 
Trembly  MacDougal,  then  Assistant-Director  of  the  New 
York  Botanical  Gardens.  There  being  no  rival  or  second 
choice,  nominations  were  closed,  and  he  was  unanimously 
elected  Director  of  the  Desert  Botanical  Laboratory,  to  be. 

In  due  course,  Dr.  MacDougal  intimated  to  the  prole- 
tariat of  Tucson  his  belief  that  the  D.  B.  L.  might  do 
worse  than  settle  in  their  midst.  Forthwith,  the  Tucson 
Board  of  Trade  carried  the  botanist  to  the  top  of  a  high 
mountain  close  by,  and  showed  the  world  that  lay  at  his 
feet. 

"All  this,"  said  the  Board,  "shall  be  thine,  and  more, 
if  thou  wilt  pitch  thy  tent  herein,  and  become  one  of  us." 

A  mountain  of  many  moods  and  tenses,  and  a  belt  of 
plain  around  it,  both  of  them  covered  with  weird  things 
with  stickers  all  over  them,  was  offered,  as  it  were,  on  a 


THE  DESERT  BOTANICAL  LABORATORY      19 

silver  plate.  Inasmuch  as  the  site  was  the  finest  bit  of 
real  estate  for  the  purpose  in  all  the  south-west,  Tucson's 
offer  was  blithely  accepted;  and  thus  was  born  into  the 
world  the  Desert  Botanical  Laboratory. 

Behold,  then,  at  the  western  end  of  Main  Street,  a 
rugged  gray  hill  eight  hundred  feet  high,  its  summit 
crowned  even  to-day  by  the  rough  stone  parapet  of  what 
once  was  an  Indian  fortification. 

As  we  drove  briskly  westward  on  Main  Street,  crossed 
the  Santa  Cruz  River  almost  without  knowing  it,  and  ap- 
proached the  foot  of  the  botanical  mountain,  I  framed 
up  a  foolish  question.  I  was  about  to  say,  "Why  are  your 
fence  posts  so  tall,  and  so  irregular?"  But  for  once  I 
wisely  held  my  peace;  and  presently  it  was  clear  that  all 
those  seeming  tall  straight  posts  running  up  the  mountain 
on  the  southern  sky-line  were  giant  cacti,  without  side- 
arms.  They  stood  all  over  the  plain,  and  climbed  up  all 
sides  of  the  mountain,  quite  to  its  summit.  The  stony 
sterility  of  the  steep  slopes  easily  accounted  for  the  ab- 
sence of  branches;  for  both  soil  and  water  were  there 
reduced  to  their  lowest  common  denominator. 

North  of  the  botanical  mountain,  and  also  within  the 
sheltering  steel  spines  of  the  wire  fence,  there  lies  a 
glorious  stretch  of  level  valley,  of  good  soil,  and  good 
water  when  water  is  falling.  And,  dear  Reader,  a  word 
in  your  ear.  If  you  care  aught  for  the  botanical  wonders 
of  the  Arizona  deserts,  it  will  pay  you  as  you  hie  westward 
to  stop  off  at  Tucson,  regardless  of  bad  hours,  and  spend 
half  a  day  in  the  Desert  Botanical  Laboratory's  nature 
garden.  Truly,  it  is  a  botanical  garden,  an  epitome  of 

•  • 


20          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

the  wonderland  of  arid  vegetation  that  stretches  from 
Tucson  a  good  hundred  miles  westward.  There  will  you 
find  the  stately  giant  cactus,  the  choya— or  "cholla" — of 
evil  reputation,  opuntias  galore,  the  lovely  palo  verde,  the 
tough  mesquite,  the  omnipresent  creosote  bush,  and  the 
most  remarkable  fortification  of  a  pack  rat  (Neotoma) 
that  can  be  found  in  forty  leagues  of  travel. 

On  a  shoulder  of  the  mountain,  about  half-way  up  to 
the  summit,  stands  a  spacious  building  of  rough  stone, 
gathered  and  hewn  on  the  premises,  which  is  the  Lab- 
oratory de  facto.  It  is  a  hundred  and  twenty  feet  long 
by  thirty  wide,  and  from  vestibule  to  back  stairs  it  is  truly 
something  new  under  the  sun.  Here  are  studied  the  ways 
and  means  of  the  desert  plants :  their  roots,  their  stems, 
and  their  leaves  when  they  have  any;  their  powers  of 
absorption  and  retention  of  moisture;  their  fate  in  various 
soils;  the  effect  upon  them  of  unusual  humidity;  the 
transplantation  of  desert  species;  and  goodness  knows 
how  many  other  things.  A  member  of  the  staff,  Dr. 
Livingston,  was  just  then  putting  the  finishing  touches 
to  an  instrument  invented  by  him  for  the  easy  and  sure 
determination  of  the  amount  of  moisture  in  any  desert 
atmosphere;  and  duplicate  copies  of  it  were  about  to  be 
distributed  for  use  in  various  scientific  institutions  through- 
out the  arid  region. 

"Do  you  see  that  tall,  light-coloured  peak  over  yon- 
der ? "  said  Director  MacDougal,  pointing  north-eastward 
across  the  valley  to  one  of  the  highest  peaks  of  the  Santa 
Catalinas. 

"Yes." 


THE  DESERT  BOTANICAL  LABORATORY     21 

"That  is  Mount  Lemmon,  and  to  the  foot  of  that  peak 
is  seventeen  miles,  as  the  raven  could  fly  if  he  wished. 
Within  a  mile  of  the  foot  of  that  light-coloured  wall  of 
rock  we  have  an  experimental  mountain  plantation,  in 
the  pine  belt,  at  an  elevation  of  8,000  feet.  We  have  had 
to  put  a  good  wire  fence  around  it  to  keep  the  deer  and 
mountain  sheep  from  browsing  on  our  experiments!" 

"And  just  what  is  it  that  you  hope  to  accomplish  with 
this  new  botanical  plant?" 

"We  are  studying  the  conditions  in  order  to  learn  the 
forces  that  have  been  concerned  in  the  origination  of  these 
desert  forms,  and  the  principles  which  control  their  dis- 
tribution and  existence  at  the  present  time.  Our  results 
may  materially  modify  many  of  the  major  conclusions  of 
botanical  science.  The  prevailing  generalizations  are 
mostly  based  on  a  study  of  plants  of  the  tropic  and  tem- 
perate zones,  made  indoors,  while  our  work  is  in  the 
midst  of  an  undisturbed  vegetation,  and  among  types  but 
little  known.  The  results  will  depend  entirely  upon  what 
we  find  out  that  is  new  and  hitherto  untried.  At  present 
we  do  not  expect  to  conduct  extensive  practical  experi- 
ments here.  They  naturally  belong  to  the  state  and 
national  experimental  stations.  Our  work  is  to  furnish 
them  with  new  facts,  and  with  theories  to  try  out." 

With  the  thousands  of  square  miles  of  fertile  deserts 
in  our  south-western  empire — deserts  which  to-day  are 
green  all  over  with  their  own  peculiar  but  economically 
valueless  desert  flora,  and  only  waiting  for  valuable  plants 
that  are  as  tough  as  the  mesquite  and  creosote  bush,  it  is 
well  worth  while  for  the  American  people  to  enter  more 


22          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

seriously  into  the  problems  of  the  arid  regions.  Water  is 
not  necessarily  the  only  thing  that  can  make  a  desert  of 
first-class  use  to  man.  Perhaps  there  is  much  to  be  done 
with  plant  life  alone. 

It  is  the  view  of  at  least  one  layman  that  when  the 
Carnegie  Institution  of  Washington  took  up  the  problem 
of  the  deserts,  chose  Dr.  MacDougal  and  established  the 
Laboratory  at  Tucson,  it  did  the  best  piece  of  work  for 
Pan-America  that  it  has  done  thus  far.  It  seems  to  me 
that  we  should  not  expect  much  in  or  of  the  mountains  of 
Arizona,  except  prospect  holes,  " mines"  and  mining  com- 
panies in  endless-chain  rotation.  Steep-sided  pyramids 
of  bare  granite  and  hills  of  bare  brown  lava  can  hardly 
be  made  to  bloom  with  roses;  but  with  the  level  floor  of 
fertile  desert  that  covers  four-fifths  of  Arizona  and  New 
Mexico,  it  needs  no  great  wisdom  to  inspire  the  belief  that 
much  may  yet  be  done. 

"  I  am  the  Desert;  bare  since  Time  began; 
Yet  do  I  dream  of  motherhood,  when  man 
One  day  at  last  will  look  upon  my  charms, 
And  give  me  towns,  like  children,  to  my  arms." 


CHAPTER  III 

TRAILING  INTO  A  NEW  WORLD 

Our  Social  Register — A  Model  Outfit — A  New  and  Different  World — 
An  Encounter  with  Indians — Our  First  Accident  Averted — A 
Cattle  Ranch  Around  a  Desert  Well — Animal  Life  of  the  First  Day 
— The  First  Camp-Fire. 

ON  the  morning  of  November  2  our  outfit  was  assem- 
bled in  the  compound  of  Dr.  MacDougaPs  bungalow, 
near  the  University,  and  I  opine  that  it  was  as  nearly 
perfect  as  any  that  ever  took  the  trail  in  Arizona. 

As  became  a  party  bent  on  a  serious  exploration,  the 
personnel  of  the  party  showed  a  wide  range  of  talent. 
Categorically,  the  following  were  among  those  present  as 
we  trailed  from  Tucson  140  miles  down  to  Sonoyta, 
Mexico : 

Dr.  D.  T.  MacDougal,  commander-in-chief;  botanist, 
expert  photographer,  sportsman — and  a  mighty  good  shot 
with  his  old  Winchester  carbine. 

Mr.  John  M.  Phillips,  of  "Camp-Fires  in  the  Canadian 
Rockies,"  and  Pittsburgh;  iron  manufacturer,  Pennsyl- 
vania State  Game  Commissioner,  expert  sportsman,  and 
expert  photographer  of  everything  in  general. 

Mr.  Godfrey  Sykes,  the  Arizona  Wonder;  formerly  of 
England,  now  Superintendent  of  Buildings  and  Grounds, 
and  Right-Hand  Man,  at  the  Desert  Botanical  Labora- 

23 


•  \ 

*t 

.     •'.'    r*3 

-. 


24          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

tory;  official  geographer  to  the  expedition;  also  civil 
engineer,  mechanical  expert,  wonderful  wagon-fixer,  and 
very  agreeable  gentleman. 

The  Present  Incumbent;  zoologist  and  chief  taxider- 
mist; sportsman;  and  amateur  photographer  on  the  side. 

Frank  Coles,  of  Tucson;  wagon-master,  chief  packer, 
and  cook. 

Jesse  T.  Jenkins  of  Tucson;  general  assistant  to 
Coles;  ex-Texas-cowboy;  good  story-teller,  and  per- 
manent jester  to  the  outfit. 

Charlie  Foster,  a  Mexican  from  Sonoyta,  whom  Jeff 
Milton,  our  friend  of  the  Boundary,  had  sent  up  to  pilot 
us  down  to  Sonoyta.  He  rode  his  own  horse,  and  always 
went  ahead,  to  show  us  what  roads  not  to  take.  He 
saved  us  much  mental  wear  and  tear,  and  possibly  more. 

The  Bay  Team;  wheel-horses  to  the  White- Water 
touring  car,  and  a  little  thin  to  start  with. 

Bill  and  Maude;  a  pair  of  small  mules,  one  size 
larger  than  jack  rabbits,  the  leaders  for  the  White- Water. 
They  were  far  too  small  for  the  wheelers. 

The  Black  Team,  consisting  of  a  rather  lazy  horse 
and  a  wildly  ambitious  and  beautiful  young  mare,  draw- 
ing the  runabout. 

Bob,  an  inexperienced  young  dog  with  a  fox-terrier 
strain,  belonging  to  Frank  Coles,  utterly  devoid  of  savvy, 
and  always  in  trouble.  At  the  outset  he  seemed  to  be  all 
right  as  a  possible  camp-dog,  to  chase  away  skunks  and 
coyotes;  but  he  was  far  from  wagon-wise,  and  got  hurt 
twice.  But  there  are  worse  dogs  than  Bob;  for  he  was 
an  affectionate  little  soul,  and  he  knew  enough  to  let  a 


TRAILING  INTO  A  NEW  WORLD  25 

bandage  stay  on  his  leg  unchewed,  until  taken  off  by  the 
head  nurse. 

But  for  Bill  and  Maude,  I  think  our  outfit  would  have 
been  quite  perfect;  and  the  only  trouble  with  them  was 
that  Nature  cut  them  after  a  horse  pattern  that  was 
decidedly  too  small. 

Our  leading  vehicle  was  a  four-horse-power  White- 
Water  touring  car  with  an  automatic  tonneau,  a  spring 
seat,  a  canvas  cover  and  four  superfluous  bows.  This 
regularly  carried  a  ton  of  freight,  a  chauffeur,  three  men, 
forty  gallons  of  water,  a  dog,  and  half-a-gallon  of  small 
stones  on  the  running-board  to  throw  at  "Bill."  After 
this  came  a  two-horse-power  runabout  by  Callahan,  with 
a  canvas  top,  half  a  dozen  cameras,  six  guns,  four  bed- 
rolls, two  live  men  and  eight  dead  quail.  Safely  cached 
in  various  parts  of  the  above  cars  were  four  saddles  and 
five  pack-saddles,  for  use  on  extra  horses  and  mules  that 
were  awaiting  us  in  Sonoyta. 

Our  outfit  had  been  most  carefully  made  up  by  Dr. 
MacDougal  and  Mr.  Sykes,  and  the  greater  portion  of  it 
came  out  of  the  regular  desert-exploration  equipment  that 
has  been  accumulated  by  the  Laboratory  for  official  use. 

Next  to  our  own  food  and  the  horse  feed,  the  most 
important  item  was  four  light  wooden  cases,  each  contain- 
ing two  five-gallon  cans  of  tin,  made  square,  like  kerosene 
cans,  to  carry  forty  gallons  of  water,  and  be  handled  with 
celerity.  Each  member  of  the  party  provided  for  himself 
a  sleeping-bag,  or  bed,  of  the  type  that  most  strongly  ap- 
pealed to  him.  Each  of  the  four  principals  carried  his 
individual  canteen,  rifle,  binocular,  camera  and  medicine- 


26          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

box.  When  we  made  up  our  pack-train  at  MacDougal 
Pass  for  the  last  dash  to  Pinacate,  my  entire  outfit 
weighed  52  pounds,  that  of  Mr.  Phillips  48,  Mr.  Sykes' 
roll  scaled  43  and  Dr.  MacDougal  took  first  prize  with  a 
package  weighing — without  his  camera  and  fixings — only 
36  pounds. 

But  I  anticipate.  During  the  first  days  on  the  trail, 
the  outfit  of  a  large  party  does  not  immediately  resolve 
itself  into  its  component  parts.  It  takes  time  to  bring 
out  the  little  mysteries  and  surprises  that  have  been  hidden 
in  the  depths  of  war-sacks,  for  production  in  times  of 
stress  and  peril.  Now,  that  special  ten  pounds  of  lunch- 
eon chocolate  which  Mr.  Phillips  thoughtfully  bought  and 
cached  in  the  load  on  the  sly,  certainly  did  save  our  lives, 
several  times  each,  in  the  awful  lava  beds  around  Pinacate. 

When  you  take  the  trail  westward  from  Tucson,  and 
begin  to  look  upon  undisturbed  Nature,  you  quickly 
realize  that  the  world  is  different.  Everything  is  not  only 
new,  but  totally  strange.  By  the  time  you  have  walked 
ahead  of  the  outfit  to  the  summit  of  Roble's  Pass,  with 
Tucson  Mountain  looming  up  on  your  right,  you  are 
ready  to  exclaim, 

"This  is  another  world!" 

There  is  not  one  familiar-looking  rock,  plant  or  tree! 

But  for  the  fact  that  the  giant  cacti  which  stand  all 
over  the  mountain-sides  like  silent  sentinels  are  pale 
green  instead  of  gray,  they  would  resemble  the  dead  tree- 
trunks  of  a  burnt-timber  district;  but  their  healthy  green 
colour  and  their  accordion  plaits  give  them  an  appearance 
of  good  health  and  prosperity  that  forever  removes  them 


TRAILING  INTO  A  NEW  WORLD  27 

from  the  dead-tree  class.  Here  at  Tucson,  the  giant 
cactus,  or  saguaro  (sa-war'ro)  develops  few  branches, 
and  on  the  bare  rocks  of  the  mountains  the  limbless, 
straight  stem  is  the  rule.  It  is  this  strange  plant,  more 
than  any  other,  that  gives  the  key-note  to  the  landscape, 
and  that  most  strongly  impresses  upon  the  mind  of  the 
traveler  the  fact  that  this  is  another  world! 

During  our  ten-mile  ride  and  walk  through  the  main 
pass  of  the  Tucson  Range  the  giant  cactus  grew  in  great 
abundance.  In  the  arroyos,  in  the  pass  and  on  the 
mountain-sides  they  grew  literally  everywhere — thousands 
of  them.  Many  of  them  were  very  large,  and  well 
branched.  The  branches  run  all  the  way  from  round 
green  knobs  the  size  of  a  foot-ball  to  massive  branches 
twenty  feet  long  and  as  thick  through  as  a  man's  body. 
The  variety  of  arms  is  simply  endless.  It  would  take  a 
string  of  about  seven  figures  to  represent  the  number  of 
variations  in  giant  cacti  that  we  saw  between  Tucson 
and  Sonoyta.  But  it  was  not  in  the  Tucson  mountains 
that  we  found  this  splendid  creation  at  its  best.  That 
came  a  few  days  later,  and  I  had  a  flash  of  genius  when 
we  came  to  the  very  finest  one — which  will  be  set  forth 
anon. 

The  giant  cactus  prevailed  throughout  the  ten  miles 
of  Pass  through  the  Tucson  Mountians,  but  as  soon  as 
we  reached  the  level  floor  of  the  desert  it  stopped  abruptly, 
and  we  saw  it  no  more  until  the  next  mountain  chain  was 
reached.  Locally,  and  in  Mexicano,  it  is  known  as  the 
saguaro;  and  that  name  is  also  spelled  sahuaro. 

A  brisk  ride  of  about  four  miles  down  grade  from 


28          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

the  summit  of  Roble's  Pass  brings  the  outfit  down  to  the 
main  floor  of  the  desert,  at  the  eastern  edge  of  the  Avra 
Valley.  But  where  is  the  barren,  lifeless  waste  of  drifting 
sand,  desolation  and  danger  that  naturally  rises  in  the 
mind  of  the  uninitiated  reader  whenever  deserts  are 
mentioned  ?  Clearly,  it  is  not  here. 

We  see  ahead  of  us,  stretching  away  mile  after  mile 
to  far-distant  ranges  of  hazy-blue  mountains,  a  vast 
plain,  level  as  a  race-course,  but  completely  covered  with 
cheerful-looking  verdure  growing  about  waist  high  to  a 
man  on  foot.  Instead  of  being  a  gray  and  melancholy 
waste,  however,  like  the  sage-brush  flats  of  Montana  and 
Wyoming,  this  great  garden  is  green — persistently,  cheer- 
fully, even  delightfully  green !  And  you  do  not  see  any- 
where even  so  much  as  half  an  acre  of  perfectly  bare  and 
verdureless  ground.  True,  there  is  bare  ground  between 
these  green  clumps  of  creosote  and  mesquite  bushes; 
but  that  is  only  a  bit  of  novelty  in  Nature's  planting 
scheme. 

How  very  unlike  the  desert  of  our  expectations!  Let 
us  call  it,  for  truth's  sake,  an  arboreal  desert. 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we  were  in  the  middle 
of  the  vast  green  plain  that  lies  between  the  Tucson 
Mountains  and  the  Coyote  Range,  twenty-five  miles  to 
the  south-westward.  The  sun  was  then  at  its  hottest, 
and  the  party  was  drinking  heavily.  No  one  was  openly 
complaining  of  aught,  however,  and  everything  was  going 
bravely  on  until  two  Papago  Indians  were  seen  coming 
toward  us  on  the  trail,  driving  a  wagon  loaded  with— 
watermelons! 


TRAILING  INTO  A  NEW  WORLD  29 

Instantly  each  member  of  our  party  was  galvanized 
into  a  state  of  wild  activity.  Weapons  were  unlimbered, 
and  cartridge  belts  were  robbed  without  mercy.  No  one 
openly  proposed  bloodshed,  but  it  was  plain  that  each  man 
had  resolved  that  the  coming  load  should  not  pass  by 
our  outfit  unscathed.  If  there  must  be  another  Indian 
outrage,  why  there  was  no  better  place  for  it  than  in 
that  silent  plain,  where  graves  might  be  had  for  the 
asking. 

The  unfortunate  red  men  took  an  inventory  of  our 
fighting  strength,  and  made  low  sounds  of  despair. 

"Hello,  there!  Stop  immediately!"  was  our  com- 
mand. 

The  Indians  drove  out  on  the  south  side  of  the  road, 
stopped  their  team  in  echelon,  and  prepared  to  sell  their 
lives  as  dearly  as  possible. 

"Sell  us  some  of  those  melons,  or  die!"  shouted  our 
war-chief;  and  the  party  held  its  fire,  for  a  reply. 

"Two  bits!  Muy  Juice!"  (very  sweet),  said  one  of  the 
Papagoes,  as  plain  as  print. 

His  life  was  saved.  There  was  a  rush  to  the  end-gate 
of  his  wagon,  and  while  four  men  selected  melons,  the 
Man-with-Silver  dug  up  coin. 

It  was  a  wild,  disgraceful  orgie.  Like  a  pack  of 
wolves  falling  upon  a  wounded  antelope,  we  flung  our- 
selves down  in  the  shade  of  our  wagon,  ripped  open  those 
helpless  melons  and  gorged.  Notwithstanding  the  heat 
of  the  day,  they  were  surprisingly  cool — and  delicious! 
Up  to  that  moment  we  had  not  realized  how  hungry  and 
thirsty  we  were — for  watermelons.  Like  the  small  boy 


30          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

with  the  whole  pumpkin  pie,  the  only  drawback  to  their 
goodness  was  the  fact  that  they  mussed  up  our  ears. 

Mr.  Phillips  was  the  only  man  who  retained  his 
presence  of  mind,  but  we  missed  him  not  until  we  heard 
the  deadly  click  of  his  camera. 

"Oh,  stop  that  down,  and  get  in  here  before  it's  all 
gone!"  cried  a  friendly  voice;  and  the  next  moment  he 
was  as  busy  as  the  rest  of  us.  Bob  Dog  asked  me  to  give 
him  some  melon,  and  when  I  did  so,  he  joyously  ate  a 
lot  of  it,  and  thanked  me. 

An  hour  after  the  watermelon  debauch  we  came  ever 
so  near  to  achieving  a  serious  accident.  Jess  Jenkins,  who 
was  driving  the  mountain  buggy,  noticed  that  the  right 
rear  wheel  of  the  White- Water  wagon  was  tracking  clear 
off  the  brake-shoe,  and  wabbling.  Immediately  he  rang 
in  an  alarm,  and  it  was  found  that  the  afflicted  wheel  was 
on  the  point  of  parting  company  with  the  axle,  skein  and 
all!  It  seems  that  although  the  wagon  was  almost  new, 
the  skein  had  worked  loose  from  the  end  of  the  wooden 
axle,  and  in  perhaps  six  minutes  more  the  heavily  loaded 
vehicle  would  have  crashed  down  by  the  starboard  quarter. 

Then  Mr.  Sykes  took  charge  of  the  case.  He  cut  a 
stout  mesquite  stem,  set  it  up  firmly  under  the  sick  axle, 
then  dug  a  hole  under  the  wheel  and  took  the  wheel  off. 
Those  who  could  not  help  him  kept  very  still,  and  watched 
a  Master-Fixer  do  his  work.  The  skein  was  put  back  in 
its  place,  and  fastened  so  tightly  that  when  all  the  rest  of 
that  wagon  goes  to  rack  and  ruin,  that  piece  of  its  anatomy 
will  be  found  holding  firmly  in  its  place.  And  so,  with 
many  thanks  to  the  Fates  for  letting  us  off  so  easily,  and 


From  a  photograph  by  J.  M.  Phillips 

A  Lucky  Strike  in  the  Desert 
Mr.  Sykes         The  Doctor         Frank  Coles  Charlie  Foster 


The  Author 


From  a  pi 


>y  J.  M.  Phillips 

Filling  the  Water  Cans  at  the  Papago's  Well 


TRAILING  INTO  A   NEW  WORLD  31 

to  Mr.  Sykes  for  making  the  wagon  as  good  as  new,  we 
drove  on,  duly  chastened  in  spirit,  and  wondering  what 
next. 

My  journal  states  that  on  our  first  day  we  made 
twenty-three  miles,  that  for  one-half  the  way  the  creosote 
bush  held  sway,  and  for  the  other  half  the  mesquite. 
With  a  fine  sunset,  night  closed  in  upon  us  when  we  were 
yet  four  miles  from  water  and  a  possible  camping-place. 
There  being  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  on  to  water,  we  went; 
and  finally,  in  pitchy  darkness,  reached  the  corner  of  an 
imposing  corral  made  of  mesquite  stems.  It  was  then 
more  than  an  hour  after  sunset.  We  were  at  the  cattle 
ranch  of  a  well-to-do  Mexican  named  Roble,  who  had 
digged  a  big  well,  found  water,  erected  a  big  tank  of 
galvanized  iron  fifteen  feet  high  and  constructed  a  hun- 
dred feet  of  concrete  water-troughs  for  his  cattle. 

Mr.  Roble  was  at  home,  and  he  permitted  us  to  water 
our  horses,  night  and  morning,  and  burn  up  two  camp- 
fires  of  his  firewood,  all  for  the  very  moderate  considera- 
tion of  fifty  cents.  Mighty  cheap  it  was,  at  that  price. 
No  one  knows  better  than  a  desert  traveller  that,  on  a 
desert,  a  well  of  pure  water  is  worth  money.  Unfortu- 
nately, however,  it  is  the  inexorable  law  both  of  Man  and 
Nature  that  the  lower  the  water  the  higher  the  price. 

And  thus  ended  our  first  day  in  the  Arizona  deserts. 
And  what  animal  life  had  we  observed  ?  I  will  briefly 
enumerate  it. 

We  saw  four  Arizona  jack  rabbits  (Lepus  californicus 
eremicus),  four  badger  holes,  about  twenty-five  or  thirty 
burrow  mounds  of  the  desert  kangaroo  rat  (Dipodomys 


32          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Jeserti),  three  ravens,  one  desert  red-tailed  hawk  and 
about  two  hundred  small  blackish  birds  that  I  could  not 
identify  on  the  wing.  We  saw  a  few  sparrows  and  about 
twenty-five  nests  of  the  cactus  wren  in  choya  cactus  tops. 
We  also  noted  four  yuccas  and  three  white  thistle-poppies 
(Argemone  platyceras).  Of  cattle  skeletons  we  saw  only 
four. 

When  we  reached  the  corner  of  Senor  Roble's  stock- 
aded corral — built  of  mesquite  stems,  big  and  crooked  and 
most  wastefully  piled  up  between  two  lines  of  posts — the 
night  was  very  black,  and  at  first  we  did  not  know  which 
way  to  move.  But  in  due  time  the  expedition  resolved 
itself  into  its  component  parts,  and  the  work  to  be  done 
was  effectively  taken  in  hand.  While  the  drivers  and  the 
farm-bred  supernumerary  unhitched  the  six  horses,  Mex- 
ican Charlie  brought  a  lot  of  mesquite  firewood  from  good- 
ness knows  where,  and  quickly  built  a  brilliant  camp-fire. 
And  immediately  all  hands  became  cheerful  and  loqua- 
cious! If  a  good  camp-fire  can  not  produce  comfort  and 
goodfellowship  in  the  open,  nothing  can. 

The  horses  were  led  into  the  corral  and  watered  at 
the  troughs,  then  given  a  good  ration  of  oats  and  alfalfa. 
When  the  wagons  were  unpacked,  each  man  selected  a 
spot  for  his  night's  repose,  and  effectually  consecrated 
it  to  his  individual  use  by  depositing  his  bed-roll  upon  it. 
A  cache  of  provisions  is  not  more  sacred  in  the  Far  North 
than  is  a  preempted  sleeping-place  on  the  desert;  and 
"rank"  indeed  is  the  tenderfoot  who  ventures  to  tempt 
the  hereafter  by  jumping  such  a  claim.  A  man  may 
jump  a  copper  claim,  or  eke  a  gold  one,  without  the 


TRAILING  INTO  A  NEW  WORLD  33 

painful  necessity  of  being  shot;  but  "bed-ground"  is 
different. 

With  the  growing  importance  of  the  camp-fire,  the 
cook's  boxes  were  unpacked,  and  their  cheerful  contents 
displayed  to  the  gaze  of  an  admiring  circle  of  men.  A 
large  square  of  clean  canvas  was  spread  upon  the  sand, 
and  upon  it  went  an  array  of  enamelled-iron  plates  and 
cups,  loaves  of  Tucson  bread  (for  two  days  only)  and 
"air-tights."  Two  huge  slabs  of  steak  were  cut  from  a 
hindquarter  of  fresh  beef — and  it  certainly  was  fried  to 
perfection.  The  coffee  was  started  early,  and  achieved 
a  finish  at  the  most  auspicious  moment. 

Inasmuch  as  that  was  our  first  meal  since  early  break- 
fast, the  crowd  was  sharp  set,  and  the  havoc  wrought 
would  have  been  considered  appalling  if  anyone  could 
have  spared  time  to  take  note  of  it. 

Our  first  supper  consisted  of  fried  beefsteak,  fried 
potatoes,  raw  onions,  bread,  butter,  coffee,  cane-and- 
maple  syrup  and  plums;  and  we  all  pronounced  it  good. 
The  lovely  label  on  the  syrup  can  had  erstwhile  proclaimed 
"Genuine  Maple  Syrup";  but  the  pure-food  law  had  got 
in  its  nefarious  work.  In  deference  to  its  outrageous  and 
despotic  demands,  a  broad  white  strip  of  paper  had  been 
pasted,  like  a  surgeon's  plaster,  squarely  across  the  ab- 
domen of  that  chastened  can,  bearing  the  mournful  con- 
fession "CANE  AND"  —so  that  the  label  then  read  "Genu- 
ine Cane  and  Maple  Syrup."  It  was  a  silent  tribute  to 
the  pure-food  law,  the  beneficent  influence  of  which  now 
reaches  even  unto  the  deserts  of  Arizona. 

Long  before  bedtime  we  insinuated  ourselves  into  our 


34          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

sleeping-bags — in  the  wide  open,  because  in  Arizona  tents 
are  mostly  useless — with  each  man  lying  where  he  listed. 
To  guarantee  that  we  really  were  in  the  wilds,  with  the 
starry  heavens  for  a  canopy,  certain  coyotes  sang  a  few 
bars  to  us  out  of  the  surrounding  darkness;  and  there 
being  no  further  business,  the  meeting  around  that  first 
camp-fire  silently  adjourned. 


CHAPTER   IV 

FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AN  ARBOREAL  DESERT 

The  Frame  of  Mind — The  Nursery  Idea — Strange  Association  of 
Plains  and  Mountains — Desert  Amphitheatres — Unique  Granite 
Mountains — The  Arroyo  and  Its  Uses — Millions  of  Specimen 
Shrubs  and  Trees — A  Flood  Basin. 

IF  you  enter  the  deserts  to  study  them,  go  in  a  receptive 
and  tolerant  frame  of  mind,  or  not  at  all.  Said  Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal, 

"After  a  month  spent  in  the  deserts,  you  will  either 
love  them  or  loathe  them  for  the  rest  of  your  life." 

Go  with  an  open  mind;  for  the  voices  of  the  arid 
wastes  are  entitled  to  a  hearing.  If  you  cannot  endure  a 
certain  amount  of  thirst,  heat,  fatigue  and  hunger  without 
getting  cross  with  Nature,  it  is  best  to  stay  at  home — or 
go  across  the  water  to  the  Land  of  the  Itching  Palm. 

If  you  negotiate  a  desert  voluntarily  in  order  to  learn 
it  by  heart,  prepared  to  take  it  like  marriage — for  better 
or  for  worse — you  will  get  on  bravely  and  well;  and  if 
camp-dogs  and  coyotes  run  over  your  bed  and  trample 
upon  your  nerves  when  you  are  striving  to  snatch  ten  or 
twelve  hours  of  slumber,  anything  that  you  may  say  or 
do  to  those  chronic  disturbers  will  be  regarded  as  in 
order. 

Naturally,  one  looks  first  at  the  desert  as  a  whole, 

35  <* 


iritvtar1 

t»*  **'•• 


36         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

before  analyzing  its  component  parts,  and  counting  its 
stamens  and  pistils.  And  what  is  one's  first  impression  ? 

First  of  all,  you  note  with  profound  surprise  that  these 
Arizona  deserts  are  not  barren  and  desolate  wastes,  but 
literally  teeming  with  plant  and  tree  life.  The  plain  looks 
exactly  like  a  nursery  devoted  to  but  one  or  two  shrub 
species.  According  to  the  water  supply,  the  creosote 
bushes  or  the  mesquites  will  be  two  feet  high — all  of  them 
—or  three  feet,  or  six  feet,  as  the  case  may  be.  On 
different  areas  the  standard  of  height  varies,  but  on  any 
given  plain,  as  far  around  you  as  you  can  see,  the  height 
is  remarkably  uniform,  and  the  spacing  of  the  clumps 
is  very  regular. 

Try  as  you  will  to  get  rid  of  it,  the  nursery  idea  sticks 
in  your  mind ;  and  the  more  you  see  of  these  deserts,  the 
more  fixed  does  it  become.  One  plain  will  be  found  de- 
voted to  the  mesquite,  another  to  the  creosote  bush, 
another  to  choya  cacti,  and  others,  but  of  smaller  area,  to 
the  tall  and  rank  galleta  grass,  with  a  mixture  of  other 
things.  And  many  times,  also,  will  your  overland  prog- 
ress lead  you  to  a  five  or  ten-acre  tract  of  desert  botanical 
garden,  whereon  you  will  find  that  Nature  has  joyously 
thrown  together  a  fine  sample  lot  of  all  the  species  that 
have  been  used  in  planting  operations  for  twenty  miles 
around. 

The  next  impression  concerns  the  strange  and  even 
weird  association  of  plains  and  mountains.  For  a  hundred 
miles  west  of  Tucson  the  stage  setting  is  grand  and 
peculiar.  The  desert  is  a  plain  that  seems  to  be  absolutely 
level,  but  it  is  so  thickly  studded  with  mountain  ranges 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  AN  ARBOREAL  DESERT     37 

that  every  "valley,"  as  they  are  oddly  called,  is  a  great 
natural  amphitheatre,  surrounded  by  rugged  mountains. 
It  is  a  rare  thing  for  the  vision  to  sweep  across  the  green 
sea  of  desert  verdure  straight  to  a  far-distant  horizon  on 
the  level  without  encountering  a  saw-toothed  range  of 
bare  gray  granite.  I  noted  this  immediately,  and  through- 
out our  wanderings  in  Arizona  the  clear  gaps  leading  to 
the  level  horizon  were  few,  indeed,  and  very  narrow. 

Strange  to  say,  there  is  in  those  gray  mountain  walls 
a  sense  of  cheerful  companionship  that  quite  robs  the 
deserts  of  the  awful  monotony  that  usually  characterizes 
uninhabited  level  plains  of  illimitable  extent.  To  some 
minds  the  idea  may  seem  absurd,  but  to  me  the  mountain 
ranges  were  company.  The  ranges  near  at  hand  are  always 
so  isolated,  so  sharply  defined,  and  so  individualized  that 
they  are  as  much  company  to  the  wayfarer  as  so  many 
houses  with  windows  that  look  at  you.  To  perish  on  a 
great  waste  of  sand  like  the  Sahara  would  be  very  monot- 
onous and  disagreeable;  but  in  one  of  these  beautiful 
green  plains,  surrounded  by  an  amphitheatre  of  interesting 
mountains,  death  would  be  quite  a  different  matter. 

In  about  three  days'  overland  travel  one  is  reasonably 
certain  to  pass  through,  or  else  quite  near,  at  least  two  or 
three  independent  ranges  of  mountains.  By  the  end  of  so 
much  travel  you  have  honestly  acquired  the  impression 
that  of  all  the  mountains  in  the  world  (s.  f.  a.  k.)*  these  are 
the  most  abrupt  risers,  and  from  the  levelest  plains. 
Often  there  are  no  foothills,  no  premonitory  symptoms  of 
any  kind.  With  one  foot  on  the  level  desert,  you  plant  the 

*  So  far  as  known. 


38          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

other  on  the  steep  side  of  a  mountain  that  towers  aloft  in 
one  long  steep  climb  from  base  to  summit;  and  you  must 
climb  for  all  you  are  worth  in  order  to  rise  in  the  world. 

These  mountains  seem  like  after-thoughts,  modelled 
in  the  shop  long  after  the  general  plans  were  finished,  and 
set  up  cold.  They  constantly  reminded  me  of  the  artificial 
peaks  of  stone,  or  concrete,  or  furnace  slag  that  have  been 
built  in  several  of  the  level  zoological  gardens  of  Europe 
for  wild  goats,  ibexes  and  sheep  to  climb  upon,  and  get  the 
most  for  their  money  out  of  a  small  surface  area. 

Hereafter,  whenever  a  zoological-garden  constructor 
needs  to  erect  a  high  mountain  on  a  piece  of  level  ground 
the  size  of  a  city  lot,  let  him  take  as  his  motif  and  model 
an  Arizona  mountain,  follow  it  closely,  and  if  he  repro- 
duces it  faithfully  he  shall  acquire  merit. 

I  have  seen,  and  at  times  experienced,  mountains  in 
our  own  grand  Rockies,  in  the  Sierra  Nevadas,  British 
Columbia,  the  Alleghenies  and  Adirondacks,  Italy,  India 
and  elsewhere  in  the  Far  East,  but  nowhere  have  I  en- 
countered or  enjoyed  such  upright  mountains,  nor  such 
downright  peculiar  mountains,  as  those  of  southwestern 
Arizona.  If  you  have  not  yet  seen  them  to  fine  advantage, 
quietly,  and  continuously  for  days,  as  becometh  the  needs 
of  a  lover  of  natural  scenery,  then  may  you  live  and  enjoy 
life  until  you  have  done  so. 

The  mountains  alongside  our  trip,  excepting  one  range 
in  Mexico  south-east  of  Sonoyta,  called  Cobabi,were  rather 
low,  none  of  them  running  up  as  high  as  4,000  feet.  But 
what  of  that  ?  Give  a  two-thousand-foot  mountain  a 
steep  face,  and  a  serrated  top,  and  like  a  climbing  woman 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  AN  ARBOREAL  DESERT    39 

with  a  small  income,  it  can  put  up  quite  an  imposing  out- 
side appearance.  None  of  the  mountains  between  the 
Santa  Catalinas,  Sonoyta  and  Gila  Bend  were  high  enough 
to  bear  pines,  or  any  species  of  coniferous  trees.  They 
were  all  of  them  builded  of  gray  granite,  and  their  steep 
sides  were  mostly  as  barren  of  trees  as  the  side  of  a  factory 
chimney. 

The  fourth  feature  that  impresses  a  first-impressionist 
loose  in  the  deserts  is  the  arroyo.  Now,  in  that  region, 
the  arroyo  is  not  merely  a  plain  and  simple  product  of 
nature.  It  is  an  institution.  Its  variety  is  great  and  its 
uses  many.  As  a  resource  for  water  it  is  generally  a  de- 
lusion and  a  snare;  although  there  are  times  when  it 
yields  the  precious  fluid  that  is  as  necessary  to  the  traveller 
as  his  own  heart's  blood.  The  trouble  is  that  the  water 
that  collects  in  an  arroyo  during  a  downpour  of  rain  is 
quickly  absorbed  by  the  thirsty  sands  of  the  stream-bed. 
The  bed  of  the  average  arroyo  on  a  desert  plain  is  like  an 
attenuated  sponge,  ready  and  eager  to  absorb  the  last  drop 
of  the  struggling  current.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  there  are 
no  nice  pockets  lined  with  impervious  clays  to  hold  the 
water  in  storage  for  the  Thirsty  Ones  of  the  desert. 
Through  the  remorseless  loose  sand  and  pervious  gravel- 
beds,  the  water  sinks  down  quickly  and  far,  and  is  gone 
forever. 

Once  as  we  crossed  a  broad  arroyo  in  which  there 
were  unmistakable  signs  of  moisture  from  a  recent  rain, 
I  said  to  Dr.  MacDougal, 

"Doctor,  in  a  situation  like  that,  could  not  a  thirsty 
man-with-a-shovel  find  water  by  digging?" 


,.'•'       '•;. 
' 

•         •    r3 


40         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

"Oh,  yes,  if  he  went  down  far  enough." 

"About  how  far  do  you  think  one  would  have  to  dig 
in  such  a  spot  as  that  in  order  to  strike  water  ?" 

"Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  soberly  and  reflectively,  "I 
should  think  that  he  would  need  to  go  down  about  350 
feet." 

And  the  dry  bones  of  my  curiosity  are  there  to  this 
day. 

The  largest  mesquite  and  palo  verde  trees,  and  the 
patches  of  galleta  grass,  if  there  are  any,  are  found  in  the 
arroyos.  It  is  beside  an  arroyo  that  the  desert  traveller 
unhitches  his  tired  horses  and  makes  his  camp,  for  the 
certainty  of  good  fire-wood,  and  the  chance  of  a  little 
grass.  Even  if  it  is  to  be  a  "dry  camp,"  the  arroyo  is  far 
more  hospitable  than  the  small  bushes  of  the  plain. 

The  course  of  every  erstwhile  watercourse  is  always 
discernible  at  a  mile's  distance  by  the  meandering  line  of 
green-topped  mesquite  and  palo  verde  that  looms  up 
twice  as  high  as  the  bushes  of  the  plain.  Wherever  that 
green  ruching  runs,  there  will  you  find  fire-wood,  and 
possibly  other  things  of  equal  value.  Near  mountains, 
when  the  water  rushes  off  the  granite  or  lava,  the  arroyos 
are  fairly  numerous,  but  on  the  level  plains  you  may 
sometimes  travel  five  miles  without  the  smallest  break. 

When  we  begin  to  analyze  the  component  parts  of  the 
desert — which  we  do  even  while  grasping  wildly  at  the 
Thing  as  a  Whole — we  immediately  notice  that  it  is  made 
like  an  old-fashioned  museum.  Each  object  is  an  indi- 
vidual specimen,  standing  on  its  own  solitary  pedestal. 
Each  creosote  bush,  mesquite,  palo  verde,  ironwood,  ay, 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  AN  ARBOREAL  DESERT     41 

each  clump  of  galleta  grass  is  a  perfect  botanical  specimen, 
growing  in  its  own  invisible  tub,  standing  alone,  and  quite 
untrammelled  by  its  neighbours.  Out  of  a  million  creosote 
bushes,  nearly  every  one  has  for  its  circumpolar  regions 
a  zone  of  smooth,  bare  earth  from  two  to  ten  feet  wide. 
The  perfectly  symmetrical  development  of  each  bush  and 
tree  on  an  arboreal  desert  is  a  perpetual  novelty.  Else- 
where we  have  been  accustomed  to  seeing  bushes  massed 
together,  with  little  individuality;  and  the  independent 
specimens  of  the  deserts  are  far  more  interesting.  They 
compel  interest  in  a  way  that  massed  bushes  never  can, 
no  matter  what  they  are.  Out  here  every  traveller  be- 
comes a  botanist  (Ld.)  because  the  facilities  are  matchless 
and  the  temptation  is  irresistible. 

The  reason  for  the  zones  of  bare  ground  between 
bushes  is  easily  recognized,  especially  when  Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal  is  at  hand  to  state  it.  There  is  not  enough  water 
to  support  a  shrub  growth  that  is  continuous.  The 
desert  rain  is  sufficient  only  for  one  bush  every  five  or  ten 
feet. 

The  Avra  Valley — which  farther  south  becomes  the 
Altar  Valley — is,  like  many  others,  a  vast  flood  basin  into 
which  many  arroyos  run  down  from  the  surrounding 
mountains  only  to  lose  themselves  forever.  On  the  plain 
their  waters  spread  out  and  are  swallowed  up  before  they 
can  run  far  out  and  away.  The  trail  across  it  is  a  fine 
wagon  road,  as  smooth  and  hard  as  any  ordinary  road  of 
telford,  macadam  or  gravel.  In  the  first  hundred  miles 
of  fertile  deserts  that  lie  immediately  westward  of  Tucson, 
loose  sand  is  rarely  found.  As  a  rule,  the  roads  over 


42          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

which  we  travelled  in  Arizona,  in  the  triangle  between 
Tucson,  Sonoyta  and  Gila  Bend,  were  excellent;  but  of 
course  there  were  some  stony  sections,  some  that  were 
sandy,  and  in  some  sections  there  were  many  arroyos  and 
gullies  to  be  crossed. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  outward  route  chosen  by  Dr. 
MacDougal  is  exceptionally  well  provided  with  attrac- 
tions. The  sights  that  were  in  turn  interesting,  remark- 
able or  entrancing  crowded  upon  us  in  such  rapid  suc- 
cession that  it  was  well-nigh  impossible  to  make  a  coherent 
record  of  them.  The  country  from  the  Ajo  mines  up  to 
Gila  Bend  is  far  less  interesting;  in  fact,  it  is  little  more 
than  creosote  bushes  and  distant  mountains.  Now,  the 
country  between  Tucson  and  Montezuma's  Head,  at 
Wall's  Well,  is  a  wonderland,  no  less;  and  I  think  that 
no  un jaundiced  person  can  ride  over  that  trail  and  say 
otherwise.  I  regret,  however,  that  it  is  utterly  impossible 
for  any  efforts  of  mine,  even  though  supported  by  a  heavy 
battery  of  cameras,  to  do  justice  to  it  in  these  pages,  or  in 
any  others. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  DESERT  BOTANICAL  GARDEN 

The  Lost  Cactus  Garden— The  Beautiful  Palo  Verde— An  Unworked 
Table  Decoration — The  Deadly  Mistletoe — The  Acacia,  or  "Cat- 
Claw"  Thorn — The  Unique  and  Wonderful  Ocatilla — A  Bouquet 
of  Green  Wands — The  Octopus  of  the  Desert — The  Iron-wood 
Tree — The  Omnipresent  Creosote  Bush,  and  Its  Purpose. 

ON  looking  over  my  notes  of  the  things  seen  on  the 
second  day,  I  find  so  much  that  was  interesting  I  despair 
of  finding  space  for  the  half  of  it.  What  we  did  was  as 
nothing;  but  the  things  we  saw  would,  if  adequately  set 
forth,  make  a  volume  larger  than  some  that  I  wot  of. 
Described  in  a  single  line,  it  was  a  drive  into,  through  and 
out  of  a  pass  between  two  ranges  of  mountains;  but  I 
just  wish  you  had  been  with  us  to  take  it  all  in!  It  was 
really  a  pity  that  there  were  only  seven  men  and  a  dog 
to  enjoy  it. 

There  is  one  remembrance  of  the  morning  that  makes 
me  sigh  like  a  porpoise  every  time  I  think  of  it.  My  un- 
happiness  is  due  to  the  fact  that  I  lost  forever  the  chance 
to  place  before  the  Reader  a  picture  of  the  most  perfect 
and  glorious  cactus  gardens  that  we  found  on  our  entire 
trip.  Being  an  old  specimen-hunter,  with  an  eye  for  the 
"finest  of  all"  the  moment  it  is  seen,  I  spotted  the  "finest" 
giant  cactus,  and  the  "finest"  organ-pipe  cactus,  the 

43 


44          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

moment  I  laid  eyes  upon  them.  We  captured  them,  too; 
as  you  shall  see.  When  I  saw  that  wonderful  cactus 
garden  at  Coyote  Mountain,  specially  laid  out,  planted 
and  tended  to  perfection  by  the  Divine  Hand,  I  knew 
instinctively  that  I  never  would  find  another  equal  to  it. 
As  I  halted  the  buggy  and  climbed  out  with  my  amateur 
camera,  I  shouted  to  the  others  an  announcement  of  the 
discovery.  But  Dr.  MacDougal's  camera  was  buried 
under  a  load  of  outfit,  Mr.  Phillips  was  just  then  starting 
off  after  a  flock  of  Gatnbel  quail,  and  I  alone  was  left 
to  make  a  picture. 

Thus  far  there  has  not  been  time  to  consider  the  cacti, 
of  the  kinds  familiarly  known  as  choyas  (spelled  "chol- 
las")>  f°r  the  reason  that  those  terrors  of  the  deserts  must 
be  approached  with  caution,  and  handled  with  circum- 
spection. And  there  is  not  time  for  them  even  now. 
But  there,  before  Jess  Jenkins  and  me,  appeared  a  level 
bit  of  desert  the  size  of  a  large  city  block,  bare  underfoot 
and  clean  as  parlour  floor,  on  which  Nature  had  put 
forth  a  special  effort  in  the  development  of  a  cactus 
garden. 

There  were  four  important  species,  all  splendidly  rep- 
resented— the  giant  cactus,  barrel  cactus,  tree  choya  and 
Bigelow's  choya,  while  several  ocatillas  and  an  allthorn 
bush  were  thrown  in  for  good  measure.  The  sun  was 
at  my  back,  the  foreground  was  bare  and  vacant — quite 
as  if  made  to  order — and  the  way  the  clear  sunlight  brought 
out  those  spiny  details  was  beautiful  to  see.  The  million 
spines  of  the  choyas  glistened  yellowish-white  in  the  sun, 
like  a  million  glass  toothpicks.  The  planting  was  beau- 


A  DESERT  BOTANICAL  GARDEN  45 

tifully  disposed  for  a  picture,  being  neither  crowded  nor 
scattered. 

Mentally  praying  hard  for  success,  but  horribly  torn 
by  doubts,  I  set  up  my  tripod  and  exposed  two  films. 
But  in  photography  the  mistakes  of  Moses  were  as  ciphers 
to  mine.  Because  I  was  so  anxious,  I  did  something 
wrong,  and  secured  no  pictures  whatever. 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  I  overtook  the  four-horse 
wagon,  and  related  the  story  of  the  garden,  the  others 
said,  "We'll  all  photograph  it  on  our  way  back."  They 
meant  it;  but  alack!  Fate  willed  it  that  we  did  not  return 
that  way;  and  my  wonderful  cactus  garden  remains  un- 
taken  to  this  day. 

It  is  impossible  for  the  expedition  to  proceed  any 
farther  without  the  introduction  of  the  Palo  Verde  and 
certain  other  conspicuous  habitants  of  the  desert  botanical 
garden  through  which  we  trailed. 

Of  all  the  tree  products  of  the  desert,  the  Pal'o-Ver'-de 
is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  interesting.  Its  name  is 
Spanish,  and  means  "green  tree/'*  According  to  its 
soil  and  water  supply,  it  may  be  as  large  as  an  adult  apple- 
tree — fifteen  feet  high,  with  a  trunk  nine  inches  in  diam- 
eter— or  as  small  as  a  mountain  laurel  bush  three  feet 
high.  Almost  as  far  as  it  can  be  seen,  you  recognize  it  at 
once  as  something  different,  and  remarkable.  Instead  of 
a  top  that  is  made  up  of  leaf  masses,  one  laid  upon  another, 
you  see  that  its  foliage — or  rather  the  masses  where  its 
foliage  ought  to  be — is  composed  of  straight  lines,  and 
angles!  The  Palo  Verde  bears  a  few  tiny  leaflets,  so  small 

*Parkinsonia  microphylla. 


46          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

that  it  would  take  about  twelve  of  them  to  cover  a  postage 
stamp;  but  in  November  they  exert  no  influence  whatever 
upon  the  general  aspect  of  the  tree. 

Regardless  of  leaves,  however,  from  root  to  top  the 
Palo  Verde  is  of  the  most  beautiful  green  that  could  be 
imagined.  It  is  not  the  bold,  waxy,  aggressive  green  of  the 
creosote  bush,  but  the  soft,  smooth  and  delicate  green  of 
the  asparagus. 

The  bark  is  as  smooth  as  the  surface  of  polished  oak, 
and  trunk,  branch  and  twig  are  alike  persistent  green. 
Even  the  bark  of  the  trunk  has  a  surface  like  a  robin's 

egg- 

The  terminal  twigs  are  long,  straight  and  slender,  like 
masses  of  green  darning  needles  set  where  the  leaves 
ought  to  be.  The  density  of  their  colour,  added  to  their 
unique  form,  gives  the  tree  as  a  whole  a  peculiarly  lineated 
top.  This  is  one  of  the  very  few  desert  trees  that  is  free 
from  thorns. 

It  is  not  often  that  I  fall  in  love  with  a  tree;  but  there 
are  no  other  trees  (of  my  acquaintance)  like  the  odd  yet 
beautiful  Palo  Verde.  I  never  wearied  of  it.  By  its  pro- 
nounced colour  you  can  distinguish  it  from  the  darker 
mesquite  and  iron-wood,  as  far  as  you  can  recognize 
colours.  As  a  tree  for  house  and  table  decorations  it  has 
immense  possibilities,  and  I  am  surprised  that  the  florists 
of  New  York,  and  the  givers  of  fabulous  dinners,  have  not 
long  since  learned  its  value  and  brought  it  into  use.  Now, 
a  Palo  Verde  tree — or,  still  better,  half  a  dozen  of  them— 
six  feet  high,  rising  from  a  banquet  table,  would  be  some- 
thing worth  while,  and  also  new. 


A  DESERT  BOTANICAL  GARDEN  47 

This  tree  is  not  particularly  useful.  Its  chief  purpose 
is  to  ornament  the  arroyos  and  flood  basins  of  the  desert 
regions,  and  to  furnish  brake-blocks  for  desert  freight- 
wagons.  It  strings  along  the  arroyos,  wherever  the  water 
supply  is  a  little  above  the  average,  but  on  the  open,  level 
plains  it  is  rare.  Often  from  many  a  square  mile  it  is 
quite  absent.  In  density  and  grain,  its  wood  is  much  like 
that  of  the  white  birch.  The  trunk  consists  of  a  single 
stem,  upon  which  the  branches  are  set  in  very  abrupt  and 
angular  fashion,  all  of  which  merely  adds  to  the  odd  ap- 
pearance of  the  tree. 

The  Honey-Pod  Mesquite*  is  the  most  persistent  bush- 
tree  of  the  deserts.  Both  in  form  and  in  habit  it  is  much 
like  the  palo  verde,  and  in  southern  Arizona  and  Mexico 
the  two  species  are  almost  inseparable  companions.  On 
the  desert  plains,  where  water  is  scarce  and  dear,  the 
mesquite  is  a  modest  little  bush  three  feet  high;  but  along 
the  arroyos,  the  valleys,  and  in  the  business  centres  of  the 
flood  basins,  where  the  water-wagon  is  more  in  evidence, 
it  develops  into  a  real  tree.  Often  it  grows  to  a  height  of 
twenty-five  feet  with  a  writhing  trunk  twelve  or  more 
inches  in  diameter.  In  growth  habit  it  is  very  much  like 
an  apple-tree — a  low,  heavy,  wide-spreading  top  with 
crooked  branches  that  frequently  are  horizontal,  on  a 
short,  stout  trunk  of  irregular  shape.  The  bark  is  gray 
and  the  foliage  is  of  a  pale  gray-green  tint — not  so  pleasing 
as  the  asparagus-green  of  the  palo  verde. 

The  leaves  of  the  Mesquite  are  very  small,  and  set 
on  their  stems  in  a  fashion  that  by  botanists  is  called  twice- 

*Prosopis  velutina. 


48          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

pinnate.  In  this  case  it  means  that  the  leaflets  are  set  in 
pairs — about  twelve  of  them — along  the  deciduous  stem. 
Individually  the  leaflets  of  the  Mesquite  are  so  tiny  it 
would  take  about  ten  of  them  to  cover  a  postage  stamp. 
This  tree  is  related  to  the  honey  locust,  and  its  seeds  are 
developed  in  a  pod.  Both  foliage  and  "beans"  are  eaten 
by  horses  and  cattle  when  grass  is  not  obtainable  and 
hunger  is  great.  Its  seeds  are  greedily  eaten  by  all  the 
small  rodents  of  the  deserts,  and  by  many  birds,  also. 
Although  its  leaves  are  very  small  the  shade  of  the  Mes- 
quite is  very  grateful  and  comforting. 

The  Mesquite  is  well  provided  with  thorns,  but  fort- 
unately for  the  proletariat,  they  point  forward  instead  of 
back.  Its  wood  is  hard,  fine-grained,  durable  and  the 
general  stand-by  for  fuel  throughout  the  whole  South-west. 
Blessed  is  the  desert  wayfarer  who  has  dry  Mesquite  for 
his  camp-fire;  for  without  it,  fire-making  is  a  serious 
problem.  It  burns  freely,  makes  a  hot  fire  and  quickly 
produces  a  good  bed  of  coals  for  the  baking  of  bread  and 
the  frying  of  meat. 

In  the  simple  house-building  of  the  deserts,  Mesquite 
constitutes  well-nigh  the  only  wood  that  is  available. 
The  stems  are  used  to  support  the  earth  roofs  of  houses, 
to  build  into  fences  for  corrals  and  cultivated  fields,  and  to 
repair  broken  wagons.  It  is  said  that  the  Mexicans  also 
use  it  in  the  making  of  furniture. 

Throughout  our  trip  we  found  the  large  Mesquite  trees 
of  the  valleys  and  flood  plains  grievously  afflicted  with 
mistletoe.  It  usually  appears  as  a  great,  dark-coloured 
bunch  two  feet  in  diameter,  and  sometimes  we  found  half 


-T    3 

-2    S 


A  DESERT  BOTANICAL  GARDEN  49 

a  dozen  clumps  in  one  tree.  This  parasite,  like  most 
others,  is  destructive  when  overdone.  We  saw  many 
hapless  trees  that  had  literally  been  murdered  by  it,  and 
were  then  only  lifeless  stubs.  It  was  in  the  valley  of  the 
Sonoyta  River,  near  Agua  Dulce,  that  Dr.  MacDougal 
photographed  a  wide-spreading  Mesquite  whose  top  was 
so  overloaded  with  mistletoe  that  it  looked  as  if  a  small 
load  of  clover  hay  had  been  pitched  into  it. 

The  Acacia  or  "Cat-Claw"*  belongs  to  the  deserts 
of  Arabia  and  the  high  and  dry  plains  of  India,  but  a 
species  of  it,  much  resembling  the  scraggy  Acacia  arabica 
of  the  Ganges-Jumna  plain,  is  frequently  in  evidence  in 
the  South-west.  By  its  thorns  shall  ye  know  it;  for  they 
point  backward,  and  small  though  they  are,  like  the  claws 
of  a  half-grown  kitten,  they  can  cut  your  epidermis  right 
painfully.  The  Cat-Claw  Acacia  looks  much  like  the 
mesquite;  and  its  leaves,  also,  are  pinnate  and  very  small, 
on  the  general  basis  of  about  seventeen  pairs  to  a  stem. 
In  the  valleys  with  most  water,  particularly  that  of  the 
Sonoyta,  we  found  this  tree  associated  with  the  mesquite. 
Many  times  the  former  was  hurriedly  mistaken  for  the 
latter,  but  only  until  its  thorns  had  made  an  impression. 

There  is  one  other  arboreal  feature  of  the  deserts 
which,  because  of  its  picturesque  oddity,  I  have  reserved 
to  the  last.  It  is  a  product  of  the  plant  world  unique 
in  character,  and  standing  as  much  apart  from  related 
genera  and  species  as  does  the  prong-horned  antelope 
among  hoofed  animals.  It  is  the  Ocatilla,f  the  Spanish 
name  of  which  is  pronounced  O-ca-tee'-ya.  Next  to  the 

*  Acacia  greggi.  \Fouquiera  splendens. 


50         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

giant  cactus,  it  was  the  most  monumental  and  picturesque 
thing  of  plant  growth  found  by  us  in  two  hundred  miles 
of  fertile  deserts. 

The  Ocatilla  is  a  multiform  tree,  and  there  is  nothing 
else  that  is  at  all  like  it.  Instead  of  having  a  tall  main 
stem  and  many  branches,  large  and  small,  it  has  an  ex- 
ceedingly short  stem  and  many  very  long,  wand-like 
branches.  The  leaves  grow  all  along  each  branch,  from 
bottom  to  tip.  The  stem  is  a  big,  thick  mass  of  solid 
wood,  all  underneath  the  earth  (where  the  earth  has  not 
been  blown  away),  and  the  top  of  it  is  large  enough  to 
afford  holding-ground  for  each  branch.  From  the  very 
limited  upper  surface  of  the  main  stem,  starting  usually  at 
the  level  of  the  ground,  there  rise  a  score  or  more  of  long, 
slender  rods  of  light  wood,  their  bases  firmly  packed 
together,  but  otherwise  free.  They  are  like  slender  and 
very  symmetrical  fishing-rods.  As  they  rise,  they  droop 
outward  and  spread  apart,  until  they  form  a  group  shaped 
like  a  morning-glory  vase.  When  it  is  in  full  leaf,  the 
Ocatilla  is  like  a  bouquet  of  green  wands  held  at  the  bot- 
tom by  an  invisible  hand. 

The  stems  vary  in  number  from  three  to  seventy- 
three,  or  even  more.  I  can  vouch  for  the  last-named 
number  by  count.  The  largest  Ocatilla  that  I  particu- 
larly noted  had  some  stems  that  were,  by  measurement, 
eighteen  feet  long. 

One  of  the  strangest  features  of  this  odd  multiple-tree 
is  its  leaves  and  thorns.  The  leaves  grow  thickly  all 
along  the  stem,  each  blade  an  inch  and  a  half  in  length. 
The  blade  springs  full-fledged  from  the  upright  woody 


A  DESERT  BOTANICAL  GARDEN  51 

stem,  with  no  free  petiole,  and  its  colour  is  dark  pea-green. 
This  profusion  of  leaves  gives  each  stem  of  the  Ocatilla 
a  highly  pleasing  appearance,  and  denotes  water  in  the 
not-far-distant  yesterday.  A  large  Ocatilla  in  full  leaf 
is  a  beautiful  object,  and  every  line  of  its  ensemble  be- 
speaks development  in  a  land  of  queer  things. 

But  mark  the  transformation! 

When  the  last  rain  has  become  only  a  distant  memory, 
when  the  hungry  roots  have  sucked  the  last  drop  of  mois- 
ture from  the  sandy  soil,  the  hour  for  a  change  has  struck. 
Fleshy  leaves  an  inch  and  a  half  long  are  far  too  luxuriant 
to  last  long  in  a  desert.  They  dry  up,  and  they  drop  off — 
all  but  the  midrib,  which  takes  form  as  a  big,  woody 
thorn  an  inch  or  more  in  length.*  Then  and  thereafter 
each  stem  presents  the  most  frightful  array  of  thorns  to 
be  found  on  anything  outside  the  cactus  family.  So  far 
as  cattle,  burros  and  wild  animals  are  concerned,  an 
Ocatilla  in  a  state  of  defence  is  practically  impregnable. 
We  saw  only  two  stems  that  had  been  barked  by  food- 
seeking  animals,  and  that  work  had  been  done  by  wild 
burros,  at  great  trouble  and  expense. 

Dr.  MacDougal  was  at  some  pains  to  show  me  the 
precise  manner  in  which  the  truculent  Ocatilla  thorn  is 
developed  from  the  harmless  green  leaf;  and  it  was  highly 
interesting.  Just  why  the  animals  of  the  desert  do  not 
greedily  devour  the  stems  when  in  full  leaf,  and  thornless, 
the  present  deponent  does  not  know.  It  is  there  that 
Evolution  must  account  for  an  exception. 

*  For  an  illustration  of  this  transformation,  see  the  Ocatilla  pictured  opposite 
page  80. 


52          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Except  on  the  plains  dedicated  to  the  creosote  bush 
and  mesquite,  the  Ocatilla  stayed  with  us  from  Tucson 
to  the  very  foot  of  Pinacate  Peak.  It  is  the  inseparable 
companion  of  the  giant  cactus,  but  unlike  the  latter,  it 
grows  larger  along  the  international  boundary  than  fifty 
miles  farther  north.  On  the  night  that  three  of  us  "laid 
out"  on  the  slope  of  Pinacate,  we  found  near  our  bivouac 
a  large  dead  Ocatilla  whose  rods  of  clean  white  wood 
burned  with  a  brilliant  light — too  bright  to  last.  These 
naked  rods  are  used  by  the  Papago  Indians  in  building 
fences,  and  screens  around  the  verandas  of  their  adobe 
houses. 

The  last  state  of  the  beautiful  Ocatilla  is  as  odd  as  the 
first.  When  Death  has  clutched  it  firmly,  and  it  has 
yielded  up  its  multitudinous  life,  the  structure  collapses 
upon  its  root,  and  the  branches  fall  outward  toward  every 
point  of  the  compass.  As  the  whorl  of  white  skeleton 
stems  lies  upon  bare  lava,  or  decomposed  granite  or  sand, 
they  look  uncommonly  like  the  arms  of  a  dead  octopus; 
and  the  trunk  makes  an  excellent  imitation  of  the  creature's 
body  and  head.  The  thorn  cases  of  the  stem-arms  very 
well  represent  the  suckers — and  what  more  will  you 
have  ? 

The  Iron- Wood  tree  (Olneya  tesota)  is  not  of  sufficient 
importance  to  justify  prolonged  attention.  It  looks  very 
much  like  the  mesquite,  but  its  wood  is  as  hard  as  its 
name  implies,  and  so  heavy  that  it  will  not  float  in  water. 
The  largest  specimen  I  noted  particularly  was  a  conspicu- 
ous part  of  our  aforesaid  bivouac  on  Pinacate.  A  trunk 
fully  a  foot  in  diameter  and  twenty  feet  long  was  twisted 


- 


A  DESERT  BOTANICAL  GARDEN  53 

almost  into  a  figure-8  knot,  but  it  was  what  cattlemen  call 
a  "lazy  8,"  for  it  lay  upon  the  ground. 

Last  of  the  important  bushes  and  trees  of  the  desert- 
but  often  it  is  the  first — is  the  Creosote  Bush.*  It  is  by 
far  the  most  omnipresent  representative  of  the  plant  world 
throughout  the  region  we  traversed.  I  think  we  saw 
hundreds  of  square  miles  of  it,  and  most  of  all  was  on  the 
trail  from  the  Ajo  mines  up  to  Gila  Bend. 

The  specimen  shown  with  Mr.  Sykes  and  the  grave  of 
the  murdered  Mexican  is  an  excellent  picture  of  a  Creo- 
sote Bush  which  may  be  regarded  as  the  type  of  ten  million 
others.  The  Creosote  Bush  is  a  big  cluster  of  small  and 
brittle  woody  stems,  covered  with  smooth  brown  bark. 
The  stems  do  not  branch  until  near  their  tops,  and  there 
they  send  off  a  few  fine  twigs  to  support  the  irregular 
clusters  of  tiny  leaves  that  form  the  outer  surface  of  the 
bush.  The  leaves  are  of  a  rich,  bright  green  colour,  and 
so  shiny  that  they  look  as  if  recently  varnished.  They 
taste  unpleasantly  like  creosote  (oil  of  smoke),  and  no 
animal  can  eat  them. 

The  leaves  of  the  Creosote  Bush  are  so  wholly  on  its 
outer  surface  that  it  would  be  quite  easy  to  shear  them  all 
off,  as  one  shears  a  sheep,  and  leave  the  bush  nearly  full 
size  but  perfectly  bare.  The  usual  height  of  this  bush  is 
from  two  to  three  feet.  The  clumps  stand  about  ten  feet 
apart,  and  usually  there  are  from  100  to  150  per  acre. 
In  a  few  localities  we  saw  some  very  large  specimens, 
which  grew  fully  ten  feet  in  height. 

The  purpose  of  the  Creosote  Bush  surely  is  evident  to 

*Larrea  Mexicana  or  Covillea  tridentata. 


54         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

the  dullest  traveller.  It  is  the  great  sand-holder  and  dust- 
storm  preventer  of  the  deserts.  Its  multitude  of  small 
stems,  growing  well  apart,  have  been  specially  designed 
by  Nature  to  catch  drifting  sand,  or  dust,  and  hold  it! 
Without  it,  the  deserts  would  be  unbearably  dusty  when- 
ever the  wind  blows.  Along  the  western  side  of  Mac- 
Dougal  Pass  we  found  a  wide  plain  of  Creosote  Bushes 
that  was  being  invaded  by  the  loose,  dry,  yellow  sand 
blowing  eastward  from  the  "sandhills"  of  the  Gulf  of 
California. 

At  that  time  (1907)  the  original  level  of  the  desert 
was  partially  bare,  but  the  drifting  sand  had  been  caught 
and  held  by  those  bushes  until  each  clump  was  filled  with 
sand  one-third  of  the  way  to  its  top.  They  were  slowly 
being  buried;  and  some  were  already  dead. 

Elsewhere,  we  found  a  spot  of  sandy  desert,  where  the 
opposite  process  was  going  on.  The  sand  had  been  swept 
away  from  between  the  widely  scattered  bushes  until  each 
bush  now  stands  upon  a  mound,  bravely  refusing  to  give 
up  and  die. 

The  cacti  were  a  great  botanical  exhibit,  and  well 
worth  the  labour  of  the  whole  trip ;  but  they  were  so  won- 
derful and  so  varied  that  they  require  a  chapter  of  their 
own. 


CHAPTER  VI 

UNROLLING  THE  PANORAMA  OF  THE  DESERT 

Fine  Weather,  Hot  and  Cold— The  Best  Kind  of  a  Wash— Two 
Ravens  Pester  our  National  Emblem — Coyote  Mountain  and  Well 
—Hayes'  Well  and  the  "Well  Ahead"— A  Narrow  Escape— A 
Papago-Indian  Village — Tank  Water  and  Well  Water — Camp  on 
the  Santa  Rosa  Plain — Animal  Life — The  Passe  South-western 
Indian — The  Organ-Pipe  Cactus. 

EVEN  with  good  trails  to  travel  over,  it  is  no  child's 
play  to  take  an  expedition  such  as  ours  from  Coyote 
Mountain  to  the  International  Boundary.  There  are 
chances  a-many  for  the  loss  of  time,  trail  and  opportunity. 
The  total  absence  of  guide-boards  from  all  trail-forks  and 
crossings  is  admirably  adapted  to  the  mixing  up  of  trails 
and  travellers,  and  the  precipitation  of  serious  troubles. 

With  the  sketch  map  of  Pima  County,  which  Dr. 
MacDougal  had  provided,  we  would  have  found  our  way; 
but  Mexican  Charlie's  knowledge  of  prevailing  conditions 
in  wells  and  tanks,  in  addition  to  his  information  regarding 
the  best  and  most  direct  trails,  undoubtedly  saved  us  a 
a  great  amount  of  wondering  and  worrying  about  things 
ahead.  Not  once  did  we  go  wrong,  nor  make  a  mistake 
regarding  water. 

The  weather  was  simply  glorious.  The  days  were 
cloudless  and  hot — though  in  comparison  with  the  really 
hot  days  of  midsummer  in  Arizona,  the  midday  tempera- 
ture that  we  experienced  should  be  regarded  as  bleak 

55 


56          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

and  cold!  What  are  90°  in  November  in  comparison 
with  130°  in  August! 

After  sunset  the  heat  of  the  day  rapidly  cools.  By 
eight  o'clock  every  sleeper  covers  his  head,  and  long 
before  midnight  he  fervently  thanks  his  stars — on  duty 
aloft  to  the  number  of  a  million  or  so — that  he  is  under 
four  good  blankets. 

Daylight  finds  the  world  stinging  cold,  with  either 
frost  and  ice  on  your  upper  deck,  or  an  icy-cold  sop  of 
dew,  which  is  worse.  Getting  up  in  the  cold  gray  dawn 
is  a  serious  matter;  but  in  a  crowd  of  old  campaigners 
no  man  likes  to  be  "last"  every  time.  A  complete 
change  from  warm  sleeping  garments  to  the  working 
clothes  of  the  day  is  a  shivery  proceeding,  but  the  wise 
ones  know  that  it  is  best  not  to  try  to  avoid  it  by  sleeping 
in  the  garments  of  the  day. 

I  think  that  the  only  radical  reform  wrought  by  my  influ- 
ence in  the  conduct  of  that  band  of  hardened  land  pirates 
touched  upon  and  appertained  to  the  daily  morning  wash. 

In  nearly  every  cold-weather  camp  of  real  hunters, 
Iron  Stoicism  is  the  order  of  the  day.  The  cook  takes 
pride  in  making  the  food  and  the  coffee  good  and  hot, 
but  it  is  just  there  that  Luxury  wanders  off  the  trail  and 
bogs  down.  It  is  the  regular  thing  to  arise  on  a  whizzing 
cold  morning,  fill  the  wash-basin  with  ice  and  water  from 
the  pail,  fish  out  the  ice  and  then  proceed  to  commit 
assault  and  battery  on  the  helpless  hands  and  face.  After 
that,  the  breakfast  food  is  put  upon  a  steel  plate  that  is 
like  a  sheet  of  ice,  and  can  be  warranted  to  cool  off  the 
warmest  food  in  two  minutes. 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  THE  DESERT  57 

Now,  I  have  found  that  as  a  fixative  for  real  estate 
on  the  paws  of  a  camper,  there  is  nothing  that  surpasses 
ice-cold  water,  hastily  and  grudgingly  applied.  Those 
who  love  ice-water  for  bathing  purposes  are  welcome  to 
the  enjoyment  of  it;  but  for  me,  stoicism  breaks  down  at 
the  bath-tub  and  the  morning  wash-basin.  In  cold 
weather  I  fling  Appearances  to  the  wintry  winds,  and 
spend  fully  three  minutes  in  warming  wash-water  over  the 
camp-fire.  The  result  is  Luxury;  and  with  it  the  day 
begins  Right. 

One  after  another,  my  companions  all  succumbed. 
Timidly  at  first,  Mr.  Phillips  held  the  wash-basin — which 
was  a  miner's  gold-pan — over  the  camp-fire;  then  came 
the  Doctor,  and  finally  Mr.  Sykes;  and  they  extracted 
solid  comfort  from  the  cheap  and  easy  luxury  that 
usually  is  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  Pride. 

North  of  Roble's  Well-in-the-desert  rose  a  long  and 
imposing  chain  of  mountains,  composed  of  Roskruge's 
Range,  Sam  Hughes'  Buttes  and  the  Abbie  Waterman 
Mountains.  Beyond  Abbie's  real  estate  holdings  were 
the  Silver  Bell  Mountains,  the  Silver  Bell  mines  and  smel- 
ter, and  much  real  mining  activity. 

When  eight  miles  from  Roble's  we  were  half-way 
through  Coyote  Pass,  and  abreast  of  Coyote  Mountain,  a 
fine  range  that  loomed  up  on  the  south,  quite  near  at 
hand.  We  were  then  just  entering  the  Santa  Rosa 
"Valley" — by  caprice  so  called — a  great  plain  forty 
miles  wide,  with  numerous  mountain  pyramids  scattered 
over  it.  To  cross  it  is  nearly  two  days'  work. 

It  was  opposite  Coyote  Mountain  that  we  noticed, 


58          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  of  the  outfit,  two  ravens*  auda- 
ciously harrying  an  eagle  in  mid-air.  They  would  turn 
on  the  electric  current,  dash  after  him  on  swiftest  wing, 
and,  with  beak  or  wings,  try  to  strike  him  from  above. 
Slowly  and  ponderously  he  flapped  toward  the  north, 
and  each  time  that  he  was  beset  by  the  truculent  ravens 
he  plainly  showed  annoyance.  Eight  or  ten  times  the 
ravens  raced  after  the  bird  of  freedom,  and  palpably  got 
on  his  nerves.  And  each  time  he  gave  a  perceptible 
gesture  of  impatience;  but  otherwise  he  steadily  pursued 
his  northward  flight.  At  last  the  ravens  abandoned  the 
chase  and  flew  back  whence  they  came. 

Being  challenged  to  interpret  the  meaning  of  the  mid- 
air conflict,  I  advanced  the  theory  that  the  lordly  eagle 
had  been  meddling  with  something  which  the  impudent 
ravens  claimed  as  their  property;  and  I  even  went  so  far 
as  to  predict  that  we  would  find  dead  meat  about  1,320 
feet  ahead.  Sure  enough,  we  presently  passed  the  re- 
mains of  a  horse,  on  which  ten  ravens  were  holding  a 
solemn  inquest.  It  appeared  that  the  eagle  had  at- 
tempted to  conduct  the  obsequies,  and  two  fighting  ravens 
had  been  appointed  a  committee  to  drive  him  away.  It 
was  interesting,  but  we  disliked  to  see  our  national 
emblem  pestered  by  ravens.  Evidently  he  felt  that  ravens 
were  not  in  his  class. 

At  noon  we  halted  at  Coyote  Well,  and  a  very  good 
well  we  found  it.  It  had  been  dug  ten  feet  through 

*The  White-Necked  Raven— Coruus  cryptoleucus.  In  size  it  is  about  mid- 
way between  the  northern  raven  and  common  crow.  The  feathers  of  its  neck  are 
white  at  the  base  only,  and  to  all  outward  appearances  the  bird  is  all  black.  Its 
voice  is  not  so  hoarse  as  that  of  the  northern  raven. 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  THE  DESERT  59 

gravelly  earth  and  loose  rock,  and  walled  within  as  a 
square  pen  of  poles.  Below  that,  it  went  down  through 
fifty  feet  of  solid  granite  rock,  and  needed  no  wall.  The 
top  was  very  satisfactorily  enclosed  by  a  curb  of  boards 
to  keep  out  rabbits  and  snakes — a  most  necessary  addition 
to  any  well,  in  any  country. 

Along  the  arroyo  of  the  well  the  mesquite  trees  were 
large  and  heavily  laden  with  sinister-looking  clumps  of 
mistletoe. 

At  three  o'clock  we  reached  Hayes's  Well,  twenty  miles 
from  Roble's;  and  then  an  interesting  question  arose. 
It  was  this:  Shall  we  go  on  eight  miles  farther,  to  the 
next  well,  arrive  there  after  dark,  and  make  twenty-seven 
miles  for  the  day,  or  shall  we  camp  where  we  are  ?  For 
once,  Charlie  Foster  did  not  know  anything  about  the 
character  of  the  well  ahead. 

Without  knowing  precisely  why,  Dr.  MacDougal  de- 
cided that  we  would  not  take  chances  on  reaching  the  next 
well  that  day,  but  would  camp  where  we  were.  So  at 
Hayes's  Well  we  camped,  in  a  tract  of  desert  jungle  of 
mesquite  and  palo  verde  that  much  resembled  a  peach  or- 
chard. There  were  very  few  cacti,  but  the  grass  was  good. 

The  next  day,  about  eleven  o'clock,  we  reached  "the 
well  ahead";  and  when  we  looked  into  it,  we  shuddered 
and  said,  "Ugh!  Good  gracious!" 

It  had  no  curb.  Its  mouth  was  at  the  ground  level, 
and  wide  open.  Twenty  feet  down,  on  the  surface  of  a 
wide  expanse  of  black  water,  there  floated  a  dead  rattle- 
snake^ swollen  to  the  size  of  a  man's  arm,  half  decom- 
posed and  ghastly  white. 


60         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Had  we  pulled  up  to  that  well  an  hour  after  sunset, 
in  pitchy  darkness,  with  horses  and  men  tired,  heated 
and  thirsty,  we  would  have  sent  our  canvas  pail  down 
into  that  horrid  hole  and  tried  hard  to  make  use  of  its 
awful  water!  Possibly  we  would  have  detected  the  pres- 
ence of  some  dead  thing  that  was  much  worse  than  usual, 
and  gone  without  water  until  noon  the  next  day;  but  that 
possibility  is  open  to  doubt.  Some  one  might  have  said, 
as  usual  in  such  cases, 

"Oh,  it's  nothing  but  a  dead  rabbit!"  And  we  might, 
under  stress  of  the  occasion,  have  used  that  water  for 
man  and  beast.  We  were  right  thankful  that  the  Doctor's 
instinct-of-the-desert  impelled  him  to  order  a  halt  at 
Hayes's  Well,  and  saved  us  from  that  rattlesnake. 

In  Arizona  and  California  there  should  be  state  laws 
by  means  of  which  any  county  failing  to  maintain  a  snake- 
proof  and  rabbit-proof  curb  around  each  of  its  desert 
wells  might  be  fined  heavily. 

On  this  day  we  passed  through  a  real  forest  of  giant 
cacti,  where  those  desert  wonders  grew  thickly  and  large. 
About  eleven  o'clock,  and  three  miles  from  the  Comobabi 
Gap,  we  entered  the  domain  of  the  barrel  cactus,  or  bis- 
naga,  though  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  none  had  been 
observed  previously.  It  was  there,  however,  that  we  found 
them  growing  very  large,  and  numerously.  It  was  there, 
also,  that  Dr.  MacDougal  operated  upon  a  fine,  big 
specimen,  and  showed  us  how  to  obtain  from  it  a  sup- 
ply of  good  drinking  water;  all  of  which  will  appear 
later  on. 

We  also  passed  through  a  tract  that  was  especially 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  THE  DESERT  61 

devoted  to  the  ocatilla,  for  there  they  were  so  numerous  it 
was  like  an  ocatilla  nursery.  Such  manifestations  were 
rather  common,  even  unto  MacDougal  Pass;  and  the 
ensemble  of  so  queer  a  forest  is  delightfully  odd  and  inter- 
esting. Many  of  the  specimens  we  saw  that  day  were 
fifteen  feet  high. 

As  if  to  have  their  turn,  there  was  also  a  special  forest 
of  extra  large  mesquite  and  palo  verde  trees;  and  such 
tracts  always  resemble  an  orchard  of  apple-trees  and 
peach-trees,  mixed  together,  half-way  into  full  leaf. 

The  midday  hours  of  our  third  day  out  found  us  in 
the  narrow  gap  that  passes  the  trail  through  the  Comobabi 
Mountains,  fifty  miles  from  Tucson.  There,  also,  we 
came  to  the  Papago  Indian  village  of  Comobabi,  or  rather 
two  villages,  occupying  two  commanding  ridges  that  come 
down  from  the  southerly  mountains  with  a  ravine  between 
them.  The  trail  led  us  into  the  heart  of  the  westernmost 
town,  and  there  we  found  about  thirty  very  decent  houses, 
and  a  hand-made  "tank"  of  dark-brown  water  full  of 
wigglers. 

The  habitants  were  all  away,  not  even  so  much  as  a 
dog  remaining.  Charlie  Foster  explained  that  they  were 
gone  to  their  "temporal"  quarters,  near  their  fields  of 
ripening  corn,  and  the  men  were  busily  engaged  in  har- 
vesting and  getting  drunk.  It  seems  that  the  annual  corn- 
shucking  bee  is  always  taken  as  an  excuse  for  a  great  orgie, 
in  which  every  man — and  possibly  an  occasional  woman, 
also — gets  fighting  drunk  on  whiskey  made  from  unripe 
corn,  fermented  literally  "while  you  wait."  This  corn- 
juice  episode  continues  for  about  a  week,  during  which 


62          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

period  the  Papago  patient  is  regarded  as  "bad  medicine," 
and  is  carefully  avoided  by  every  weather-wise  paleface. 

The  absence  of  the  Indians  gave  us  an  excellent  op- 
portunity to  examine  their  domiciles.  Now,  it  happens 
that  the  Papago  Indians — whose  name  is  Spanish,  signi- 
fying "Bean-Eater" —are  averse  to  being  photographed, 
for  reasons  quite  sufficient  for  home  use.  They  think  that 
a  photograph  of  a  man  takes  from  him  a  part  of  his  spirit, 
and  exercises  over  him  an  undesirable  influence.  There- 
fore do  they  resist  the  making  of  photographs  of  themselves. 
Had  the  Bean-Eaters  been  at  home,  we  certainly  would 
not  have  been  quietly  suffered  to  work  our  will  on  their 
ancestral  halls  as  we  did  that  day. 

Dr.  MacDougal  said,  "It  is  entirely  possible  that  a 
settlement  of  Papago  Indians  has  existed  on  this  spot,  or 
at  least  very  near  it,  for  the  last  five  hundred  years!" 

I  was  greatly  surprised  by  the  thorough  cleanliness 
of  the  village,  and  the  absence  of  malodorous  refuse. 
Assuredly  those  Indians  know  something  of  the  virtues 
of  sanitation;  and  they  are  not  slothful  in  the  business 
of  keeping  their  villages  clean.  The  expected  garbage 
heaps,  and  their  attendant  swarms  of  flies,  were  absent; 
and  the  absence  of  newspapers  blowing  about  the  streets 
made  my  eastern  home  seem  very  far  away.  True,  there 
was  a  small  quantity  of  cast-off  civilized  things  behind  one 
of  the  houses,  but  it  was  composed  of  inorganic  matter 
and  offered  no  field  for  the  village  board  of  health. 

