Hi ya buckaroos!
That was Tarzan and this is the end-miner saying hello from the tack room of the Diamond
Cave.
Well, I've been digging around for a story to tell you today.
That's why you're here, I know.
And I think I've come up with a yarn you're going to enjoy.
It's one of my favorites.
I've been hearing from a lot of parents too lately.
It seems I've been saving them a lot of work for leaving them in the storytelling department.
Well, I'm glad to help out.
Now, here's my ranch hand Charlie to help out with a word or two for you.
Well, thanks Ken.
And from the tack room of Ken Maynard's Diamond Cave Ranch, we're bringing you stories of
adventure.
Stories of circus life, fascinating transcribed tales of the Old West where cowboys still
follow the cattle trails.
Stories of rodeos and parades, colorful legends of the Red Man, hidden gold, lost mines and
buried treasure.
The exciting tales from the Diamond Cave are told by Hollywood's champion of western stars,
internationally famous Ken Maynard.
Now, while Ken's getting ready to spin today's Wild West yarn, here's something to think
about buckaroos.
And by the way, this is not a yarn.
This is based on real facts.
Do you know what every cowboy's favorite pastime is?
Well, after the chores are done, whether it's watering the horses, pitching hay, rounding
up the cattle or taking care of all the gear, the boys just kind of drift together to chat
a bit.
The first thing you know, one of them is telling a story.
Cowboys just love a good story.
And that's why we think you'll get a big kick out of having a set of real western stories
to hear any time you have your chores done.
Now, I'm talking about the exciting record album of Ken Maynard Wild West Stories.
It's a beautiful album, all in color, with two of Ken's favorite stories inside, on two
big eight inch unbreakable records, with pictures of Ken and Tarson right on the records.
And best of all, these records are personalized, made just for you, with a personal message
from Ken to you right on the record.
When you put the needle down on the record, you'll hear Ken say,
Hello there, Jimmy.
This is Ken Maynard with a story just for you.
Yes.
You'll hear Ken call you by name, whatever your name is.
He'll tell you two complete, exciting stories, while you'll be the talk of your neighborhood
buckaroos.
You know how you can get this Diamond K record album?
Just send your name and address with a dollar to records in care of this radio station.
These records are standard, 78 RPM speed for the regular kind of record player that everybody's
been using for years.
And say you'll play your records over and over again.
Now, here's Ken.
Back in the days of the Pony Express, sometime in the 1850s, one of these mountain expressmen
was hightailing along through Nevada when he was harsher through him, and he landed
smack on the ground with his scraped nose plumb against the richest piece of silver
ore you'd ever want to see.
Just made the Pony Expressman so happy he forgot to cuss out his horse in his haste
to get into Virginia City to get the ore assayed.
And that's what started the great Austin, Nevada rush in the Reef River section.
Now, it didn't take long for the news to get the lost answers, for three fellows, McCloud,
O'Banion, and Breifogel, heard about it.
But they were started down on their luck, couldn't scrape a nickel between them.
The problem of getting that 400 miles to Nevada was one big hurdle to jump.
Even if they did have the price of transportation, the only way in those days to get to Nevada
was by stage some 400 miles north to Sacramento, and then about the same distance east.
But that's measuring miles about the way a crow flies.
That road was likely to tie itself up and not skid in there.
Now, there was a reason folks had to go the long way around.
East of Los Angeles on the way to Nevada is one of the most awful stretches of territory
you could imagine, just one desert after another, with mountains thrown in between to discourage
those who managed to get across the desert.
The worst, Death Valley, they called it, with good cause, was full of the bleached bones
of those who tried to take the shortcut.
But all this didn't discourage McCloud, O'Banion, and Breifogel.
They had to walk, so they were going to save as many steps as possible.
As if things weren't bad enough, they started from Los Angeles in June, with the hottest
days of the year ahead of them to spend time on those deserts.
They weren't burdened down much, just a blanket apiece for the coal knives, a canteen, and
a couple of rifles on which they counted for a nice roasted jackrabbit or something or
other.
They weren't particular.
At the San Fernando mission, the good potteries tried to talk them out of going on.
Those boys had more determination than they had good sense.