Externally,  the  houses  are  very  well  shown  by  Dr. 
MacDougal's  photograph.  The  main  building  of  each 
establishment  was  always  either  of  adobe  (sun-dried 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  THE  DESERT  63 

bricks  of  local  mud)  or  rough  stone  neatly  laid  up  in 
courses.  In  front  of  each  house  was  a  veranda  consisting 
of  a  roof  of  poles  covered  with  earth,  or  leaves,  or  some- 
thing that  would  yield  shade.  Within,  the  houses  con- 
tained very  little,  except  strong  presumptive  evidence  of 
contact  with  modern  civilization — the  craziest  crazy-quilt 
on  earth.  We  saw  such  things  as  worn-out  feminine  shoes 
with  high  French  heels;  corsets  out  of  commission;  tin 
cans,  and  broken  kerosene  lamps.  I  looked  in  vain  for 
the  remains  of  bicycles  and  automobiles;  but  assuredly 
they  will  come  in  time. 

Two  or  three  doors  were  locked,  with  padlocks;  but 
so  far  as  we  could  see,  there  was  nothing  within  that 
even  a  tramp  would  covet  or  purloin.  Along  the  side  of 
one  house  was  a  shaded  veranda,  and  in  front  of  it  was 
a  close  screen  of  dry  ocatilla  stems.  Out  in  the  open,  in 
the  centre  of  a  group  of  houses,  was  a  bake-oven,  shaped 
like  a  miniature  coke-oven,  with  a  door  in  one  side. 

There  was  one  house  that  was  of  paramount  interest, 
at  least  for  that  quiet  spot.  It  seemed  to  be  a  town  hall, 
and  was  large  enough  to  hold  a  council  of  at  least  twenty 
Indians.  It  was  locked  with  a  padlock.  In  front  of  it 
was  the  Public  Square — a  twenty-foot  area  of  bare  earth, 
shaded  by  a  flat  roof  of  poles,  supporting  branches  that 
once  were  green.  In  the  refreshing  shade  of  this  public 
lounging-place  there  were  two  municipal  benches,  one  of 
which  boasted  a  back. 

The  red  water  in  the  cattle's  pool  was  relished  by  our 
thirsty  horses,  but  the  other  members  of  the  party  balked 
at  it.  Charlie  Foster  was  loaded  with  six  empty  canteens 


64          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

and  sent  off  into  the  Unknown,  where  he  said  he  knew  of 
a  well  of  good  water.  Even  with  the  mercury  only  95° 
in  the  shade,  good  water  in  a  sun-baked  desert  is  a  highly 
prized  luxury;  and  the  white  man  who  goes  more  than 
thirty-six  hours  without  water  usually  goes  down  to  stay. 

Strange  to  say,  the  village  tank  was  situated,  not  deep 
down  in  the  nearest  arroyo,  but  up  on  the  ridge!  How 
it  ever  fills  with  rain-water  is  a  mystery,  and  we  leave  it 
with  the  noble  Bean-Eaters  of  Comobabi. 

We  watered  our  horses  in  the  reeking  tank,  fed  them 
and  gladly  sat  ourselves  down  in  the  scanty  shade  of  the 
wagon,  to  rest  and  eat  a  frugal  luncheon.  A  watermelon 
that  had  been  saved  from  the  raid  on  the  Papago  wagon 
was  here  broached,  and  quickly  consumed;  but  it  was 
Charlie's  arrival  with  six  canteens  full  of  good  water  that 
really  saved  our  lives. 

On  the  desert  it  is  drink,  drink,  drink!  from  two 
hours  after  sunrise  until  one  hour  before  sunset.  Each 
man  carries  his  personal  canteen,  and  it  is  a  duty  that  he 
owes  his  party  to  keep  it  with  him,  and  fill  it  on  every  fair 
occasion.  Unless  you  have  travelled  the  arid  regions, 
doubtless  you  have  no  idea  how  good  water  really  is.  I 
do  not  mean  apollinaris,  or  vichy,  or  white  rock,  or 
any  other  " table  water"  of  the  Pampered  Few,  but  just 
plain,  old-fashioned  H2O,  of  well,  or  "water-hole,"  or 
desert  "tank,"  as  the  case  may  be.  Dr.  MacDougal  says 
that  in  the  maximum  heat  of  midsummer  in  the  South- 
west an  average  able-bodied  man  consumes  two  gallons  or 
more  of  drinking  water  daily. 

After  the  halt  at  the  Comobabi  Indian  village,  we 


Prom  a  photograph  by  D.  T.  MacDougal 

Papago  Indian  Houses  and  Oven,  at  Comobabi 


From  a  photograph  by  J.  M.  Phillips 

Adobe  House  at  Wall's  Well 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  THE  DESERT  65 

trekked  on  westward,  into  a  total  of  twenty-eight  miles 
for  the  day.  About  mid-afternoon  Dr.  MacDougal's  keen 
botanical  eye  caught  sight  of  a  very  large  giant  cactus 
with  a  flourishing  and  audacious  bunch  of  prickly  pear 
(Opuntia)  growing  upon  the  tip-top  of  the  main  stem. 
In  the  presence  of  so  novel  a  development,  the  like  of 
which  never  had  been  seen  before,  there  was  but  one  thing 
to  do.  The  doctor's  "big  camera"  was  hauled  out,  un- 
limbered  and  wheeled  into  action,  and  a  fine  photograph 
was  the  result. 

At  sunset  we  halted  our  tired  horses  at  another 
Indian-made  tank,  in  a  very  red  desert.  We  were  then 
at  the  geographical  centre  of  the  great  Santa  Rosa 
Valley,  at  the  crossing  of  the  north-and-south  trail  to 
Casa  Grande,  and  the  Camp  was  No.  3.  During  the 
day  we  had  descended  1,000  feet,  and  the  elevation  was 
2,180  feet. 

The  level  plain  stretched  away  northward  and  south- 
ward for  miles  that  seemed  endless;  and  the  prospect 
was  almost  wholly  creosote  bushes.  Near  by  were  two 
Indian  houses,  adobe  style,  but  at  that  time  both  were 
tenantless.  We  camped  on  the  bare  red  plain,  close  beside 
a  high  embankment  of  red  earth,  on  the  farther  side  of 
which  lay  the  half  acre  of  red  "tank"  water.  To  create 
that  water  supply,  some  one  had  expended  no  small  amount 
of  hard  labour,  and  we  duly  appreciated  the  effort.  While 
we  were  outspanning,  two  Papago  Indian  youths  rode  up 
on  burros  to  the  top  of  the  embankment,  halted,  and  for 
fifteen  minutes  sat  there  like  statues,  intently  regarding  us, 
but  neither  moving  nor  speaking.  When  they  began  to 


66         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

grow  a  trifle  monotonous,  they  rode  away,  as  silently  as 
they  came. 

Just  at  sunset,  when  our  little  lonesome  world  was 
settling  down  for  the  night,  some  one  excitedly  announced 
a  discovery. 

"There  are  two  ducks  in  the  tank!" 

Some  one  else  quickly  caught  up  a  loaded  shot-gun, 
and  hurried  along  the  side  of  the  embankment  to  the  upper 
end  of  the  water.  Secretly,  I  hoped  that  those  ducks 
would  take  alarm,  and  fly  away  in  time.  To  shoot  those 
lonesome  little  birds  that  had  flown  on  weary  wing  over 
a  good  hundred  miles  of  waterless  desert,  clear  down  from 
the  Gila  River,  seemed  to  me  like  a  sin  against  Nature. 
On  a  great  occasion  I  can  kill  a  head  of  game,  but  to  me 
those  two  individual  ducks  seemed  entitled  to  our  hos- 
pitality and  protection. 

And  the  goddess  Vishnu  elected  to  preserve  them. 
When  we  heard  the  report  of  the  gun,  our  spirits  sank; 
but  when  the  hunter  quickly  returned  with  the  terse  an- 
nouncement, "I  missed  them!"  some  one  said, 

"Fm  glad  of  it!"  And  to  our  surprise  he  answered, 
"So  am  I!" 

The  ducks  remind  me  of  the  things  killed  during  the 
day  by  Mr.  Phillips  for  the  frying-pan.  We  had  thirteen 
Gambel  quail,  two  cotton-tail  rabbits  (weight  of  largest, 
one  and  one-half  pounds)  and  one  Arizona  jack  rabbit 
(skeletonized;  weight  four  and  one-half  pounds).  Six 
of  the  quails  weighed  exactly  two  and  one-half  pounds. 
During  the  day  we  saw  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  quail, 
twenty  jack  rabbits,  twelve  cotton-tail  rabbits,  one  coyote, 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  THE  DESERT  67 

two  Harris's  antelope  squirrels  (Ammospermophilus  bar- 
risi\  four  badger  holes,  one  western  red-tailed  hawk  (on 
a  giant  cactus),  one  eagle  and  eighteen  ravens. 

Early  in  the  forenoon  of  November  5th,  our  fourth 
day  from  Tucson,  we  came  to  another  north-and-south 
range  of  gray-granite  mountains.  The  main  range  is 
called  the  Quijotoa  Mountains,  and,  fortunately  for  travel- 
lers, an  excellent  gap  has  been  left  midway  through  it  for 
the  passage  of  the  trail.  Westward  of  the  Key-ho-to'as— 
as  it  is  pronounced — a  short  range,  called  the  Sierra 
Blanca,  rises  close  beside  the  trail,  and  runs  off  north- 
westwardly for  about  ten  miles. 

Within  the  gap  we  passed  several  Papago  villages,  of 
eight  or  ten  houses  each,  and  about  forty  of  the  inhabi- 
tants were  at  home.  The  trail  led  quite  near  one  village; 
and  men,  women  and  children  arose  from  their  arduous 
occupations  of  sitting  vicariously  in  the  shade,  and  gathered 
near  the  trail  to  inspect  us. 

They  all  wore  the  unattractive  raiment  of  cheap  civil- 
ization; and  to  me,  Anglo-Saxon  clothes  on  a  savage 
invariably  look  out  of  place.  If  an  Indian  is  not  pictu- 
resque, why  is  he  ?  During  the  past  twenty  years  we  have 
had  so  much  thrust  upon  us  about  our  south-western 
Indians,  the  whole  lot  begins  to  grow  passe.  At  present, 
the  only  apparent  use  of  the  south-western  Indian  is  to 
furnish  trips  to  good  fellows  who  need  outings.  Ethno- 
logically,  he  is  a  squeezed  lemon,  and  so  far  as  some  of 
us  are  concerned,  he  is  welcome  to  enjoy  a  good,  long 
rest. 

The  trail  passes  quite  near  a  small  graveyard,  which 


68          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

contains  about  twenty  graves,  each  one  marked  by  a  white 
wooden  cross.  With  a  friendly  salutation  we  passed  the 
Indians,  and  I  think  no  one  felt  the  slightest  desire  to 
photograph  any  of  them. 

In  that  pass  were  three  wells,  and  the  best  one  was  a 
mile  westward  of  the  last  village,  at  the  foot  of  a  long 
ridge,  curbed  and  covered.  Near  it  we  outspanned  and 
spent  the  noon  hour.  While  our  horses  ate,  the  members 
of  the  party  who  were  not  photographers  filled  all  the 
water  cans  at  the  well;  for  the  next  camp  was  to  be  a 
"dry"  one. 

Ever  since  leaving  Tucson,  Doctor  MacDougal  had  at 
intervals  whetted  the  edge  of  our  curiosity  regarding  the 
organ-pipe  cactus.  He  was  keen  to  know  the  extreme 
northern  limit  of  that  remarkable  species,  and  whenever 
we  came  near  mountains,  he  sharply  watched  for  it.  He 
said  it  was  a  large  cactus,  with  many  upright  stems  grow- 
ing in  a  cluster,  and  rising  like  the  pipes  of  a  church  organ. 
He  even  offered  a  reward  to  whomsoever  might  be  the 
first  to  sight  the  plant;  and  what  do  you  think  the  reward 
was  to  be  ? 

" — A  drink  of  cane-and-maple  syrup,  fresh  from  the 
can!" 

The  organ-pipe  cactus*  was  seen  for  the  first  time 
growing  on  the  foothills  of  the  Sierra  Blanca.  Its  latitude 
there  is  the  same  as  that  of  Tucson.  Later  on  we  found 
its  northern  limit  in  the  Ajo  Valley  at  the  Ajo  Mines, 
forty  miles  south  of  Gila  Bend.  The  species  stayed  with 
us  until  we  reached  the  eastern  edge  of  the  Pinacate  lava 

*Cereus  tkurberi. 


From  a  photograph  by  J.  M.  Phillips 

Mr.  Sykes  Reflects  Gloomily  over  the  Grave  of  a  Murdered  Mexican, 
beside  a  Creosote  Bush 


From  a  photograph  by  J.  M.  Phillips 

Organ-Pipe  Cactus  and  young  Giant  Cactus 


«     7 


X 

s> 

,1 


THE  PANORAMA  OF  THE  DESERT  69 

field,  on  the  Sonoyta  River,  where  I  made  one  of  the  best 
of  my  pictures. 

And  truly,  this  plant  is  a  very  striking  and  interesting 
development.  My  prize  specimen  was  twenty  feet  high, 
and  contained  twenty-two  stems — as  will  appear  later  on. 
It  was  the  tallest  specimen  that  we  saw  in  one  hundred  and 
forty  miles  of  this  species. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FROM  THE  QUIJOTOA  PASS  TO  THE  MEXICAN  OASIS 

The  Cubo  Valley — A  Typical  Flood  Basin — The  Prize  Giant  Cactus — 
A  Beautiful  Camp  at  Wall's  Well — The  Ajo  Lily — Montezuma's 
Head — Down  the  Ajo  Valley — A  Lava  Ridge — The  Grave  of  a 
Murdered  Mexican — Across  the  Boundary  and  into  Mexico. 

ON  leaving  the  Covered  Well  in  the  Quijotoa  Pass  we 
entered  the  eastern  edge  of  a  desert  plain  called  the  Cubo 
Valley.  It  is  thirty  miles  wide,  from  east  to  west,  and  at 
least  fifty  miles  long.  It  is  strictly  a  flood  basin,  for  no 
stream  worthy  of  a  name  flows  out  of  it.  The  waters 
that  run  into  the  plain  from  the  surrounding  mountains 
are  absorbed  locally,  and  the  few  shallow  arroyos  that  do 
exist,  lead  nowhere.  As  happens  on  many  a  flood  basin 
and  plain,  there  are  places  where  the  vegetation  secures 
an  unusual  amount  of  water,  and  develops  accordingly. 
It  was  a  common  occurrence  for  us  to  pass  through  a  tract 
of  tall  and  rank  mesquite,  palo  verde  and  creosote  bushes. 
Four-fifths  of  the  Cubo  Valley  is  covered  with  creosote 
bushes,  the  other  fifth  being  mesquite.  The  giant  cactus 
was  absent,  but  the  choya  persisted,  and  at  intervals  held 
its  place. 

The  centre  and  western  half  of  the  Cubo  Valley  is 
an  excellent  example  of  the  flood  basin — a  very  important 

feature  in  the  composition  of  the  Arizona  deserts.     The 

70 


QUIJOTOA  PASS  TO  THE  MEXICAN  OASIS    71 

storm  waters  which  flow  into  it  from  its  boundary  moun- 
tains and  spread  out,  have  stimulated  the  growth  of  creo- 
sote, mesquite  and  palo  verde  until  they  have  grown  to 
double  their  average  height  on  rolling  plains.  For  miles 
on  end,  we  pulled,  and  also  tramped  on  foot,  through 
country  that  was  like  a  vast  orchard  of  peach-trees,  much 
taller  than  a  man. 

It  was  in  such  a  spot  that  we  finally  halted  for  the  night, 
and  made  a  dry  camp  in  the  middle  of  the  plain.  Our 
travel  for  the  day  was  twenty-one  miles.  We  were  ninety- 
five  miles  from  Tucson,  and  the  elevation  was  about  2,000 
feet  above  sea  level. 

The  wild-animal  record  for  the  day  embraced  a  forty- 
eight-inch  Texas  diamond-back  rattlesnake  (Crotalus 
atrox),  a  desert  horned  owl,  killed  by  Mexican  Charlie, 
and  about  two  hundred  Gambel  quail — seen,  but  not 
killed. 

During  the  night  a  heavy  dew  fell  upon  us,  rendering 
the  outer  blanket  of  my  sleeping-bag  quite  wet;  and  the 
night  was  also  very  cold.  At  sunrise  the  temperature  was 
42°  F.  While  the  camp  was  being  deconsecrated  and 
repacked  in  the  wagons,  I  skinned  the  horned  owl,  and 
finished  the  task  on  time — much  as  I  disliked  the  diversion 
at  that  hour.  Each  of  our  horses  had  consumed  five 
gallons  of  water  from  the  cans,  and  five  gallons  more  sup- 
plied the  wants  of  the  seven  humans. 

The  road  westward  of  our  dry  camp  was  rather  bad, 
because  the  ground  was  soft,  and  the  old  trail  had  been  so 
badly  washed  out  by  storm-water  we  were  obliged  to 
abandon  it,  and  strike  out  a  new  track  alongside,  through 


72          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

the  bushes.  Fortunately  the  barren  spaces  between  the 
trees  were  sufficiently  wide  and  constant  that  no  chopping 
was  necessary.  Because  of  the  heavy  labour  for  the 
teams,  the  four  passengers  walked  during  the  whole  of 
the  forenoon. 

It  was  during  this  walk  ahead  of  the  wagons,  and  not 
far  from  the  Ajo  Mountains,  that  the  giant  cactus*  joined 
us  once  more.  And  presently  an  exciting  incident  oc- 
curred. I  found  beside  the  trail  a  giant  cactus  of  truly 
gigantic  proportions,  and  supplied  with  nine  huge  branches. 
My  collector's  instinct  at  once  told  me  that  that  saguaro 
was,  in  all  probability,  the  finest  specimen  in  all  Arizona, 
and  the  very  finest  out  of  a  million.  Feeling  perfectly 
certain  that  we  would  not  see  its  equal,  I  photographed 
it  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  and  to  make  absolutely  sure 
of  a  good  picture,  Mr.  Phillips  also  took  it.  Both  results 
were  satisfactory,  and  having  Mr.  Phillips  alongside  for 
comparison,  my  effort  is  reproduced  herewith. 

This  giant  was,  by  our  best  estimate,  between  fifty- 
five  and  sixty  feet  high,  and  its  assemblage  of  massive 
arms,  all  symmetrically  developed,  made  it  look  like  a 
huge  green  candelabra  with  accordion  plaits,  and  stickers 
all  over  its  ridges. 

Subsequent  observations  proved  that  the  specimen  de- 
scribed above  really  was  the  finest  example  of  its  kind  that 
we  saw  on  our  entire  trip;  and  it  is  a  smug  satisfaction 
to  remember  that  we  secured  two  good  pictures  of  it  when 
we  had  the  chance.  In  the  great  south-western  arboreal 
desert  I  have  two  items  of  personal  property.  That 

*  Cereus  giganteus. 


From  a  photograph  by  the  author. 


The  Finest  Giant  Cactus 


QUIJOTOA  PASS  TO  THE  MEXICAN  OASIS    73 

cactus  is  one,  and  the  other  is  a  certain  grand-prize  organ- 
pipe  cactus  between  Agua  Dulce  and  the  Playa  Salada,  or 
Alkali  Plain,  on  the  Sonoyta  River. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  we  reached  the  gap  between  the 
Gunsight  Mountains  on  the  north  and  the  Ajo  Mountains 
(please  pronounce  it  Ah'ho)  on  the  south,  at  a  point  five 
miles  south  of  the  Gunsight  Mines.  Wall's  Well  is  situ- 
ated in  the  gap,  and  inasmuch  as  there  is  not  a  drop  of 
water  between  that  well  and  Sonoyta,  we  were  obliged  to 
camp  there  in  order  to  make  the  Sonoyta  Oasis  with  only 
one  dry  camp  between. 

Wall's  Well,  or  "Wall,"  as  it  once  was  called,  is  very 
much  to  our  mind.  It  was  three  o'clock  of  a  perfectly 
glorious  Arizona  afternoon  when  we  surprised  and  de- 
lighted our  horses  by  outspanning  for  the  day,  and  turning 
them  loose  to  graze.  I  think  that  even  the  most  jaundiced 
man  must  feel  symptoms  of  pleasure  in  seeing  a  tired 
and  heated  horse  roll  on  a  bed  of  clean  sand,  over  and 
back,  then  get  up  and  shake  himself,  and  snort  his  thanks. 

We  parked  our  battery  on  a  beautiful  level  stretch  of 
clean  sand,  in  the  shade  of  some  big  mesquite  trees,  a 
cable's  length  beyond  the  well.  Quickly  we  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  opportunity  to  air  our  sleeping-bags  and 
overhaul  our  war-sacks. 

At  three  o'clock  the  day  was  mildly  hot — and  just  right 
for  a  jolly  bath.  While  my  companions  presently  scat- 
tered to  work  out  various  designs — the  Doctor  and  Mr. 
Phillips  to  hunt  deer,  and  Mr.  Sykes  to  climb  a  mountain 
for  observations — I  repaired  to  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
well. 


74         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

With  our  largest  canvas  pail  full  of  water,  and  a  basin, 
I  took  a  pouring-bath,  after  the  manner  of  India,  and 
acquired  merit.  It  strikes  me  as  singular  that  outside  of 
India,  and  the  haunts  of  those  who  have  been  there, 
sportsmen  and  travellers  generally  do  not  seem  to  know 
how  easily  and  cheaply  one  may  obtain,  with  two  pails 
of  water  and  a  great  cup  to  dip  with,  a  fine  and  enjoyable 
bath.  The  average  American  sportsman  thinks  of  but 
two  possibilities — a  nerve-racking  plunge  in  a  cold  stream, 
or  an  inadequate  rub  with  a  sponge;  but  a  Wise  One, 
when  water  is  scarce,  can  obtain  excellent  results  from 
even  a  single  pailful  of  water.  The  whole  secret  lies  in 
the  serving  of  the  different  courses  from  soap  to  rinse,  and 
in  skilful  pouring  on  the  back  of  the  patient's  neck. 

Wall's  Well  is  the  most  beautiful  and  comfortable  spot 
between  Tucson  and  Sonoyta — s.  f.  a.  k.  For  a  circum- 
ference of  five  hundred  feet  around  the  well  it  is  like  a 
Belasco  scene  in  a  theatre.  I  regret  that  I  can  neither 
show  it  all  in  one  picture  nor  spare  space  for  the  series  of 
half-a-dozen  that  would  be  required  to  do  it  justice  with 
the  Reader.  But  let  us  stand  for  a  moment  on  the 
gravelly  knoll  above  the  well,  and  look  westward. 

In  the  foreground  is  the  Well  itself,  carefully  penned 
in  with  posts  and  planks  to  keep  out  any  wandering  horse 
that  otherwise  might  become  involved.  There  is  a  trough, 
a  rope  and  a  pail;  and  the  water  is  fairly  good.  Immedi- 
ately beyond  the  well  the  stage  is  clear,  and  covered  with 
clean,  smooth  sand.  Beyond  that  rises  a  green  ruching 
of  mesquite,  palo  verde  and  desert  willow  trees,  that  bor- 
der a  large  but  very  dry  sandy  arroyo.  Beyond  that  is  the 


QUIJOTOA  PASS  TO  THE  MEXICAN  OASIS    75 

foot  of  a  terminal  ridge  that  comes  down  from  the  Ajo 
Mountains;  and  on  beyond  that  looms  up  a  remarkable 
peak  that  is  called  Montezuma's  Head. 

Now,  according  to  the  best  map  of  Pima  County,  that 
peak  should  be  four  miles  south-eastward  of  the  Well;  but 
there  you  find  it,  full  and  fair  in  the  eye  of  the  sinking  sun, 
a  head-and-shoulders  of  bald,  red  rock,  and  you  can  take 
it  or  leave  it.  But,  even  though  out  of  place,  it  is  a  re- 
markable peak,  and  has  several  different  faces,  according 
to  the  point  of  view.  From  a  certain  point  in  the  north- 
west, as  we  found  next  day,  it  resembles  a  bust  of  George 
Washington  in  profile.  From  the  well  its  top  resembles 
the  neck  of  a  Hollandaise  gin-bottle  with  a  high  cork  in 
situ — or  an  unveiled  statue  in  its  swaddling  clothes.  At 
all  events,  the  cork-like  summit  looks  absolutely  unscal- 
able, and  I  think  it  is  so;  for  all  of  its  faces  seem  either 
perpendicular,  or  worse.  Naturally,  this  peak  is  a  con- 
spicuous landmark  for  desert  travellers,  but  particularly 
for  those  in  the  Ajo  Valley.  From  the  eastern  points  of 
the  compass  it  is  mostly  hidden  by  intervening  mountains. 
It  seemed  to  be  about  two  miles  westward  from  the  Well. 

Wall's  Well  once  was  the  seat  of  a  serious  mining  in- 
dustry, but  now  it  is  owned  by  the  rabbits  and  ravens. 
Within  a  long  stone-throw  of  our  camp-fire  there  stood 
a  huge  pair  of  boilers  nearly  large  enough  to  run  a  man- 
of-war. 

Although  now  numbered  with  the  has-beens,  they  are 
not  badly  rusted.  Surely  the  hauling  of  those  iron  mon- 
sters from  the  railway,  sixty-five  miles  across  the  desert, 
was  a  formidable  undertaking;  and  all  for  naught.  To- 


76 


CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 


day  they  are  not  even  of  value  as  scrap-iron.  As  they 
stood  there  in  the  open,  level  and  plumb  on  a  base  of  solid 
masonry,  rising  far  higher  than  a  man's  head  and  staring 
dumbly  into  the  desert  out  of  their  two  big  fire-door  eyes, 
they  seemed  almost  like  living  things,  waiting  for  the  rescue 
that  never  comes.  I  have  heard  a  rumour  that  once  those  , 


The  ghost  of  a  dead  industry,  at  Wall's  Well. 

boilers  pumped  water  through  a  two-inch  pipe  to  the 
Gunsight  Mines,  five  miles  away;  but  it  needs  confirma- 
tion. 

Near  the  boilers  stood  the  crumbling  ruins  of  what 
once  was  a  fine  adobe  building,  undoubtedly  the  head- 
quarters of  the  mining  company  that  once  operated  here. 
There  is  no  masonry  building,  save  only  a  Buddensiek 
building  in  New  York,  that  crumbles  down  so  quickly  as 


QUIJOTOA  PASS  TO  THE  MEXICAN  OASIS    77 

one  built  with  adobe  walls  and  covered  with  earth.  First, 
and  very  promptly,  too,  the  roof  collapses  and  falls  to  the 
floor,  and  after  that  the  walls  soon  follow.  At  the  finish, 
only  a  tiny  mound  of  fine  earth  remains;  and  that  affords 
excellent  soil  for  the  beans  of  the  mesquite. 

On  the  knoll  above  the  ruins  stood  a  very  good  Mexican 
adobe  house,  with  a  rustic  veranda  of  mesquite  posts  and 
the  usual  roof  of  loose  material.  Fortunately,  it  was  un- 
occupied, and  Mr.  Phillips  and  I  exploited  it  without 
hindrance. 

It  was  at  Wall's  Well  that  Dr.  MacDougal  found  and 
pointed  out  for  the  first  time  two  very  interesting  plants. 
One  was  the  Ajo  Lily,*  from  which  the  next  valley,  and  the 
very  extensive  mountain  range  beyond  it,  derived  their 
names.  It  was  not  then  in  bloom,  and  all  we  saw  of  it  was 
three  very  long  and  very  slender,  dark-green  leaves  lying 
upon  the  sand,  radiating.  The  leaves  were  about  twelve 
inches  long  by  half-an-inch  in  width.  On  digging  for  its 
root,  we  found  a  long  string  of  soft,  white  fibre  going  down 
about  eighteen  inches  below  the  surface  to  a  tiny  white 
bulb,  like  an  onion-set. 

When  chewed  it  was  mucilaginous,  and  had  a  per- 
ceptible onion  flavour.  Mr.  Sykes  tried  it  out,  and  said 
that  its  flavour  was  "beastly." 

The  Ajo — which  for  convenience  we  may  call  the  Ajo 
Lily,  was  found  from  Wall's  Well  to  the  Pinacate  lava 
region,  where  it  had  to  halt. 

The  other  interesting  plant  brought  in  by  The  Botanist 
was  the  tannin  plant  or  canaigre  (Rumex  bymenosepalus), 

*  Hesperocdlus  undfulatus. 


78          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

whose  thick,  beet-like  root  contains  more  tannin  than  any- 
thing this  side  of  oak  bark.  To  the  human  taste,  the 
astringency  of  it  is  very  powerful,  but,  unfortunately,  the 
root  cannot  be  grown  in  sufficient  quantities  to  constitute 
an  important  factor  in  the  leather  industry. 

The  hunters  for  deer  killed  naught,  but  I  saved  the 
day's  record  by  skeletonizing  a  black-tailed  jack-rabbit 
for  the  Carnegie  Museum.  Frank  Coles  and  his  best 
man,  Jesse  Jenkins,  filled  all  the  water  cans  at  the  well; 
and  with  a  rattling  good  supper  of  roast  quail,  surpassing 
hot  biscuits  from  the  Dutch  ovens,  other  good  things  of 
sorts  and  a  most  perfect  camp-fire,  we  ended  a  never-to- 
be-forgotten  day. 

On  leaving  Wall's  Well,  we  described  a  quarter  of  a 
circle  around  Montezuma's  Head — quite  as  if  there  had 
been  a  three-mile  rope  attaching  us  to  the  mountain — 
entered  the  Ajo  Valley,  and  headed  due  south  for  Sonoyta. 
That  last  feature  seemed  like  getting  toward  our  goal;  and 
for  that  leg  of  our  journey,  the  country  altered  very  notice- 
ably. This  "valley"  is  really  a  valley,  with  what  stage 
managers  would  call  "practicable  mountains"  near  at 
hand  on  both  sides,  walling  it  in.  The  ground  is  hilly 
and  hard,  and  stony;  and  the  arroyos  are  many,  and 
sometimes  serious.  The  ocatilla  takes  its  place  in  the 
landscape  as  a  prominent  and  permanent  feature,  espe- 
cially on  the  bare  and  stony  slopes  that  came  down  from 
the  Ajo  Mountains.  The  organ-pipe  cactus  was  seen  at 
intervals  all  day  on  the  lower  slopes  of  the  Ajo  range. 

At  noon  we  halted  in  a  very  picturesque  spot  in  the 
gently  rolling  plain,  to  permit  our  faithful  horses  to  graze 


QUIJOTOA  PASS  TO  THE  MEXICAN  OASIS    79 

for  an  hour  in  a  meadow  that  simply  could  not  be  ig- 
nored. Quite  near  at  hand  were  several  very  interesting 
things. 

The  ocatillas  were  the  finest  that  we  had  found,  and 
despite  a  brisk  breeze,  in  which  the  tall,  green  stems 
waved  gracefully  but  far  too  much,  I  set  my  shutter  at 
one-two-hundredth  of  a  second  and  took  them  success- 
fully. Later  on  in  the  trip,  another  ocatilla  that  I  tried 
to  photograph  with  every  condition  in  my  favour  was  a 
total  failure;  and  again  was  demonstrated  the  correctness 
of  the  golden  rule  in  collecting:  Take  the  first  good 
specimen  you  find,  for  fear  you  never  find  another! 

Within  a  stone's  throw  of  our  wagons,  we  found  a 
splendid  nest  of  a  white-throated  pack  rat,*  and  on  finding 
that  Mr.  Phillips  was  hopelessly  busy  in  photographing  a 
live  Gambel  quail,  and  likely  to  remain  so,  I  set  up  my 
camera  and  essayed  to  take  it  myself.  In  view  of  the 
greatness  of  my  need  for  a  good  picture,  and  of  my  soulful 
effort  to  do  everything  right,  the  picture  that  resulted  is 
one  of  the  wonders  of  the  trip.  It  was  an  unqualified 
success — "nee-die  sharp!" — as  Mr.  E.  F.  Keller  says  of 
negatives  that  are  extra  fine.  But  after  all,  I  did  make  one 
great  mistake.  It  was  in  not  photographing  Mr.  Phillips 
and  Frank  Coles  as  Coles  herded  the  quail,  and  the  Game 
Commissioner  held  his  camera  far  in  front  of  himself, 
stooped  low  and  straddled  far,  with  that  hungry  look  on 
his  face,  as  he  followed  up  the  doomed  quail.  Mr.  Sykes 
saw  the  spectacle,  and  fired  his  camera  at  it,  but  the  result 
was  not  a  success. 

*Neotoma  albigula. 


8o          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

As  usual  in  such  cases,  Mr.  Phillips  was  successful,  as 
will  be  seen  herewith. 

The  afternoon  was  cool,  and  the  horses  trotted  along 
rapidly.  Westward  of  us  rose  the  Growler  Mountains, 
but  we  came  to  a  range  standing  east  and  west  across  our 
course  that  was  totally  absent  from  the  maps.  Beyond 
that  we  soon  reached  the  top  of  a  water-shed,  from  which 
the  arroyos  all  ran  southward,  toward  the  Sonoyta  River. 

At  night  we  made  a  dry  camp  on  the  bank  of  a  charm- 
ing arroyo  that  was  well  set  in  grass  for  our  horses,  just 
ten  miles  from  the  International  Boundary  and  twelve 
from  Sonoyta.  Less  than  a  mile  away  to  the  westward 
ran  a  miniature  mountain  range  four  miles  long  and  six 
hundred  feet  high,  all  quite  absent  from  the  map  until  Mr. 
Sykes  put  it  on.  Having  an  hour  at  our  disposal  before 
the  setting  of  the  sun  and  the  rising  of  the  Dutch  oven, 
The  Four  armed  themselves  and  scattered.  I  chose  the 
western  ridge,  and  hoped  to  find  deer  about  it,  some- 
where. 

That  ridge  proved  to  be  all  lava!  It  was  a  mass  of 
dark  brown  material,  in  chunks  varying  from  small 
pebbles  up  to  the  size  of  piano-boxes,  and  all  of  it  inde- 
scribably rough.  Like  most  lava  its  surfaces  were  deeply 
pitted,  and  the  finer  grades  were  decomposing  into  dark- 
coloured  earth,  capable  of  sustaining  plant  life.  This 
was  the  first  evidence  of  volcanic  activity  that  we  had 
observed,  and  it  represented  an  isolated  straggler  cone, 
quite  surrounded  by  granite  formations,  and  about  forty 
miles  from  the  edge  of  the  great  bed  that  we  discovered 
later  on. 


From  a  photograph  by  J.  M.  Phillips 

GambePs  Quail  and  Ocatilla,  with  leaves  and  thorns 


From  a  photograph  by  the  Author 

Nest  of  Pack-Rat,  in  the  Ajo  Valley 


QUIJOTOA  PASS  TO  THE  MEXICAN  OASIS    8r 

At  supper  that  night,  November  yth,  and  six  days  from 
Tucson,  the  last  of  our  quarter  of  fresh  beef  was  con- 
sumed. I  mention  this  because  some  of  us  regarded  its 
longevity  in  that  warm-day  weather  as  a  little  remarkable. 
It  was  the  dryness  of  the  atmosphere,  and  the  coldness  of 
the  nights,  that  preserved  it  so  long.  Our  cooks  took 
pains  to  expose  the  beef  each  night  in  such  a  manner  that 
the  nightly  cold  would  reach  it,  while  the  nightly  coyote 
could  not. 

It  is  quite  near  this  camp  that  the  trail  passes  the  grave 
of  a  Mexican  mail-carrier  who  was  murdered  by  Apaches. 
The  Indians  hid  in  an  arroyo  among  the  mesquites  and 
palo  verde,  and  without  giving  the  Unfortunate  the  slight- 
est chance  for  his  life,  shot  him  to  death.  By  his  own 
people  he  was  buried  where  he  fell,  beside  a  large  creosote 
bush,  and  upon  his  grave  a  score  of  stones  were  laid  out 
in  the  shape  of  a  cross.  While  Mr.  Sykes  stood  near  the 
grave,  gloomily  reflecting  on  the  sad  fate  of  its  occupant, 
and  the  uncertainties  of  Life  in  the  Far  South-west,  Mr. 
Phillips  properly  recorded  the  episode  with  his  camera. 

The  next  day,  November  8th,  was  a  great  one;  for  on 
it  we  crossed  the  boundary. 

We  were  astir  unusually  early,  and  by  half-past  seven 
were  rattling  southward  on  an  easy  down  grade.  Plant 
life  and  tree  life  became  secondary  considerations,  and  all 
eyes  were  focused  ahead.  Straight  across  the  end  of  the 
green  Ajo  Valley,  and  quite  far  away,  a  lofty  range  of 
mountains  with  two  peaks  atop  rose  into  the  blue  ether, 
higher  than  any  of  the  mountains  elsewhere  along  the 
trail.  In  front  of  them  were  high,  round-topped  foot- 


82          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

hills;  and  were  they  "this  side  of  the  Sonoyta  River,  or 
the  other?" 

Clearly,  the  high  range  was  beyond  the  tiny  river  that 
makes  the  oasis.  As  the  trotting  teams  ate  up  the  inter- 
vening miles,  the  Sonoyta  plain  and  valley  began  to  focus 
more  sharply  on  the  screen.  Presently  we  were  assured 
that  the  river  was  "this  side"  of  the  small  hills;  but  in  the 
green  plain  the  course  of  the  Sonoyta  River  was  not  dis- 
cernible; nor  was  there  the  slightest  sign  of  civilization. 

About  ten  o'clock  some  one  shouted, 

:( Yonder's  the  boundary!     See,  there  is  a  monument!" 

On  the  crest  of  a  lofty  hill  of  rock,  away  to  our  right, 
was  a  snow-white  pyramid  of  solid  masonry,  which  we 
knew  must  be  "169."  It  seemed  a  long  way,  however, 
down  to  the  cast-iron-post  monument,  No.  167,  which 
stands  low  down  on  the  plain,  two  hundred  yards  from  the 
trail.  By  the  two,  however,  you  are  made  aware  that  the 
direction  of  the  boundary,  all  the  way  from  Nogales  to 
the  Colorado  River,  is  about  N  60°  W. 

From  the  boundary,  the  Sonoyta  Valley  looks  quite 
like  the  arboreal  desert,  generally,  except  that  the  green 
ruffles  winding  through  it  at  its  lowest  level  marks  the 
course  of  the  river.  The  highest  peak  of  the  lofty  moun- 
tain opposite  is  4,300  feet  high.  I  know  because  Mr. 
Sykes  climbed  it  with  an  aneroid. 

Now,  here  is  a  very  absurd  fact;  but  no  patriotic 
Mexican  ever  will  believe  it,  even  though  he  should  see  it 
himself.  The  moment  we  crossed  the  boundary  into  Mex- 
ico, we  struck  two  miles  of  the  most  barren  and  uninteresting 
desert  that  we  saw  on  our  whole  trip!  The  ground  was 


QUIJOTOA  PASS  TO  THE  MEXICAN  OASIS    83 

strongly  alkaline,  in  places  quite  dead  and  bare,  and  1 
noted  the  change  with  mingled  surprise  and  amusement. 
But  right  there  I  met  an  old  and  esteemed  friend  from 
Montana,  named  Artemisia  tomentosa.  It  was  the  narrow- 
leaved  mugwort,  a  species  of  very  aromatic  sage-brush, 
containing  very  little  woody  fibre.  I  met  it  in  the  Bad- 
Lands  of  Hell  Creek,  in  the  barren  "blow-outs,"  where  the 
mule-deer  were  feeding  upon  it  most  greedily,  to  the  com- 
plete exclusion  of  the  finest  range  grasses  I  ever  saw. 

In  the  upper  Sonoyta  valley  this  plant  abounds,  and 
the  clumps  grow  so  rankly  that  sometimes  they  reach  a 
height  of  four  feet.  But  it  seems  that  nothing  feeds  upon 
it. 

At  last  a  sharp  westward  curve  in  the  trail  led  us  along 
the  southern  foot  of  a  high  ridge  of  decomposing  granite, 
through  creosote  bushes,  organ-pipes  and  giant  cacti 
that  are  here  very  small  and  limbless.  On  our  left  we 
saw  a  little  stream,  like  a  tiny  creek,  with  the  desert  coming 
down  to  its  northern  margin.  But  the  small  stream  had 
said  to  the  desert, 

"Stop,  thou — here!    Thus  far,  but  no  farther!" 

And  twenty  feet  away,  on  the  southern  bank,  the  oasis 
began  and  ran  riot.  The  other  side  was  a  perfect  jungle 
of  desert  willows  and  other  small  trees,  in  which  a  man 
might  lose  himself,  for  at  least  five  minutes. 

All  of  a  sudden  the  trail  wheeled  abruptly  to  the  left; 
our  teams  dashed  down  a  steep  slope,  splashed  through 
a  stream — a  running  stream  of  clear,  pure  water,  and  on 
the  other  side  was  Sonoyta. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SONOYTA  OASIS 

An  Isolated  Community — Sketch  of  Sonoyta — Judge  Traino  Qiriroz 
and  His  Family — The  Sorrows  of  an  Amateur  Photographer — 
Life  in  Sonoyta — Fruits — Absence  of  Grafters — Our  Official  En- 
trance into  Mexico — Lieutenant  Jesus  Medina  and  the  Fiscal  Guard 
—An  Annoying  Slip  of  a  Pen — Mr.  Jeff  Milton,  Inspector  of  Immi- 
gration— A  Man  of  Many  "Gun"  Episodes. 

A  HUNDRED  times  over,  as  I  have  looked  on  the  maps 
at  the  queer  Papago-Indian  name  "  Sonoyta "  —the  only 
name  printed  on  the  long,  bare  stretch  of  234  miles  between 
Nogales  and  the  Colorado  River — I  have  wondered  about 
that  lonesome  little  spot.  So  far  as  I  have  read,  no  one 
ever  has  taken  the  trouble  to  write  more  than  ten  lines 
regarding  the  ensemble  of  the  place  and  its  people,  and 
everything  was  left  to  the  imagination.  In  my  mind's 
eye,  Horatio,  it  finally  took  shape  as  a  hamlet  of  swash- 
bucklers and  ex-criminals  of  two  nations,  a  tough  Amer- 
ican with  a  saloon  and  gambling-place,  an  adobe  church 
with  a  cross  atop,  a  priest,  a  Mexican  custom-house  and 
post-office,  and  a  fringe  of  real  "  blanket "  Indians. 

By  the  morning  of  November  8th,  I  was  almost  con- 
sumed with  curiosity;  and  then  we  found  that  in  not  one 
particular  did  Sonoyta  resemble  my  imaginary  picture  of 
it!  I  was  glad  that  it  did  not. 

On  overlooking  the  Sonoyta  Oasis  from  the  north— 

84 


THE  SONOYTA  OASIS  85 

which  for  some  curious  reason  no  one  ever  has  called  an 
"oasis"  until  now — we  saw  a  compromise  between  desert 
and  running  water.  Near  at  hand,  along  the  north,  a 
fringe  of  compact,  willowy  jungle  marks  the  course  of  the 
river.  Beyond  that  lies  a  line  of  naked-November  fields ; 
then  a  long,  hedge-like  line  of  bushes  starting  in  good  form 
on  the  left,  with  a  scattering  of  tall  trees,  and  at  the  extreme 


Sketch  map  of  the  Sonoyta  Oasis  in  1907. 


right  terminating  in  a  lofty  grove  of  dark-green  foliage. 
Beyond  that  hedge-line  there  lies  another  procession  of 
bare  fields,  another  green  string  of  hedge  and  more  fields. 
As  a  border  for  the  last  series  of  fields  there  is  a  straggling 
growth  of  tall  trees,  and  a  string  of  adobe  houses  to  the 
number  of  a  dozen  or  so.  Then  comes  the  desert  once 
more,  planted  full  of  creosote  bushes  ten  feet  apart;  and 
in  the  distance  a  long  line  of  mountains  rises  like  a  stage 
background. 


86         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

So-noy'ta  is  a  Papagolndian  word;  and  it  means 
"The-Place-Where-Corn-Will-Grow." 

Those  three  long  green  lines  of  hedge  in  the  middle 
distance,  that  parallel  the  river,  mark  the  courses  of  the 
three  irrigating  ditches  of  river  water  that  give  the  Oasis 
its  life.  They  are  the  arteries  of  Sonoyta.  Burst  the 
dam  above  them,  and  you  break  Sonoyta. 

In  November,  the  bare  fields  are  the  colour  of  the 
desert,  and  it  is  only  the  few  tall  trees  stringing  along 
the  watercourses  that  make  the  settlement  look  unlike 
any  other  portion  of  the  river  valley,  eastward  or  west- 
ward. Viewed  from  the  ridge-side  north  of  the  river,  the 
houses  of  the  settlement  are  almost  invisible. 

Inasmuch  as  no  one  (s.  f.  a.  k.)  has  taken  the  trouble 
to  map  this  Sonoyta  settlement,  I  have  made  so  bold  as 
to  prepare  a  sketch  map  myself,  made  of  notes  gathered 
as  I  walked  about  on  urgent  business,  and  from  our 
photographs.  I  made  no  measurements,  and  the  scale 
was  fixed  by  General  Estimate. 

We  dashed  across  the  brook-like  Sonoyta  River,  pulled 
through  the  fringe  of  desert  willows  on  its  southern  bank, 
splashed  through  a  wide  pool  where  ditch  No.  i  crossed 
the  trail,  and  entered  a  narrow  and  ragged  green  lane 
leading  south.  On  our  right  there  was  a  most  inviting 
grove  of  fig  and  pomegranate  trees,  and  white  cotton- 
woods;  but,  strange  to  say,  there  was  no  house  to 
match  it. 

At  a  turn  in  the  lane,  on  the  bank  of  ditch  No.  2,  we 
came  to  a  two-family  adobe  house,  with  a  stone  mill  in 
front  of  it.  Four  Mexican  men  in  immaculately  clean 


H- 

bJO 
d 


s  % 


THE  SONOYTA  OASIS  87 

shirts  and  trousers  sat  comfortably  grouped  on  the  mill, 
and  the  chief  of  the  Sonoyta  Papagoes  sat  on  his  heels. 
Under  a  veranda  of  the  regulation  type  were  two  Mexican 
women,  busily  working.  I  asked  Mr.  Jeff  Milton,  who 
occupied  one  end  of  the  house,  the  name  of  the  family 
living  in  the  other  half;  and  with  genuine  embarrassment 
he  answered, 

"Well,  I  swear,  I  don't  know!  I  never  thought  to 
ask!" 

It  was  there  that  we  parked  our  battery,  and  made 
our  camp  for  two  days;  but  we  lost  no  time  in  viewing  the 
town  of  our  curiosity. 

From  the  house  of  our  friend  Mr.  Milton  (U.  S.  In- 
spector of  Immigration,  Department  of  Commerce  and 
Labor),  the  street  runs  eastward  a  short  distance  between 
two  walls  of  tangled  weeds,  then  abruptly  bends  back 
southward  once  more.  We  pass  under  a  splendid  white 
cottonwood  tree  (Populus  mexicanus),  its  smooth  bark  as 
white  as  paper,  cross  the  rushing  stream  of  ditch  No.  3 
and  quickly  emerge  on  what  we  may  as  well  call  Main 
Street.  This  is  the  only  street-like  thoroughfare  in  the 
town,  with  houses  on  both  sides  and  a  metropolitan  air. 
Eastward,  there  are  only  two  houses;  that  of  Judge 
Quiroz  and  one  other.  Westward  lies  the  heart  of  the 
city.  Here,  at  our  right  hand  as  we  turn  the  angle,  is  the 
largest  and  most  lonesome-looking  house  in  the  town. 
We  never  saw  any  life  about  it  save  the  Lady  in  the  Back 
Yard;  and  she  seemed  always  busy. 

Go  westward,  and  you  quickly  come  to  a  knoll,  with 
at  least  six  houses  in  view  before  you.  On  the  right  is 


88         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

the  square  adobe  box  of  a  house  in  which  lives  the  young 
Mexican  woman  whom  the  young  men  of  Sonoyta  call 
"the  Singing  Bird,"  because  she  warbles  tunefully.  On 
the  left  is  the  store  and  mescal  establishment  of  Senor 
Jesus  Molina,  who  was  very  civil  to  us,  and  kindly  carried 
our  mail-bag  to  the  Ajo  Mines,  as  we  headed  for  Pinacate. 

Senor  Molina  has  seven  children.  At  our  request  the 
whole  family,  with  the  Oldest  Inhabitant — a  venerable- 
looking  man  of  76,  with  a  patriarchal  beard — and  several 
extra  children,  grouped  themselves  in  front  of  the  Molina 
door  and  in  most  friendly  fashion  stood  for  a  picture. 
Opposite  the  Molina  home  was  a  picturesque  habitation 
behind  a  fence  of  mesquite  stems,  all  of  which  we  took  on 
a  film  for  our  own.  The  home  of  the  Singing  Bird  is  at 
the  top  of  the  knoll. 

But  the  home  and  family  of  the  Leading  Citizen  were 
at  the  other  end  of  the  street;  and  thither  we  went  under 
the  guidance  of  Mr.  Milton. 

Judge  Traino  Quiroz  is  a  small  man  of  52,  with  a 
refined  and  intelligent  face,  a  low,  musical  voice  and  the 
manners  of  a  Castilian  gentleman.  His  house,  his  mill, 
his  forge,  and  bis  little  park  behind  the  fence  across  the 
way,  constitute  a  very  interesting  establishment;  and  we 
were  graciously  permitted  to  inspect  everything.  Most 
interesting  of  all,  after  the  Judge  himself,  is  his  family — 
fortunately  an  unbroken  circle. 

Senora  Maria  Jesus  Quiroz  is  the  mother  of  five  fine 
children;  and  they  are  her  jewels.  Her  home  and  her 
children  show  the  tireless  hand  of  the  diligent  wife  and 
mother,  whose  work  is  never  done.  It  is  no  child's  play  to 


THE  SONOYTA  OASIS  89 

rear  a  family  in  a  far-away  spot  like  Sonoyta,  where  there 
is  neither  school,  teacher,  doctor,  church,  priest  nor  post- 
office! 

We  were  at  some  pains  to  become  acquainted  with  the 
children,  and  learn  the  name  of  each. 

The  oldest  child  of  the  family  is  a  young  man  of 
about  twenty,  whose  name  is  Arturo,  which  is  Spanish  for 
Arthur.  Next  to  him  is  a  fine  young  woman  of  eighteen, 
named  Dolores,  who  is  truly  the  belle  of  Sonoyta.  The 
next  in  order  is  a  bashful  boy  named  Ysable;  and  I  was 
vastly  amused  by  the  imperious  manner  in  which  his 
Sister  Helena,  next  younger  than  himself,  inspected  him, 
and  condemned  him,  when  the  family  was  about  to  stand 
for  a  photograph.  She  saw  that  his  hair  was  awry,  and 
said  in  a  low  voice  (of  course  in  Spanish), 

"Your  hair  is  not  right  for  a  picture.  Go  in  and 
brush  it!" 

"Oh,  go  on!"  said  Ysable,  with  irritation.  "It  will 
do  very  well." 

"It  will  not  do!     Go  and  fix  it!" 

"Oh,  keep  quiet.     I  will  not!" 

Then  she  flared  up,  fully  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"You  lazy  boy!  You  shall  not  look  like  that!  (Stamp! 
Jerk!)  Go  in,  this  instant,  and  brush  your  hair!" 

"Oh,  botheration!"  said  Ysable,  with  an  expression  of 
great  annoyance;  but  he  went!  And  the  neatly  combed 
hair  with  which  he  presently  emerged  was  a  decided  im- 
provement. Apparently  the  little  mothers  to  big  brothers 
are  just  the  same  in  the  Sonoyta  Oasis  as  in  New  York. 

The  last  of  the  flock  was  Angelita — Little  Angel— 


9o         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

whom  to  see  is  to  love.  She  was  eight  years  old,  I  opine, 
and  as  dear  a  little  Lady  as  one  could  wish  to  see.  She 
wore  a  small  corsage  bouquet — from  which  I  suspect  that 
visitors  were  half  expected  on  that  afternoon,  and  her 
behaviour  was  perfect.  The  palefaces  from  the  North 
did  not  frighten  her  in  the  least,  and  she  posed  for  her 
picture  as  steady  as  a  statue. 

The  photographing  of  the  Quiroz  family  is  a  sore  sub- 
ject. I  made  what  I  hoped  would  be  a  good  series  of 
pictures  of  this  fine  Mexican  family  unit,  and  the  effort 
cost  its  members  no  little  trouble.  Afterward,  on  another 
film,  I  took  the  mill,  its  burro  motor  and  a  Papago  Indian 
on  horseback  who  strayed  by  just  then,  and  flinched  not 
before  the  camera. 

Alas!  for  the  evanescence  of  human  endeavour!  By 
a  most  deplorable  accident  in  my  war-sack,  the  film  of  the 
Quiroz  family  was  ruined,  and  I  have  nothing  to  show  or 
to  send  back  save  a  picture  which  Mr.  Phillips  made,  very 
hurriedly,  with  the  intention  of  returning  another  day  for 
a  more  serious  effort.  Verily,  the  camera  is  a  great  thing 
to  teach  men  to  bear  disappointments;  and  the  man  who 
can  monkey  with  it  a  whole  month  without  using  language 
shall  acquire  merit. 

The  Margin  of  Life  in  Sonoyta  is  rather  narrow. 
With  a  handicap  so  great,  it  cou^d  not  well  be  otherwise. 
The  place  would  afford  a  leisurely  political  student  a  most 
interesting  study  in  social  economy.  It  makes  me  think 
of  a  balanced  aquarium — wherein  the  fishes,  the  water 
and  the  plant  life  are  so  nicely  adjusted  that,  with  a  trifling 
food  supply  from  without,  the  status  quo  goes  on  indefi- 


From  a  photograph  by  the  Author 

Stone  Mill  and  Forge  of  Judge  Quiroz 
The  garlands  hanging  upon  the  forge-roof  are  flaming  red  peppers 


From  a  photograph  by  J.  M.  Phillips 

The  Leading  Citizen  of  Sonoyta,  Judge  Traino  Quiroz,  and  His  Family 


THE  SONOYTA  OASIS  91 

nitely.  Sonoyta  is  nearly,  though  not  entirely,  an  auto- 
matic settlement.  The  nearest  place  at  which  anything 
can  be  purchased  outside  is  the  little  store  at  the  Ajo 
mines,  fifty  miles  away;  and  after  that,  Gila  Bend,  ninety 
miles  distant,  with  only  one  well-watered  camping-place 
en  route. 

It  is  useless  for  the  people  of  Sonoyta  to  raise  much 
more  of  grain  and  fruit  and  vegetables  than  they  consume, 
because  there  is  no  market  available  to  them  nearer  than 
a  long  four  days'  haul  across  the  desert;  and  even  then 
they  find  only  a  tiny  village,  wanting  very  little.  There- 
fore do  they  study  to  produce  from  the  soil  only  the  pro- 
ducts which  they  themselves  can  consume  between 
harvests,  and  the  alfalfa  which  their  own  horses  re- 
quire. 

I  heard  of  one  man  of  Enterprise  who  thought  to  meet 
a  demand,  and  met  only  disappointment.  Thinking  that 
he  detected  a  desire  for  an  extra  supply  of  onions,  he 
raised  a  large  crop,  only  to  find  that  he  had  produced  an 
unmarketable  surplus,  that  could  neither  be  sold  nor 
consumed.  George  Saunders  told  me  that  he  was  keenly 
disappointed,  and  had  registered  a  solemn  vow  that  never 
again  would  he  raise  anything  to  meet  the  wants  of  anyone 
outside  his  own  family. 

Naturally,  we  were  curious  to  see  what  fruits  are 
grown  in  the  Sonoyta  Oasis.  First  of  all  I  expected  to 
find  a  fair  showing  of  the  citrous  fruits — oranges  and 
lemons;  but  they  were,  I  think,  quite  absent.  Just  why 
they  were  not  in  evidence  I  failed  to  discover.  Certainly 
there  is  no  apparent  reason  why  California  oranges, 


#**',$& 

•  «•     ij  i 


'3 

*  '2 •  r*  t  «> 


92         CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

lemons,  cherries  and  other  fruits  cannot  be  grown  in 
Sonoyta,  by  irrigation. 

Of  fruit  trees,  only  two  kinds  seemed  to  be  in  favour, 
or  visible  to  the  unaided  eye.  They  were  the  fig  and  pome- 
granate. The  former  is  well  known,  the  latter  not  so  well. 

The  pomegranate*,  as  grown  in  the  gardens  of  Sonoyta, 
is  a  rather  open-topped  tree  from  fifteen  to  twenty  feet 
in  height,  deciduous,  with  long,  lance-shaped  leaves.  It 
is  a  native  of  Asia.  The  fruit  is  about  the  size  of  an 
apple  of  medium  size,  with  six  well-defined  sections  that 
are  pinched  together  at  the  top.  It  is  sub-acid,  edible  of 
course,  and  in  Mexico  an  ardent  spirit  is  made  from  it. 

We  saw  fig  and  pomegranate  trees  growing  in  many 
places  in  Sonoyta,  but  best  of  all  in  the  fenced  garden  of 
Judge  Quiroz,  opposite  his  dwelling.  There,  also,  we 
were  surprised  at  finding  a  miniature  botanical  garden, 
containing  agaves  of  good  size,  and  many  interesting  cacti. 
The  slope  of  a  tiny  hill,  mostly  of  rock,  had  been  terraced, 
and  the  terrace  beds  had  been  planted  with  flowers — a 
most  commendable  effort. 

Naturally,  the  people  of  Sonoyta  lead  the  simple  life. 
With  practically  no  market,  either  to  supply  or  to  draw 
upon,  how  could  they  do  otherwise  ?  They  are  not 
tempted  to  overeat,  nor  drink  too  much,  and  therefore 
their  bodily  ailments  are  very  few.  I  was  told  that  there 
is  a  long  list  of  northern-city  diseases  of  which  they  know 
almost  nothing.  Think,  oh!  ye  New  Yorkers,  of  living 
in  a  place  where  tuberculosis,  pneumonia,  diphtheria, 
cancer,  mastoiditis,  laryngitis  and  appendicitis  are  prac- 

*Punica  granatum* 


THE  SONOYTA  OASIS  93 

tically  unknown,  even  "by  hearsay!"  Nervous  prostra- 
tion is  as  impossible  in  Sonoyta  as  happiness  is  to  an 
American  countess. 

Unconsciously  I  found  myself  pitying  the  Sonoytans 
because  they  have  no  post-office,  and  no  regular — nor  even 
frequent — communication  with  the  outside  world.  But 
after  all,  why  should  I  ?  What  is  the  outside  world  and 
its  turmoils  to  them  ?  Why  should  they  be  moved  to 
indulge  ambitions  and  desires  which  they  cannot  possibly 
gratify  ?  It  is  not  kind  to  educate  people  into  desiring  a 
lot  of  things  that  they  cannot  have,  and  do  not  need! 
With  remote  and  primitive  people,  who  are  handicapped 
by  time  and  space,  and  in  the  case  of  savages  by  inherit- 
ance, it  is  by  no  means  always  a  kindness  to  spread  before 
them  the  curious  crazy-quilt  which  we  proudly  call 
"civilization"  —the  most  astounding  mixture  of  virtue  and 
vice,  of  goodness  and  meanness,  of  wisdom  and  idiocy 
that  a  finite  mind  can  measure. 

I  asked  some  one,  "When  a  man  becomes  ill  in 
Sonoyta,  what  is  done  about  it  ? " 

"  Oh,  his  own  family,  or  some  of  his  friends,  take  care 
of  him  the  best  they  can,  and  give  him  the  best  medicines 
they  happen  to  have." 

"But  is  there  no  one  in  the  settlement  so  skilled  and 
experienced   in   dosing   sick   people   that   he   is   called 
'doctor'?" 

"No  one,  so  far  as  I  know." 

"When  the  mothers  bear  children,  what  happens?" 

"The  women  take  care  of  each  other;   that  is  all." 

"Do  you  recall  anything  like  an  epidemic  here?" 


94          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

"No;   or  at  least  not  in  recent  years." 

We  were  well  pleased  by  the  treatment  we  received 
at  the  hands  of  the  men  of  Sonoyta  with  whom  we  had 
occasion  to  do  business.  We  expended  there,  all  told, 
nearly  $300  in  the  hire  of  horses,  mules  and  men,  and  in 
purchases;  but  not  once  did  the  hydra-head  Graft  mon- 
ster, he  of  the  seven  heads  and  ten  horns,  rise  and  threaten 
to  devour  us.  The  people  did  not  once  overcharge  us 
because  we  were  strangers  with  money,  and  in  need  of 
things.  For  the  eight  horses  that  we  hired,  the  price 
was  only  fifty  cents  each  per  day,  in  gold ;  and  it  was  very 
reasonable.  And  Mr.  Escalante's  attitude  about  the 
wagon  we  hired  of  him  was  admirable.  Owing  to  a  slip 
of  somebody's  pen,  the  free  admission  of  our  wagons  into 
Mexico  was  not  provided  for;  and  it  made  us  a  little 
trouble. 

Finding  ourselves  under  the  necessity  of  hiring  a 
wagon  for  the  westward  journey,  some  one  went  to  a 
serious-faced,  elderly  Mexican  farmer  with  a  terribly  deep 
voice,  to  engage  the  use  of  one  owned  by  him.  We  simply 
had  to  have  it.  And  Mr.  Escalante  said  to  George 
Saunders,  when  our  men  went  to  fetch  it, 

"This  wagon  is  not  good  enough  for  a  trip  to  Pinacate! 
It  is  old,  and  dry  and  shaky.  I  don't  believe  it  can  make 
so  rough  a  trip  without  breaking  down,  and  causing  those 
gentlemen  much  trouble.  They  should  have  a  better 
wagon  than  this!" 

Now,  it  seemed  to  us  that  no  statement  could  have 
been  more  fair  than  that;  and  when  we  heard  of  it — at 
the  end  of  the  trip — it  made  us  think. 


THE  SONOYTA  OASIS  95 

And  this  brings  me  to  the  very  important  business  of 
getting  into  Mexico  with  an  outfit  such  as  ours,  and 
getting  out  again,  without  the  payment  of  a  really  large 
sum  in  customs  duties.  Be  it  known  that,  like  ourselves, 
the  people  of  Mexico  believe  in  high  tariffs,  and  the  de- 
velopment of  home  resources.  Had  we  been  obliged  to 
pay  duty  on  everything  in  our  outfit  that  really  was  duti- 
able, the  demnition  total  would  have  run  up  to  perhaps 
$500 — and  we  would  not  have  made  that  exploration! 
But  the  Mexican  Government  always  has  been  liberal  in 
its  treatment  of  scientific  expeditions,  such  as  ours  really 
was,  and  more  than  once  has  admitted  outfits  duty  free. 

Long  before  November,  Dr.  MacDougal  made  a  for- 
mal application  to  the  proper  department  of  the  govern- 
ment at  the  City  of  Mexico,  for  permission  to  enter 
Sonora  and  return  again,  with  all  our  horses,  wagons,  arms, 
implements  and  necessary  supplies,  without  the  payment 
of  duty.  This  request  was  duly  endorsed  by  our  govern- 
ment. 

After  the  usual  necessary  correspondence,  the  Mexican 
Minister  of  Fomento,  whose  Department  possibly  corre- 
sponds to  our  Interior  Department,  resolved  to  grant  the 
necessary  permission.  After  an  expenditure  of  about  $40 
in  telegrams,  the  matter  was  arranged  with  Mr.  Arturo 
Elias,  the  Mexican  Consul  at  Tucson,  who  acted  for  the 
Mexican  Collector  of  Customs  at  Nogales. 

In  order  to  insure  our  admission  at  Sonoyta  without 
let  or  hindrance  of  any  kind,  a  detachment  of  the  Guarda 
Armais  Fiscal,  headed  by  Teniente  (Lieutenant)  Jesus 
Medina,  was  sent  along  the  boundary  from  Nogales  (120 


96          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

miles  of  tedious  and  wearisome  riding)  to  receive  us  in 
state  at  Sonoyta. 

We  found  El  Teniente  and  his  escort  of  half  a  dozen 
men  awaiting  our  arrival,  having  reached  Sonoyta  a  day 
in  advance  of  us.  The  Lieutenant  was  a  highly  inter- 
esting personage.  The  heat  and  the  winds  of  the  deserts, 
over  which  he  has  for  all  his  life  been  eternally  riding,  have 
tanned  and  weather-beaten  his  countenance  until  his  com- 
plexion is  now  very  dark.  He  is  now  about  fifty  years  of 
age,  and  therefore  still  in  his  prime.  His  home  is  at 
Nogales,  and  his  line  of  duty  stretches  along  the  Inter- 
national Boundary  for  200  miles. 

Of  course  Teniente  Medina  had  in  his  possession  full 
instructions  regarding  our  expedition.  By  the  time  we 
had  outspanned  and  made  camp,  he  appeared,  walking 
across  the  bare  fields  from  the  group  of  houses  on  Main 
Street,  accompanied  by  his  staff.  He  greeted  us  most 
cordially,  and  without  any  unnecessary  loss  of  time  Senor 
Medina  and  Dr.  MacDougal  sat  down  to  compare  docu- 
ments and  make  our  entry  an  accomplished  official  fact. 
All  went  well  until  in  the  comparison  of  schedules  of  our 
outfit  they  reached  the  item  of  wagons;  and  then  it  was 
found  that  through  some  mischievous  inadvertence  both 
our  wagons  had  been  entirely  omitted  from  the  list  fur- 
nished El  Teniente  by  the  Mexican  Customs  Officials  in 
Nogales! 

Here  was  an  annoying  situation,  for  which  no  one 
present  was  in  the  least  to  blame.  Lieutenant  Medina 
was  greatly  disturbed. 

"It  is  perfectly  plain,"  he  said  with  great  fervour, 


THE  SONOYTA  OASIS  97 

"that  my  government  desires  that  your  expedition  shall 
be  admitted  and  facilitated ;  and  of  course  you  need  your 
wagons  in  order  to  proceed.  But  my  authority  is  found 
only  in  this  official  list  of  what  is  to  be  admitted  free  of 
duty!  I  dare  not  assume  the  responsibility  of  exceeding 
my  instructions,  much  as  I  would  like  to  do  so." 

It  was  plainly  evident  that  Teniente  Medina  was  both 
annoyed  and  distressed.  There  was  no  opportunity  to 
arrange  the  matter  quietly  and  informally  between  Dr. 
MacDougal  and  himself;  for  all  the  while  half  a  dozen 
men  of  two  nationalities  had  been  idly  but  respectfully 
looking  on,  and  listening  to  every  word.  In  the  presence 
of  so  many  gossipy  witnesses,  there  was  really  nothing  for 
the  Lieutenant  to  do  but  to  uphold  the  dignity  and  regu- 
larity of  his  office  by  adhering  to  the  letter  of  his  written 
instructions;  which  he  did  with  many  protestations  of 
annoyance  and  regret. 

To  have  paid  duty  on  our  two  wagons  would  have 
cost  us  about  $100;  and  the  annoyance  of  it  would  have 
cost  three  times  as  much  more.  Finally,  after  a  con- 
ference with  Mr.  Milton,  Dr.  MacDougal  made  this 
proposal : 

''  Teniente  Medina,  this  situation  is  the  fault  of 
neither  of  us.  We  must  overcome  it  the  best  way  we  can. 
Senor  Milton  has  from  your  government  a  permit  for  the 
use  of  one  wagon  on  your  side  of  the  line.  With  your 
permission,  we  might  use  our  large  wagon  under  that 
authorization.  For  the  other,  we  will  hire  a  wagon  here, 
of  Senor  Escalante,  and  at  once  return  our  second  wagon 
to  the  American  side  of  the  boundary,  to  be  held  there 


98          CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

awaiting  our  return.  Does  that  arrangement  meet  your 
approval  ? " 

"  Perfectly,  perfectly,  Doctor.  It  will  be  a  great  relief 
to  me  to  see  the  matter  so  easily  arranged." 

And  thus,  at  a  total  cost  of  only  $9  in  American  money, 
for  wagon  hire,  plus  some  wear  and  tear  to  our  nerves  on 
account  of  that  very  shaky  wagon,  the  situation  was  saved. 
Whereupon  our  midday  meal  being  just  then  served  with 
the  best  that  our  outfit  afforded,  El  Teniente  was  invited 
to  lunch  with  us.  He  accepted,  with  the  utmost  cordiality, 
and  we  all  sociably  sat  down  upon  the  ground  around  our 
canvas  table-cloth  and  dined  sumptuously. 

To  our  surprise — and  also  our  gratification — Lieu- 
tenant Medina  positively  declined  to  inspect  our  outfit 
otherwise  than  as  it  appeared  on  paper.  We  expected 
that,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  would  wish  to  go  through  the 
formality  of  examining  our  belongings,  and  checking  off 
the  articles  enumerated  in  the  official  list;  but  he  would 
not  consider  it  for  a  moment.  And  for  a  man  who  already 
had  ridden  over  120  miles  for  the  purpose  of  formally 
entering  our  outfit  according  to  an  official  programme,  we 
thought  his  attitude  rather  handsome,  and  we  heartily 
commend  his  example  to  our  countrymen.  He  even 
offered  to  accompany  us  to  Pinacate,  with  his  escort,  if 
thereby  he  and  they  could  render  us  any  service;  but  of 
course  we  assured  him  that  was  unnecessary. 

The  most  interesting  man  in  Sonoyta,  or  for  that  matter 
for  a  hundred  miles  around,  was  Mr.  Jefferson  Davis 
Milton,  U.  S.  Inspector  of  Immigration,  of  whom  we  saw 
much.  By  the  invitation  of  Dr.  MacDougal,  Mr.  Milton 


THE  SONOYTA  OASIS  99 

had  procured  thirty  days'  leave  of  absence  in  order  to 
accompany  us,  as  our  guest,  from  Sonoyta  to  Pinacate  and 
back,  for  the  pleasures  of  the  exploration.  It  should  be 
stated  here  that  Mr.  Milton's  official  duty  is  to  patrol  the 
International  Boundary  between  the  Colorado  River  and 
Nogales,  "or  as  much  thereof  as  may  be  necessary,"  in 
order  to  beat  back  any  waves  of  interdicted  immigration 
that  may  roll  up  from  the  south.  He  is,  of  course,  specially 
aimed  at  the  Chinese  who  occasionally  seek  to  enter  our 
very  exclusive  territory  by  way  of  Mexico — as  if  those 
industrious  and  peaceable  people  are  undesirable  in  com- 
parison with  the  Sicilian  cutthroats  who  annually  and 
freely  pour  into  New  York  to  engage  in  the  business  of 
blackmailing  and  murdering  respectable  Italians,  without 
limit. 

Mr.  Milton  is  a  man  of  large  size,  commanding  pres- 
ence, cheerful  disposition  and  restless  energy.  In  camp 
and  on  the  trail  his  good  humour  is  almost  constant,  and 
I  enjoyed  his  company  very  much.  Our  friend  " Jeff"  is 
a  man  of  many  adventures — with  a  possibility  of  more  to 
come.  As  express  messenger  in  a  country  of  train  robbers, 
and  in  other  capacities  also,  he  has  seen  some  stirring  times. 
In  a  famous  battle  with  train-robbers  who  attempted 
to  clean  out  a  Wells-Fargo  Express  car  that  was  being 
guarded  by  Mr.  Milton,  he  received  a  45-calibre  rifle  ball 
diagonally  through  his  left  arm,  which  cut  out  a  three-inch 
section  from  the  middle  of  the  humerus,  forever.  That 
arm  is  of  course  distinctly  shorter  than  its  mate,  and 
although  in  active  service,  its  strength  has  been  seriously 
impaired. 


ioo        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

In  the  course  of  our  rides  in  company  over  the  deserts 
and  lava,  and  our  talks  across  the  camp-fire,  Jeff  told  us 
a  number  of  thrilling  tales  of  his  adventures.  Once  I 
said  to  him, 

"  Mr.  Milton,  how  many  times  have  you  been  shot  at  ? " 

"That's  more  than  I  could  tell  you,  sir,  to  save  my 
life,"  he  answered.  "You  see,  I  haven't  always  known 
just  how  many  times  the  other  fellows  fired!" 

"And  how  many  times  have  you  been  hit?" 

"Oh,  five  or  six  times,  I  guess." 

By  a  curious  coincidence,  Professor  W.  P.  Blake,  of 
the  University  at  Tucson,  who  came  out  to  see  us  off, 
was  on  the  very  train  which  those  express  robbers  held 
up;  and  it  was  upon  the  mattress  furnished  by  him  from 
his  bed-roll  that  our  friend  Jeff — "the  messenger  with  his 
arm  shot  off"— was  made  half-way  comfortable  in  the 
assaulted  baggage  car  as  the  train  ran  on  to  El  Paso. 

Mr.  Milton  is  a  keen  sportsman,  and  also  was  as  much 
interested  as  ourselves  in  solving  the  mystery  of  Pinacate. 
When  we  reached  Sonoyta  he  was  ready  to  join  us,  which 
he  did,  together  with  his  friend  George  Saunders,  of 
Philadelphia,  two  horses,  and  two  pointer  dogs  named 
Rex  and  Rowdy.  Saunders  proved  to  be  a  very  agreeable 
and  also  helpful  addition  to  our  party,  and  he  soon  won 
the  respect  and  friendship  of  all  the  members  of  the 
expedition. 

Naturally,  Mr.  Milton  was  exceedingly  helpful  in 
Sonoyta — as  well  as  everywhere  else — in  assembling  the 
additional  horses,  horse-feed,  wagon  and  other  things 
that  were  necessary  for  the  final  half  of  our  journey. 


THE  SONOYTA  OASIS  101 

At  the  best,  however,  this  took  a  little  time,  and  it  was 
decided  that  we  would  spend  one  extra  day  in  camp  in 
the  Oasis.  Dr.  MacDougal  needed  to  botanize  in  that 
vicinity,  and  take  photographs  of  a  number  of  important 
plants  and  trees,  while  Mr.  Phillips  and  I  greatly  desired 
to  go  on  a  little  hunt  for  peccaries  in  the  Cubabi  Moun- 
tains, about  eight  miles  south-east  of  Sonoyta. 

And  there  being  no  objection,  it  was  so  ordered. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  SMALL  DEER  HUNT  TO  THE  CUBABI  MOUNTAINS 

Cubabi  Peak — Coyote  and  Skunk — Rain  in  the  Desert — Disagreeable 
Trait  in  Mexican  Rural  Guides — A  Fertile  Mountain  Valley — 
Enter  Coues  White-Tailed  Deer — The  Repression  of  Charlie — 
Death  of  a  Doe — Its  Size  and  Food  Supply — A  Downpour  and 
Darkness  on  the  Desert — Mr.  Sykes  Comes  In. 

ON  the  ninth  day  of  November,  while  various  horses 
and  other  outfit  features  were  being  assembled,  and  the 
Chief  went  off  on  a  botanic-photographic  diversion,  Mr. 
Phillips  and  I  went  hunting,  ad  interim,  to  the  Cubabi 
Mountains.  That  tall  range  loomed  up  so  near  at  hand, 
and  looked  so  game-infested,  that  nothing  less  than  a  try- 
out  ever  would  have  satisfied  us.  The  rough  peaks  and 
ridges  looked  eminently  fit  for  sheep,  but  Charlie  Foster 
assured  us  that  "boregos"  were  not  there. 

From  the  first  moment  that  he  viewed  it,  Mr.  Godfrey 
Sykes  had  yearned  to  carry  his  aneroid  and  plane-table 
to  the  top  of  the  highest  peak  of  Cubabi;  for  he  believed 
the  mountain  to  be  not  nearly  so  high  as  certain  over- 
liberal  geographers  had  set  forth.  On  some  maps  it  is 
actually  put  down  as  9,457  feet. 

It  was  resolved  that  Charlie  should  pilot  all  three  of 
us  to  the  range,  and  that  Mr.  Sykes  would  then  go  on 
alone  to  climb  the  peak,  while  the  rest  of  us  looked  for 
peccaries  and  deer. 


102 


A  SMALL  DEER  HUNT  103 

We  rode  seven  or  eight  miles  through  a  flourishing 
desert  jungle,  and  finally  reached  a  likely  arroyo  that  came 
down  by  a  short  run  from  the  backbone  of  the  range. 
Mr.  Sykes  gladly  abandoned  the  rest  of  us  to  our  own 
devices,  and  rode  on,  conquering  and  to  conquer;  and 
with  profound  thankfulness  that  we  were  not  compelled 
to  climb  old  Cubabi  merely  to  oblige  a  sceptical  aneroid, 
we  tied  our  horses  to  the  mesquites  and  began  to  look  for 
game. 

The  first  thing  I  discovered  was  that  Mr.  Phillips  and 
Charlie  had  quietly  moseyed  off  together,  and  I  was  left 
alone.  This  so  piqued  my  pride  of  conquest  that  I  im- 
mediately climbed  to  the  top  of  the  highest  ridge  of  those 
near  me,  and  found  the  remains  of  a  large  skunk  that  had 
very  recently  been  killed  and  eaten  by  a  coyote. 

The  coyote  surely  is  an  ornery  beast.  I  know  of  only 
one  in  America  who  is  more  so,  and  he  is  dead.  That 
was  the  railroad  laborer  down  in  Virginia  who  last  year 
shot  a  turkey-buzzard,  cooked  it  and  ate  it  all  alone,  and 
was  killed  by  another  I — that  is,  by  another  man,  who 
objected  to  his  selfishness  in  dining  on  buzzard  all  alone 
and  in  camera. 

That  skunk  once  had  been  a  bushy-tailed,  truculent 
pirate  of  the  species  named  Mephitis  macrura;  and  what 
think  you  his  coyote  Nemesis  had  left  of  him  ?  Abso- 
lutely nothing  but  his  tail  and  his  jaws!  Apparently  he 
knew  the  paramount  importance  of  dentition  as  a  means 
to  an  end  in  scientific  identification,  and  he  thoughtfully 
left  the  teeth  intact. 

This  tragic  incident  proves  once  more  that  even  among 


io4        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

animals  there  is  no  accounting  for  the  differences  between 
tastes.  Now,  we  all  know  that  even  in  New  York  there 
are  people  who — but  why  pursue  a  subject  so  painful  ? 

While  searching  the  landscape  o'er  from  the  top  of 
my  ridge  it  began  to  rain — in  the  desert!  As  soon  as  I 
could  recover  from  the  surprise  of  it,  I  hastily  searched  out 
an  overhanging  ledge  of  rock  on  the  lee  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  in  this  niche  I  crouched  to  keep  dry.  No 
rabbit  nor  pack-rat  came  creeping  in  to  join  me  and 
waltzed  on  my  shoes;  no  deer  sauntered  by  at  short 
range;  nothing  at  all  happened.  And  there  are  men  who 
under  such  circumstances  always  attract  a  lot  of  animals. 

The  rain  penned  me  there  among  those  cold,  bare 
granite  rocks  for  nearly  an  hour,  so  it  seemed,  and  I  saw 
no  living  thing  of  the  animal  world.  But  for  the  rain 
pattering  on  the  rocks  and  glancing  off  the  knees  of  my 
knickerbockers,  everything  was  very,  very  silent  up  there, 
and  the  living  world  mighty  far  away.  No  wonder  bad 
men  often  give  themselves  up  to  be  tried,  sociably,  and 
even  hanged  among  their  fellows,  rather  than  live  on  in 
solitude  in  mountain  or  forest.  The  wild  life  is  all  right — 
when  not  taken  in  too  large  doses,  nor  under  too  strong 
compulsion. 

When  the  rain  ceased  I  hunted  all  through  the  likely 
spots  near  me,  saw  nothing,  and  finally  returned  to  the 
horses — just  five  minutes  ahead  of  my  companions.  They, 
too,  had  found  nothing;  so  we  mounted  and  rode  on  about 
three  miles  farther. 

At  last  we  came  to  a  fine  arroyo,  which  came  a  long 
distance  down,  out  of  a  mountain  valley.  The  breadth 


A  SMALL  DEER  HUNT  105 

of  it  and  its  fine  grasses  spoke  well  of  it  as  a  resort  for 
large  game;  so  we  quickly  dismounted  and  prepared  to 
search  the  place  diligently. 

On  that  occasion  it  was  Mr.  Phillips  who  wandered 
off  alone,  and  left  Charlie  Foster  and  me  to  our  own 
devices.  On  finding  myself  alone  with  a  rural  Mexican 
guide,  it  was  then  borne  in  upon  me  with  extra  force  that 
of  all  earthly  guides  for  big  game  the  armed  Mexican  of 
the  country  is  positively  the  worst.  It  is  not  because  they 
are  poor  hunters,  or  bad  stalkers;  for  they  are  very  good 
both  at  finding  game  and  getting  up  to  it.  The  trouble 
is  that,  in  the  presence  of  big  game,  the  rifle-carrying 
Mexican  guide  loses  all  control  of  himself,  and  at  once 
opens  fire,  regardless  of  his  duty  to  the  sportsman. 

Naturally,  no  man  in  his  senses  travels  3,000  miles 
to  see  a  hired  Mexican  kill  game.  Dr.  MacDougal  has 
had  experiences  on  the  Peninsula  that  would  have  justified 
Mexicanicide;  all  of  which  was  fresh  in  my  mind  as  I 
marched  beside  my  companion  up  that  jungly  arroyo. 
During  the  trip  down  from  Tucson,  Charlie  had  been 
very  plainly  admonished  that  there  must  be  no  wholesale 
killing  of  game,  and  that  no  one  must  ever  shoot  a  female 
animal  except  to  preserve  it  entire  as  a  museum  specimen, 
to  be  mounted. 

That  was  a  lovely  valley,  a  hundred  yards  wide  of 
level  ground  with  a  dry-sand  stream-bed  meandering 
through  it,  steep  mountains  close  by  on  the  right,  and  a 
high,  rough  ridge  of  bare  rock  on  the  left.  The  vegetation 
was  as  usual  in  such  places — trees  of  mesquite,  palo  verde 
and  ironwood,  a  few  desert  willows  fringing  the  arroyo 


io6        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

and  a  scattering  of  cacti  of  three  species.  There  was  also 
an  abundance  of  good  bunch-grass.  Both  for  peccaries 
and  deer,  the  spot  was  ideal. 

Cautiously  we  stalked  forward,  for  half  a  mile  or  so, 
and  presently  found  deer-tracks.  A  dozen  times  I 
thought, 

"  If  we  don't  find  peccaries  here,  we  wont  find  them 
anywhere ! " 

Like  the  spring  of  a  trap,  up  jumped  two  gray-coated 
animals,  minus  horns,  and  after  three  or  four  leaps  stopped 
short  to  look  at  us.  Distance,  seventy-five  yards.  They 
were  small  deer,  presumably  females.  One  was  in  good 
view,  the  other  hidden. 

And,  quick  as  a  trigger,  Charlie  Foster  lost  his  head — 
if  ever  he  had  one  for  orthodox  guiding.  He  threw  his 
rifle  to  his  shoulder  and,  standing  squarely  in  front  of 
me,  took  aim  to  fire. 

"Charlie!"  I  said,  very  sternly,  "stop  that!  Don't 
you  dare  to  fire!" 

Greatly  startled,  he  lowered  his  rifle;  but  goodness! 
how  he  looked  at  that  deer!  His  face  was  a  study  of  the 
human  predatory  animal  held  in  leash,  and  plumb  rebel- 
lious. 

"Shut!    shut  quick!"  he  begged. 

"It's  a  Joe!    We  don't  want  it!" 

"Shut!  Shut!  Shut  quick!  We  want  the  mit!" 
(meat). 

Then  I  thought  of  my  duty  to  the  Carnegie  Museum— 
for  a  mountable  pair  of  deer  skins — took  quick  aim,  and 
fired. 


A  SMALL  DEER  HUNT 


107 


The  deer  sprang  forward,  made  half  a  dozen  bounds, 
and  fell  dead;  shot  squarely  through  the  heart  and  lungs. 
At  the  same  time  a  large  fawn  bounded  into  view  on  the 
other  side  of  the  arroyo  and  halted  for  ten  seconds.  And 
"Whang!"  went  Charlie,  squarely  at  it;  but  he  never 
touched  a  hair  of  it.  It  bounded  wildly  up  the  ridge, 
crossed  it  in  flying  leaps  and  disappeared. 

Charlie  Foster  rushed  forward  to  the  dead  deer. 
Without  exaggeration,  he  was  fairly  overjoyed  by  the  kill, 
the  accession  of  meat — and  success.  It  was  a  full-grown 
female  Coues  White-Tailed  Deer — also  called  Sonora 
White-Tail,*  a  small  tropical  offshoot  of  our  robust  north- 
ern White-Tailed  Deer. 

My  first  feeling  was  of  regret  at  having  killed  a  doe, 
but  later  on  this  vanished;  for  no  other  deer  were  seen  on 
the  entire  trip!  It  was  well  that  I  followed  my  old  rule 
in  collecting. 

But  Charlie  had  no  qualms  of  conscience.  Like  Alan 
Breck  after  the  fight  in  the  round-house  of  the  brig 
Covenant,  no  sooner  did  he  lay  hands  on  the  dead  game 
than  he  began  energetically  to  hum  a  Mexican  tune; 
and  all  unconsciously  he  kept  it  up,  burring  melodiously 
between  his  lips  until  the  deer  was  placed  on  his  horse. 
It  was  really  very  amusing. 

I  wished  him  to  bring  his  horse  to  where  the*  deer  lay; 
but  no!  he  would  carry  the  animal  half  a  mile  down  to 
where  the  horses  were  tied.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  him  to 
do  it!  I  then  saw  that  he  had  been  almost  bursting  with 
anxiety  to  take  back  game  of  some  sort.  Had  I  calmly 

*Odocoileus  couesi. 


io8        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

permitted  that  deer  to  escape  without  firing  at  it,  I  surely 
would  have  lost  his  respect,  forever,  and  a  day  after. 

On  reaching  the  horses,  and  my  game  scales,  our 
first  act  was  to  weigh  the  little  creature;  and  its  gross 
weight  was  71 J  pounds,  for  a  fully  adult  female.  Its 
shoulder  height  was  28 \  inches;  length  of  head  and  body 
47 J,  tail  vertebrae  7$;  neck  circumference  at  throat  10, 
and  a  girth  of  body  28|  inches.  Its  stomach  was  well 
filled,  chiefly  with  the  fruit  of  the  barrel  cactus  (Echino- 


Texas  White-Tailed  Deer  Coues  White-Tailed  Deer 

(OdocoUeus  virginianus)  (O.  couesi) 

cactus),  supplemented  by  leaves  of  the  mesquite,  desert 
willow  (Cbilopsis)  and  bunch-grass. 

I  lamented  the  fact  that  our  deer  was  not  a  full-grown 
and  fully-antlered  male;  and  then  Charlie  Foster,  who 
always  strove  to  please,  save  when  killable  game  was  in 
sight,  walked  off  up  the  arroyo.  In  five  minutes  he  re- 
turned, bearing  on  his  head  an  absurdly  small  pair  of 
fairly-fresh  antlers  of  Coues  Deer  from  a  buck  slain  by 
him  the  previous  year.  In  order  that  their  miniature  size 
may  be  appreciated,  they  are  figured  herewith,  in  com- 
parison with  an  average  pair  of  antlers  of  northern  white- 
tailed  deer.  The  pair  of  couesi  measure  13  inches  in 


A  SMALL  DEER  HUNT  109 

length  on  outer  curve,  their  widest  outside  spread  is  14! 
inches,  circumference  above  the  burr  3^  inches  and  the 
points  are  4  +  4.  This  species  ranges  from  southern 
Arizona  south-eastwardly  through  the  state  of  Sonora, 
Mexico,  to  Tampico.  It  is  about  the  size  of  the  Florida 
deer  (0.  osceola),  and  the  Yucatan  deer  (0.  toltecus). 
Charlie  Foster  said  he  had  found  deer  every  time  he  had 
visited  the  valley  in  which  we  made  our  kill. 

Mr.  Phillips  joined  us  as  we  were  placing  the  deer 
behind  Charlie's  saddle,  and  we  started  home  without 
delay.  At  the  same  time  it  began  to  rain  and  grow  dark, 
and  the  more  we  hastened  the  harder  it  rained.  Dark- 
ness overtook  us  about  four  miles  from  Sonoyta,  with  the 
trail  full  of  water,  and  the  rills  beginning  to  run.  We 
were  thoroughly  soaked;  and  our  shoes  were  so  com- 
pletely waterlogged  that  they  overflowed  at  the  top.  It 
is  not  joyous  to  ride  four  miles  through  darkness  with  one's 
shoes  full  of  cold  water,  all  the  way  splashing  through 
puddles,  and  wondering  why  on  earth  Sonoyta  does  not 
appear.  The  low  hills  about  us  were  useless  as  land- 
marks for  the  settlement,  for  they  all  looked  precisely 
alike.  For  myself,  I  was  right  thankful  for  Charlie  and 
the  steady  onward  splash  and  squash  of  his  horse's  feet, 
for  without  him  I  am  sure  we  could  not  have  found  Sonoyta 
through  that  murk. 

After  a  ride  that  seemed  interminable  we  reached 
Sonoyta,  and  our  camp.  To  our  joy,  we  found  that  the 
tent  was  up,  and  everything  snug.  Our  arrival  was 
greeted  with  lively  satisfaction,  until  the  deer  was  put  in 
evidence;  and  then  the  surprise,  and  delight,  and  "con- 


i  io        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

gratulations"  that  followed  over  that  absurd  little  jack- 
rabbit  of  a  deer  made  me  feel  as  if  I  had  been  caught 
stealing  a  sheep.  But,  in  the  language  of  every  modest 
recipient  of  an  Ovation,  I  accepted  that  welcome,  "  not  as 
being  offered  to  me  personally,  but  rather  to  the  Great 
Interests  that  I  have  the  Honor  to  represent  on  this 
Occasion"  —the  first  fresh  meat  in  camp. 

But  what  of  the  Geographer  ?  Mr.  Sykes  was  not  in; 
and  he  was  wanted,  very  much.  Judging  his  bump  of 
"locality"  by  my  own,  I  rashly  predicted  that  he  would 
not  find  Sonoyta  that  night.  Dr.  MacDougal  alone 
thought  differently;  and,  sure  enough,  about  nine  o'clock, 
which  was  three  hours  after  darkness  set  in,  in  came  the 
Geographer,  waterlogged  but  serene.  He  had  climbed 
to  the  top  of  Cubabi's  highest  peak,  found  it  to  be  4,300 
feet  high,  and  his  only  complaint  against  the  weather  was 
because  the  rain-clouds  had  enveloped  him  so  completely 
while  on  the  summit  that  he  could  record  no  observations 
on  his  plane-table. 

To  be  rain-soaked  on  our  first  day  in  el  desierto  of 
Sonora,  and  thoroughly  chilled,  also,  was  like  being 
prostrated  by  heat  in  Greenland;  and  wondering  what  next 
would  happen  to  us  unexpectedly,  we  thankfully  devoured 
a  shameless  meal,  and  crept  into  the  snug  comforts  of  our 
sleeping-bags. 


CHAPTER  X 

DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA 

The  Start  Westward— Bad  Mules— "The  Devil's  Road"— A  Ruined 
Hacienda— A  Lonesome  Little  Cemetery — We  Meet  Mr.  Daniels — 
The  Sonoyta  River  in  Flood — The  Water-Storage  Cactus — A  Rattle- 
snake in  Camp — Quitovaquita,  on  the  Boundary — Rube  Daniel's 
Passion  for  Powder — An  Accident — A  Japanese  Incident — Pinacate 
from  Afar — Another  Rattlesnake  in  Camp. 

AT  least  one  of  us  had  expected  that  westward  of  the 
blessed  little  Sonoyta  Oasis  we  would  find  the  river  valley 
quite  narrow,  and  lying  between  two  ranges  of  steep 
mountains.  But  once  more  our  expectations  required 
revision.  The  Sonoyta  Valley  is  several  miles  wide,  and 
its  general  surface  is  not  nearly  so  level  as  the  floor-like 
valleys  west  of  Tucson.  On  the  south,  the  nearest  moun- 
tains— after  the  Cubabi  Range — are  a  goodish  bit  away, 
but  on  the  north  the  Quitovaquita  and  other  mountains 
are  really  quite  near.  Pinacate  Peak,  our  goal,  is  not 
visible  from  the  lower  levels  of  Sonoyta,  being  "hull 
down"  on  the  south-western  horizon,  but  from  the  hill 
north  of  the  oasis,  on  which  stands  Monument  No.  168, 
its  rounded  summit  may  be  picked  out  from  the  maze  of 
peaks  to  the  south-west. 

On  November  loth,  we  overhauled  and  re-formed  our 
outfit  for  the  westward  journey  to  Pinacate.  Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal  had  hired  four  saddle  horses,  and  a  pair  of  mules 


ii2        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

as  leaders  for  the  Mexican  wagon.  The  former  were  all 
right,  but,  lawyer-like,  the  mules  "objected"  to  nearly 
everything  that  the  opposing  counsel  did,  or  tried  to  do. 
When  we  overruled  them,  they  always  noted  an  exception. 
Sometimes  they  did  it  by  jumping  out  of  their  harness,  and 
sometimes  by  trying  to  climb  into  the  wagon  beside  the 
driver. 

At  first  one  of  those  mules  was  a  great  stickler  for 
ceremony.  He  insisted  upon  being  hobbled  and  blind- 
folded whenever  his  harness  was  put  on,  and  the  teamsters 
were  very  patient  in  letting  him  have  his  way.  In  bridling 
that  animal  Jess  Jenkins  was  an  artist,  no  less.  First  he 
would  speak  gently  to  the  erring  one;  then,  holding  the 
halter  in  his  right  hand,  close  up,  his  left  hand  would  slide 
slowly  and  gently  up  the  skull  of  that  mule  until  it  reached 
the  level  of  the  eye.  As  softly  as  a  lover  does  it,  that 
mesmeric  hand  would  glide  westward  until  it  reached  the 
upper  lid  of  the  eye,  and,  in  most  affectionate  fashion,  the 
orbicular  muscle  was  deftly  gathered  between  the  thumb 
and  finger. 

And  then,  what  a  pinch  was  there,  my  countrymen! 
The  pain  was  so  great  and  so  exquisite  that  it  would  have 
diverted  a  rocking-horse;  and  before  the  wild  mule  could 
realize  what  was  being  done,  and  why,  the  bridle  would 
be  in  its  place,  and  the  harness  on.  Strange  to  say,  how- 
ever, that  mule  never  seemed  to  remember  from  one 
day  to  the  next  the  intimate  meaning  of  that  seductive 
hand. 

At  first  those  mules  always  kicked  on  the  hitching  of 
the  traces;  but  at  last,  after  many  wordy  arguments,  they 


DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA       113 

conceded  the  necessity  of  hooking  up  in  order  to  get  on  in 
the  world. 

There  were  long  days  when  either  Jess  Jenkins  or 
George  Saunders  tramped  on  foot  beside  those  wild  mules, 
prod  in  hand  and  fire  in  eye,  to  encourage  them,  while 
the  other  sat  on  the  high  seat,  driving  and  enjoying  life — 
not  much. 

Mr.  Milton  owns  two  dogs,  a  pointer  and  a  pointer- 
mixed.  There  being  no  one  with  whom  to  leave  them,  it 
was  absolutely  necessary  that  they  should  accompany  the 
expedition;  which  they  did;  but  no  efforts  of  mine  ever 
can  do  justice  to  their  talents. 

Dr.  MacDougal  also  considered  the  advisability  of 
taking  along  a  Papago  Indian  as  a  guide,  but  finally  de- 
cided not  to  do  so.  Of  this  decision  we  were  heartily 
glad,  particularly  when  we  learned,  two  months  later,  that 
two  New  York  sportsmen,  in  the  Lower  California 
Peninsula,  were  practically  set  on  foot  by  their  rascally 
Indians,  who  treacherously  took  away  all  their  horses  and 
left  them  at  the  most  remote  point  of  their  journey. 

The  trail  that  leads  westward  from  Sonoyta  eventually 
enters  the  Tule  Desert,  about  thirty  miles  along  the  inter- 
national boundary,  and  there  it  becomes  the  famous 
Camino  del  Diablo,  or  "  Devil's  Road."  It  leads  to  Yuma, 
on  the  Colorado  River,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Gila;  and  I 
suppose  that  it  derives  its  name  from  the  fact  that  between 
three  hundred  and  four  hundred  wayfarers  have  died  on  it, 
of  thirst,  famine  and  fatigue.  It  is  said  to  be  the  most 
terrible  desert  trail  to  be  found  in  all  the  south-western 
arid  region;  though  that  would  appear  to  be  a  large  order. 


CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

The  trouble  is  that  the  water-holes  are  very  few,  very  far 
apart  and  much  given  to  failing  entirely  in  extra-dry 
seasons.  The  water  in  the  Tinajas  Altas  tanks  is  at  all 
times  very  hard  to  get,  and  in  places  the  trail  is  very  sandy 
and  very  rough.  On  the  Tule  Desert,  however,  we  found 
it  fine. 

About  six  miles  west  of  Sonoyta  are  the  remains  of  what 
once  was  another  oasis — a  very  small  one,  to  be  sure,  but 
once  very  flourishing.  It  is  called  Santo  Domingo;  and 
Sonoyta  never  in  its  life  had  such  buildings  as  those  now 
rapidly  going  to  rack  and  ruin.  Once  it  was  a  Mexican 
hacienda,  for  fair,  and  even  six  years  ago  it  was  an  im- 
posing centre  of  life  and  activity.  On  a  fine  knoll,  the 
trail  becomes  a  street.  On  one  side  stands  a  huge  adobe 
building  125  feet  square,  with  the  usual  open  court,  or 
patio,  in  the  centre.  The  half  score  or  more  of  rooms  into 
which  the  building  was  divided  once  housed  many  in- 
dustries— a  flour-mill,  a  soap  factory,  a  blacksmith-shop, 
storerooms  of  many  kinds,  men's  quarters  and  I  know  not 
what  all  else.  Near  by  are  extensive  corrals  for  stock, 
still  intact,  and  occasionally  used. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  street  was  a  solid  block  of 
six  houses,  each  twenty  by  thirty  feet,  five  of  which  had 
been  occupied  by  the  chief  people  of  the  place,  as  dwellings. 
One  had  been  The  Store;  and  the  abandoned  furniture 
and  fixtures  spoke  silently  of  vanished  business.  A  build- 
ing thirty  by  fifty  feet,  that  stood  a  little  farther  along  the 
street,  had  kalsomined  walls  and  a  coloured  dado,  betoken- 
ing special  importance.  I  was  told  by  a  native  that  it 
once  was  the  custom-house.  But,  as  usual  with  unoc- 


DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA       115 

cupied  adobe  houses,  the  roof  had  already  fallen  in,  and 
ruin  was  in  progress. 

North  of  the  buildings  were  level  fields  that  once 
had  been  irrigated  from  the  reservoir  made  by  the  waters 
of  the  Sonoyta  River.  There  had  been  rows  of  fig-trees 
along  the  canals,  but  they  had  died  of  thirst;  and  so  had 
the  grape-vines  that  now  extend  their  skeleton  arms  in 
mute  protest  over  what  once  was  a  flourishing  vine- 
yard. 

An  important  relic  of  the  past  was  found  adjoining 
the  corrals  on  the  west.  It  was  an  abandoned  ore-crush- 
ing plant,  of  the  Mexican  kind  known  as  an  arastra.  The 
machinery  was  made  in  Brooklyn;  and  think  of  the  toil 
it  was  to  bring  it  to  Santo  Domingo!  The  ore  for  the  in- 
dustry was  brought  from  the  Cypriano  Mountains,  twenty 
miles  away  toward  the  south. 

We  were  told  that  recently,  when  Santo  Domingo  was 
most  flourishing,  Sonoyta  was  for  several  years  utterly 
abandoned,  because  of  the  destruction  of  the  water-works 
that  irrigated  the  oasis.  Now,  the  tables  are  turned  once 
more;  but  four  years  hence  the  traveller  may  be  surprised 
by  seeing  Santo  Domingo  once  more  humming  with 
life. 

Dr.  MacDougal  and  I  climbed  up  to  a  pathetic  little 
cemetery  that  occupies  a  rocky  hilltop  a  short  distance 
south-eastward  of  the  hacienda.  It  looked  awfully  lonely 
and  forgotten.  There  were  seven  graves,  four  of  which 
were  provided  with  rudely  made  wooden  crosses,  but  all 
of  them,  save  one,  had  fallen  down.  The  most  imposing 
tomb  bore  a  hardwood  cross,  which  had  been  carved  with 


1 16        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

loving  care  and  much  labour.     The  cross-arm  bore  this 
inscription,  in  letters  carved  with  clumsy  tools: 


A&UI  YACEN   LOS   RESTOS  DE   EMILIA  C.   DE   CARREVAS 

R  P 

QUI  FAYECIO  EL  13  DI  JULIO  DE  1877.       LA  EDAD  50  ANOS. 


(Here  lies  in  the  grave,  at  rest,  Emilia  C.  de  Carrevas,  who  died  on 
the  I3th  of  July,  1877.  Aged  50  years.) 

The  upright  bore  another  inscription,  evidently  de- 
signed to  express  a  Spanish  equivalent  for  our  "  In  loving 
memory";  but  the  student  of  pure  Castilian  who  en- 
deavours to  look  up  "yacen"  and  "fayecio"  in  a  dictionary 
will  have  trouble.  In  this  case  both  words  have  been 
spelled  literally  as  they  sound,  with  y  instead  of  11. 

A  fallen  cross  bore  a  woman's  baptismal  name  which 
so  strongly  appealed  to  my  sentimental  inner  self  that  I 
was  at  some  pains  to  set  it  up  again,  in  tribute  to  a  Lady 
whom  I  know.  It  said: 


LLACEN   RESTOS   DE 

JOSEFA  ORTE 


(Here  lies  in  the  grave,  at  rest,  Josephine  Orte.) 

All  the  graves  save  one  had  been  securely  sealed 
with  adobe,  and  were  well  preserved.  The  exception 
was  the  grave  of  a  child,  which  had  merely  been  rilled 
full  of  stones  that  were  none  too  small.  A  vandal  pack- 
rat  had  invaded  the  resting-place,  carried  up  all  the  loose 


DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA       117 

earth,  and  many  of  the  bones  of  the  poor  little  skeleton, 
all  of  which  lay  scattered  about  as  the  Imp  of  the  Desert 
had  left  them.  To  even  matters,  however,  Neotoma  had 
collected  a  lot  of  joints  of  a  small-jointed  choya,  and 
stuffed  them  into  the  crevices.  And  now  Science  steps 
in.  Dr.  MacDougal  has  just  written  me  the  information 
that  those  cactus  joints  are  from  a  choya  that  is  a  new 
species,  described  and  christened  quite  recently  as  Opuntia 
Kunzei. 

From  the  Hill  of  the  Lonesome  Cemetery,  Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal made  a  very  fine  photograph  of  Santo  Domingo, 
and  the  vast  bush-covered  plain  beyond,  which  is  respect- 
fully submitted. 

A  mile  westward  of  Santo  Domingo  we  met  three 
horsemen,  all  Americans,  from  Quitovaquita.  One  of 
them  was  introduced  to  us  by  our  Mr.  Milton  as  "Mr. 
Daniels,"  and  after  we  had  exchanged  a  few  platitudes 
in  the  usual  way,  we  reined  up  to  ride  on.  It  was  then 
that  Mr.  Milton  said: 

"Well,  come  on,  Rube,  and  camp  with  us.  You 
know,  gentlemen,  Mr.  Daniels  is  going  with  us." 

Blank  surprise  sat  on  all  four  of  us.  Finally  some  one 
managed  to  say,  faintly, 

"Oh!     Is  he?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jeff,  briskly,  "he  knows  the  country 
around  Pinacate,  and  I've  invited  him  to  go  with  us,  as 
my  guest!" 

This  was  a  surprise.  Up  to  that  moment  we  had 
thought  that  our  good  friend  Milton  was  our  guest;  and 
the  addition  of  his  friend  Saunders  had  been  duly  proposed 


n8        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

in  advance,  and  approved.  We  had  nothing  against  Mr. 
Daniels,  but  to  have  him  and  his  two  horses  thus  dropped 
from  the  clouds  into  our  midst  was  an  unhappy  sort  of  an 
introduction.  However,  Dr.  MacDougal  was  the  last  man 
in  the  world  who  would  discredit  our  good  friend  Jeff,  or 
put  him  to  embarrassment.  As  soon  as  he  could  orient 
his  thoughts,  he  made  Mr.  Daniels  welcome  to  our  party, 
and  we  all  rode  on  westward  together. 

A  ride  of  another  mile  brought  us  to  the  crossing  of 
the  Sonoyta  River;  and  then  we  found  that  the  rains  of  the 
previous  day,  and  also  those  of  the  afternoon — between 
Sonoyta  and  Santa  Domingo,  when  three  distinct  rain- 
storms fell  simultaneously  north  and  south  of  us — had 
made  good.  Glory  be!  We  found  the  Sonoyta  in  flood  y 
filling  its  wide  bed  from  bank  to  bank!  The  sandy- 
brown  current  rushed  along  in  great  waves,  a  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  wide,  weltering  and  murmuring  nervously  as  it 
ran,  as  if  in  the  greatest  haste  to  get  on.  My  wish  to  see 
a  desert  stream-bed  running  full  of  water  had  been  quickly 
granted,  and  I  gazed  in  silent  wonder  at  the  novel  sight — 
a  flooded  river  in  a  desert! 

Being  in  advance  of  my  companions,  it  was  my  duty 
to  ascertain  whether  the  loaded  wagons  could  get  across 
that  afternoon  or  not.  I  rode  out  into  the  boiling  caldron 
of  storm-water — dreading  quicksands,  and  prepared  for 
eventualities.  Very  soon  I  found  that  in  mid-stream  the 
water  was  at  least  four  feet  deep,  and  very  swift.  This 
meant  that  for  loaded  wagons,  and  a  pair  of  wild  mules  for 
leaders,  it  would  not  be  wise  to  attempt  to  cross  that 
afternoon.  The  afternoon  being  well  advanced — for  our 


DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA       119 

start  from  Sonoyta  was  rather  late — we  camped  near  the 
crossing. 

Mr.  Milton  advised  taking  the  whole  outfit  back  to 
Santo  Domingo — two  miles — in  order  to  camp  there  and 
procure  hay  for  the  horses;  but  Dr.  MacDougal  refused 
to  take  the  back  track.  Mr.  Milton  insisted,  and  finally 
became  quite  cross  over  the  decision,  but  very  manfully 
apologized  to  the  Doctor  the  following  day.  So  there  we 
camped;  and  all  save  four  of  our  cavalcade  of  seventeen 
horses  were  taken  back  to  Santo  Domingo  for  the  night, 
and  there  fed  on  hay. 

The  flood  in  the  Sonoyta  subsided  very  rapidly.  As 
soon  as  possible  after  our  camp  site  was  selected,  I  went 
down  to  get  a  picture  of  the  torrent.  To  my  surprise  I 
found  that  the  water  had  lowered  about  a  foot,  and  a  wide 
sand-bank  had  been  exposed,  most  conveniently  for  my 
purpose.  Strange  to  say,  my  picture  proved  to  be  another 
accident  on  the  right  side;  and  there  being  no  rival,  I  show 
it  with  outrageous  pride. 

It  is  strange  that  a  stream-bed  which  is  not  more  than 
thirty  feet  wide  at  Sonoyta  should  in  eight  miles  widen 
to  a  bona-fide  width  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  between 
banks;  but  even  thus  does  the  ephemeral  little  Sonoyta,  the 
lower  half  of  which  no  one  had  up  to  that  time  dared  to 
put  down  on  a  map.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  dry  times  not 
one  drop  of  water  runs  beyond  Santo  Domingo.  The 
rule  of  the  river  is  that  it  will  "go  on  forever"  —until  it 
totally  disappears  in  its  own  thirsty  sands. 

The  morning  of  our  camp  at  the  crossing  is  marked  in 
our  minds  by  two  incidents. 


izo        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Dr.  MacDougal  gave  us  a  most  interesting  demonstra- 
tion of  the  manner  in  which  some  desert  plants  store  up 
water  for  use  in  dry  seasons.  A  dozen  yards  from  our 
camp-fire,  under  the  arms  of  a  spreading  mesquite  tree, 
he  began  to  dig  in  the  sand  to  reach  the  bottom  of  a  small 
whip-like  cactus.  Above  ground  the  stem  of  the  plant 
was  only  five-eighths  of  an  inch  in  diameter  and  fourteen 
inches  long.  From  this  modest  and  even  insignificant 
'bove-ground  stem,  very  feebly  provided  with  spines,  a 
long,  string-like  root  ran  straight  down  into  the  sand  for 
twelve  inches.  At  that  depth  it  developed  a  huge  beet- 
like  bulb  thirteen  inches  long,  fifteen  and  three-quarter 
inches  in  circumference  on  its  equator,  and  weighing  pre- 
cisely three  pounds!  The  bulb  was  of  beet-like  consist- 
ency, and  very  watery.  No  doubt  the  small  stem  above 
ground  could  have  lived  on  the  water  stored  in  that  root 
for  two  or  three  years,  as  a  hibernating  bear  lives  on  his 
own  surplus  fat. 

For  convenience  we  called  that  plant  the  water- 
storage  cactus;  and  Dr.  MacDougal  said  that  its  Latin 
name  is  Cereus  greggli. 

As  if  to  discount  the  above,  no  sooner  had  we  photo- 
graphed that  specimen  than  some  one  discovered,  snugly 
ensconced  in  the  mesquite-brush  fence  about  twenty  feet 
from  my  bed,  a  cold  and  quiet  rattlesnake.  The  chilly  air 
of  the  night  had  rendered  the  reptile  uncomfortable,  and 
disinclined  to  move.  Without  ceremony  he  was  hauled 
forth  from  his  concealment  and  called  upon  to  pose  before 
Mr.  Phillips'  camera.  The  head  snake-man  of  the 
party  picked  up  the  rattler  on  a  stick,  carried  it  into  an 


DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA       121 

open  space  and  deposited  it  upon  a  bed.  At  first  his 
snakeship  became  nervous,  and  endeavoured  to  escape; 
but  on  being  brought  back  three  or  four  times  and  re- 
deposited  on  the  bed,  it  concluded  that,  after  all,  we  were 
not  wholly  a  bad  lot.  Then  it  assumed  a  defensive  atti- 
tude, ceased  rattling  and  calmly  awaited  our  pleasure. 

Naturally,  we  surrounded  the  bed  on  which  stood  the 
deadly  serpent,  but  our  presence  did  not  disturb  Crotalus 
in  the  least.  Mr.  Phillips  photographed  it  several  times 
at  very  close  range,  and  the  snake  really  looked  pleasant, 
for  a  rattler.  It  did  not  coil  at  all!  It  raised  the  upper 
third  of  its  body  high  up,  maintained  at  all  times  a  queer 
kink  in  its  neck,  for  striking  purposes,  but  remained  per- 
fectly quiet. 

In  order  to  furnish  a  proper  background  for  the  snaky 
subject,  Mr.  Milton  lay  down  behind  it,  close  up  to  the 
edge  of  the  bed;  but  nothing  untoward  happened.  At 
last,  when  the  final  film  had  been  expended,  the  question 
of  disposal  arose.  In  pursuance  of  the  Phillipsian  princi- 
ple, that  nothing  photographed  alive  shall  be  killed  after- 
ward, I  carried  the  rattler  back  to  his  brush  fence,  dropped 
him  into  its  midst  and  bade  him  go  in  peace.  We  left  the 
spot  sublimely  complacent  over  having  lived  up  to  the 
Principle,  but  two  or  three  weeks  later  we  found  that  we 
were  victims  of  misplaced  confidence.  In  an  unguarded 
moment  Jess  Jenkins  gave  to  the  press  a  gauzy  story  to 
the  effect  that  after  we  had  turned  that  rattler  loose,  "one 
of  the  horses  stepped  upon  it,  and  killed  it." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Phillips,  "and  that  was  the  first 
rattlesnake  that  a  'horse'  ever  killed  with  a  club!" 


122        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Twelve  miles  from  Sonoyta  we  came  to  Quitovaquita, 
and  but  for  its  glorious  spring  of  clear  and  cold  water 
pouring  in  a  two-inch  stream  out  of  a  rocky  hole  in  the 
foot  of  a  granite  mountain,  the  memory  of  the  place  would 
not  be  pleasant.  In  the  suburbs  lay  the  remains  of  two 
dead  coyotes  that  had  been  poisoned.  One  was  a  big, 
handsome  red  fellow,  with  a  fine  brush — far  handsomer 
than  any  other  that  we  saw  on  the  trip.  It  was  a  pity  that 
he  was  too  far  gone  to  find  his  way  into  a  museum.  Near 
him  lay  a  fellow  victim  that  was  smaller,  all  gray  with  no 
red,  and  not  nearly  so  handsome.  The  latter  matched  all 
the  others  that  we  saw,  alive  and  dead. 

Although  Quitovaquita  was  entirely  quiet  and  inof- 
fensive, its  atmosphere  was  depressing.  It  is  one  of  the 
spots  in  which  I  would  not  like  to  die,  and  would  hate  to 
live.  Of  its  eight  houses,  only  four  were  inhabited,  and 
the  others  were  crumbling  to  the  inevitable  ruin  that  in 
every  vacant  adobe  house  follows  swiftly  upon  the  heels 
of  the  departed  tenant.  The  waters  of  the  spring  have 
made  a  pond,  but  it  looks  stagnant  and  unwholesome. 
There  are  trees  growing  about  the  place,  and  a  sprinkling 
of  brush  along  the  brook  of  the  spring;  but  the  settlement 
is  not  inviting.  Perhaps  this  is  because  the  little  hamlet 
is  a  hybrid — neither  Mexican  nor  American.  The  spring 
is  American,  by  about  a  hundred  feet,  but  the  boundary 
runs  right  through  the  heart  of  the  city.  The  spring 
irrigates  one  field,  which  is  duly  fenced  against  cattle  and 
burros,  but  the  waters  of  the  Sonoyta  River  are  not  utilized. 

Strange  to  say,  we  found  that  two  Americans  were 
living  in  that  lonesome,  stagnant,  out-of-the-way  place. 


DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA       123 

One  was  our  newest  friend  and  companion-in-arms,  Mr. 
Reuben  Daniels,  and  the  other  was  a  Mr.  Childs,  who 
owns  a  very  good  cattle-ranch,  a  fine  well  and  a  steam 
pump  on  the  trail  to  Gila  Bend,  ten  miles  above  the  Ajo 
mines.  Being  curious  to  know  why  any  American  should 
settle  there,  I  said  to  Daniels  one  day  when  there  was  a 
vacant  interval, 

"Won't  you  tell  me  what  turn  of  fortune  led  you  to 
settle  in  a  place  so  little  and  lonesome  as  Quito vaquita  ?' 

At  first  Mr.  Daniels  was  rather  surprised  by  this  un- 
expected question;  but  after  a  keen  glance  and  a  moment's 
pause,  in  which  he  evidently  decided  that  it  was  not  put 
through  any  unfriendly  intent,  he  replied  very  frankly, 

"Oh,  I'm  not  staying  down  here  because  I'm  stuck 
on  the  country.  Like  everybody  else,  I'm  looking  for  an 
opening,  somewhere.  But,  after  all,  there  are  much  worse 
places  for  a  man  to  live  in  than  little  Quito  and  Sonoyta." 

That  was  all  that  he  cared  to  say  on  the  subject,  for 
he  was  at  all  times  a  man  of  few  words. 

As  we  halted  briefly  at  Quitovaquita,  Daniels  put  his 
bed-roll  and  war-sack  upon  one  of  the  wagons,  and  led 
away  with  him  his  second  horse.  We  found  that  previous 
to  our  visit  he  had  been  literally  starving  for  cartridges, 
both  for  his  rifle  and  his  six-shooter.  Of  the  large  package 
of  cartridges  brought  down  by  Dr.  MacDougal  for  Mr. 
Milton,  nearly  one-half  were  turned  over  to  "Rube,"  who 
straightway  began  to  revel  in  them. 

When  firing  was  heard  ahead  of  the  main  body,  it 
turned  out  to  be  "  Rube  Daniels,  shooting  at  a  jack-rabbit." 
Later  on,  when  a  man  was  seen  to  fling  himself  off  his 


,     '3 


i24        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

horse,  kneel,  and  fire  two  or  three  times,  it  was  "  Daniels, 
killing  a  coyote."  An  hour  later,  another  fusillade  re- 
solved itself  into  another  conjunction  of  Daniels  and  jack- 
rabbit.  No  one  tried  to  keep  track  of  his  killings.  Al- 
though he  killed  a-plenty,  the  interesting  point  was  that 
he  was  simply  overpowered  by  his  desire  to  shoot  things! 
I  saw  him  kill  one  coyote  and  two  jacks,  and  I  know  not 
how  much  more  he  slew.  He  had  the  pastime  all  to  him- 
self, for  no  one  else  cared  to  fire  a  shot,  save  when  the 
Doctor  took  in  a  western  red-tailed  hawk.  To  us  it 
seemed  rather  odd  that  a  cowboy  would  spend  time  and 
good  cartridges — a  hundred  miles  from  a  railroad — in 
shooting  such  dreadfully  cheap  game  as  jack-rabbits. 

Later  on,  this  absorbing  passion  for  shooting  led  to  a 
deplorable  incident. 

Westward  of  Quitovaquita  the  trail  describes  a  big 
loop  southward,  chiefly  for  the  laudable  purpose  of  keeping 
as  close  as  possible  to  the  Sonoyta  River.  It  was  while 
we  were  crossing  a  high  and  bare  bit  of  land  overlooking 
the  bed  of  the  river,  there  fully  500  feet  wide,  that  our 
Mexican  wagon  scored  its  first  break-down.  The  iron 
thimble  came  bodily  out  of  the  wooden  hub ;  and  when  it 
had  done  so,  we  saw  that  the  wound  was  an  old  one,  only 
superficially  healed,  and  festering  underneath  with  wooden 
wedges,  strips  of  gunny-sack  and  goodness  knows  what 
not.  The  yawning  cavern  inside  that  hub  seemed  abso- 
lutely hopeless;  but  Mr.  Sykes  went  to  work  with  unruffled 
brow  to  doctor  it  up. 

Near  the  beginning  of  the  trouble,  a  lone  man  in  black 
clothes  "might  have  been  seen,"  and  in  fact  was  seen, 


DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA       125 

toilsomely  wading  across  the  river  and  the  sand  from  the 
opposite  side.  He  came  from  a  thick  patch  of  brush,  and 
laid  a  course  for  our  spot  so  straight  it  was  evident  that 
he  wished  to  board  us.  At  last  Mr.  Milton  exclaimed, 

"Why,  it's  ow*  of  those  Japs!" 

And  this  obliges  me  to  turn  back  the  pages  of  history, 
for  one  brief  moment. 

As  soon  as  we  reached  Sonoyta,  we  heard,  with  keen 
interest,  of  five  Japanese  who  had  recently  appeared  in  the 
Sonoyta  valley,  coming  from  the  south,  desirous — so  they 
said — of  reaching  the  mouth  of  the  Colorado  River! 
They  knew  no  English  to  speak  of,  were  very  ill  fitted  out 
for  travel  of  any  kind,  and  seemed  utterly  unacquainted 
with  the  deserts.  They  proposed  to  walk  along  el  Camino 
del  Diablo — the  Devil's  Road — from  Sonoyta  to  the  Colo- 
rado River,  without  any  outfit  whatever,  without  arms, 
and  with  only  two  canteens  for  five  men! 

Against  all  advice,  the  quintet  finally  started  west- 
ward, in  due  time  passed  Quitovaquita  and  launched  out 
upon  the  Tule  Desert.  Then  Mr.  Milton  posted  after 
them,  to  see  that  they  did  not  enter  the  United  States. 
He  passed  them  fifteen  miles  out;  and  they  were  tired, 
hungry,  heated  and  knew  nothing  about  the  "next 
water."  He  gave  them  a  canteen  full  of  water,  advised 
them  to  turn  back  immediately  before  getting  into  serious 
trouble,  and  rode  on  ten  miles  farther.  As  he  returned, 
he  found  that  three  of  the  party  had  left  the  trail  and 
gone  off  into  the  desert  at  random,  while  the  other  two 
had  turned  back,  as  he  advised.  The  latter  he  presently 
overtook  and  passed. 


iz6        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

A  day  later  the  two  back-trackers  reached  Quito- 
vaquita,  where  they  were  hospitably  fed,  tobaccoed  and 
rested  by  Childs  and  Daniels.  Two  days  before  our  ar- 
rival at  Quito  this  errant  pair  had  again  started  westward, 
for  a  second  trial  of  el  Camino  del  Diablo.  Being  strictly 
uncommunicative,  save  when  they  wished  for  succor  of 
some  kind,  no  one  was  able  to  gain  even  a  hint  of  their 
reasons  for  wishing  to  reach  the  Colorado  River  below 
Yuma.  By  some  it  was  suspected  that  they  wished  to 
slip  into  the  United  States  somewhere  near  Yuma;  but 
their  method  seemed  insane. 

The  little  brown  man  in  black  wearily  plodded  across 
the  shallow  river,  slowly  climbed  the  steep  cut  bank  and 
stood  in  our  midst.  He  might  have  sat  for  a  picture  of 
Up-Against-It.  Instead  of  being  emaciated,  his  face  had 
an  unhealthy,  bloated  appearance.  He  looked  like  a  man 
ready  to  drop  with  weariness,  loss  of  sleep,  hunger,  bad 
food  and  exposure.  (Excuse  me  even  from  sleeping  out 
in  that  country  in  November  with  less  than  two  good 
blankets!)  His  wholly  unsuitable  black  clothes  and  city 
shoes  were  badly  torn  and  worn,  and  under  the  circum- 
stances he  was  very  foolish  to  wade  the  river  without  tak- 
ing off  his  shoes  and  keeping  them  dry. 

To  cap  the  climax  of  his  miseries,  the  poor  little  fellow 
could  not  speak  a  dozen  words  of  English!  He  could  say 
"tobacco"  and  "matches";  but  they  are  English  no 
longer.  They  are  Universal.  The  smokers  dug  up 
tobacco  for  him,  and  the  non-smokers  furnished  him  with 
a  good  supply  of  matches,  for  all  of  which  he  repeatedly 
said  "thank  you,"  by  touching  his  forehead  with  his  hand. 


DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA       127 

He  was  given  food  of  some  sort ;  I  do  not  remember  pre- 
cisely what  it  was;  and  then,  with  great  earnestness,  he 
began  to  talk  in  the  sign  language.  Presently  we  made 
out  that  his  partner  was  over  in  the  thicket  across  the 
river,  nearly  a  mile  away,  sick  abed  and  unable  to  travel. 

This  tale  of  trouble  he  chose  to  address  rather  particu- 
larly to  me,  but  at  first  his  pantomime,  intended  to  de- 
scribe the  symptoms  of  his  sick  partner  in  misery,  was 
more  than  I  could  interpret.  By  dint  of  effort,  however, 
we  at  last  understood  each  other. 

I  brought  out  my  medicine-box,  produced  what  I 
believed  to  be  the  proper  medicine,  divided  it  into  doses 
and  explained  by  signs  how  often  they  should  be  taken. 
The  wanderer  took  the  stuff,  most  eagerly,  and  then,  to  my 
consternation,  he  fell  upon  bis  knees  in  front  of  me  and 
touched  his  forehead  to  the  sand,  not  once  only,  but  three 
times,  in  real  Japanese-courtier  fashion!  As  sure  as  fate, 
this  man  had  not  been  many  days  in  North  America! 
The  acclimatized  Japanese  kneels  to  no  one  on  this  side 
of  the  Pacific;  and  any  Jap  servant  will  discharge  his  or 
her  contracted  employer,  literally,  '*  at  the  drop  of  a  hat." 

The  wanderer  stood  for  Mr.  Phillips  to  get  a  picture 
of  him,  and  that  ended  the  interview.  He  turned  away, 
climbed  down  the  bank  and  drew  a  bee-line  for  the  distant 
thicket  where  lay  the  sick  friend  whom  he  would  not 
abandon.  The  last  we  saw  of  him,  he  was  slowly  wading 
across  the  shallows,  back  to  more  discomfort  and  hard- 
ships, and  possibly  worse — a  human  enigma  from  a  very 
far-off  shore.  Heartily  wishing  him  safely  back  in  Japan 
— or  in  a  good  California  vineyard,  we  cared  not  which— 


i28        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

we  replaced  our  mended  wheel  and  quickly  resumed  our 
march  toward  Pinacate. 

Three  weeks  later,  as  we  were  leaving  Sonoyta  for 
home,  we  heard  that  the  sick  Japanese  had  recovered,  that 
both  of  them  had  returned  to  Sonoyta  and  were  then  some- 
where in  the  settlement.  We  hope,  for  their  sakes,  that 
they  did  not  again  try  to  go  over  the  Devil's  Road  on  foot, 
and  guideless.  There  are  men  to  whom  I  would  be  pleased 
to  recommend  that  trip,  on  foot,  and  in  hot  weather;  but 
those  Japanese  are  not  of  them.  What  became  of  the 
other  three  Japanese?  I  do  not  know.  They  simply 
disappeared  in  the  Tule  Desert,  and  of  them  I  can  learn 
nothing  more. 

At  this  point  the  reader  may  well  ask,  Why  were  those 
five  Japanese  so  strenuously  endeavouring  to  break  into  the 
United  States  via  the  Devil's  Road  ?  A  suggestion  that 
they  were  merely  bent  upon  reaching  a  field  of  quiet, 
honest  and  inoffensive  labour  would  be,  in  my  opinion, 
unadulterated  nonsense.  An  honest  workingman  chooses 
the  line  of  least  resistance.  They  could  have  slipped 
across  the  border  and  up  to  the  Ajo  Mines  in  precisely  two 
days;  for  even  though  our  Inspector  of  Immigration  is  a 
husky  and  vigilant  man,  he  is  only  one  man,  and  the 
boundary  is  as  many  miles  long  as  you  choose  to  make  it. 

It  is  my  belief  that  those  five  innocent-seeming  Japan- 
ese represented  a  deliberate  purpose  on  the  part  of  the 
Japanese  Government.  I  think  their  purpose  was  to 
ascertain  by  trial  whether  the  Camino  del  Diablo  is  a 
practicable  route  for  men  on  foot  who  are  poorly  equipped! 
I  think  those  men  were  trying  to  demonstrate  that  it  is 


DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA       129 

possible  for  the  little  brown  men  of  Japan  to  travel  from 
Altar  to  Sonoyta  and  Yuma  with  practically  no  "outfit" 
whatever;  and  if  it  were  susceptible  of  proof,  I  would 
willingly  wager  that  a  full  report  of  that  attempt  is  at  this 
moment  in  the  hands  of  the  Japanese  bureau  of  intelli- 
gence at  Tokio. 

Just  why  the  Japanese  should  wish  or  need  to  know 
the  possibilities  of  getting  into  the  United  States  over  the 
Devil's  Road,  is  a  question  for  a  military  critic.  All  I 
know  about  the  Japanese  mind  is  that  "it  is  sly,  sir, 
devilish  sly";  and  it  works  while  we  sleep.  Possibly  there 
exists  in  Tokio  an  academic  desire  to  know  whether  a 
fleet  could  find  good  lodging  in  the  lower  reaches  of  the 
Colorado  River;  but  had  that  been  the  only  question  to 
be  reported  upon,  our  dilapidated  Japanese  friend  would 
naturally — and  easily — have  sought  the  information  by  a 
comfortable  pasear  down  from  Yuma. 

Mr.  Rube  Daniels  told  me  that  in  Quitovaquita  the 
members  of  the  Japanese  party  had  begged  food  and 
tobacco,  and  that  a  generous  quantity  was  bestowed  upon 
them  in  the  belief  that  they  were  quite  destitute.  But, 
like  Oliver  Twist,  they  wanted  "some  more,"  especially 
flour  and  bacon;  and  when  it  was  denied  them,  they 
promptly  dug  up  gold  coin  from  their  inner  pockets  and 
offered  to  pay  for  what  they  required! 

Agua  Dulce  (Water  Sweet)  is  a  name,  a  practicable 
corral,  an  abandoned  adobe  house  on  a  nice,  clean  knoll 
nineteen  miles  from  Sonoyta,  and  nothing  more.  It  is  on 
a  high  bit  of  river-bank,  and  from  it  there  is  a  long  view 
down  the  wide  river-bed.  The  twin  peaks  of  the  Pinacate 


130        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Mountains  loom  up  about  west  by  south,  shrouded  in  a 
blue  haze.  For  three  miles  westward  the  green  arboreal 
desert  continues,  then  there  slowly  rises  a  wide  stretch  of 
dark  ground,  as  if  the  space  from  the  green  desert  up  to 
the  tip-top  of  Pinacate  Peak  were  under  the  shadow  of  a 
thick  cloud.  Instinctively  you  look  at  the  sun,  but  you 
see  that  the  sky  is  quite  cloudless  everywhere,  and  by  these 
tokens  you  know  that  the  eastward  slope  of  the  mountain 
is  perpetually  dark! 

This  is  something  entirely  new,  for  this  trip.  The 
Pinacate  Mountains  appear  to  be  a  lofty  pyramid  with  an 
immensely  wide  base.  At  long  range  there  are  only  two 
peaks  that  are  individualized.  Later  on  we  found  not 
merely  a  mountain  peak,  but  a  range  of  lava  mountains, 
fully  ten  miles  long,  extending  almost  due  north  and 
south.  As  it  appears  in  profile  it  looks  as  if  the  slope  to 
the  summit  is  so  gradual  that  a  horse  might  be  ridden  to 
the  top;  and  from  the  north  this  is  true.  But  we  had 
absolutely  no  means  of  knowing,  within  several  miles,  the 
distance  between  ourselves  and  the  highest  peak,  nor  of 
judging  either  its  height  or  its  steepness. 

It  had  been  said  that  on  account  of  our  wagons  we 
would  find  it  advisable  to  swing  around  the  base  of  the 
mountains  on  the  level  Tule  Desert,  and  attack  them 
from  the  north — a  regrettable  circumstance  to  four  men 
who  wished  to  charge  straight  at  the  enemy,  and  solve 
its  mysteries  in  quick  time.  There  was  a  great  amount 
of  talk,  and  map-drawing  in  the  sand  by  Charlie  Foster, 
but  the  sum  of  it  all  was  that  no  one  seemed  to  know  in 
the  very  least  what  was  before  us,  or  how  to  get  anywhere 


DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA       131 

save  by  sheer  pathfinding.  Charlie  Foster  and  Mr. 
Daniels  did  know  of  the  existence  of  a  "tank"  (water- 
hole)  somewhere  to  the  north-westward  of  the  mountain, 
and  it  seemed  to  be  vitally  necessary  to  our  exploration 
that  we  should  find  it. 

We  camped  at  Agua  Dulce,  and  cached  in  the  aban- 
doned house  a  bale  of  alfalfa  hay  and  a  sack  of  barley  for 
the  return  trip.  It  was  one  of  the  wisest  moves  of  the 
trip;  for  on  our  return  journey  it  was,  to  our  hungry  and 
jaded  horses,  worth  much  more  than  its  weight  in  gold. 
For  general  convenience,  our  horses — now  numbering 
seventeen  head,  and  rapidly  eating  their  own  heads  off— 
were  tied  in  the  corral  and  fed  on  hay  that  we  had  brought 
from  Sonoyta.  And  this  led  to  another  incident. 

Just  as  I  was  about  to  induct  myself  sinuously  into 
my  sleeping-bag,  there  was  a  sudden  commotion  below. 
Rube  Daniels  came  rushing  up  from  the  corral,  almost 
breathless. 

"Will  you  let  me  take  your  lantern,  please!  There's 
a  big  rattlesnake  in  the  corral,  and  it's  about  to  bite  one 
of  the  horses!" 

At  once  all  hands  hurried  down — Daniels  leading  the 
way  with  my  lantern,  while  I  carried  the  Doctor's  shot- 
gun. Through  the  darkness  we  heard  horses  snorting 
hysterically,  and  voices  saying,  "There  it  is!  Look  out! 
Look  out!"  and  "Take  that  horse  away,  quick!" 

An  angry  rattlesnake  mixed  up  in  black  darkness  with 
three  men  and  seventeen  horses  is  not  a  thing  to  inspire 
serenity. 

The  serpent  had  taken  refuge  in  the  fastness  of  the 


132        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

brush  fence  that  surrounded  the  corral.  The  mass  of 
stems,  piled  horizontally  between  two  lines  of  upright 
posts,  was  about  eighteen  inches  thick,  and  it  was  by  no 
means  a  bad  fortress  for  a  harried  snake.  By  the  light 
of  my  friend  Stoneb ridge's  very  excellent  folding  lantern — 
really  the  greatest  of  all  lanterns  for  a  camper — the 
rattling  rattler  was  quickly  located.  He  was  then  about 
three  feet  from  the  nose  of  a  horse  that  was  tied  to  the 
corral  fence.  He  lay  lengthwise  in  the  pile,  wide  awake 
and  angry,  and  was  evidently  ready  either  for  fight  or 
flight. 

Mr.  Daniels  snatched  from  me  the  shot-gun,  took 
careful  aim  and  shot  the  rattler  half  in  two  at  the  middle, 
completely  wrecking  its  spine. 

Another  flash  of  the  lantern  showed  that  the  snake 
was  quite  done  for;  and  some  one  said  cheerfully,  "It's 
dead!" 

The  lantern  was  withdrawn. 

"Look  out,  fellers!"  cried  Daniels,  excitedly. 

Drawing  his  45-caliber  six-shooter  he  fired  five  shots, 
as  fast  as  he  could  pull  trigger,  into  the  black  hole  in  the 
fence,  opposite  the  snake.  Naturally  we  expected  to  find 
the  rattler  in  a  state  of  pulp,  but  a  moment  later,  when  we 
dragged  it  out,  we  found  that  not  one  of  the  revolver  bullets 
had  touched  it. 

That  night  the  coyotes  gathered  around  us  in  force, 
and  it  seemed  to  some  of  us  as  if  our  dogs  spent  half  the 
night  in  barking  at  them  and  chasing  them  through  our 
camp. 

In  the  first  rush,  the  dogs  ran  over  the  bed  of  Rube 


DOWN  THE  SONOYTA  TO  THE  LAVA       133 

Daniels,  and,  quick  as  a  trigger,  he  sat  up,  with  his  six- 
shooter  in  his  hand  and  glared  about  him. 

"What's  the  matter,  Rube  ?"  said  Jeff  Milton.  "Are 
you  dreaming?" 

"I  guess  so,"  said  Rube,  and  once  more  he  composed 
himself  for  slumber. 

More  than  once  a  wild  and  eager  chase  led  across  the 
bed  of  a  sleeper,  causing  audible  discontent  within;  for 
no  man  likes  to  be  turned  into  hunting  territory  for  large 
game.  As  the  row  went  on,  the  hot  language  of  seven  men 
rose  on  the  chilly  air,  and  was  lost  in  the  vaulted  ether 
overhead. 

During  the  night  our  slumbers  were  frequently  dis- 
turbed by  some  large  wild  animals  that  we  had  not  counted 
upon;  and  what  think  you,  perspiring  Reader,  that  they 
were?  Wild  burros — donkeys — no  more,  no  less.  The 
desert  about  us  contained  dozens  of  them,  all  of  them 
thoroughly  man-shy,  self-supporting  and  firm  believers 
in  the  doctrine  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  They  find 
enough  grass  and  green  browse  to  live  upon,  and  the 
Sonoyta  River  waters  them.  When  the  stream  goes  dry, 
they  seek  the  moist  spots,  and  with  their  hoofs  dig  holes 
in  the  sand  for  water.  Mr.  Phillips  once  found  in  the 
river-bed  a  large  hole  that  had  been  dug  by  wild  burros. 
On  his  return  trip  to  Sonoyta  he  saw  about  twenty  of  those 
animals,  and  found  that  by  imitating  their  cry  he  could 
ride  up  within  one  hundred  yards  of  them. 

In  travelling  through  the  Sonoyta  Valley,  we  saw  a 
number  of  those  strange  derelicts,  but  none  that  I  saw 
would  suffer  us  to  approach  them  nearer  than  about  four 


134        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

hundred  yards.  Of  course  it  is  to  be  understood  that 
they  are  merely  domestic  burros  that  have  escaped  and 
become  wild,  or  else  have  been  born  of  runaway  parents. 

That  night  at  Agua  Dulce  they  hung  around  our  camp 
for  hours,  as  if  longing  to  return  to  the  civilization  they 
had  voluntarily  abandoned.  Their  hearts  were  very  sad 
about  something,  for  whenever  there  was  a  lull  in  the 
coyote  war,  a  voice  from  the  chaparral  would  rise  through 
the  lonesome  darkness,  and  a  heart-breaking  "Havu-hel 
h-a-w-hel  h-a-w-he\"  would  go  wailing  and  screeching 
over  the  desert  like  the  cry  of  a  lost  soul.  And  then  about 
every  half  hour  we  heard  galloping  hoofs  going  "ke-/o/>, 
ke-/o/>,  ke-/o/>";  and  each  time  we  wondered  whether  the 
dogs  would  stampede  those  sad-hearted  wild  beasts 
through  our  camp,  and  bring  those  hoofs  upon  us. 

Nothing  untoward  happened,  however;  and  between 
rattlesnakes,  coyotes,  dogs  and  wild  burros  the  night 
pleasantly  wore  away. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AN  EVENTFUL  DAY  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  LAVA 

The  Finest  Organ-Pipes  and  a  Red-Tailed  Hawk — The  Alkali  Plain — 
The  Ocatilla's  Flower — View  of  Pinacate — A  Much-perforated 
Plain — The  First  Volcano  Crater — A  Circus  with  Prong-Horned 
Antelopes — My  Locoed  Coyote — The  Malpais  Plain — A  Bridge  to 
Cross  a  Ditch — Lost  Wagons  and  Benighted  Men — A  Bivouac 
in  the  Desert — Rescued  in  Spite  of  Ourselves — A  Long  Night 
Ride. 

WHEN  we  breakfasted  at  Agua  Dulce,  nearly  an  hour 
before  sunrise  on  the  eleventh  of  November,  no  one  fore- 
saw the  length  or  the  breadth  of  the  day  that  then  began 
to  unroll  before  us.  Mr.  Milton  said  to  us: 

"After  we  pass  the  Playa  Salada,  Charlie  Foster 
can  pilot  the  wagons  toward  the  water-hole  where 
we  will  camp  to-night,  and  the  rest  of  us  can  have  a 
hunt  for  antelope.  If  you  will  come  with  me,  I  will 
show  you  a  fine  volcano;  and  then  we  will  join  the 
wagons." 

That  was  our  busy  day.  Looking  back  upon  it,  I  do 
not  see  how  anything  more  could  have  been  crowded  into 
it  without  bursting  it.  It  was  not,  however,  a  day  of  blood- 
shed, even  though  Rube  Daniels  did  open  the  ball  by 
killing  a  coyote  very  soon  after  we  pulled  out  from  Agua 

Dulce.     Knowing  that  we  had  more  interesting  things 

135 


136        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

ahead,  I  resolutely  declined  to  be  hindered  by  the  skinning 
of  that  little  gray  beast,  and  so 

"We  carved  not  a  line,  we  raised  not  a  stone, 
But  left  him  alone  in  his  glory." 

Half  way  between  Agua  Dulce  and  the  Salt  Plain 
(where  the  trail  swings  abruptly  north-westward),  we  came 
to  a  high  hill  of  broken  granite,  naked  as  any  other  stone- 
pile,  but  bearing  high  up  on  its  eastward  face  certain 
botanical  specimens  that  gave  me  a  distinct  thrill.  They 
were  organ-pipe  cacti,  and  two  of  them  were  twenty  feet 
high!  In  comparison  with  those  giants,  all  others  that 
I  had  seen  were  small.  The  prize  specimen  upreared 
twenty-two  stems,  each  one  from  six  to  seven  inches  in 
diameter,  and  one  of  the  tallest  bore  a  ten-foot  branch. 
But  there  was  not  a  moment  to  be  spared  that  morning  in 
photographing  plants,  and  all  I  could  do  was  to  register 
a  solemn  vow  that  I  would  take  them  on  the  return  trip. 

Incidentally,  there  perched  upon  the  tip-top  of  one  of 
the  tallest  stems  of  the  prize  pitaya  a  fine  large  hawk, 
whose  existence  in  that  country  was  a  thing  to  note. 

I  said  to  Dr.  MacDougal, 

"I'm  sorry  our  shot-gun  is  in  the  wagon.  We  need  to 
know  about  that  hawk." 

"  I'll  try  a  shot  at  him  with  my  Winchester.  Even  if  I 
hit  him,  you  can  at  least  identify  him." 

Dismounting,  he  secured  the  best  position  available, 
at  a  distance  of  about  a  hundred  yards,  and  fired  up  the 
side  of  the  mountain.  Down  fell  the  hawk,  with  the  top 
of  its  head  shot  off  in  the  most  workmanlike  manner 


From  a  photograph  by  the  author. 

The  Finest  Organ- Pipe  Cactus 
Page  216. 


A  DAY  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  LAVA        137 

imaginable.     It  proved  to  be  Western  Red-Tailed  Hawk,* 
with  an  empty  stomach. 

The  Playa  Salada — literally  "salty  beach" — is  what 
would  be  called  in  Montana  an  alkali  flat.  It  is  at  the 
big  bend  of  the  trail,  three  miles  below  Agua  Dulce,  and  it 
lies  four  or  five  feet  above  the  bed  of  the  river.  The  plain 
is  a  mile  long  by  half  a  mile  in  width — level,  destitute  of 
grass  and  white  with  alkali.  Everywhere  near  this  point 
the  river  water — when  there  is  any — is  so  strongly  im- 
pregnated with  alkali  that  it  is  a  poor  beverage  for  a 
thirsty  human. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  Playa  Salada  the  course  of 
the  Sonoyta  River  is  partially  revealed.  It  runs  south  of 
Pinacate,  in  a  course  that  is  practically  south-westward. 
Later  on,  we  found  that  it  comes  to  an  untimely  end  against 
the  sand-hills  which  form  an  impassable  barrier  along  the 
Gulf  of  California,  between  the  lava  country  and  the 
shore.  There  is  very  little  vegetation  on  the  northern 
bank  of  the  river,  but  on  the  south  there  is  a  wide  belt  of 
mesquite  jungle. 

On  November  nth  there  was  water  in  the  river  as  far 
down  as  we  could  see,  but  when  we  returned  that  way,  on 
the  25th,  just  fifteen  days  after  the  flood,  the  water  ended 
at  the  alkali  flat.  The  terminus  was  a  little  string  of 
pools,  in  the  largest  of  which  were  about  two  hundred 
shiny,  silver-sided  minnows  all  unconscious  of  the  fate  that 
awaited  them — death  on  dry  land.  Dr.  MacDougal  pho- 
tographed the  spot  where  the  last  drop  of  the  Sonoyta 
sank  into  the  sand  and  disappeared. 

*Buteo  borealis  calurus. 


138        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

As  previously  arranged,  we  parted  company  with  the 
wagons  at  the  point  where  the  trail  caroms  against  a  string 
of  granite  hills  that  form  a  very  effective  barrier  running 
north  and  south.  While  the  teamsters  unhitched  and 
drove  their  teams  to  the  river  to  water  them,  and  Charlie 
Foster  took  charge  as  pilot  for  the  day,  the  mounted  mem- 
bers rode  straight  forward  into  the  rough  country. 

For  an  hour  we  wound  to  and  fro  through  the  granite 
hills,  studying  the  while  their  scanty  crop  of  bisnaga 
cactus,  stunted  ocatilla,  palo  verde  and  mesquite.  It  was 
in  here  that  we  found  for  the  first  time  an  ocatilla  still  in 
bloom,  and  we  examined  it  with  keen  interest. 

The  flowers  are  pale  crimson,  tubular,  about  an  inch 
long,  and  each  throat  is  filled  with  a  sheaf  of  red  stamens. 
About  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  of  these  flowers  are 
arranged  close  together  on  a  stalk,  forming  a  raceme  about 
nine  inches  long.  The  collection  as  a  whole,  as  borne  on 
the  tip  of  a  green  ocatilla  wand,  is  a  thing  of  beauty.  How 
handsome  this  strange  bush  must  be  in  May,  when  it  is 
in  full  bloom,  and  many  of  its  stems  are  thus  ornamented! 

At  last  we  bore  away  north-westward,  and  presently 
reached  the  last  of  the  granite  ridges.  Before  us  lay  the 
dead  volcano  we  were  seeking,  while  far  beyond  it,  from 
the  centre  of  five  hundred  square  miles  of  black  lava,  rose 
grim  old  Pinacate.  Forthwith  Mr.  Phillips  and  I  climbed 
the  ridge  to  photograph  all  that  we  saw. 

The  view  from  the  elevation  we  presently  attained  was 
very  striking.  Our  ridge  was  simply  a  rough  stone-pile 
five  hundred  feet  long  and  three  hundred  feet  high.  In 
front  of  it,  south-westward,  lay  a  perfectly  level  stretch  of 


A  DAY  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  LAVA       139 

creosote  bushes,  as  even  on  top  as  if  trimmed  to  a  fixed 
height.  It  did  not  look  so  very  wide,  but  when  we  came 
to  ride  across  it,  it  seemed  interminable.  Beyond  it  lay 
a  belt  of  smooth  bare  ground,  and  from  the  farther  side  of 
that  rose  a  low,  broad  hill  which  seemed  to  have  a  flattened 
top.  That  was  "Cerro  Colorado,"  so  Mr.  Milton  said, 
otherwise  "Red  Hill." 

We  were  very  anxious  to  get  Pinacate  from  that  point, 
for  it  was  our  first  real  view  of  the  Mystery.  But  alas! 
It  was  shrouded  in  that  awful  blue  haze  that  sometimes 
delights  a  painter,  but  nearly  always  bursts  a  photogra- 
pher's heart.  On  all  save  one  Pinacate  appears  only  as  a 
mound  of  fog.  Mr.  Phillips's  best  picture  is  reproduced 
herewith. 

With  our  binoculars — magnifying  instead  of  reducing 
— the  case  was  different.  In  them  Pinacate  did  loom  up 
grandly — a  big,  black  mound  of  small,  blunt  peaks  and 
ridges  massed  together,  surrounding  and  finally  building 
up  the  two  culminating  central  peaks.  The  distance  to 
the  top  of  Pinacate's  highest  peak  was  twenty-one  miles, 
and  its  course  was  due  south-west.  The  blue  haze  was  so 
impenetrable  that  we  could  not  tell  whether  a  wagon  can 
be  driven  to  the  top  of  the  highest  peak,  or  the  mountains 
are  impassable  for  a  led  horse.  The  only  thing  absolutely 
certain  about  it  was  that  in  a  few  days  we  would  stand 
upon  that  highest  peak  and  photograph  back  toward  the 
Cerro  Colorado,  as  far  as  a  lens  could  carry. 

Descending  from  our  labours,  we  started  across  the 
creosote  plain.  In  pursuit  of  our  companions,  with  our 
eyes  fixed  on  the  volcano,  we  rode,  and  rode,  until  the 


140        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

plain  seemed  to  be  turning  forward  under  us.  What  I 
had  estimated  at  three  miles  turned  out  to  be  precisely 
seven.  The  whole  plain  was  honey-combed  with  burrows 
of  the  kangaroo  rat  (Dipodomys),  nearly  always  made 
around  the  clumps  of  creosote  bushes.  For  about  a  mile 
I  kept  a  close  watch  upon  them,  and  at  no  time  were  there 
fewer  than  five  burrow  mounds  in  sight  at  the  same  instant. 
But  not  one  living  specimen  did  we  see.  Those  little 
creatures  are  strictly  nocturnal,  and  no  one  ever  sees  one 
afoot  save  at  night.  Mr.  J.  Alden  Loring  says  that,  in  all 
his  wanderings  as  a  collector  through  the  haunts  of  these 
creatures,  he  never  saw  but  one  alive  and  uncaught. 

At  last  we  did  reach  the  edge  of  that  light-coloured 
plain;  and  it  proved  to  be  a  naked  and  sterile  zone  of  gray 
volcanic  ashes,  half  a  mile  wide  and  completely  encircling 
the  base  of  what  once  was  a  gorgeous  volcano.  It  was  as 
smooth  as  a  floor,  and  entirely  free  from  bits  of  lava  and 
stone.  Close  down  upon  its  surface  there  grew  a  thin 
sprinkling  of  delicate  little  plants,  almost  lichen-like  in 
their  growth,  known  to  botanists  as  the  Indian  wheat, 
or  desert  plantain  (Plantago  aristata,  or  perhaps  P.  ig- 
nota). 

That  curious  plant  is  as  white  as  if  covered  with  hoar- 
frost, and  lends  much  extra  whiteness  to  the  appearance 
of  the  ashy  zone.  The  prong-horned  antelope  loves  to 
feed  upon  this  delicate  white  carpet,  and  of  this  Mr. 
Milton  was  fully  aware.  It  was  here  that  he  hoped  to 
find  a  herd. 

Seeing  no  antelope,  we  rode  across  the  zone  of  ashes 
and  straight  up  the  side  of  the  volcano.  When  we  drew 


A  DAY  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  LAVA       141 

rein  upon  the  rim,  a  gorgeous  scene  lay  before  us  and  the 
adjectives  began  to  fly  like  hail. 

"Magnificent!"  "Grand!"  "Vesuvius  in  the  desert!" 

At  our  feet  there  yawned  a  vast  circular  pit,  walled  in 
by  perpendicular  cliffs  of  red  lava  rock.  It  was  half  a 
mile  in  diameter,  and  about  two  hundred  feet  deep  on  the 
low  side  where  we  were.  The  rim  of  the  crater  was  sharp, 
highest  on  the  south  side  (opposite  us),  and  lowest  on  the 
west,  where  a  notch  had  been  blown  out — all  precisely 
like  Vesuvius,  as  it  was  in  1876,  and  for  several  years  there- 
after. The  rim  on  which  we  stood  consisted  of  volcanic 
sand  that  by  heat  had  been  fused  into  solid  sandstone; 
and  deep  furrows  ran  down  it,  westward,  to  the  point 
where  the  bottom  of  the  notch  joined  the  zone  of  ashes. 

Mr.  Milton  and  I  left  our  horses  and  advanced  to  the 
innermost  edge  of  the  crater  to  examine  more  closely  the 
vegetation  growing  scantily  on  the  level  floor  far  below. 
We  noted  a  thin  sprinkling  of  plants  and  bushes,  and  one 
or  two  tiny  giant  cacti. 

While  we  were  admiring  the  beautiful  Indian-red  tone 
of  the  walls,  Mr.  Milton  took  one  more  look  far  westward. 

"Look  yonder!"  he  exclaimed,  "There  they  come! 
Yonder's  a  bunch  of  antelope — coming  straight  this  way. 
Look  in  the  green  bushes,  just  beyond  the  edge  of  the  bare 
ground!" 

Sure  enough,  six  prong-horns  were  in  sight,  and  heading 
straight  toward  us.  Up  to  that  time,  Doctor  MacDougal 
never  had  hunted  that  species,  and  it  had  previously  been 
agreed,  between  the  rest  of  us,  that  the  first  chance  at 
antelope  should,  without  let  or  hindrance,  be  his. 


142        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

"There's  your  game,  Doctor!" 

Quickly  he  stripped  off  his  spurs  and  belt-gun  and 
made  ready  for  a  stalk;  and  Rube  Daniels  took  charge  of 
him,  willy-nilly,  being  himself  as  crazy  as  ever  to  shoot 
something.  They  crouched  away  down  the  rim,  behind 
ridges  and  bushes,  to  the  bottom.  From  that  they  worked 
out  into  the  ash  zone  itself,  by  means  of  a  long,  strag- 
gling line  of  mesquite  bushes  that  seemed  to  have 
been  grown  there  for  that  occasion.  Mr.  Phillips  fol- 
lowed them  at  a  safe  distance,  to  see  the  sport  by  naked 
eye,  but  the  rest  of  us  stood  pat  where  we  were,  holding 
the  horses. 

The  antelopes  jauntily  walked  out  upon  the  ash  field 
and  began  to  feed.  As  they  nibbled  they  slowly  walked 
straight  toward  us.  The  original  distance  of  half  a  mile 
narrowed  very  slowly,  and  we  saw  that  it  was  to  be  a  wait- 
ing game,  with  a  doubtful  finish.  After  a  long  and  rather 
tiresome  interval  the  herd  had  reached  within  about  three 
hundred  yards  of  the  hunters  behind  the  ultimate  bush 
and  their  rifles  rang  out.  One  of  the  bucks  was  seen  to 
fall  and  struggle  violently  upon  the  ground. 

"They've  got  one!     One's  down!"  said  we. 

The  other  five  pranced  wildly  about,  undecided  what 
to  do. 

We  saw  Dr.  MacDougal  rise  and  start  to  run  forward, 
then  return  to  his  bush. 

"Why  don't  he  go  to  it?"  said  Jeff  Milton,  impatiently. 
More  firing,  shot  after  shot,  in  quick  succession.  Then 
the  unwounded  five  antelopes  divined  the  source  of  the 
alarm,  headed  due  south,  and  in  single  file  scudded  away 


A  DAY  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  LAVA       143 

like  the  wind.  To  our  horror  the  wounded  buck  then  got 
upon  his  feet  and  ran  after  the  herd,  on  three  legs. 

"Bang!  bangetty-bang!"  went  the  two  rifles,  cutting 
the  dust  far  beyond  the  fleeing  quarry;  but  never  another 
hit.  In  quick  time  all  the  antelopes  were  out  of  range; 
and  then  Daniels  sprang  out  and  like  a  wild  man  raced 
across  the  plain  on  foot,  after  them!  Finally,  Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal  followed  him.  A  moment  later  the  game  plunged 
into  a  thick  growth  of  green  bushes  far  to  the  south,  and 
disappeared. 

This  is  what  happened  behind  the  last  green  bush: 

With  his  first  shot — at  very  long  range — Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal  knocked  down  his  buck,  with  a  broken  hind  leg. 
Naturally,  his  impulse  was  to  "  go  to  it "  and  make  sure  of 
it;  but  when  he  sprang  up  and  started,  Daniels  called  to 
him  and  said, 

"Don't  go!  Don't  run  out!  Stay  here  and  keep  on 
shooting,  and  I'll  get  one!" 

So  the  Doctor  returned  to  cover,  kept  on  firing  at  the 
running  antelopes  five  hundred  yards  away;  and  no  one 
got  one. 

We,  the  watchers,  collected  the  horses  and  spurs,  and 
as  quickly  as  possible  rode  down  and  across  the  plain  on 
the  trail  of  the  two  hunters.  After  riding  a  mile  through 
the  chaparral,  we  came  to  the  edge  of  a  rugged  lava  plateau 
about  five  feet  above  the  desert  level,  and  there  Mr. 
Phillips  and  I  halted  while  Mr.  Sykes  and  Milton  rode  on 
after  the  runaways,  leading  their  two  horses.  A  little 
later  Mr.  Phillips  wandered  off  on  foot  to  a  mile-distant 
ridge,  leaving  me  to  make  notes  and  look  after  three 


144        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

horses.  And  then  a  weird  thing  happened ;  part  of  which 
I  can  prove  by  means  of  affidavits. 

It  was  mid-day,  and  the  sun  had  warmed  the  world  up 
to  about  90  degrees.  As  I  stood  beside  my  horse,  drinking 
from  my  canteen,  with  the  other  horses  grouped  near 
us,  a  coyote  calmly  walked  across  a  bare  opening,  in  plain 
view,  and  only  twenty-one  paces  away!  My  rifle  was 
actually  under  my  hand  and  I  could  have  blown  the  animal 
to  bits;  but  somehow  he  seemed  a  little  out  of  sorts,  and 
"off  colour,"  physically.  He  must  have  said  "King's 
excuse!"  when  he  started  my  way;  for  he  seemed  to  care 
no  more  for  me,  or  for  the  horses,  than  if  we  had  been 
blocks  of  wood. 

While  I  was  wondering  about  the  state  of  mind  of  that 
erratic  coyote,  back  he  paced  again,  returning  over  his 
own  trail  to  the  spot  whence  he  came.  No  promenader 
ever  walked  more  leisurely  than  he,  and  with  the  outrageous 
contempt  of  a  drum-major  he  completely  ignored  man 
and  horses,  save  for  one  contemptuous  glance.  Leisurely 
he  climbed  up  the  rough  edge  of  the  lava-field,  forty  paces 
from  where  I  stood,  walked  off  to  a  mesquite  bush  about 
seventy  paces  distant  from  me,  and  calmly  lay  down  in  its 
shade.  Afterward  I  paced  all  these  distances  to  make 
sure  of  my  facts. 

That  locoed  coyote  lay  with  his  head  in  my  direction, 
and  looked  at  me!  I  spoke  to  him,  civilly  enough;  but  he 
made  no  sign.  Then  I  called,  "Hello  there!"  Although 
he  opened  his  mouth  to  pant,  he  said  nothing.  I  whistled, 
sang  to  him,  yelled  at  him,  and  finally  reviled  him;  but 
as  truly  as  I  live,  he  moved  not,  nor  showed  the  slightest 


A  DAY  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  LAVA       145 

alarm.  He  simply  went  on  a-lying  under  the  bush  as  if 
there  were  not  a  man  nor  a  Savage  rifle  within  a  hundred 
miles  of  him. 

Finding  that  shouting  did  not  disturb  him,  I  raised 
my  voice  to  its  loudest,  and  called  Mr.  Phillips,  hoping  that 
he  might  hear  me  and  come  and  photograph  the  beast. 
If  I  yelled  once  at  the  highest  pitch  of  my  voice  I  did  so  a 
dozen  or  fifteen  times;  and  that  locoed  coyote  never  batted 
an  eye.  Unfortunately  my  partner  was  too  far  away  to 
hear  me. 

The  coyote  remained  under  that  bush  for  nearly  half 
an  hour,  and  might  be  there  even  now  but  for  the  return  of 
the  whole  cavalcade.  I  tried  to  stave  off  the  advance  until 
Mr.  Phillips  could  get  in  his  work  with  his  camera,  but  at 
last  the  crowd  got  on  the  nerves  of  Cams  latrans,  and 
while  the  exposures  of  him  that  Mr.  Phillips*  finally  made 
as  he  was  stealing  away  do  show  the  animal,  they  were  not 
wholly  successful. 

Such  were  the  symptoms  of  that  queer  coyote  case. 
Now,  what  about  the  diagnosis  ? 

That  was  the  third  time  that  coyotes  had  put  up  funny 
jobs  on  the  undersigned.  Two  of  them  concerned  coyotes 
that  were  very  wild  and  wary  when  I  was  armed,  but  in- 
stantly became  tame,  and  even  confidential,  as  soon  as  I 
took  the  trail  without  a  shooting-iron!  Here,  however, 
was  an  animal  that  dared  to  trust  his  vitals  in  my  hands 
when  I  was  fully  armed,  on  the  war-path  and  supposedly 
eager  for  coyote  blood.  Now,  I  ask,  bow  did  that  crazy 
beast  know  that  I  was  a  hundred  times  more  deeply  inter- 
ested in  his  mind  than  in  his  pelt  ?  I  cannot  answer  that; 


146        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

but  I  do  know  that  he  took  big  chances  when  he  picked  a 
man  out  of  that  bloodthirsty  crowd  as  the  one  before 
whom  he  could  safely  flaunt  himself,  and  take  the  risk  of 
having  his  head  shot  off. 

But  all  this  is  idle  persiflage,  and  is  not  to  be  taken 
seriously.  It  only  reflects  the  joking  theories  of  our 
party  on  that  occasion.  To  come  down  to  the  realities  of 
life,  I  believe  two  things:  I.  That  that  particular  coyote 
was  sick,  and  cared  nothing  for  trifling  interruptions. 
2.  That  he  never  before  had  seen,  heard  or  heard  of  a 
human  being,  and  knew  not  what  it  was  to  fear  one.  In 
that  country  no  one  traps  coyotes,  very  few  are  poisoned 
and  very  few  are  shot;  but  for  all  that,  most  of  the  others 
that  we  saw  on  that  trip  had  conscientious  scruples  against 
standing  still  when  within  two  hundred  yards  of  a  rifle. 

Half  an  hour  after  the  sick  coyote  vanished  on  the 
lava,  the  stage  was  set  with  a  totally  different  scene.  We 
mounted  and  as  briskly  as  possible  rode  northward  to 
reach  the  spot  where  we  expected  to  meet  the  wagons. 
Quite  near  the  edge  of  the  zone  of  ashes  we  saw  what 
seemed  to  be  a  level  plain  of  bare,  hard  ground,  three 
miles  by  two,  and  lying  directly  in  our  course.  As  ground 
to  travel  over,  it  looked  inviting,  and  blithely  we  laid  our 
course  to  bisect  it  by  a  new  trail.  Such  a  place  is  locally 
called  "malpais,"  or  "bad  ground";  but  lava  fields  also 
are  designated  by  that  very  common  term. 

When  fairly  launched  upon  that  barren  plain,  we 
found  that  it  consisted  of  what  once  was  very  fine  volcanic 
mud,  which  flowed  down  from  the  gap  in  the  rim  of  the 
Cerro  Colorado.  It  was  also  a  flood  basin,  with  a 


A  DAY  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  LAVA       147 

vengeance,  often  being  under  water.  It  looked  like  the 
bed  of  a  dry  lake,  and  at  that  time  its  surface  was  cracked 
open  in  every  direction  to  an  unknown  depth.  The  earth 
was  very  dry  and  loose,  and  the  network  of  wide  cracks 
was  so  annoying  to  our  horses  that  our  progress  was  slow. 

In  places  the  surface  of  this  queer  plain  was  covered 
with  a  sprinkling  of  chunks  of  brown  lava,  varying  in  size 
from  a  tea-cup  to  a  coal-scuttle.  It  looked  as  if  large 
masses  of  red-hot  lava  had  exploded  in  mid-air  and  rained 
down  upon  the  plain  only  last  week. 

Looking  ahead  we  saw  two  lines  of  mesquite  bushes 
crossing  this  bare  plain  from  west  to  east,  and  along  with 
each  water  gleamed  in  a  ditch-like  stream.  It  was  the 
residuum  of  the  last  flood  that  had  covered  the  plain,  and 
the  four  strangers  from  afar  welcomed  it  with  the  ardour 
that  potable  water  in  a  desert  always  is  supposed  to  in- 
spire. But  here  we  note  an  exception. 

"We  can  go  around  the  head  of  this  one,"  said  Rube 
Daniels;  and  I  wondered  why  we  did  not  go  straight 
across  that  absurd  shoe-string  of  water.  We  went  around 
it;  but  presently  we  came  to  another  that  extended  a 
long  mile  or  more  each  way,  and  lay  squarely  across  our 
course. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Jeff  Milton  at  last,  "we've 
got  to  cross  this  one,  somehow." 

"What's  wrong  with  it  ?  Can't  we  ride  across  it,  any- 
where?" 

"No,  sir!  Impossible!  If  a  man  should  try  to  ride 
across  that  little  bit  of  water  his  horse  would  mire  down 
in  two  seconds,  and  he  couldn't  get  out  again  to  save  his 


148        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

life  without  being  dragged  out  with  ropes.     We've  got  to 
make  a  bridge  before  we  can  get  across!" 

I  tested  the  mud  in  mid-stream.  It  was  like  thin 
mortar  and  bottomless.  And  yet  that  absurd  little  ditch 
was  nowhere  more  than  ten  feet  wide  and  two  feet  deep! 
Surely  it  was  a  dangerous  thing,  or  those  two  hardy 
rustlers  would  not  have  ordered  the  building  of  a  bridge 
for  our  crossing. 

Fortunately,  materials  were  not  lacking.  We  all  fell 
to  work  like  so  many  beavers,  gathering  big  chunks  of 
lava  and  heaving  them  into  the  mud  and  water,  to  form  a 
causeway.  By  bending  down  a  mesquite  clump,  Daniels 
and  I  managed  to  jump  across  the  stream  at  a  narrow 
point,  and  work  went  on  from  both  shores,  simultaneously. 
After  about  twenty  minutes'  brisk  work  the  top  of  the 
causeway  was  above  the  water,  and  although  it  was  fear- 
fully rough,  our  horses  seemed  to  understand  thoroughly 
what  it  meant.  One  by  one  we  took  them  by  their  lariats 
and  led  them  across,  scrambling,  stumbling,  mud  and 
water  flying;  but  in  short  order  we  were  all  upon  the  right 
side  with  everything  to  the  good. 

Milton  and  Daniels  said  that  we  were  to  meet  the 
wagons  and  camp  close  beside  two  granite  mountains  that 
rose  very  abruptly  from  the  desert  four  or  five  miles  to  the 
north;  and  thither  we  rode.  As  we  neared  them  the  floor 
of  the  desert  changed  to  loose  sand,  and  the  nearer  we  came 
to  the  mountains  the  worse  became  the  sand. 

"The  wagons  were  to  come  to  this  gap  between  these 
two  mountains;  but  they're  not  here,  nor  anywhere  in 
sight.  I  hope  they  haven't  broken  down  again!" 


A  DAY  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  LAVA       149 

Thus  spoke  Mr.  Milton,  cautiously;  and  we  silently 
wondered  how  the  wagons  ever  could  get  in  there,  and 
where  on  earth  we  would  find  water,  even  if  they  should. 
It  seemed  like  the  driest  spot  in  Sonora. 

It  was  then  within  about  half  an  hour  of  sunset  and 
our  anxiety  grew  apace.  Bidding  the  four  of  us  wait 
where  we  were,  Milton  and  Daniels  rode  off  northward  as 
fast  as  possible,  to  climb  upon  a  lava  ridge  before  sunset 
and  try  to  locate  the  wagons. 

"  If  we  shoot,  that  will  mean  that  we  have  found  the 
wagons  and  that  you  are  to  come  to  us,"  said  Mr.  Milton; 
to  which  we  agreed. 

They  quickly  disappeared;  and  after  an  interval  we 
heard  a  shot. 

"Ah!  they've  found  the  wagons!"  And  we  joyously 
rode  forward  thinking  of  camps  and  comforts  of  several 
kinds.  Having  been  in  the  saddle  nearly  continuously 
since  sunrise,  and  without  luncheon,  we  were  quite  ready 
both  to  rest  and  to  eat. 

After  ploughing  through  a  mile  of  loose  sand  under  the 
lee  of  those  two  granite  mountains,  we  came  to  the  edge 
of  a  great  lava  bed  twenty  feet  high  and  terribly  rough, 
and  there  we  found  our  companions. 

"Where  are  the  wagons?"  we  asked,  carelessly. 

"7  don't  know!"  answered  Milton.  "We  haven't 
seen  hide  nor  hair  of  'em.  There's  a  big  misunderstanding 
somewhere — or  else  they've  broken  down." 

"  But  you  fired  a  signal  shot." 

"That  was  Rube.     He  shot  a  jack-rabbit!" 

"I  forgot  all  about  it,  fellers,"  said  Daniels,  regretfully. 


150        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

It  was  then  that  the  sun  set;  and  the  question  was, 
What  to  do  ?  The  wagons  might  be  two  miles  away,  or 
they  might  be  ten.  (They  were  more  than  ten!)  We 
might  possibly  find  them  in  the  darkness,  but  we  could 
easily  wander  all  night  and  miss  them.  They  might  have 
passed  northward  of  us;  and,  if  so,  their  trail  would  be 
findable,  even  in  the  dark,  by  going  north. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Jeff  Milton  resolutely,  "I've 
simply  got  to  find  those  wagons;  but  there  is  no  use  at  all 
in  the  rest  of  you  going  with  me.  You  camp  down  here 
and  make  yourselves  as  comfortable  as  you  can  and  Rube 
and  I  will  ride  out  north  to  see  if  we  can't  cut  the  trail  of 
the  teams.  If  we  find  'em,  we'll  come  back  to  you-all." 

Thus  were  we,  by  one  fell  stroke,  lost  and  benighted 
in  the  desert. 

They  went  immediately,  and  the  Doctor,  Mr.  Phillips, 
Mr.  Sykes  and  I  at  once  selected  as  a  camping  place  a  spot 
where  there  was  a  little  galleta  grass  for  our  tired  and 
hungry  horses.  Very  soon  they  were  free  from  their 
saddles,  and  thankfully  grazing.  We  dragged  dry  mes- 
quite  stems  from  afar,  built  a  good  camp-fire  and  made 
ready  to  spend  the  night  as  comfortably  as  possible.  We 
had  one  jack-rabbit,  and  straightway  I  dressed  it  with  the 
utmost  skill  I  could  put  forth.  The  puzzling  thing  was  to 
cut  the  animal  into  four  equal  parts,  thus  making  each 
forequarter  as  good  as  a  ham.  We  had  no  salt,  but  to 
encourage  my  comrades,  I  cut  all  the  sticks  for  the  broiling 
act  and  made  each  portion  fully  ready.  Each  man  had  to 
do  his  own  broiling,  however,  so  that  in  case  of  any  failure 
the  cook  to  blame  would  be  himself. 


A  DAY  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  LAVA       151 

I  watched  with  much  interest  to  see  how  the  appetites 
of  my  companions  would  rally  to  their  support  in  dealing 
with  saltless,  amateur-broiled  jack-rabbit.  Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal  and  Mr.  Sykes  did  well,  but  Mr.  Phillips's  inner 
man  failed  to  support  him  as  he  should  have  done.  His 
appetite  broke  down,  and  although  he  haji  a  hind- 
quarter,  he  negotiated  very  little  of  it.  Now,  my  appetite 
— but  it  is  well  to  draw  here  the  veil  of  silence. 

While  I  was  preparing  the  jack-rabbit,  the  Doctor 
hunted  up  a  small  bisnaga  cactus  of  the  half-way  edible 
kind,  brought  it  in  and  carved  it.  We  chewed  the  pulp 
and  also  tried  to  eat  it.  The  water  was  all  right,  but  to 
men  who  still  were  under  the  pamperings  of  an  over-fed 
civilization  the  bisnaga  was  not  at  that  time  palatable 
food.  For  a  man  who  is  very  thirsty  and  desperately 
hungry  it  would  beyond  doubt  have  been  welcome  food 
and  drink.  This  was  of  the  species  known  as  Ecbino- 
cactus  lecontei. 

With  our  saddles  set  up  on  end,  and  many  green 
branches  to  serve  as  wind-breaks  for  our  heads,  and  with 
saddle-pads  and  boughs  on  the  sand  to  lie  upon,  we  settled 
down  in  our  respective  places,  closely  packed  side  by  side, 
and  looked  forward  to  the  usual  cold  night.  Until  mid- 
night we  would  not  be  so  badly  off;  but  it  was  certain  that 
the  stinging  cold  hours  after  that  would  see  us  all  crouching 
over  the  fire. 