They managed somehow to get across the Mojave Desert, though no one knows how, and skirted
around the Argus Range, making the most of the nights to get around the desert stretches,
like the Panamint Valley.
Now, Panamint's a nice-sounding name.
Both Panamint Mountains almost finished them, and ahead was Death Valley and the Funeral
Range, which sounded rather prophetic.
They were starting down the east slope of the Panamints when they came across a spring
that looked so inviting.
They carried too long and decided to spend the night there.
The ground was so rough they had to do some searching to find a smooth place to lie down,
and since they were getting tired hunting, McCloud and Old Banyan decided to bunk together,
while Bifogel had to go off a ways to find a place where a rock wouldn't be sticking
in his back all night.
After most people camping out, they didn't take off their clothes, just their shoes,
and they were so tired it wasn't long before they were snoring.
In the middle of the night, Bifogel was shocked out of a beautiful dream by the loudest yelling
he ever heard.
It came from the direction of where Old Banyan and McCloud were sleeping.
They'd been set on by a bunch of Indians who finished them off in no time.
That's what they got for sleeping so near the spring.
Well, Buckaroo's Bifogel decided not to give those fellows an argument.
All he had time to do was to grab his shoes and hide him down the mountain in his bare
feet, which took a bit of going, even for an armory as tough as Bifogel.
When he got into the desert, Death Valley it was, he hid and rested awhile before starting
across.
The heat was terrific, and the only thing he could find to drink was alkali water.
He was too thirsty to care, so he drank this stuff and filled his shoes.
They were big ones, too.
They held more than a canteen, which you remember he'd left near the spring along with everything
else in getting away from those Indians.
Well, of course the alkali water made him deathly sick, but he limped on.
He must have been hobbling on a set of blisters.
He reached the funeral range, and staring clear of water holes for a good reason, he
spent the night behind a heap of rocks he piled up for a little protection.
He was on his way again at daybreak, estimating the distance to the top of the hills as about
eight miles.
He was dog-thirsty, still sick from the alkali water, which was worse than none at all, the
way it burned his insides and made him all the more thirsty.
He must have been half way up when he saw beautiful patches of green a couple of miles
out of the way, but it looked so inviting and gave the promise of the spring, so he
headed for it.
On the way he happened to pass some grayish rock that caught his eye because of the free
gold that was obviously in it, but he was too tired and thirsty to care much.
Anyway, he did grab a few samples and put them in his bandana, already soaked from mopping
his brow.
He'd only gone a few steps farther when he came across the main vein, really valuable
pink ore, so he threw away the samples he already had and took some of the new ones.
When he got to the green spot it turned out to be a mesquite tree full of green beans.
That he proceeded to stuff himself with.
All this made him go start a loco.
He was about finished anyway and he began stumbling around like a crazy man.
Well folks, you'll have to excuse me for my story for a minute, because I want to sit
back and get comfortable and tell you about another favorite subject of mine.
Speaking of comforts, you know, if a man doesn't feel comfortable, he just can't do his best
at work or play, and just for your information I feel my best when I'm dressed comfortably.
And you know, my favorite outfit, whether I'm working or just loafing around, is my K-shirt
and a pair of jeans.
And you'd be surprised how many buckaroos are agreeing with me.
Kids all across the country are riding in asking me for a K-shirt like mine.
I've told you about it before.
It's a comfortable cotton shirt made like a T-shirt in the color of desert sand, with
my own diamond K-brand in bright red on the front and tarsening me looking right at you.
If you want to join the fellows and girls that are wearing my own private K-shirt, all
you've got to do is send me your name and address.
Tell me what size you wear, a size 2 or 4, 6, 8, 10, or 12, and enclose a $1 bill for
the fellow that makes them.
Pretty fancy shirt for just a dollar.
And you'll get a lot of wear out of your K-shirt, too, because it's fine quality cotton, and
the blazing colors are put on by the special hand-screen process.
So send a day.
Be sure to send your name, your address, and your size to K-shirt care of this station,
and slip in that $1 bill.
Your shirt will be sent post-it prepaid from Hollywood.
Now let's get back to the story.
Well for days Bifogle staggled around the mountains and the desert in a complete mental
fault with no sense of direction.
He must have found water somewhere and had sense enough to eat roots, but his mind was
absolutely blank.