We  had  settled  down  most  peacefully.  Our  tired 
muscles  had  relaxed  for  the  day,  and  we  were  dozing  our 
way  into  slumberland  when  from  the  far-off  darkness  we 
heard  a  raucous  "Yeep!"  Perdition  seize  the  ruthless 


i52        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

interruption!  But  we  loyally  answered  the  call,  and  by  an 
exchange  of  cries  soon  guided  to  our  fireside  Mr.  Milton 
and  Mr.  Daniels.  They  insisted  upon  rescuing  us;  and 
we  didn't  like  it  a  bit. 

"We  found  the  trail  of  the  wagons!  They've  gone  by, 
to  the  north  of  us,"  said  Milton  proudly. 

"But  where  are  they  now?"  some  one  asked,  rather 
spitefully. 

"The  devil  only  knows.  But  we've  got  to  find  them 
before  morning,  in  order  to  start  with  them  when  they  pull 
out  again,  and  lose  no  time!" 

There  was  nothing  else  to  be  done.  We  simply  had 
to  permit  ourselves  to  be  rescued;  but  we  all  felt  that  it 
would  have  been  easier  to  bear  the  camp  that  we  had  than 
fly  to  another  that  we  knew  not  of. 

Sadly  and  reluctantly  we  saddled  our  tired  horses, 
stiffly  climbed  upon  them  and  strung  out  after  our  two 
resolute  rescuers.  They  first  rode  a  long  way  east,  then  a 
long  way  north;  and  at  last  a  voice  called  out  cheerily 
from  in  front, 

"Here  it  is!" 

We  swung  into  the  wagon  trail,  single  file,  and  started 
on  a  trot.  The  tracks  of  the  wheels  were  almost  as  plain 
as  railroad  irons. 

That  was,  I  think,  one  of  the  longest  rides  in  the  world ; 
for  it  seemed  absolutely  endless.  At  first  we  were  all  a 
bit  cross,  then  indignant,  and  finally  amused.  As  we 
reeled  off  mile  after  mile  and  hour  after  hour,  and  the  pace 
settled  down  to  a  walk,  because  our  tired  horses  could  trot 
no  more,  the  universal  feeling  was  of  grim  and  hopeless 


A  DAY  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  LAVA       153 

resignation.  When  I  made  shift  to  look  at  my  watch  I 
found  that  it  was  sixteen  hours  since  breakfast  and  we  had 
already  been  fourteen  hours  in  the  saddle.  But,  to  the 
honour  of  our  country,  no  man  complained  or  "kicked" 
ever  so  little,  even  once. 

During  the  last  hour  I  am  sure  half  the  members  of 
the  party  must  have  slept  occasionally  as  they  rode.  I 
kept  myself  awake  by  trying  to  invent  an  appliance  by 
which  a  horseman  might  sleep  while  riding  without  falling 
off;  but  before  it  was  completed  and  patented  our  long, 
black  serpent  of  men,  horses  and  dust  wound  off  to  the 
left  through  a  lot  of  scrubby  mesquites  and  our  leader 
gently  said  to  some  one, 

"Hello,  fellers!    All  asleep?" 

It  was  our  lost  wagon-camp,  beside  a  tiny  little  mud- 
and-water  hole,  somewhere  in  the  deadly  Tule  Desert, 
and  in  the  United  States!  The  wagons,  as  well  as  our- 
selves, had  made  a  long,  hard  pull  during  that  day. 

As  for  ourselves,  we  had  gone  seventeen  hours  between 
meals,  had  been  fifteen  hours  in  the  saddle  and  had  ridden 
eleven  miles  since  our  untimely  rescue.  And  that  was 
only  our  third  day  on  horseback!  But  such  is  Life  on  the 
trail  and  in  camp  in  the  far  South-west. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  PANORAMA  OF  MACDOUGAL  PASS  AND  VOLCANO 

In  the  Tule  Desert — Farther  than  Ever  from  Pinacate — The  Corner 
of  a  Vast  Volcanic  Area — A  Weird  Cyclorama — Monument  No. 
1 80 — A  River  of  Verdure — Pathfinding  along  the  Edge  of  the 
Lava — A  Volcanic  Curiosity — A  Great  Choya  Field — The  Sand 
Ridge — A  Galleta  Meadow — The  Doctor's  Garden — Fresh  Moun- 
tain Sheep  Tracks — The  Papago  Tanks,  Found  in  the  Dark — Mr. 
Sykes  Finds  a  Huge  Crater — Nature's  Planting  on  the  Crater 
Floor— Two  Rifle  Shots. 

LOOKING  back  upon  it  with  a  perspective  of  3,000 
miles,  I  am  tempted  to  regard  MacDougal  Pass  as  one 
of  the  wonderful  manifestations  of  our  trip.  Hundreds 
of  books  of  travel  have  been  written  about  far  less  than 
was  unfolded  before  us  on  that  memorable  twelfth  of 
November  and  the  early  hours  of  the  following  day.  On 
a  narrow  green  ribbon  twenty  miles  long  there  were  strung 
a  series  of  Nature  jewels  of  the  first  water,  terminating  in 
a  volcano  pendant  that  simply  fascinated  us  all. 

The  rosy  dawn  of  the  morning  after  our  strenuous 
diversion  inspired  each  member  of  our  party  with  new 
life  and  vigour.  We  found  ourselves  encamped  in  the 
edge  of  the  Tule  Desert,  half  a  mile  north  of  boundary 
monument  No.  180.  At  sunrise  the  temperature  was 
39°  F.  There  was  then  a  little  water  there,  but  a  week 
later  there  was  not  one  drop.  Those  who  come  after  will 
do  well  to  put  down  that  spot  as  waterless. 

154 


MACDOUGAL  PASS  AND  VOLCANO          155 

We  were  north  of  Pinacate,  and  as  far  from  the  central 
peaks  as  when  we  left  the  Sonoyta! 

It  was  explained  that  we  were  hunting  a  lead  by 
which  we  could  take  our  wagons  as  far  as  possible  toward 
the  peaks  before  leaving  them.  Our  only  course  was  to 
cut  and  try — all  around  the  lava  field,  if  necessary — 
finally  halt  the  wagons  at  the  farthest  point  we  could  reach 
with  them,  and  from  there  strike  into  the  heart  of  the 
rough  country  by  pack-train.  As  to  water,  we  must  carry 
as  much  as  possible,  and  within  thirty-six  hours  reach  the 
rumoured  tank  in  the  lava  country  in  order  to  get 
more. 

Mr.  Daniels  was  sure  that  by  swinging  around  monu- 
ment No.  1 80  as  if  it  were  a  pivot,  and  striking  south  close 
along  the  western  edge  of  the  lava  beds,  we  could  take  our 
whole  outfit  southward  for  several  miles;  and  that  is  what 
we  proceeded  to  do.  There  was  no  trail,  nor  sign  of  a 
trail;  and  it  was  said  that  no  wagon  ever  had  gone  where 
we  proposed  to  go.  Daniels  and  Mexican  Charlie  joined 
their  abilities  as  trail-makers,  and  during  that  day  they 
both  rendered  splendid  service.  They  rode  ahead,  chose 
the  exact  course  for  the  wagons,  and  shoveled  down  the 
sharp  edges  of  arroyas  so  rapidly  that  the  teams  went  for- 
ward almost  without  a  halt. 

When  the  teams  finally  got  away  from  our  camping- 
place  and  started  on  the  swing  southward,  Mr.  Sykes  and 
I  rode  up  on  the  lava  bed  to  inspect  monument  No.  180. 
Our  purpose  was  to  introduce  ourselves  to  the  personal 
acquaintance  of  an  iron  column;  but  how  trivial  was  that 
errand  in  comparison  with  the  splendid  cyclorama  that 


156        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

encircled  us!  The  elevation  on  which  the  monument 
stands  is  not  great,  but,  like  Mercutio's  wound,  it  is 
enough. 

We  found  ourselves  upon  the  extreme  north-western 
corner  of  a  vast  field  of  lava  that  stretched  southward  and 
south-eastward  for  miles  unknown.  There  were  plains  of 
lava  that  were  nearly  level.  There  were  high  and  rugged 
pressure  ridges — like  those  of  the  great  arctic  ice-pack— 
and  there  were  cones  and  hills  by  the  dozen,  near  by  and 
far  away — all  bare,  black  and  glowering.  Far  away 
toward  the  south  rose,  as  usual,  the  great  Pinacate  pyra- 
mid, black  and  hazy  as  ever,  but  with  only  one  peak 
visible. 

Southward  along  the  ragged  edge  of  the  lava  field  ran 
a  thread-like  stream  of  delicate  green  verdure,  a  tiny  river 
of  fertility  flowing  far  down  from — we  knew  not  what. 
On  its  western  side  lay  a  perfect  medley  of  desert  sands, 
choya  gardens  and  steep  granite  mountains  standing  all 
ways  about.  North-westward  along  the  Boundary,  beyond 
the  Tule  Desert  floor  and  its  cheerful  stand  of  creosote 
bushes,  rose  the  scowling  mass  of  the  awful  Tina j  as  Altas 
Mountains,  where  the  water  is  little  and  bad,  and  many 
a  poor  traveller  has  died  of  thirst  and  heat.  North 
of  us,  all  along  the  horizon,  ran  the  high  and  rug- 
ged Papago  Mountains — saw-toothed  " Sierras"  for  fair. 
There  is  a  well  and  some  mines  in  them  somewhere, 
so  'tis  said;  but  both  may  go  to  the  de'il  together  for 
all  o'me. 

I  fear  that  I  have  a  weakness;  and  that  it  is  for  inter- 
national boundaries  and  monuments.  Now,  I  am  yet 


MACDOUGAL  PASS  AND  VOLCANO          157 

young  enough  that  it  gave  me  a  series  of  electric  thrills  to 
know  that  I  was  actually  standing  astride  the  line  that 
divides  two  great  nations,  with  one  foot  in  "America"  and 
the  other  in  Mexico.  It  seems  awfully  queer  to  stand  at 
one  moment  in  a  far-distant  foreign  country,  and  be  "  at 
home"  the  next!  It  is  worth  while  to  be  for  a  time  a  part 
of  the  hard-and-fast  line  on  the  map  which  for  forty  years 
has  challenged  my  curiosity  and  excited  my  thirst  for  the 
Unknown. 

Mr.  Sykes  and  I  improved  the  shining  hour  by  picking 
up  specimen  bits  of  shiny  brown  lava  that  lay  precisely 
on  the  line,  half  in  Mexico  and  half  in  America;  and  by  his 
suggestion  I  marked  the  boundary  on  several,  as  they  lay. 
While  I  photographed  the  monument,  Mr.  Sykes  got  into  a 
serious  altercation  with  his  fifty-foot  steel  tape,  which  soon 
required  his  undivided  attention.  The  lid  of  it  came  off, 
and  as  usual  when  lids  are  off,  the  situation  soon  became 
fairly  disreputable.  No,  the  Geographer  did  not  use  lan- 
guage. He  said,  very  pungently, 

"//  I  begin,  I'll  never  get  it  to  rights!  If  I  can  just 
keep  still,  and  stick  to  it,  I'll  win  out — ultimately." 

Out  of  respect  for  his  grief,  I  said  no  more;  and  finally 
when  I  was  obliged  to  ride  on,  I  left  him  sitting  there  on 
the  lava,  silently  sticking  to  it. 

Naturally,  we  examined  180  with  keen  interest.  The 
boundary  exhibits  seven  or  eight  different  kinds  of  monu- 
ments— cut  stone,  concrete  pyramids  and  cast-iron  pillars. 
No.  1 80  is  a  square,  hollow  pillar  of  cast  iron,  8  feet 
high,  ii J  inches  square  at  the  base  by  9  inches  at  the 
top.  At  the  base  it  is  bolted  very  firmly  to  a  foundation  of 


158        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 


concrete,  the  top  of  which  is  two  feet  square.     On  the 
southern  face  it  bears  this  inscription: 


LIMITE 

DE    LA 


TRETRADO  DE  1853 
RESTABLICIDO 

FOR 

TRETADOS  DE 
1882-1889. 


And  on  the  eastern  side  it  says,  in  plain  English: 


THE  DESTRUCTION 

OR  DISPLACEMENT  OF 
THIS  MONUMENT  IS  A 
MISDEMEANOR  PUNISH- 
ABLE BY  THE  UNITED 
STATES  OR  MEXICO. 


MACDOUGAL  PASS  AND  VOLCANO 


If  you  sin  against  that  monument,  pray  that  you  may 
be  caught  in  the  United  States;  for  I  am  told  that  in 
Mexico  criminals  get  their  deserts — and  possibly  a  little 


Monument  180  on  the  International  Boundary. 
Looking  north-westward. 

more;  besides  which,  even  a  Mexican  jail  is  something  that 
no  prisoner  can  make  light  of. 

MacDougal  Pass  begins  at  monument  180,  where  the 
river  of  fertility  flows  into  the  Tule  Desert.  Its  length  is  to 
be  measured  down  to  the  impassable  lava  at  MacDougal 


160        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Crater  where  a  little  later  we  left  the  wagons;  and  by  this 
fiat,  now  recorded  for  the  first  time,  it  is  fifteen  miles  long! 
Its  average  width,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember,  is  about 
five  hundred  feet;  but  in  many  places  it  is  much  less. 
River-like,  it  flows  between  impassable  fields  of  lava  on 
the  one  hand  and  of  rock  and  sand  on  the  other;  but  in  all 
that  long  distance,  not  once  is  its  course  crossed  by  rock  or 
lava!  To  me,  this  seems  really  remarkable;  and  so  it  is. 
Had  that  narrow  pathway  been  prepared  by  the  gods  of 
Pinacate  especially  to  help  our  puny  wagons  to  a  point 
close  by  the  Papago  Tanks,  it  could  not  have  been  done 
any  better. 

For  about  three-fourths  of  its  length  it  slopes  toward 
the  north  and  an  arroyo  leads  down  all  that  distance,  with 
the  usual  small  trees  of  mesquite,  palo  verde  and  iron- 
wood  stringing  along  its  banks.  The  green  edge  of  the 
arboreal  river  stops  short  at  the  Vandyke-brown  edge  of 
the  desert,  and  the  straightness  of  all  these  north-and-south 
lines  is  one  of  the  things  at  which  to  wonder.  The  lava 
plain  on  the  eastern  side  is  higher  by  several  feet  than  the 
Pass,  and  upon  it,  like  so  many  botanical  exhibits  on  a 
broad  bench,  stand  specimen  ocatillas,  small  nigger-head 
cacti,  torotes,  an  occasional  choya  and  stunted,  scattering 
bushes  of  several  sorts. 

But  it  is  on  the  western  side  of  the  green  pass  river 
that  the  most  queer  things  are  found.  Several  miles  up 
from  the  Tule  Desert,  a  colossal  curiosity  looms  aloft. 
It  is  the  eastern  end  of  a  short  granite  mountain,  about 
one  thousand  feet  high  (as  a  guess),  which  once  upon  a 
time  opened  up  a  crater  on  its  summit,  from  which  much 


MACDOUGAL  PASS  AND  VOLCANO          161 

lava  was  discharged.  We  know  this  because  a  great  mass 
of  black  lava,  like  a  skull-cap,  has  been  built  up  fifty  feet 
high  on  the  top  of  the  granite  mountain,  and  from  the 
same  source  more  lava  flowed  down  through  a  notch  on  the 
southern  side.  Clearly,  the  granite  hill-top  is  a  victim  of 
misplaced  confidence;  for  had  those  internal  ructions  gone 
on  a  little  longer,  the  whole  of  the  original  structure  which 
kindly  offered  an  accommodating  outlet  for  the  fires  below 
would  have  been  completely  buried  under  the  lava  flow. 
I  fancy  that  students  of  volcanoes  may  look  far  before  the 
like  of  that  will  be  found  elsewhere.  The  black  and  fune- 
real lava  resting  on  the  clean,  gray-granite  peak  is  indeed 
a  strange  geological  exhibit;  and  Mr.  Sykes  has  christ- 
ened it  Black-Cap  Hill. 

Not  far  beyond  that  bit  of  history,  and  on  the  western 
side  of  the  Pass,  we  came  to  a  bare  and  smooth  plain, 
beyond  which  stood  the  most  unmitigated  choya  field  that 
we  saw  on  the  whole  trip.  A  forty-acre  tract  was  thickly 
covered  with  sturdy  specimens  of  the  tree  choya,*  to  the 
exclusion  of  everything  else.  The  plants  grew  as  tall  as 
a  man,  and  they  stood  so  thickly  that  we  could  not  walk 
through  the  nursery.  It  is  useless  to  try  to  say  "That 
reminds  me" — for  it  reminds  me  of  nothing  under  the 
sun.  I  know  of  nothing  else  in  nature  that  looks  like  it. 
I  essayed  to  take  a  record  picture  of  it,  but  with  indifferent 
success. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  came  to  the  crest  of  the  water- 
shed that  cuts  across  MacDougal  Pass  about  ten  miles 
south  of  monument  180.  It  is  a  well-defined  ridge 

*Opuntia  fulgida. 


162        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

formed  by  westerly  winds,  laden  with  loose  sand  from  the 
Gulf.  As  the  sand-bearing  winds  encounter  there  a 
counter  current  of  warm  air  flowing  from  the  Tule  Desert 
up  the  Pass,  the  sand  is  abruptly  halted  and  piled  up,  on 
the  south-western  slope  of  the  ridge.  For  half  a  mile  men, 
horses  and  wagons  simply  wallow  through  the  loose  mass; 
and  lucky  it  was  for  us  that  there  were  not  miles  of  such 
going  as  that  is! 

Once  across  that  awful  Sand  Ridge,  we  found  ourselves 
upon  the  floor  of  an  amphitheatre,  fairly  encircled  on  180 
points  of  the  compass  by  granite  mountains — some  near 
and  some  far  away.  Directly  on  our  southward  course 
there  rose  two  isolated  groups  of  noble  proportions,  per- 
haps five  miles  in  circumference,  and  rising  very  steeply 
to  a  maximum  height  of  about  800  feet.  The  eastern  side 
of  the  most  easterly  group  rises  only  500  feet  from  the  edge 
of  the  lava. 

A  mile  north  of  those  mountains — nameless  then,  but 
since  that  day  by  the  Doctor  and  Mr.  Sykes  formally 
christened  Hornaday  Mountains — there  lies  a  fine  meadow 
of  galleta  grass,  of  wide  extent.  In  Spanish  the  word 
"galleta"  is  pronounced  "guy-a'ta,"  and  it  means  "hard- 
tack"— the  fearfully  stone-like  crackers  that  are  in  vogue 
in  army  circles  in  war  times.  The  "hard-tack"  grass  is  a 
tough  species  of  bunch-grass. 

Over  a  hundred  acres  or  more  the  clumps  of  tall, 
coarse,  gray  stems  held  undisputed  sway,  untouched  by 
cattle,  horse  or  burro.  At  a  few  paces  distance,  the 
clumps  of  grass  looked  woody,  dry  and  dead;  but  a  closer 
inspection  revealed  bright  green  blades  at  intervals  along 


MACDOUGAL  PASS  AND  VOLCANO          163 

the  stems.  This  grass  is  the  great  stand-by  of  the  horse 
in  the  desert — whenever  it  can  be  found.  I  think  it  is 
neither  so  woody  nor  so  tough  as  it  looks,  for  our  horses 
always  ate  it  most  thankfully. 

Just  beyond  the  Galleta  Meadow,  in  the  narrow  gap 
between  the  two  groups  of  mountains  mentioned  above, 
Dr.  MacDougal  discovered  a  wonderful  desert  botanical 
garden,  and  obtained  of  it  a  fine  photograph.  It  is  a  most 
characteristic  bit  of  south-western  desert  scenery — tree 
choyas,  Bigelow  choyas,  giant  cacti  of  dwarfed  stature, 
creosote  bushes,  cat-claw  acacias  and  the  usual  allotment 
of  palo  verde  and  mesquite.  Behind  the  level  ground 
rises  an  appropriate  setting  of  stage  mountains  (all  mine!), 
precisely  like  a  scene  in  a  first-class  theatre. 

A  short  half  mile  beyond  MacDougal's  Garden  we 
halted  and  went  into  camp,  close  beside  the  foot  of  my  most 
easterly  mountain,  but  as  far  as  ever  from  Pinacate!  A  few 
minutes  later  I  found  within  a  stone's  throw  of  our  camp- 
fire  a  fine  bunch  of  tracks  of  mountain  sheep!  Among 
those  present  there  was  a  set  which  could  have  been  made 
by  nothing  else  than  a  large  ram. 

With  a  warning  to  everybody  to  make  no  unnecessary 
noise,  and  on  no  account  to  fire  a  gun  at  anything  smaller 
than  a  sheep,  Dr.  MacDougal  and  I  quickly  caught  up  our 
rifles  and  hurried  off  into  the  gap  between  the  two  nearby 
ranges.  We  hunted  diligently  until  sunset,  and  although 
we  saw  no  sheep  we  returned  to  camp  feeling  reasonably 
certain  of  a  shot  on  the  morrow. 

Mr.  Phillips  found  in  the  Galleta  Meadow  an  extra- 
fine  jack-rabbit  which  he  greatly  desired  to  possess,  but 


164        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

knowing  the  desirability  of  not  alarming  any  sheep  by  a 
gunshot,  he  laboriously  followed  up  that  jack  and  killed  it 
with  a  feeble  little  "  pop  "  from  his  22-calibre  pistol.  Until 
darkness  fell,  many  eager  glances  were  cast  upon  the  visible 
faces  of  those  mountains  for  sheep.  Once  I  was  sure  that 
I  saw  one,  and  saw  it  move;  but  it  turned  out  to  be  a  trick 
of  the  fast-vanishing  light,  turned  for  a  brief  moment  on 
a  white  Bigelow  choya  and  then  withdrawn.  I  thought  it 
was  the  white  rump-patch  of  a  sheep. 

That  camp  was  a  dry  one,  and  we  had  no  water  for 
those  seventeen  horses.  Charlie  Foster,  Mr.  Milton  and 
Mr.  Daniels  compared  notes  and  decided  that  we  must  be 
sufficiently  near  the  Papago  Tanks  that  by  men  on  horse- 
back they  might  be  reached  in  an  hour  or  two.  They 
decided  to  take  all  the  horses  and  "make  a  try"  for  it; 
which  they  did.  They  rode  off  south-eastward  across  the 
lava-beds,  on  what  seemed  to  me  like  a  hopeless  experi- 
ment. For  myself,  I  was  so  dead  tired  that  such  a  ride 
at  that  hour  would  have  been  a  great  task;  but  those  three 
desert-wallahs  seemed  to  take  it  wholly  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

They  were  gone  about  three  hours,  and  returned  at 
late  bed-time,  when  the  rest  of  us  were  stretched  in  our 
sleeping-bags,  tired  but  triumphant.  *  They  had  actually 
found  the  Papago  Tanks;  the  tanks  contained  an  abun- 
dance of  good  water,  and  the  horses  were  serenely  happy. 
The  tanks  were  about  five  miles  away,  but — thank  good- 
ness!— directly  toward  Pinacate. 

For  the  morrow  we  planned  two  important  things. 
In  one  way  or  another,  we  would  get  the  outfit  to  the  tanks, 


MACDOUGAL  PASS  AND  VOLCANO          165 

and  at  the  same  time  three  of  us  would  have  a  hunt  for 
sheep  in  those  near-by  mountains,  starting  just  as  soon  as 
the  teams  were  well  on  their  way.  Once  more  every  one 
was  cautioned  that  because  we  were  then  in  the  haunts  of 
big  game,  there  must  be  no  shooting  at  small  game,  nor 
unnecessary  shooting  of  any  kind. 

The  morning  after  our  night  in  the  neck  of  MacDougal 
Pass  dawned  gloriously  across  the  dark-brown  lava  land- 
scape and  found  every  member  of  the  party  keenly  ex- 
pectant of  interesting  events.  The  morning  temperature 
was  42  degrees  and  the  humidity  80  degrees.  It  was  a 
great  relief  that  at  last  we  were  to  cease  swinging  around 
Pinacate,  at  a  radius  of  about  fifteen  miles,  and  go  directly 
toward  it.  As  we  pulled  through  what  proved  to  be  the 
last  mile  of  the  Pass,  Mr.  Phillips  climbed  upon  a  high 
point  and  secured  a  fine  picture  of  the  Pass  and  the  outfit 
coming  through  it.  Mr.  Milton  was  absent,  on  a  short 
side  hunt  for  antelope,  but  otherwise  the  party  was  com- 
plete, and  at  its  maximum  strength.  The  reader  will 
note  from  the  picture  that  the  giant  cactus  still  welcomes 
us,  but  its  stems  are  small,  short  and  without  branches. 
The  ocatilla  was  there  in  fine  stature — in  fact,  at  its  maxi- 
mum height,  as  we  saw  it  on  that  tour. 

No  sooner  had  we  emerged  from  the  southern  end  of 
the  Pass  and  scattered  toward  our  several  ways  than  Mr. 
Sykes  suddenly  appeared,  riding  rapidly  toward  Dr. 
MacDougal,  Mr.  Phillips  and  me,  waving  and  shouting. 

"Come  up  this  way!"  he  cried.  "There's  a  huge 
crater,  just  at  the  top  of  this  ridge!  It's  grand!"  And 
back  he  went  again,  as  fast  as  he  could  go. 


i66        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

We  quickly  turned  and  followed  the  Geographer  up 
a  brown  slope  covered  with  small  pieces  of  lava,  toward 
the  crest  of  what  seemed  to  be  a  ridge.  On  reaching  its 
summit,  like  a  picture  thrown  upon  a  screen  an  immense 
crater  suddenly  yawned  at  our  feet!  Its  rim  was  almost 
a  perfect  circle,  two  miles  in  circumference,  and  its  top 
was  nearly  level.  Its  diameter  at  the  top  was  about 
three-fourths  of  a  mile. 

Far  below,  a  floor  almost  as  level  as  a  lake  spread 
across  the  abyss.  Its  surface  was  of  clean  yellow  sand, 
but  a  dark  area  in  the  centre  looked  like  moisture  that  had 
settled  there  during  a  recent  rain.  Evidently  the  sand 
that1  covered  the  floor  had  blown  in  from  the  near-by  sand- 
hills of  the  Gulf  littoral. 

That  crater  floor  was  most  strangely  planted.  It  was 
fascinating  to  see,  with  such  clearness  of  detail,  how 
Nature  had  gone  about  her  work.  Each  item  of  the 
planting  was  so  separate  and  distinct  that  with  the  aid  of 
a  moderately  good  glass  one  could  have  counted  the  indi- 
vidual plants,  even  from  the  rim.  In  places  the  things 
were  growing  in  rows,  radiating  from  the  centre  outward; 
and  I  particularly  call  upon  the  long  lines  of  creosote 
bushes  in  the  southern  end  of  the  crater  to  bear  witness 
to  the  truth  of  what  I  say.  I  think  this  has  been  brought 
about  by  the  wash  of  storm  water  from  the  steep  sides  of 
the  crater,  flowing  toward  the  central  area. 

The  sandy  floor  was  stippled  all  over  with  tiny  creo- 
sote bushes — like  dark-coloured  dots  on  pale-buff  blotting- 
paper,  very  far  apart.  This,  evidently,  is  the  most  per- 
sistent and  hardy  Pioneer  of  the  Sand.  The  mesquite 


MACDOUGAL  PASS  AND  VOLCANO          167 

bushes  had  climbed  down  the  walls  of  the  crater,  from 
every  direction,  and  had  marched  about  one-third  of  the 
distance  out  toward  the  centre.  By  and  by,  say  in 
twenty-five  years  from  now,  they  will  meet  in  the  centre. 
The  eye  easily  picks  them  out,  by  their  greater  height 
and  larger  mass  than  the  creosote. 

The  oddest  thing,  however,  was  the  invasion  of  the 
saguaro,  or  giant  cactus.  Evidently  its  advance-guard 
had  found  it  impossible  to  climb  down  the  steep  walls, 
but  at  the  south-eastern  side  of  the  crater  they  found  a 
deep  notch,  and  through  that  breach  they  were  swarming 
in.  About  fifty  of  them  had  "made  good"  by  getting 
down  upon  the  crater  floor,  and  they  were  marching 
forward  in  irregular  open  order  to  capture  the  place.  A 
few  skirmishers  had  ventured  out  fully  half  way  to  the 
centre,  but  the  main  body  was  back  near  the  breach  in  the 
wall,  as  if  to  keep  in  touch  with  the  one  line  of  retreat. 
There  was  not  one  saguaro  anywhere  else  on  the  crater 
floor.  The  invaders  were  just  like  so  many  soldiers  in 
light  fighting  order — small,  straight  and  limbless. 

Mr.  Sykes  lost  not  a  moment  in  climbing  down  to  the 
floor  of  the  crater,  taking  its  altitude  and  measuring  its 
diameter,  by  pedometer.  He  reported  it  as  being  about 
400  feet  in  depth  below  the  rim,  50  feet  above  sea  level, 
and  1,200  yards  in  diameter  on  the  bottom.  As  he  paced 
across  the  floor,  he  looked  like  the  terminal  third  of  a  pin, 
and  it  was  with  much  difficulty  that  the  unaided  eye  could 
pick  him  out.  On  the  bottom  he  saw  a  jack-rabbit, 
several  doves  and  a  small  rodent. 

This  crater  was  not  so  very  deep,  and  its  sloping  walls 


i68        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

were  in  many  places  quite  practicable  for  a  good  climber. 
There  are  many  craters  that  are  larger  than  this,  and  in 
comparison  with  such  gigantic  manifestations  as  Kilauea 
or  Mauna  Loa  in  Hawaii,  this  is  a  mere  saucepan.  For 
all  that,  however,  as  desert  craters  go,  it  is  a  big  one,  and 
the  perfection  of  its  modelling  is  thoroughly  satisfactory. 
It  is  all  there,  and  excepting  its  floor  it  is  exactly  as  it 
was  when  the  last  ton  of  lava  was  thrown  out,  and  the 
fire  under  the  boiler  was  permitted  to  go  out  because  there 
was  no  more  work  for  it  to  do.  In  all  probability  there  is 
plenty  of  lava  buried  under  the  sands  on  the  western  side 
of  the  crater  that  have  blown  up  from  the  Gulf,  but  at 
present  the  only  visible  work  of  this  crater,  of  any  decided 
importance,  is  the  lava  field  toward  the  east,  which  boiled 
out  through  the  notch  and  flowed  toward  Pinacate  for 
two  miles  or  more. 

That  crater  was  the  leading  sensation  of  the  day — but 
not  the  only  one.  When  the  teams  arrived  opposite  the 
point  of  view,  the  men  leaped  from  the  wagons  and  fled 
up  the  lava-covered  slope  to  the  sky-line,  for  a  share  of  the 
wonder.  At  imminent  risk  to  the  safety  of  "Bill"  and 
"  Maude,"  the  whole  party  of  men  and  dogs  strung  itself 
along  the  rim,  vainly  striving  to  absorb  into  their  systems 
an  adequate  impression  of  the  wonderful  scene.  Early  in 
the  game  three  photographers  went  to  work.  Of  course, 
no  camera  could  take  in  the  entire  crater  on  one  plate,  nor 
even  the  half  of  it;  so  each  of  the  two  real  photographers 
made  a  three-section  panorama.  Their  pictures  are  very 
good,  especially  when  put  together  in  a  strip  two  feet  long; 
but  when  an  effort  is  made  to  reduce  all  that  down  to  the 


MACDOUGAL  PASS  AND  VOLCANO          169 

length  of  a  book  illustration,  the  grandeur  of  it  goes  all  to 
pieces,  and  the  reduction  is  a  tame  spectacle. 

It  was  while  we  were  admiring  the  crater  at  the  rate 
of  twenty  interjections  per  minute,  and  the  camera  men 
were  working  their  hardest,  that  we  were  startled  by  two 
thundering  reports  coming  from  the  notch,  just  out  of  our 
sight,  southward.  As  the  roar  of  the  shots  rose  on  the 
still  air,  resounded  through  the  crater  and  undoubtedly 
travelled  far  beyond,  we  all  looked  at  each  other  in  blank 
astonishment. 

"Who  was  that?" 

"It  must  be  Daniels  and  Charlie." 

"They  must  have  found  some  sheep  in  that  notch!" 

So  they  had;  but  not  as  we  thought;  and  the  sequel 
was  one  of  the  most  exciting  and  painful  episodes  of  the 
trip. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  PAPAGO  TANKS  AND  THE  LAVA  FIELDS 

An  Unpleasant  Episode  at  MacDougal  Crater — Mr.  Daniels  Leaves 
Us — By  Pack-Train  Across  the  Lava — The  Papago  Tanks — Aque- 
ducts Through  the  Lava — Our  Little  Oasis — The  White  Brittle 
Bush — Vegetable  Life  on  the  Lava. 

FOR  some  reasons  I  would  be  glad  to  leave  out  of  my 
story  the  next  incident;  but  the  man  who  puts  his  hand 
to  the  plough  to  run  a  furrow  of  narrative  into  a  wild  and 
unknown  country  has  no  other  option  than  to  be  a  faithful 
historian.  My  hunting  trips  always  have  been  so  free 
from  painful  incidents  that  the  one  at  MacDougal  Crater 
was  very  much  of  a  novelty. 

At  the  eastern  foot  of  the  MacDougal  Volcano,  where 
the  wagons  halted  while  the  drivers  ran  up  to  see  the 
sight,  the  lava  imposed  a  barrier  squarely  across  our  course 
— impassable  for  wheels.  There  the  wagons  were  elected 
to  remain  until  we  were  ready  to  take  the  trail  homeward. 
From  that  point  onward  our  progress  must  needs  be  by 
pack-horses;  and  it  was  three  and  one-half  miles  to  the 
tanks. 

Quite  near  to  the  rearmost  wagon  stood  a  grand  ocatilla 
in  full  leaf,  of  seventy-two  stems,  and  eighteen  feet  in 
height;  and  while  the  clan  was  gathering  from  the  crater 

I  essayed  to  make  a  photograph  of  the  Finest.     One  by 

170 


PAPAGO  TANKS  AND  THE  LAVA  FIELDS    171 

one  the  members  of  the  party  came  down,  and  finally  came 
the  Doctor. 

Some  of  us  had  heard  the  news  that  Daniels  and 
Charlie  had  seen  five  mountain  sheep  run  up  out  of  the 
crater,  and  pending  further  inquiry  we  concluded  that  the 
two  shots  fired  had  been  at  those  animals.  But  Dr. 
MacDougal  had  also  heard  something  else.  As  he  rode 
close  up  to  the  group  around  the  wagons  and  reined  up  his 
horse,  he  said  to  Daniels, 

"You  and  Charlie  saw  some  sheep,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Daniels,  "we  saw  five." 

"Where  were  they?" 

"They  ran  up  out  of  the  crater." 

"And  you  missed  them?" 

"No,  we  didn't  shoot  at  them.  They  were  too  far 
away." 

"  But  you  fired  twice.     What  did  you  shoot  at  ? " 

"Oh,  I  just  shot  at  some  rocks  over  there,"  answered 
Daniels,  as  if  bored  by  the  question. 

Then  the  Doctor  said,  quite  calmly, 

"You  know,  Mr.  Daniels,  that  it  was  agreed  between 
us  all  that  when  we  reached  big-game  country  there  should 
be  no  shooting  around  camp,  and  no  unnecessary  shooting 
of  any  kind." 

"Well,"  answered  Daniels  with  defiant  insolence,  "for 
one,  I'm  again  to  shoot  at  anything  I  please — any  time!" 

His  words  went  through  me  like  electricity,  and  my 
interest  in  the  photography  of  ocatillas  suddenly  ceased. 
The  overt  act,  and  the  deliberate  defiance  of  us  all,  were 
both  outrageous.  But  it  was  not  necessary  for  any  third 


1 72        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

party  to  say  aught  just  then,  for  the  Doctor  gave  no  one 
an  opportunity.  Instantly  he  boiled  over. 

"Now,  then,"  said  he,  white  with  anger,  "there  is  one 
thing  that  we  are  going  to  settle,  right  here,  once  and  for 
all.  It  has  been  thoroughly  understood  that  there  should 
be  no  unnecessary  shooting  in  big-game  country,  and  I'll 
be  d — d  if  any  man  in  this  party  shall  be  allowed  to  spoil 
the  sport  of  everybody  else  and  thwart  one  of  the  objects 
of  this  expedition.  There  are  two  gentlemen  here  who 
have  come  a  mighty  long  way  to  see  this  country  and  have 
a  little  shooting,  and  they're  going  to  have  what  they  came 
here  for,  or  I'll  know  the  reason  why." 

Now,  no  man  who  ever  has  crossed  the  Plains  needs 
to  be  told  that  such  a  declaration  of  war,  addressed  to  a 
strange  man  on  the  off-side  of  the  Boundary,  who  always 
carries  a  loaded  six-shooter  and  very  seldom  smiles,  is  a 
very  chancy  proceeding;  and  when  that  man  is  passion- 
ately desirous  of  shooting  everything  in  sight,  the  uncer- 
tainty of  the  result  is  intensified. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Mr.  Phillips  rode  up  to  the 
outer  edge  of  the  group.  Long  before  the  Doctor  had 
finished  what  he  had  to  say  I  joined  the  inner  circle,  and 
having  chanced  to  stand  quite  near  Mr.  Daniels,  my  op- 
portunity to  note  his  movements  was  as  good  as  could  be 
desired.  At  first  his  face  flushed  a  deep,  angry  red,  then 
went  pale  and  cold.  He  began  to  untie,  and  tie  anew,  the 
leather  thong  that  held  the  muzzle  of  his  big  six-shooter 
in  place  against  his  thigh;  and  I  thought  it  a  strange 
moment  to  be  adjusting  a  loaded  revolver.  As  the  Doctor 
finished  he  said, 


PAPAGO  TANKS  AND  THE  LAVA  FIELDS    173 

"Well,  I'll  pull  out  in  the  mornin'." 

Then  he  went  on  tying  down  the  muzzle  of  his  gun, 
as  if  he  feared  that  otherwise  it  might  get  away  from  him ; 
and  I  watched  him,  fascinated. 

Mr.  Milton  struck  in  with  a  strong  protest,  and  among 
other  things  he  said  that  he  had  invited  Mr.  Daniels  to 
come  as  his  guest,  and  that  if  his  friend  felt  obliged  to 
leave  he  (Milton)  would  have  to  go  with  him — much  as 
he  might  regret  the  necessity  for  doing  so. 

And  then  Charlie  Foster — our  hired  man — got  up  on 
his  hind  legs  and  said, 

"If  Mill-ton  go,  /go!" 

Then  some  of  the  rest  of  us  expressed  our  views,  in 
which  Dr.  MacDougal,  Mr.  Phillips  and  I  were  a  unit. 
We  all  said, 

"This  is  a  plain  business  proposition.  Three  of  us 
have  come  here  to  study  the  country  and  its  animals  and 
do  a  little  shooting.  If  everybody  else  is  going  to  shoot 
all  over  the  country,  at  all  times,  in  defiance  of  our  wishes, 
and  defeat  the  objects  of  the  trip,  we  may  as  well  turn 
around  here  and  go  home.  But  we  don't  propose  to  do 
that.  No  man  save  Dr.  MacDougal  is  indispensable  to 
this  party.  If  Mr.  Daniels  is  willing  to  live  up  to  the 
necessary  rules  of  the  game,  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  him 
stay  with  us;  for  we  appreciate  what  he  has  done  for  us 
up  to  this  point.  But,  if  there  is  any  man  in  the  party  who 
doesn't  care  to  play  the  game  according  to  the  rules,  we 
shall  have  to  get  along  without  him.  No  man  need  stay  a 
moment  on  our  account,  for  we  are  abundantly  able  to  go 
on,  do  all  that  we  came  to  do,  and  get  out  again,  all  right." 


174        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Mr.  Milton  did  his  best  to  mollify  his  friend,  and  in- 
duce him  to  change  his  mind,  although  strongly  protesting 
all  the  while  that  the  Doctor  had  been  "too  severe";  but 
Daniels'  only  reply  was, 

"You  can  do  as  you  like,  but  I  tell  you  Fm  agoin — 
in  the  morning." 

"Well,"  said  Jeff,  reluctantly,  "if  you  go,  I'll  have  to 
go  with  you;  but  it's  too  bad  to  divide  the  outfit." 

That  expression — "divide  the  outfit" — roused  the 
Doctor  afresh.  He  said, 

"If  this  outfit  is  to  be  divided  at  all,  it's  going  to  be 
divided  to-day,  and  right  now!  There's  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  postponing  it.  We'll  give  you  an  outfit  of  pro- 
visions; and  Jeff,  here's  the  remainder  of  the  ammunition 
that  I  brought  for  you." 

The  Doctor  went  to  one  of  his  boxes  and  pulled  out  a 
bag  containing  at  least  a  peck  of  cartridges  in  the  original 
packages,  which  he  emptied  upon  a  blanket  at  Mr.  Mil- 
ton's feet.  Daniels  immediately  went  to  work  to  "cut 
out"  his  blankets  and  clothing,  and  make  up  a  pack  for 
his  spare  horse.  He  was  offered  provisions,  but  to  the  last 
he  sullenly  refused  to  accept  anything.  Very  soon  he 
mounted  and  rode  away  eastward  across  the  lava,  leading 
his  pack-horse. 

For  a  time  we  were  much  depressed  by  this  incident; 
but,  as  the  French  say  in  such  cases — qul  voulez  vous? 
What  will  you  have  ?  A  man  who  refuses  to  abide  by  the 
rules  of  a  game  simply  cannot  sit  in  it. 

Of  course  there  was  much  conversation  not  recorded 
above.  We  were  profoundly  sorry — and  said  so — at  being 


PAPAGO  TANKS  AND  THE  LAVA  FIELDS    175 

compelled  to  lay  down  the  law  to  a  man  who  had  served 
us  as  faithfully  as  did  Mr.  Daniels  on  the  previous  day; 
but  we  had  come  too  far  to  have  the  trip  spoiled  by  the 
foolishness  of  any  one  man.  We  were  quite  certain  that 
with  our  original  Tucson  party  the  trip  could  be  carried 
out  according  to  programme,  successfully,  and  we  were 
ready  to  say  good-by  to  the  whole  Sonoyta  contingent,  if 
need  be. 

I  am  glad  to  say  that  Mr.  Milton  reconsidered  his  first 
decision — that  he  was  in  honour  bound  to  follow  the  lead 
of  Daniels.  I  think  he  must  have  recognized  the  justice 
of  our  position,  for  he  remained  with  us.  After  the  de- 
parture of  Daniels,  we  never  again  discussed  the  incident, 
or  even  mentioned  it.  He  remained  with  us  to  the  end, 
did  absolutely  everything  in  his  power  to  contribute  to 
the  pleasures  and  successes  of  the  trip,  and  we  enjoyed 
his  company  very  greatly. 

On  the  day  that  we  reached  the  Ajo  Mines  on  our 
way  out  to  Gila  Bend,  whom  should  we  meet  at  "the  store  " 
but  Mr.  Daniels!  He  was  on  his  way  down  with  a  load 
of  "outfit,"  for  himself,  and  was  about  to  begin  some 
contract  work  on  a  mining  claim.  He  had  no  use  for  me, 
or  for  Dr.  MacDougal,  but  was  friendly  toward  Mr. 
Phillips,  even  to  the  extent  of  standing  (with  John's  rifle) 
for  a  photograph  against  a  near-by  palo  verde. 

MacDougal  Pass  ends  at  MacDougal  Crater,  and 
there  all  heavy  wagon  travel  stops.  It  might  be  possible 
for  an  empty  buck-board  to  wind  its  way  two  or  three 
miles  farther,  across  the  least-rough  lava  plains,  or  even 
with  some  work  to  reach  to  Papago  Tanks;  but  I  advise 


176        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

any  one  who  thinks  of  attempting  it  first  to  make  a  prac- 
ticable road  across  the  lava  gulches  and  arroyos. 

We  abandoned  our  wagons  at  the  Crater,  and  our 
horses  were  immediately  packed  with  as  much  of  our  im- 
pedimenta as  they  could  carry.  It  is  quite  a  chore  to 
overhaul  a  wagon-load  of  miscellaneous  freight,  in  all 
sorts  of  receptacles,  assort  it  for  carriage  by  horse,  and 
make  it  up  into  packs  that  will  ride  without  slipping  and 
without  injury  to  the  back  of  the  party  of  the  first  part. 
But  Frank  Coles  is  a  genuine  expert  in  packing,  and  with 
the  skilled  assistance  of  Jess  Jenkins,  Jeff  Milton  and 
Charlie  Foster,  the  work  was  soon  accomplished,  and  the 
long  line  of  horses  began  to  wind  its  sinuous  way  over  the 
lava  field. 

It  gave  us  queer  sensations — to  strike  off  straight 
toward  the  centre  of  that  great  black  expanse,  the  crater 
and  the  awful  Sand-Hills  behind  us,  dead  volcano  cones 
and  peaks  on  both  sides  of  us  and  all  kinds  of  lava  under- 
foot. Ahead  of  us  was  roughness,  ruggedness,  low  lava 
cones  and  high  ones — brown,  red  and  innumerable, 
finally  culminating  in  Pinacate  itself.  All  we  knew  of  the 
country  ahead  of  us  was  that  it  was  all  lava,  mostly  very 
rough,  and  Pinacate  was  "as  far  away  as  ever!" 

The  trail  of  three  and  one-half  miles  over  to  the  tanks 
proved  to  be  not  so  very  bad.  There  were  stretches  of 
fairly  level  plain  whereon  the  footing  was  smooth  enough 
to  be  really  good,  and  the  lava  sprinkled  over  the  surface 
was  in  such  small  bits  that  no  one  minded  it. 

Without  knowing  it  on  that  first  day,  we  passed  quite 
near  another  big  crater,  and  also  two  massive  dead  vol- 


I 
i 

5 
E 


H    I 
3 


. 


"8 


.S3 

1 


PAPAGO  TANKS  AND  THE  LAVA  FIELDS    177 

cano  cones;  but  there  were  no  terrible  tracts  of  pressure- 
ridge  lava  such  as  we  found  in  scores  of  places  farther 
along.  Our  route  to  the  tanks  was  garnished  with  ocatil- 
las,  bisnaga  cacti,  the  inevitable  choya  of  Bigelow,  and  an 
occasional  Encelia  and  dragon's  blood;  of  which,  more 
anon. 

The  impression  made  by  the  sight  of  a  new  thing  in 
Nature  is  wholly  dependent  upon  the  observer's  frame  of 
mind.  It  is  always  a  great  pity  for  a  traveller  to  see  any 
new  thing  of  paramount  interest  when  he  is  too  hot,  too 
cold,  too  wet  or  too  dry  to  enjoy  it.  The  human  mind  is 
like  a  photographer's  negative.  If  the  emulsion  is  not 
too  old  and  stale,  if  there  is  not  too  much  halation,  too 
much  smoke  of  cigarettes  or  mental  fog,  the  image  will 
be  sharp  and  clear,  and  appreciated. 

I  think  that  of  our  party,  every  man,  horse  and  dog 
fully  appreciated  and  admired  the  Papago  Tanks.  How 
I  wish  I  could  interview  "Maude"  and  "Bill"  to-day — 
the  leading  mules  of  our  stock  company — and  have  them 
tell  me  whether  they  remember  the  sweet,  clear  water  of 
that  big  pool,  and  the  gloomy  walls  of  lava  rock  that  sur- 
round it.  If  it  were  possible  to  know,  I  would  willingly 
wager  that  they  do  remember  it,  perfectly,  and  if  lost  in 
MacDougal  Pass  could  find  it  again. 

I  envy  those  travellers  and  writers  to  whom  every  mani- 
festation of  Nature  is  like  an  open  book  with  a  drop- 
light  over  it.  Would  that  I  had  been  born  a  geologist  of 
the  kind  to  whom  all  things  are  known;  especially  the 
Dim  Past!  Could  we  have  borrowed  one  for  our  trip, 
how  useful  he  would  have  been  on  those  lava  beds!  But 


178        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

now  it  is  too  late;  and  I  fear  I  never  will  know  how 
those  deep  water-courses  were  cut  down  into  that  flinty 
lava  rock,  and  how  those  Papago  Tanks  were  blasted 
out  of  seamless  basalt  harder  than  hematite.  If  any  one 
says  "erosion,"  or  "the  action  of  water,"  you  may  say — 
"Nonsense!"  In  such  flinty  rock  as  that  which  bounds 
the  Papago  Tanks,  a  three-inch  rainfall  could  not  scoop 
out  a  four-foot  basin  in  a  million  years.  That  rock  is  as 
smooth  as  a  plate  of  steel  armor,  and  almost  as  hard.  It 
glistens  like  vitrified  brick. 

Volcano  cones,  deep  craters  and  lava  flows  are  not  so 
very  mysterious;  but  those  deep,  ditch-like  arroyos  cut 
through  flinty  lava  certainly  puzzled  the  undersigned. 
There  are  dozens  of  them — ay,  scores  of  them.  They 
head  far  up  toward  Pinacate,  and  in  the  first  five  hun- 
dred feet  from  their  parent  mountain-side,  down  they  go 
into  the  lava,  ten  feet,  or  twenty  feet,  just  like  so  many 
open  subways  blasted  out  of  solid  rock.  In  trying  to 
cross  an  innocent-looking  lava  plain  you  suddenly  fetch 
up  on  the  brink  of  one  of  those  strangest-of-all  water- 
courses. It  may  easily  be  thirty  feet  deep,  with  walls 
absolutely  perpendicular;  and  you  may  have  to  hunt  up 
or  down  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  before  you  find  a  way  to 
scramble  down  to  the  bottom.  The  walls  and  bottom  are 
of  bare  rock,  clean  and  spotless,  and  wherever  you  find  a 
pool  of  water,  be  it  a  cupful  or  a  hundred  barrels,  it  will 
be  crystal  clear  and  sweet  as  a  mountain  spring. 

No;  those  huge  stone  aqueducts  were  not  made  "by 
the  action  of  water!"  My  word  for  it!  In  a  country 
wherein  the  average  annual  rainfall  must  be  about  three 


PAPAGO  TANKS  AND  THE  LAVA  FIELDS    179 

inches,  storm  water  could  not  excavate  one  of  those  rock 
arroyos  in  a  decillion  of  years;  and  from  the  story  of  the 
lava  and  the  craters,  we  know  that  the  time  limit  of  that 
land  does  not  reach  back  that  far,  by  at  least  a  billion. 

The  Papago  Tanks  are  great.  As  Napoleon  once 
was  said  to  be,  they  really  are  "grand,  gloomy  and  pecul- 
iar." Of  course  they  are  situated  in  one  of  those  stone- 
aqueduct  arroyos  which  comes  down  three  or  four  miles 
from  the  Pinacate  Mountains.  Out  of  the  lower  side  of  a 
burnished  wall  of  smooth,  bluish  basalt  at  least  twenty 
feet  high,  there  has  been  scooped  a  deep  niche,  and  the 
floor  of  it  has  been  deepened  to  four  feet,  to  make  a  basin. 
On  the  western  side  there  is  a  nice  little  beach  of  sand  and 
gravel,  and  back  of  that  huge  boulders  of  basaltic  lava 
have  been  piled  up  promiscuously.  It  was  in  the  pool 
which  lies  in  the  bottom  of  that  rock-rimmed  basin  that 
we  watered  our  stock — and  I  wish  you  could  have  seen 
them  there  on  that  first  day!  They  drank,  and  sighed 
contentedly;  they  tossed  the  water  with  their  muzzles, 
then  they  pawed  it  until  it  flew  all  over  us.  My  black 
horse  presently  lay  down  in  it,  and  took  a  bath! 

The  surprise  of  those  horses  in  finding  such  a  body  of 
water  in  that  lava-bed  was  literally  overwhelming;  and 
how  they  did  enjoy  it! 

Back  of  the  large  pool — which  was  dedicated  to  the 
horses  of  the  outfit — another  basin  has  been  carved  out, 
for  another  pool,  but  much  smaller.  It  looks  like  a  big 
black  cistern  with  a  piece  bitten  out  of  one  side.  As  I  re- 
member, it  is  about  twelve  feet  in  diameter  and  twenty  feet 
high,  and  the  pool  occupies  practically  the  entire  bottom. 


i8o        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Upon  the  ragged  lava  above,  the  vegetation  of  the  desert 
has  bravely  established  holdings,  and  the  nakedness  of 
the  burned-out  mass  is  relieved  here  and  there  by  pale- 
green  splashes  of  mesquite.  Like  sentinels  guarding  the 
precious  liquid  down  below,  two  stunted  but  persistent 
saguaros  stand  on  the  bare  lava  that  forms  the  westerly 
rim  of  the  tanks. 

There  is  a  third  tank,  of  good  size,  that  lies  on  a  still 
lower  level,  amid  a  chaos  of  loose  boulders;  and  being 
the  nearest  to  our  camp,  oui  cooks  drew  upon  it  for  our 
daily  supply.  In  all  three  of  the  pools  the  water  was 
delicious,  and  at  the  time  of  our  entry  contained  no  algae. 
Later  on,  however,  the  level  of  the  Horse  Pool  lowered 
considerably  and  a  mass  of  green  algae  formed  over  half 
of  its  surface.  All  these  pools  contained  many  specimens 
of  a  small  species  of  crustacean,  belonging  to  the  genus 
A  pus.  They  were  only  an  inch  in  length,  rather  soft  for 
crustaceans,  and  in  colour  dull,  lustreless  gray.  We  also 
found  specimens  of  a  cosmopolitan  species  of  water- 
beetle, — Eretes  sticticus, — that  is  found  all  the  way  from 
Japan  across  country  to  Peru.  The  only  other  life  in 
the  tanks  consisted  of  larvae  of  the  dragon-fly,  gorgeously 
coloured  purple,  scarlet,  yellow  and  green.  These  were 
quite  abundant. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  we  found  this  abundance 
of  good  water  in  the  Papago  Tanks  at  the  end  of  an  unusu- 
ally wet  "rainy  season."  Travellers  who  visit  them  in  a 
dry  year,  or  in  spring  or  summer,  are  liable  to  find  them 
totally  dry;  in  which  case  the  result  may  easily  become 
very  serious.  If  the  pools  are  dry,  the  nearest  water  will 


r  •!>._'.' 

aria. 


PAPAGO  TANKS  AND  THE  LAVA  FIELDS    181 

be  in  the  Represa  Tank,  twenty-five  miles  away  in  an  air 
line  on  the  Camino  del  Diablo,  or,  worse  still,  in  the 
Sonoyta  River — goodness  knows  how  far  away — fifty  or 
sixty  long,  hot  miles.  Therefore  do  I  say  to  those  who 
may  come  after  us — do  not  rashly  attempt  to  negotiate  the 
Papago  Tanks  without  knowing  precisely  how  you  are 
going  to  "save  your  bacon"*  in  the  event  that  you  find 
them  dry. 

The  lower  environs  of  the  Papago  Tanks  are  in  reality 
an  oasis — small,  but  of  paramount  value.  The  lower 
pool  marks  the  upper  end  of  an  arroyo,  or  barranca,  of 
great  importance  to  this  region,  for  its  vegetation  furnishes 
an  abundance  of  shade,  grass  and  fire-wood.  The  stream- 
bed  of  loose  sand  varies  in  width  from  one  hundred  feet  to 
two  hundred,  and  the  little  ribbon  of  level  valley  through 
which  it  runs  is  a  perfect  jungle  of  big  mesquite  and  palo 
verde  trees,  ironwood,  desert  willows  and  smaller  things. 
There  was  an  abundance  of  galleta  grass  for  our  horses, 
without  which  the  place  would  have  been  actually  un- 
tenable. "Luck?"  It  certainly  was.  This  arroyo  runs 
westward  clear  down  to  the  edge  of  the  sand-hills,  ten  or 
twelve  miles  at  least,  but  below  the  Papago  Tanks  it  is 
waterless  save  in  times  of  flood. 

We  camped  on  a  lovely  little  plaza,  at  the  northern  edge 
of  the  oasis,  facing  a  horribly  rough  hill  of  lava.  It  was 
a  very  bad  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  Horse  Pool.  Up  on 
the  lava  hill  north  of  our  plaza  we  found  two  large  piles 

*This  classic  exhortation,  from  the  ball-grounds  of  the  western  school-boy, 
is  particularly  useful  in  the  south-western  deserts,  and  might  well  be  pasted  in 
every  traveller's  hat. 


1 82        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

of  stones,  placed  there  by  Papago  Indians,  and  near  them 
a  pile  of  eighteen  badly  charred  horns  of  mountain-sheep 
rams  that  had  been  butchered  to  make  a  Papago  holiday. 
This  spot  lies  on  what  once  was  the  route  taken  by  the 
Indians  of  the  Sonoyta  valley  to  reach  the  saline  deposits 
of  the  Gulf  of  California  on  their  annual  journeys  for 
supplies  of  salt.  Had  those  trips  continued  a  little  longer 
the  mountain  sheep  of  Pinacate  surely  would  have  been 
exterminated  by  the  Bean-Eaters,  root  and  branch. 

Naturally,  we  were  greatly  interested  in  the  vegetation 
around  the  Tanks.  There  we  found,  in  its  prime,  a 
beautiful  white-leafed  bush  called  Encelia  farinosa,  but 
apparently  in  need  of  a  good  English  name.  To  supply 
this  absurd  omission,  we  will  hereafter  call  it  the  White 
Brittle-Bush. 

The  White  Brittle-Bush,  as  seen  standing  alone  on 
bare  black  lava,  is  truly  a  thing  of  beauty.  It  is  hemi- 
spherical, symmetrical,  immaculate  and  clean  as  a  new 
shirt.  It  is  like  a  big  white  bouquet.  Its  leaves  are  all 
on  the  outside,  and  although  its  branches  are  large  and 
stocky — for  the  storage  of  water — they  are  so  brittle  that 
you  can  grasp  a  great  handful  of  the  outer  stems  and,  with 
one  movement,  snap  off  every  one  of  them  as  if  they  were 
so  many  pipe-stems  of  clay.  The  leaves  are  very  large— 
for  a  desert  plant — the  blade  being  shaped  like  a  broad 
arrow-head,  one  and  one-half  inches  long  by  one  and  one- 
quarter  wide.  The  flower  is  a  little  yellow  composite, 
like  a  tiny  yellow  daisy,  thrust  far  up  on  the  tip  of  a  frail 
and  friable  little  flower-stalk  six  inches  higher  than  the 
periphery  of  the  foliage.  We  found  few  of  them  in  flower, 


From  a  photograph  by  D.  T.  MacDougal 


The  Spiny  Smoke  Tree 


From  a  photograph  by  D.  T.  MacDougal 


The  White  Brittle-Bush 


PAPAGO  TANKS  AND  THE  LAVA  FIELDS    183 

but  enough  for  our  inquisitive  purpose.  To  the  taste,  the 
foliage  is  strongly  aromatic,  pungent  and  bitter,  and  re- 
calls the  foliage  of  the  common  sage-brush  (Artemisia). 
Apparently  no  animal  eats  the  stems  or  foliage  of  the 
White  Brittle-Bush;  and  we  are  very  glad  of  it,  for  it  is 
truly  a  soft  and  pleasing  thing  to  contemplate  on  the 
scowling  lava-fields.  The  mountain  sheep  doubtless 
shared  our  views,  since  nearly  every  one  killed  was  found 
to  have  browsed  amply  on  the  slender,  delicate  dead  flower- 
stalks  of  the  last  season  that  still  adhered  to  the  stems, 
and  projected  above  the  grayish-green  mass.  This  bush 
is  said  to  be  widespread  in  the  south-western  desert,  but 
I  did  not  notice  it  anywhere  outside  that  Pinacate-Sonoyta 
region;  which  may  have  been  my  fault. 

Naturally,  in  such  a  wild  and  weird  spot  as  the  Pina- 
cate  region,  every  plant,  tree  and  living  creature  is  of 
interest — rendered  so  by  the  grim  surroundings  and  the 
intensity  of  the  struggle  to  survive.  It  is  fair  to  assume 
that  the  plant  life  we  saw  at  the  Papago  Tanks  represents 
only  the  boldest  and  hardiest  species  of  the  south-western 
desert  region;  because,  were  they  otherwise,  they  as- 
suredly would  not  be  there.  I  am  therefore  tempted  to 
mention  a  few  more  of  the  plant  species  that  grew  in  the 
little  valley  that  ran  through  the  lava  waste  like  a  green 
ribbon  trailing  through  a  cinder-bed. 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  Iron- Wood  Tree.*  In 
size  and  general  appearance  it  strongly  resembles  both  the 
mesquite  and  the  acacia — all  of  which  have  tiny  leaves 
and  look  very  much  alike.  Its  wood  is  intensely  hard  and 

*Olneya  tesota. 


1 84        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

solid,  in  which  it  goes  to  the  opposite  extreme  from  the 
numerous  bushes  with  big,  soft,  pithy  stems  that  have 
been  specially  developed  for  the  quick  absorption  and 
storage  of  large  quantities  of  water. 

Quite  near  our  camp  were  several  Spiny  Smoke-Trees, 
or  Indigo  Trees  (Parosela  spinosa),  one  of  which  was  the 
largest  and  finest  specimen  I  ever  saw  growing  wild  and 
untrammelled.  Dr.  MacDougal  made  of  it  a  very  fine 
photograph.  The  peculiar  fluffiness  of  its  foliage  and  its 
green-gray  colour  render  it  conspicuous  from  afar,  and 
instantly  recognizable. 

The  giant  cactus  had  indeed  gained  a  foothold  on 
the  lava,  but  on  account  of  the  scarcity  of  water  and  the 
total  lack  of  soil,  the  straggling  specimens  of  it  were  very 
small  and  limbless.  The  organ-pipe  cactus  was  quite 
absent  from  the  lava,  and  so  was  the  large  barrel  cactus. 

In  that  land,  it  is  safe  to  guess  that  any  shrub  which 
is  not  protected  by  thorns  is  defended  by  a  bitter  taste. 
The  big-stemmed,  small-leafed  bush  called  "torote  prieto" 
is  almost  as  bitter  to  the  taste  as  quassia,  and  is  rarely 
eaten.  But  it  is  no  wonder  that  any  plant  growing  on 
naked  lava  should  be  bitter.  Any  struggle  for  existence 
that  is  too  fierce  to  be  interesting  is  apt  to  embitter  the 
party  of  the  first  part. 

The  banks  of  the  arroyo  near  our  camp  were  a  dense 
jungle,  in  places  almost  impenetrable.  There  were  great 
patches  of  a  tall,  rank  weed,  with  large  leaves,  much  re- 
sembling the  iron-weed  of  my  boyhood  days.  Over  the 
tangle  there  sometimes  ran  a  dark-green  vine,  with  fine 
tendrils  (Ecbinopepon  wrigbti),  that  much  resembles  our 


PAPAGO  TANKS  AND  THE  LAVA  FIELDS    185 

wild  morning-glory.  As  usual,  we  depended  upon  the  old 
reliable  mesquite  for  the  camp-fire,  and  it  never  failed  us. 

Of  course  there  were  several  species  of  cacti  on  the 
lava,  mostly  small  bisnagas  and  choyas,  but  they  will  be 
spoken  of  later  on  in  the  cactus  chapter. 

As  soon  as  our  pack-train  had  been  unloaded  at  the 
Papago  Tanks,  the  Doctor's  tent  was  put  up  to  shelter 
our  belongings  from  dust,  and  we  established  ourselves 
in  what  might  be  called  a  "permanent  camp."  It  was  a 
wonderfully  weird  spot,  and  no  sooner  were  we  settled  in 
it  than  things  began  to  happen. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

EXTINCT  VOLCANOES  AND  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP 

A  Blank  Sheep  Hunt  to  the  Author's  Mountains — Mr.  Milton  Scores 
with  Two  Sheep — Mr.  Phillips  Kills  Two  Rams — The  Clover-leaf 
Crater — The  Sykes  Crater — Awful  Lava  Cones — The  Dead  Ram 
and  Its  Surroundings — Mr.  Phillips  tells  the  Story  of  the  Rainbow 
Rams. 

THE  fifteenth  of  November  was  one  of  the  great  days 
of  the  trip ;  but  for  once  my  luck  abandoned  me,  and  in  the 
thrilling  events  I  was  not  among  those  present. 

Three  hunting  parties  went  out  for  mountain  sheep. 
Mr.  Milton  went  north-east,  Mr.  Phillips,  Mr.  Sykes  and 
Charlie  Foster  went  north,  while  Dr.  MacDougal  and  I 
went  back  to  try  out  the  granite  mountains  west  of  the 
southern  end  of  the  Pass — beside  which  we  had  camped 
and  found  fresh  sheep  signs. 

Like  the  luckless  whaler  of  New  Bedford,  the  Botanist 
and  I  got  no  sheep,  "but  we  had  a  mighty  fine  sail."  We 
circled  around  the  big  crater,  close  under  its  rim,  but  found 
no  sheep  within.  We  combed  all  those  mountain  sides, 
as  with  a  fine-toothed  comb.  We  climbed  high  up  into 
the  heart  of  the  southern  group  of  mountains,  where  by 
good  rights  there  should  have  been  a  dozen  big  rams,  but 
found  no  sheep. 

At  noon  we  unsaddled  at  the  extreme  western  foot  of 

186 


EXTINCT  VOLCANOES  AND  SHEEP         187 

the  range  in  the  edge  of  the  sand-hills,  and  while  our 
horses  restfully  cropped  the  galleta  grass  we  studied  the 
botany  of  the  sands.  Lying  low  on  a  dune,  we  saw  pre- 
cisely how  the  light,  dry  sand  steadily  and  persistently 
travels  eastward,  close  along  the  surface  of  the  fixed  de- 
posit, a  thin  sheet  of  it  rolling  forward  up  and  down  the 
undulations  until  somewhere  it  reaches  an  insurmountable 
barrier  and  stops. 

We  circumnavigated  that  entire  group  of  mountains, 
and  with  our  glasses  searched  every  side  and  summit, 
confident  that  we  would  strike  several  bands  of  big-horn; 
but  none  were  struck.  On  the  Galleta  Meadow  there  were 
many  jack-rabbits,  but  they  were  as  safe  from  us  as  if 
they  had  been  in  a  zoo.  Our  long,  circular  ride  brought 
us  back  to  the  abandoned  wagons  at  sunset,  and  we  had 
to  pick  our  way  campward  in  the  dark;  but  the  young 
moon  was  helpful,  and  by  going  slowly  we  successfully 
followed  the  trail. 

On  reaching  camp  we  found  that  Mr.  Milton  had  re- 
turned, successful.  He  had  killed  a  five-year-old  ram, 
and  a  ewe  with  horns  that  for  a  female  sheep  were  truly 
very  large.  Naturally,  we  regretted  the  death  of  the  ewe; 
but  at  the  same  time  it  was  a  good  thing  to  have  one  fine, 
old  female  specimen. 

Mr.  Milton  hastened  to  explain  and  justify  the  shooting 
of  the  ewe  on  the  ground  that  she  was  the  first  sheep  that 
he  saw,  and  the  camp  was  very  much  in  need  of  meat. 
The  ram  was  seen  and  killed  a  little  later,  as  it  dashed 
past  him  out  of  the  crater  of  an  extinct  volcano  of  the 
conical  species. 


i88        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

It  was  Mr.  Phillips  and  Mr.  Sykes  who  scored  heaviest 
on  that  day.  They  returned  through  the  darkness  very 
shortly  after  the  Doctor  and  I  arrived,  tired  but  triumphant. 
Mr.  Sykes  had  two  splendid  new  craters  to  his  credit  and 
Mr.  Phillips  had  collected  two  lava  rams.  Of  the  latter, 
one  was  an  Old  Residenter,  with  magnificent  horns,  and 
the  other  was  a  five-year-old. 

Mr.  Sykes  was  fairly  bursting  with  enthusiasm  over 
the  craters  and  the  sheep,  but  Mr.  Phillips's  chief  excite- 
ment was  due  to  the  astounding  manner  in  which  Mr. 
Sykes  had  put  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  mountain- 
sheep  ram  on  his  back  and  carried  it  a  mile  down  a 
terrible  mountain  side  of  rough  lava  garnished  with  choyas, 
to  the  horses.  I  never  knew  any  feat  of  arms — or  of  legs — 
to  so  arouse  John  M.  as  did  that;  but  when  I  saw  that 
mountain  side,  a  few  hours  later,  I  fully  understood  the  case. 

That  night  we  feasted  on  mountain-sheep  steaks  that 
were  young  and  tender;  and  everybody  gormandized 
except  me.  I  never  saw  any  other  white  men  eat  as  did 
my  companions  on  that  trip!  But,  after  all,  I  enjoyed 
seeing  their  enjoyment.  Boys  will  be  boys;  and  out  in 
the  wilds  where  there  is  much  to  do  and  no  one  to  criticise, 
why  should  they  not  for  once  eat  all  they  want  ? 

The  next  morning,  early  and  brightly,  we  set  out  for 
the  craters  and  the  scene  of  carnage.  First  we  went  to 
the  crater  which  the  Boys  said  was  "  shaped  like  a  clover- 
leaf."  It  is  north-west  of  the  Papago  Tanks,  distant  about 
three  miles,  and  as  seen  from  below  there  is  nothing 
visible  save  a  rather  steep  ridge  with  a  level  line  for  a 
summit. 


EXTINCT  VOLCANOES  AND  SHEEP         189 

This  crater  is  deeper  than  the  Doctor's  crater,  and  in 
saying  that  it  is  shaped  like  a  clover-leaf,  the  Boys  de- 
scribed it  very  well.  Two  of  the  leaves,  toward  the  east 
and  south,  embrace  about  four-fifths  of  the  floor  area. 
The  third  one,  which  is  in  the  north-west  corner,  is  a  tiny 
one — about  one-fifth  the  whole.  The  three  leaves  are 
divided  from  each  other  by  buttresses  of  lava  that  are 
built  up  against  the  main  wall. 

As  in  honour  bound,  Mr.  Sykes  climbed  down  into 
that  crater  to  measure  it.  He  found  it  to  be  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  deep,  one  thousand  five  hundred  feet 
wide  at  the  bottom,  and  its  rim  was  nearly  a  mile  in  cir- 
cumference. 

In  honour  of  Senor  Olegario  Molina,  Secretary  of  the 
Department  of  Fomento,  of  the  Republic  of  Mexico,  who 
is  worthy  of  much  honour,  we  named  that  discovery 
Molina  Crater. 

But  in  craters,  the  Wonder  of  wonders  was  reserved 
for  the  last.  The  record-breaker  rises — and  also  descends 
—almost  due  east  of  the  Papago  Tanks,  The  foot  of  its 
final  slope  upward  is,  by  Mr.  Sykes's  pedometer,  three  and 
a  half  miles  distant  from  our  camp,  across  a  stretch  of 
very  rough  lava.  It  is  half  a  mile  from  the  foot  of  the 
steep  slope  to  the  top  of  the  rim,  and  a  mighty  stiff  climb 
at  that.  But  for  the  sheep  to  be  brought  down,  Mr. 
Phillips  and  I  would  have  left  our  horses  at  the  foot  of 
the  cone;  but,  knowing  that  we  would  need  them  higher 
up,  we  dismounted  and  led  them  zigzagging  upward. 

I  thought  that  the  descriptions  of  the  two  excitable 
members  had  prepared  my  mind  for  the  Sykes  Crater, 


IQO        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

and  that  I  could  take  it  quite  calmly;  but  I  was  wrong  on 
both  counts.  No  man — unless  it  be  one  who  is  thoroughly 
crater-wise — can  absorb  from  any  man's  description,  or 
from  any  picture,  an  adequate  conception  of  that  abyss. 
You  seem  to  stand  at  the  Gateway  to  the  Hereafter.  The 
hole  in  the  earth  is  so  vast,  and  its  bottom  is  so  far  away, 
it  looks  as  if  it  might  go  down  to  the  centre  of  the  earth. 
The  walls  go  down  so  straight  and  so  smooth  that  at  one 
point  only  can  man  or  mountain  sheep  descend  or  climb 
out.  There  the  roughness  of  the  rocks  renders  it  possible 
for  a  bold  and  nerveless  mountaineer — as  much  as  possible 
unlike  the  present  incumbent — to  make  the  trip. 

Of  course  Mr.  Sykes  went  down,  bearing  his  aneroid 
and  pedometer.  The  depth  of  it,  from  rim  to  bottom,  he 
found  to  be  750  feet,  and  the  inside  diameter,  at  the  bot- 
tom, was  1,400  feet.  The  bottom  is  about  150  feet  above 
sea  level. 

In  summing  up  the  evidence  he  said, 

"How  far  do  you  think  it  is  around  this  rim?5' 

I  thought  "a  mile  and  a  half";  but  to  keep  from  being 
surprised  I  said, 

"Two  miles."    And  he  said, 

"It  is  very  nearly  three!" 

The  Washington  Monument  is  555  feet  high.  Imagine 
a  round  hole  wider  than  the  length  of  Battery  Park,  New 
York,  going  down  so  far  that  with  the  monument  standing 
on  its  floor  you  would  have  to  look  down  two  hundred  feet 
farther  in  order  to  see  the  aluminum  cap  on  the  apex. 

The  floor  of  the  Sykes  Crater  is  so  far  down  that  from 
the  top  of  the  rim  one  sees  only  a  small  portion  of  it. 


EXTINCT  VOLCANOES   AND   SHEEP         191 

You  see  a  light  stipple  of  vegetation  dotted  over  the  level 
sand,  but  it  is  impossible  to  tell  anything  about  the  char- 
acter of  it.  Mr.  Sykes  found  it  consisted  of  the  following 
species:  Choya,  giant  cactus,  palo  verde,  creosote  bush, 
mesquite  and  galleta  grass. 

We  lingered  long  on  that  breezy  rim,  gazing  spell-bound 
into  the  abyss,  and  at  the  red  lava  peaks  looming  up  high 
above  the  rim  on  both  the  east  and  the  west.  By  way  of 
contrast  we  turned  occasionally  and  gazed  off  at  the 
scowling,  gnarled  and  rugged  brown  landscape  surround- 
ing the  foot  of  the  cone  far  below — a  grim  and  terrible 
prospect,  no  less.  Near  at  hand  a  thin  sprinkling  of  ocatil- 
las  and  choyas  and  lower  down  the  mesquites  and  palo 
verdes  strove  to  enliven  the  sullen  lava-heaps  with  flecks 
of  cheerful  green  verdure,  and  with  pronounced  success. 
If  there  is  any  spot  on  earth  wherein  it  is  possible  to  be 
thankful  for  a  Bigelow  choya,  it  is  on  a  field  of  lava  which 
lies  scowling  and  raging  at  the  heavens.  The  widely 
scattered  splashes  of  pale  green  do  something  to  take  the 
curse  off  the  lava. 

On  that  particular  morning  the  wind  swept  over  the 
top  of  the  crater  with  a  violence  which  added  to  the 
weirdness  of  the  scene.  Gradually  we  worked  our  way 
around,  eastward,  to  the  highest  point  of  the  rim,  striving 
as  we  went  to  "take  it  all  in."  At  several  points  the  apex 
of  the  rim  consists  of  sandstone  formed  by  the  fusing  of 
masses  of  volcanic  sand  under  the  influence  of  intense 
heat.  It  needed  no  stretch  of  the  imagination  to  picture 
the  hot  breath  of  that  vast  furnace-mouth  coughing  up 
thousands  of  tons  of  sand,  piling  it  on  the  rim,  then  licking 


i92        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

it  with  tongues  of  flame  until  it  melted  together  and  formed 
what  we  see  to-day. 

One  might  hastily  suppose  that  the  flanking  peaks 
of  red  lava,  east  and  west,  had  been  thrown  out  of  the 
Sykes  Crater  and  piled  up;  but  not  so.  They  were 
formed  of  molten  lava;  and  molten  lava  is  not  thrown  up 
into  the  air.  It  flows  out  of  the  lowest  notch  in  its  parent 
crater,  like  so  much  red-hot  metal,  and  slowly  spreads 
over  the  surrounding  country  until  it  becomes  too  stiff  to 
flow.  Just  how  it  forms  elevated  pressure-ridges,  like 
arctic  ice,  I  cannot  imagine;  and  I  pass  the  question 
higher  up. 

One  thing,  however,  was  perfectly  clear.  The  whole 
three  and  one-half  miles  of  lava  lying  between  the  foot  of 
the  Sykes  Crater  and  our  camp  at  the  Papago  Tanks 
came  down  from  that  volcano.  At  this  point  the  bowels 
of  the  earth  gave  forth  the  lava  that  afterward  piled  up  in 
brown  hills  and  red  crags  along  the  north-eastern  side  of 
our  camp  plaza,  and  stopped  abruptly  there.  You  can 
see  a  large-sized  detail  of  it  in  the  picture  that  shows 
the  members  of  the  party  in  the  group  photograph. 

And  all  this  time,  a  patriarchal  mountain  ram,  dead 
for  a  ducat,  has  patiently  been  awaiting  us  near  the  top  of 
the  highest  lava  peak  on  our  eastward  hand.  We  saw 
much  rough  lava  in  the  Pinacate  district,  but  our  way  up 
to  that  sheep  was  over  the  roughest  of  the  rough.  The 
worst  of  it  lay  in  chunks  the  size  of  steamer  trunks — red, 
deeply  pitted  on  every  surface  and  sharp  on  every  edge. 
There  was  not  a  thimbleful  of  soil,  sand  or  ashes,  nor  any 
other  fine  material.  The  greatest  circumspection  and 


•a 

& 

rt 

> 

5 


u 

o> 

H 


EXTINCT  VOLCANOES  AND  SHEEP          193 

nimble-footedness  was  required  to  carry  one  over  it  with- 
out broken  ankles  or  cut  knees.  I  have  gone  over  the 
lava-fields  around  Vesuvius,  but  the  worst  that  I  saw  there 
was  like  a  smooth  road  in  comparison  with  those  cones  at 
the  Sykes  Crater,  and  others  elsewhere  in  that  district. 

When  we  finally  reached  the  summit  of  the  high  cone 
that  rose  nearest  to  the  crater,  we  saw  before  us  a  semi- 
circular ridge  leading  away  to  our  right,  and  Mr.  Phillips 
said  that  the  dead  sheep  lay  on  the  farther  end  of  it. 
Keeping  upon  the  summit,  we  worked  our  way  along  for 
several  hundred  feet,  then  gingerly  picked  our  way  down 
the  slope  to  the  quarry.  There  we  paused  to  look 
about. 

We  were  on  the  side  of  a  high  and  very  steep  mountain 
of  red  lava  that  was  liberally  garnished  with  Bigelow 
choyas — the  meanest  of  the  mean.  A  false  step  would 
have  meant  a  fall  of  perhaps  ten  or  twenty  feet  on  lava 
blocks  that  would  cut  like  knives;  but  there  would  have 
been  no  prolonged  rolling.  The  lava  was  terrible,  but  the 
awful  choyas  that  were  so  generously  sprinkled  over  it 
were  the  crowning  insult.  Their  millions  of  white,  horn- 
like spines  glistened  in  the  sunlight  and  looked  very  clean 
and  pretty,  but  the  thought  of  stumbling  and  falling  upon 
one  of  them  gave  me  chills.* 

And  yet,  it  was  down  this  very  mountain  side  that  yes- 
terday Mr.  Sykes,  the  invincible,  carried  the  hundred-and- 
fifty-pound  body  of  that  five-year-old  ram  (minus  the 

*  Mr.  Sykes  and  Dr.  MacDougal  have  very  appropriately  named  the  red  lava 
peaks  surrounding  Sykes  Crater  in  honour  of  Mr.  John  M.  Phillips,  and  they 
appear  on  the  map  as  Phillips  Buttes. 


I94        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

viscera)  at  the  imminent  risk  of  falling  and  cutting  himself 
in  pieces.  Once  he  did  stumble  against  two  choyas,  and 
while  his  hands  gripped  the  sheep  the  choyas  simply 
filled  them  full  of  spines — of  the  worst  and  most  painful 
kind  in  all  the  south-west.  His  account  of  this  incident 
is  as  follows: 

"When  Mr.  Phillips  had  killed  his  two  bucks,  and  we 
had  all  duly  gloated  over  the  remains,  I  suddenly  happened 
to  think  of  the  hungry  looks  of  this  crowd  as  we  left  camp 
this  morning,  and  I  realized  that  nothing  less  than  a  whole 
sheep  would  be  of  any  use  to  it!  It  was  therefore  a  matter 
of  getting  one  of  those  carcasses  to  camp,  at  all  costs. 
Since  we  were  so  far  up  the  mountain  side  that  the  horses 
could  not  get  within  three-quarters  of  a  mile  of  us,  the 
obvious  thing  to  do  seemed  to  be  to  pick  up  one  of  those 
sheep  and  carry  it  to  the  horses;  so  I  did  it." 

No  wonder  Mr.  Phillips  was  moved  to  enthusiastic 
admiration  of  Mr.  Sykes's  splendid  feat;  and  to  his  ever- 
lasting honour  be  it  recorded  that  he  celebrated  the  inci- 
dent by  presenting  to  the  Invincible  Geographer  the 
mounted  head  of  that  hard-won  sheep.  As  for  Mr. 
Sykes — dear  me!  He  regarded  the  carrying  as  nothing  at 
all;  but  he  did  speak  a  little  reproachfully  of  the  treachery 
of  Bigelow's  choya  when  it  had  him  at  a  foul  disadvantage. 

Before  striking  a  blow  at  the  dead  ram,  we  sat  down  to 
rest,  and  hear  how  the  sheep  were  found,  what  they  did, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it;  and  this  is  what  Mr.  Phillips  told 
us  while  we  listened  and  surveyed  the  scene  of  the  tragedy: 

"  Mr.  Sykes  and  I  came  up  here  late  yesterday  after- 
noon. We  had  spent  the  day  over  toward  the  north- 


EXTINCT  VOLCANOES  AND  SHEEP         195 

eastward,  studying  small  craters  and  looking  for  sheep  at 
the  same  time.  Finally  we  decided  to  come  back  to  this 
big  one  for  another  look  about  it,  and  we  arrived  here 
when  the  sun  was  about  an  hour  high. 

"We  found  it  a  very  stiff  and  rough  climb  up  the 
northern  side  of  this  peak;  but  we  didn't  waste  any  time 
resting,  for  besides  being  late  it  began  to  rain. 

"When  we  reached  that  summit  yonder  I  started  to 
look  over  the  east  side,  when  Sykes  whispered,  *  Sheep !  * 
Turning  quickly,  I  saw  him  down  on  his  stomach  with  an 
apologetic  look  on  his  face,  trying  his  best  to  crawl  into  the 
ground  for  fear  he  would  frighten  the  game.  Charlie 
stood  below  him,  peering  down  the  south  side  of  the  ridge, 
apparently  looking  into  the  lava  fissures  that  ran  off 
toward  the  flats. 

"For  downright  fiendishness  and  bloodlust,  Charlie's 
face  eclipsed  anything  I  had  ever  seen.  His  jaws  were 
set  and  his  mouth  was  a  straight  streak,  while  his  eyes 
glittered  like  the  eyes  of  an  angry  snake.  His  gun  was  at 
his  shoulder,  and  I  saw  that  unless  I  got  to  him  very 
quickly  I  would  have  the  mortification  of  having  travelled 
over  three  thousand  miles  to  see  a  Mexican  kill  sheep. 
When  I  reached  him  he  was  still  holding  his  point,  and  as 
I  glanced  down  into  the  lava,  about  fifty  yards  away, 
I  saw  a  five-year-old  ram,  with  nice  horns,  with  a  ewe  and 
a  lamb. 

"While  I  was  looking  for  more  sheep  and  a  better 
head,  the  ram  sprang  upon  a  chunk  of  lava,  standing 
broadside  and  offering  an  easy  shot.  Mindful  of  the 
hungry  mob  at  camp,  I  carefully  planted  a  .405  ball  back 


196        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

of  his  shoulder,  and  he  rolled  down  on  the  rough  lava. 
As  the  ewe  and  lamb  started  to  run  Charlie  threw  his  gun 
on  them,  but  I  checked  him  forcibly,  telling  him  we  had 
all  the  meat  we  wanted.  As  I  stood  watching  the  two 
sheep  bound  away  I  heard  him  wailing  in  a  mournful 
tone,  'Carne  bueno!  Carne  bueno!'  (Good  meat!) 

"Just  then  I  heard  a  sharp  exclamation  from  Mr. 
Sykes,  and  the  next  instant  Charlie's  rifle  cracked.  Whirl- 
ing quickly,  I  saw  a  band  of  four  rams,  two  of  them  with 
immense  heads,  both  larger  than  the  one  I  had  killed, 
running  up  a  ridge  to  the  south-west.  By  the  time  I 
stopped  Charlie's  shooting  the  rams  had  disappeared  in 
the  lava,  but  through  the  rain  we  finally  made  out  the 
white  patch  on  the  rump  of  one  of  them.  Sykes,  who  had 
kept  his  eye  on  them  while  I  was  laying  down  the  law  to 
Charlie,  said  that  the  white  patch  belonged  to  one  of  the 
largest  rams;  and  so  holding  my  gun  for  three  hundred 
yards  I  fired  a  shot  at  it,  but  without  results.  The  next 
day,  when  the  sun  was  shining,  I  discovered  that  the  dis- 
tance was  only  two  hundred  yards,  and  that  I  had  over- 
shot. 

"Telling  Sykes  and  Charlie  to  remain  where  they  were, 
so  that  the  sheep  could  see  them,  I  slipped  over  to  the 
north  side  of  the  ridge,  and  running  to  the  west  circled 
around  under  the  summit  to  the  south-east,  to  head  off  the 
sheep  from  the  crater.  I  had  determined  that  if  the  sheep 
gained  the  sanctuary  of  the  crater  I  would  respect  it. 
Having  hunted  the  big-horn  on  the  sky-scraping  northern 
Rockies,  where  he  is  as  free  as  air,  it  was  repugnant  to  me 
to  kill  one  in  a  hole  in  the  earth  like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  where 


EXTINCT  VOLCANOES  AND  SHEEP          197 

a  club  would  have  answered  the  purpose  as  well  as  a 
rifle.* 

"  I  had  not  expected  to  find  the  sheep  quickly,  but  as 
I  raised  my  head  over  a  ridge  I  found  that  they  had 
moved,  and  the  leader  of  the  band  was  looking  for  me. 
He  was  standing  on  the  lava  ridge  across  the  head  of  that 
canon,  on  that  pinnacle  of  red  lava,  outlined  against  the 
sky.  At  the  base  of  the  pinnacle,  one  to  the  right  and 
two  to  the  left,  I  could  see  the  heads  of  the  other  rams, 
all  looking  directly  at  me. 

"Just  as  I  dropped  on  my  knee  to  shoot,  the  setting 
sun  broke  through  the  clouds  behind  me,  gloriously 
bringing  out  all  the  details.  The  leader  was  standing 
almost  broadside  to  me,  his  massive  head  accentuated  by 
the  deer-like  leanness  of  his  neck  and  body.  The  shining 
sun  and  the  falling  rain  had  formed  a  rainbow  directly 
back  of  the  pinnacle  on  which  the  ram  stood.  What  a 
wonderful  picture  it  would  have  made  for  an  artist  like 
Rungiuslf  That  magnificent  ram,  standing  like  a  statue 
on  the  pedestal  of  red  bronze  lava,  washed  by  the  falling 
rain  and  lit  up  by  the  setting  sun;  on  one  side  a  head  with 
horns  quite  as  massive  as  those  of  the  central  figure,  on 
the  other  the  heads  of  two  younger  rams,  and  the  whole 
group  overarched  by  a  gorgeous  rainbow!  Estimating 
the  distance  at  three  hundred  yards,  I  held  slightly  over 

*  We  were  told  that  according  to  the  Papago  Indians,  the  mountain  sheep  of 
that  region  were  in  the  habit  of  goin  gdown  into  the  craters  to  feed,  and  a  favourite 
hunting  method  of  the  Indians  was  to  find  a  herd  in  a  deep  crater  having  only  one 
exit,  and  send  an  Indian  into  the  abyss  to  scare  the  sheep  upward.  As  the  animals 
slowly  scrambled  up  the  steep  slopes,  the  Indians  were  able  to  kill  them  with  clubs. 

fSee  the  frontispiece,  from  a  painting  by  Carl  Rungius. 


198        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

the  shoulder  of  the  big  ram,  and  the  big  ball  struck  him 
fair  in  the  heart.  His  legs  doubled  under  him  like  a  jack- 
knife  and  he  slid  off  the  pinnacle.  Striking  the  rough 
lava,  he  turned  over  twice  and  then  lay  still,  while  his 
friends,  after  staring  at  me  a  few  seconds,  disappeared 
like  shadows. 

"As  I  turned  back  and  picked  my  way  over  the  fissures 
and  broken  lava,  feeling  like  a  vandal  who  had  destroyed 
a  beautiful  statue,  I  heard  Charlie's  rifle  begin  to  bang 
like  a  pack  of  fire-crackers.  When  Sykes  joined  me  where 
the  big  ram  lay,  he  said  that  the  Mexican  had  been  shoot- 
ing at,  and  had  perhaps  wounded,  one  of  the  younger  rams. 

"The  horses  were  at  the  west  end  of  the  crater,  so 
we  sent  Charlie  to  bring  them  as  close  as  possible.  I 
then  photographed  Mr.  Sykes  with  the  ram,  and,  as  I 
told  him  the  story  of  the  rainbow,  he  became  'powerful 
sorrowful/  We  soon  put  the  last  sheep  into  shape  so  that 
it  wouldn't  spoil,  and  after  tying  a  handkerchief  to  his 
horns,  to  keep  off  coyotes,  we  scrambled  over  the  ridge  and 
across  the  canon  to  where  the  other  ram  lay. 

"  By  the  time  we  had  removed  the  entrails  from  No.  i 
it  was  quite  dark;  and  then  Mr.  Sykes  and  I  almost  had  a 
row.  It  was  my  opinion  that  a  hind-quarter  would  be 
sufficient  for  camp-meat,  and  that  we  could  as  well  get 
the  remainder  later  on.  Sykes  declared  that  having  been 
out  of  meat  for  a  long  time,  and  not  having  tasted  any 
mountain  mutton  for  years,  he  was  equal  to  a  hind-quarter 
himself.  He  asked  whether  I  thought  we  were  hunting 
worms  for  a  nest  of  young  robins  or  trying  to  supply  meat 
for  a  lot  of  starving  land  pirates  ? 


EXTINCT  VOLCANOES  AND  SHEEP          199 

"  I  didn't  think  he  would  get  very  far  with  the  hundred- 
and-fifty-pound  body  of  that  sheep,  but  in  order  not  to  be 
out-done,  I  concluded  to  pack  in  the  head.  Sykes  swung 
the  carcass  to  his  shoulder  and  down  into  those  black  lava 
fissures,  garnished  with  that  devilish  choya,  we  went.  I 
led  the  way  with  an  'All-ye-that-enter-here-leave-hope- 
behind'  feeling. 

"Loaded  down  as  I  was  with  my  gun,  my  camera  and 
the  head  of  the  sheep,  the  irregular  chunks  of  lava,  like 
fragments  broken  from  a  large  mass  of  glass,  punished 
my  feet  severely.  On  that  steep  mountain  side  the  footing 
was  so  uncertain  that  I  was  afraid  of  falling  and  landing 
on  a  choya,  and  perhaps  putting  out  an  eye.  I  felt  very 
sorry  for  Mr.  Sykes  and  was  afraid  he  would  fall  and  hurt 
himself;  so  after  going  some  little  distance  I  checked  up 
and  begged  him  to  throw  down  his  burden  until  the 
morning.  But  that  man  of  iron  appeared  to  be  tickled  to 
death  with  his  load  of  meat,  and  held  onto  it  like  an  English 
bulldog. 

"Two  or  three  times  in  that  terrible  descent  I  checked 
up  and  begged  him  to  throw  down  the  sheep  and  rest; 
but  he  replied  that  it  would  get  full  of  choya  spines,  and 
that  a  porcupine  would  not  be  a  nice  thing  to  carry. 
Finally  I  lost  him. 

"Returning,  I  found  him  extracting,  without  even 
swearing,  a  lot  of  choya  spines  that  the  dangling  legs  of 
the  sheep  had  driven  against  him.  Again  forced  along 
without  rest  by  that  relentless  man  of  iron,  self  pity  made 
me  hope  that  he  would  have  to  give  up  his  task,  and  would 
then  assist  me  in  bearing  my  burdens,  which  at  every  step 


200        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

seemed  to  be  getting  unbearably  heavy  and  more  difficult 
to  carry. 

"Finally,  after  going  about  a  mile  we  became  bewil- 
dered in  the  lava  beds,  but  after  a  lot  of  shouting  we  found 
Charlie  and  the  horses  tangled  up  in  a  big  fissure.  At 
first  I  thought  it  would  be  impossible  to  get  out  in  the 
dark;  but  finally  we  reached  camp." 

It  is  not  to  be  believed,  however,  that  during  any 
interval  of  time  we  remained  indifferent  to  the  first  big 
ram  of  the  lava  beds.  He  was  a  personage.  Only  the 
man  who  himself  has  gone  in  quest  of  the  unknown,  and 
found  it,  can  understand  the  peculiar  tingling  sensation 
which  the  first  touch  of  that  specimen  imparted  to  our 
nerve-centres  and  finger-tips.  For  days  and  weeks  we 
had  been  asking  each  other,  "Will  we  find  sheep  on  Pina- 
cate?"  and,  "If  we  find  any,  will  they  be  Nelson's  sheep 
or  the  Mexican  species?" 

In  the  natural  order  of  things,  I  expected  Ovis  nelsoni, 
the  type  locality  of  which  is  found  in  the  Funeral  Moun- 
tains on  the  bias  boundary  between  Nevada  and  Cali- 
fornia. If  this  expectation  were  realized  on  Pinacate,  the 
sheep  would  be  of  a  pale  salmon-pink  colour,  like  the  type 
specimens. 

One  good,  searching  look  over  Mr.  Phillips's  splendid 
ram  was  enough.  It  had  the  same  horns,  the  same  white 
nose,  the  same  body  colours  and  white  rump-patch  of  the 
well-known  Big-Horn  of  Wyoming,  Montana  and  British 
Columbia.  The  stature  of  the  animal  was  perceptibly 
smaller,  its  hair  was  much  shorter — as  became  a  hot- 
country  sheep — and  its  body  colour  was  a  trifle  rusty  from 


EXTINCT  VOLCANOES   AND  SHEEP         201 

sunburn,  but  the  thundering  big  horns,  the  colours  and 
the  whole  ensemble  of  the  animal  said  as  plainly  as  print, 
"Ovis  canadensis — the  true,  old-fashioned  Rocky  Moun- 
tain Big-Horn,  no  more,  no  less." 

No  matter  how  many  mexicanus  lie  eastward  of 
Sonora,  no  matter  how  many  cremnobates  or  what  not  run 
down  the  Peninsula  westward  of  the  Gulf,  the  Big-Horn 
of  blessed  memory  goes  down  the  eastern  side  of  the  Gulf; 
and  this  is  It. 

On  reaching  my  home  office  I  made  haste  to  compare 
the  skull  of  a  Pinacate  ram  with  that  of  an  Ovis  canadensis 
from  south-eastern  British  Columbia;  and  not  one  differ- 
ence could  I  find. 

We  carefully  measured  that  ram,  with  the  following 
results : 

Height  at  shoulders 37  inches 

Length  of  head  and  body 54 

Tail 5        " 

Circumference  behind  fore  leg 42 J      " 

Girth  of  neck  (unskinned) 17^      " 

Height  of  ear 4i      " 

Circumference  of  horn  at  base 15^      " 

half  way  out 14  J      " 

one  inch  from  tip 5^      " 

Length  on  outer  curve 37!      " 

Distance  between  tips i6J 

Weight  of  sheep,  entire 192^  Ibs. 

That  specimen  was  a  very  old  one — a  genuine  patri- 
arch. On  the  previous  evening  Mr.  Phillips  had  gener- 
ously offered  its  flesh  to  Charlie  Foster,  with  which  to 
make  for  himself  the  kind  of  dried  meat  called  "carne 


202        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

seco";  but  Charlie  had  politely  declined  it,  saying,  "Me 
no  want  him/'  I  wondered  at  this — until  I  handled  the 
dead  animal;  and  then  I  understood  Charlie's  extreme 
self-denial.  Nothing  short  of  a  New  York  hash-mill, 
speeded  to  the  limit,  ever  could  have  masticated  that  lean 
and  tough  flesh. 

The  ram  was  so  old,  and  so  poorly  off  for  lower  incisors, 
that  he  was  thin  and  bony.  He  carried  not  a  pound  of 
fat,  and  all  the  salient  points  of  his  pelvis  were  visible. 
He  was  the  only  lean-and-poor  mountain  sheep  that  I  ever 
saw  in  the  wilds,  and  it  will  be  noted  that  his  weight  was 
all  of  fifty  pounds  under  what  it  should  have  been. 
Fortunately,  however,  his  pelage  was  all  right,  and  his 
horns  were  immense;  so  we  blithely  preserved  his  skin 
entire  for  the  Carnegie  Museum  at  Pittsburgh. 

His  stomach  was  reasonably  well  filled,  with  the  fol- 
lowing: Galleta  grass,  palo  verde,  torote  prieto,  Sphaeral- 
ceay  and  white  brittle-bush  (dead  flower-stalks  only). 

There  was  one  feature  of  that  sheep  episode  that  was 
deeply  impressive.  It  was  the  awful  surroundings  amid 
which  those  animals  had  chosen  to  live.  Aside  from  hot 
volcanic  debris,  I  think  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  any 
spot  on  dry  terra  firma  that  is  more  inhospitable,  forbid- 
ding and  terrible  than  those  steep  mountains  of  cruel  red 
lava  garnished  with  Bigelow's  accursed  choya.  We  were 
simply  fascinated  by  the  unearthly  and  nether-world 
character  of  our  surroundings.  Dore  would  have  reveled 
in  this  scowling,  contorted,  wholly  blasted  spot. 

"  Why"  we  asked  each  other,  "should  any  sane  moun- 
tain sheep  ever  ignore  such  glorious  feeding  grounds  as 


EXTINCT  VOLCANOES   AND   SHEEP         203 

the  granite  mountains  beside  MacDougal  Pass,  or  the 
meadow  of  galleta  grass  that  surrounds  it,  and  make  a 
home  on  the  lifeless  lava  of  Pinacate  ? "  No  predatory 
animals — not  even  man — drove  these  sheep  hither  for 
safety.  They  would  be  far  safer  on  the  granite  summits. 
It  cannot  be  the  water  in  the  Papago  Tanks;  for  these 
sheep  drink  so  seldom  that  the  natives  sometimes  say  most 
seriously, 

"They  never  drink  water!" 

Mr.  Phillips  made  some  excellent  photographs  of  the 
dead  ram  and  its  surroundings,  the  best  of  which  are  sub- 
mitted herewith;  but  no  photograph  ever  can  convey  to 
the  mind  of  one  who  never  has  seen  the  like  an  adequate 
conception  of  the  savage  grandeur  and  the  scowling 
terrors  of  that  scene.  It  was  like  Dante's  Inferno  on  the 
half  shell.  That  lava  looks  as  clean,  as  fresh  and  as 
sharp  as  if  it  had  cooled  off  only  yesterday;  and  for  lava 
it  is  very  red.  How  it  is  possible  for  even  the  accursed 
choya  to  live  upon  it  in  summer,  when  the  heat  registers 
130  degrees  in  the  shade,  and  the  lava  is  almost  sissing  hot, 
only  the  desert  botanist  can  tell. 

It  is  an  uncanny  country,  filled  with  weird  and  awful 
things.  But  for  the  sheep  and  the  choyas  we  might  easily 
have  imagined  ourselves  upon  one  of  the  blasted  and  dead 
landscapes  of  the  moon. 


CHAPTER  XV 

DOGS  IN  CAMP 

Doubtful  Dog  Experiments — The  Troubles  of  Bob — The  Troubles 
of  Bob's  Friends — A  Dog  with  no  Savvey — Rex  and  Rowdy — A 
Canine  Glutton — Rowdy's  Contract  at  the  Papago  Tanks — His 
Waterloo — The  Sickest  Dog  on  Record — The  Bad  Break  of  Rex. 

CAMPING  with  dogs  is  much  the  same  as  camping  with 
men.  It  is  all  right  if  you  know  your  dogs  in  advance 
and  exercise  an  option;  but  when  you  do  not,  it  is  differ- 
ent. I  am  fond  of  dogs — in  their  proper  place;  and  in 
about  nine  cases  out  of  every  eight,  a  hunter's  camp  is  no 
place  for  them.  Kaiser  Smith,  of  the  Canadian  Rockies, 
was  distinctly  different;  but  Kaiser  was  a  Wise  One,  and 
knew  how  to  make  good. 

Every  proposed  camp-dog  is  doubtful  gravel  until 
panned  out.  In  a  camp  where  skins  are  being  preserved 
and  cured,  there  is  always  the  danger  of  poison;  and  Heaven 
help  any  hunter  who,  wittingly  or  unwittingly,  poisons 
his  friend's  favourite  dog.  No  one  knows  why  it  is,  but 
every  man,  no  matter  how  "ornery"  the  pup  may  be,  loves 
his  own  dog  and  sees  in  him  things  which  seem  to  justify 
his  existence,  even  long  after  all  other  persons  have  wished 
him  in  the  canine  paradise. 

While  we  were  trailing  westward  from  Sonoyta,  travel- 


204 


DOGS  IN  CAMP  205 

ling  hard  and  doing  no  taxidermic  work,  Jeff  Milton's 
dogs,  Rex  and  Rowdy,  were  not  at  all  bad.  It  was  later 
on  that  they  made  their  records.  Frank  Coles's  Bob  was  a 
nuisance,  nearly  every  waking  hour,  from  the  day  that  his 
front  foot  was  run  over.  He  was  compelled  to  ride  in  one 
of  the  wagons,  because  walking  was  impossible  for  him; 
but  by  a  most  curious  process  of  thinking,  when  off  the 
ground  he  always  thought  that  walking  was  quite  as  easy 
for  him  as  riding!  As  a  result,  he  was  continually  desirous 
of  jumping  off  the  load,  and  perpetually  striving  to  do  so. 
Lie  down  quietly  while  riding,  he  would  not.  Half  the 
time  some  one  held  him  forcibly,  and  beat  him  the  other 
half  to  make  him  lie  down.  When  we  were  travelling 
above  Sonoyta,  Bob  wore  out  an  average  of  three  men  per 
day. 

We  thought  that  his  first  foot  under  a  moving  wheel 
would  make  him  wagon-wise :  but  it  did  not.  No  sooner 
had  we  cured  his  first  hurt  than  he  immediately  achieved 
a  second  one,  similarly.  How  he  managed  the  doing 
of  it  no  one  ever  knew,  but  at  all  events  the  little  mole- 
headed  dog  succeeded  in  getting  his  left  hind  leg  run  over, 
without  being  killed.  The  tibia  was  fractured,  beyond 
doubt;  but  it  might  have  been  worse.  Again  we  bandaged 
him  up  and  poured  on  arnica,  and  again  he  blinked  at  us 
and  wigwagged  his  thanks.  For  the  next  week  he  was 
a  quiet  invalid,  and  made  no  more  trouble  until  we  be- 
gan the  return  journey. 

Going  up  to  Gila  Bend,  I  thought  he  would  drive 
Frank  Coles  to  drink;  and  sure  enough  he  did.  Bob's 
lame  leg  No.  2  was  nearly  well,  and  every  time  we  jumped 


2o6        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

a  jack-rabbit  he  was  wildly  ambitious  to  jump  off  and 
chase  it!  As  well  might  a  chipmunk  chase  an  antelope. 
Bob  was  held  with  a  leash,  he  was  held  by  the  neck  and 
ears,  by  injunction,  by  Us  pendens  and  quo  warranto  pro- 
ceedings. But  a  hundred  and  fifty  times  per  day  did  he 
struggle,  suddenly  and  wildly,  to  get  free  and  leap  over- 
board. On  about  one  hundred  and  forty  of  those  oc- 
casions he  was  beaten  almost  to  a  pulp,  only  to  come  up 
smiling  ten  minutes  later  for  another  trial.  It  required 
all  the  time,  strength  and  attention  of  one  able-bodied  man 
to  hold  that  absurd  little  lame  cur  on  the  top  of  the  load 
where  the  rest  of  us  dwelt  during  the  flight  out  of  Egypt. 

Once  Frank  Coles  said  to  me  in  a  low,  sad  voice,  like 
a  man  in  confessional, 

"I've  wished  a  thousand  times  since  we  started  that 
I'd  left  him  at  home!  He  don't  seem  to  savvey  a  trip  like 
this  even  a  little  bit/' 

In  good  sooth,  we  gave  Bob  too  much  credit  at  the 
off-go,  and  he  deceived  us  all. 

Of  the  two  other  dogs,  Rex,  the  older  one,  was  not  so 
bad;  but  Rowdy  was  an  unmitigated  Case.  He  was  a 
fully-grown  but  only  half-baked  pointer-cur,  with  a  brain 
like  an  affectionate  pet  monkey  and  the  appetite  of  a 
hyena.  The  first  time  I  saw  Mr.  Milton  feed  him  and 
Rex,  he  established  his  reputation  and  justified  his  name. 
While  Rex  soberly  and  decorously  took  one  good  mouthful 
from  the  pan,  Rowdy  made  two  quick  passes,  four  gulps, 
and  presto!  the  pan  was  empty!  Rex  looked  at  him  re- 
proachfully, with  a  pained  expression  on  his  solemn 
countenance;  and  then  we  knew  why  the  older  dog's 


DOGS  IN  CAMP  207 

ribs  were  so  conspicuous.  Rowdy  smiled  genially  at  Rex, 
and  all  of  us,  and  wagged  his  tail  for  more.  No  wonder 
he  was  fat,  the  gourmand. 

It  was  at  the  Papago  Tanks  that  Rowdy  met  his 
Waterloo.  His  decline  and  fall  began  on  the  day  that  the 
first  sheep  were  killed  and  brought  in.  With  his  usual 
care  for  their  comfort,  Mr.  Milton  gave  Rex  and  Rowdy  an 
ample  civilized  feed  of  sheep  scraps.  Our  good  friend 
Jeff  was  almost  painfully  conscientious  in  providing  for 
the  comfort  of  his  horses  and  his  dogs. 

With  four  sheep  in  camp  to  be  worked  into  food  and 
preserved  specimens,  meat  scraps  and  trimmings  of  sorts 
began  to  accumulate  rapidly.  In  that  dry  atmosphere, 
fresh  meat  remains  fresh  and  sweet  for  many  days.  I 
had  arsenic  and  alum,  but  dared  not  use  a  morsel  of  either 
save  on  the  scalp  of  Mr.  Milton's  sheep,  at  his  special 
request,  because  I  feared  an  accident  with  some  of  the 
dogs.  Later  on,  I  gave  myself  an  hourly  compliment  for 
having  had  sufficient  intelligence  to  adopt  that  policy,  and 
adhere  to  it. 

Rex  was  very  reasonable,  and  knew  one  thing  that 
thousands  of  human  beings  do  not  know.  He  knew  when 
to  let  go !  Instead  of  gorging  himself  on  sheep  meat,  he  ate 
reasonably  each  day,  stopped  at  enough,  and  acquired 
merit. 

But  not  so  Rowdy.  He  was  a  dog  of  vaulting  ambition, 
but  utterly  lacking  in  the  divine  sense  of  proportion  that 
keeps  dogs  and  men  out  of  trouble.  He  undertook  to 
consume  all  the  waste  mountain  sheep  that  covered  a  zone 
two  hundred  feet  wide  around  the  camp.  For  days  he 


2o8        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

laboured  at  the  task,  early  and  late,  and  often  he  worked 
overtime,  by  moonlight.  In  the  small  hours  of  the  morn- 
ing we  used  to  hear  the  steady  rasp  of  Rowdy's  molars 
on  pelvis  and  femur,  mingling  with  the  weird  falsetto  of 
envious  coyotes,  and  then  we  dreamed  that  we  were  back 
in  New  York,  listening  to  music  on  the  phonograph. 

About  the  third  day  after  he  began  operations  on  a 
large  scale  poor  Rowdy  became  ill.  As  soon  as  it  be- 
came evident  that  his  case  was  serious,  we  began  to  give 
him  medicine,  in  doses  of  work-horse  size.  He  developed 
a  case  of  fever,  which  looked  very  much  like  distemper, 
but  fortunately  was  not.  Our  remedies  made  no  im- 
pression upon  him,  and  when  finally  we  started  home 
from  the  Papago  Tanks,  with  Rowdy  in  my  charge,  be- 
cause his  master  had  ridden  ahead  to  the  settlement, 
I  thought  he  could  not  live  to  Sonoyta.  Instead  of 
dosing  him  further  with  medicines,  I  decided  to  try 
starving  him,  relying  upon  Nature  to  see  him  through. 
Although  at  first  too  sick  to  hold  up  his  head,  we  gave  him 
a  good  bed  and  plenty  of  water  to  drink,  and  at  last  he 
actually  began  to  improve.  By  the  time  we  reached 
Sonoyta  he  was  decidedly  better,  and  after  our  departure 
he  presently  recovered.  For  an  overfed  dog  of  any  breed, 
great  or  small,  the  best  medicine  is  starvation! 

The  worst  error  made  by  Rex  was  on  his  last  night 
in  camp  with  us,  at  Santo  Domingo.  By  a  brilliant  and 
quite  unusual  stroke  of  genius  some  one  tied  him  to  one 
of  the  wagons — a  circumstance  most  fortunate  as  it  proved 
—and  about  the  only  time  it  was  ever  done.  Just  before 
supper  was  served  Dr.  MacDougal  took  a  lighted  lantern 


DOGS  IN  CAMP  209 

and  started  to  walk  past  the  end  of  the  wagon  to  which 
the  dog  had  been  tied.  Like  a  thunderbolt  out  of  a  cloud- 
less sky,  Rex  sprang  up  and  with  fearful  growls  lunged 
forward  at  the  Doctor,  to  lite  him!  A  more  savage  attack 
I  never  saw  made  by  a  dog.  Rex  seemed  eager  to  tear  a 
good  friend  in  pieces.  The  Doctor  swung  his  lantern 
fairly  into  the  jaws  of  the  raging  dog,  and  quickly  backed 
one  or  two  paces  beyond  his  reach;  which  seemed  to  make 
the  animal  all  the  more  angry.  Had  Rex  been  free  and 
made  such  an  attack,  the  results  might  have  been  very 
serious;  especially  to  the  dog  in  the  case. 

The  next  day  we  parted  company  with  Rex  and 
Rowdy,  and  we  shall  meet  them  no  more  in  this  vale  of 
tears. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  CACTUS  DISPLAY  FROM  TUCSON   TO  PINACATE 

Desert  Plant  Life  More  Interesting  than  Animal  Life — The  Cacti — The 
Giant  Cactus — Its  Culmination  at  Comobabi — Diminution  South- 
ward and  Westward — Structure — The  Organ-Pipe  Cactus — The 
Finest  Specimen — The  Barrel  Cactus  and  Its  Water  Supply — A 
Demonstration  Beside  the  Trail — Cactus  Candy — Small  Forms  of 
Echinocactus — Bigelow's  Accursed  Choya — The  Pain  of  an  En- 
counter— Mr.  Sykes's  Accident — Strength  of  Spines — The  Tree 
Choya — Opuntias — Leafless  Bushes  with  Water-storage  Stems. 

ALTHOUGH  my  leanings  toward  zoology  are  sometimes 
apparent,  I  am  compelled  to  admit  that,  in  constant  and 
absorbing  interest,  the  plant  life  between  Tucson  and  the 
Gulf  of  California  easily  ranks  the  animal  life.  The  latter 
is  intermittent,  it  is  very  much  the  same  as  that  found 
over  large  areas  elsewhere,  it  contains  little  that  is  strictly 
new,  and  still  less  that  is  unique.  Now,  if  one  should 
find  a  land  in  which  all  animals  are  unlike  the  familiar 
genera,  and  every  creature  odd  and  startling,  the  plant  life 
would  be  slighted,  and  we  would  have — another  Australia! 

I  defy  any  intelligent  human  being  to  mix  up  for  thirty 
days  with  the  abounding  cacti  of  the  finest  region  of  the 
South-west  without  becoming  keenly  interested  in  them. 
In  one  way  or  another,  each  species  will  impress  itself 
upon  the  traveller,  until  at  last  he  feels  a  proprietary  in- 
terest in  them  all.  For  example,  Mr.  Phillips  has  most 


210 


THE  CACTUS  DISPLAY  211 

tender  recollection  of  the  Bigelow  choya,*  and  that  species 
will  not  soon  be  forgotten  by  him. 

Far  be  it  from  my  purpose  to  write  a  treatise  on  the 
cacti  of  our  trip;  but  I  cannot  refrain  from  attempting  to 
give  the  Reader  a  few  of  my  impressions  of  them.  They 
were  the  most  striking  botanical  features  of  that  land  of 
strange  things. 

When  the  traveller  breaks  into  the  desert  country  at 
Tucson,  the  first  plant  that  specially  attracts  his  attention 
is  the  Giant  Cactus,  or  Saguaro,  the  Mexican  name  of 
which  is  pronounced  Sa-war'io.  It  is  shy  of  the  creosote- 
bush  plains,  but  in  the  ridgy  and  rocky  piedmont  country 
it  is  found  growing  in  thousands.  Where  the  rocks  are 
all-pervading,  and  the  tiny  soil-pockets  are  few  and  far 
between,  it  modestly  erects  its  dark-green  accordion- 
plaited  stem  to  a  height  of  twenty  feet  or  so,  unobtrusively 
puts  forth  a  small,  short  branch,  and  stands  pat. 

I  have  already  insinuated  that  in  the  foothills  around 
Tucson  the  Saguaro  affects  the  fence-post  style  of  archi- 
tecture. In  practically  all  the  plains  and  so-called 
"valleys"  that  are  given  over  to  the  exclusive  use  of  the 
abounding  creosote  bush,  it  is,  as  a  rule,  totally  absent. 
It  is  plainly  evident  that  Cereus  giganteus  does  not  like 
the  "creosote  association."  In  the  Avra  Valley,  for  in- 
stance, you  see  not  one  Giant,  but  the  moment  you  strike 
the  mountains  beyond,  they  abound. 

Throughout  our  overland  trek  of  two  hundred  and 

*Opuntia  bigelowii.  Its  common  name  is  Spanish,  and  is  spelled  cholla;  but 
the  United  States  Government  has  decided  to  spell  it  as  it  is  pronounced,  "choy'a," 
and  that  authority  is  good  enough  for  me. 


212        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

tvyenty-five  miles  from  Tucson  to  the  Gulf,  I  watched 
closely  to  see  where  the  Giant  Cactus  species  culminates. 
It  is  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Comobabi  Mountains  that  they 
grow  the  tallest,  the  largest,  have  the  greatest  number  of 
arms,  and  the  largest  ones.  It  was  in  an  adjacent  plain, 
heavily  overgrown  with  mesquite  trees,  that  we  found  the 
finest  specimens.  With  outrageous  pride  I  present  here- 
with my  photograph  of  the  finest  specimen  between  Tuc- 
son and  Pinacate — a  Giant  indeed,  between  fifty-five  and 
sixty  feet  high,  with  nine  huge  arms  and  two  woodpecker 
holes.  I  regret  that  Mr.  Phillips  did  not  stand  close  beside 
the  stem,  but  he  was  sensitive  about  being  photographed 
with  a  plant  so  many  times  taller  than  himself. 

Beyond  Wall's  Well  the  Saguaros  steadily  declined 
in  stature;  and  at  Sonoyta  they  are  only  one-half  the  size 
they  attain  at  Tucson.  On  the  lava  beds  of  Pinacate,  and 
at  the  edge  of  the  sand-hills,  they  shrink  to  pygmy  size, 
rarely  exceeding  twelve  feet  in  height,  and  often  as  low  as 
seven.  But  it  is  a  brave  plant,  especially  in  adversity. 
We  found  it  on  the  awful  lava  of  Pinacate,  at  an  elevation 
of  2,500  feet,  where  there  was  not  an  ounce  of  soil.  It  was 
also  at  the  bottom  of  MacDougal  Crater,  at  the  edge  of  the 
sand-hills,  that  sank  almost  to  sea  level.  We  saw  only 
one  species,  but  I  am  told  that  only  a  little  way  beyond 
monument  No.  180  the  larger  species,  Cereus  Scbotti,  is 
found  in  two  localities  near  the  Tinajas  Altas  Mountains. 

The  Saguaro  seems  to  serve  only  two  important  func- 
tions— to  entertain  and  cheer  the  desert  traveller,  and  to 
furnish  high  places  for  the  nests  of  woodpeckers.  There 
is  nothing  about  it  with  which  to  eat,  drink  or  make;  and 


THE  CACTUS  DISPLAY  213 

we  are  very  glad  of  it.  If  each  stem  could  be  made  to 
yield  anything  marketable  at  a  profit  of  fifty  cents,  the 
species  soon  would  be  exterminated.  Arizona  and  the 
other  states  of  cactus-land  should  make  it  punishable  by 
$1,000  fine  and  ten  years'  imprisonment  to  discover  any- 
thing of  commercial  value  in  Cereus  giganteus.  The  hu- 
man race  is  not  yet  so  destitute  of  the  necessities  of  life 
that  we  need  destroy  everything  that  delights  the  eye. 

When  we  saw  the  Saguaros  of  Arizona  they  were  ready 
to  burst  with  plenteousness.  Each  stem  and  branch  is 
built  on  the  accordion  plan,  with  the  little  spine-clusters 
studding  the  outer  angles  of  the  plaits.  When  Arizona 
is  long  on  heat  and  short  on  water  the  whole  plant  shrinks, 
the  pleats  close  together,  and  the  circumference  diminishes. 

In  a  good  rainy  season,  however,  when  the  stem  fills 
full  of  water,  the  accordion  plaits  expand  and  straighten 
out  until  they  can  expand  no  more.  We  saw  the  Saguaro 
at  its  best — after  a  season  of  abundant  rain.  We  did  not, 
however,  see  it  in  flower,  for  it  blooms  from  March  to 
June,  and  is  then  crowned  by  wreaths  of  white  blossoms. 

It  is  natural  for  the  woodpecker  to  love  the  Giant 
Cactus,  and  carve  out  nest-holes  in  its  upper  regions. 
The  digging  is  easy,  the  apartment  within  is  moist  and 
comparatively  cool,  and  there  is  nothing  that  can  molest 
him  or  make  him  afraid.  The  bird  which  inhabits  this 
plant  is  the  red-shafted  flicker  (Colaptes  cafer  collaris),  of 
which  we  saw  perhaps  thirty  or  forty  individuals. 

I  was  much  interested  in  the  woody  portion  of  the 
Giant  Cactus.  So  far  as  I  know,  the  arrangement  of  it  is 
quite  unique.  Imagine,  if  you  please,  a  column  of  cactus 


214        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

pulp  twenty  feet  high  and  twelve  inches  in  diameter  utterly 
lacking  means  of  support,  visible  or  invisible.  Imagine 
that  around  this  there  is  set  a  compact  circle  of  fishing- 
rods  of  tough  white  wood — smooth,  perfectly  uniform  in 
size  and  about  an  inch  in  diameter.  This  is  the  woody 
skeleton  of  the  cactus,  and  of  course  it  is  not  visible  until 
in  death  and  decay  the  outer  covering  of  the  "tree"  falls 
away  and  exposes  it. 

In  the  Desert  Botanical  Laboratory  Dr.  Cannon 
showed  us  a  drawing  which  recorded  the  result  of  his 
studies  of  the  root  habits  of  the  Giant  Cactus.  It  appears 
that  the  roots  run  in  all  directions,  for  an  enormous  dis- 
tance, sometimes  reaching  fifty  feet  or  more.  They  lie 
very  near  the  surface  in  order  that  after  a  shower  of  rain 
they  may  greedily  absorb  all  the  moisture  they  can  reach, 
and  in  all  haste  pour  it  into  the  stem  of  the  Giant — which 
is,  after  all,  a  sort  of  green-vegetable  stand-pipe. 

For  the  past  two  pages  I  have  been  striving  to  let  go  of 
Cereus  giganteus;  but  there  is  one  other  point  that 
really  must  be  mentioned.  It  is  the  everlasting  variations 
of  the  branches.  The  stem  is  a  stately  and  dignified 
product,  and  under  no  fair  conditions  does  it  voluntarily 
lean  over,  or  develop  a  kangaroo  dip,  Grecian  bend  or 
an>  other  outlandish  form.  It  is  as  straight  as  a  flag-pole. 

But  not  so  the  arms.  Ordinarily  they  are  developed 
on  the  candelabrum  pattern;  but  in  thousands  of  cases 
they  cut  up  capers  of  many  kinds.  The  total  number  of 
their  variations  in  Arizona  runs  up  into  the  trillions,  and 
hurts  one's  head.  They  leave  the  parent  stem  at  all 
possible  angles;  they  twist  and  droop  and  cavort  and 


THE  CACTUS  DISPLAY  215 

"sasshay"  in  all  possible  directions.  Sometimes  they 
almost  tie  themselves  into  bow  knots.  It  is  these  be- 
wildering variations — in  the  big  specimens — which  make 
them  so  consumedly  interesting  throughout  the  whole 
course  of  a  long  trip.  The  acquaintance  of  the  Arizona 
grand  army  of  Saguaros  alone  is  worth  the  price  of  a  trip 
to  Tucson. 

I  am  sincerely  sorry  that  the  Average  Traveller  does 
not  easily  get  in  touch  with  the  Organ-Pipe  Cactus,*  or 
Pitahaya.  Its  other  English  name — Candelabrum  Cactus 
— is  an  inexcusable  misnomer.  The  branches  of  an  ortho- 
dox candelabrum  do  not  spring  from  the  base  of  the  candle- 
stick. The  Saguaro,  however,  would  fit  that  name  ad- 
mirably, but  for  one  thing;  it  never  gets  the  chance  to 
wear  it.  And  such  is  the  unfitness  of  things  in  all  civilized 
countries. 

West  of  Tucson  the  northern  boundary  of  the  Organ- 
Pipe  is  about  forty  miles  south  of  the  Southern  Pacific 
Railway,  at  the  Ajo  Mines  and  the  Sierra  Blanca.  It  is 
distinctly  a  piedmont,  or  foot-of-the-mountain,  species, 
and  it  capriciously  clings  to  the  decomposed  granite  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain  slopes,  which  it  fondly  imagines  to  be 
soil.  It  overlooks  the  lowlands  of  its  habitat,  and  is  itself 
well  placed  to  be  seen  of  men. 

Of  course  at  its  farthest  north  it  grows  small,  and  few- 
in-a-hill.  We  saw  it  at  its  best  in  the  Sonoyta  valley, 
where  the  giant  cactus  was  decidedly  on  the  wane.  Dr. 
MacDougal  and  Mr.  Phillips  photographed  some  very 
good  specimens  at  Sonoyta,  but  the  giants  I  photographed 

*Cereus  thurberi. 


2i6        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

just  beyond  Agua  Dulce  make  theirs  look  so  much  like 
pipe-stems  that  I  feel  sensitive  about  showing  my  picture. 

Like  the  sailor  who  remained  alone  on  a  sinking  ship 
in  order  that  he  might  for  one  hour  know  how  it  felt  to 
be  a  vessel-owner,  and  fabulously  rich,  I  owned  for  a  whole 
half-hour  the  finest  Organ-Pipe  Cactus  between  Tucson 
and  the  Gulf.  It  contained  twenty-two  stems,  the  largest 
of  which  were  twenty-two  inches  in  circumference  and 
twenty  feet  high.  The  stems  were  formed  on  the  same 
plan  as  the  saguaro,  and  on  the  one  nearest  me  I  counted 
seventeen  accordion  plaits.  The  spines  were  short,  dark 
and  few  in  a  bunch.  The  longest  ones  were  only  an  inch 
in  length,  and  there  were  about  twelve  in  each  bunch. 
The  woody  portion  of  a  Pitahaya  stem  is  solid  wood,  like  a 
branch  of  a  tree. 

Close  beside  the  king  clump  of  Organ-Pipes  were  two 
others  almost  as  large,  and  one  that  was  smaller.  The 
stems  of  the  large  ones  were  so  many  and  so  thick  that  they 
actually  cast  a  shade  in  which  a  Mexican  or  an  Indian 
might  have  lain  down  and  slept.  And  this  reminds  me 
that  to  the  native  the  Organ-Pipe  Cactus  is  much  more 
than  an  interesting  botanical  specimen.  It  not  only 
yields  two  fruit  crops  annually — in  July  and  October — 
but  it  yields  them  without  the  slightest  outlay  in  labour. 
The  fruit  is  such  excellent  food  that  on  the  Papago  bill  of 
fare  it  is  an  important  item;  and  the  Bean-Eater  does  not 
need  to  look  at  the  right-hand  side  of  the  menu  in  order 
to  determine  whether  he  will  order  it  or  not. 

The  Barrel  Cactus,  or  Bisnaga,*  is  the  Traveller's 

*Echinocactus  ivislizeni. 


THE  CACTUS  DISPLAY  217 

Friend  and  also  the  leader  of  a  group  of  very  picturesque 
species.  As  its  name  implies,  it  is  as  large  as  a  small 
barrel,  but  far  better  in  drawing.  The  pictures  show  its 
form  and  size  more  forcibly  than  could  any  description  by 
me.  It  is  to  be  noted,  however,  that  a  two-foot  Bisnaga 
and  a  baby  giant  cactus  of  that  height  so  closely  resemble 
each  other — to  the  careless  eye — that  one  is  easily  mistaken 
for  the  other. 

But  the  adult  Barrel  Cactus  is  a  vegetable  to  be  reck- 
oned with.  It  is  portly,  dignified,  deeply  grooved  and 
elaborately  enmeshed  in  long,  curving  spines.  If  your 
points  of  the  compass  go  wrong,  Jess  Jenkins  will  tell 
you  that  "every  Bisnaga  always  leans  toward  the  south." 
In  good  truth,  the  great  majority  of  them  do  lean  that  way 
— for  sundry  reasons — and  those  which  do  not  are  the  rare 
exceptions. 

On  one  count  the  Bisnaga  is  to  the  desert  wayfarer 
the  most  valuable  plant  of  all  cactus-land.  In  times  of 
stress  for  water  the  man  who  is  tortured  by  thirst  and  heat 
can  draw  from  it  a  cool  and  copious  drink  of  water  which 
surpasses  the  ambrosia  of  the  gods.  In  the  tropics,  where 
there  is  water  to  throw  away,  there  are  several  plants  that 
yield  a  copious  supply.  In  Borneo  a  Dyak  introduced 
me  to  a  liana,  or  climbing  vine,  the  stem  of  which  poured 
into  my  cup  a  supply  of  water  like  the  flow  from  a  small 
faucet. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  a  traveller  on  the  Arizona  desert 
with  a  leaky  water-keg  suddenly  finding  himself  beset  by 
thirst,  and  twenty  miles  from  the  nearest  drink.  Now 
in  the  Arizona  summer  a  man  needs  about  two  large  gal- 


2i8        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Ions  of  water  per  day,  and  a  complete  cutting  off  of  the 
supply  soon  spells  torture.  It  is  in  the  rocky  foot-hills  that 
the  Bisnaga  may  most  confidently  be  looked  for;  but  many 
a  plain  or  slope  which  produces  the  mesquite  also  is  provided 
with  them. 

Imagine,  then,  the  desert-wise  traveller  on  an  August 
day,  the  awful  heat  roasting  the  marrow  in  his  bones, 
burning  his  lungs  and  cracking  his  throat  with  dryness, 
arriving  alongside  a  fine,  fat  and  healthy  Bisnaga.  With 
the  help  of  a  little  knowledge  and  a  large  knife  a  gallon  of 
good  water  is  assured. 

It  was  on  our  third  day  out,  as  we  drove  over  the  rolling, 
stony  eastern  foot-hills  of  the  Carobabi  Mountains  that 
Dr.  MacDougal  briefly  halted  the  expedition  to  enable 
us  to  drink  water  from  a  Bisnaga.  With  his  machete — 
which  is  really  an  Iowa  corn-cutter  of  Mexican  ante- 
cedents and  Connecticut  manufacture — the  Doctor  deftly 
cut  off  the  upper  story  of  a  fine  specimen  that  stood  beside 
the  trail.  The  object  lying  upon  the  ground  in  the  picture 
is  not  a  new  circular  saw,  as  it  appears  to  be.  It  is  the 
inverted  top  of  the  Bisnaga,  and  the  whiteness  of  it  is  the 
meat  which  contains  the  water. 

From  the  nearest  palo  verde  Mr.  Sykes  cut  a  section 
of  smooth,  green  stem  and  formed  it  into  a  pounding- 
stick.  It  is  necessary  to  choose  for  this  purpose  a  tree 
that  does  not  yield  bitter  wood;  for  with  the  wrong  kind 
of  a  battering-ram  the  flavour  of  the  drink  might  easily 
be  impaired. 

At  once  Mr.  Sykes  began  to  attack  the  central  surface 
of  the  decapitated  Bisnaga  with  his  palo  verde  pounder, 


THE  CACTUS  DISPLAY  219 

and  white  bits  of  cactus-meat  began  to  fly  like  sparks 
from  an  anvil.  Several  handfuls  of  the  pulp  were  lost 
because  there  was  nothing  to  contain  them ;  but  presently 
a  cavity  began  to  form.  In  this  the  meat  was  pounded  to 
a  pulpy  mass,  and  in  it  water  began  to  appear.  The  man 
whose  hands  were  cleanest  was  invited  to  take  out  some 
of  the  waterlogged  pulp  and  wash  from  his  hands  the 
tertiary  deposit  of  desert  drift;  which  was  done.  Then 
the  clean-handed  party  proceeded  to  squeeze  the  pulp 
between  his  hands  and  throw  it  away. 

By  alternate  squeezings  and  poundings  about  three 
pints  of  white  water  soon  was  accumulated ;  and  we  were 
invited  to  step  up  in  orthodox  fashion  and  drink  out  of  our 
hands,  as  do  lost  men  on  the  desert.  The  water  was  sur- 
prisingly cool,  a  trifle  sweet,  and  in  flavour  like  the  finest 
kind  of  raw  turnip.  I  fancied  that  its  well-defined  sweet- 
ness might  detract  somewhat  from  its  power  to  allay 
thirst,  and  later  on  I  was  not  surprised  when  Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal  introduced  us  to  the  cactus  candy,  or  "pitahaya 
dulce,"  of  Tucson. 

There  is  only  one  drawback  to  that  cactus  candy.  The 
supply  is  erratic,  and  at  times  invisible.  I  ransacked  the 
city  for  candy-stores,  went  through  them  all,  and  the  sum 
total  of  my  quest  aggregated  only  two  paltry  pounds. 
That  was  the  whole  visible  supply.  But  what  the  Bisnaga 
goods  may  lack  in  quantity  it  makes  up  in  delicacy.  It  is 
the  most  delicious  product  of  the  South-west,  not  even  ex- 
cepting the  preserved  figs  of  California.  If  the  supply 
were  only  constant,  one  might  say  that  it  is  worth  a  stop- 
over at  Tucson. 


220        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

The  great  Barrel  Cactus  was  found  by  us  from  near 
Tucson  to  Sonoyta.  At  the  international  boundary  it  was 
replaced  by  a  small  relative,  similar  in  form  but  of  diminu- 
tive size,  growing  in  clusters.  It  was  most  conspicuous 
on  the  Pinacate  lava  fields,  where  its  purple-green  skin 
and  light  gray  spines  were  brought  out  in  sharp  de- 
tail against  the  dark  metallic  ground-work  of  volcanic 
debris.  The  species  most  in  evidence  was  Ecblnocactus 
lecontei;  and  its  strange,  weird-looking  clumps  fitted  in 
well  with  their  uncanny  surroundings.  The  deer  I  shot 
at  Cubabi  Mountain  had  been  feeding  on  the  fruit  of  this 
species. 

One  species,  which  was  found  at  the  last  moment,  was 
covered  with  a  perfect  cheval-de-frise  of  long,  hooked 
spines  of  a  beautiful  crimson  colour,  and  it  was  so  much 
of  a  rarity  that  specimens  were  taken  back  to  Tucson. 

The  Bisnagas  bear  the  longest  spines  of  any  of  the 
Arizona  or  Pinacate  cacti,  and  on  some  of  the  species  they 
cover  the  whole  exterior  of  the  globe  with  a  tangled  mass 
that  to  the  average  wild  beast  is  impenetrable.  On  the 
night  when  we  started  in  to  be  benighted  on  the  edge  of 
the  Tule  Desert,  and  were  most  unwillingly  rescued,  Dr. 
MacDougal  quickly  found  and  brought  in  an  Echinocactus 
emoryi  about  as  large  as  a  modest  man's  head.  By 
courtesy  that  species  is  considered  edible.  To  me,  however, 
it  seemed  ineligible  to  the  class  of  edible  foods  for  men. 

The  fruits  of  the  barrel  cactuses  are  much  sought  by 
deer  and  sheep — as  they  should  be;  for  there  is  every 
reason  why  hoofed  animals  should  like  them.  The  very 
young  and  tender  saguaro  plants,  two  feet  high,  are  fre- 


THE  CACTUS  DISPLAY  221 

quently  eaten  near  the  ground,  quite  down  to  the  small 
woody  central  stem,  so  that  many  times  we  found  the  plant 
looking  like  a  pineapple  standing  on  a  wooden  peg. 
Just  what  animal  thus  feeds  on  the  small  barrel  cactus  I 
could  not  determine  to  a  certainty;  but  I  suspect  it  was 
the  jack-rabbit.  This  is  the  only  way  in  which  the  giant 
cactus  ever  is  eaten  by  wild  animals  (s.  f.  a.  k.). 

The  Choya  Cactus  group  must  be  approached  with 
outrageous  caution.  First,  one  may  well  pray  to  be  spared 
from  coming  in  personal  touch  with  any  of  its  members; 
and  secondly,  that  in  the  event  of  contact,  grace  may  be 
given  to  enable  you  to  go  on  through  life  without  using 
language. 

I  have  been  cut,  and  bitten,  and  torn,  and  crushed; 
but  never  have  I  felt  any  other  pain,  great  or  small  (save 
the  violent  puncturing  of  an  ear-drum),  that  was  as 
exquisite  and  nerve-searching  as  those  made  by  the  spines 
of  Bigelow's  Accursed  Choya.  Their  entrance  is  very 
painful,  but  their  exit  is  worse;  and  the  aftermath  is  like 
rheumatism  of  the  eye.  They  say  that  is  like  a  very  bad 
toothache,  magnified  one  hundred  diameters. 

The  worst  thing  about  that  Choya  is  its  treachery. 
In  November  it  sheds  those  awful  joints,  and  the  ground 
is  littered  with  them.  They  lie  there  like  so  many  inno- 
cent-looking silvery  chestnut  burrs,  rather  pretty  to  look 
at,  to  be  sure;  but  each  one  contains  all  the  materials  for 
serious  trouble.  Of  course  no  man  can  adequately  look 
out  for  them  until  he  has  suffered  at  least  once;  and  in 
times  of  excitement  they  are  forgotten.  In  accidents,  of 
course,  the  situation  is  beyond  control,  and  no  one  is  to 


222        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

blame.  In  chasing  a  sheep,  or  in  carrying  a  sheep  or  a 
head  on  a  steep  mountain  slope,  you  slip,  or  a  foothold 
gives  way,  you  drop  a  foot  or  two  unexpectedly  and — 
bang!  A  little  spiny  devil  is  fastened  to  your  hand  with 
a  dozen  or  twenty  spines  like  barbed  whalebone  piercing 
your  unhappy  flesh. 

The  world  stops  revolving,  then  and  there.  At  first 
the  pain  paralyzes  your  arm;  then  you  hold  still  and  pity 
yourself.  If  the  spines  in  your  flesh  are  sufficiently 
numerous  and  deep-seated,  the  pain  strikes  to  your  stom- 
ach! In  a  minute  or  so  you  recover  your  poise  and  enter 
the  stage  of  apostrophe;  but  you  find  that  the  English 
language  is  weak  and  poverty-stricken  in  words  which 
will  do  the  subject  even-handed  justice. 

Then  you  gingerly  dispose  of  your  burdens,  get  out 
your  hunting-knife — if  you  have  one  whole  hand  in  com- 
mission— and  open  its  longest  blade. 

I  invented  this  scheme,  and  the  boys  thought  it  a  good 
one:  thrust  the  blade  of  your  knife  far  through  the 
stickers  of  the  Choya  joint,  between  your  flesh  and  the 
body  of  the  offence.  When  the  edge  of  your  blade  has 
secured  a  good  hold  on  the  Choya,  give  a  quick  and  mighty 
heave  outward;  and,  if  all  goes  well,  the  spines  will  be 
simultaneously  torn,  by  main  strength,  out  of  your  quiver- 
ing flesh.  If  any  remain,  the  tweezers  you  carry  in  your 
pocket  must  remove  them,  one  by  one.  When  they  are 
torn  out,  the  wounded  spot  literally  cries  out  with  all  kinds 
of  stinging  and  aching. 

When  your  horse  picks  up  Choya  joints  on  his  feet  or 
legs,  you  must  halt  immediately  and  pass  a  relief  measure. 


THE  CACTUS  DISPLAY  223 

For  a  quiet  animal  the  knife-blade  is  the  best  thing;  but 
if  the  joints  adhere  to  the  hind  legs  of  a  half-tamed,  kicking 
mule,  the  situation  becomes  keenly  interesting.  Of 
course  no  man  with  a  drop  of  sporting  blood  in  his  veins 
will  let  even  the  worst  mule  travel  along  with  Choyas  in 
his  skin  merely  because  of  the  risks  involved  in  removing 
them.  Mr.  Milton  once  showed  me  what  to  do  in  such 
a  case.  When  our  worst-kicking  pack-mule  picked  up 
three  or  four  Choya  joints  on  his  hind  legs,  below  the 
hocks,  I  was  puzzled;  but  Jeff  cut  a  stout  mesquite  branch 
about  three  feet  long,  and  trimmed  it  so  that  two  branches 
made  a  neat  fork  at  the  tip  end.  While  I  held  the  ani- 
mal very  firmly  by  the  head,  Jeff  spoke  soothingly  to 
it,  slowly  manoeuvered  along  its  side,  placed  the  fork 
of  his  stick  close  against  the  nearest  cactus  joint,  and 
with  a  sudden  fierce  thrust  it  was  deftly  dislodged.  The 
mule  flinched,  but  otherwise  took  the  matter  rather 
calmly. 

"  I  guess  he  savveys  the  reason  for  it,  all  right  enough," 
observed  Mr.  Milton;  and  in  a  very  short  time  the  ani- 
mal's legs  were  free. 

Mr.  Sykes  once  dwelt  with  amused  interest  on  his 
mishap  when  carrying  that  second  mountain  sheep  down 
an  awfully  steep  lava  mountain  garnished  with  Bigelow 
Choyas.  He  nearly  had  a  bad  fall,  and  in  saving  himself 
his  clenched  hands  drove  against  a  lot  of  Choya  joints 
that  lay  scattered  upon  the  lava.  Both  hands  were  so 
filled  with  them  that  one  hand  could  not  free  the  other; 
but  finally  he  used  his  teeth  to  liberate  one  hand  and  get 
it  into  working  order. 


224        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Bigelow's  Choya  belongs  to  the  same  genus  as  the 
prickly-pear,  but  the  two  look  not  in  the  least  alike.  It 
is  low  in  stature,  usually  under  three  feet  in  height,  and  by 
its  short,  stocky  joints,  growing  one  upon  another,  you 
may  know  the  genus  to  which  it  belongs.  It  has  a  pro- 
nounced stem,  upon  which  grow  many  branches  as  long 
as  your  finger — no  matter  which  finger  you  choose — each 
of  which  is  studded  with  an  enveloping  mass  of  long, 
whitish-green  spines.  The  spines  are  flattened,  seemingly 
as  strong  as  whalebone,  and  of  incredible  persistence. 

In  November  the  branch-like  joints,  each  a  solid  mass 
of  spines,  drop  off  the  parent  stem  and  lie  thickly  on  the 
ground  below.  Beware  of  them,  standing  or  sitting.  The 
spines  will  go  through  the  side  of  an  ordinary  shoe  almost 
as  if  it  were  manila  paper.  If  you  wear  horse-hide  shoes, 
with  soles  a  trifle  soft  and  flexible,  a  Choya  joint  well 
trodden  upon  will  thrust  its  stickers  into  your  sole,  and 
hang  on  while  you  walk  away  with  it.  Rake  it  over  a 
chunk  of  lava,  and  at  first  there  is  no  result.  Finally, 
when  you  smash  off  the  main  body  of  offence,  a  lot  of  the 
spines  will  remain,  independently,  until  your  travel  liter- 
ally grinds  them  to  pulp.  That  process  is  not  wholly 
without  its  compensations.  It  seems  like  getting  square 
with  Btgelowii. 

We  found  this  interesting  plant  from  Tucson  to  the 
south  end  of  MacDougal  Pass,  and  thence  all  over  the  lava 
field  to  the  very  top  of  Pinacate. 

The  Tree  Choya*  is  more  of  a  wonder  and  less  of  a 
curse  than  Bigelow's.  As  we  saw  it,  its  average  height 

Opuntia  versicolor. 


Bigelow's  Choya — Opuntia  Bigelowi 


From  a  photograph  by  D.  T.  MacDougal 

A  Broad-Leafed  Prickly  Pear  (Opuntia),  at  Sonoyta 


THE  CACTUS  DISPLAY  225 

was  between  five  and  seven  feet,  but  I  am  told  it  grows  as 
high  as  ten  feet  in  the  clear.  A  fine  specimen  in  Mac- 
Dougal  Pass  is  shown  herewith,  and  it  may  well  be  re- 
garded as  typical  of  the  species.  It  might  very  well  have 
been  named  the  Wren  Choya,  because  it  is  the  species 
so  much  beloved  of  the  cactus  wren.  In  the  fastnesses 
of  the  Opuntia's  spine-covered  branches,  the  wren  builds 
its  nest,  and  in  peace  and  comfort  rears  its  brood.  It 
fears  neither  hawk,  coyote,  fox,  nor  serpent,  for  its  fortress 
is  impregnable.  We  saw  at  least  two  score  of  nests,  often 
so  judgmatically  placed  in  the  centre  of  dense  masses  of 
thorny  stems  as  make  their  occupants  perfectly  secure 
from  all  attack.  And  let  no  man  insult  the  intelligence 
of  that  bird  by  asserting  that  this  selection  of  a  protected 
nesting-site  is  a  mere  mechanical  process,  devoid  of  reason; 
for  if  he  does,  few  persons  of  intelligence  will  believe  him. 

The  stem  of  the  Tree  Choya  is  peculiar,  in  that  it 
is  covered  with  a  network  of  small  green  pustules.  The 
interior  is  bounded  by  a  cylinder  of  hard  wood  of  most 
peculiar  pattern — chased  all  over  on  the  outside,  and  full 
of  elliptical  holes  set  in  most  orderly  array.  Of  course 
we  opine  that  each  external  pustule  corresponds  with  a 
hole  in  the  woody  stem.  When  a  Tree  Choya  dies,  both 
its  pulpy  outer  surface  and  its  centre  decay  and  disappear 
and  there  remains  standing  only  the  woody  skeleton  of  the 
tree.  This  stands  for  months  longer,  until  the  wood 
bleaches  to  a  clean  light-gray  colour,  and  then  it  looks  like 
a  tree  of  carved  fretwork. 

The  spines  of  this  Choya  are  mild  in  comparison  with 
those  of  the  Bigelow  species,  and  its  joints  are  not  ghastly 


226        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

traps  that  lie  in  wait  for  the  unwary.  Their  fleshy  exterior 
naturally  suggests  food  for  wild  animals. 

Of  flat  Opuntias  (Prickly  Pears)  we  saw  very  few. 
Nowhere  did  they  spread  for  yards  over  the  helpless  earth 
in  a  thorny  and  horrid  mat,  as  in  Montana,  cordially 
hated  by  man  and  beast.  The  few  specimens  that  we 
saw  were  large-jointed,  stately  and  immaculate,  as  if 
knowingly  on  exhibition.  Of  the  twenty  or  thirty  known 
species  we  saw  perhaps  half  a  dozen  in  all.  The  most 
interesting  Opuntia  record  was  a  fine  plant  found  at 
Sonoyta  by  Dr.  MacDougal  (figured  herewith),  that 
proved  to  be  a  new  and  undescribed  species. 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  Opuntia  which  the 
Doctor  found  serenely  growing  upon  the  tip-top  of  a  large 
giant  cactus,  and  promptly  pictured  for  the  general  good. 
Of  course  it  sprang  from  a  seed  that  was  carried  to  that 
high  point  by  some  bird,  and  by  a  combination  of  fortui- 
tous circumstances  successfully  germinated.  And  what  a 
fine  opportunity  it  offers  for  a  nature-fakir's  marvel! 

We  saw  many  interesting  cacti  of  small  size,  singly 
and  in  clusters,  but  it  is  difficult  to  transfer  that  interest 
to  a  printed  page,  in  reasonable  limits.  Of  greater  inter- 
est than  they  were  the  All-Thorn  Bushes  with  large, 
fleshy  stems  for  the  storage  of  water,  and  many  thorns 
but  no  leaves.  This  very  queer  plant  is  well  shown  in 
Mr.  Phillips's  photograph — a  cubic  yard  of  naked  stems 
and  angles. 

Many  of  the  desert  plants  have  developed  large,  soft 
stems  for  the  quick  receipt  and  long  storage  of  water  by 
which  to  sustain  life  during  the  long  and  dreary  hot  months 


THE  CACTUS  DISPLAY  227 

of  summer,  when  the  rainfall  is  reduced  to  an  irreducible 
minimum.  The  thick-stemmed  shrubs  offer  of  themselves 
alone  an  interesting  study — abundant  food  for  thought, 
but  none  for  stomachs  of  flesh  and  blood;  for  they  are 
mostly  so  bitter  and  pungent  that  no  animal  can  eat  them. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  JOURNEY  OVER  THE  LAVA  AND  ANOTHER  TO  THE  GULF 

Work  on  Specimens — Arroyos — Awful  Lava  Ridges  and  Lava  Plains — 
Mutiny  in  the  Line — The  Gulf  of  California — Two  Antelopes 
Killed  on  a  Lava  Plain — The  Highway  to  Pinacate — The  Tule 
Tanks,  Sans  Tules — Our  Camp — Mr.  Sykes  Goes  to  the  Gulf. 

THE  day  after  the  trip  to  the  Sykes  Crater,  and  the 
bringing  in  of  the  sheep,  was  for  me  a  busy  one.  The 
complete  skin  of  the  big  ram  was  made  up  for  the  Carnegie 
Museum;  there  were  three  heads  to  skin  and  sheep  meat 
to  cure  to  the  limit  of  half  the  visible  supply.  The  Boys 
gathered  lava  boulders  and  built  for  me,  against  the  foot 
of  the  steep  lava  hill,  a  fine  standing-up  table  on  which 
I  could  work  to  excellent  advantage.  Since  the  advent 
of  the  grim  spectre  called  Mastoiditis,  there  is  for  me  no 
more  working  on  the  lap  of  Mother  Earth. 

I  am  very  partial  to  a  permanent  camp,  around  which 
one  can  gyrate  and  explore  galore,  with  a  new  programme 
for  each  day.  We  would  blithely  have  remained  at  the 
Papago  Tanks  for  a  week,  exploring  their  environs,  but 
were  denied  that  pastoral  pleasure.  Pinacate  Peak  was 
still  ten  miles  away,  over  a  terribly  rough  course,  and  on 
the  direct  course  there  was  not  a  suspicion  of  water  be- 
tween. We  were  therefore  compelled,  like  the  Wandering 

228 


A  JOURNEY  OVER  THE  LAVA  229 

Jew,  to  move  on;  and  after  a  long,  hard  day  on  those 
specimens  we  made  up  a  light  pack  train  the  next  morn- 
ing and  moved  out.  We  left  behind  us  Jess  Jenkins, 
George  Saunders  and  all  those  infernal  dogs. 

Charlie  Foster  had  been  told  by  a  Papago  Indian  that 
there  was  a  lava  water-hole,  or  "tank,"  somewhere  to  the 
westward  of  Pinacate  Peak,  and  that  by  going  down  to  a 
certain  group  of  granite  mountains  at  the  edge  of  the  sand- 
hills, and  tacking  back  again  over  an  old  Indian  trail,  we 
might  find  it.  The  distance  over  that  V-shaped  course 
might  be  fifteen  miles,  or  it  might  be  twenty.  And  so, 
with  unspoken  reluctance,  we  mounted  our  horses,  drove 
out  the  pack  animals  and  set  forth  on  what  we  hoped 
would  be  our  last  circumpolar  march. 

Instead  of  going  south-eastward  toward  Pinacate,  we 
headed  due  south — always  and  everlastingly  away  from 
our  goal!  But  as  usual,  no  one  said  aught  against  it — 
until  later. 

After  leaving  the  Papago  Tanks,  the  Papago  arroyo, 
or  barranca — whichever  name  may  be  preferred — rapidly 
widened  into  a  bed  of  loose  sand  as  wide  as  the  Sonoyta 
River  at  the  Santo  Domingo  crossing.  Its  low  and  level 
banks  were  covered  with  dense  jungle  of  the  standard  sort, 
which  surely  would  have  contained  deer  but  for  the  Papa- 
goes  of  lang  syne.  Finally,  however,  we  left  that  com- 
fortable valley  and  climbed  over  a  huge  ridge  of  lava  so 
upheaved,  so  contorted  and  so  awful  as  to  baffle  both 
camera  and  description.  Neither  can  do  it  justice,  any 
more  than  a  lens  can  catch  and  record  the  spirit  of  a  mean 
man.  An  old,  disused  trail  led  along  our  way,  without 


23o        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

which  we  surely  would  have  had  a  purple  time  of  it  getting 
over  that  unparalleled  roughness. 

There  were  hills  and  valleys  a-many,  of  piled-up  hell- 
fire  suddenly  grown  cold.  The  lava  glowered  and  scowled 
at  the  heavens  and  dared  us  to  come  on.  In  places  it  was 
red,  but  mostly  it  was  shiny  Vandyke-brown.  In  places, 
great  ragged  slabs  of  sheet-lava  stood  on  edge.  Our  horses 
gingerly  picked  their  way  through  it  and  over  it,  taking 
excellent  care  to  stick  closely  to  the  trail.  In  the  worst 
of  the  lava  there  was  practically  no  vegetation — just 
blasted  ridges,  ragged  hollows  and  cinder-covered  hills 
at  which  wild-animal  life  draws  the  line. 

In  the  midst  of  the  most  awful  of  those  lavascapes 
I  halted  and  tried  to  secure  a  sample  picture;  but  the 
result  is  unavailable.  The  photograph  shows  only  a 
fearful  jumble  of  chaotic  details,  black  and  terrible,  but 
inadequate. 

After  leaving  that  blasted  region,  we  emerged  upon  a 
great  lava  plain  six  or  seven  miles  in  width,  over  which 
our  progress  was  much  easier.  The  character  of  it  is 
well  shown  in  the  picture  of  Mr.  Jeff  Milton  and  his 
antelope.  Presently,  we  sighted  a  group  of  very  sharp, 
saw-tooth  granite  mountains  at  the  edge  of  the  sand-hills, 
dead  ahead. 

We  rode,  and  rode,  and  rode;  steadily  going  away  from 
our  mountain  goal.  At  last  the  situation  became  intoler- 
able; and  being  near  the  rear  of  the  column,  to  help  drive 
the  sorrel  pack-mule,  I  halted  for  Mr.  Sykes  to  come  up. 

"Mr.  Sykes,  do  you  know  how  much  farther  we  are 
likely  to  go  in  this  direction  ? " 


A  JOURNEY  OVER  THE  LAVA  231 

"Charlie  says  the  trail  leads  around  that  group  of 
mountains,  ahead  of  us." 

"Heavens!  Is  it  possible!  We  will  then  be  several 
miles  farther  from  Pinacate  than  we  now  are,  and  no 
better  off!" 

Then  Mr.  Sykes  burst  forth — a  sunburned  human 
volcano. 

"It's  the  most  idiotic  way  to  get  to  a  mountain  that 
I  ever  saw  anybody  take.  /  think  that  the  way  to  get  to 
a  mountain  is  to  go  to  it,  not  away  from  it! 

"The  course  we  are  steering  is  getting  on  my  nerves. 
There  is  nothing  to  hinder  our  crossing  this  plain  in  any 
direction  we  choose.  Yonder  is  a  good,  broad  highway 
leading  straight  to  the  top  of  Pinacate;  and  there  must 
be  water  in  that  valley,  somewhere.  Let's  ride  up  and 
speak  to  the  Doctor." 

The  spirit  of  rank  mutiny  which  thus  reared  its  head 
ran  along  the  line  until  it  overtook  Dr.  MacDougal.  Up 
to  that  moment  none  of  us  ever  had  offered  even  a  sug- 
gestion regarding  our  routes  and  camps. 

"Doctor,  why  is  Charlie  leading  us  this  long  goose- 
chase  down  to  the  sand-hills  and  away  from  Pinacate, 
when  we  can  just  as  well  make  a  cut-off,  straight  toward 
it?" 

"I've  been  wondering  about  that  myself,"  said  the 
Doctor,  promptly.  Then  he  raised  the  voice  of  authority. 
"Hello!  Charlie!  We're  not  going  any  farther  on  this 
trail.  It's  taking  us  where  we  don't  want  to  go.  Lead 
off  here  to  the  left  and  let's  go  toward  Pinacate  instead  of 
away  from  it!" 


232        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

"  But  with  no  trail,"  said  Charlie,  "maybe  no  find  Tule 
Tanks!  Quien  sabe?"* 

"We'll  take  our  chances  on  finding  water  somewhere 
before  night,"  answered  the  Doctoi,  resolutely. 

"Bueno,"  said  Charlie,  quietly  and  respectfully;  and 
as  he  led  off  sharply  to  the  left,  we  once  more  rode  toward 
our  goal,  instead  of  away  from  it.  We  were  then  due 
north-west  of  the  mountain.  Instead  of  describing  a  letter 
V  to  reach  our  goal,  with  its  nose  in  the  sand-hills  and 
miles  out  of  our  way,  we  turned  it  into  a  capital  A,  and 
started  to  traverse  the  cross-bar. 

Our  average  altitude  must  then  have  been  about  one 
hundred  feet  above  sea  level.  All  about  us  was  the  black- 
brown  lava  plain,  in  general  not  at  all  bad  to  travel  over 
by  picking  one's  way,  but  cut  by  numerous  lava-rock 
gulleys,  and  occasional  ridges  of  the  roughest  lava  on 
earth.  There  was  not  a  pound  of  earth  visible  anywhere, 
but  on  the  plains  the  lava  had  decomposed  sufficiently  to 
form  a  good  solid  bed  of  reasonable  smoothness,  which  I 
suppose  is  fairly  entitled  to  rank  as  earth.  Of  sand  there 
was  so  very  little  that  I  remember  none  whatever.  On 
those  lava  plains,  as  we  may  rightly  call  them,  the  particles 
of  lava  often  resemble  coarse  gravel,  thinly  strewn;  but 
these  areas  are  always  surrounded  by  beds  of  coarser 
material,  like  furnace  coal  six  inches  deep,  over  which 
horses  make  their  way  with  difficulty. 

Looking  westward,  off  our  starboard  quarter  as  it 
were,  the  lava  plains  went  undulating  down  for  three  or 
four  miles  to  where  they  met  the  littoral  sand-hills,  and 

*Pronounced  "keen  savVy";  meaning  "who  knows?" 


A  JOURNEY  OVER  THE  LAVA  233 

ended  very  abruptly.  The  waves  of  clean,  yellow  sand 
rolled  westward  for  ten  miles  farther,  and  beyond  that 
fearful  shore  glistened  the  placid  waters  of  the  Gulf  of 
California.  We  were  directly  opposite  the  most  eastern 
point  of  Adair  Bay.  Across  the  Gulf,  seventy  miles  away, 
loomed  up  a  huge  and  lofty  mountain  mass,  called  by  so 
many  different  names  that  it  is  difficult  to  pick  the  winner. 
Dr.  MacDougal  and  Mr.  Sykes  say  that  its  eastern  face 
is  a  perpendicular  wall  that  for  miles  and  miles  at  a  stretch 
is  unscalable,  even  for  a  man  on  foot.  During  the  whole 
of  our  stay  in  the  region  due  west  of  Pinacate,  the  pano- 
rama of  the  Gulf  and  Adair  Bay  was  ever  spread  before 
us — a  sheet  of  frosted  silver  fading  away  into  horizon  haze. 

Once  while  our  sinuous  serpent  of  horsemen  and  pack 
animals  wound  its  way  along  a  smooth  lava  ridge,  the 
leaders  suddenly  halted  and  fell  back  in  some  confusion. 

"Antelope!  A  bunch  of  antelope!"  said  Mr.  Milton, 
visibly  agitated.  "Over  there,  on  the  other  side  of  that 
arroyo!" 

"Go  quickly,  Doctor!"  we  said  to  our  leader. 

Flinging  himself  off  his  horse,  and  bidding  Frank 
Coles  come  with  him,  Dr.  MacDougal  lost  not  a  moment 
in  stalking  the  animals.  There  were  five  of  them,  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away,  on  the  farther  side  of  a  ragged 
ravine  of  lava  thinly  sprinkled  with  desert  trees. 

But  the  antelopes  were  very  wide  awake;  and  not 
liking  the  looks  of  our  party,  they  ran,  long  before  the 
leader  came  within  shooting  distance.  Even  before  they 
started,  however,  Charlie  Foster  went  on  record  with  a 
contribution  of  hunter's  wisdom.  He  said  to  Mr.  Milton, 


234        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

"Go  on  ahead!  They  cross  ahead — over  there — and 
maybe  you  can  shoot." 

Mr.  Milton  instantly  acted  on  this  hint,  and  as  the 
animals  started  to  run  he  galloped  straight  forward  on  our 
course.  On  the  nose  of  our  ridge  he  dismounted  and  ran 
forward,  rifle  in  hand. 

True  to  Charlie's  prediction,  the  prong-horn  band 
circled,  and  finally  halted  within  gunshot.  Mr.  Milton 
fired  twice  in  quick  succession,  and  killed  both  the  bucks 
of  the  bunch,  neatly  and  thoroughly. 

Naturally,  we  examined  the  trophies  with  keen  inter- 
est. Their  horns  of  1907  had  been  shed  about  two 
months  previously  (let  us  say  between  September  I5th  and 
October  ist),  and  the  new  editions  were  still  quite  im- 
mature. The  prongs  were  but  slightly  developed,  and  the 
hair  still  covered  the  lower  half  of  each  horn.  It  should 
be  stated  here  that  on  no  other  animal  is  the  conversion 
of  hair  (the  true  horn  material)  into  horn  so  visibly  mani- 
fest as  on  a  new  horn  of  Antilocapra.  In  one  good  look 
you  can  see  the  whole  process. 

One  of  those  bucks  had  a  mane  that  had  developed 
as  a  queer  little  semicircular  crest  of  reddish  hair,  standing 
two  inches  high  by  about  six  inches  long  on  the  base.  But 
it  was  not  repeated  on  the  other  male  antelopes  that  were 
killed  on  the  trip,  and  it  must  be  noted  as  an  individual 
character  only. 

We  were  greatly  pressed  for  time,  because  our  future 
was  so  uncertain,  and  we  dared  not  linger  over  those 
specimens.  It  was  impossible  to  carry  them  with  us 
while  we  searched  for  water,  so  we  chose  the  best  specimen, 


From  a  photograph  by  J.  M.  Phillips 

Mr.  Milton  Kills  Two  Antelopes  on  the  Lava 


From  a  photograph  by  J.  M.  Phillips 

Mr.  Sykes  and  the  Carnegie  Ram  on  the  Red  Lava  Peak 


;~   ESS 

/       F    .L      \- 


A  JOURNEY  OVER  THE  LAVA  235 

quickly  measured  and  eviscerated  it,  then  hung  it  as  high 
as  we  possibly  could  in  a  stout  mesquite  tree  that  grew 
in  the  arroyo  near  by.  We  said  we  would  "send  back 
after  it";  but  in  my  mind  I  bade  it  farewell,  for  it  seemed 
almost  impossible  that  we  ever  should  see  it  again.  Mr. 
Sykes  asked  for  the  head  of  No.  2,  which  was  promptly 
allotted  to  him.  While  he  cut  off  the  specimen,  the  rest 
of  us  took  the  hind-quarters  for  meat,  and  ten  minutes 
later  we  were  again  on  our  way. 

Straight  toward  mysterious,  elusive  old  Pinacate,  at 
last;  and  not  so  very  far  away!  Leading  directly  from 
us  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  there  lay  a  broad,  valley- 
like  depression,  seemingly  half  a  mile  wide,  which  was 
entirely  free  from  lava  peaks,  and  looked  like  our  Highway. 
I  could  not  call  it  anything  else  than  that — but  Heaven 
help  any  wheels  that  ever  try  to  traverse  it!  They  will 
wish  they  had  never  been  born. 

On  both  sides  of  the  highway  volcanic  peaks  and 
lofty  ridges  are  massed  up.  The  open  sweep  upward  ends 
abruptly  in  a  narrow  notch,  beyond  which  is  a  valley  of 
unknown  depth  and  width.  Beyond  that  rises  two  peaks, 
and  it  is  plain  that  the  one  toward  the  north  is  the  peak  of 
Pinacate. 

An  hour  before  sunset  we  came  to  a  very  deep  arroyo, 
cut  down  through  the  lava  field,  thirty  feet  sheer;  and  it 
lay  across  our  course.  It  came  from  higher  up  on  Pina- 
cate and  went  south-westward.  Almost  at  the  very  point 
where  we  struck  it,  we  found — the  Tule  Tanks!  And 
right  there  we  camped,  properly  thankful  for  our  luck. 
"Tule"  is  pronounced  tu'  lee,  and  it  means  "marsh"; 


236        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

but  at  that  point  we  seemed  very  far  removed  from  all 
marshes. 

It  was  a  wild  spot  for  a  camp — out  in  the  open,  no 
landmark  near  it,  and  difficult  to  find.  Luckily  I  took 
good  care  to  note  its  bearings  with  reference  to  the  nearest 
peaks,  and  once  later  on  we  found  the  camp  when  other- 
wise it  might  easily  have  been  lost  in  the  darkness  and 
we  might  have  been  compelled  to  "lie  out"  all  night. 

On  reaching  the  tanks  we  found  them  full  of  water, 
lying  at  the  foot  of  a  thirty-foot  wall  of  rock,  up  which  we 
hauled  our  camp  water  in  a  canvas  pail,  at  the  end  of  a 
lariat.  We  unsaddled  with  all  haste,  and  when  all  was 
clear  Mr.  Milton  and  Charlie  took  the  whole  bunch  of 
horses  and  started  toward  the  sand-hills,  to  look  for  galleta 
grass.  We  were  on  the  anxious  seat  until  they  returned, 
two  hours  later,  with  the  news  that  they  had  "  found  grass 
that  would  do,"  and  set  the  herd  into  it.  After  that  we 
settled  down  contentedly  to  develop  the  Future  to  its 
utmost  limits. 

Several  times  while  in  that  camp  I  was  impressed  by 
the  puny  insignificance  of  our  party  in  comparison  with 
the  great  manifestation  of  Nature  around  us.  Everything 
was  on  a  scale  so  grand  and  awful  that  our  personality  as  a 
party  did  not  seem  to  amount  to  shucks.  So  far  as  Nature 
was  concerned,  we  seemed  about  as  important  as  so  many 
jack-rabbits,  but  not  much  more.  Our  camp  "cut  no 
figure"  whatever.  When  returning  to  it  we  never  could 
see  it  until  we  were  almost  ready  to  fall  over  it. 

Had  we  not  found  water  in  that  arroyo,  or  near  it, 
we  would  have  camped  dry  until  morning,  then  fled  back 


A  JOURNEY  OVER  THE  LAVA  237 

to  the  nearest  liquid,  with  all  possible  haste.  Had  we 
not  found  it,  we  would  have  "busted  Pinacate"  just  the 
same;  but  we  would  have  had  a  mighty  lively  time  carry- 
ing in  water  on  our  pack-horses,  and  doling  it  out  by  metre 
until  our  ends  had  been  accomplished.  The  supply  for 
ourselves  would  have  been  manageable,  but  with  horses, 
every  water-carrier  is  a  serious  problem  on  account  of  the 
large  supply  absolutely  needed  for  him.  And  so,  again  I 
say  to  all  those  who  may  be  tempted  to  view  Lavaland  from 
the  top  of  Pinacate — be  sure  you  are  right  about  your 
water  supply,  then  go  ahead.  Remember  that,  for  the 
average  white  man  of  the  North,  thirty-six  hours  without 
water  is  about  the  living  limit. 

Naturally,  we  speculated  much  on  the  proposed  trip 
across  the  sand-hills  to  the  waters  of  the  Gulf  of  California. 
At  first  we  all  intended  to  make  the  trip;  and  it  was  fully 
conceded  that  it  must,  perforce,  be  made  on  foot.  But 
as  the  sands  of  our  time-limit  rapidly  ran  out,  and  we 
counted  up  the  available  days  remaining,  my  mind  was 
quickly  made  up.  I  broke  the  news  to  the  Leader,  very 
gently,  in  this  wise: 

"Doctor,"  I  said,  "for  me,  the  shore  of  the  Gulf  at 
this  particular  point  has  few  zoological  attractions.  The 
shore  is  marshy;  it  would  take  a  day  to  reach  it,  and  a  day 
to  return,  carrying  everything  on  our  backs.  For  me,  the 
results  would  be  meagre.  If  I  may  be  excused,  I  think 
I  will  watch  the  rest  of  you  make  the  journey  while  I  hunt 
mountain  sheep." 

The  expected  happened.  The  bare  idea  of  giving  up 
two  glorious  days  of  mountain-sheep  hunting  for  a  hot  and 


& 

'3 


238        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

tiresome  tramp  through  ten  miles  of  loose  sand,  to  a 
muddy  old  foreshore  with  nothing  upon  it,  was  too  much. 
Gulf  Coast  stock  dropped  eighty  points,  with  a  hard  thud. 
But  the  Doctor  protested  that  he  did  want  to  see  the  botan- 
ical features  of  those  sand-hills;  and  Mr.  Phillips  vowed 
that  he  must  have  a  bath  in  the  Gulf.  Mr.  Sykes  said, 

"Well,  I  simply  must  go,  to  test  my  aneroid  at  sea 
level,  in  order  to  get  my  elevations  correct.  For  me,  there 
really  is  no  option." 

In  the  end,  the  Geographer  was  the  only  man  who 
went;  and  the  rest  of  us  spent  our  time  in  other  pursuits. 
One  night,  at  tea-time,  Mr.  Sykes  was  totally  missing. 
No  one  had  seen  him  since  morning,  when  he  was  observed 
running  loose  on  the  lava  field  toward  the  west,  dragging 
his  lariat.  When  late  bedtime  (eight  o'clock)  came  with- 
out bringing  him,  some  Wise  One  exclaimed, 

"I'll  bet  anything  he's  gone  to  the  Gulf!" 

And  sure  enough,  he  had !  About  one  o'clock  that  after- 
noon, while  wandering  over  the  lava,  mapping  and  measur- 
ing peaks,  he  said  to  himself,  in  genuine  English  style, 

"It's  a  fine  day;   I'll  go  to  the  Gulf  this  afternoon!" 

Without  further  parley,  or  a  word  to  any  one,  off  he 
started.  He  tramped  that  whole  round  trip,  eight  miles 
of  it  on  lava  and  ten  miles  in  loose  sand,  in  about  thirteen 
hours.  It  was  about  half-past  one  in  the  morning  when 
he  jauntily  tramped  up  to  camp,  helped  himself  to  some 
fragments  of  cooked  food  that  the  rest  of  us  had  carelessly 
overlooked,  and  slipped  into  his  sleeping-bag. 

The  next  morning  he  rose  with  the  rest  of  us,  as  lively 
and  debonair  as  any  of  us,  and  quite  as  ready  for  the 


A  JOURNEY  OVER  THE  LAVA  239 

doings  of  the  day.  This  is  what  he  told  us  about  his  trip 
and  its  results: 

"When  I  left  camp  yesterday  morning,  I  went  over 
to  the  big  lava  butte  to  the  west,  climbed  it  and  took  a  lot 
of  sights,  and  then,  as  it  was  still  early,  I  thought  I  would 
go  down  to  sea  level  with  my  aneroid,  so  as  to  get  a  check 
on  my  readings  on  Pinacate.  From  the  top  of  my  butte 
I  picked  out  what  looked  to  be  a  fairly  easy  route  across 
the  sand-hills,  set  my  pedometer  and  started.  My  selected 
route  first  led  me  diagonally  across  the  playas  toward  the 
sand,  then  more  or  less  of  a  zigzag  course  through  the 
sand-hills,  and  after  that  straight  for  the  shore  of  the  Gulf. 
I  estimated  my  distance  from  the  shore-line  to  be  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  miles,  and  this  proved  to  be  fairly  correct; 
for  from  the  time  of  leaving  the  top  of  the  butte  until  I  got 
back  into  camp,  my  pedometer  tallied  forty-three  miles. 

"The  sand-hills  averaged  about  five  miles  across,  and 
in  them  the  walking  is  very  bad.  The  Gulf  front  of  these 
hills  is  a  clear-cut  line,  and  the  highest  dunes  are  close 
to  this  eastern  edge. 

"  Once  through  the  sand,  my  course  lay  straight  across 
some  galleta  grass  flats  toward  some  bare-looking  saladas 
that  I  could  see  from  the  tops  of  the  dunes.  The  walking 
was  now  very  good,  and  by  sundown  I  was  probably  two- 
thirds  of  the  way  from  the  sand  to  the  shore.  The  full 
moon  rose  over  Pinacate  about  dusk,  and  so  I  had  plenty 
of  light. 

"I  soon  reached  the  tide  flats,  got  down  as  far  as  salt 
water,  corrected  the  scale  of  my  aneroid  and  started  back 
to  camp.  I  had  determined  to  make,  on  my  way  back,  a 


24o        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

detour  toward  the  south,  through  the  sand-hills,  as  my 
last  sight  in  that  direction  from  the  frontal  dune  had 
shown  me  a  better  route  than  the  one  I  had  followed  in 
going  toward  the  shore. 

"I  got  through  without  any  difficulty,  steering  by  the 
ten  stars,  and  as  I  had  a  latch-key  to  my  own  particular 
sleeping-rock  at  the  Tule  Tanks,  I  knew  that  none  of  you 
would  be  sitting  up  waiting  for  me.  I  must  say,  however, 
that  you  all  had  disgustingly  hearty  appetites  at  supper,  for 
there  was  mighty  little  left  to  eat. 

"The  net  zoological  result  of  my  pasear  was  a  few 
little  birds  of  unknown  species,  a  jack-rabbit  or  two,  one 
coyote  and  a  little  coiled-up  rattlesnake  evidently  suffering 
from  the  chilly  night  air.  I  put  my  hand  on  the  snake, 
thinking  it  was  a  shell,  and  never  discovered  what  kind  of 
snake  it  was  until,  as  he  slid  through  my  fingers,  I  felt  his 
rattles!  At  that  I  bid  him  a  hurried  adieu  and  left  him 
to  find  warmer  quarters. 

"The  coastal  plain  beyond  the  sand  is  wonderfully 
level  and  covered  with  fine  galleta  grass,  except  on  the 
saladas.  The  line  of  sand-hills  stretches  away  in  what 
seems  to  be  an  unbroken  line,  as  far  as  one  can  see,  both 
north  and  south." 

Mr.  Sykes  collected  at  tide-water,  and  brought  back 
to  me  the  following  shells: 

Murex  (Phyllonotus)  becki.      Phil. 

Area  pacifica.      Sow. 

Pectunculus  gigantea.     Rve. 

Cardium  (Trachycardium)  procerum.     Sow. 

Ostrea  lurid  a.     Carpenter. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

/• 

A  GREAT  DAY  WITH  SHEEP  ON  PINACATE 

A  Scattered  Party—The  Distant  "Cut  Bank"— View  from  1,000  Feet 
Elevation — A  Lost  Aneroid  and  a  Maze  of  Coat-pockets — The 
Choya  Peak — Hard  Travelling  for  Human  Feet — Two  Sheep 
Sighted — A  Run  for  Them — Bad  Shooting  and  a  Badly  Rattled 
Sportsman — Mr.  Phillips  Apologizes  for  Killing  His  "Bunger" — 
Chase  of  a  Wounded  Ram — Success  at  Last — Moonrise  Over 
Pinacate  Peaks — The  Lava  Field  by  Moonlight. 

THE  nineteenth  of  November  was  a  day  of  many 
sensations.  As  I  look  back  upon  it,  it  is  fairly  impossible 
to  decide  whether  I  should  feel  deeply  mortified  or  highly 
amused  by  the  folly  of  the  main  performance.  The 
Reader  will  cheerfully  decide  that  point. 

The  Leader,  Mr.  Phillips  and  I  unanimously  decided 
that  the  day  should  be  devoted  to  hunting  mountain  sheep. 
The  fact  that  neither  the  Botanist  nor  the  Zoologist  had 
yet  scored  on  a  "borego"  was  irritating  to  the  nerves  of 
the  camp,  and  we  decided  that  we  must  immediately  allay 
the  annoyance  of  hope  deferred. 

Mr.  Milton  early  announced  his  intention  to  go  to  the 
horse  herd,  and  re-locate  it  on  better  grass;  and  since  he 
could  not  accompany  any  of  us,  we  then  decided,  as  one 
man,  that  Charlie  Foster  should  improve  the  shining  hour 

by  going  back  after  the  dead  antelope — precisely  in  the 

241 


242        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

opposite  direction  from  our  sheep  hunting.  That  would 
keep  him  out  of  mischief  for  the  day,  and  we  would  be 
free  to  hunt  sheep  all  alone.  Dr.  MacDougal  invited 
Frank  Coles  to  accompany  him,  and  they  set  off  south- 
eastward from  camp,  on  the  south  side  of  the  Highway. 

Left  to  our  own  devices,  Mr.  Phillips  and  I  decided 
to  go  up  the  Highway  straight  toward  what  seemed  like 
a  lofty,  triangular  cut  bank,  of  a  decided  red  colour,  a  little 
to  the  north  of  the  Highway.  We  had  some  curiosity 
about  that  "cut  bank,"  but  immediately  beyond  it  there 
rose  a  collection  of  peaks  which  we  felt  might  contain 
sheep,  provided  any  Ovis  inhabited  the  middle  slopes  of 
Pinacate. 

A  three-mile  tramp  across  a  very  interesting  lava 
plain  brought  us  to  an  isolated  extinct  volcano  which  rose 
a  little  to  the  northward  of  our  course;  and  as  in  duty 
bound  we  called  upon  it.  It  was  very  imposing,  very 
rough  and  admirably  adapted  to  the  wants  of  sheep,  but 
no  sheep  were  there;  so  on  we  tramped  toward  our  "cut 
bank." 

On  a  commanding  ridge  we  sat  down  with  our  backs 
against  some  angular  chunks  of  red  lava,  to  rest  our  feet 
and  scan  the  cones  with  our  glasses.  Mr.  Phillips  took 
out  his  fine  new  aneroid  barometer,  to  ascertain  the  eleva- 
tion, and  it  happened  to  be,  as  nearly  as  possible,  1,000 
feet.  We  feasted  our  eyes  on  Adair  Bay  and  the  Gulf, 
on  the  sand-hills,  the  granite  mountains  far  away  west- 
ward and  the  miles  upon  miles  of  lava,  then  pulled  our- 
selves together  to  resume  our  quest.  As  we  rose,  Mr. 
Phillips  replaced  his  aneroid  in  one  of  the  many  pockets 


A  GREAT  DAY  WITH  THE  SHEEP          243 

of  his  sleeveless  hunting  coat — pocket  No.   17,  he  said 
later  on — and  his  field-glasses  were  cached  in  No.  9. 

Now  that  hunting  coat  was  a  wonder,  purchased  in 
Tucson,  at  the  suggestion  of  our  Leader — whose  only  fault 
lies  in  the  possession  and  use  of  one  on  the  deserts.  In 
looks  that  garment  is  a  tailor's  atrocity,  no  less.  Mr. 
Phillips's  edition  had  twenty-three  pockets  (I  think  that 
is  the  correct  number),  around,  beneath  and  on  high. 
The  whole  outer  surface  of  the  garment,  from  the  collar 
down,  was  completely  undermined  by  them,  and  had  they 
only  been  connected,  like  the  underground  chambers  of 
the  kangaroo  rat,  they  would  have  made  an  impregnable 
system.  The  coat  was  a  wonder,  because  when  once  you 
had  deposited  something  in  one  of  its  pockets,  you  were 
kept  wondering  where  it  was,  and  whether  you  ever 
would  find  it  again.  It  was  a  disreputable  coat  to  look  at, 
because  its  armholes  were  much  too  large  and  entirely 
too  low,  and  too  much  of  it  hung  below  the  equator  of 
the  wearer. 

Half  a  mile  beyond  our  resting  place,  Mr.  Phillips 
began  to  look  for  his  aneroid  once  more,  in  anticipation  of 
using  it  later  on.  He  always  began  to  hunt  for  things 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  using  them. 

"I  know  I  put  that  thing  in  No.  17,"  he  said  at  last, 
in  an  aggrieved  tone,  "but  it  isn't  there." 

"Go  on,"  I  said,  "Hunt  for  it!  You've  got  it,  some- 
where." 

He  had  not  explored  more  than  half  of  them,  but  the 
search  that  he  made  through  that  maze  of  pockets  made 
me  dizzy.  Finally  he  said,  wearily, 

,  1 


•     r 


244        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

"I  can't  find  it.  But  I  may  have  missed  some  of 
them.  .  .  .  See  if  you  can  find  it." 

I  went  through  those  pockets,  in  and  out,  over  and 
under,  playing  hide  and  seek  until  my  head  swam;  but 
no  aneroid  was  found. 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  lost  it,"  said  John. 

"Well,  if  you  have,  we  can  find  it  in  fifteen  minutes. 
Let's  search  for  it  on  the  lava." 

We  hunted,  high  and  low,  both  near  and  far.  I 
thought  I  could  find  it  in  ten  minutes,  but  we  found  it  not 
at  all;  and  after  losing  a  precious  half-hour  or  more,  we 
had  to  give  it  up.  John  M.  was  greatly  annoyed;  but 
even  to  this  day  I  do  not  sorrow  as  one  who  has  no  hope. 
I  believe  that  aneroid  will  yet  be  found  in  one  of  the 
burrows  of  that  multipocket  coat. 

At  last  we  reached  our  supposed  cut  bank,  and  it 
turned  out  to  be  a  perfect  cone  of  ashes  and  fine  red  lava. 
It  is  about  seven  hundred  feet  in  height  from  its  base;  but 
not  for  worlds  would  I  climb  to  its  top  to  measure  it. 
From  bottom  to  top  it  is  completely  infested  with  Bigelow's 
accursed  choya,  thousands  of  them,  sprinkled  all  over 
those  steep  sides  and  standing  so  thickly  that  a  man  can 
scarcely  pass  between  them.  As  you  look  up  the  moun- 
tain side  toward  the  sun,  the  light  shining  through  those 
millions  of  clear,  white  spines  gives  the  slope  a  frosted  ap- 
pearance. Almost  invariably  they  are  low  growers,  sel- 
dom being  more  than  knee  high;  and  the  fine,  loose  lava 
seems  to  encourage  their  reproduction. 

It  being  in  our  route,  we  started  to  make  a  cut-off 
across  the  northern  foot  of  the  Choya  Cone,  but  it  was 


A  GREAT  DAY  WITH  THE  SHEEP          245 

impossible  to  get  on  without  occasionally  ploughing  down 
through  the  loose  material,  against  our  will. 

"Here,"  said  Mr.  Phillips;  "this  won't  do!  We  must 
get  off  here  before  we  have  a  slip,  and  come  to  grief  on 
these  choyas.  We're  here  to  hunt  sheep,  not  to  pull 
cactus  spines  out  of  each  other." 

At  once  we  turned  abruptly  down  hill  and  got  off  the 
side  of  that  dangerous  cone  by  the  shortest  route. 

It  was  here  that  we  entered  the  roughest,  wildest 
and  most  awfully  unheaved  volcanic  region  that  we  saw 
on  the  trip.  There  was  a  bewildering  maze  of  deep 
valleys,  high  ridges,  mounds  and  mountains,  all  of  them 
covered  with  the  roughest  lava  to  be  found  anywhere 
under  the  sun.  Every  square  yard  of  it  was  horrible. 
There  were  dozens  of  ravines  which  no  horse  could  cross, 
even  under  an  empty  saddle,  with  a  rider  on  foot  to  lead 
the  way.  The  slightest  fall  in  that  stuff  would  cut  a  man's 
knees  and  hands  most  cruelly.  While  our  horse-hide 
shoes  with  flexible  soles  took  us  over  the  lava  without  any 
slipping,  the  roughness  of  it  wrenched  and  strained  our 
feet  and  ankles  severely.  A  man  with  big,  strong  feet 
had  a  decided  advantage  over  a  small-hoofed  individual. 

Once  I  stepped  heavily  with  the  half-protected  arch  of 
my  foot  squarely  across  a  sharp  edge  of  lava  that  was  like 
a  spade  sticking  up;  and  it  hurt  me  keenly.  The  sharp 
pain  of  the  impact  was  nothing  to  heed  particularly  at  that 
moment,  but  unluckily  it  remained  with  me  all  that  day, 
and  during  the  next  ten  miles  of  travel  it  was  a  great 
nuisance. 

But  it  was  a  glorious  day.     As  we  gingerly  picked  our 


246        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

way  forward,  we  looked  back  many  times  at  the  panorama 
spread  out  below.  Presently  we  reached  what  we  were 
sure  was  an  elevation  of  two  thousand  feet  (which  was 
right),  and  the  bird's-eye  view  of  the  lava-field  and  its 
surroundings  became  genuinely  fascinating.  It  was  all 
so  weird  and  uncanny  we  could  not  keep  our  eyes  from  it 
for  long  at  a  time.  As  we  ascended,  the  strip  of  sand- 
hills became  narrower  and  narrower,  and  the  glassy 
waters  of  the  Gulf  seemed  to  come  nearer.  Our  camp 
spot  was  completely  lost.  It  was  impossible  to  locate  it, 
save  in  general  terms. 

We  hunted  carefully,  but  saw  no  sheep,  nor  signs  of 
sheep.  For  hours  we  had  been  steadily  working  into  the 
heart  of  the  roughest  lava  mountains  in  sight — and  quite 
rough  enough  they  were,  too!  At  last  we  began  to  fear 
that  in  coming  into  such  a  blasted  place  we  had  overdone 
the  situation;  for  why  should  mountain  sheep,  that  usually 
love  luxury,  choose  to  live  in  such  a  petrified  hell  as  that  ? 
So  we  both  said, 

"Let's  go  on  to  yonder  red  peak,  and  if  we  don't  find 
sheep  by  that  time,  we  may  as  well  look  elsewhere." 

We  toiled  painfully  up  the  side  of  a  great  ridge,  and 
as  we  reached  its  summit  we  scanned  the  new  prospect 
with  a  sheep-hunter's  usual  caution.  I  chanced  to  be  in 
the  lead.  The  farther  side  of  the  ridge  dropped  to  a  con- 
siderable valley,  which  ran  down  rather  steeply  for  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  to  our  right,  where  it  joined  another 
valley  that  came  down  at  right  angles  from  somewhere 
higher  up.  As  we  paused  behind  a  stunted  mesquite, 
hunting  just  as  carefully  as  if  there  were  a  hundred  sheep 


A  GREAT  DAY  WITH  THE  SHEEP          247 

within  range,  our  eyes  swept  the  lava  valley  in  front  of  us, 
from  its  head  to  its  lower  end.  And  then  I  saw  two 
somethings — as  big  as  cattle — so  they  seemed. 

"Look  yonder!  Two  sheep!  Rams,  both  of  them! 
Merciful  powers!  Look  at  that  head  of  horns!" 

That  was  the  only  time  in  my  life  that  I  ever  said 
"head  of  horns";  but  that  head  seemed  to  be  all  horns! 
As  the  leader  of  the  two  rams  walked  slowly  into  the  other 
valley  and  disappeared  behind  the  nose  of  the  opposite 
ridge,  he  held  his  head  low,  as  if  his  horns  were  so  heavy 
that  he  could  scarcely  carry  them. 

We  crouched  behind  our  bush  until  the  sheep  were 
out  of  sight;  then  we  did  things.  We  saw  that  we  had  to 
run  down  our  ridge  and  up  the  next  one — a  good  half 
mile  in  all — to  reach  a  point  from  which  we  might  hope 
to  see  the  rams  again,  and  within  rifle-shot.  With  un- 
blushing effrontery,  I  took  off  the  party  canteen,  half 
filled  with  water,  and  without  a  word  handed  it  to  John. 
Without  even  a  wink  of  protest  he  put  it  on,  over  his 
camera.  Then,  feeling  that  it  was  my  bounden  duty  to 
kill  one  of  those  rams  and  thereby  relieve  the  tension  of 
the  party,  I  set  off  down  the  ridge-side  as  hard  as  I  could 
run,  with  Mr.  Phillips  close  behind. 

We  went  down  that  ridge  without  a  tumble,  and  at 
full  speed  raced  up  the  other.  That  was  my  only  credit- 
able performance,  in  that  I  did  not  fall  down  and  break 
something.  In  what  was  really  very  quick  time,  we  cov- 
ered that  half  mile  and  reached  the  top  of  the  ridge  below 
which  we  expected  to  find  the  two  old  "hungers."  It  was 
right  there  that  the  mistakes  of  Moses  began. 


248        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

I  was  out  of  breath,  and  entirely  too  confident.  Feel- 
ing that  we  had  a  "  cinch "  on  those  sheep,  and  that  they 
were  just  the  same  as  skinned  and  hung  up,  my  advance 
over  the  top  was  too  rapid  and  incautious.  For  one  thing, 
I  feared  that  they  might  be  already  far  beyond  us.  Hur- 
riedly I  overlooked  the  visible  portions  of  the  valley  of 
big  lava  chunks  and  scattering  mesquite  bushes,  but  saw 
not  the  sheep.  Scanning  everything  in  sight,  and  fully 
expecting  to  see  the  sheep  before  they  saw  me,  I  advanced 
over  the  top  of  the  ridge.  Mr.  Phillips  saw  one  of  the 
sheep  behind  a  mesquite  bush,  down  at  the  bottom  of 
the  valley,  looking  up  at  us,  and  he  tried  hard  to  tell  me; 
but  I  was  so  crazy  to  locate  the  animals  that  I  did  not  hear 
a  sound. 

Opposite  us,  and  beyond  the  sheep-infested  valley, 
there  arose  a  red  volcanic  peak  to  a  height  of  some  hun- 
dreds of  feet.  The  side  facing  us  was  very  steep  indeed, 
and  off  a  little  way  to  the  right  it  terminated  in  a  sharp 
nose  around  which  we  could  not  see. 

My  first  sight  of  a  sheep  was  when  one  of  the  rams 
suddenly  appeared  across  the  ravine  on  the  side  of  that 
peak,  and  in  mad  flight.  It  was  a  good  two  hundred 
yards  away,  and  the  sight  almost  gave  me  a  horrible  chill. 
The  animal  was  not  the  ram  with  the  heavy  horns — 
though  his  horns  were  plenty  big  enough  "to  satisfy  the 
taste  of  the  most  fastidious "  —and  to  my  horror  he  went 
leaping  away  from  me,  diagonally,  and  also  upward! 

Instantly  I  fired  at  him,  and  overshot.  Mr.  Phillips 
cried,  "Lower!  You're  overshooting V9  Again,  and  the 
bullet  cut  up  dust  beyond  him.  Again!  There  was  no 


A  GREAT  DAY  WITH  THE  SHEEP  249 

dust  raised  by  the  ball,  but  he  did  not  show  that  he  was  hit. 
My  thoughts  were  all  on  one  line,  thus: 

"Quick!  quick,  or  he  will  get  around  that  point  and 
be  lost  forever!  Hurry!" 

Just  then  there  was  a  rush  of  a  dark  object  coming 
tearing  over  the  lava  from  the  left  and  below,  straight 
toward  us.  One  glance  showed  that  it  was  the  other  ram, 
coming  like  a  steam-engine! 

"Here  be  comes!"  yelled  John,  fifty  feet  to  my  right, 
in  a  tone  of  stern  command.  "SHOOT  him!  SHOOT 
him!" 

With  my  eyes  fast  fixed  on  my  own  fast-vanishing  ram, 
I  threw  a  cartridge  into  the  magazine  of  my  Savage,  and  as 
the  big  ram  rushed  by  only  forty  feet  away,  my  muscles 
obediently  pointed  my  rifle  toward  the  animal.  Without 
taking  the  slightest  aim — with  both  mind  and  eyes  firmly 
fixed  upon  my  own  escaping  ram — I  pulled  the  trigger. 
I  never  touched  a  hair  of  the  ram — and  afterward  could 
scarcely  believe  that  I  had  fired  in  his  direction.  It  was 
not  my  ram,  in  any  event;  and  my  whole  thought  had 
been  that  I  had  no  right  to  shoot  at  him! 

An  instant  later  Mr.  Phillips's  big  rifle  roared  out  at 
the  ram,  full  into  its  vitals,  as  it  passed  him  only  twenty 
yards  to  his  right,  and  "biff!"  went  the  horns  of  the  ram 
into  the  side  of  a  niche  in  an  upright  rock,  twenty  paces 
farther  on.  With  the  crash  of  the  impact  the  splendid 
animal  fell  stone  dead.  Then  Mr.  Phillips  whirled  to 
me  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  deep  regret  and  apology, 

"Oh!  I  beg  your  pardon,  Director!  I  didn't  mean  to 
do  that!  Please  excuse  me!" 


250        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

I  could  have  shouted  with  laughter  at  the  glorious 
absurdity  of  that  speech.  It  was  too  funny  for  anything 
but  roars;  but  I  had  not  even  one  second  in  which  to 
enjoy  a  laugh  at  that  time.  My  running  ram  was  almost 
to  the  vanishing  point,  and  going  as  well  as  ever. 

For  what  I  knew  was  my  last  shot,  I  steadied  myself, 
took  more  deliberate  and  careful  aim,  and  let  go.  No 
visible  result;  and  the  next  instant  the  sheep  turned  the 
corner  and  disappeared. 

The  awful  mess  that  I  had  made  of  a  perfectly  golden 
opportunity,  and  the  horrible  exhibition  that  I  had  made 
of  myself,  almost  made  me  sick.  I  think  that  was  the 
worst  .thing  that  I  ever  did  in  hunting;  and  that  is  saying 
much.  But  I  resolved  to  do  my  best  toward  looking 
further  for  that  ram.  So  I  said,  humbly, 

"  I  am  going  to  circle  round  the  base  of  that  peak  and 
see  if  I  can  find  that  ram  again." 

>l  Your  second  shot  hit  him,  all  right/5  said  Mr.  Phillips, 
"and  it  was  bully  good  shooting — at  that  ram  bouncing 
diagonally  up  those  stairs.  Your  last  shot  was  at  four 
hundred  yards.  I'll  go  up  yonder  and  take  his  trail  and 
see  what  I  can  do." 

"Well,  don't   fall   off  that  steep  place,  ram  or  no 


ram." 


We  separated,  and  in  a  miserable  frame  of  mind  I 
swung  off  lower  down,  to  encircle  the  base  of  the  peak. 
The  lava  was  bad  as  the  worst,  and  my  progress  was 
maddeningly  slow.  I  had  really  no  hope  of  ever  again 
seeing  that  ram,  unless  I  found  him  dead. 

After  an  interval,  I  saw  Mr.  Phillips  gingerly  working 


1  lu'#> 

x  *Jt 

I  * 

* 


A  GREAT  DAY  WITH  THE  SHEEP  251 

his  way  along  the  dangerous  face  of  that  steep  pitch,  and 
at  last  he  called  softly,  from  quite  high  up, 

"There's  blood  here!    You  hit  him!" 

I  pushed  on  over  the  lava,  faster  than  before,  and 
actually  made  my  big  circuit  faster  than  my  comrade  was 
able  to  make  his  small  one  on  that  dangerous  slope.  I 
had  swung  around  nearly  a  mile  in  order  to  reach  a  spot 
such  as  the  ram  would  naturally  choose  to  lie  down  in  if 
he  were  badly  wounded.  I  was  about  two  hundred  feet 
lower  down  than  the  vanishing  point.  At  last  I  started 
to  climb  up  into  the  heart  of  the  place  where  the  sheep 
might  well  be  if  he  were  wounded  and  had  not  got  clear 
away — and  then  I  was  fairly  electrified  by  seeing  the 
ram's  head  suddenly  appear  above  me,  and  look  down  at 
me.  The  next  instant,  however,  he  vanished. 

I  went  up  that  lava  pile  at  a  run,  and  soon  stood 
where  the  ram  had  been.  He  was  nowhere  in  sight,  but 
a  great  patch  of  blood-spatters  showed  where  he  had 
stood  for  some  minutes.  Eagerly  my  eyes  devoured  every 
object  in  sight.  The  ram  might  have  gone  any  one  of 
three  or  four  ways;  but  I  felt  that  in  the  end  I  would  get 
him.  Then  I  heard  a  voice,  as  if  from  Heaven,  calling 
out  from  away  up  on  the  peak, 

"To  the  right!    To  the  right!" 

I  whirled  and  dashed  off  that  way  at  top  speed,  and 
ran  straight  toward  the  sheep.  He  was  just  climbing  up 
the  ragged  side  of  a  deep  ravine  of  lava  about  seventy-five 
yards  wide  at  the  top.  As  he  reached  the  top  I  was  quite 
ready  for  him,  and  planted  my  one  good  shot. 

He  fell  over  like  a  bag  of  wheat,  tumbled  slowly  down 


252        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

the  wall  of  ragged  lava,  and  half  way  down  lodged  fast, 
hanging  head  downward.  The  chase  was  done;  but  the 
less  said  about  the  manner  of  it  the  better,  I  did,  how- 
ever, shout  the  news  to  John  M.,  who  stood  on  his  red 
peak,  swung  his  Stetson  sombrero  and  yelled  his  congrat- 
ulations. 

I  saw  at  once  that  although  my  ram  was  not  the  one 
of  the  long  horns,  his  horns  had  extraordinary  basal  cir- 
cumference. I  measured  them  as  best  I  could  alone,  and 
made  them  seventeen  inches,  subject  to  errors.  Later  on 
at  camp,  with  two  men  to  help  me,  I  measured  them  ac- 
curately, and  found  that  they  really  were  seventeen  inches, 
precisely;  but  their  size  was  all  in  the  base. 

Our  two  rams  fell  about  a  mile  apart,  on  the  foot  of 
the  north-westerly  peak  of  the  group  that  forms  the  culmi- 
nation of  Pinacate.  The  elevation  was  about  2,500  feet. 
Mine  lay  in  the  head  of  a  deep  lava  ravine  about  five  hun- 
dred feet  down  from  its  source.  A  very  short  distance 
above  it,  in  the  side  of  the  perpendicular  wall,  there  was  a 
neatly  sculptured  niche,  six  feet  high  and  five  feet  deep, 
with  an  arched  top,  precisely  like  a  niche  for  a  marble 
statue.  Near  it  stood,  like  a  sentinel,  a  brave  but  solitary 
giant  cactus,  dwarfed  to  six-foot  stem,  but  indomitable! 

I  scrambled  up  to  the  niche  and,  quite  as  I  expected, 
found  that  it  was  a  mountain-sheep  bed  of  long  standing. 
By  the  appearance  of  the  floor,  many  a  ram  had  rested 
there,  and  I  opine  that  many  more  will  enjoy  that  odd 
nook  hereafter. 

We  were  then  about  six  miles  from  the  Tule  Tank, 
and  about  three  miles  from  the  summit  of  Pinacate. 


From  a  photograph  by  J.  M.  Phillips. 

The  Sheep  Bed  in  the  Lava  Niche,  and  the  Sentinel   Cactus 

The  lava  is  garnished  with  White  Brittle-Bushes. 


A  GREAT  DAY  WITH  THE  SHEEP          253 

Many  times  that  day  the  summit  looked  very  near  and 
tempting,  and  but  for  the  fact  that  we  could  not  think  of 
forestalling  the  Doctor  and  Mr.  Sykes,  we  would  have 
made  a  rush  for  the  top  as  soon  as  our  sheep  were  dead, 
regardless  of  getting  back  to  camp.  But  the  measuring, 
the  photographing  and  the  dressing  of  the  carcasses  occu- 
pied much  more  time  than  we  thought,  and  before  we  were 
fairly  aware  of  it  the  short  afternoon  was  almost  done. 
At  the  last  moment  we  made  haste  to  start  back  while 
daylight  remained;  but  alas!  we  soon  found  that  we  had 
wasted  the  shining  hours. 

After  piling  chunks  of  lava  around  the  heads  of  our 
sheep — a  most  wise  precaution,  as  it  proved — we  drew  a 
bee-line  down  the  Highway  for  camp,  leaving  the  Choya 
Peak  on  our  right.  The  upper  two  miles  were  so  rough 
and  bad  that  we  were  an  hour  in  winning  over  them. 
Then  the  sun  swiftly  sank  behind  the  far-distant  crest  of 
the  Peninsula  of  Lower  California,  and  darkness  followed 
with  unseemly  haste. 

By  that  time  my  feet  were  actually  crying  out  in  protest 
against  the  punishment  that  was  put  upon  them.  The 
soles  of  my  shoes  were  too  soft!  My  ankles  were  weary 
of  being  wrenched  all  ways  about,  the  soles  of  my  feet 
were  as  sore  as  if  I  had  been  bastinadoed,  and  my  injured 
instep  hurt  me  exquisitely  at  every  step.  During  that  six 
miles  to  camp  I  endured  much,  and  my  gait  was  hobbling, 
not  walking.  I  was  indeed  a  "tenderfoot";  but  there 
was  absolutely  naught  to  do  save  to  bear  it,  and  go  on. 

When  about  half  way  to  camp  a  glorious  diversion 
appeared.  A  full  moon  of  unusual  brightness  rose  pre- 


254        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

cisely  between  the  two  highest  peaks  of  Pinacate  and 
flooded  the  black  waste  of  lava  with  most  soothing,  mellow 
light.  By  a  common  impulse,  we  paused  and  faced  east- 
ward, to  revel  in  the  new  and  beautiful  aspect  of  Nature. 
Under  its  beatific  influence  all  such  sordid  things  as  lame 
feet  were  quickly  forgotten,  and  from  that  moment  the 
tramp  to  camp  became  a  moonlight  sonata. 

The  mountain  mass  was  a  black  silhouette,  outlined 
above  in  old  gold.  From  the  distant  summit  a  golden 
pathway  came  down  across  the  lava,  as  if  specially  ordered 
to  light  our  rugged  course.  We  walked  upon  our  shadows. 
The  tops  of  the  nodules  of  hard  lava  near  at  hand  glistened 
in  the  yellow  moonlight  as  if  gilded,  and  the  radiance 
melted  away  in  the  distance  with  intangible  softness. 
When  we  came  within  half  a  mile  of  the  red  lava-cone  of 
the  morning,  it  was  plainly  visible.  Far  beyond  our  camp 
the  dark  mass  of  another  lava  peak  was  distinguishable, 
and  between  the  two  we  were  able  to  steer  our  course  so 
accurately  that  we  hit  camp  very  fairly. 

On  reaching  the  grand  arroyo  of  the  Tule  Tank,  we 
shouted,  and  were  quickly  answered.  Soon  the  smoulder- 
ing camp-fire  was  kindled  into  a  blaze,  by  means  of  which 
we  cautiously  picked  our  way  to  the  only  practicable 
crossing,  crept  down  the  wall  with  outrageous  care  and 
soon  reached  the  comforting  precincts  of  Home.  There 
was  warm  food  in  the  Dutch  oven,  which  we  gladly  con- 
sidered. Faithful  Frank  Coles  said  that  they  had  delayed 
supper  for  us  and  burned  up  no  end  of  wood  on  the  camp- 
fire,  to  guide  us  in;  but  the  latter  we  saw  not.  Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal  and  Coles  had  found  a  large  ram,  but  it  saw  them 


A  GREAT  DAY  WITH  THE  SHEEP          255 

first  and  gave  them  not  one  fair  shot.  It  went  away  over 
the  lava  plain  with  a  broken  leg,  and  after  tracking  the 
animal  about  four  miles — most  skilfully  on  the  part  of 
Coles,  so  said  the  Doctor — night  put  an  end  to  the  chase 
for  that  day. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE 

By  Saddle-Horse  to  the  Foot  of  the  Peaks — Weakness  of  the  Camera 
on  the  Lava  Beds — The  Notch — Mountain  Sheep — Pinacate  Peak, 
at  Last — More  Mountain  Sheep — A  Fearless  Band,  and  a  Great 
View  of  It— General  Aspect  of  the  Peak — A  Great  Extinct  Crater — 
The  Climb  to  the  Summit — A  Wild  Revel  on  the  Top — The  Cyclo- 
rama  Below — The  Sad  End  of  the  Sonoyta  River — "The  Big  Red 
Peak" — A  Circle  of  Photographs — Our  Cairn  and  Record — The 
Doctor  Gets  His  Sheep — The  Flight  from  the  Summit — Three 
Decide  to  "Lie  Out"  Near  the  Two  Rams. 

THE  twentieth  of  November  dawned  gloriously  from 
Pinacate  down  across  the  lava  to  the  open  bivouac  where 
half  a  dozen  tired  men  lay  sleeping  above  the  Tule  Tank. 
The  morning  temperature  was  43°  F.  Late  on  the  night 
previous  we  had  gone  to  our  sleeping-bags  half  dead  of 
sheer  weariness,  and  feeling  like  old  men.  Doctor  Mac- 
Dougal  and  Coles  had  chased  a  ram  for  four  long  miles 
over  the  lava,  until  sunset  drove  them  from  the  trail.  Mr. 
Phillips  and  I  had  hunted  within  three  miles  of  The  Peak, 
ruthlessly  bagged  two  fine  rams,  then  tramped  in  after 
dark,  quite  tired  out.  Mr.  Sykes  said  afterward  that  we 
had  covered  about  fourteen  miles;  and  had  I  only  known 
that,  as  we  hobbled  home  over  the  lava,  I  would  have  felt 
even  more  sorry  for  my  feet  than  I  did.  Mr.  Sykes  had 

256 


THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE  257 

made  his  wild-goose  chase  to  the  Gulf  of  California  and 
back,  getting  in  at  one-thirty  in  the  morning. 

By  good  rights  we  should  have  lain  a-bag  about  twenty- 
four  hours,  in  order  to  square  physical  accounts  with  the 
previous  day.  But  no!  With  the  first  burst  of  daylight 
every  man  "piled  out"  into  the  crisp  air  and  began  to 
dress  as  blithely  as  if  fatigue  were  a  thing  unknown. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  human  economy  more  wonderful 
than  the  recuperative  power  of  a  man  who  ardently  de- 
sires to  do  something,  and  lets  whiskey  alone. 

That  twentieth  of  November  promised  to  be  the 
greatest  day  of  the  trip;  for  by  universal  consent  it  was 
dedicated  to  the  final  assault  on  the  main  peak  of  Pinacate. 
It  was  The  Day  to  which  for  eight  months  we  had  steadily 
been  looking  forward.  The  mountain  sheep  were,  in 
comparison,  but  a  mere  incident.  After  two  full  weeks  of 
swinging  around  that  pivot  peak,  in  which  we  described 
a  semicircle  with  a  fifteen-mile  radius  from  due  east  of 
Pinacate  to  due  west  thereof,  we  were  at  last  ready  to 
charge  straight  forward  to  the  summit,  and  solve  the  last 
section  of  the  mystery. 

I  wish  that  it  were  possible  to  place  before  the  reader 
a  pictorial  exhibit  of  the  lava  beds  at  the  Tule  Tank,  but 
it  is  not  within  my  power.  I  am  puzzled  to  divine  the 
reasons  why,  but  it  is  a  fact  that  the  camera  seems  utterly 
unable  to  grasp  and  transmit  the  details  of  those  awful 
lavascapes.  I  think  it  must  be  due  to  the  dark  mono- 
chrome colour  effect,  which  is  quite  unrelieved  and  un- 
accentuated  by  the  many-tinted  rocks,  and  trees,  and  other 
features  that  make  up  landscapes  elsewhere.  White 


258        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

peaks,  and  peaks  gray  or  green,  are  easily  photographed, 
at  all  ranges,  but  before  black  peaks  and  black  foot-hills 
the  human  camera  gives  way,  completely.  A  stereo- 
scopic picture,  in  a  stereoscope,  is  the  only  one  which 
enables  the  human  eye  to  dig  into  the  details  of  that  great 
lava  exhibit.  We  do  know  to  a  certainty,  however,  that 
all  around  Pinacate  the  atmospheric  conditions  for 
photography  were  unsatisfactory. 

For  a  beginning  Dr.  MacDougal  and  Coles  went  off 
to  finish  trailing  their  wounded  ram,  hoping  to  find  it 
early  and  afterward  meet  us  on  the  peak.  Charlie  Foster 
was  sent  down  to  look  after  the  horses  that  were  grazing 
in  the  galleta  grass  two  miles  away,  and  with  them  he 
spent  the  entire  day.  The  four  remaining  members  of 
the  party,  Mr.  Phillips,  Mr.  Sykes,  Jeff  Milton  and  I, 
elected  to  go  together  and  strike  straight  for  the  summit. 
We  planned  to  climb  the  peak,  and  on  our  way  home 
swing  around  to  our  two  dead  rams  and  bring  them  in — 
all  in  one  day.  But,  as  Charlie  Foster  would  say,  "Quien 
sabe?"  Who  knows?  This  involved  the  taking  of 
horses;  and  in  order  to  make  time  we  decided  to  ride  as 
far  up  toward  the  foot  of  the  peak  as  our  horses  could 
carry  us. 

As  I  folded  my  canvas  hunting-coat — lined  with  cor- 
duroy— and  strapped  it  snugly  behind  my  saddle,  Jeff 
Milton  noticed  it  and  exclaimed, 

"Why!    Are  you  going  to  take  your  coat  along?" 

"Yes!"  I  said,  "I  always  make  it  a  rule  to  carry  it 
whenever  I  ride." 

"Well,  then  I'm  blanked  if  I  don't  take  mine,  too," 


THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE  259 

said  Jeff.     He  was  as  frank  and  open-hearted  as  any  boy 
of  sixteen,  and  utterly  barren  of  false  pride. 

Had  we  but  known  all  that  lay  before  us,  how  quickly 
I  would  have  put  a  blanket  under  my  saddle.  A  thick 
saddle-pad  is  all  right,  so  long  as  you  don't  have  to  "lay 
out";  but  if  you  are  caught  out,  you  quickly  realize  that  a 
saddle-blanket  is  a  genuine  life-saver. 

Mr.  Milton  rode  his  horse  and  led  "the  sorrel  mule," 
to  pack  in  the  mountain  sheep,  but  Mr.  Phillips  elected 
to  go  on  foot.  We  set  off  straight  toward  the  peak,  up 
The  Highway  which  seems  to  have  been  specially  cleared 
as  a  royal  road  from  the  Tule  Tank  up  to  the  foot  of  the 
cone.  For  four  or  five  miles  the  lava  plain  was  not  bad 
for  shod  horses  and  we  got  on  very  well;  but  after  we 
passed  that  awful  red-lava  Choya  Peak,  on  our  right, 
the  roughness  of  the  lava  and  the  raggedness  of  its  ridges 
and  ravines  taxed  to  the  utmost  our  ingenuity  in  path- 
finding  for  our  horses.  It  was  by  far  the  worst  country 
into  which  I  ever  took  a  horse,  and  but  for  the  sheep  to  be 
brought  out  we  would  gladly  have  left  our  mounts  at  the 
Choya  Peak.  Many  times  we  were  compelled  to  dismount 
and  lead  our  horses.  Once  we  rode  into  a  rugged  cul-de- 
sac  that  offered  no  outlet  for  a  horse,  and  compelled  us  to 
retrace  our  steps  for  a  considerable  distance. 

All  this  time  we  were  constantly  ascending,  and  it 
seemed  that  the  higher  we  climbed  the  wilder  became  the 
lava.  Milton  roundly  asservated  that  he  "wouldn't  go 
over  that  stuff  on  foot — not  for  no  money! "  And  when  he 
said  to  me  very  feelingly,  "No  wonder  you  lamed  your  feet 
on  this,  yesterday!"  it  soothed  both  my  feet  and  feelings. 


26o        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

We  passed  our  two  dead  rams  some  distance  to  our 
left  and  headed  straight  toward  the  foot  of  the  big  lava 
peak  that  rises  west-north-west  of  Pinacate.  What  invited 
us  thither  was  a  high  lava  plateau,  half  a  mile  square, 
which  seemed  like  the  best  situation  in  which  to  leave  our 
horses.  The  deep  notch  on  the  south  of  the  secondary 
peak  seemed  to  offer  the  best  route  to  the  main  peak,  and 
we  decided  to  go  through  it — all  but  Mr.  Sykes,  the 
Geographer.  He  elected  to  separate  himself  from  the 
rest  of  us,  and  take  his  horse  with  him.  He  rode  on  and 
upward  toward  the  north,  and  presently  disappeared 
around  the  steep  northern  shoulder  of  the  peak,  riding  his 
old  horse  when  he  should  have  been  leading  him.  But 
his  theory  was  very  simple.  On  the  subject  of  saving 
horses  he  once  said, 

"Horses  are  cheaper  than  men;  and  there  will  be 
plenty  of  old  horses  left  in  Mexico  after  I  am  gone." 

At  the  highest — and  worst — point  which  Mr.  Milton 
and  I  considered  practicable  for  horses  without  punish- 
ment, we  dismounted,  unsaddled  and  tied  fast  to  the 
largest  mesquite  bushes  we  could  find.  Forthwith  we  set 
out  to  climb  on  up  into  the  notch,  and  through  it. 

The  barrier  on  the  south  was  a  great  hill  of  lava, 
which  on  the  side  facing  us  terminated  in  a  steep  wall,  like 
a  cut  bank.  The  face  of  the  precipice  was  disintegrating 
and  blowing  away.  Across  it  ran  several  well-defined 
sheep  trails,  leading  from  below  up  to  the  summit  of  the 
hill,  opposite  Pinacate.  They  were  mountain-sheep  high- 
ways, for  fair.  As  we  reached  the  farther  end  of  the  notch, 
with  Pinacate  Peak  wide  open  before  us, 


THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE  261 

"Look  there!  Look  there!  Six  mountain  sheep!" 
said  Mr.  Milton. 

And  so  they  were;  six  ewes.  Evidently  they  had  gone 
through  the  notch,  over  their  highway,  only  half  an  hour 
ahead  of  us.  They  were  near  the  out-jutting  nose  of  the 
hill,  about  seven  hundred  feet  away  and  keenly  alive  to 
our  presence.  As  we  scrutinized  them  for  a  few  moments 
they  gave  us  stare  for  stare;  but  presently,  having  no 
protector,  they  decided  to  be  going,  and  moved  farther 
along. 

"Pinacate  at  last!"  cried  some  one,  as  we  turned  from 
the  sheep  to  gaze  at  the  cone  upreared  ahead  of  us.  The 
rib-like  thing  at  which  we  had,  for  two  days,  been  looking 
intently  with  our  glasses  resolved  itself  into  a  high  and 
narrow  wall  of  naked  lava,  like  rustic  rock-work  from  ten 
to  twenty  feet  high,  which  ran  south-westward  down  a 
steep  angle  of  the  cone. 

"The  climbing  is  all  right,  boys!"  cried  Mr.  Phillips. 
"We'll  soon  be  up  there.  Look!  Look!  Yonder's  Dr. 
MacDougal — half  way  up!" 

Sure  enough,  away  up  there,  close  under  the  lee  of  the 
rustic-lava  wall  was  the  Botanist,  briskly  swinging  along 
upward,  within  five  hundred  feet  of  the  summit. 

"Why!  The  south  side  of  Pinacate  is  just  like  that 
awful  Choya  Peak  that  we " 

"Great  day,  gentlemen!"  cried  Milton.  "Just  only 
look  at  this  bunch  of  sheep!  Nine  of  "em;  and  two  good 
rams!" 

Pinacate  was  utterly  forgotten.  In  a  most  artistic 
group,  on  a  very  steep  mountain-side  that  had  suddenly 


262        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

opened  up  to  our  view  on  the  left,  there  stood  nine  beau- 
tiful mountain  sheep,  alert,  but  motionless  as  statues, 
intently  gazing  down  upon  us.  Could  we  have  cut  out  of 
that  mountain-side  a  section  twenty  feet  long  by  ten  feet 
high,  it  would  have  made  a  fine  group  for  a  museum, 
without  changing  a  line,  or  any  adding  or  subtracting. 
The  animals  all  stood  along  the  mountain-side,  some 
headed  our  way  and  some  the  other.  The  slope  of  the 
mountain  was  about  70  degrees. 

"Look  yonder!     There  are  three  more,  higher  up!" 

"And  yonder  are  two  more — off  to  the  right — and 
there  are  three  more,  lower  down!" 

"I  see  three  more — that  makes  seventeen  in  all. 
Great  Scott,  fellows!  Just  look  at  that  ram,  standing 
alone  on  that  big  chunk  of  lava,  high  up ! " 

"I  told  you,  gentlemen,  that  there  was  worlds  o9  sheep 
in  here!"  said  Milton,  solemnly. 

"So  you  did,  Jeff.     Your  sheep  have  made  good!" 

Surely  there  is  no  need  to  apologize  for  the  boyish 
excitement  that  we  felt  during  the  half  hour  that  Ovis, 
the  Ram,  eclipsed  Pinacate,  the  Bug-that-Stands-on-his- 
Head. 

We  knew  that  the  peak  would  remain,  and  the  sheep 
would  not.  Everything  in  the  world,  save  those  sheep, 
was  for  the  time  forgotten.  The  nearest  ones  were  within 
rifle-shot — about  two  hundred  yards,  no  more — and  the 
farthest  were  about  double  that  distance.  They  had 
evidently  been  feeding  during  the  early  morning  hours, 
and  when  first  seen  by  us  were  quietly  basking  in  the  warm 
and  comforting  sunshine  that  flooded  the  Pinacate  peaks. 


THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE  263 

From  first  to  last  those  seventeen  sheep  manifested  not 
the  slightest  fear  of  us!  I  think  that  they  never  before 
had  seen  human  hunters.  If  the  oldest  ewes  and  rams 
ever  had  seen  and  fled  from  Papago  Indian  hunters,  they 
surely  had  outlived  the  period  of  "that  reminds  me." 
They  looked  mighty  graceful — small  but  sturdy  legs; 
bodies  trim,  neat  and  well  set-up;  heads  high  and  finely 
poised,  and  colours  bright  and  clean.  The  wide-spreading 
horns  of  the  young  rams  reminded  me  of  the  beautiful 
burrhel,  or  blue  wild  sheep,  of  northern  India.  In  every 
line  and  colour  they  were  Ovis  canadensis — the  old-fash- 
ioned big-horn  of  the  Rockies,  no  more,  no  less.  Their 
body  colours  were  the  typical  brown,  with  the  rump-patch 
and  nose  clean  white. 

As  we  gazed  and  talked,  one  of  the  nearest  sheep  must 
have  said  to  his  companions, 

"Well,  I'm  tired  of  posing  here  for  nothing.  Let's 
lie  down  awhile  and  take  it  easy!" 

He  found  a  bit  of  ledge  and  calmly  laid  himself  down 
upon  it,  to  think  of  more  pleasing  things  than  strange 
animals  standing  upright  on  the  lava  far  below  and  blink- 
ing upward  with  big,  shiny  eyes.  About  the  same  time, 
another  sheep  playfully  reared  upon  another. 

We  decided  to  talk  to  those  sheep,  and  said,  "Hello, 
there!  Come  down  this  way!" 

No  answer. 

"What  did  you  have  for  breakfast?" 

No  sheep  moved  so  much  as  an  ear. 

We  whistled,  shouted,  sang  and  finally  yelled  at  those 
seventeen  sheep;  but  of  it  all  they  took  no  notice,  save  to 


264        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

watch  us  very  intently.  We  did  not  care  to  shoot  any  of 
them,  and  no  one  fired.  They  were  too  far  away  to  pho- 
tograph successfully,  and  we  could  not  spare  the  time  for 
an  attempt  to  stalk  within  fair  camera-shot.  At  last, 
after  fully  half  an  hour  spent  in  watching  the  seventeen, 
we  reluctantly  started  on  our  way.  Even  then  they  stood 
pat  for  half  an  hour  longer  and  watched  us  climb  Pinacate! 

That  mountain-sheep  spectacle  cost  us  dearly.  We 
spent  so  much  time  upon  it,  and  were  so  "rattled"  by  it, 
that  Mr.  Phillips  and  I  completely  forgot  to  photograph 
the  Pinacate  Peak  from  that  notch — the  only  westerly 
point  from  which  a  good  photograph  can  be  taken!  Be- 
tween us  we  carried  three  cameras  and  plenty  of  films; 
and  on  our  return  we  were  still  so  excited  by  the  events 
of  the  day  that  we  never  once  thought  of  the  slip  until  it 
was  many  miles  too  late  to  make  good.  John  and  I  both 
deserve  state's  prison. 

As  we  emerged  from  the  notch,  this  is  what  we  saw: 

Directly  in  front  of  us  rose,  a  thousand  feet  high  above 
our  point,  the  great  half-cone  which  is  the  highest  peak 
of  Pinacate.  Toward  our  right  a  deep  notch  goes 
plunging  down  toward  the  lower  slope,  and  the  high  lava 
mass  which  comes  up  from  the  west  terminates  in  a  very 
steep  lava-slope.  Toward  the  north  Pinacate  Peak  drops 
two  hundred  feet  or  so  to  a  "saddle,"  or  "dyke,"  which 
connects  it  with  the  high  westward  peak  on  which  the 
seventeen  sheep  were  seen.  From  the  foot  of  that  con- 
necting saddle  a  deep  ravine  comes  plunging  down  south- 
ward, and  drops  to  oblivion  far  below. 

With  one  good  circular  look  the  whole  situation  is 


THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE  265 

clear — at  least  on  one  important  point.  This  huge  basin 
between  the  three  peaks  once  was  the  crater  of  this  cul- 
minating volcano;  and  the  peaks  themselves  when  united 
formed  the  rim.  First  a  notch  was  blown  out  toward 
the  west,  through  which  we  came.  Later  on  another  one, 
much  deeper,  was  blown  out  toward  the  south.  Through 
those  two  notches  ran  great  rivers  of  molten  lava,  and  the 
congealed  mass  is  there  to-day,  almost  the  same  as  when 
it  came  hot  from  the  kettles  of  Pluto  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth. 

Having  dismissed  the  sheep  cyclorama,  we  made  haste 
to  attack  the  peak.  Dr.  MacDougal  had  long  before  dis- 
appeared near  the  summit,  and  Mr.  Sykes  was  still  in 
obscurity  somewhere  toward  the  north. 

We  decided  to  make  our  climb  along  the  south-western 
ridge  of  the  peak,  and  after  scrambling  across  the  ravine 
that  lay  in  our  path,  started  up. 

Mr.  Milton  was  uncertain  about  going  up.  With  a 
weight  of  about  225  pounds,  and  a  very  steep  slope  looming 
up,  he  frankly  declared  his  doubts  regarding  his  ability  to 
reach  the  summit  without  hindering  the  rest  of  us  unduly. 
Of  course  we  insisted  that  he  could  make  the  climb  as  well 
as  any  of  us,  and  that  go  he  must.  Mr.  Phillips  kept 
close  behind  him,  while  I  did  the  piloting,  and  the  first 
half  of  the  climb  was  made  in  excellent  order.  It  was 
steep,  of  course,  perhaps  40  degrees — for  loose  lava  will 
lie  more  steeply  than  loose  limestone. 

Half  way  up  the  layer  of  large  lava  blocks  ran  out, 
and  we  came  to  the  rustic  wall.  The  upper  side  of  the 
wall  was  such  a  chaos  of  big  blocks  as  to  be  impassable, 


266        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

but  the  lower  side  offered  excellent  footing  in  fine  lava. 
At  that  point  the  side  of  the  peak  fell  away  in  a  tremendous 
slope  of  fine  lava  garnished  with  Bigelow  choyas,  at  least 
40  degrees  in  pitch.  It  extended  so  far  down  that  (as 
I  now  recall  it)  we  couldn't  see  the  bottom  of  it! 

The  steepness  of  that  slope,  and  the  length  of  it,  got 
on  the  nerves  of  our  good  friend  Jeff,  who,  be  it  remem- 
bered, fears  nothing  of  flesh  and  blood.  He  eyed  it 
askance,  as  a  wild  bronco  looks  at  a  saddle,  and  finally 
said, 

"Gentlemen,  I  don't  believe  I  can  make  it  the  rest 
of  the  way  up.  You  go  on,  and  I'll  stay  here." 

"Oh,  you're  all  right,  Jeff,"  said  Mr.  Phillips,  sooth- 
ingly. "The  worst  of  it  is  all  over.  We'll  sit  down  and 
rest  a  bit,  and  then  in  fifteen  minutes  more  we'll  all  be  at 
the  top!" 

After  a  brief  rest  we  started  on,  keeping  close  beside 
the  lava  wall,  and  had  no  trouble  whatever.  At  the  upper 
end  of  the  wall  we  found  a  narrow  gap,  a  real  Fat  Man's 
Misery,  through  which  Mr.  Milton  and  I  squeezed. 
There  we  found  Dr.  MacDougal  patiently  and  loyally 
waiting  for  us,  so  that  we  might  all  of  us  reach  the  summit 
together.  And  then,  also,  the  Geographer  suddenly  ap- 
peared on  the  skyline  of  the  saddle,  northward,  and  while 
we  rested  he  came  running  toward  us,  straight  across  the 
western  face  of  the  peak.  He  was  bareheaded,  as  usual, 
red,  and  visibly  excited — a  new  thing  for  him. 

"I  saw  eleven  sheep  over  there!"  he  panted.  "I  got 
quite  close  to  them — and  I  photographed  them!  They're 
over  there  now!" 


THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE  267 

But  we,  also,  had  a  tale  of  sheep  to  recount,  and  a 
tally  even  larger  than  his. 

From  the  upper  end  of  the  wall  to  the  summit  it  was 
a  grand  promenade.  Each  climber  was  generously  de- 
termined that  some  other  man  should  have  the  honour 
of  being  the  first  white  man  to  set  foot  on  the  summit  of 
Pinacate,  so  in  order  to  get  there  we  actually  had  to  form 
in  line  and  march  up  simultaneously,  five  abreast!  We 
were  all  staid  and  orderly  until  we  stood  together  on  the 
highest  point;  and  then  a  riot  began. 

Looking  back  through  the  vista  of  four  whole  months, 
and  viewing  things  with  the  cold  eye  of  a  historian,  I  am 
shocked  by  the  wild  revels  in  which  my  companions  in- 
dulged on  that  devoted  summit.  Before  the  exhibition, 
I  would  not  have  believed  that  four  staid  and  sober  men 
could  simultaneously  act  so  much  like  boys  recently  let 
loose  from  school.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  set  forth  all  the 
capers  that  they  cut,  or  the  number  of  times  that  I  heard 
the  truculent  exclamation,  "  Pinacate'  s  busted!"  That 
expression  bore  reference  to  certain  picture  post-cards 
sent  out  from  Tucson  the  day  before  the  expedition  sailed. 
They  depicted  a  four-horse  prairie  schooner  wildly  career- 
ing across  a  desert,  bearing  on  its  wagon-cover  a  brazen 
inscription  which  said, 

PINACATE 
OR  BUST! 

And  even  unto  this  day  do  I  hear  occasional  references  to 
"The  Busting  of  Pinacate." 

In  the  midst  of  a  solemn  and  even  prayerful  effort  to 

'« 
tf>  n  i  a  r  i  o. 


It.   .-.r 


268        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

photograph,  without  loss  of  time,  "the  big  Red  Peak,"  I 
heard  Mr.  Sykes  say,  in  a  tone  of  challenge, 

"Are  you  all  ready  ?" 

"Yes;  let  'er  go!"  said  Mr.  Phillips. 

"Well,  here  she  goes!" 

And  then  I  was  shocked  speechless  by  seeing  that  re- 
fined English  gentleman  suddenly  cast  himself  head-fore- 
most upon  the  ground  and  actually  stand  upon  his  bead! 
While  a  pair  of  No.  1 1  shoes,  hobnailed  and  ancient  as 
the  sun,  wildly  waved  in  the  air,  Mr.  Phillips  cold-blood- 
edly focused  his  camera  as  if  to  take  a  picture.  I  de- 
manded to  know  the  meaning  of  that  strange  spectacle. 

"We  dared  him  to  play  Pinacate  [the-bug-that-stands- 
on-his-head]  and  have  his  picture  taken!" 

But  this  was  only  a  trifling  incident  of  those  goings 
on.  No;  there  was  not  a  drop  in  the  whole  outfit  after 
we  left  Santo  Domingo.  Mr.  Phillips  confiscated  and 
emptied  out  upon  the  desert  a  stowaway  bottle  of  mescal 
that  he  discovered  under  a  driver's  seat,  and  after  that 
there  was  not  even  a  spoonful  of  anything.  It  must  have 
been  that  the  altitude  went  to  their  heads. 

With  hungry  eyes  we  devoured  the  distant  relief  map 
of  north-western  Sonora.  The  very  first  thing  that  strikes 
anyone  who  stands  on  the  summit  is  the  big  red  peak  that 
suddenly  jumps  up  into  view  south-eastward  in  a  way  that 
is  almost  overwhelming.  It  is  a  perfect  cone,  at  least 
1,500  feet  from  base  to  summit,  and  as  we  saw  it  its  colour 
is  burnt-sienna  red.  It  is  built  of  fine  lava,  and  its  sides 
seem  as  smooth  as  if  lately  sand-papered.  Unquestion- 
ably it  is  the  other  peak  of  the  twins  that  are  seen  from  the 


<L> 

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3 

d 
ffi 


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THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE  269 

north-east.  Being  quite  nameless  up  to  the  date  of  our 
visit,  Dr.  MacDougal  and  Mr.  Sykes  have  very  properly 
christened  it  Carnegie  Peak.  It  rises  so  near  to  the  main 
peak  on  which  we  stood  that  its  summit  seemed  only  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  away.  Later  on,  Mr.  Sykes  climbed  it, 
and  ascertained  that  its  summit  is  two  hundred  feet  lower 
than  that  of  Pinacate. 

Eagerly  we  turned  our  eyes  southward,  toward  the 
wholly  unknown.  In  that  direction  the  view  suddenly 
plunges  downward  and  discloses  many  small  volcanic 
cones  rising  like  brown  pustules  on  the  lava  plain  far  be- 
low. Our  first  thought  was  of  the  Sonoyta  River  and 
its  ultimate  fate. 

Beginning  at  the  Playa  Salada,  far  to  the  north-east- 
ward, it  was  possible  to  trace  its  course  by  the  winding 
edge  of  pale-green  jungle  that  meets  the  edge  of  the  dark- 
brown  lava  field.  We  followed  it  as  it  comes  for  several 
miles  almost  straight  toward  our  peak,  then  turns  and 
runs  due  south  for  at  least  fifteen  miles,  to  the  end  of  a 
range  of  lava  peaks  that  run  off  due  south-eastward  from 
Pinacate.  (See  Map.)  Far  away  in  that  locality,  some- 
where, it  turns  westward,  and  at  the  edge  of  the  sand-hills, 
in  a  wide  green  plain,  its  trail  is  completely  lost.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  stream  ends  in  a  flood-basin,  which  Mr. 
Milton  discerned  and  carefully  pointed  out  to  the  rest  of 
us.  Not  a  drop  of  the  waters  of  the  Sonoyta  ever  cross 
the  sand-hills,  or  reach  the  Gulf.  It  seemed  too  bad  that 
so  brave  a  stream  should  die  so  ignominiously,  and  never 
meet  the  sea. 

From  the  appearance  of  the  broad  and  low-lying  val- 


2;o       CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

ley  of  the  Sonoyta  from  Agua  Dulce  to  the  sand-hills,  I 
am  convinced  that  in  comparatively  recent  geological 
times  an  arm  of  the  Gulf  of  California  extended  up  the 
Sonoyta  valley  as  far  as  Agua  Dulce.  Near  the  Playa 
Salada,  below  Agua  Dulce,  we  found  several  marine 
shells,  much  weathered  but  still  recognizable.  Two  of 
these  were  giant  heart  shells,  4!  inches  in  diameter,— 
Cardium  (Levicardiuni)  elatum, — and  the  others  were 
Pectunculus  gigantea. 

Strange  to  say,  the  view  from  the  summit  was  not  quite 
what  we  expected.  The  coveted  details  of  cone,  crater 
and  lava  plain  were  mostly  lost  to  view,  and  the  Gulf  was 
so  obscured  by  haze  that  no  camera  was  able  to  record  it. 
In  architectural  details  the  view  at  2,500  feet  is  much  more 
satisfactory. 

Looking  north-eastward  we  discovered  a  large,  deep 
crater,  distant  perhaps  six  or  seven  miles,  and  straight 
beyond  it,  about  fifteen  miles  away,  we  saw  the  zone  of 
naked  ashes  that  encircles  the  base  of  the  Cerro  Colorado. 
From  that  point,  swinging  westward  through  at  least  120 
degrees,  the  lava  plain  was  thickly  set  with  lava  cones, 
each  of  which  represents  an  extinct  crater.  Later  on,  Mr. 
Sykes  expressed  the  belief  that  around  Pinacate  there  are 
the  remains  of  nearly  five  hundred  extinct  volcanoes!  The 
mountains  of  southern  Arizona,  and  those  in  the  vicinity 
of  Sonoyta — Cypriano  and  Cubabi — show  up  but  dimly, 
enshrouded  in  the  prevalent  blue  haze  which  in  this  region 
masks  the  details  of  nearly  all  distant  mountains. 

At  the  lofty  elevation  on  which  we  stood — which  Mr. 
Sykes  declared  to  be  4,060  feet — the  sand  belt  between  the 


THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE  271 

lava  country  and  the  Gulf  seemed  very  narrow  and  in- 
significant. The  head  of  the  Gulf  was  fairly  well  re- 
vealed, but  the  mountains  of  the  Peninsula  were  merely 
a  great  mass  of  Indian-summer  haze.  It  was  impossible 
to  locate  the  Papago  Tanks,  save  by  the  granite  mountains 
beyond  them,  at  the  end  of  MacDougal  Pass. 

It  was  highly  interesting  to  stand  on  the  summit  of 
a  peak  that  rises  like  a  lava  island  out  of  a  lava  sea  and 
view,  in  one  circular  sweep,  so  vast  a  cyclorama  of  extinct 
volcanoes,  glowering  lava,  green  desert,  distant  mountains 
of  blue  haze,  barren  sands  and  shimmering  sea.  Smile 
if  you  will,  Reader;  but  to  us  it  was  a  thrilling  moment. 
Had  we  seen  not  one  thing  of  interest  between  Tucson  and 
the  Pinacate  summit,  a  half  hour  with  that  grand  spectacle 
of  Nature,  in  the  wildest  corner  of  Mexico,  would  have 
repaid  everything. 

At  last,  however,  someone  bethought  himself  to  re- 
mind the  Doctor  of  the  mountain  sheep  that  were  literally 
going  to  waste  on  the  farther  side  of  the  western  peak; 
and  this  roused  him  to  fresh  activity  in  another  direction. 
Leaving  us  to  settle  with  Pinacate,  he  girded  up  his  car- 
tridge belt,  caught  up  his  rifle  and  set  off  down  the  moun- 
tain toward  the  saddle  like  him  of  the  seven-league  boots. 
Inasmuch  as  we  had  unanimously  resolved  that  the  expe- 
dition would  not  move  out  of  its  tracks  until  the  Doctor 
bagged  his  ram,  it  was  a  good  thing  for  him  to  improve 
the  shining  hour. 

With  the  departure  of  the  Chief,  the  rest  of  us  settled 
down  to  business.  I  did  my  best  to  take  a  series  of  pict- 
ures of  the  most  striking  scenery  below,  then  undertook 


272        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

the  task  of  preparing  a  record,  sealing  it  tightly  in  a  square 
tin  can  and  erecting  over  it  a  monument  in  memory  of 
that  afternoon.  Fortunately,  large  chunks  of  lava  were 
obtainable  quite  near  the  summit,  and  with  valuable  help 
from  Mr.  Milton  the  cairn  grew  apace. 

Mr.  Phillips  worked  his  two  cameras  to  their  full  capac- 
ity, and  I  hoped  great  things  therefrom.  With  the  utmost 
care  he  made  a  complete  circle  of  exposures,  fourteen  in 
number,  taking  in  the  entire  cyclorama  of  Pinacate.  Un- 
fortunately, however,  the  lenses  which  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains  were  able  to  dig  out  details  at  a  distance  of 
twenty  miles  were  sadly  balked  by  the  fine  sand  in  the 
atmosphere,  which  produced  a  deadly  yellow  haze  that 
even  cut  out  of  the  pictures  the  waters  of  the  Gulf. 

Mr.  Sykes  quickly  busied  himself  with  his  plane- 
table,  and  crouched  over  it  until  the  last  moment  of  our 
stay  on  the  summit.  While  we  were  all  busy  with  our 
several  tasks,  the  Doctor  began  to  fire  on  the  farther  face 
of  the  western  peak,  and  we  counted  several  shots  in  steady 
succession. 

"The  ram  is  running;  and  the  Doctor  is  getting  an- 
gry!" explained  Mr.  Sykes — which  eventually  proved 
to  be  a  correct  diagnosis  of  the  case.  When  we  all  met 
at  camp  (the  next  day)  and  put  the  Botanist  on  the  witness- 
stand  about  that  firing,  he  gave  this  testimony: 

"After  leaving  you  on  the  summit  I  dropped  down  to 
the  saddle  and  then  worked  up  the  ridge  connecting  with 
the  western  peak,  getting  out  far  enough  to  put  my  glass 
on  the  band  of  sheep  on  the  farther  rim.  The  last  look 
showed  them  as  dropping  off  on  the  farther  side  of  the 


THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE  273 

ridge,  undisturbed  after  a  last  look  at  the  party  back  on 
the  main  peak.  The  hunt  now  seemed  to  me  all  but 
ended,  and  I  thought  I  had  but  to  work  around  the  con- 
vexity of  the  slope  on  which  they  grazed  and  select  my 
trophy. 

"A  careful  stalk  was  made,  and  as  I  wriggled  through 
the  notch  in  the  last  lava  dyke,  which  I  supposed  separated 
me  from  the  band,  imagine  my  dismay  at  seeing  them,  as 
I  thought,  on  the  slope  and  crest  of  the  small  peak  across 
the  canon,  to  the  westward.  This  meant  another  two 
long  miles  of  stalking,  and  if  the  band  had  made  so  far 
in  so  short  a  time,  it  meant  that  they  had  been  alarmed, 
or  had  winded  me,  and  some  careful  work  would  be  neces- 
sary to  come  up  to  them. 

"Quickly  dropping  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  canon, 
I  had  hardly  started  up  the  opposite  slope  when  over  my 
left  shoulder  I  caught  sight  of  the  original  band  of  eleven 
in  a  shallow  gulch  of  the  slope  I  had  just  left!  The  dis- 
covery was  mutual,  and  for  a  moment  I  stood  feeling  as 
unprotected  as  if  I  had  been  stalked  and  cornered  by  as 
many  mountain  lions. 

"The  band  was  strung  along  the  mountain  side,  from 
which  they  were  so  little  different  in  colour  that  at  a  dis- 
tance of  something  less  than  three  hundred  yards  I  was 
obliged  to  use  the  glass  to  find  the  horns  that  were  mine 
by  the  laws  of  the  chase.  The  bearer  thereof  was  quickly 
located  at  the  farther  side  of  the  bunch,  where  he  stood  on 
a  low  lava  block,  keeping  a  most  inefficient  guard,  for 
which  he  was  himself  to  pay  the  penalty.  Before  I  could 
cover  him  to  fire,  two  ewes  and  a  smaller  ram  grazed  in 


274        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

front  of  him,  and  I  was  obliged  to  lower  my  rifle  twice 
before  I  sent  the  first  fatal  shot  home.  It  was  placed 
too  far  back,  however;  and  then  there  began  a  running 
battle. 

"I  had  spent  the  previous  day  and  a  half  on  the  long 
and  devious  trail  of  the  wounded  bearer  of  the  'head  of 
heads'  without  coming  up  with  him.  As  this  band  broke 
for  safety,  the  doomed  ram  among  them,  they  had  to 
course  about  me  in  a  semicircle  at  two  to  four  hundred 
yards,  and  I  resolved  to  bring  down  this  head  from  where 
I  stood.  As  the  band  now  bunched  and  scattered  in  its 
headlong  flight,  I  might  have  laid  half  of  them  low,  but 
ignoring  them  entirely,  I  drove  straight  for  the  ram  at 
every  opportunity  when  he  was  not  behind  rocks  or 
masked  by  fleeing  companions. 

"Although  firing  a  22o-grain  bullet,  I  saw  shot  after 
shot  go  home  with  but  little  effect,  until  at  last,  as  the  band 
began  to  emerge  from  the  amphitheatre  of  war,  far  to  the 
left,  a  ball  through  the  spine  let  him  down.  As  I  saw  him 
drop  the  gun-barrel  scorched  my  hand,  and  the  scattered 
shells  about  me  gave  evidence  that  I  had  fired  at  least 
twenty  times.  Making  my  way  to  the  fallen  game,  I 
found  that  he  had  been  hit  once  out  of  every  four  times  I 
had  fired,  and  each  of  these  five  shots  alone  should  have 
been  quickly  fatal.  The  second  shot  had  struck  the 
frontal  bone  and  carried  through  the  skull  without  entering 
the  brain  cavity,  but  even  after  this  terrific  blow  the  ram 
had  run  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  This  time  the 
biggest  one  did  not  get  away." 

After  the  Doctor  had  killed  his  ram  quite  dead,  he 


THE  ASCENT  OF  PINACATE  275 

hurriedly  cut  off  its  head,  eviscerated  the  body,  left  a  note 
to  Mr.  Sykes  on  the  horn  of  his  saddle,  requesting  him  to 
bring  the  head  to  camp  on  his  horse,  and  then  immediately 
set  out  at  a  rattling  pace  for  camp.  Mr.  Sykes  presently 
came  along,  and  did  as  he  was  requested;  and  so  for  that 
day  we  saw  him  no  more. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  Mr.  Phillips,  Jeff  and  I 
left  the  summit  and  scrambled  down.  We  hurried  through 
the  notch,  and  after  a  walk  that  was  very  painful  and  cor- 
respondingly long,  we  reached  our  horses  and  saddled  up. 
By  that  time  only  one  hour  of  daylight  remained  in  which 
to  go  to  our  two  sheep,  dress  them  and  get  out  of  the  worst 
of  the  lava  before  darkness  fell!  It  was  very  evident  that 
to  do  all  that  in  one  brief  hour  was  a  wild  impossibility. 
Said  Mr.  Milton, 

"We'll  have  to  light  out  for  camp,  and  come  back  in 
the  morning  to  get  those  sheep." 

I  said, 

"That  would  mean  twelve  miles  of  travel  over  this 
awful  lava,  the  whole  of  to-morrow  forenoon  consumed 
by  the  return  here,  and  an  entire  day  lost.  I  think  it 
will  be  wise  for  us  to  camp  up  here  to-night,  get  an  early 
start  and  get  the  sheep  to  camp  in  time  to  work  them  up 
to-morrow  afternoon." 

Mr.  Phillips  agreed  with  me;    but  said  Mr.  Milton, 

"We're  not  fixed  for  lying-out  here!  We've  nothing  to 
eat,  and  our  horses  have  had  neither  grass  nor  water  since 
morning." 

"We  can  get  along  all  right.  We  can  water  our  horses 
in  the  arroyo  where  my  sheep  lies.  We  have  plenty  of 


276        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

sheep  meat,  and  as  for  grass,  it  won't  hurt  the  horses  to 
fast  until  to-morrow  afternoon." 

It  was  quite  clear  that  at  least  two  men  and  one  horse 
would  camp  on  Pinacate  that  night  and  make  six  miles 
of  rough  travel  serve  the  occasion  instead  of  eighteen.  At 
first  the  proposal  did  not  at  all  commend  itself  to  the  mind 
of  Mr.  Milton,  and  I  feared  a  radical  disagreement.  But 
he  acted  very  handsomely  about  it,  and  presently,  with  real 
cheerfulness,  consented  to  join  in  my  scheme.  With  a 
feeling  of  profound  relief  over  thus  saving  a  whole  day  at 
a  time  when  the  sands  of  my  leave  of  absence  were  run- 
ning out  horribly  fast,  we  set  about  making  horses  and 
men  as  snug  as  possible  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XX 

"LYING-OUT"  ON  PINACATE,  AND  THE  FINAL  SHEEP 

A  Camp-Fire  in  a  Lava  Ravine — A  Dinner  of  Broiled  Liver — The 
Resources  of  the  Party  and  Their  Distribution — The  Gunny-Sack  as 
a  Producer  of  Warmth — Mr.  Phillips  Takes  Advantage  of  a  Sleeping 
Comrade — The  Coyotes  Spoil  a  Museum  Sheep — "Why  Don't  You 
Shoot  that  Ram?" — Curiosity  Long  Drawn  Out — An  Unexpected 
Trophy — Mr.  Sykes  Stalks  a  Mountain  Sheep  on  Pinacate. 

IN  the  belief  that  any  Reader  who  has  resolutely 
waded  thus  far  may  also  be  interested  in  knowing  how 
we  fared  when  compelled  by  circumstances  to  "lie  out" 
in  the  lava  beds  of  Pinacate,  I  will  set  down  the  doings 
of  that  rather  romantic  occasion.  There  is  seldom 
anything  startling  about  such  an  incident,  but  for  myself 
I  always  like  to  know  just  what  the  other  fellow  did  when 
he  was  "caught  out." 

First  of  all,  we  led  our  horses  over  the  roughness  to 
the  deep  lava  gulley  in  which  my  seventeen-inch  ram  lay 
dead,  and  watered  them  at  the  little  pockets  of  water  that 
we  found  there.  Then  we  located  the  horses  on  smooth 
lava  that  was  somewhat  sheltered  from  the  west  wind, 
where  they  could  at  least  amuse  themselves  by  pretending 
to  browse  on  some  stunted  mesquite  bushes. 

I  scrambled  up  to  my  sheep  in  the  head  of  the  ravine, 

to  do  the  marketing  for  the  camp.     Through  a  flash  of 

277 


278        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

unusual  animal  intelligence  on  the  previous  day,  when  I 
dressed  the  carcass  I  carefully  cut  out  the  liver  and  laid 
it  on  a  chunk  of  lava  for  future  use.  This  I  made  haste 
to  gather  in,  besides  which  I  hacked  off  a  section  of  the 
hind  quarter.  Before  darkness  fell  we  looked  about  for 
dead  wood  that  could  be  utilized  for  our  camp-fire  with- 
out the  intervention  of  an  axe;  for  of  axes  we  had 
none. 

We  found  a  most  picturesque  dead  stub  of  a  once  huge 
mesquite,  clinging  by  one  root  on  the  sharp  edge  of  the 
ravine.  At  the  base  it  was  as  large  around  as  a  flour 
barrel,  but  it  was  only  fifteen  feet  high,  and  so  shaky  that 
we  undertook  to  vibrate  it  into  the  bottom  of  the  ravine. 
But  that  one  deep-seated  fang  of  a  root,  which  once  ran 
down  to  the  stream  bed,  baffled  our  united  strength. 
After  giving  up  beaten,  we  lighted  a  fire  at  the  base  of  the 
hollow  trunk,  on  the  windward  side,  and  away  it  went! 
In  half  an  hour  it  was  a  veritable  pillar  of  fire,  visible  from 
afar,  and  later  on  was  seen  by  Mr.  Sykes  as  he  picked  his 
way  campward  across  the  black  lava-plain  1,500  feet 
below. 

In  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  a  short  distance  below 
the  pillar  of  fire,  Mr.  Milton  found  a  remarkable  ironwood 
tree  with  two  large  naked  trunks,  one  green,  the  other  dead 
and  dry,  both  writhing  over  the  ground  like  huge  snakes 
before  they  finally  rose  into  the  air. 

"This  big,  dry  stem  will  make  us  a  bully  fire  while 
she  lasts,"  said  Jeff,  admiringly.  "  We'll  build  right  up 
against  it,  and  by  and  by,  when  it  burns  in  two,  we  can 
work  in  the  whole  of  it." 


"LYING-OUT"  ON  PINACATE  279 

We  gathered  all  the  dead  mesquite  stems  that  we 
could  find  in  the  neighbourhood  and  tear  loose  by  hand- 
and-foot  power,  but  the  total  accumulation  was  inadequate 
for  an  all-night  camp-fire.  It  was  certain  to  grow  cold 
soon  after  sunset,  and  we  looked  forward  doubtfully  toward 
the  small  hours  of  the  morning. 

If  you  slice  carefully  the  liver  of  a  reasonably  young 
mountain  sheep,  impale  it  on  a  long  stick  just  so,  salt  it 
well  and  broil  it  very  carefully  "well  done"  over  a  bed  of 
hot  coals,  you  need  not  go  hungry — unless  you  have  too 
many  competitors. 

If  the  operation  has  been  conducted  with  intelligence 
as  well  as  with  main  strength,  the  product  makes  a  fine  and 
tasty  dish;  and  any  sportsman  who  cannot  make  of  it  a 
good  square  meal  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  suspicious  person. 
A  hunter  of  big  game  should  not  fail  to  carry  salt;  for  in 
the  queerest  ways  imaginable  the  ability  to  eat  a  comforta- 
ble meal  may  suddenly  be  found  hinging  upon  its  pos- 
session. If  you  are  caught  out  with  meat,  but  saltless, 
then  cut  your  meat  rather  thin,  and  broil  it  until  rather 
overdone;  for  an  unsalted  steak  or  chop  that  has  been 
burned  to  a  crisp  can  be  eaten  with  fair  relish  when  the 
same  morsel  rare,  or  underdone,  would  to  some  men  be 
impossible. 

Directly  in  front  of  our  camp-fire  the  bed  of  the  ravine 
was  smooth  and  shaped  like  a  cradle;  and  it  was  there 
that  we  must  lie,  willy-nilly,  to  gain  warmth  from  the  fire. 
A  big  clump  of  bushes,  of  a  species  unknown  to  me,  but 
very  dense  and  very  springy,  completely  covered  the  steep 
face  of  the  ravine  wall  farthest  from  the  fire.  Jeff  Milton 


h 

te 


t  a  rife 


28o        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

tested  the  mass  with  his  outspread  hand,  and  finding  it  as 
springy  as  a  pile  of  hay,  he  said, 

"These  bushes  will  make  a  bed  plenty  good  enough 
for  me.  I  don't  want  anything  better  than  that.  I'll 
just  spread  my  blanket  over  and  have  a  fine  spring  mat- 


tress." 


Mr.  Phillips  also  elected  to  sleep  on  the  white  bushes, 
but  I  chose  a  spot  low  down  upon  the  rocky  bed  of  the 
ravine,  and  more  sheltered  from  the  wind.  Of  course  we 
all  lay  within  the  zone  of  light  and  warmth. 

On  taking  an  inventory  of  our  resources,  we  found  that 
we  had  two  small  and  light  saddle-blankets,  belonging  to 
Milton;  two  thick  felt  saddle-pads;  a  gunny-sack,  a  coat 
belonging  to  Mr.  Milton,  another  belonging  to  me,  and  a 
bag  of  salt.  (It  was  Milton's  salt  that  really  saved  our 
lives.)  Mr.  Phillips  had  no  coat,  and  therefore  one  blanket 
and  one  saddle-pad  were  issued  to  him.  To  Mr.  Milton 
was  assigned  the  other  blanket,  and  to  me  fell  a  saddle-pad 
and  the  gunny-sack;  with  which,  and  my  coat,  I  was  by 
no  means  badly  provided. 

Feeling  reasonably  sure  that  the  snapping  cold  hours 
after  midnight  would  disturb  our  rest,  we  turned  in  im- 
mediately after  our  broiled-liver  repast,  while  the  fire  was 
at  its  best,  and  the  night  the  least  cold.  One  man  whom 
I  know  thanked  his  stars  that  he  was  not  hunting  camp  in 
the  dark  across  four  or  five  miles  of  lava ;  and  in  spite  of  an 
endless  chain  of  cold  thrills  that  chased  each  other  up  and 
down  his  anatomy  from  head  to  foot,  tradition  states  that 
forthwith  he  went  sound  asleep,  and  slept  hard  and  fast 
for  several  hours. 


"LYING-OUT"  ON  PINACATE  281 

At  first,  however,  through  his  sleeping  fancies  there 
ran  a  distinct  thread  of  thought,  thus:  "A  gunny-sack  is 
a  cool  proposition  on  a  windy  night.  .  .  .  What  a  pity  'tis 
that  gunny-sacks  are  not  more  closely  woven!  .  .  .Gunny- 
sacks  are  very  much  too  small.  They  should  be  made 
wider,  to  cover  more  than  one  side.  ...  It  will  be  much 
colder  pretty  soon;  and  then  I  will  have  to  get  up." 

Then  there  followed  an  interval  of  complete  oblivion — 
how  long,  I  knew  not  until  later.  After  that,  my  mind 
began  to  take  heed  of  Life,  and  resumed  its  functions  thus 
— for  I  remember  the  sequence  very  well: 

"How  comfortable  it  is  here!  .  .  .  Who  would  have 
believed  that  an  old  gunny-sack  could  keep  a  man  so 
warm!  .  .  .  How  mistaken  I  was  about  this  sack!  .  .  . 
There  is  really  a  surprising  amount  of  warmth  in  it!" 

Finally  I  opened  one  eye,  and  saw  John  Phillips  sitting 
close  up  to  the  much-shrunken  camp-fire,  dropping  small 
sticks  upon  the  coals,  and  smiling  to  himself,  as  if  at  a 
good  joke!  Why  was  he  not  in  his  place,  and  sleeping? 
And  why  laughing — at  that  hour  ? 

As  I  moved  my  hand,  to  turn  and  speak  to  him,  it 
came  in  contact  with  cloth  that  was  woolly  and  warm;  and 
in  another  second  I  was  shocked  into  full  wakefulness  by 
the  discovery  that  I  had  been  betrayed !  While  I  soundly 
slept,  my  comrade  had  risen,  taken  his  only  blanket,  com- 
pletely covered  me  with  it,  and  tucked  me  in  so  gently  and 
skilfully  that  I  did  not  waken!  That  was  the  reason  why 
my  old  gunny-sack  had  kept  me  so  warm,  and  finally 
wakened  me  by  the  wonder  of  it.  And  John  M.  was 
laughing  over  his  success  in  outwitting  me! 


282        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Full  of  indignation,  I  arose  to  protest,  and  explain  how 
it  happened;  but  obtained  no  satisfaction.  Then  John 
and  I  went  cruising  out  into  the  darkness  for  more  wood, 
and  presently  found  a  good  supply.  By  uniting  our 
strength,  we  tore  down  and  ripped  up  a  large  dead  mes- 
quite,  then  gathered  in  some  dead  ocatilla  stems,  and  fired 
up  so  successfully  that  Jeff  was  compelled,  in  self  defence, 
to  move  farther  from  the  fire.  Dead  ocatilla  stems  burn 
with  the  snap  and  brilliancy  of  hickory  bark,  and  while 
for  light  they  are  great,  they  of  course  cannot  yield  much 
heat,  nor  burn  for  long.  Many  "brilliant"  men  are  just 
like  them. 

Jeff  presently  sat  up  to  enjoy  the  fire,  and  during  the 
two  hours  that  we  sat  there,  roasting  ourselves  and  traf- 
ficking in  yarns,  he  told  us  several  thrilling  incidents  of 
his  swiftly  moving  life.  There  is  one  in  particular  that 
I  would  fain  recall;  but  it  was  then  impossible  to  take 
notes,  and  later  on  we  were  so  hurried  that  there  was  no 
opportunity. 

At  two  in  the  morning  the  body  of  the  dead  ironwood 
python  burned  in  two,  and  by  a  process  in  simple  addition 
the  fire  renewed  its  lease  on  life.  A  cold  wind  blew 
crosswise  over  our  heads,  but  in  our  snug  cradle  of  lava  it 
affected  us  not  at  all.  After  our  camp-fire  yarns  had  been 
spun  out  to  drowsy  lengths  we  settled  down  once  more, 
secured  a  second  edition  of  slumber,  and  by  common  con- 
sent awoke  at  the  first  peep  of  day.  During  the  whole 
long  night  we  did  not  hear  a  sound  from  any  wild 
creature. 

While  Jeff  and  I  broiled  over  a  fine  bed  of  coals  a 


"LYING-OUT"  ON  PINACATE  283 

generous  quantity  of  mountain-sheep  steaks,  Mr.  Phillips 
expended  a  film  in  photographing  our  hospitable  camp- 
fire  and  lava  bed ;  and  half  an  hour  later  the  serious  busi- 
ness of  the  day  began.  Of  course  we  did  not  feel  quite 
as  fresh  and  supple  as  after  an  unbroken  night  in  our  good 
sleeping-bags,  backed  by  a  breakfast  of  Frank's  excellent 
making,  but  we  were  glad  that  we  had  remained  where 
we  were  instead  of  making  the  long  and  tiresome  trip  to 
camp  and  back  again. 

Very  soon  after  sunrise  we  took  the  yellow  mule  and 
a  pack-saddle,  and,  leaving  our  rifles  at  camp,  labouriously 
picked  our  way  northward  around  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
nearly  a  mile,  to  where  lay  Mr.  Phillips's  ram.  We  in- 
tended to  skin  the  entire  animal  and  preserve  it  for  Dr. 
Holland's  museum,  but  alas!  the  rascally  coyotes  of  Pina- 
cate  had  visited  the  remains  and  left  it  an  unsightly  wreck. 
The  hind-quarters  had  been  completely  devoured,  and  the 
skin  of  the  body  had  been  ruined  past  redemption. 

The  head,  however,  was  untouched.  Although  Mr. 
Phillips  had  entertained  no  fear  of  coyotes,  in  deference 
to  a  long-standing  principle  of  caution  when  he  dressed 
the  carcass  he  had  collected  large  chunks  of  lava,  and  with 
them  completely  covered  the  head.  That  was  all  that 
saved  the  trophy.  Fortunately,  my  ram  had  not  been 
visited  by  the  marauders — possibly  because  of  our  close 
proximity. 

We  cut  off  the  head  and  placed  it  upon  Polly  the  Mule 
for  the  return  journey.  Mr.  Phillips  elected  to  leave  us 
there,  and  went  off  northward  for  a  solitary  scramble 
through  the  lava,  and  a  final  return  to  camp  by  a  new 


284        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

route.  In  five  minutes  the  convulsed  lava  swallowed  him 
up  and  we  saw  him  no  more. 

Mr.  Milton  and  I  started  back  to  our  bivouac  and 
had  slowly  picked  our  way  over  about  half  the  distance 
when  he  asked  me  a  question. 

"Where  did  you  say  you  were  when  you  first  sighted 
those  two  rams  ? " 

I  faced  a  quarter  way  round  to  the  right,  took  my 
bearings  and  finally  said, 

"We  were  up  on  the  crest  of  that  ridge,  behind  the 
tallest  mesquite  bush  which  you  see  yonder." 

Jeff  looked,  and  said  with  a  satisfied  air, 

"Oh,  yes;  I  see."  And  a  moment  later  he  added,  in 
the  most  matter-of-fact  way  imaginable,  "But  why  dont 
you  shoot  that  big  ram,  over  there?" 

By  all  the  powers,  there  stood  in  full  view,  on  the  crest 
of  a  lava  ridge,  and  not  more  than  two  hundred  yards 
to  the  left  of  the  bush  at  which  I  had  pointed,  a  splendid 
mountain  ram — a  "hunger,"  for  fair!  He  posed  on  a  high 
point,  statue-like — head  high  up,  squarely  facing  us,  out- 
lined against  the  sky  and  staring  at  us  with  all-devouring 
curiosity.  At  that  moment  he  was  quite  beyond  fair 
rifle-range;  and  we  were  without  our  rifles!  What  fools 
these  mortals  be! 

I  looked  at  him  through  my  glass,  and  he  stood  as 
still  as  an  iron  dog.  Not  once  did  his  gaze  leave  us,  not 
once  did  he  wink  an  eye  nor  move  an  ear;  but,  dear  me! 
how  grand  he  did  look!  It  seemed  as  if  he  owned  the 
lava,  and  had  caught  us  trespassing. 

"Now,  what  fools  we  were  not  to  bring  a  gun!"  said 


"LYING-OUT"  ON  PINACATE  285 

Jeff,  with  an  air  of  deep  dejection.  I  dare  say  it  was  the 
first  time  in  many  years  that  Jeff  had  found  himself  gun- 
less  in  the  presence  of  an  enemy. 

"Well,  it  don't  matter,"  I  said.  "Another  ram  will 
answer  my  purpose  quite  as  well." 

"/  believe  he'll  stay  where  he  is  until  we  can  get  our 
guns,"  said  Jeff,  hopefully.  The  wish  was  the  father  of 
the  thought. 

"Oh,  impossible!"  I  said.  "He  never  will  wait  that 
long.  It's  a  long  way  yet  to  our  camp;  and  he'll  clear 
out  in  another  minute." 

"Well,  now,  he  may  not!  Let's  make  a  try  for  our 
guns,  anyhow,  and  see  if  he  won't  wait.  I'll  tie  this  mule 
here  where  his  nibs  can  see  her,  and  we'll  just  quietly 
slip  off  after  our  shootin'-irons.  I  wouldn't  be  one  bit 
surprised  if  he'd  wait." 

I  thought  that  the  effort  was  absolutely  certain  to 
come  to  naught,  and  that  before  we  could  get  our  guns 
and  return  with  them  the  ram  would  be  a  mile  away.  To 
follow  him  up  would  be  out  of  the  question,  because  of 
pressing  duties  ahead.  But  Jeff  was  so  cheerful  about 
making  the  effort  that  I  could  do  no  less  than  cheerfully 
join  him,  and  take  the  chance.  It  was  precisely  like  the 
occasion  in  the  Hell  Creek  bad-lands  when,  to  oblige  old 
Max  Sieber,  who  wished  me  to  see  where  he  "missed  that 
big  buck,"  I  climbed  after  him  to  the  top  of  a  butte  and 
from  it  killed  a  fine  mule  deer,  in  spite  of  myself! 

Milton's  feet  were  almost  as  lame  as  mine  were;  but 
as  fast  as  we  could  we  hobbled  over  the  lava  to  our  camp, 
caught  up  our  rifles  and  hiked  back  again. 


286        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

"He's  there  yet!"  said  Milton,  triumphantly,  when  we 
sailed  up  abreast  of  the  sorrel  mule.  "He'll  wait  for  us!" 

Then  I  began  to  feel  an  awakening  of  hope  and  in- 
terest, and  we  applied  ourselves  seriously  to  the  task  of 
making  a  good  stalk.  An  intervening  mound  of  rough 
lava  offered  our  only  chance  of  an  approach,  and  when 
finally  we  got  it  in  line  between  ourselves  and  the  ram, 
he  was  still  there,  gazing  intently  at  the  decoy  mule. 

The  top  of  the  mound  was  distant  from  the  ram  about 
one  hundred  and  seventy-five  yards.  Mr.  Milton  was 
on  my  left,  and  he  deployed  in  his  direction  while  I  made 
off  to  the  right  side  of  the  hill.  We  must  have  been  about 
a  hundred  feet  apart.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  signal- 
ling each  other,  and  it  was  agreed  that  the  first  man  to 
secure  a  fair  chance  should  fire.  Knowing  the  quickness 
of  my  good  friend  Jeff  in  getting  into  action  with  a  gun, 
I  let  no  great  amount  of  grass  grow  under  my  feet  after 
we  separated. 

Evidently,  I  was  first  to  reach  a  coign  of  vantage,  for 
suddenly  I  found  the  living-picture  ram  standing  full  in 
my  view,  within  fair  rifle-shot,  squarely  facing  Milton's 
position,  and  with  his  side  in  perspective  to  me.  Aiming 
quickly,  yet  with  good  care,  at  the  exposed  point  of  the 
left  shoulder,  I  let  go;  and  like  a  quick  echo  of  my  shot, 
Milton's  rifle  rang  out. 

Instantly  the  ram  wheeled  to  the  right  and — vanished, 
as  if  the  lava  had  swallowed  him  up. 

Jeff  and  I  were  almost  dumfounded  with  surprise. 
We  expected  a  fall,  a  leap,  or  at  least  a  stagger — anything 
save  swift  and  total  disappearance. 


"LYING-OUT"  ON  PINACATE  287 

"Well!  What  d'ye  make  o'  that?"  said  Jeff,  with  a 
troubled  air.  "Can  it  be  possible  that  both  of  us  missed 
him?" 

"It  begins  to  look  like  it,"  I  answered. 

With  the  best  speed  that  we  could  put  forth,  we 
hurried  over  to  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  where  the  ram  had 
posed  so  long  and  so  beautifully,  and  with  eager  glances 
swept  the  view  beyond  it.  Not  a  living  thing  was  in 
sight.  Jeff  was  more  puzzled  than  before;  but  for  once 
reason  came  to  my  aid.  I  said, 

"Jeff,  it  is  impossible  for  that  ram  to  have  run  clean 
out  of  sight  by  this  time.  He  must  be  somewhere  near, 
either  wounded  or  dead.  Look  for  him  lying  down.  He 
may  jump  up  and  run,  any  minute." 

"We  must  trail  him  up  if  we  ever  want  to  find  him," 
said  Jeff,  gloomily. 

"Trail  nothing!  I'm  going  to  hustle  off  down  yonder, 
the  way  he  should  have  run,  and  see  if  I  can't  scare  him 
up." 

"Well,  you  go  ahead;  but  I'll  follow  his  trail.  .  .  . 
See,  here  it  goes!" 

I  figured  that  if  wounded  the  ram  would  be  certain  to 
run  down  hill;  so  I  ranged  down  and  away,  over  the 
smoothest  course  I  could  find.  In  less  than  a  hundred 
yards  I  turned  a  low  corner  of  lava  rock,  and  there  on  a 
smooth  spot  lay  the  ram — stone  dead,  without  a  struggle. 
He  had  been  killed  by  a  bullet  that  had  entered  close 
behind  his  left  humerus,  ranged  diagonally  throughout 
his  vitals,  and  lodged  so  far  back  in  his  anatomy  that  my 
utmost  efforts  in  dressing  the  carcass  failed  to  locate  it. 


288        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

He  had  also  been  hit  by  another  bullet,  but  that  shot  was 
quite  harmless. 

Naturally,  we  were  profoundly  elated  over  our  suc- 
cess; and  I  did  not  recover  from  the  surprise  of  it  for 
fully  a  month.  Previous  to  that  day,  I  thought  that  I  had 
learned  something  about  wild  animals,  but  my  best  efforts 
failed  to  read  aright  the  mind  of  that  ram.  But  for  the 
insistence  of  my  good  friend  Milton,  I  never  would  have 
taken  a  step  to  fetch  my  rifle  and  stalk  that  animal;  for 
I  believed  that  the  chances  of  his  waiting  for  us  were  not 
more  than  one  in  a  million. 

And  now,  in  the  light  of  the  final  result,  what  shall  we 
say  of  the  mental  processes  of  that  animal  ?  One  man's 
opinion  is  as  good  as  another's,  and  the  Reader  can  judge 
quite  as  well  as  anyone.  As  for  myself,  I  have  two 
thoughts : 

First,  I  think  that  ram  never  before  had  seen  men,  he 
did  not  know  what  we  were,  nor  did  he  even  suspect  that 
we  were  dangerous,  predatory  animals.  Next,  his  bump 
of  curiosity  was  inordinately  developed,  and  he  was  fairly 
fascinated  by  that  Naples-yellow  mule  with  a  big  sbeep- 
bead  on  her  back.  I  think  he  recognized  the  horns  of  a 
creature  of  his  own  kind,  but  the  location  of  them — on 
the  back  of  a  strange  mule — was  to  his  simple  mind  an 
unmitigated  staggerer.  His  efforts  to  solve  the  problem 
thus  suddenly  thrust  upon  him  eventually  cost  him  his 
life,  and  gave  me  a  trophy  that  will  outlast  its  owner  by 
half  a  century  or  more.  In  the  group  of  our  mounted 
sheep  heads  it  is  No.  4.  The  horns  measured  fifteen  and 
one-eighth  inches  in  circumference  by  thirty-three  inches 


"LYING-OUT"  ON  PINACATE  289 

in  length.  As  the  table  of  measurements  will  show,  their 
bigness  was  continued  all  the  way  from  base  to  tip. 

The  pelage  of  this  sheep  was  thin,  old  and  poor.  It 
seemed  to  be  in  a  shedding  period — out  of  all  season  for 
such  a  change. 

With  two  men,  three  big  sheep  heads  and  two  saddles 
of  mountain  mutton  our  pack-mule  and  two  saddle-horses 
were  loaded  down  until  Plimsoll's  Mark  was  buried  out  of 
sight.  In  order  to  get  on,  I  was  obliged  to  carry  my  sheep 
head  in  my  arms.  At  first  I  resolved  to  walk,  and  devote 
my  horse  to  freighting  the  trophy;  but  Mr.  Milton  said 
severely, 

"Oh,  thunder!  Get  on  your  horse,  and  make  him 
carry  you  and  the  head,  too.  It  won't  hurt  him  a  bit. 
Why,  with  my  feet  as  lame  as  they  are  now,  /  wouldn't 
walk  to  that  camp  for  all  the  mountain-sheep  heads  in 
Christendom!" 

Even  the  ride  to  camp  was  tedious  and  tiresome. 
We  arrived  about  noon,  stiff  and  sore;  and  for  my  after- 
noon's rest  and  diversion  I  had  to  skin  four  sheep  heads, 
work  up  the  whole  buck  antelope  that  Charlie  had 
brought  in — most  excellently  protected — and  prepare 
about  twenty-five  pounds  of  meat  for  drying.  The  only 
thing  that  sustained  me  at  the  last,  and  really  saved  my 
life,  was  Mr.  Sykes's  account  of  stalking  a  mountain-sheep 
ram  that  very  morning  on  the  north  side  of  Pinacate.  He 
said, 

"  I  was  on  my  way  back  from  my  work  on  the  summit 
[his  second  trip],  and  while  swinging  around  that  north 
slope,  quite  near  to  where  I  saw  that  bunch  of  sheep,  I  saw, 


290        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

ahead  of  me,  a  big  ram.  He  was  partly  hidden  by  lava, 
but  I  saw  his  body  quite  plainly.  He  was  lying  down, 
resting  himself,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  have  him. 

"When  I  first  saw  him  he  was  about  four  hundred 
yards  away,  and  the  mountain-side  there  was  very  bare 
and  open.  Well,  I  tied  my  horse,  quite  out  of  sight,  got 
down  on  my  stomach,  and  wormed  my  way  over  the  lava 
until  I  got  within  about  a  hundred  yards  of  where  I  had 
marked  down  my  sheep.  I  raised  my  head,  and  saw  that 
he  was  still  there.  Finding  that  he  was  quite  quiet,  I 
decided  to  work  up  closer;  and  I  did.  Lying  as  flat  as  I 
possibly  could,  I  wormed  my  way  up  fifty  yards  farther, 
to  make  real  sure  of  getting  him.  I  was  pretty  well  blown 
by  that  time,  and  the  rough  lava  was  quite  unpleasant  to 
my  hands  and  knees;  but  I  thought  the  ram  was  worth  it. 

"At  last,  when  I  had  finished  a  good  stalk  and  was 
quite  near  enough,  I  got  good  and  ready,  slowly  raised  my 
head  and  my  rifle  and  was  just  about  to  pull  trigger, 
when — I  changed  my  mind,  and  didn't  fire." 

"What!     You  didn't  fire?     Why  not?" 

"I  saw  that  I  didn't  need  to.  The  ram  was  already 
dead !  It  was  the  headless  body  of  the  sheep  that  the  Doctor 
shot  yesterday!  .  .  .  Then  I  came  home." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  YARN  OF  THE  BURNING  OF  THE  HILDA 

The  Characteristics  of  Mr.  Godfrey  Sykes — A  Versatile  and  Remark- 
able Man — The  Yarn  of  the  Hilda — A  Quick  Transformation 
Scene  on  a  Desolate  Shore — A  Foot-Race  with  Death — Impassable 
Mountains — Seven  Hard-Tack  for  160  Miles — A  Tough  Coyote — 
A  Fish  in  Time — Swimming  the  Colorado — A  Bean-Pot  at  Last — 
The  End  of  Charlie  McLean. 

As  previously  intimated,  our  Official  Geographer,  Mr. 
Godfrey  Sykes,  was  a  man  of  remarkable  personality. 
Take  him  anywhere  outside  the  purlieus  of  a  modern 
city,  and  there  are  few  things  that  he  cannot  be  and  do. 
He  has  the  skill  and  experience  of  mature  manhood,  the 
strength  and  energy  of  youth,  the  knowledge  of  a  man  who 
has  travelled  and  done  much,  and  the  spotless  manners  of 
an  Arizona  Chesterfield.  Until  I  saw  him  on  the  desert, 
I  had  thought  that  Dr.  MacDougal  was  under  a  Sykesian 
spell;  for  I  could  not  figure  out  how  one  man  of  this  earth 
could  combine  in  his  ope  self  as  many  desirable  qualities 
as  G.  S.  was  said  to  possess. 

I  entered  the  orbit  of  the  Arizona  Wonder  rather 
prejudiced,  but  Mr.  Phillips  and  I  now  agree  that  the 
Paragon  is  the  real  thing,  unique  and  sui  generis.  The 
only  fault  in  him  is  that  in  the  deserts  he  will  go  hatless, 

with  the  sun  beating  down  upon  his  head  until  it  makes 

291 


CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

all  other  heads  ache  to  see  it!  His  scalp  is  now  the  colour 
of  fried  bacon,  and  his  thin,  curly  thatch  of  hair  looks  as 
if  it  had  been  baked  to  a  crisp — which  it  has.  But  of 
this  he  recks  not,  provided  the  mountains  to  be  climbed 
and  the  craters  to  be  descended  are  sufficiently  numerous 
to  keep  him  from  becoming  burdened  with  "ongwe." 

Mr.  Sykes  is  an  Englishman,  but  not  at  all  of  the 
comic-paper  type.  His  H's  are  so  securely  lashed  that 
none  ever  go  adrift,  and  his  command  of  the  mother  tongue 
is  to  his  listeners  a  source  of  delight.  Professionally  he 
is  an  engineer,  and  it  was  he  who  was  kindly  loaned  by 
Dr.  MacDougal  to  the  Solar  Observatory  at  Pasadena  to 
build  a  practicable  road  up  a  steep  mountain  to  the  seat 
of  war  after  other  engineers  had  balked  at  both  the  sum 
available  and  the  time  limit.  Mr.  Sykes  drew  the  plans, 
hired  Japanese  labourers,  bossed  them,  and  the  work  was 
triumphantly  carried  through,  on  time. 

At  Yuma,  Mr.  Sykes  built  a  boat  for  the  Desert 
Botanical  Laboratory,  which  has  successfully  navigated 
the  treacherous  waters  of  the  lower  Colorado,  and  the 
head  of  the  Gulf.  By  the  same  token,  he  previously  built 
at  Yuma  a  rather  presuming  little  sloop,  called  the  Hilda, 
which  promptly  came  within  an  ace  of  undoing  both  him- 
self and  his  partner  in  the  seafaring  business. 

I  had  collected  from  the  Doctor  various  interesting 
fragments  of  that  story,  and  patiently  bided  my  time.  It 
was  while  in  camp  at  the  Papago  Tanks  that  the  narrow 
margin  of  time  between  the  consumption  of  ten  solid 
pounds  of  fried  mountain-sheep  steaks  and  bedtime 
offered  the  opportunity  which  we  had  stealthily  awaited. 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  HILDA  293 

To  talk  about  the  Gulf  of  California,  which  all  day  had 
lain  level  and  shimmering  under  our  eyes,  was  natural 
and  easy;  and  a  timely  mention  of  "Puerto  San  Felipe," 
as  it  is  marked  on  the  maps,  led  to  vigourous  remarks  from 
the  Geographer. 

"Nothing  could  be  more  ridiculous,"  said  he  with 
much  energy,  "than  that  fake  port.  From  the  name  on 
the  map,  anyone  would  expect  to  find  a  town  there,  or  at 
least  a  settlement  of  some  kind.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there 
is  neither  port,  nor  settlement,  nor  even  a  hut;  and  there 
is  not  a  soul  within  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  There  once 
was  an  empty  tin  can,  but  my  partner  and  I  took  that 
away  with  us  when  we  hiked  northward  to  reach  a  settle- 
ment while  we  had  strength  enough  to  travel.  I  tell  you, 
that  name  on  the  map  is  dangerously  misleading,  and  some 
day  it  may  cost  the  life  of  some  poor  castaway  who  strug- 
gles to  it,  thinking  to  find  a  settlement." 

That  was  the  psychological  moment;  and  with  one 
voice  several  of  us  demanded  to  know  all  about  the  burn- 
ing of  the  Hilda,  and  its  consequences — which  the  Doctor 
always  gently  spoke  of  as  "a  might-tee  close  call  for  Sykes ! " 
The  Geographer  was  in  the  right  mood,  and  forthwith 
told  us  this  story,  word  for  word,  as  here  set  down. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  it  is  now  about  seventeen  years  ago 
that  I  joined  in  with  a  husky  Scotchman  named  Charlie 
McLean.  At  Yuma  we  built  ourselves  a  very  good  little 
sea  boat,  twenty-seven  feet  long,  half  decked  over  and 
schooner  rigged.  We  decided  to  sail  down  the  Colorado 
to  the  Gulf  of  California,  then  on  down  to  the  west  coast 
of  Central  America  and  after  that  to  wherever  the  Fates 


294       CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

might  direct  us.  We  took  in  plenty  of  provisions,  and  as 
we  ran  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  Colorado,  into  the  head  of 
the  Gulf,  the  world  looked  very  much  like  our  oyster. 

"The  tides  in  the  head  of  the  Gulf  are  very  heavy,  and 
we  put  in  a  week  or  so  playing  with  them,  before  heading 
down  the  Gulf.  Finally  we  decided  to  go  down  on  the 
Peninsula  side,  and  cross  the  Gulf  lower  down. 

"One  evening  we  ran  into  a  little  inlet  near  Fermin 
Point,  and  camped  on  shore  behind  a  low  ridge  of  sand 
that  had  blown  up  parallel  with  the  shore.  It  was  a  rough, 
windy  evening,  with  the  wind  blowing  half  a  gale;  and 
with  a  piece  of  canvas  we  rigged  up  a  small  shelter-tent 
to  keep  the  sand  out  of  our  eyes,  and  out  of  the  bean-pot. 

"As  it  began  to  grow  dark,  I  went  down  to  the  boat  to 
light  our  lantern.  It  was  one  of  those  old-fashioned  rail- 
road lanterns,  that  can't  be  trimmed  without  pulling  out 
the  whole  bottom.  I  fiddled  and  fussed  with  it  for  quite 
a  while,  under  the  forrad  deck  of  the  Hilda,  out  of  the 
wind,  striking  a  number  of  matches;  and,  as  I  now  sup- 
pose, I  dropped  some  of  the  burning  ends  while  struggling 
to  get  the  light  to  suit  me. 

"The  tide  was  out,  and  the  boat  lay  high  and  dry  on 
the  sand.  I  suppose  one  of  my  burning  match-ends  fell 
upon  something  burnable.  But  I  didn't  know  it  at  the 
time,  and  went  back  to  our  camp-fire. 

"Half  an  hour  later,  as  we  chanced  to  look  seaward 
over  the  top  of  the  sand  ridge,  we  saw  a  glare  of  light,  and 
heard  the  popping  of  cartridges.  We  rushed  for  the 
boat,  but  found  very  little  left  of  it,  and  none  of  our  pro- 
visions. Our  can  of  kerosene  had  melted  open,  and  all 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  HILDA  295 

that  was  left  of  the  boat  was  pretty  well  covered  with  the 
best  fire-maker  in  the  world,  and  burning  fiercely.  Our 
water-cask,  however,  was  still  safe,  and  we  threw  wet  sand 
upon  it  until  the  fire  around  it  was  smothered.  It  was 
absolutely  the  only  thing  that  we  saved  from  that  boat! 

"Well,  it  didn't  take  much  reflection  for  us  to  see  that 
we  were  in  a  first-class  fix.  We  knew  that  southward  the 
nearest  settlement  was  at  least  two  hundred  miles  away, 
and  no  water  between.  Northward,  the  nearest  settle- 
ment was  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away,  on  the 
Colorado  River;  but  between  it  and  us  lay  a  great  alluvial 
desert  plain,  cut  up  by  numerous  creeks  and  arms  of  the 
river,  some  of  which  would  be  very  difficult  to  cross. 

"We  took  an  account  of  stock,  and  found  that  we  had, 
of  provisions,  a  pot  of  beans,  thirteen  hard-tack  biscuits 
and  one  go  of  coffee  in  the  coffee-pot.  That  was  abso- 
lutely all! 

"Our  guns  and  cartridges  had  all  been  burned  up,  with 
the  exception  of  a  little  sawed-off  2o-gauge  muzzle-loading 
shotgun.  This  grand  weapon  was  one  that  somebody  had 
given  to  Charlie  to  use  in  killing  small  birds,  and  for  it  we 
had  exactly  two  loads.  We  also  had  some  blankets,  my 
sextant,  a  chart,  a  boat  compass,  field-glasses  and  some 
tools.  Among  the  tools  was  a  soldering-iron  and  some 
solder;  and  so  in  the  morning,  when  we  had  looked  things 
over,  I  took  the  tin  lining  out  of  our  water-tight  locker  and 
made  a  couple  of  canteens.  They  were  pretty  rough,  but 
they  held  water,  and  afterward  served  us  mighty  well. 
I  don't  see  how  by  any  possibility  we  could  have  pulled 
through  without  them. 


296        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

"After  long  and  careful  figuring,  and  calculating  our 
chances,  we  decided  to  cross  the  Peninsula,  and  make  our 
way  to  the  west  coast,  where  we  knew  there  were  some 
settlements.  Back  of  us  lay  a  strip  of  low  country  about 
six  or  eight  miles  wide,  and  then  the  high  mountains  began. 
We  filled  our  canteens  with  water,  took  the  compass, 
chart,  sextant,  the  blankets,  beans  and  hard-tack,  and 
started  westward  for  the  mountains. 

"We  reached  the  foot  of  the  range,  and  spent  a  whole 
day  in  trying  to  make  our  way  up  the  face  of  it;  but  I 
tell  you  those  are  the  most  straight-up-and-down  moun- 
tains that  you  ever  saw.  It  was  nearly,  if  not  quite,  im- 
possible to  climb  up  that  fearful  eastern  wall — at  least 
where  we  were.  At  last  we  decided  that  rather  than  use 
up  our  time  and  strength  in  such  a  fearful  struggle  as  that 
was,  with  mighty  doubtful  results,  we  had  better  go  back 
to  our  water-cask,  fill  our  canteens  again  and  try  for  the 
settlements  on  the  Colorado.  We  therefore  ate  up  the 
remnant  of  our  beans,  hung  the  empty  pot  on  a  dead  iron- 
wood  tree — where  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  to-night — and  the 
next  morning  went  back  to  the  remains  of  the  Hilda.  It 
was  then  quite  clear  that  our  only  chance  lay  in  reaching  a 
settlement  on  the  lower  Colorado. 

"That  night  we  made  some  small  cakes  out  of  a  small 
handful  of  flour — soaked  in  kerosene — that  we  found  under 
some  wet  sand  in  a  corner  of  the  burned  boat. 

"On  the  third  morning  we  set  out  northward  along 
the  coast.  We  had  seven  hard-tack  each,  with  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty  miles  of  foot  travel  ahead  of  us  before  we 
could  reach  the  Colonia  Lerdo,  above  the  head  of  tide- 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  HILDA  297 

water  on  the  Colorado  River.  That  was  the  nearest 
prospect  of  another  dip  into  a  bean-pot;  and  it  seemed 
a  mighty  long  way  off! 

"The  water  question  was  our  chief  worry.  We 
thought  we  might  make  between  twenty  and  twenty-five 
miles  a  day  over  the  sandy  country  that  we  would  have  to 
cross,  and  get  on  fairly  well  on  one  hard-tack  apiece  each 
day;  but  a  gallon  of  water  per  man  each  day  seemed  a 
mighty  slim  allowance.  However,  things  turned  out 
better  than  we  had  expected.  On  the  morning  of  the 
third  day  out  from  our  boat,  when  we  were  rounding  the 
bottom  of  San  Felipe  Bay,  we  saw  a  coyote  trail  running 
into  a  small,  brushy  flat.  Believing  that  it  led  to  water,  we 
followed  it,  and  found  a  small  well,  or  spring,  of  good, 
wholesome  water.  This  watering-place  had  been  known 
to  the  seal-hunters  and  others  for  a  long  time,  and  we  had 
heard  of  it  in  Yuma,  but  no  one  had  been  able  to  give  us 
definite  information  about  it. 

"We  remained  there  all  that  day.  On  the  rocks 
along  the  shore  we  found  lots  of  oysters — and  I  tell  you 
they  were  might-tee  good!  I  really  doubt  whether  we 
could  have  pulled  through  without  them.  Charlie  had 
a  fish-hook  in  an  outlying  pocket,  and  with  it  he  tried  to 
catch  a  fish;  but  it  was  no  go. 

"That  night  as  we  lay  in  our  blankets,  near  the  spring, 
I  felt  something  tugging  at  my  toe,  and  looked  out.  It 
was  bright  moonlight,  almost  as  light  as  day;  and  there 
was  a  coyote,  trying  to  steal  my  blanket. 

"That  was  his  undoing.  I  roused  Charlie,  who  still 
carried  his  little  shotgun  with  its  two  loads.  Up  to  that 


298        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

time  we  had  not  seen  a  single  living  thing  sufficiently  near 
that  it  could  be  shot.  The  coyote  didn't  seem  to  mind  in 
the  least  our  speaking  or  rustling  around,  but  just  stood 
and  looked  at  us,  much  as  a  dog  might  do.  After  a  little 
trouble  with  a  damp  cap,  and  a  hunt  in  his  pockets  for 
another,  Charlie  finally  made  out  to  shoot  that  coyote; 
and  as  it  was  nearly  daylight  we  got  up,  skinned  him  and 
cooked  a  hind  leg  over  the  coals  of  the  camp-fire. 

"That  was  positively  the  rankest  thing  in  the  shape 
of  meat  that  I  ever  tackled.  Even  with  oyster  sauce  it 
was  almost  uneatable.  Apparently  our  dead  friend  had 
lived  exclusively  upon  a  fish  diet,  and  spoiled  fish  at  that. 
Although  we  ate  all  that  leg,  burned  the  other  one  almost 
to  a  crisp,  took  it  along  to  gnaw  upon,  and  tried  to  make 
the  best  of  it,  I  am  bound  to  say  that  from  that  day  to  this 
I  never  have  enjoyed  broiled  coyote  as  an  article  of  diet. 

"In  the  lower  part  of  San  Felipe  Bay  we  found  the 
wreck  of  a  little  schooner,  lying  on  the  beach,  and  near 
it  we  also  found  the  remains  of  two  rusty  tin  cans.  Those 
we  filled  with  oysters  and  started  on  northward. 

"For  thirty  miles  below  the  mouth  of  the  Colorado 
River  the  western  coast  is  very  flat,  soft  and  muddy.  The 
heavy  tides  flood  the  country  for  miles  back  from  the  shore 
of  the  Gulf.  This  we  had  discovered  on  our  way  down. 
We  now  were  compelled  to  steer  a  course  toward  the  west- 
ward mountains,  and  keep  close  to  the  foot-hills  until 
sufficiently  far  north  to  strike  across  eastward  for  Hardy's 
Colorado,  the  nearest  fresh  water  that  we  were  sure  about. 

"  It  took  us  four  days  of  pretty  hard  pegging  to  make 
that  stretch.  Our  rule  was  to  march  fifty  minutes  of  every 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  HILDA  299 

hour  and  rest  ten  minutes,  and  we  adhered  to  it  quite 
closely.  I  think  it  was  very  wise.  I  used  the  chart  and 
compass  to  steer  by,  sighting  on  the  mountain  peaks. 
The  low  country  was  so  obscured  by  haze  and  mirage  that 
it  was  very  difficult  to  navigate  without,  mistakes.  When 
at  last  I  decided  that  it  was  time  to  turn  east  toward 
Hardy,  our  canteens  were  about  dry.  With  our  knives  we 
punched  a  little  hole  in  the  lower  corner  of  each,  drained 
out  the  last  drops  of  water  into  the  particular  parts  of 
our  throats  that  seemed  to  be  dryest,  then  laid  down  the 
canteens  for  the  next  wayfarer  in  those  flats  who  might 
need  them. 

"We  reached  the  Hardy  about  on  schedule  time,  and 
we  took  two  of  the  longest  and  wettest  drinks  on  record. 
It  seemed  as  if  we  had  never  before  known  what  it  was  to 
be  thirsty.  After  that  we  began  to  cast  about  for  some- 
thing that  we  could  eat,  but  there  really  seemed  to  be 
nothing  doing  in  that  line.  Charlie  dug  up  his  fish-hook 
once  more,  and  with  a  piece  of  twine  we  set  a  night-line. 
We  baited  it  with  a  big,  fat  and  most  edible-looking  grass- 
hopper. It  seemed  a  pity  to  gamble  the  hopper  on  the 
remote  chance  of  winning  a  fish,  but  like  real  sports  we 
decided  to  risk  it. 

"The  result  justified  our  sportiness;  for  the  next 
morning,  when  we  looked  over  the  edge  of  the  bank,  we 
saw  a  fine,  large  mullet  lying  on  the  mud,  waiting  for  us. 
Now,  as  far  as  I  know,  the  mullet  is  a  fish  that  don't  take 
a  hook  at  all;  but  that  one  had  managed  to  get  himself 
hooked  in  the  gills,  and  the  tide  had  gone  out  and  left  him 
high  and  dry. 


^ 
' 

. 

. 


300        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

"Charlie  made  a  dive  for  him  over  the  edge  of  the 
bank,  and  I  always  accused  him  of  trying  to  catch  that 
fish  in  his  teeth,  for  he  came  up  with  his  face  covered  with 
mud.  We  rolled  the  mullet  on  the  grass,  gloated  over  him, 
daubed  clay  on  him,  warmed  him  for  a  few  minutes  over 
our  camp-fire,  then  being  utterly  unable  to  wait  any  longer, 
we  fell  to  and  had  a  very  fine  fish  breakfast. 

"We  crossed  the  Hardy,  and  headed  into  the  tule 
and  wild-flax  brakes  toward  the  Colonia  Lerdo.  It  took 
us  two  days  to  make  the  river,  for  we  were  then  getting 
weak,  and  it  was  mighty  hard  work  pushing  through  those 
marshes.  At  last,  however,  we  reached  the  west  bank  of 
the  Colorado,  at  a  point  a  few  miles  below  the  colony, 
but  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  river;  and  it  was  a  case  of 
swim  or  starve.  The  river  was  wide,  and  the  currents 
were  mighty  uncertain.  We  were  afraid  to  tackle  it  with 
our  clothes  on,  and  without  a  raft. 

"We  burned  off  some  small  dead  willow  trees,  then 
burned  them  into  lengths,  and  with  our  fish  twine,  some 
bark  and  osiers  we  made  a  little  raft,  large  enough  to  carry 
our  clothes  and  blankets,  and  other  plunder. 

"The  water  seemed  awfully  cold,  but  we  had  to  stand 
it.  Fortunately,  we  were  both  of  us  fairly  good  swimmers, 
and  we  pushed  the  little  raft  ahead  of  us  very  successfully. 
After  a  long  pull  we  reached  the  other  side  and  landed  on  a 
comfortable  sand-bar.  After  that  our  troubles  soon  came 
to  an  end.  We  soon  found  an  old  cattle-trail,  and  after 
following  it  about  three  miles  we  reached  the  colony. 

"In  the  camp  of  a  couple  of  Americans  who  were 
down  in  that  country  hunting  wild  hogs  we  found  a  pot  of 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  HILDA  301 

freshly  cooked  beans.  I  don't  like  to  think  how  many 
we  ate;  but  I  know  that  in  the  middle  of  the  night  I  got 
up  to  have  a  few  more.  Before  I  knew  it  I  had  finished 
the  pot,  and  was  wishing  for  more.  Talk  about  hunger! 
It  took  us  a  whole  week  to  get  enough! 

"We  rested  one  day  at  the  colony,  then  headed  up 
for  Yuma,  which  was  about  seventy-five  miles  away.  The 
road  was  fair,  and  there  were  several  watering-places,  so 
we  got  on  finely,  and  soon  reached  the  metropolis  of  the 
Colorado  desert. 

"Poor  Charlie  McLean  was  afterward  drowned  in 
the  Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado.  Two  of  us  made  a 
trip  of  thirty  miles  down  through  the  rapids,  to  recover 
his  body,  but  we  never  found  it.  He  was  a  mighty  good 
fellow,  was  Charlie." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

NOTES  ON  THE  MAMMALS  BETWEEN  TUCSON  AND  THE  GULF 

Desert  Conditions — The  Pack-Rat  and  Its  Wonderful  Nests — The 
Kangaroo  Rat — Harris's  Chipmunk — No  Arboreal  Squirrels — Jack- 
Rabbit  and  Cotton-Tail — The  Coyote — Prong-Horned  Antelope — 
Deer — Peccary. 

IN  one  respect,  the  wild  beasts  of  the  field  are  like 
civilized  men.  They  insist  upon  living  wherever  Nature 
affords  them  the  slightest  foothold.  So  long  as  the  world 
stands,  the  smoky-faced  Eskimo  will  shiver  and  starve 
in  his  beloved  Greenland,  the  Congo  pygmy  will  grope 
through  the  gloom  and  fever  of  his  equatorial  forest,  and 
the  Bedouin  will  gasp  and  sweat  on  his  blistering  sands. 
Give  a  man  a  fixed  annuity  of  bread  and  butter,  and  he  will 
not  ask  for  immunity  from  anything.  If  the  first  applicant 
does  not  accept  the  bread,  the  butter  and  the  situation, 
of  a  surety  the  second  one  will. 

Like  the  creosote  bush,  the  mesquite,  palo  verde  and 
the  cacti,  certain  animals  have  decided  that  the  deserts 
offer  an  opportunity  for  life,  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of 
happiness  that  is  not  to  be  ignored.  Much  saving  grace 
lies  in  the  "pursuit."  The  wonder  is  not  there  is  so  little 
animal  life  on  the  deserts,  but  rather  that  there  is  so  much. 
Now,  were  I  a  kangaroo  rat,  the  awful  heat  and  thirst  of 

the  arid  region  generally  would  at  once  drive  me  to  the 

302 


NOTES  ON  MAMMALS  303 

vicinity  of  Manhattan,  Kansas,  where  everything  is  lovely, 
except  the  Kansas  River  on  a  rampage. 

The  jack-rabbit,  the  cotton-tail,  the  pack-rat,  kan- 
garoo rat,  chipmunk  and  coyote  have  elected  to  locate  and 
live  in  the  deserts,  partly  because  they  think  it  is  to  their 
best  interests  to  do  so,  and  also  because  they  enjoy  it. 
Long  before  civilized  man  began  his  relentless  persecution 
of  the  beasts  of  the  field  and  the  fowls  of  the  air,  they 
moved  in  and  took  possession,  to  grow  up  with  the  country. 
Excepting  the  large  game,  I  think  that  thus  far  civilized 
man  has  made  but  little  impression  upon  them;  and  that 
is  one  of  the  reasons  why  they  are  so  interesting.  I  hope 
that  some  day  some  keen  and  truthful  naturalist  will  go 
into  the  deserts  and  up  to  the  mountain-tops  of  our  de- 
voted country,  spend  time  and  really  find  out  how  our 
small  neighbours  live,  all  the  year  round. 

To  my  mind,  the  "  Pack-Rat,"  or,  to  be  quite  specific, 
the  White-Throated  Wood-Rat,*  is  the  most  interesting 
four-footed  creature  of  the  deserts  which  we  traversed. 
We  had  him  with  us  all  the  way  from  Dr.  MacDougal's 
Desert  Botanical  Garden  at  Tucson  quite  up  to  the  lava 
peaks  of  Pinacate.  Judging  by  the  wide  intervals  between 
his  nests,  he  must  be  a  great  traveller.  The  nests  were 
by  no  means  numerous,  and  as  we  saw  them,  they  seemed 
to  average  nearly  five  miles  apart.  Will  someone  tell  us 
whether  this  animal  sometimes  migrates  all  alone,  and 
nests  for  a  period  in  single  blessedness,  or  whether  they 
always  pioneer  in  pairs  ?  In  view  of  the  distances  by 
which  Pack-Rat  nests  are  separated,  we  should  like  to 

*Neotoma  albigula. 


3°4 


CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 


know  the  habits  of  the  animal  in  its  marriage  relations. 
In  the  deserts  and  lava  a  Pack-Rat's  nest  very  often  is 
developed  into  a  formidable  affair.  When  choya  joints 
are  plentiful  and  cheap,  it  becomes  a  regular  fortress,  im- 
pregnable to  coyote,  fox  and  even  the  naked  hands  of  man. 
Let  us  consider  the  very  first  rat  fortress  that  we  met  with 
in  Arizona: 

It  was  in  the  level  plain  surrounding  the  base  of  the 


Small  Creosote 
Bush 


Length   shown,  15  feet. 
Large  Creosote  Bush 


Abandoned  holes 


WT.tf 


Fortress  of  a  Pack-Rat,  at  Tucson. 

Defended  by  the  spiny  joints  of  the  Tree  Choya  (Opunlia  fulgida). 

Botanical  Laboratory  mountain,  at  Tucson.  Usually  the 
desert  nest  of  this  animal  consists  of  a  two-bushel  heap  of 
dry  sticks,  horse  droppings,  small  stones  or  choya  joints, 
according  to  availability.  This  one  was  of  very  particular 
interest  because  of  the  oddity  of  the  scheme  that  the  little 
beast  had  worked  out. 

The  fortress  consisted  of  several  burrows,  the  roads 
leading  to  which  were  all  carefully  protected  by  barriers  of 
cactus  joints! 


NOTES  ON  MAMMALS  305 

I  am  going  to  describe  and  map  what  Dr.  MacDougal, 
Mr.  Phillips  and  I  saw,  and  leave  the  Reader  to  draw  his 
own  conclusions.  On  the  spot  I  drew  a  map  of  the  whole 
affair;  and  when  it  was  finished  it  was  submitted  to  my 
companions  for  inspection,  and  comparison  with  the 
original.  They  examined  it  with  some  care,  and  said  that 
it  fairly  represented  the  situation.  A  fac-simile  is  repro- 
duced herewith. 

The  habitant  had  chosen  to  make  his  fortress  between 
a  large  creosote  bush  and  a  tree-choya  cactus  (Opuntia 
fulgida)  that  grew  on  bare  ground,  twelve  feet  apart. 
When  away  from  home  and  in  danger,  the  Pack-Rat  evi- 
dently fled  for  safety  to  one  or  the  other  of  those  outposts. 
Between  them  four  entrance  holes,  then  in  use,  went  down 
into  the  earth;  and  there  were  also  four  abandoned  holes. 

Connecting  the  two  outposts — the  creosote  bush  and 
the  choya — with  the  holes  that  were  in  daily  use  there 
were  some  much-used  runways,  as  shown  on  the  map; 
and  each  side  of  each  runway  was  barricaded  throughout 
its  length  with  spiny  joints  of  the  choya.  A  few  of  the 
joints  were  old  and  dry,  but  the  majority  were  fresh  and 
in  full  vigour.  We  estimated  that  about  three  hundred 
cactus  joints  were  in  use  guarding  those  runways;  and  no 
coyote  or  fox  of  my  acquaintance,  nor  eke  a  dog  of  any 
sense,  would  rashly  jump  upon  that  spiny  pavement  to 
capture  any  rat. 

Beyond  the  cactus  outpost  the  main  run  led  straight 
to  the  sheltering  base  of  a  thick  mesquite  bush  and  a  palo 
verde  that  grew  tightly  together.  This  gave  an  additional 
ten  feet  of  safe  ground,  or  about  twenty-five  feet  in  all. 


3o6        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

And  yet  there  are  men  claiming  to  know  things  about 
the  intelligence  of  animals  who  will  assert  in  print  that  the 
four-footed  animals  are  mere  living  machines,  of  no  intelli- 
gence save  in  inherited  knowledge,  and  unable  to  reason 
from  cause  to  effect!  Such  views  are  held  only  by  men 
who  know  very  little  of  the  wild  animals  of  the  world, 
either  in  their  haunts  or  in  captivity,  and  they  are  not 
worthy  of  serious  discussion. 

During  our  desert  journeyings  we  saw  about  twelve 
nests  of  the  Pack-Rat.  I  expected  to  find  them  absent 
from  the  lava  region  around  Pinacate,  but,  no!  they  had 
persistently  pushed  up  almost  to  the  base  of  the  ultimate 
cone.  We  took  photographs  of  three  or  four,  to  show  the 
various  types. 

Wherever  choya  joints  were  available,  they  were  freely 
used,  and  sometimes  they  constituted  the  sole  building 
material.  Once  while  trying  to  shoot  a  mountain  sheep, 
Mr.  Phillips  had  a  most  disagreeable  fall  into  a  large  rat's 
nest  made  of  choya  joints.  His  legs  and  hands  gathered 
so  many  spiny  joints  that  he  was  entirely  unable  to  use  his 
rifle,  and  the  sheep  escaped. 

When  choya  joints  are  unavailable,  the  Pack-Rat 
makes  its  nest  of  dry  sticks  and  other  things.  The  estab- 
lishment which  I  photographed  on  our  way  south  from 
Wall's  Well  was  of  that  kind.  The  site  had  been  chosen 
where  five  or  six  rather  large  stones  lay  near  together,  and 
it  seemed  to  us  they  were  intended  to  render  successful 
digging  by  a  coyote  an  impossibility.  The  mass  was 
five  feet  long,  three  feet  wide  and  two  feet  high.  It  con- 
sisted of  dry  sticks  from  mesquite  and  creosote  bushes, 


NOTES  ON  MAMMALS  307 

and  choya  joints;  and  it  had  four  entrances,  all  facing 
the  south.  It  is  the  way  of  the  Pack-Rat  to  use  in  its 
nest  almost  any  loose  material  that  conies  handy — except 
grass!  The  latter  it  carefully  avoids — quite  as  if  aware 
of  the  fact  that  such  inflammable  material  is  not  a  good 
fire  risk. 

The  White-Throated  Pack-Rat  is  about  twelve  inches 
in  length,  of  which  the  tail  is  one-half.  It  is  larger  and 
darker  than  the  species  farther  west  and  also  those  farther 
east.  Its  upper  body  colour  is  a  mixture  of  gray  and  light- 
brown  tones,  touched  up  with  black,  while  its  under  parts 
and  feet  are  white.  Its  range  extends,  so  'tis  said,  all  the 
way  from  western  Texas  to  the  Colorado  River,  and  there- 
in I  venture  to  say  it  is  the  most  notable  mammal  below 
the  size  of  a  rabbit.  It  is  eaten  by  the  western  red-tailed 
hawk,  the  coyote,  the  skunk  and  the  Indian.  Any  hungry 
pioneer  or  prospector  might  devour  it  with  as  proper  a 
sense  of  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  as  people  manifest 
when  they  eat  the  smelly  flesh  of  squirrels. 

The  beautiful  little  Desert  Kangaroo  Rat*  is  a  habitant 
of  the  deserts  only  where  there  is  sand,  or  earth  sufficiently 
free  from  rock  and  gravel  that  his  tiny  little  paws  can  win 
through  it.  He  can  live  only  where  he  can  excavate,  and 
carry  up  the  material  in  his  funny  little  hair-lined  cheek- 
pouches.  Inasmuch  as  each  cheek-pouch  holds,  when 
loaded  full,  only  half  a  teaspoonful  of  sand,  it  is  quite 
certain  that  the  industry  of  Dipodomys  is  really  very  great. 
With  the  camp  shovel  I  once  dug  into  the  sandy  Gibraltar 
of  a  Kangaroo  Rat,  and  endeavoured  to  size  up  the  plans 

*  Dipodomys  deserti. 


3o8        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

and  purposes  of  the  small  architect.  Although  I  chose  a 
home  ranch  which  occupied  the  entire  top  of  a  tiny  natural 
mound,  the  sand  was  so  loose,  and  caved  in  so  persistently, 
that  my  best  efforts  resulted  in  but  a  hazy  impression.  It 
was  quite  impossible  to  make  a  map  of  the  premises. 

The  dominant  principle  of  a  Kangaroo  Rat's  burrow 
is  a  bewildering  labyrinth  of  large  galleries,  all  connecting 
with  one  another,  and  with  holes  for  ingress  and  egress  on 
six  or  eight  sides.  Thus,  no  matter  what  be  the  direction 
from  which  Dipodomys  flees  homeward  from  an  enemy, 
there  is  always  a  door  ready  to  welcome  him;  and  no 
matter  which  side  of  his  fortress  may  be  entered  by  a 
dangerous  marauder,  he  can  always  fly  out  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

The  entrance  holes  are  from  two  to  four  inches  in 
diameter,  but  the  internal  galleries  are  much  larger,  vary- 
ing all  the  way  from  five  to  eight  or  ten  inches.  The 
worst  thing  about  them  is  their  nearness  to  the  surface. 
The  roof  of  the  average  tunnel  is  only  about  six  inches 
down,  although  they  vary  down  to  sixteen;  and  in  clear 
sand  both  horses  and  men  are  continually  breaking 
through  into  the  galleries.  Whether  riding  or  walking,  to 
be  continually  dropping  with  a  jerk  into  big  holes  is  far 
from  pleasant.  After  half  an  hour  of  such  pitfall  work 
it  begins  to  abrade  one's  nerves,  and  makes  the  victim 
wish  that  Dipodomys  would  either  dig  deeper  or  depart 
to  a  much  warmer  clime.  Once  when  I  was  dragging  and 
carrying  a  pack-mule  load  of  firewood  across  a  sandy  plain, 
and  suddenly  plunged  almost  to  my  equator  into  a  Kan- 
garoo Rat's  burrow,  Mr.  Phillips  thought  it  very  amusing, 


NOTES  ON  MAMMALS  309 

and  ha-hahed,  and  wished  for  his  camera;  but  I  saw 
nothing  funny  about  it. 

There  is  one  thing  about  Dipodomys  which  can  be 
predicated  as  a  fairly  immutable  certainty.  If  he  doesn't 
get  water  by  lapping  up  the  dew,  or  occasionally  the  rain, 
he  doesn't  drink  at  all!  It  is  very  certain  that  none  of  the 
burrowing  rodents  of  the  desert  sands  patronize  the  water- 
holes  or  the  wells,  for  they  have  no  means  of  reaching 
either.  Rain  or  no  rain,  they  must  stand  pat,  and  either 
extract  moisture  from  their  environment,  or  go  dry.  I 
think  the  heavy  dew  is  the  answer  for  them,  but  that  would 
hardly  seem  sufficient  for  the  mountain  sheep,  antelope 
and  other  hoofed  animals. 

I  feel  sure  that  the  roots  of  the  creosote  bush  must 
furnish  the  Kangaroo  Rat  with  acceptable  food;  for  other- 
wise, how  could  thousands  of  those  small  sprites  exist  in 
such  a  stretch  of  desert  as  that  north-eastward  of  the  Cerro 
Colorado,  whereon  there  is  absolutely  no  living  plant  or 
shrub  save  the  creosote  ?  It  was  there  that  the  burrow 
mounds — each  one  surrounding  an  individual  creosote 
bush — were  so  thick  that  there  never  were  fewer  than  five 
in  sight  at  one  time.  The  stems  of  the  bushes  were  not 
gnawed,  and  therefore,  by  elimination,  we  may  reach  the 
conclusion  that  the  roots  are  fed  upon.  Unfortunately, 
there  was  no  time  to  catch  a  specimen  and  investigate. 
In  other  places  the  burrows  were  thick  in  sandy  spots 
wholly  monopolized  by  galleta  grass;  and  undoubtedly 
that  plant  fed  Dipodomys. 

It  is  unfortunate  that  the  Kangaroo  Rat  is  so  strictly 
nocturnal.  Were  it  like  the  sociable  little  chipmunk,  we 


3io        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

would  have  seen  hundreds,  perhaps  thousands,  of  them; 
but  as  they  are,  we  saw  only  two.  That  was  at  night, 
when  we  were  in  camp  at  Child's  Well,  the  last  water  on 
the  road  up  to  Gila  Bend.  After  supper,  as  we  sat 
quietly  and  reminiscently  around  the  camp-fire,  we  were 
all  suddenly  hushed  by  seeing  a  little  white  ghost  glide  out 
from  under  the  wagon,  within  five  feet  of  Frank  Coles,  and 
pause  near  a  bag  of  barley.  I  was  astounded  at  seeing  how 
very  white  it  looked  in  the  semi-darkness  beyond  our  circle. 

The  little  chap  seemed  quite  indifferent  to  us,  and  went 
about  his  business  of  picking  up  grains  of  barley,  and 
stowing  them  in  his  cheek-pouches,  as  calmly  as  if  we  had 
been  logs  of  wood.  Presently  another  came;  and  we 
watched  the  pair,  spellbound.  Not  once  did  either  of 
them  stand  up  on  its  hind  legs  to  survey  its  small 
world,  but  went  on  its  four  feet,  as  other  mice  do.  Al- 
though they  are  called  Kangaroo  Rats,  physically  they  are 
not  in  the  rat  class  at  all.  They  are  distinctly  feather- 
weight. A  full-grown  male  is  only  about  twice  the  size 
of  a  house  mouse. 

In  captivity,  a  Kangaroo  Rat  lived  in  the  Zoological 
Park  for  nearly  three  years.  It  was  fed  on  the  dryest  of 
food,  very  rarely  drank  water,  and  as  an  exhibition  animal 
it  was  a  total  failure.  It  never  willingly  showed  itself  in 
the  daytime,  but  at  night  it  came  out  of  the  concealment 
of  its  hay,  and  became  quite  lively. 

Along  the  banks  of  dry  arroyos,  swiftly  darting  in  and 
out  of  the  mesquite  clumps,  we  occasionally  saw  the  Harris 
Antelope  Squirrel*  In  form,  size  and  habits  it  is  a  desert 

*  Ammospermophilus  harrisi. 


NOTES  ON  MAMMALS  311 

chipmunk,  no  more  and  no  less  than  a  pale-gray  relative 
of  the  common  eastern  chipmunk.  We  never  saw  it  away 
from  the  banks  of  arroyos,  where  the  greatest  variety  of 
plant  life  is  to  be  found.  It  seemed  to  be  a  species  of  rare 
occurrence,  and  I  think  that  throughout  our  four  hundred 
miles  of  overland  travel  we  saw  altogether  only  ten  or 
twelve  specimens.  Our  first  specimen  was  taken  at  Hayes 
Well,  Coyote  Mountain,  and  the  last  one  seen  was  near 
Agua  Dulce,  in  the  Sonoyta  Valley.  Length,  five  and  one- 
half  plus  two  and  one-half  inches. 

Of  arboreal  squirrels,  belonging  to  the  genus  Scuirus, 
we  saw  not  one,  and  I  doubt  whether  one  can  be  found 
between  Tucson  and  the  Gulf  of  California.  The  reason 
is  not  obscure.  Save  in  the  Sonoyta  Oasis,  there  are  no 
trees  large  enough  to  shelter  tree  squirrels. 

Of  hares  and  rabbits  we  saw  only  two  species,  the 
Arizona  Cotton-Tail*  and  the  Arizona  Jack  Rabbit.f 
But  neither  species  was  particularly  abundant.  There 
were  a  few  places  wherein  four  or  five  jacks  might  be 
scared  up  in  going  a  mile;  but  they  were  rare,  and  the  rule 
was  about  one  jack  to  the  mile,  or  none.  The  weight  of 
an  average  male  jack  was  four  and  one-half  pounds. 
This  species  is  well  marked,  even  when  running,  by  its 
tail,  which  is  long,  short-haired,  black  above  and  gray 
below.  Half  the  time  it  runs  with  its  tail  erect,  when  it 
looks  like  a  white-tailed  species;  but  when  it  gently  lopes 
off  with  its  tail  down,  it  looks  its  name.  The  greatest 
number  we  ever  saw  in  one  day  was  about  thirty,  and  that 
was  in  the  Ajo  Valley,  just  north  of  Child's  Well.  I 

*Lepus  arizonae.  ^Lepus  calif ornicus  eremicus. 


3i2        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

could  see  no  reason  why  they  should  be  especially  numer- 
ous there. 

The  Cotton-Tail  Rabbit  is  small  but  persistent;  and 
to  coyote,  hawk,  badger,  skunk  and  ocelot  it  surely  is  like 
manna  in  the  wilderness.  As  Lepus  sylvaticus  spreads 
westward  and  southward,  even  into  the  savannas  of  South 
America,  those  who  have  followed  it  most  closely  have 
split  it  into  numerous  species  and  sub-species.  In  a 
museum,  doubtless  all  those  forms  are  distinguishable; 
but  on  the  hoof,  all  Cotton-Tails  look  alike  to  me.  Those 
that  ostentatiously  scurried  across  my  bows  in  the  desert 
looked  sufficiently  like  the  little  imps  that  breed,  and  gnaw 
the  bark  of  young  trees  in  the  Zoological  Park,  to  have 
been  their  blood  brothers. 

There  were  times  when  Mr.  Phillips  and  other  mem- 
bers of  the  party  became  excited,  and  saw  big  white-tailed 
jack-rabbits,  unlike  the  black-tailed  species,  so  they  said; 
but  I  saw  none,  and  finally  declared  open  war  on  the 
mythical  other  species  which  "might  have  been  seen." 
Said  Mr.  Sykes,  most  pointedly, 

"After  this,  gentlemen,  let  it  be  thoroughly  under- 
stood that  stories  of  white-tailed  jack-rabbits  don't  go 
unless  you  can  produce  the  rattles!" 

A  white-tailed  jack-rabbit  may  inhabit  that  country, 
and  probably  does,  since  Mr.  Phillips  and  Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal  saw  some;  but  no  rattles  ever  were  produced. 
There  was  not  time  enough. 

We  saw  no  living  members  of  the  Marten  Family 
(which  includes  the  otter,  mink,  weasel,  marten,  wolver- 
ine, skunk  and  badger);  but  we  saw  many  badger  holes, 


NOTES  ON  MAMMALS  313 

which  probably  represented  Berlandier's  Badger.  As 
already  noted,  some  fresh  fragments  of  a  large  species  of 
skunk,  probably  Mephitis  ra<3rrowrfl,were  found  on  Cubabi 
Mountain,  near  Sonoyta.  It  is  to  be  understood,  how- 
ever, that  we  saw  on  our  hurried  trip  only  a  very  few  of 
the  mammalian  species  which  undoubtedly  inhabit  that 
region,  and  which  a  longer  residence  would  disclose. 

Of  the  larger  animals  known  to  inhabit  the  region  we 
traversed,  a  brief  summary  possibly  may  be  useful  to 
someone;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  our  tour  of 
observation  embraced  only  the  month  of  November. 

The  Coyotes,  like  the  poor  of  holy  writ,  were  with  us 
always.  They  serenaded  us  at  Roble's  Ranch  (our  first 
camp),  they  ran  through  our  camp  at  Agua  Dulce,  and 
they  ruined  Mr.  Phillips'  finest  mountain  sheep  on  the 
lava  within  two  miles  of  Pinacate  Peak,  at  an  elevation  of 
about  2,500  feet.  At  the  eastern  edge  of  the  lava  a  sick — 
or  discouraged — coyote  disdained  to  take  me  seriously, 
and  at  Quitovaquita  two  of  the  gray  brothers  lay  dead. 
Out  of  the  ruck  of  thirteen  "described"  coyotes  I  must 
confess  I  am  unable  to  pick  the  species  that  so  often 
entertained  us,  nor  does  its  exact  sub-specific  gravity 
matter  very  greatly,  except  that  by  reason  of  its  cold  gray 
colours  it  did  not  appear  to  be  Mearns  Coyote.  It  was 
distinctly  smaller  than  the  Montana  Coyote,  but  no  other 
difference  was  discernible  in  November  specimens. 

Of  the  puma,  we  saw  not  a  trace ;  and  bears  of  all  kinds 
were  equally  absent. 

While  we  were  at  Pinacate  Peak  and  the  Tule  Tanks 
Jess  Jenkins  and  George  Saunders,  who  were  holding 


CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

down  the  camp  at  the  Papago  Tanks,  saw  a  strange  animal 
in  the  vicinity  of  my  work-table,  but  it  was  impossible  to 
identify  it  from  their  description.  It  may  have  been  a 
"bob-cat"  (lynx),  or  it  may  have  been  an  ocelot. 

Of  Prong-Horned  Antelope  we  saw  not  one  in  Arizona, 
and  none  in  Mexico  until  we  reached  the  eastern  edge  of 
the  great  Pinacate  lava  district,  where  we  found  six  indi- 
viduals. Later  on,  Mr.  Phillips  saw  two  specimens  in 
that  same  spot,  and  killed  both,  for  the  Carnegie  Museum. 
About  thirty  antelopes  were  seen  at  the  edge  of  the  sand- 
hills, at  the  south  end  of  MacDougal  Pass.  On  our  way 
from  the  Papago  Tanks  to  the  Tule  Tanks  we  found  on 
the  lava  plain  a  band  of  five  antelopes,  two  of  which  were 
killed  by  Mr.  Jeff  Milton,  as  previously  described.  Alto- 
gether we  saw  about  forty-three  individuals. 

Of  the  three  male  specimens  killed  (and  preserved) 
two  were  true  to  the  standard  type  of  Antilocapra  amer- 
icana,  but  the  third  had  such  a  queer  mane  on  the  nape 
of  its  neck  that  if  taken  quite  alone  it  might  possibly  tempt 
a  hair-splitting  classifier  to  call  it  a  new  sub-species. 
But  in  view  of  the  characters  of  the  other  specimens  taken 
in  the  same  locality,  such  a  determination  would  be  un- 
tenable, for  it  is  evident  that  the  variations  noted  were 
purely  individual. 

Antelope  once  were  plentiful  in  Arizona  along  the 
course  we  travelled,  but  the  deadly  long-range  rifle  has 
completed  its  work,  and  to-day  all  are  gone. 

In  a  dozen  localities  which  should  have  contained  deer, 
we  hunted  deer  quite  diligently  but  found  two  only,  at  the 
foot  of  Cubabi  Mountain,  near  Sonoyta,  one  of  which  I 


NOTES  ON  MAMMALS  315 

shot  and  sent  to  Dr.  W.  J.  Holland,  at  Pittsburgh,  for  the 
Carnegie  Museum.  That  species  was  Coues  Deer,* 
a  very  small  member  of  our  White-Tailed  Deer  group. 

The  only  trace  of  the  Desert  Mule  Deerf  seen  by  us  was 
a  single  antler  picked  up  at  the  Papago  Tanks,  about 
fifteen  miles  from  the  shore  of  the  Gulf  of  California. 
Throughout  the  Sonoyta  Valley  the  species  has  been 
exterminated,  chiefly  through  the  efforts  of  the  Papago 
Indians,  who  are  diligent  hunters. 

Of  the  Collared  Peccary  or  Javalina  (called  "Hav-a- 
le'na")>  we  saw  not  one.  Charlie  Foster  still  asserts 
that  they  inhabit  Cobabi  Mountain,  south-east  of  Sonoyta, 
and  with  him  as  a  guide  Mr.  Phillips  made  a  fiercely 
vigourous  hunt  for  them  the  day  before  we  left  Sonoyta  for 
home;  but  the  hunt  was  a  blank.  The  Peccary  is  fairly 
common  in  the  Santa  Catalina  Mountains,  near  Tucson, 
and  since  our  visit  Dr.  MacDougal  has  had  a  very  success- 
ful hunt  for  them,  finding  a  good  number,  and  bagging 
two  fine  specimens. 

The  Mountain  Sheep  of  Mexico  will  be  spoken  of  in  a 
separate  chapter. 

*Odocoileus  couesi.  \Odocoileus  hemionus  eremicus. 


Ontario. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

NOVEMBER  BIRD  LIFE  IN  THE  LAND  OF  LITTLE  RAIN 

The  Disappointing  Road-Runner — Gambel's  Quail  and  Its  Pursuit — 
The  Wisdom  of  the  Cactus  Wren — The  Crissal  Thrasher's  Nest — 
Western  Red-Tailed  Hawk— The  Red-Shafted  Flicker— Nests  in 
the  Giant  Cactus — The  Crows  at  the  Papago  Tanks,  and  a  Murder 
— Doves — A  Bittern  Fishing — The  Mud  Hen  of  Sonoyta — Scarcity 
of  Reptiles  in  November, 

ON  the  whole,  I  think  that  the  volume  of  bird  life  be- 
tween Tucson  and  the  Gulf  was  greater  and  also  more 
interesting,  than  any  of  us  expected  to  find  it  in  November. 
Of  course  it  greatly  surpassed  the  mammalian  life;  but 
that  was  to  have  been  expected.  Thanks  to  his  wings, 
the  bird  is  much  more  of  a  free  moral  agent  than  the 
mammal.  If  his  environment  fails  to  come  up  to  his 
expectations,  he  can  "quit  the  country"  and  try  his  luck 
elsewhere;  but  with  tht  average  mammal  smaller  than  a 
deer  it  is  a  case  of  "root,  hog,  or  die."  He  must  stand 
fast  and  take  the  heat  and  thirst  as  it  finds  him. 

In  considering  my  hurriedly-made  bird  notes,  it  should 
be  made  known  to  the  Reader  that  we  saw  perhaps 
twenty  species  of  small  birds  which  we  could  not  possibly 
identify  without  killing  some  of  them;  and  we  were  not 
disposed  to  shoot  many  of  our  feathered  friends  for  that 

purpose.     Already  there   have  been  killed   in  America 

316 


NOVEMBER  BIRD  LIFE  317 

too  many  millions  of  valuable  birds  for  no  other  reason 
than  to  make  zoological  holidays,  and  possibly  to  label 
their  skins  and  put  them  away  in  evil-smelling  drawers. 

Of  the  bird  life  that  we  saw  in  the  South-west,  to  me 
the  most  surprising  thing  was  the  scarcity  of  the  Road- 
Runner.* Besides  being  surprising,  it  was  a  distinct  dis- 
appointment, for  I  had  long  looked  forward  to  an  associa- 
tion with  that  gay  and  festive  bird  in  its  native  land. 
Throughout  our  whole  trip  I  saw  only  two  individuals. 
One  was  in  the  suburbs  of  Tucson,  and  the  other  was  in  the 
Sonoyta  Oasis;  and  all  they  did  was  to  run  with  long 
strides  into  underbrush,  and  disappear. 

Beyond  doubt,  the  Road-Runner  is  a  bird  of  strange 
and  erratic  personality,  as  anyone  may  see  in  any  well- 
equipped  zoological  garden.  The  long,  strong  and  cap- 
able feet  and  legs  of  that  feathered  oddity  were  made  to 
carry  it  through  the  world;  and  right  well  do  they  perform 
their  duty.  From  this  bird's  cradle  to  its  grave  life  goes 
with  a  hop,  skip  and  jump,  all  without  visible  effort,  and 
seemingly  as  if  done  by  automatic  machinery.  A  Road- 
Runner will  propel  himself  to  the  top  of  a  four-foot  stump 
by  leg-power  alone,  without  even  a  flit  of  a  wing,  and  as 
easily  as  if  it  were  done  by  a  steel  spring. 

In  New  York  we  have  Road-Runners  a-plenty  in 
captivity,  but  for  "showing  off"  they  lack  the  natural  race- 
course plains  of  the  South-west.  I  longed  to  see  one  of 
them  run  a  mile  at  top  speed,  and  to  learn  something  of 
their  mental  traits;  but  it  was  not  to  be. 

Mr.  Howard  Eaton  writes  me  that  he  once  saw  three 

*  Geococcyx  calif ornianus. 


3i8        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Mexicans  chase  a  Road-Runner  for  about  three  hundred 
yards,  when  it  was  driven  into  a  mesquite  bush,  and 
caught  unhurt. 

Strange  to  say,  the  Road-Runner  is  related  to  the 
cuckoos.  Many  persons  think  it  is  a  "game  bird,"  and 
related  to  the  grouse,  but  it  is  not.  Its  queer,  attenuated 
form,  long  and  strong  legs  and  powerful  feet  are  fit  indexes 
of  its  strange  mentality  and  habits,  and  I  heartily  wish  it 
were  more  numerous. 

Although  Cambers  Quail*  was  plentiful  throughout 
all  save  the  lava-land  portion  of  our  trip,  Mr.  Phillips 
found  it  impossible  to  shoot  that  shrewd  little  bird  in  the 
usual  way  of  the  sportsman.  For  example:  A  covey  of 
from  eight  to  fifteen  birds  will  reveal  itself  close  by  the 
roadside,  and  every  bird  will  sit  tight,  behind  his  mesquite 
or  other  bush,  until  the  hunter  is  really  close  up.  Then 
you  hear  a  sweet-voiced  little  command,  saying  in  dulcet 
tones,  "Sweet!  Sweet!  Quit-quit!"  and  a  few  seconds 
later  they  begin  to  run. 

Gun  in  hand  you  stalk  up  to  flush  the  flock,  in  order 
to  take  the  birds  on  the  wing,  as  a  real  sportsman  should. 
But  they  will  not  rise!  With  heads  and  necks  held  stiffly 
up,  and  plumes  pointing  forward  rudder-like,  as  if  to  steer 
their  course,  they  run  and  dodge  to  and  fro  over  the  bare 
ground  between  the  bushes,  in  a  most  tantalizing  way. 
If  you  force  any  of  the  birds  to  rise,  three  or  four  will  fly 
up,  about  four  or  five  feet  only,  but  not  nearly  high  enough 
to  clear  the  tops  of  the  bushes,  and  after  a  flight  of  only 
a  few  yards,  down  they  go  again  into  the  sheltering  arms 

*  Lophortyx  gambelii. 


NOVEMBER  BIRD  LIFE  319 

of  the  brush.  Now  and  then  you  can  see  a  bird  gliding 
for  a  brief  instant  across  an  opening,  to  be  swallowed  up 
the  next;  but  if  you  rely  solely  upon  wing-shooting,  you 
may  go  away  empty-handed  and  vexed. 

After  his  first  two  hours'  shooting  at  Gambel's  Quail 
on  the  wing,  and  the  expenditure  of  many  cartridges,  Mr. 
Phillips  returned  to  the  wagons  red  in  the  face,  hot  and 
vexed,  with  only  two  birds!  And  yet  he  is  an  exception- 
ally skilful  wing-shot. 

"The  blamed  little  beggars  wont  rise!'9  he  wrathfully 
announced,  as  one  who  has  been  treated  unfairly. 

"Of  course  they  won't!'  said  the  Doctor  cheerfully. 
"You've  got  to  shoot  them  as  they  run  on  the  ground  in 
order  to  get  any;  and  you  will  have  to  shoot  mighty  well 
to  get  many,  even  in  that  way.  On  these  deserts  it  isn't 
in  good  form  for  a  quail  to  rise  and  fly  clear  of  the  bushes." 

John  M.  saw  a  great  light,  and  his  tactics  changed 
accordingly.  We  saw  hundreds  of  quail,  and  on  some 
days  Mr.  Phillips  killed  one  for  each  member  of  the  party. 
When  alive,  Gambel's  Quail  is  both  beautiful  and  in- 
teresting. Kill  it  and  cook  it,  and  it  is  a  "tajous"  bird. 
Only  idle  people  can  afford  to  eat  it  regularly.  I  think  a 
man  like  Mr.  Sykes,  or  the  Doctor,  or  Mr.  Phillips  could 
starve  to  death  on  an  exclusive  diet  of  those  small  birds. 
No  sooner  do  you  begin  to  grow  interested  in  one  of  them 
than  it  is  gone;  and  there  is  mighty  small  nourishment  in 
the  memory  of  a  has-been. 

In  the  books  and  museums — but  nowhere  else — 
Gambel's  Quail  becomes  "Gambel's  Partridge"  because 
the  dear  old  fossiliferous  A.  O.  U.  has  solemnly  so  elected; 


320        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

but  on  the  deserts  wherein  the  bird  lives,  that  fiat  is  a  very 
dead  letter.  The  bird  is  a  plumed  understudy  of  the 
more  beautiful  valley  quail — or  "partridge" — of  the 
Pacific  coast.  Owing  to  the  wide  dispersal  of  this  species 
throughout  vast  tracts  of  arboreal  desert,  the  scarcity  of 
hunters  and  the  delightful  cost  of  cartridges,  it  will  be 
many  a  day  ere  it  is  seriously  threatened  with  extermina- 
tion. Indeed,  it  would  not  be  surprising  if  Cambers 
Quail  were  the  last  upland  game  bird  of  the  United  States 
to  be  completely  annihiliated  under  the  grinding  hob- 
nailed hoof  of  "civilization."  We  found  it  along  our 
route  all  the  way  from  Tucson  to  the  lava-fields,  and  one 
covey  was  seen  upon  the  lava. 

On  leaving  Tucson  over  the  westward  trail,  the  nests 
of  the  Cactus  Wren*  attract  immediate  attention.  I  have 
it  down  in  my  notes  of  November  2nd,  that  "we  saw  about 
twenty-five  nests  in  the  tree-choya  cactus,  but  none  in 
bushes."  Now  perhaps  this  was  a  string  of  coincidences. 
Perhaps  the  Cactus  Wren  cannot  and  does  not  reason 
from  premise  hawk  to  cactus-spine  conclusion;  but  there 
are  men  in  Arizona  and  in  New  York  also  who  believe 
that  it  does,  and  can  show  good  cause  for  doing  so. 

Every  reasoning  being  knows  full  well  that  it  is  far 
more  difficult,  and  also  more  disagreeable,  to  build  a  nest 
in  the  geographical  centre  of  a  tree  choya,  encountering 
the  while  about  two  thousand  wicked  spines,  than  it  would 
be  to  build  in  a  mesquite  or  a  palo  verde.  Anyone  who 
will  deny  this  is  simply  hopeless.  This  being  true,  it  is 
impossible  to  imagine  a  bird  building  in  the  most  difficult 

*Hekodytes  brunneicapillus. 


NOVEMBER  BIRD  LIFE  321 

and  painful  place  without  a  reason  for  doing  so,  and  much 
more  of  a  reason  than  the  mechanical  example  of  an 
ancestor.  Birds  are  not  dull  in  adapting  themselves  to 
new  conditions!  The  robins  of  Gardiner's  Island,  New 
York,  very  quickly  learned  that  the  absence  of  cats  and 
bad  boys  rendered  it  perfectly  safe  to  build  within  two 
feet  of  the  ground;  and  most  certainly  there  was  in  that 
neither  instinct  nor  example,  but  precisely  the  reverse! 
It  was  reason.  They  formulated  a  theory,  tried  it  and 
found  that  it  was  correct. 

In  many  cases  we  were  puzzled  to  understand  how  it 
is  possible  for  a  Cactus  Wren — which  is  fully  three  times 
the  size  of  an  ordinary  house-wren — to  penetrate  to  the 
interior  of  a  tree  choya,  and  build  an  elaborate  nest  in  a 
space  that  seems  hopelessly  small.  But  the  little  brain  of 
that  small  feathered  creature  contains  at  least  one  concrete 
idea — the  survival  of  the  fittest;  and  to  him  there  is  none 
so  fit  as  himself.  The  unwise  birds  who  builded  in  the 
bushes  have  (apparently)  been  exterminated  by  the  hawks, 
long  ago. 

The  nest  of  the  Cactus  Wren  seems  to  consist  of  long, 
straight  stems  of  fine  grass,  and  without  the  entrance  hole 
each  home  looks  as  if  someone  had  carefully  pushed  a  big 
handful  of  dry  stems  of  blue-grass  into  the  centre  of  the 
tree-choyas'  spiny  top.  The  bird  itself  does  not  look  in 
the  very  least  like  the  pert  and  coquettish  house-wren  of 
our  boyhood  days — now  rarely  seen  where  the  accursed 
English  sparrow  predominates.  It  looks  more  like  a  long- 
billed  dark-gray  thrush  than  a  wren,  and  it  carries  its  tail 
pointing  below  the  horizon.  For  all  that,  however,  it  is 


322        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

a  very  interesting  bird,  and  we  wish  it  a  million  years  of 
longevity. 

There  are  other  birds  besides  the  Cactus  Wren  which 
know  a  safe  nesting-place  when  they  see  it.  Within  a 
stone's  throw  of  Dr.  MacDougal's  spacious  and  inviting 
veranda  in  Tucson,  a  Crissal  Thrasher*  has  nested  in  a 
large  tree  choya  which  has  been  grown  on  the  grounds. 
This  Thrasher  is  closely  related  to  the  cactus  wren,  but 
when  not  sociably  haunting  the  habitations  of  men  it  is 
usually  found  in  rocky  arroyos,  or  canons. 

By  way  of  variety,  the  Western  Red-Tailed  Hawkf 
occasionally  builds  its  nest  in  a  giant  cactus.  Of  course 
it  may  be  that  the  nest  of  a  hawk  is  not  so  placed  for  safe- 
keeping; for  it  would  seem  as  if  every  Red-Tail  can  fend 
for  himself.  The  court  merely  notes  the  exception. 

I  think  we  saw  about  fifteen  hawks  of  this  species- 
broad  of  wing,  stately  in  flight  and  imposing  at  rest  on 
tall  cactus  or  dead  mesquite  stub.  Dr.  MacDougal  shot 
one  on  the  Sonoyta  River,  at  Agua  Dulce,  in  order  that  we 
might  identify  it  and  ascertain  its  food  habits  in  Novem- 
ber; but  its  stomach  was  empty. 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  death  of  a  Western 
Horned  OwlJ  in  the  level  plain  of  the  Cubo  Valley. 
Others  were  heard  at  night  in  the  Sonoyta  Valley. 

North  of  the  international  boundary,  where  the  giant 
cacti  grow  tall  and  wide,  the  Red-Shafted  Flickers§  drill 
them  where  they  list,  and  nest  in  them.  The  digging  is 
easy,  the  interior  is  hospitable,  cool  and  moist  in  the  fierce 

*  Toxostoma  crissalis.  t  Bubo  virginianus  pallescens. 

\Buteo  borealis  calurus.  ^Colaptes  cajer  collaris. 


NOVEMBER  BIRD  LIFE  323 

heat  of  summer,  and  for  a  nesting-place  nothing  more  is 
required.  Of  those  conspicuous  and  attractive  birds  we 
saw  many — perhaps  twenty-five  or  thirty;  and  they 
seemed  to  be  enjoying  Arizona  as  greatly  as  we  were. 
We  were  then  about  on  the  southern  boundary  of  that 
species,  which  does  not  go  far  below  the  international 
demarcation. 

From  the  hour  that  we  left  Tucson  I  watched  for  the 
Phainopepla,  and  was  rewarded  by  seeing  five  flocks,  with 
about  eight  or  ten  birds  in  each.  They  occurred  at  wide 
intervals,  from  the  Cubo  Valley  to  MacDougal  Pass, 
within  eighteen  miles  of  the  Gulf  of  California.  In 
manner  they  were  not  at  that  time  phenomenally  interest- 
ing; for  they  just  sat.  In  appearance  they  were  very 
much  like  small  blue-jays  dyed  blue-black,  orf  dark  purple. 
You  recognize  it  most  easily  and  surely  by  its  jaunty  crest 
and  its  long,  square-ended  tail.  The  white  markings  on 
the  wing  feathers  are  not  visible  when  the  bird  is  at  rest. 
This  is  the  bird  which  in  the  breeding  season  loves  to  cut 
capers  in  mid-air,  such  as  dropping  suddenly  and  swiftly 
from  on  high.  In  November,  however,  the  Phainopepla, 
as  we  saw  it,  is  quiet  and  undemonstrative,  even  unto 
dulness. 

Ravens  were  omnipresent,  and  I  think  that  on  several 
occasions  we  saw  Crows,  also.  We  killed  none  of  either 
species,  however,  and  there  were  times  when  it  was  im- 
possible to  tell  when  the  Crows  left  off  and  the  Ravens 
began.  Now,  at  the  Papago  Tanks,  some  of  the  Ravens 
that  flocked  around  the  mountain-sheep  works  were  so 
small  I  am  even  yet  in  doubt  about  their  real  identity. 


324        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

They  were  so  very  tame  and  trustful  of  us  that  we  were 
unwilling  to  kill  one.  It  was  not  that  a  Raven  could  not 
very  well  be  spared  from  the  flock  of  thirty  or  forty  that 
hung  around  my  work-table,  and  ate  the  meat-scraps 
that  we  gave  them;  but  we  were  unwilling  to  kill  any  bird 
that  had  trusted  to  our  honour  to  the  extent  of  placing  his 
life  in  our  hands.  They  came  almost  fearlessly  within 
fifteen  yards  of  us. 

But,  alas!  In  spite  of  the  example  set  by  four  of  us, 
a  murder  was  committed.  While  we  were  away  at  the 
Tule  Tanks  and  Pinacate,  leaving  Jess  Jenkins  and  George 
Saunders  to  watch  the  camp,  one  of  those  men  actually 
broke  the  compact,  and  killed  a  Raven,  close  to  my  table. 
The  result  was  that  every  Raven  immediately  left  that  camp, 
and  returned  no  more!  On  our  return  we  found  the  camp 
quite  silent  and  deserted,  and  immediately  asked  what  had 
become  of  the  Ravens.  Then  the  wretched  story  came  out ; 
and  we  were  much  displeased  by  the  blot  on  our  es- 
cutcheon. 

A  few  Golden  Eagles  were  seen,  perhaps  half  a  dozen 
in  all,  but  not  a  white-head  was  noted.  At  the  Papago 
Tanks  Mr.  Phillips  saw  a  flock  of  about  twenty  Doves 
that  came  down  in  the  evening  twilight  to  quench  their 
thirst.  To  my  great  surprise,  Doves  of  all  species  proved 
to  be  very  scarce  between  Tucson  and  the  Gulf.  I  did 
not  see  more  than  a  dozen  indiv  duals,  all  told,  and  those 
were  Mourning  Doves,  such  as  some  misguided  sportsmen 
in  California,  and  also  some  portions  of  the  South,  hunt 
and  kill  as  "game."  Great  "game"  indeed  are  they;  and 
mighty  hard  up  for  "sport"  must  be  the  men  who  seriously 


NOVEMBER  BIRD  LIFE  325 

hunt  them!     The  American  farmer  can  ill  afford  the  loss 
of  such  valuable  allies  in  the  war  on  weeds. 

On  our  return  from  the  Pinacate  country,  the  last 
waters  of  the  Sonoyta  River  sank  into  the  sand  opposite 
the  Playa  Salada,  near  Agua  Dulce.  The  last  struggling 
pools  were  fairly  swarming  with  minnows,  all  of  which 
were  doomed  to  quick  annihilation  by  the  drying-up  of 
their  home  waters.  It  was  there  that  I  noticed  an  Am- 
erican Bittern*  fishing  for  dear  life.  He  had  what  may 
well  be  called  a  cinch;  for  the  devoted  minnows  were 
quite  at  his  mercy.  He  worked  as  if  he  had  taken  a  con- 
tract to  catch  all  those  565  minnows,  and  place  them 
where  they  would  be  of  some  benefit  to  the  world,  before 
the  receding  waters  could  leave  them  wasting  their  sweet- 
ness on  the  desert  air.  I  was  so  pleased  to  see  Botaurus 
that  I  was  tempted  to  go  over  and  shake  hands  with  him, 
and  ask  him  when  he  left  "the  States." 

It  was  at  Sonoyta,  on  the  day  before  our  departure 
for  Gila  Bend,  that  I  was  treated  to  a  most  unexpected 
acquaintance  with  a  bird  of  rare  mental  poise.  While 
we  were  encamped  on  the  north  bank  of  Sonoyta  River, 
squaring  accounts  with  the  native  purveyors  of  horses, 
hay  and  wagons,  I  followed  the  good  example  of  the 
Doctor  and  Mr.  Phillips  to  the  extent  of  taking  a  bath  in 
the  stream.  At  that  point  the  stream  bed  was  so  narrow 
that  between  banks  it  was  not  more  than  fifteen  feet  wide. 

The  banks  were  completely  masked  by  bushes,  and  on 
the  south  side  the  jungle  growth  was  quite  dense.  Choos- 
ing a  tiny  bank  of  clean  sand,  I  quickly  took  my  pour- 

*  Botaurus  lentiginosus. 


326        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

bath — of  water  that  was  fearfully  cold — and  without  any 
undue  lingering  proceeded  to  dress.  In  that  operation 
there  was  no  need  for  haste,  and  it  proceeded  slowly  and 
in  dignified  silence.  I  stood  on  my  little  sand-bank  facing 
the  stream,  and  had  reached  thirdly,  when  to  my  amaze- 
ment a  slaty-blue  bird  silently  walked  out  of  its  conceal- 
ment under  the  roots  of  a  mesquite  tree.  It  was  an 
American  Coot,  or  Mud-Hen,*  and  after  it  had  calmly 
looked  me  over,  and  waded  out  into  the  shallow  current, 
it  was  so  near  that  I  could  have  touched  it  with  a  carriage- 
whip. 

I  stood  fairly  spell-bound  with  surprise  and  pleasure, 
and  decided  to  give  the  stranger  a  time  exposure,  to  see 
what  it  would  do.  It  was  very  evident  that  the  bird  was 
fully  aware  of  my  existence,  for  it  frequently  cocked  its 
head,  and  looked  me  squarely  in  the  eyes.  But  it  was  by 
no  means  disposed  to  lose  valuable  time  in  speculating 
upon  the  intentions  of  a  total  stranger.  Slowly  it  walked 
up  stream,  where  the  current  was  only  three  inches  deep, 
sharply  looking  from  side  to  side  for  aquatic  insects,  or 
anything  else  worthy  of  a  Coot's  serious  attention.  It 
was  in  no  more  haste  than  a  sloth,  but  went  slowly  and 
solemnly,  stalking  for  prey. 

Gradually  it  drew  away  from  me,  and  when,  at  last, 
I  felt  compelled  to  continue  my  dressing  operations,  the 
bird  watched  me  without  the  slightest  manifestation  of 
alarm.  We  "took  stock"  of  each  other,  to  the  last  avail- 
able moment;  and  I  really  believe  that  when  I  again  see 
that  Coot  I  will  know  him  at  sight.  He  has  a  whitish  bill, 

*Fulica  americana. 


NOVEMBER  BIRD  LIFE  327 

a  very  bright  eye  and  scalloped  toes,  by  which  tokens  I  can 
recognize  him  anywhere. 

Finally  I  spoke  to  him  quietly  and  gingerly,  as  a  gentle- 
man always  addresses  a  stranger  when  there  has  been  no 
formal  introduction.  My  advances  were  received  with 
brisk  confidence,  and  caused  no  alarm.  When  the  day- 
light was  about  to  be  turned  off,  I  climbed  the  bank  and 
left  Fulica  still  stalking  silently  up  the  stream,  seeking 
what  he  might  devour,  but  not  at  all  like  the  roaring  lion 
of  holy  writ. 

The  reptilian  life  observed  during  our  outing  to  Pina- 
cate  cut  a  ridiculously  small  figure.  The  reason  for  this 
was  not  entirely  clear,  for  although  the  nights  were  cold, 
the  days  were  warm  enough  to  justify  any  Arizona  reptile 
in  pursuing  the  even  tenor  of  its  way. 

We  saw  no  Gila  Monsters,  no  Collared  Lizards,  no 
Spotted  Lizards,  no  Sidewinder  Rattlesnakes — which  I 
ardently  longed  to  obtain  alive — and  only  three  Rattlers, 
all  told.  I  saw  about  eight  Horned  Lizards  (which  are 
universally  known  as  Horned  "Toads")*  one  of  which  was 
on  the  lava  field.  The  latter  was  dark  brown,  like  the 
lava.  It  was  my  plan  to  collect  some  of  those  lizards  on 
the  return  journey,  alive — and  then  by  ill  luck  we  saw 
only  one  more  specimen.  That  was  captured  for  me  by 
the  Doctor,  and  placed  in  one  of  the  dark  caverns  of  his 
multi-pocket  hunting-coat,  after  which  it  never  again 
could  be  found.  He  said  it  escaped;  but  I  believe  it  is 
still  there. 

We  saw  a  few  small  lizards,  of  no  special  colours, 
inhabiting  clumps  of  creosote  bushes,  three  Texas  Dia- 


328        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

mond-Backed  Rattlesnakes,  as  already  mentioned,  and 
one  dreadfully  emaciated  Frog,  which  came  up  out  of 
Wall's  Well  in  a  pail  of  water,  mighty  thankful  for  the 
deliverance.  We  saw  no  other  serpents  of  any  kind,  no 
tortoises  or  terrapins,  and  no  amphibians  save  the  Frog 
mentioned  above. 

The  reader  must  not  infer,  however,  that  we  saw  any- 
thing like  a  proper  representation  of  the  reptilian  life  of 
that  region  as  it  appears  in  spring  and  summer.  Un- 
doubtedly the  Sonoyta  Valley  must  contain  quite  a  number 
of  species  of  serpents  and  amphibians  of  which  in  Novem- 
ber we  saw  nothing.  I  am  not  attempting  to  do  more  than 
to  mention  the  wild  creatures  that  were  still  afoot  at  the 
beginning  of  the  winter  season,  when  bird  life  and  reptilian 
life  are  both  at  a  low  ebb. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  OF  MEXICO 

Bird's-eye  View  of  the  Genus  Ovis — Its  Vanishing  Point  at  Pinacate — 
Straight  Ovis  canadensis — The  Making  of  a  New  Form — Colours — 
Size— The  Feet— The  Pelage— The  Horns,  Skull  and  Teeth- 
Habits — Geographical  Distribution  in  Mexico — Summary  of  Facts 
and  Conclusions. 

TARDILY  and  slowly,  the  mountain  sheep  of  old  Mexico 
are  being  discovered  and  disclosed  to  the  world.  They 
are  keenly  interesting,  because  they  represent  the  end  of 
the  great  chain  of  sheep  which  stretches  almost  without  a 
break  from  the  aoudad  of  the  Barbary  States  of  north 
Africa  to  its  jumping-off  place  at  Pinacate  and  in  Lower 
California.  The  series  runs  in  the  following  order: 

Aoudad,  monflon,  arcal  sheep,  burrhel,  Thibetan 
argali,  Marco  Polo's  sheep,  Siberian  argali,  Kamchatkan 
sheep,  white  sheep,  black  sheep  and  big-horn.  Of  course 
this  brief  enumeration  does  not  take  into  account  several 
other  species,  and  numerous  sub-species,  some  of  which 
require  careful  study. 

It  is  my  belief  that  the  mountain  sheep,  genus  Ovis, 
originated  in  the  Altai  Mountains  of  western  Mongolia, 
and  from  that  centre  radiated  in  three  directions.  One 
of  the  offshoots  went  southward  into  the  upper  regions  of 
Hindustan,  another  south-westward  to  the  Barbary  States, 

329 


33o        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

and  the  most  vigorous  of  all  spread  northward  toward 
Bering  Strait.  It  seems  beyond  reasonable  question  that 
the  genus  easily  crossed  Bering  Strait,  then  bore  away 
southward  along  the  various  west-American  mountain 
systems,  producing  in  turn  the  white  sheep  of  Alaska,  the 
black  sheep  of  northern  British  Columbia,  the  big-horn 
of  the  American  Rockies  and  the  Mexican  sheep  of  north- 
ern Chihuahua. 

In  north-western  Sonora  we  found  ourselves  at  the 
vanishing  point  of  the  genus  in  America.  As  we  will 
point  out  later  on,  a  few  pioneers  of  Ovis  have  been  seen 
at  a  point  on  the  mainland  opposite  Tiburon  Island. 
In  Lower  California  it  exists  more  than  half-way 
down  the  peninsula.  To  the  zoologist,  the  vanishing 
point  of  a  great  mammalian  genus,  with  a  range  that 
half  encircles  the  globe,  is  an  interesting  field  for  obser- 
vation. 

For  all  present  purposes  at  least,  we  may  say  that  at 
Pinacate  the  genus  Ovis  is  finally  vanquished  by  the  great 
desert  barrier  known  as  the  Sonoran  Region,  where  the 
heat  is  fiercest,  the  food  is  scarcest  and  the  water  supply 
is  either  very  scanty,  or  non-existent.  We  have  be- 
fore this  seen,  and  attempted  to  set  forth,  the  Big-Horn 
species  (0.  canadensis)  at  its  culminating  point,  in  south- 
eastern British  Columbia.  Judge,  then,  the  interest  with 
which  we  hunted,  shot,  dissected  and  preserved  adult 
specimens  of  the  same  species  at  the  point  where  it  throws 
up  the  sponge  to  the  torrid  terrors  of  the  Sonoran  deserts. 
And  what  did  we  find  ? 

In  the  first  place,  the  Mountain  Sheep  of  Pinacate  is 


1, 


II 
111 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  OF  MEXICO        331 

the  straight,  old-fashioned  Big-Horn — Ovis  canadensis — 
no  more  and  no  less.  This  makes  it  far  more  interesting 
than  if  it  had  already  differentiated,  through  isolation,  into 
a  new  form.  Those  animals  are  now  so  nearly  isolated 
that  structural  changes,  reproduced  by  the  inbreeding  that 
undoubtedly  is  going  on,  are  hard  at  work  upon  them, 
attempting  to  mould  them  into  a  different  form  from  the 
typical  parent  stock. 

By  reason  of  a  very  scanty  food  supply  in  the  dry 
seasons,  little  water,  long  periods  of  thirst  and  undoubted 
suffering  from  the  fierce  heat  of  summer,  the  Big-Horn  of 
Pinacate  is  to-day  distinctly  smaller  than  his  brothers  in 
Wyoming,  Montana  and  British  Columbia.  His  hair  is 
very  short,  thin  and  stiff;  his  feet  are  much  smaller;  his 
tail  is  very  long  (ten  caudal  vertebrae)  and  ridiculously 
short-haired;  his  weight  is  from  fifty  to  seventy-five  pounds 
under  the  northern  average.  His  horns  often  become  so 
dry  and  brittle  that  large  patches  scale  off  from  their 
surfaces  and  materially  reduce  their  diameter.  It  is  quite 
worth  while  to  consider  these  characters  separately,  taking 
them  in  the  order  of  their  importance. 

Colours. — Among  the  seven  Mountain  Sheep  of 
Pinacate  that  we  killed  in  November,  three  others  killed 
in  Wyoming  in  November,  three  taken  in  "Goat  Mountain 
Park,"  British  Columbia,  in  September,  and  several 
winter-killed  heads  from  Banff,  now  in  my  possession,  I 
have  been  unable  to  detect  any  colour  variations  that  are 
noteworthy.  In  any  given  locality,  the  colours  of  the 
sheep  that  inhabit  it  show  numerous  trifling  individual 
variations.  The  noses  of  the  freshly  mounted  heads  from 


332        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Pinacate  to-day  are  whiter  than  some  of  those  from  British 
Columbia;  but  it  is  probable  that  a  good  washing  of  the 
latter  would  wipe  out  the  trifling  differences  that  seem  to 
exist. 

I  expected  to  find  the  pelage  of  the  Pinacate  sheep 
bleached  out  by  the  heat,  and  strongly  inclined  to  gray 
tones,  or  the  salmon  pink  of  the  sheep  killed  by  Nelson  in 
July  in  the  Funeral  Mountains;  but  we  found  nothing  of 
the  kind.  The  smoky-brown  colours  of  our  new  specimens 
were  just  as  deep  and  rich  as  they  were  on  the  British 
Columbian  specimens;  and  from  head  to  tail-tip  the  colour 
pattern  was  precisely  the  same.  The  only  specimen 
which  showed  anything  approaching  a  difference  in  body- 
colour  was  the  "old  residenter"  whose  entire  skin  was 
sent  to  the  Carnegie  Museum.  His  body-colour  was, 
through  age,  not  quite  so  deep  as  it  was  on  the  other  six 
which  passed  through  my  hands.  I  preserved  the  pelts 
of  two,  for  general  reference,  and  they  are  available  in 
the  Carnegie  Museum.  The  colours  of  the  heads  taken 
by  Messrs.  Sampson  and  Litchfield  on  the  Peninsula,  op- 
posite Pinacate,  in  November,  are  precisely  the  same  in 
colour,  pelage  and  horns  as  our  specimens,  and  I  think 
are  Ovis  canadensls. 

Size. — It  is  under  this  head  that  a  noteworthy  differ- 
ence appears.  The  dimensions  of  the  Mexican  "  Carnegie 
Ram"  tell  the  story,  especially  when  set  down  in  compar- 
ison with  those  of  specimens  from  farther  north.  In 
everything  save  weight  it  was  a  large  specimen — for  Pina- 
cate. Owing  to  its  extreme  age — as  shown  by  the  fearfully 
worn  condition  of  its  incisors,  it  had  fed  with  difficulty 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  OF  MEXICO        333 

and  was  positively  thin  in  flesh.  Had  it  been  five  years 
younger,  it  very  probably  would  have  been  forty  pounds 
heavier. 

DIMENSIONS  OF  ADULT  MALE  BIG-HORN  SHEEP,  FROM  THREE  LOCALITIES 


Pinacate, 
Mexico. 

Wyoming. 

S.-E.  Br. 
Columbia. 

Aee.  . 

17  vears  ? 

7  vears 

17  years 

Height  at  shoulders  

j  j 
37  inches 

/caia 
40  inches 

41  inches 

Length  of  head  and  body  

54  inches 

c8  inches 

60  inches* 

Girth  behind  fore  lee.  . 

47^  inches 

44  inches 

co  inches"}* 

o 

Circumference  of  muzzle.  .  .  . 

1  1  inches 

12  inches 

12  inches 

Circumference  of  front  hoof.  .  .  . 
Tail,  length  to  end  of  vertebrae. 
Weight  

8J  inches 
5  inches 
192^  Ibs. 

3  inches 

i  of  inches 
316  Ibs 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  Pinacate  sheep  recorded 
above  was  an  extra-large  specimen,  but  I  do  think  that, 
like  the  two  recorded  from  farther  north,  it  was  above  the 
average.  The  first  ram  that  I  shot  seemed  to  measure 
larger;  but  it  was  measured  under  serious  disadvantages, 
and  the  chances  for  error  were  so  numerous  that  I  think 
it  best  to  leave  the  figures  unpublished.  Unfortunately, 
also,  my  scales  were  not  available  at  the  right  time  to 
ascertain  its  weight;  but  it  was  at  least  forty  pounds 
heavier  than  Mr.  Phillips's  first  specimen,  recorded 
above. 

The  Feet. — The  feet  of  one  of  our  largest  Pinacate 
sheep  (preserved  and  brought  home)  are  very  noticeably 

*  Evidently  not  measured  as  were  the  other  two  specimens,  both  of  which  were 
measured  by  the  author. 

f  Probably  distended  by  gas. 


334        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

smaller  than  those  of  Mr.  Phillips's  "Carnegie  Ram"  from 
British  Columbia.  Note  the  following  differences  in 
measurement: 


Pinacate 
Ram. 

British  Columbia 
Ram. 

Greatest  circumference  of  front  hoof  

8^  inches 

I  of  inches 

Greatest  width  of  front  hoof  

2^  inches 

2f  inches 

Greatest  length  of  front  hoof  

3    inches 

3^  inches 

In  general  bulk,  with  the  two  hoofs  upturned  side  by 
side,  the  foot  of  the  British  Columbian  ram  seems  at  least 
one-quarter  larger  than  the  other.  The  under  surface  of 
the  former  shows  no  particular  wear  from  the  rocks,  and  is 
just  as  Nature  made  it,*  whereas  the  bottom  of  the 
Pinacate  hoof  has  been  quite  worn  by  continuous  contact 
with  the  sharp  lava,  and  the  points  of  the  toes  have  been 
rounded  upward  as  if  with  a  rasp.  The  cup-shaped  form 
of  the  northern  hoof  has  totally  disappeared  from  the 
southern  hoof,  and  the  bottom  of  the  latter  is  quite  flat 
and  hard;  all  of  which  is  precisely  in  line  with  what  might 
be  expected  from  life  on  the  lava. 

The  Pelage. — As  before  remarked,  the  hair  of  the 
Pinacate  sheep  is  thin,  short,  stiff  and  dry,  and  next 
to  the  skin  has  practically  none  of  the  fine,  woolly  hair 
that  is  often  found  on  specimens  farther  north.  It  is  only 
about  one-half  the  length  (or  less)  that  one  finds  on  the 
mountain  sheep  of  Wyoming  and  British  Columbia  in 
November.  It  resembles  the  coat  of  the  monflon  much 

*See  "Camp-Fires  in  the  Canadian  Rockies,"  page  102. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  OF  MEXICO       335 


more  than  it  does  that  of  the  Big-Horn.  As  a  result,  the 
mounted  heads  of  our  sheep  seem  to  have  very  small  and 
poorly  nourished  necks,  quite  unlike  those  of  British 
Columbian  sheep.  Of  course  the  necks  are  small,  but 
the  scanty  pelage  is  half  to  blame  for  their  extra-small 
appearance. 

The  Horns. — It  is  under  this  head  that  nearly  all  big- 
game  hunters  become  keenly  interested.  We  were  ex- 
ceedingly fortunate  in  finding  fully  adult  rams  with  large 
horns.  Of  the  seven  rams  shot  by  our  party,  four  carried 
extra-large  horns — for  American  mountain  sheep,  any- 
where— as  the  following  table  of  measurements  will  show: 

HORN    MEASUREMENTS    OF    FIVE    PINACATE    MOUNTAIN    SHEEP 


All  as  measured  in 
inches,  in  November,  1907, 
when  fresh. 

J.  M.  P. 
No.  i 

'Museum 
Ram." 

J.  M.  P. 

No.  2 
"  Sykes's 
Ram." 

J.  M.  P. 
No.  3 
"Rattled 
Ram." 

W.  T.  H. 

No.  i 
"Running 
Ram." 

W.  T.  H. 

No.  2 
"Old 
Curiosity." 

Age,  in  years  

13 

5 

IO 

7 

II 

Circumference  at  base  

o 

icj 

14} 

1C 

17 

1C  J 

Circumference  18  in.  from  base 
Circumference  I  in.  from  tip  . 
Length  on  outer  curve 

J  £ 

Hi 
A 

n\ 

small 
3l 

*3 
6 

36 

8i 
3l 

20^ 

12 

5f 

33 

\Videst  spread   outside 

J/  4 

j 

20* 

•"72 
2Oi 

JJ 

2O 

Spread  between  tips  

i6J 

22 

10 

»,W2 

ioj 

14 

From  these  measurements  it  will  be  noted  that  the 
horns  of  four  out  of  the  seven  rams  taken  by  our  party 
were  much  larger  in  proportion  to  the  stature  of  the  wearers 
than  are  the  horns  of  other  North  American  sheep.  The 
food  of  the  Pinacate  sheep  must  contain  an  unusual  pro- 
portion of  horn-producing  material.  And  yet,  the  horns 
of  the  three  oldest  rams  were  reduced  in  basal  circumfer- 


336        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

ence  by  the  flaking  off  of  particles,  through  the  excessive 
heat  and  dryness  of  that  region,  probably  supplemented 
by  fighting.  One  pair  of  horns  had  around  the  base  of 
each  a  ring  of  dead  and  disintegrated  horn  material  which 
still  was  held  by  the  hair,  showing  that  the  weathering 
process  proceeding  before  our  eyes  had  actually  reduced 
the  basal  circumference  of  each  horn  by  at  least  an  inch! 
The  horns  of  the  young  rams  were  quite  normal,  and  free 
from  this  deterioration. 

In  their  form,  there  is  not  in  any  one  of  these  horns 
a  single  feature  of  difference  between  them  and  the  horns 
of  northern  Big-Horns  save  bulk  and  tropical  dryness. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  the  nine  heads  collected  by 
Litchfield  and  Sampson.  Taken  by  themselves,  they 
seem  big,  and  imposing;  but  hang  the  largest  of  the  three 
heads  listed  above  beside  the  giant  Banff  head  presented 
by  the  writer  to  the  National  Collection  of  Heads  and 
Horns,  and  they  seem  positively  small!  My  seventeen- 
inch  head  seems  almost  ridiculous  by  the  side  of  the 
monster  whose  horns  measure  only  sixteen  and  one-half 
inches  in  basal  circumference;  for  in  the  former  the 
horn  material  is  concentrated  in  the  base,  while  in  the 
latter  the  base  is  really  small  in  comparison  with  the  im- 
mense bulk  beyond  it.  This  is  a  very  striking  illustration 
—and  I  hope  all  my  readers  will  remember  it — of  the 
great  folly  of  judging  sheep  horns  on  their  basal  circum- 
ference alone.  There  are  four  measurements  that  should 
be  compared  before  deciding  which  specimen  is  really  the 
largest  and  "the  finest." 

None  of  our  sheep  horns  were  seriously  broken  or 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  OF  MEXICO       337 

"broomed"  at  their  tips,  but  three  were  badly  scarified 
on  their  upper  surfaces,  where  they  strike  together  when 
fighting.  The  horns  of  the  old  rams  were  very  dry,  and 
in  fighting  head  to  head  large  scales  of  horn  evidently  had 
been  flaked  off  by  the  blows  they  had  received.  This  was 
particularly  noticeable  on  the  horns  of  Mr.  Phillips's  Ram 
No.  3,  the  circumference  of  which  had  been  materially 
reduced.  Evidently  that  dry  atmosphere  acted  upon 
those  horns  quite  as  it  did  on  our  finger-nails,  which  were 
so  dry  that  they  broke  at  the  slightest  touch  of  excuse. 

The  horns  of  Mr.  Phillips's  Ram  No.  3  (the  "Rattled 
Ram")  grew  completely  together  on  the  top  of  the  skull, 
not  a  shred  of  skin  remaining  between  them.  Owing  to 
scaling  off  of  large  pieces  from  the  top  of  the  right  horn  of 
this  specimen,  it  shows  with  remarkable  clearness  the 
process  by  which  the  horn  of  a  mountain  sheep  is  formed. 
It  is  as  follows: 

Every  sheep  horn  is  built  over  and  supported  by  a  long 
and  large  wedge-shaped  mass  of  porous  bone  called 
familiarly  a  horn-core.  It  is  very  large  at  the  base,  and 
about  one-third  of  the  way  out  toward  the  tip  of  an  adult 
horn  it  terminates  in  a  blunt,  wedge-shaped  point.  Each 
year  the  horn  material  is  poured  out  all  over  the  outer 
surface  of  this  horn-core,  pushing  out  the  already-formed 
horn  as  it  accumulates,  until  it  forms  a  complete  sheath 
over  the  horn-core.  In  the  north,  this  growth  takes  place 
in  the  spring,  summer  and  autumn  months  of  the  year, 
and  in  winter,  when  food  is  scarce,  it  halts.  On  most 
sheep  horns,  the  winter  period  is  marked  by  a  dark  and 
sometimes  deep  crease.  It  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that 


338        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

in  Mexico  the  sheep  make  their  horn-growth  in  winter, 
when  the  food  is  freshest  and  least  parched  by  heat,  and 
water  is  most  abundant. 

The  right  horn  of  Mr.  Phillips's  ram  shows,  with  de- 


Left  Horn  of  a  Pinacate  Mountain  Sheep. 

Owing  to  scaling  off,  through  heat,  dryness  and  fighting, 
the  annual  rings  of  growth  are  particularly  well  shown. 
Note  the  manner  in  which  one  cornucopia  of  horn  has 
grown  within  another. 


lightful  clearness,  the  manner  in  which  a  whole  series  of 
annual  cornucopias  of  horn  material  have  successively 
grown  into  one  another,  and  regularly  pushed  the  old 
horn  outward  farther  and  farther  from  the  horn-core. 
The  progress  of  the  horn  year  by  year  is  quite  unmistak- 
able, and  is  clearly  shown  in  the  accompanying  illustration. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  OF  MEXICO        339 

Skulls,  Dentition,  etc. — I  have  compared  the  skulls 
of  all  the  specimens  mentioned  above,  and  also  a  skull  from 
the  collection  of  Messrs.  Litchfield  and  Sampson,  with 
several  skulls  of  Ovis  canadensis  from  British  Columbia, 
and  have  found  no  real  differences.  The  profiles,  denti- 
tion, length  of  tooth-row  and  everything  else  seem  identi- 
cally the  same.  In  view  of  the  four  new  species  and  sub- 
species that  have  been  created  for  south-western  Mountain 
Sheep — some  of  them  I  think  on  slight  provocation — it  is 
rather  interesting  to  find  that  the  sheep  of  Pinacate,  and  of 
Lower  California  directly  opposite,  are  genuine  Ovis 
canadensis — formerly  called  for  half  a  century  0.  montana. 

Habits. — All  that  we  know  to-day  of  the  ways  of  the 
Pinacate  sheep  can  be  written  in  a  few  words. 

I  found  in  the  stomach  of  the  first  ram  shot  the  follow- 
ing food  plants: 

Galleta  grass,  palo  verde  (Parkinsonia  torreyana), 
white  brittle-bush,  flower-stalks  only  (Encelia  farinosa), 
"torote  prieto,"  Terebintbus  microphylla  and  Spharalcea. 

Owing  to  the  scarcity  of  other  food,  I  think  it  ex- 
tremely probable  that  the  species  named  above  are  fed 
upon  throughout  the  year.  Beyond  doubt,  they  eat  the 
fruit  of  all  species  of  low-growing  cacti,  and  mesquite 
beans  whenever  any  are  available.  The  sheep  are  much 
in  the  habit  of  bedding  down  and  resting  in  deep  niches 
in  the  lava,  evidently  to  escape  the  glare  and  heat  of  the 
sun.  In  south-eastern  California,  Mr.  Will  Frakes  found 
that  the  sheep  of  those  desert  mountains  are  in  the  habit 
of  seeking  the  water-holes  at  night,  to  drink.  He  says 
that  they  are  very  much  on  the  alert,  sleep  fitfully  and 


340        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

awaken  about  every  fifteen  minutes  to  look  about  for 
enemies.  Up  to  this  date,  Mr.  Frakes  has  caught  seven- 
teen sheep,  chiefly  by  means  of  steel  traps  set  in  their 
trails,  but  thus  far  none  have  bred  in  captivity.  They  are 
nervous  animals,  and  during  the  first  month  that  they  are 
handled  by  men  they  are  prone  to  dash  about  and  injure 
either  the  keepers  or  themselves,  or  both. 

Mr.  Frakes  states  that  the  scourge  of  the  sheep  in 
captivity  is  pneumonia;  and  that  when  once  that  disease 
is  fairly  established,  it  is  well-nigh  impossible  to  cure  it. 
Even  on  its  native  mountain-top,  a  captured  sheep  often 
takes  cold  and  contracts  pneumonia  within  a  few  hours 
after  its  capture. 

Geographical  Distribution  in  Mexico. — Beginning 
about  one  hundred  miles  below  the  international  boundary, 
and  extending  two-thirds  of  the  way  down  toward  its 
terminus,  the  mountainous  peninsula  of  Lower  California 
is  inhabited  by  bands  of  mountain  sheep.  Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal  saw  several  sheep  in  the  mountains  only  eight 
miles  inland  from  the  barren  and  uninhabited  spot  marked 
San  Felipe,  near  the  head  of  the  Gulf. 

In  1895,  near  the  north  end  of  the  northern  range  of 
San  Pedro  Martir  Mountains,  about  Latitude  31°,  Mr. 
George  H.  Gould,  of  San  Diego,  killed  a  magnificent  ram 
whose  head  is  now  historic.  It  is  not  only  by  far  the  finest 
that  ever  has  come  out  of  Mexico  (s.  f.  a.  k.),  but  it  is  also 
one  of  the  finest  heads  ever  taken  in  North  America  by  a 
sportsman.  Its  measurements  are  as  follows:  Circum- 
ference, i6J  inches;  circumference  eighteen  inches  from 
base,  13  inches,  and  one  inch  from  tip,  4!  inches;  length 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  OF  MEXICO       341 

on  curve,  42 \  inches;  spread,  25!  inches.  This  head  has 
been  presented  by  Mr.  Gould  to  the  National  Collection  of 
Heads  and  Horns,  and  is  now  at  the  Zoological  Park.  It 
appears  to  be  straight  Ovis  canadensis. 

In  November,  1907,  while  we  were  hunting  sheep  on 
the  Pinacate  lava  fields,  Messrs.  Henry  Sampson,  Jr., 
and  E.  H.  Litchfield,  Jr.,  were  similarly  engaged  on  the 
Peninsula,  north-westward  of  us.  They  had  excellent 
success,  and  bagged  eleven  rams,  some  of  which  were  fine 
in  horns,  but,  like  all  of  ours,  poorly  provided  with  pelage. 
Sheep  are  found  within  measurable  distance  of  San 
Quentin,  and  it  was  somewhere  inland  from  that  port  that 
the  late  William  Harriman  found  a  mountain-sheep  lamb, 
on  a  Mexican  ranch,  purchased  and  successfully  shipped 
it  to  the  New  York  Zoological  Park.  It  lived  in  New 
York  about  six  months  and  presently  succumbed  to  the 
great  scourge  of  captive  wild  sheep — pneumonia. 

Mr.  George  F.  Norton,  of  New  York,  recently  hunted 
sheep  about  seventy  miles  eastward  of  San  Quentin,  but 
found  very  few  specimens.  The  meat-hunters  had  almost 
exterminated  them.  At  an  old  meat-hunter's  camping- 
place,  in  a  grove  of  palms,  thirty  heads  were  found.  It 
is  no  longer  worth  while  to  go  sheep  hunting  from  San 
Quentin. 

In  the  vicinity  of  Magdalena  Bay,  sheep  are  hunted 
successfully  by  the  residents;  and  various  other  localities 
on  the  Peninsula  have  furnished  specimens. 

In  Arizona,  mountain  sheep  are  to-day  found  in  the 
Colorado  Canon,  on  San  Francisco  Mountain,  in  the 
Santa  Catalina  range,  on  the  Gila  Mountains,  the  Tinajas 


342        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

Altas  and  on  the  Quitovaquita  range,  near  the  Sonoyta 
Oasis.  A  very  few  years  ago  some  cowboys  roped  and 
caught  a  ram  that  came  down  to  Quitovaquita  village  to 
drink  at  the  beautiful  spring  that  rises  in  the  United 
States  about  a  hundred  feet  north  of  the  international 
boundary,  and  flows  southward  into  the  Sonoyta.  That 
was  the  last  sheep  ever  seen  in  that  vicinity.  We  found 
no  sheep  horns  in  any  of  the  settlements  on  the  Sonoyta. 

Regarding  the  identity  of  the  sheep  of  southern 
California  and  the  lower  Peninsula,  I  have  no  positive 
first-hand  information.  Those  of  California  have  been 
(rather  hastily  ?)  credited  to  Ovis  nelsoni;  and  those  col- 
lected by  Mr.  E.  Heller,  of  the  Field  Museum,  in  the  San 
Pedro  Martir  Mountains  of  Lower  California,  were  de- 
scribed by  Mr.  D.  G.  Elliot  as  Ovis  cervina  cremnobates; 
which,  being  interpreted,  means  a  sub-species  of  the 
longest-known  Big-Horn.  I  think  that  both  nelsoni  and 
cremnobates  are  open  to  doubt,  and  I  venture  to  predict 
that  whenever  an  extensive  series  of  specimens  has  been 
brought  together  the  claims  of  both  those  groups  to  separate 
recognition  will  disappear.  It  is  to  be  remembered  that 
Ovis  nelsoni  was  founded  on  specimens  collected  in  July 
— the  month  of  all  months  wherein  the  pelage  of  a  North 
American  ruminant  gives  but  very  slight  indications  of 
the  real  colours  it  will  assume  when  perfectly  developed, 
later  on. 

On  the  mainland  of  Mexico,  the  first  mountain  sheep 
found  and  reported  to  zoologists  were  in  the  mountains 
around  Lake  Santa  Maria,  in  northern  Chihuahua,  about 
seventy-five  miles  south-west  of  El  Paso.  On  the  eight 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  OF  MEXICO       343 

specimens  collected  there  by  E.  W.  Nelson  in  1899,  Dr. 
C.  Hart  Merriam  founded  the  new  species  Ovis  mexicanus; 
and  it  has  come  to  stay.  It  is  distinguished  by  its  very 
large  ears  and  large  molar  teeth,  and  a  forehead  that  is 
noticably  less  concave  than  that  of  the  Big-Horn  (0. 
canadensis).  Unfortunately,  the  home  of  the  Mexican 
Mountain  Sheep  was  so  easily  reached  by  hunters  from 
the  United  States,  and  the  number  of  sheep  within  it  was 
so  small,  that  the  species  has  already  been  almost  extermi- 
nated in  its  type  locality!  Four  years  ago  two  experienced 
American  sportsmen  went  thither,  and  hunted  diligently, 
but  found  no  sheep. 

In  1898,  Mr.  Willard  D.  Johnson,  of  the  U.  S.  Geolog- 
ical Survey,  observed  three  living  mountain  sheep  in  the 
Seri  Mountains,  half-way  down  the  eastern  shore  of  the 
Gulf  of  California,  opposite  Tiburon  Island.  Shortly 
afterward  Mr.  Johnson  furnished  me  a  record  of  his  find, 
and  in  it  he  made  the  following  statement: 

"As  observed  at  a  distance  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
yards,  the  adult  male  bore  no  visible  marks  of  difference 
from  Ovis  montana  [now  canadensis]  as  seen  by  me  in 
Nevada." 

Judging  from  all  present  information,  the  state  of  facts 
regarding  the  mountain  sheep  of  Mexico  appears  to  stand 
as  follows: 

1.  East  of  the  Sierra  Madre  (the  "Mother  Range" 
of  the  Rockies),  there  exists  a  completely  isolated  group 
of  sheep  which  have  developed  into  a  form  that  is  truly  and 
visibly  distinct,  and  justly  called  Ovis  mexicanus. 

2.  Unless  the  remnant  individuals  of  this  species  (if 


344       CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

there  are  any!)  are  quickly  and  rigidly  protected  by  the 
Mexican  government,  the  species  will  be  as  dead  as  the 
dodo  in  ten  brief  years. 

3.  The    old-fashioned    Rocky    Mountain    Big-Horn 
comes  down  the  Colorado  River  and  its  tributaries  from 
Colorado  and  Utah,  through  Arizona  to  Sonoyta  and 
Pinacate.     With  the  exception  of  a  few  particularly  hardy 
stragglers  that  have  pushed  a  little  farther  south  along  the 
coast,  the  species  stops  at  Pinacate  on  the  north-eastern 
shore  of  the  Gulf  of  California. 

4.  The  sheep  of  Pinacate  could  easily  be  exterminated 
in  three  years  or  less,  by  the  Mexicans  of  the  Sonoyta 
Valley  for  meat,  or  by  the  scores  of  American  sportsmen 
who  are  willing  to  go  to  the  farthest  corner  of  Hades  itself 
for  mountain  sheep. 

5.  It  is  very  unlikely  that  the  mountain  sheep  of  the 
bias  boundary  between  California  and  Nevada,  of  southern 
California  and  Lower  California,  are  really  a  distinct  group. 

6.  All  the  mountain  sheep  of  Mexico  should  be  pro- 
tected forthwith.    Without  quick  and  effective  protection, 
all  the  sheep  of  Mexico  will  disappear,  forever,  and  it  will 
take  place  so  quickly  that  the  world  will  be  surprised  by 
the  news  that  it  has  taken  place.    In  that  dry  land,  the  big 
game  holds  on  by  a  very  narrow  margin  of  safety.     Its 
herds  are  small  and  easily  found,  and  the  average  resident 
cares  not  one  rap  for  posterity,  the  future,  or  aught  else 
save  the  meat  supply  of  the  present  hour. 

Since  the  foregoing  was  written,  an  incident  of  im- 
portance to  the  mountain  sheep  of  Mexico  has  taken  form. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  OF  MEXICO        345 

On  June  28,  1908,  the  Los  Angeles  Times  published  a  care- 
fully prepared  account,  with  full  details  and  illustrations, 
of  a  hunting  trip  for  mountain  sheep  made  in  May,  1908, 
by  two  men  and  one  woman  of  the  south-western  United 
States,  to  the  hinterland  of  Magdalena  Bay,  Lower  Cali- 
fornia. That  was  in  the  lambing-time  of  the  animals 
that  the  party  went  to  hunt — a  period  in  which  most 
sportsmen  believe  that  big  game  should  be  immune  from 
attack. 

According  to  the  newspaper,  the  two  sportsmen  and 
one  sportswoman  killed  seventeen  sheep,  some  of  which 
were  ewes,  with  nursing  lambs !  The  illustration  showing 
the  hunters  and  the  trophies  distinctly  reveals  the  skulls 
of  three  female  sheep.  It  was  stated  in  the  text  that  one 
of  the  principal  members  of  the  party  proposed  to  place 
some  of  the  sheep  remains  in  a  museum. 

The  slaughter  of  seventeen  sheep  as  the  "bag"  of 
three  hunters,  and  the  published  statement  in  the  story 
of  it  that  Mexico  is  wholly  without  game  laws,  compelled 
me  to  lay  the  available  facts  in  the  case  before  the  Mexi- 
can government,  and  suggest  the  desirability  of  the  im- 
mediate enactment  of  game  laws  providing  for  the  proper 
protection  of  the  mountain  sheep  and  antelope  of  Mexico. 
It  was  suggested  that  the  annual  bag  limit  for  mountain 
sheep  be  fixed  at  two  rams,  and  that  the  protection  of 
antelope  be  made  absolute. 

On  the  day  that  the  proof-sheets  of  this  chapter  came, 
I  received  from  the  Hon.  Senor  Olegario  Molina,  Secre- 
tary of  the  Department  of  Fomento,  under  date  of  August 
1 5th,  a  letter  containing  the  following  information: 


346        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

"  Please  accept  my  thanks  for  the  trouble  you  have 
taken  in  this  matter,  in  order  to  acquaint  me  with  facts 
bearing  upon  the  wanton  extermination  of  valuable  animal 
species. 

"  The  President  of  the  Republic  was  at  once  placed  in 
possession  of  the  data  which  you  sent  me,  and  he  has  in- 
structed the  Department  of  the  Interior  to  collaborate 
with  this  Department,  and  draw  up  the  necessary  meas- 
ures to  put  an  end  to  the  evil,  with  as  little  delay  as 
possible." 

It  is  profoundly  gratifying  to  know  that  in  a  very  short 
time — presumably  only  a  few  weeks — the  mountain  sheep 
of  Mexico  will  be  under  strict  protective  laws.  When  the 
Republic  of  Mexico  undertakes  to  protect  its  big  game 
no  American  will  be  so  unwise  as  to  molest  it  unlawfully  J 
for  Mexico  has  the  habit  of  dealing  out  swift  and  ade- 
quate punishment  to  law-breakers. 

The  foregoing  information  is  herein  set  forth  for  two 
purposes;  to  inform  all  sportsmen  that  henceforth  hunting 
in  Mexico  must  be  conducted  in  accordance  with  the  pro- 
visions of  protective  game  law,  and  also  to  advise  the 
Reader  that  the  mountain  sheep  of  Mexico  are  to  be  no 
longer  at  the  mercy  of  hunters  who  kill  as  many  as  they 
possibly  can. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  FLIGHT  FROM  PINACATE 

Mountains  Being  Buried  by  Sand — The  Meeting  of  Desert  and  Lava — • 
Antelopes  for  Mr.  Phillips — The  Represa  Tank — The  Mexican 
Wagon  Wins  Out — Heading  for  Gila  Bend — The  Ajo  Valley — Gila 
Bend — A  Dinner  Fit  for  the  Gods — Back  to  Civilization. 

IT  is  not  my  purpose  to  exhaust  the  staying-power  of 
the  Reader  by  a  prolonged  account  of  our  return  journey; 
for  a  very  few  words  about  it  will  be  sufficient. 

When  we  broke  camp  at  the  Tule  Tanks,  on  Novem- 
ber 22d  (temp.  36°  F.),  we  returned  to  our  base  camp  by 
way  of  the  granite  mountains  we  had  persistently  scorned 
and  shunned  on  our  way  in.  We  went  in  order  to  see 
how  their  condition  might  be  affected  by  their  peculiar 
surroundings;  and  they  well  repaid  the  extra  travel  that 
the  V-shaped  diversion  involved. 

Those  isolated  mountains  of  clean  gray  granite  stand 
where  the  eastwardly  rolling  waves  of  the  littoral  sands 
break  against  the  high  and  ragged  edge  of  the  lava  plateau. 
Although  those  mountains  must  be  about  seven  hundred 
feet  high  at  their  highest  point,  they  are  now  actually 
being  buried  by  the  desert  sands  that  are  remorselessly 
creeping  up  and  over  them  from  the  west.  Out  in  the 
sand-hills,  about  four  miles  (I  think)  beyond  the  border- 
land group,  there  stand  two  forlorn-looking  granite  peak- 

347 


348        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

lets  that  remind  one  of  stranded  hulks.  Already  they  are 
half  buried  under  the  sand  that  has  blown  over  them. 
Their  look  of  hopeless  abandonment  is  really  pathetic, 
like  the  sight  of  a  man  drowning  beyond  the  reach  of 
succour.  In  a  few  more  years  they  will  be  entirely  buried, 
and  in  their  place  will  appear  two  lofty  sand-dunes,  each 
three  hundred  feet  high  or  more.  Probably  the  young 
geologists  of  a  hundred  years  hence  will  try  hard  to  account 
for  those  wonderful  manifestations  of  the  sands,  little 
dreaming  of  the  granite  peaks  that  lie  sepulchred  within. 
We  tried  to  secure  good  photographic  records  of  them,  but 
they  were  so  far  away,  and  there  was  so  much  fine  sand 
in  the  air,  their  details  were  not  satisfactory. 

Our  own  Saw-Tooth  Range  has  escaped  being  over- 
whelmed by  the  thirty-foot-thick  plain  of  brown  lava 
from  the  east  only  to  be  smothered  later  on  by  the  inexo- 
rable sands.  The  accompanying  illustration  shows  not 
only  the  progress  of  the  sand  up  the  western  slopes  of  the 
mountains,  but  also  the  character  of  the  edge  of  the  sand- 
hills. The  barrier  of  creosote  bushes  that  has  been  thrown 
out  a  mile  beyond  the  edge  of  the  lava  bravely  is  struggling 
to  hold  back  the  encroaching  sands,  but  the  effort  will  be 
in  vain.  In  time — as  compared  with  eternity — the  sand 
will  lie  level  with  the  top  of  the  lava  plain,  and  then  it  may 
even  blithely  drift  on  the  Pinacate  Range  itself.  Of  a 
verity  this  old  earth  is  still  in  the  making. 

About  half  a  mile  north  of  the  Saw-Tooth  Range,  in 
the  big  arroyo  that  comes  down  from  the  Papago  Tanks, 
there  was,  on  November  23rd,  a  fine  pool  of  water,  now 
duly  marked  on  Mr.  Sykes's  map.  The  mountains  make 


From  a  photograph  by  J.  M.  Phillips 

The  Side  of  the  Awful  Choya  Peak 


From  a  photograph  by  J.  M.  Phillips 

The  Sand  Burial  of  the  Saw-tooth  Mountains 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  PINACATE  349 

for  it  an  excellent  water-sign,  either  from  the  gulf  coast 
or  elsewhere;  and  from  the  west,  the  way  to  it  lies  directly 
through  the  most  southerly  notch.  Anyone  shipwrecked 
in  Adair  Bay  might  win  out  to  civilization  by  coming  to  it 
across  the  sands,  then  following  our  trail  to  the  Papago 
Tanks,  and  so  on  eastward  to  the  watery  portion  of  the 
Sonoyta. 

The  need  for  an  adult  pair  of  antelopes  was  so  pro- 
nounced that  when  we  left  the  Papago  Tanks  and  started 
homeward,  Mr.  Milton,  Mr.  Phillips  and  Charlie  Foster 
took  their  horses  and  a  modest  pack  outfit,  and  struck  out 
straight  across  the  lava  for  Agua  Dulce,  to  hunt  antelope 
on  the  way.  At  the  Cerro  Colorado  (Crater  No.  i), 
practically  on  the  very  spot  where  a  band  was  seen  and 
shot  at  on  November  I2th,  Mr.  Phillips  had  the  good  luck 
to  find  and  kill  a  fine  pair  of  full-grown  prong-horned 
antelopes,  both  of  which  were  carefully  preserved  "for 
museum  purposes."  His  struggles  with  Charlie  Foster — 
to  keep  him  from  spoiling  the  game — were  both  interesting 
and  exasperating,  and  demonstrated  once  more  that,  for 
unadulterated  cussedness  in  the  presence  of  game,  the 
Mexican  guide  is  entitled  to  the  championship  of  the 
world. 

With  the  wagons  and  other  impedimenta,  the  rest  of  us 
pulled  back  to  the  Sonoyta  valley  the  way  we  came.  The 
trip  was  full  of  interest  but  without  accident,  save  the 
breaking  of  the  reach  of  the  Mexican  wagon.  On  the 
morning  of  November  25th,  we  watered  our  horses  at  the 
Represa  Tank,  a  half  mile  south  of  the  Camino  del 
Diablo,  on  the  edge  of  the  Tule  Desert.  It  is  close  beside 


350        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

the  last  granite  mountains  south  of  the  trail  as  you  enter 
that  desert  from  the  east.  A  very  curious  layout  of  stone 
has  been  carefully  built  as  a  face  for  the  western  side  of  the 
dam  across  the  notch  wherein  the  tank  lies.  It  looks  like 
a  series  of  foundations  for  a  row  of  eight-by-ten  houses 
backed  up  against  a  two-hundred-foot  stone  wall  that 
extends  the  whole  length  of  the  dam.  The  stone  rectan- 
gles are  evenly  spaced  apart,  and  the  walls  are  all  of  a  uni- 
form height.  I  have  asked  a  dozen  men  to  tell  me  the 
answer  to  this  curious  conundrum  in  stone;  but  thus  far 
no  one  has  been  able  to  do  so,  and  I  am  still  guessing. 

We  tarried  in  the  Sonoyta  settlement  only  just  long 
enough  to  adjust  our  business  affairs  and  repack  our 
wagons.  Glory  be,  we  brought  in  "the  Mexican  wagon" 
intact,  and  under  its  own  steam!  It  was  true  that  its  left 
hind  wheel  had  collapsed  on  the  axle,  the  tongue  had  been 
broken  by  those  wild  mules,  a  single-tree  had  worn  in  two, 
half  a  foot  had  been  broken  out  of  the  middle  of  the  reach 
and  the  brake  had  ceased  to  work.  But  Mr.  Sykes  had 
fixed  all  those  little  trifles,  and  the  wagon  as  a  whole  was 
intact.  Mr.  Escalente  accepted  it  without  imposing 
demurrage,  and  we  were  happy  in  having  achieved  the 
impossible. 

El  Teniente  Medina  was  on  hand  to  see  us  safely 
across  the  boundary,  and  after  parting  from  him  and  our 
good  friends  Jeff  Milton  and  George  Saunders,  with  many 
expressions  of  mutual  regard  and  regret,  we  mounted  our 
wagons  once  more  and  fled  northward  as  fast  as  we  could 

go- 

Owing  to  the  shortness  of  my  time,  Dr.  MacDougal 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  PINACATE  351 

decided  that  we  should  strike  north  to  Gila  Bend,  on  the 
railroad,  and  thereby  save  at  least  two  days'  time. 

With  two  dry  camps  and  one  wet  one,  we  made  the 
run  of  ninety  miles  in  a  little  more  than  three  days.  We 
went  up  the  Ajo  Valley,  past  the  Ajo  copper  mines,  and 
received  at  "the  store"  of  that  settlement  not  one  of  the 
dozen  letters  that  we  eagerly  expected.  There  is  no 
regular  mail  service  to  the  mines,  and  the  inhabitants 
depend  for  their  mail  upon  the  kindness  of  the  freighters 
who  come  southward  with  huge  four-horse  mountains  of 
supplies,  especially  baled  hay. 

Thinking  to  intercept  our  mail  in  transit,  we  accosted 
the  first  freighter  whom  we  met  above  the  mines,  with  a 
touching  appeal.  At  the  first  mention  of  the  magic  word 
"mail,"  which  in  every  country  has  a  clear  right-of-way 
to  every  honest  man's  heart,  the  young  American  driving 
the  outfit  pulled  up  sharply,  threw  down  his  whip,  seized 
a  loaded  gunny-sack  that  lay  on  the  seat  beside  him  and 
leaped  to  the  ground.  A  moment  later  a  bushel  of  mail 
lay  before  us  in  a  heap  on  the  clean  sand,  and  we  eagerly 
went  through  it,  piece  by  piece.  Again  there  was  abso- 
lutely nothing  for  our  party,  and  after  thanking  the  oblig- 
ing and  sympathetic  mail-carrier — who  seemed  really 
sorry  that  we  had  nothing  coming  to  us — we  drove  on  our 
respective  ways,  like  ships  that  pass  in  the  night. 

The  Ajo  Valley  is  not  half  so  interesting  as  the  trail 
from  Tucson  to  Wall's  Well.  It  consists  almost  wholly 
of  creosote  bushes  and  mesquite,  with  a  trace  of  paloverde, 
in  the  proportion  of  95,  4  and  i,  respectively.  Above  the 
Ajo  mines  the  large  cacti  of  all  species  are  conspicuously 


352        CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

absent.  The  mines  are  quite  the  northern  limit  of  the 
organ-pipe  cactus.  There  are  no  yuccas,  nor  palms  of  any 
kind,  and  no  tree  choyas  nor  saguaros  worth  mentioning. 
Beware  of  taking  that  valley  as  a  sample  of  the  desert 
vegetation  of  southern  Arizona,  for  botanically  the  north- 
ern end  of  it  is  distinctly  below  the  mark. 

The  Gambel  quail  and  jack-rabbit  stayed  with  us  in 
fair  numbers,  and  at  long  range  we  saw  an  occasional 
coyote.  When  twenty  miles  from  the  railway  and  the 
Gila  River,  we  saw  the  smoke  of  a  labouring  locomotive, 
and  by  that  token  we  knew  that  our  holiday  was  nearly 
over.  On  the  morning  of  December  ist,  which  I  most 
unwittingly  remarked  as  being  my  birthday,  Dr.  Mac- 
Dougal  and  Mr.  Sykes  left  early  with  Frank  Coles  and  the 
light  wagon,  to  reach  Gila  Bend  ahead  of  us.  There  were 
many  things  to  do  in  connection  with  getting  away  on  the 
next  east-bound  train,  to  Tucson — so  they  said. 

Our  freight  train  rolled  into  Gila  Bend  about  noon; 
and  it  was  Sunday.  The  town  has  about  forty  houses  on 
a  level  plain  two  miles  from  the  river,  and  is  garnished  with 
loafing  Co'capaw  Indians  that  are  spelled  Cocopah. 
It  was  a  deputation  from  that  tribe  that  left  Sampson  and 
Litchfield  in  the  lurch,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  the 
railway. 

With  the  utmost  haste  we  procured  and  packed  a  big 
box  for  the  Carnegie  Museum  at  Pittsburgh,  a  bigger  one 
for  New  York,  and  delivered  both  at  the  station.  Then 
the  Doctor  invited  the  whole  party  to  a  "birthday  dinner" 
that  had  been  specially  prepared  for  the  Pirates  of  Pina- 
cate  by  "Missis  Rucker"  Mclntyre— because  the  hotel  of 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  PINACATE  353 

the  town  had  been  found  quite  unequal  to  the  occasion, 
and  confessed  its  inability  to  make  good. 

At  4  P.  M.,  all  hot,  thirsty  and  hungry  as  six  grizzly 
bears,  we  sat  down  to  a  sumptuous  board  that  was  loaded 
down  to  the  guard-rails  with  good  things.  We  had  roast 
chicken,  rich  cream  gravy,  mashed  potatoes,  fried  eggs,  hot 
biscuits,  exquisite  fresh  butter,  pickles,  peas,  apple  pie, 
milk  and  coffee.  And,  gentlemen,  how  those  five  men  did 
eat!  It  was  a  sight  for  gods  and  men!  And  the  dinner 
was  fit  for  the  gods;  quite  so;  but  we  were  mighty  glad 
that  "the  gods  they  didn't  get  it!" 

The  station  agent  was  an  ex-member  of  the  U.  S. 
Geological  Survey,  and  a  mighty  good  fellow.  Incident- 
ally he  was  starving  for  a  chance  to  hear  something  about 
Killers  and  Gannett  and  Stevenson  and  Hague,  and  all 
the  others  whom  he  had  known  "in  the  field"  so  long  ago; 
and  I  gladly  told  him  not  only  all  that  I  knew  about  his  old 
comrades-in-arms,  but  much  more. 

As  we  boarded  the  train  for  Tucson  we  were  a  tough- 
looking  crowd,  and  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  passengers 
stared  at  us,  doubtfully  and  fearfully.  Jess  Jenkins  came 
on  board  for  a  last  good-bye  and  blessing;  and  he  was  so 
ragged  and  sun-burned  that  he  looked  like  a  land  pirate 
for  fair.  But  his  good  humour  and  droll  persiflage  lasted 
to  the  last  moment.  Leaving  him  and  Coles — yes,  and 
Bob  Dog,  thank  Heaven! — to  drive  the  wagons  leisurely 
to  Tucson,  the  four  of  us  hied  eastward  through  the  dark- 
ness toward  store  clothes,  money,  home  and  letters  from 
home. 

The  reaction  from  the  steady  and  severe  rush  of  the 


354       CAMP-FIRES  ON  DESERT  AND  LAVA 

trip  left  us  limp  and  spiritless,  and  it  was  four  full  days 
ere  one  member  of  the  party  began  to  feel  quite  like  him- 
self again. 

But  all's  well  that  ends  well;    and  may  the  Reader 

some  day  make  that  journey  himself. 

, 

ADIOS 

. 


A  SPORTSMEN'S  PLATFORM 

FIFTEEN  CARDINAL  PRINCIPLES  AFFECTING  WILD  GAME  AND 

ITS  PURSUIT 

PROPOSED  BY  WILLIAM  T.  HORNADAY, 

APRIL    IJTH,    1908. 

1.  The  wild  animal  life  of  to-day  is  not  ours,  to  do  with  as  we 
please.     The  original  stock  is  given  to  us  in  trust,  for  the  benefit  both 
of  the  present  and  the  future.     We  must  render  an  accounting  of  this 
trust  to  those  who  come  after  us. 

2.  Judging  from  the  rate  at  which  the  wild  creatures  of  North 
America  are  now  being  destroyed,  fifty  years  hence  there  will  be  no 
large  game  left  in  the  United  States  or  in  Canada  outside  of  rigidly 
protected  game  preserves.     It  is  therefore  the  duty  of  every  good  citizen 
to  promote  the  protection  of  forests  and  wild  life,  and  the  creation  of 
game  preserves,  while  a  supply  of  game  remains.     Every  man  who 
finds  pleasure  in  hunting  or  fishing  should  be  willing  to  spend  both 
time  and  money  in  active  work  for  the  protection  of  forests,  fish  and 
game. 

3.  The  sale  of  game  is  incompatible  with  the  perpetual  preservation 
of  a  proper  stock  of  game;   therefore  it  should  be  prohibited,  by  laws 
and  by  public  sentiment. 

4.  In  the  settled  and  civilized  regions  of  North  America,  there 
is  no  real  necessity  for  the  consumption  of  wild  game  as  human  food; 
nor  is  there  any  good  excuse  for  the  sale  of  game  for  food  purposes. 
The  maintenance  of  hired  labourers  such  as  miners,  lumbermen  and 
railroad-builders,  on  wild  game  should  be  prohibited,  everywhere,  under 
severe  penalties. 

5.  An  Indian  has  no  more  right  to  kill  wild  game,  or  to  subsist 
upon  it  all  year  round,  than  any  white  man  in  the  same  locality.     The 

355 


356  A  SPORTSMEN'S   PLATFORM 

Indian  has  no  inherent  or  God-given  ownership  of  the  game  of  North 
America,  any  more  than  of  its  mineral  resources;  and  he  should  be 
governed  by  the  same  game  laws  as  white  men. 

6.  No  man  can  be  a  good  citizen  and  also  be  a  slaughterer  of  game 
or  fishes  beyond  the  narrow  limits  compatible  with  high-class  sports- 
manship. 

7.  A  game-butcher  or  a  market-hunter  is  an  undesirable  citizen, 
and  should  be  treated  as  such. 

8.  The  highest  purpose  which  the  killing  of  wild  game  and  game 
fishes  can  hereafter  be  made  to  serve  is  in  furnishing  objects  to  over- 
worked men  for  tramping  and  camping-trips  in  the  wilds;  and  in  most 
countries  the  value  of  wild  game  as  human  food  should  no  longer  be 
regarded  as  an  important  factor  in  its  pursuit. 

9.  If  rightly  conserved,  wild  game  constitutes  a  valuable  asset  to 
any  country  which  possesses  it;  and  it  is  good  statesmanship  to  protect 
it. 

10.  An  ideal  hunting-trip  consists  of  a  good  comrade,  fine  country 
and  a  very  few  trophies  per  hunter. 

11.  In  an  ideal  hunting-trip,  the  death  of  the  game  is  only   an 
incident;  and  by  no  means  is  it  really  necessary  to  a  successful  outing. 

12.  The  best  hunter  is  the  man  who  finds  the  most  game,  kills 
the  least  and  leaves  behind  him  no  wounded  animals. 

13.  The  killing  of  an  animal  means  the  end  of  its  most  interesting 
period.     When  the  country  is  fine,  pursuit  is  more  interesting  than 
possession. 

14.  The  killing  of  a  female  hoofed  animal,  save  for  special  preserva- 
tion, is  to  be  regarded  as  incompatible  with  the  highest  sportsmanship; 
and  it  should  everywhere  be  prohibited  by  stringent  laws. 

15.  A  particularly  fine  photograph  of  a  large  wild  animal  in  its 
haunts  is  entitled  to  more  credit  than  the  dead  trophy  of  a  similar 
animal.     An  animal  that  has   been   photographed   never  should   be 
killed,  unless  previously  wounded  in  the  chase. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


ACACIA,  "CAT-CLAW,"  49 
Accidents  to  wagons,  124,  350 
Adobe  dwellings,  9,  77 
Adair  Bay,  233,  349 
Agua  Dulce,  129 
Ajo  Lily,  77 

Mountains,  72,  73 

Valley,  78,  351 
Alamogordo,  10 
All-Thorn  bushes,  226 
Altitude  of  bottom  of  MacDougal 
Crater,  167 

Carnegie  Peak,  269 

Cubabi  Peak,  no 

lava  plain,  232 

Pinacate  Peak,  270 
Animal  life,  Avra  Valley,  31 

Cubo  Valley,  71 

in  November,  303,  316 
Ammospermophilus  harrisi,  67 
Antelope,  Prong-Horned,  233,  314 

at  Cerro  Colorado,  141 

feeding  on  Plantago,  140 

horns  shed  by,  234 
Antilocapra  americana,  234,  314 
Apus,  180 
Aqueducts  of  stone  in  lava  field, 

178 

Arastra,  115 
Arboreal  desert,  28,  36 
Area  pacifica,  240 
Argemone  platyceras,  32 
Arizona,  University  of,  1 7 
Arroyo,  character  of  an,  39 
Arroyos  in  basaltic  lava,  178,  235 


Artemisia  tomentosa,  83 
Author,  sheep  killed  by,  249,  286 
Avra  Valley,  4,  28 

BADGER  HOLES,  312 

Barometer  lost  on  Pinacate,  243 

Barrancas,  see  Arroyos 

Barrel  Cactus,  60 

Bathing  in  the  desert,  74 

Beef  in  the  desert,  81 

Beetle,  Pinacate,  facing  page  i 

Bird  life  in  the  desert,  316 

Bittern,  325 

Bisnaga,  see  Cactus,  Barrel 

small,  as  food,  151 
Black-Cap  Hill,  161 
Bob,  Frank  Coles's  dog,  205 
Botanical    garden    in    MacDougal 

Pass,  163   ^ 

Botaurus  lentiginosus,  325 
Boundary,  international,  81, 154, 156 
Bridge  to  cross  a  ditch,  148 
British  Columbian  sheep,  331,  333, 

339 

Brittle-Bush,  white,  182 
Bubo  virginianus  pallescens,  322 
Burros,  wild,  at  Agua  Dulce,  133 
Burrows  of  kangaroo  rat,  308 
Buteo  borealis  calurus,  137,  322 

CACTUS,  ATTEMPT  TO  EAT,  151 

Cactus,  Barrel,  60 
as  food,  220 
candy  from,  219 
drinking-water  from,  217 


359 


360 


INDEX 


Cactus,  Barrel,  notes  on  distribution 

of,  220 

Cactus,  Bigelow's  Chova,  211,  221. 
224 

deciduous  joints  of,  221,  224 

distribution  of,  224 

removing  spines  of,  222 
Cactus  gardens,  44 
Cactus,  Giant,  27,  72,  211 

culminating  point  of,  212 

eaten  by  rodents,  220 

flower  of,  213 

form  of,  213 

in  MacDougal  Pass,  165 

on  Pincate,  252 

roots  of,  214 

wood  of,  213 
Cactus,  Organ-Pipe,  68 

culmination  of,  216 

fruit  of,  216 

northern  boundary  of,  215 
Cactus,  Tree  Choya,  224 
Cairn  on  Pinacate  summit,  272 
California,  Gulf  of,  233,  237,  239, 

293 

from  Pinacate,  270 
Camino  del  Diabolo,  113,  124 
Camp  at  Tule  Tanks,  235 

dry,  71 

in  MacDougal  Pass,  163 

"lay-out,"  in  desert,  150 
Camp-fire  at  Roble's  Ranch,  33 

at  Tule  Tank,  254 

on  Pinacate,  278 
Candelabrum   Cactus,   see  Cactus, 

Organ-Pipe 

Cardium  procerum,  240 
Carnegie  Institution  of  Washington, 
18 

Museum,  228,  352 
sheep  for,  202 

Peak,  268 

Cemetery  at  Santo  Domingo,  115 
Cereus  giganteus,  72,  211 

greggi,  120 

schotti,  212 

thurberi,  68 


Cerro  Colorado,  139,  141 
Chipmunk,  Desert,  310 
Choya,  Bigelow,  193 

on  Pinacate,  244 
Choya  field,  161 
Choya  Peak,  259 
Cleanliness  of  Papago  villages,  62 
Climbing  Pinacate,  259 
Clover  Leaf  Crater,  188 
Coat,  sleeveless  hunting,  243 
Cocopah  Indians,  352 
Colaptes  cafer  collaris,  213,  322 
Coles,  Frank,  24 

tracking  of  sheep  by,  255 
Colonia  Lerdo,  296 
Colorado     River,     settlements    on 
lower,  295 

swimming  the,  300 
Comobabi  Indian  villages,  61 

Mountains,  61 
Coot,  American,  326 
Corn,  Indian,  whiskey  made  from, 

61 

Corvus  cryptoleucus,  58 
Cotton-Tail  rabbits,  66 
Cottonwood,  white,  87 
Covillea  tridentata,  53 
Coyote,      mental      processes     of, 

146 

Mountains  and  Pass,  28,  57 

and  skunk,  103 

shot  and  partly  eaten,  298 

without  fear  of  man,  144 
Coyotes,  132,  135,  313 

ruin  a  sheep,  283 
Crater,  MacDougal,  165,  170 

Molina,  189 

on  granite  peak,  161 

Pinacate,  265 

Sykes,  189 
Creosote  Bush  described,  53 

in  MacDougal  Crater,  166 
Crows,  323 

Cubabi  Mountains,  102 
Cubo  Valley,  70 
Curiosity    in    a    mountain    sheep, 

288 


INDEX 


361 


DANIELS,  REUBEN,  117,  123,  131, 

142,  155,  171 
Deer,  314 

Coues  White-Tailed,  107 
Desert,  animal  life  in,  near  Tucson, 

3i 

appearance  of  the,  28 

Arizona,  first  impressions  of,  36 

Botanical  Laboratory,  18 

mammals,  303 

of  creosote  bushes,  140 

plants,  water  storage  by,  226 

problems  of  the,  21 
Dew,  71 

"Devil's  Chair,"  49 
"Devil's  Road,"  113 
Dipodomys  deserti,  307 
Diseases,   absence   of,    in  Sonoyta, 

.92. 

Distribution    of    mountain    sheep, 

329 

Dogs  in  camp,  204 
Doves,  324 

Drinking  on  the  deserts,  64 
Ducks  in  the  desert,  66 

EAGLE,  GOLDEN,  324 
Eaton,  Howard,  317 
Echinocactus  emoryi,  220 

lecontei,  220 

Echinopepon  wrighti,  184 
Elias,     Arturo,    Mexican    Consul, 

95 

Elliot,  D.  G.,  342 
El  Paso,  ii 
Encelia  farinosa,  182 
Entry  into  Mexico,  official,  95 
Escalenti  Senor,  94 

FLICKER,  RED-SHAFTED,  213,  322 
Flood  basins,  41,  70 

of  the  Sonoyta  River,  118 
Food  of  Coues  deer,  107 

of  kangaroo  rat,  309 
Fortress  of  a  pack-rat,  304 
Foster,  Charlie,  24,  55,  155,  349 

in  presence  of  sheep,  195 


Fouquiera  splendens,  49 
Frakes,  Will,  339 
Frog,  328 
Fulica  americana,  326 

GALLETA  GRASS  MEADOW,  162 

at  Papago  Tanks,  181 
Game  laws  in  Mexico,  345,  346 
Geococcyx  calif ornianus,  317 
Giant  Cactus;  see  Cactus,  Giant 

at  Sonoyta,  83 

in  MacDougal  Pass,  165 

in  Sykes  Crater,  167 
Gila  Bend,  91,  352 
Gila  monsters,  no,  327 
Gila  River,  352 
Gould,  Geo.  H.,  340 
Grave  of  murdered  Mexican,  81 
Growler  Mountains,  80 
Guide,    Mexican,    in    presence    of 

game,  195 
Gulf  coast,  below  Colorado  delta, 

298 

Gulf  of  California,  see  California 
Gunny-sack  as  covering,  281 
Gunsight  Mountains,  73 

HARDY'S  COLORADO,  298 
Harriman,  William  H.,  341 
Hawk,   Western   Red-Tailed,    136, 

322 

Hayes's  Well,  59 
Heleodytes  brunneicapillus,  320 
Heller,  E.,  342 
Hesperocallus  undulatus,  77 
Highway    to   Pinacate,    235,    242, 

259 

Hilda,  burning  of  the,  293 
Hogs,   wild,    on    Colorado   River, 

300 

Holland,  W.  J.,  315 
Hornaday  Mountains,  162,  186 
Horns  of  mountain  sheep,  burned, 
182 

of  Pinacate  sheep,  335 
Horses  on  the  lava,  259 

sustained  by  galleta  grass,  236 


INDEX 


IMMIGRATION,  U.  S.  INSPECTOR  OF, 

98 

Indian  guides,  treachery  of,  113 
Individuality  of  desert  vegetation,  40 
Irrigation  at  Santa  Domingo,  115 

in  Sonoyta  Oasis,  85 
Iron- Wood  Tree,  52,  183 

camp-fire  of,  278 

JACK  RABBITS,  31,  66,  311 
as  emergency  food,  151 
Japanese  wayfarers,  125 
Javalina,  315 
Jenkins,  Jesse  T.,  24,  353 
Johnson,  Willard  D.,  343 

KANGAROO  RAT,  140,  307 
Kansas,  6 

LARREA  MEXICANA,  53 
Lava  arroyos,  178 

around  Sykes  Crater,  192,  193 

at  Cerro  Colorado,  143 

effect  of,  on  feet,  253 

flows  from  Pinacate  Volcano,  265 

on  granite  mountains,  161 

on  Phillips's  Buttes,  203 

on  Pinacate  slope,  245 

pkins,  230,  232 

ridges,  229 

ridge  in  Ajo  Valley,  80 
Lava  field,  edge  of  a  great,  149,  156, 
160 

from  MacDougal  Crater,  176 
Laws  of  a  hunting  party,  172 
Lepus  arizonae,  311 

calif ornicus  eremicus,  312 
Lily,  Ajo,  77 

Litchfield,  Jr.,  E.  H,  332 
Livingston,  Dr.,  20 
Lizards,  Horned,  327 
Lophortyx  gambeli,  318 
Loring,  J.  Alden,  140 

MACDOUGAL  CRATER,  159, 165, 175 
MacDougal,  Dr.  D.  T., 
and  water-storage  cactus,  120,  218 


MacDougal,  Dr.  D.  T., 

Desert  Botanical  Laboratory  cre- 
ated by,  1 8 

enters  outfit  at  Sonoyta,  96 

hawk  shot  by,  137 

kills  mountain  sheep,  272 

lays  down  law  to  Mr.  Daniels, 
171 

stalks  antelope,  142 
MacDougal  Pass,  154,  159,  175 
Magdalena  Bay,  slaughter  of  sheep 

near,  345 

Malpais  plain,  148 
McLean,  Charlie,  293,  301 
Meadow  of  galleta  grass,  162 
Medina,  Lieutenant  Jesus,  95,  359 
Mephitis  macrura,  103 
Merriam,  C.  Hart,  343 
Mesquite  camp-fires,  185 

Honey  Pod,  47 
Mexican  family,  a  typical,  88 
Mexican  guides  for  sportsmen,  105 
Milton,  Jefferson  D.,   87,   98,   121, 
125,  349 

antelopes  shot  by,  234 

climbs  Pinacate,  265 

finds  lost  wagons,  152 

sheep  killed  by,  187 
Mine,  abandoned,  at  Wall's  Well, 

75 
Minnows  in  Sonoyta  River,  325 

Mistletoe,  48 
Molina  Crater,  189 
Molina,  Senor  Jesus,  88 

Seiior  Olegario,  189,  345 
Montezuma's  Head,  75,  78 
Moonlight  on  the  lava  field,  254 
Monument  No.  180,  154 
Mountains,  Ajo,  73 

buried  by  sand,  347 

Comobabi,  61 

Coyote,  57 

Cubabi,  102 

Growler,  80 

Gunsight,  73,  76 

Hornaday,  162 

of  southern  Arizona,  37 


INDEX 


363 


Mountains,  Papago,  156 
Tinajas  Altas,  156 
west  of  Fermin  Point,  296 

Mount  Lemmon,  21 

Mountain  Sheep;  see  Sheep 

Mud-Hen,  326 

Mud  in  malpais  plain,  148 

Mugwort,  narrow-leaved,  83 

Mules  in  outfit,  in 

Murex  becki,  240 

NELSON,  E.  W.,  332,  343 
Neotoma  albigula,  79,  303 
Nest  of  Cactus  Wren,  321 
Nests  of  Pack-Rat,  304,  306 
New  Mexico,  9 
Norton,  Geo.  F.,  341 

OASIS  AT  PAPAGO  TANKS,  181 

Sonoyta,  84 
Ocatilla,  49,  79 

flower  of,  138 

stems  as  fire-wood,  282 
Odocoileus  couesi,  107 
Oklahoma,  7 
Olneya  tesota,  52,  182 
Opuntias,  226 
Opuntia  fulgida,  161 

Kunzei,  117 

on  saguaro,  65 

Organ-Pipe  Cactus,  68,  78,  136 
Ostrea  lurida,  240 
Outfits,  weight  of  personal,  26 
Ovis,  the  genus,  329 
Ovis  canadensis,  201;  see  Sheep 

culminating  point  of,  330 

cervina  cremnobates,  342 

cremnobates,  201 

mexicanus,  201,  343 

montana,  339 

nelsoni,  342 

vanishing  point  of,  330 
Owl,  Western  Horned,  322 
Oysters  in  San  Felipe  Bay,  297 

PACK-RAT,  WHITE-THROATED,  303 
at  Tucson,  304 


Pack-Rat,  eaten  by  Indians,  307 

in  grave,  116 
Palo  Verde  described,  45 
Panorama    from    monument    180, 

156 

Pinacate  slope,  246 

Pinacate  summit,  270 
Papago  arroyo,  229 
Papago  Indians,  28,  156,  216 

sheep  killed  by,  182 

villages  of,  61,  67 
Papago  Mountains,  156 
Papago  Tanks,  164 
Parkinsonia  microphylla,  45 
Parosela  spinosa,  184 
Partridge,  Gambel,  318 
Petunculus  gigantea,  240 
Pelage  of  sheep,  289,  334 
Phainopepla,  323 
Phillips,  John  M.,  23 

antelope  shot  by,  349 

camps  on  Pinacate,  281 

cyclorama    of    photographs    by, 
272 

falls  in  pack-rat  nest,  306 

photographs  quail,  79 

photographs  rattlesnake,  121 

quail  shooting  by,  319 

sheep  killed  by,  188,  249 

story  of  sheep  hunt  by,  194 
Phillips  Buttes,  193 
Photography  from  Pinacate,  272 

on  the  lava  beds,  230,  257 
.  of  Pinacate,  139 
Pinacate  Beetle,  facing  page  i 
Pinacate    Mountains,    from    Agua 
Dulce,  129 

from  Cerro  Colorado,  139 

from  Monument  180,  156 

from  Papago  Tanks,  228 

from  Sonoyta,  in 
Pinacate  Peak,  5 

as  a  volcano,  265 

ascent  of,  258 

herds  of  sheep  on,  261 

highest  point  of,  261,  264 

lying-out  on,  277 


364 


INDEX 


Pinacate    Peak,   summit    of,    268, 
270 

western  approach  to,  235 
Pine  forests,  absence  of,  39 
Pitahaya,  see  Cactus,  organ-pipe 
Plantago  aristata,  140 
Plantain,  Desert,  140 
Plant  life, 

at  Coyote  Mountain,  44 

at  Tucson,  20 

at  Sonoyta,  83 

in  eastern  N.  Mexico,  8 

of  Avra  Valley,  28 

of  an  arroyo,  40 

of  Ajo  Valley,  77,  351 

of  Choya  Butte,  244 

of  Cubo  Valley,  70 

of  lava  field,  177 

of  MacDougal  Pass,  160,  162 

of  Papago  Oasis,  183 

of  Sykes  Crater,  191 

of  Tule  Desert,  138 
Platform,  a  sportsman's,  355 
Playa  Salada,  135,  270,  325 
Pneumonia  in  mountain  sheep,  340 
Pomegranate  trees,  92 
Pools  made  by  Indians,  63,  65 
Poppy,  Thistle,  32 
Populus  mexicanus,  87 
Prickly  pear  on  giant  cactus,  65 
Prosopis  velutina,  47 
Punica  granatum,  92 

QUAIL,  GAMBEL,  318,  352 
Quijotoa  Mountains,  67 
Quiroz,  Judge  Traino,  88 

family  of,  88 
Quitovaquita,  122 

sheep  caught  at,  342. 

RABBITS,  66 

Arizona  Cotton-Tail,  3.11 

Arizona  Jack,  31,  311 
Raft  for  crossing  Colorado  River, 

t  298 

Rainbow  and  mountain  sheep,  197 
Rain  at  Sonoyta,  104,  118 


Ranch,  Roble's,  32 

Rat,  see  Pack-Rat  and  Kangaroo 

Rat 
Rattlesnake,    59,     120,    131,    240, 

327 

Ravens,  32,  58,  67,  323 
Represa  Tank,  181 
Rex,  Mr.  Milton's  dog,  206,  208 
Rio  Grande,  12 
Road-Runner,  317 
Roble's  Pass,  26 

ranch,  31 

Rock  Island  Railway,  6 
Rowdy,  Mr.  Milton's  dog,  206 
Rumex  hymenosepalus,  77 

SACRAMENTO  MOUNTAINS,  10 
Saguaro,  see  Cactus,  Giant 
San  Andreas  Mountains,  10 
"San  Felipe,"  mythical  "Puerto," 

293 

Sands  of  the  gulf,  347 
Sand  ridge  in  MacDougal  Pass,  162 
San  Quentin,  341 
Santa  Catalina  Mountains,  14,  20 
Santa  Cruz  River,  15 
Santo  Domingo,  114 
Santa  Maria  Lakes,  342 
Santa  Rosa  Valley,  65 
Sampson,  Jr.,  Henry,  332 
Saunders,  George,  100 
Scuirus,  no  occurrences  of,  311 
Sheep,  destruction  of,  by  Papago 

Indians,  182 
Sheep,  Mountain,  of  Pinacate, 

appearance  of,  200 

awful  home  of,  202 

bed  of,  252 

caught  at  Quitovaquita,  342 

color  of,  331 

curiosity  in,  288 

dentition  of,  339 

feet  of,  333 

food  of,  202,  339 

herds  of,  261 

horns  of,  252,  335 

hunt  for,  241 


INDEX 


365 


Sheep,  Mountain,  of  Pinacate, 

killed,  187,  188,  249,  272,  286 

last  specimen  of,  284 

measurements  of,  201 

pelage  of,  334 

size  of,  332 

skulls  of,  339 

trails  of,  260 

unfamiliar  with  man,  263,  288 

vigor  of  wounded,  274,  286 
Sheep   hunt,  by  the   author,    247, 
286 

by  Mr.  Phillips,  194,  247 

Dr.  MacDougal's  story  of,  272 

Mr.  Sykes's  story  of,  289 
Sheep  of  Lower  California,  hunt  for, 

by  G.  F.  Norton,  341 

by  G.  H.  Gould,  340 

by  Sampson  and  Litchfield,  336, 

339>  34i 

Sheep   of   Mexico,  conclusions  re- 
garding, 343 
Sheep  of  the  world,  329 
Sierra  Blanca,  New  Mexico,  10 
Siri  Mountains,  sheep  seen  in,  343 
Skunk  eaten  by  coyote,  103 
Smoke-Tree,  Spiny,  184 
Soap-Weed,  8 

on  San  Felipe  Bay,  297 
Sonoyta  River,  83 

below  Quitovaquita,  124,  137 

in  flood,  118 

last  waters  of,  325 

lower  half  of,  269 
Sonoyta  Oasis,  84 

life  in  the,  90 
Sonoyta  Valley,  82,  in 
Southern  Pacific  Railway,  15 
Sportsmen's  platform,  355 
Spring  at  Quitovaquita,  122 
Squirrel,  Harris's  Antelope,  67,  310 
Swimming  the  Colorado,  298 
Sykes^  Godfrey,  23,  30,  291 

carries  sheep,  193 

climbs  Cubabi  Peak,  no 

craters  discovered  by,  188 

crater  named  after,  189 


Sykes,   Godfrey,  goes  to  the  gulf, 

238 

measures  crater,  190 

stalks  a  ram,  289 

story  of  desert  experience,  293 

TANKS,  PAPAGO,  164,  177,  179 

Represa,  181 

Tule,  235 
Tannin  plant,  77 
Teniente  Medina,  of  Nogales,  95 
Temperatures,  71,  165,  256 
Thrasher,  Crissal,  nest  of,  322 
Times,  Los  Angeles,  345 
Tinajas  Altas  Mountains,  156 

Tanks,  114 
"Toads,"  horned,  327 
Toxostoma  crissalis,  322 
Trail  across  lava  field,  229 

over  the  lava,  176 

to  Tule  Tank,  229,  232 
Trail-making,  155 
Trails  of  sheep,  260 
Tree  choya,  woody  stem  of,  225 
Tucson,  13,  14 
Tucumcari,  9 
Tularosa,  9 
Tule  Desert,  154 

Tanks,  235 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ARIZONA,  17 

VALLEY,  AVRA,  28 
Vegetation,  see  Plant  Life 
Vine  in  Papago  Oasis,  184 
Volcanic  mud,  plain  of,  146 

WAGONS,  END  OF  ROUTE  FOR,  170 

lost  to  the  hunters,  150 
Wagon,  Mexican,  350 
Wall's  Well,  73 

Warning  about  water-holes,  237 
Water-carrying  in  the  desert,  155 
Water-drinking  on  the  deserts,  64 
Water,  allowance  of  Sykes  and  Mc- 
Lean, 297 


366  INDEX 

Water,  at  Tule  Tanks  Woodpecker  nests  in  giant  cactus,  213 

from  barrel  cactus,  219  Wren  Cactus,  320 

in  lava  tanks,  178,  180,  237  Wyoming  sheep,  333 
supply  of  animals,  309 

Watermelons  in  the  desert,  29  YAQUI  INDIANS  IN  TUCSON,  16 

Weather  in  November,  55  Yucca,  8 

Wells  in  deserts,  60  Yuma,  ci3 

Wheat,  Indian,  140  boats  built  at,  292,  293 

White  Sands,  10 

White-Tailed  Deer,  108  ZOOLOGICAL  PARK,  sheep  in,  341 


BOOKS  BY  W.  T.  HORNADAY 

PUBLISHED    BY    CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

The  American 
Natural  History 

Illustrated  by  220  original  drawings  by  Beard,  Rungius,  and  Sawyer, 

and  100  photographs  by  Sanborn,  Keller,  and  Underwood,  and 

with  numerous   diagrams   and  maps.     More  than  400 

pages,  double  column,  5^x8  inches.     $3.50  net 

"  Not  only  a  book  packed  with  information  which  can  be  de- 
pended on,  but  one  of  absorbing  interest.  .  .  .  The  best  thing  in  its 
field  that  has  been  published  in  this  country." — Nashville  American. 

u  Mr.  Hornaday  is  a  practical  man  and  he  has  written  a 
practical  book.  .  .  .  The  descriptions  are  clear  and  avoid  over- 
technicality,  while  they  are  accompanied  by  readable  accounts  of 
animal  traits  and  incidents  of  wild  life.  It  is  refreshing  to  have 
a  book  that  is  thoroughly  dependable  as  regards  fact  and  scientific 
in  spirit,  yet  written  with  liveliness  and  freshness  of  manner." 

—  The  Outlook. 

"  The  author  has  succeeded  remarkably  well  from  the  popu- 
lar as  well  as  from  the  professional  point  of  view.  The  result  is 
a  book  which  a  farm-boy  may  study  without  a  teacher  and  get  a 
proper  idea  of  the  animals  about  him;  and  a  book  which  a  teacher 
may  truthfully  follow  in  the  class-room  and  not  mislead  the 
pupils  he  is  endeavoring  to  instruct." — ERNEST  INGERSOLL. 

"  Here  are  the  beasts  of  the  field,  the  birds  of  the  air,  the 
fishes  of  the  deep,  described  in  clear,  simple  language,  with  no 
ambiguity,  and  pictured  in  many  cases  by  photographs  from  life, 
in  others  by  drawings  of  well-known  animal  painters.  We 
suspect  that  Mr.  Hornaday's  book  will  be  the  popular  natural 
history  for  a  long  time  to  come." — New  York  Sun. 

"  It  is  safe  to  predict  for  this  lavishly  illustrated  work  wide 
and  enduring  popularity ;  there  is  so  human  a  note  in  it,  it  is  so 
markedly  well  designed  to  attract  and  hold  the  attention  of  older 
as  well  as  younger  readers." — New  York  Evening  Mail. 

"  The  manner  of  treatment  throughout  is  not  merely  in- 
teresting, it  is  exceedingly  witty  and  uniformly  readable.  .  .  . 
It  would  seem  that  every  effort  had  been  made  by  the  author  to 
secure  accuracy  and  modernity  of  treatment,  and  his  book  is 
altogether  one  to  be  prized  on  every  account." — The  Dial. 


B   Y      W.      T.      HORNADAY 

Camp  Fires  in  the 
Canadian  Rockies 

Illustrated.    8vo.    $3.00  net 

"It  is  the  best  told,  best  illustrated,  best  reproduced 
hunting  story  ever  encountered  in  the  writer's  thirty  odd 
years  of  professional  contact  with  literature  of  this  kind. 
The  book  is  a  treasure  trove  to  all  sportsmen,  besides 
being  a  reference  book  of  inestimable  value  to  the  scien- 
tist and  student." — Western  Field. 

"There  were  adventures  with  grizzlies,  a  great  moun- 
tain sheep  hunt,  wonderful  trout  fishing,  and  the  grandest 
of  scenery  to  fill  the  trip  with  unalloyed  delight  and  give 
zest  to  every  page  of  the  book.  Mr.  Hornaday  is  in  very 
close  sympathy  with  nature,  abounds  in  humor,  writes 
well,  and,  best  of  all  he  abhors  the  ruthless  destruction  of 
animal  life." — The  New  York  Times  Saturday  Review. 

"The  volume  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able and  best  of  those  dealing  with  the  adventures  of  the 
sportsman-naturalist  in  America,  and  it  deserves  a  per- 
manent place  on  the  bookshelves  of  those  who  enjoy  the 
successes  of  the  camera  as  much  as  those  of  the  rifle." 

— Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

"Written  in  a  lively  and  popular  style,  and  abounding 
in  thrilling  adventure,  it  is  also  a  valuable  contribution  to 
the  natural  history  of  the  region." — New  York  Tribune. 

"This  is  one  of  the  best  'outing'  books  that  has  ap- 
peared in  our  country  for  years." 

— Bulletin  of  the  American  Geographical  Society. 


BY     W        T,      HORNADAY 


Taxidermy  and 
Zoological  Collecting 

Illustrated.     8vo.     $2.50  net 

"In  this  handsomely  illustrated  book  taxidermy  and 
its  allied  branches  have  at  last  been  adequately  dealt  with. 
The  subject  is  treated  ab  initio;  it  begins  with  the  hunting 
of  the  animals  and  the  study  of  fresh  specimens,  and  ex- 
tends down  to  the  final  preservation  of  skins  and  mounting 
the  same." — Scientific  American. 

"  The  important  feature  of  this  exceedingly  valuable 
— and  to  the  amateur  collector  absolutely  indispensable — 
handbook  is  that  it  contains,  in  the  most  succinct  and 
lucid  form,  information  that  the  standard  volumes  on  the 
subject  do  not  give.  There  is  plenty  of  entertainment  in 
the  volume.  It  is  profusely  and  admirably  illustrated.'* 

— Boston  Beacon. 

"A  handsome,  valuable,  and  richly  illustrated  volume. 
It  contains  a  great  mass  of  information  interesting  even 
for  the  uninitiated." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  The  work  is  the  most  complete,  the  most  practical, 
and  the  most  valuable  contribution  to  the  subject  that 
has  yet  come  from  the  press,  and  will  be  heartily  wel- 
comed by  all  interested  in  taxidermy  or  engaged  in  the 
work  of  collecting  specimens." — The  Christian  Work. 

"  It  may  be  read  with  interest  by  all  who  have  any 
love  for  natural  history.  To  those  who  wish  to  practice 
taxidermy,  we  do  not  see  how  any  book  could  be  more 
exactly  devised  to  meet  their  wants.  The  instructions 
are  simple  and  trustworthy.  The  cuts  are  numerous 
and  satisfactory." — The  Herald  and  Presbyter. 


By     W.      T.      HORNADAY 

Two  Years  in  the  Jungle 

The  Experiences  of  a  Hunter  and  Naturalist  in 
India,  Ceylon,  the  Malay  Peninsula,  and  Borneo 

With  Maps  and  Illustrations.     8vo.     $2.50 


"A  book  which  will  be  thoroughly  enjoyed  from 
cover  to  cover." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  It  is  an  interesting  narrative  of  travel,  sport,  and 
adventure  over  a  very  wide  area.  There  is  indeed  no 
dull  writing  in  it  and  it  is  a  record  of  a  really  astonishing 
amount  of  very  hard  work,  performed  often  under  serious 
difficulties,  with  the  most  cheerful  spirit  in  the  world." 

—New  York  Tribune. 

"As  a  contribution  to  natural  science  and  to  the  litera- 
ture of  travel  Mr.  Hornaday's  book  is  as  instructive  and 
valuable  as  it  is  interesting." — The  Dial. 

"All  things  considered,  this  is  one  of  the  most  satis- 
factory books  of  its  kind  that  we  have  seen.  ...  Its 
author  possesses  to  a  marked  degree  the  happy  but  rare 
faculty  of  knowing  just  how  much  science  the  general 
reader  likes  to  have  mixed  with  his  narrative,  and  also 
how  to  give  it  to  him  without  missing  either  the  science 
or  the  narrative." — Science. 

"  Mr.  Hornaday  has  written  instructively  and  attract- 
ively. An  enthusiast  in  his  love  of  his  profession  of 
naturalist,  an  artist  in  his  manner  of  studying  animals, 
and  a  scientific  hunter,  he  joins  qualities  that  were  never 
united  in  a  previous  writer." — Boston  Globe. 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMOVE 
CARDS  OR  SLIPS  FROM  THIS  POCKET 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO  LIBRARY 

1 : 


Hornaday,  William  Temple 

Camp fires  on  desert  and 
H8l     lava