He managed to get across the funeral range, and the armagosa desert, and it wasn't until
he reached Baxter Springs, 250 miles from where he blacked out that his thinking became
clear again.
He spent some time resting up, bathing his feet that were now puffed out like balloons,
before striking out again for Nevada.
He dropped down to Smoky Valley, and it was there that he saw the first human being since
his partners had been killed by the Indians.
It was a fellow by the name of Wilson.
Wilson was tracking down something or other when he came across the strangest tracks he'd
ever seen.
They were like human feet, but much too big.
He followed him on horseback and then caught up with Bifogle, still barefoot and all but
naked and his beard and hair hopelessly matted.
He sure was a sight, said Wilson, with the carcass of a big man, but not much hanging
on to it.
He was carrying his shoes around his neck, and in one were their oar samples wrapped
up in a bandana.
Wilson took him home with him, and he and his good wife gave him food and plenty of
care.
Later, when he had recovered some, they found him a job at Austin in the Quartz Mill, working
for Jake Gooding.
Bifogle told Jake about finding his oar, but he didn't need to say another word after showing
him the samples.
It was almost pure gold, and gold speaks for itself.
Gooding was all for starting out for the place at once, but it took another couple of months
before he could outfit a train and get the necessary five or six men and the extra mules.
When they reached the Panamans, they ran into Indians, who beat them off, and they had to
return to Austin.
Next time they started in from the west with a party of twelve men.
They got through all right, and Bifogle led them straight to the Alkali Spring, but he
couldn't find the gold.
He did find an old mesquite tree, which he swore was the one which had provided him with
that meal of beans his last before he went local.
But there was lots of mesquite thereabouts, and after hunting around a while, Bifogle
became less and less sure.
So did the others, who had come all that distance with him.
They began to curse the fight among themselves, and got so angry with Bifogle, he was afraid
they might kill him.
Anyway, they packed up and left, and Bifogle dropped out of sight, too.
The buckaroos, that didn't stop the hunting, not by a long sight.
George Hurst was one of the most successful miners in the district.
He found a piece of Bifogle's ore, and kept a bunch of miners looking for two winners
before he decided to quit.
Now, your guess is as good as mine as to what happened.
I've been all through that area myself, and know almost as much about it as the next fellow.
It's my opinion, for what it's worth, that cloudburst dislodged some of the dirt, and
covered up that vein of ore, and there's just a chance, someday, another downpour will wash
it clear again.
I just hope the Tarzan are passing by when that happens.
And as a second choice, I hope that some of you buckaroos are on hand.
It couldn't happen to a nicer bunch of saddle pals.
Oh, hell say can.
I just keep wishing when you get to the end of a story that there was more, especially
like this one, because I really go for a real western story.
And I'll bet the young buckaroos listening feel a lot like I do.
I'll bet they never get enough of hearing good stories.
Now that's why I think if you buckaroos haven't already ordered your Diamond K. record album
of exciting Ken Maynard stories, you're losing time.
You could be enjoying them.
You know, this beautiful colored album contains two stories.
They're two complete, big, eight-inch, pure vinyl-like, absolutely unbreakable records
of regular 78 RPM standard speed.
And don't forget, they're made just for you, with a personal message from Ken Maynard,
Hollywood's champion of western stars.
Why just wait till you hear Ken call you by name.
He'll say, hello Sammy, this is Ken Maynard with a story just for you.
Yes, sir, Ken will call you by name no matter what your name is, right on the record.
That's how they're personalized for you.
Why it's the biggest value I know of for just a dollar.
Two records in a beautiful album, two complete Wild West stories, pictures of Ken and Tarzan
inside and out for just a dollar.
So send your name and address and a dollar bill to Records and Care of this Station,
and your album will be mailed, postage prepaid, right from Hollywood.
Be sure your name is in the letter so Ken can say hello to you.
Don't wait any longer to get in on all this fun.
Here's Ken to tell you about his next exciting story.
Well, that's the story of the bryphogal mine, one of the most told tales in the West.
I hope you enjoyed it as much as I know you'll enjoy wearing those K shirts of mine.
And playing those personalized records.
And if you see anybody wearing that brand of mine, the Diamond K, together with the
picture of Tarzan and me, be sure you say, howdy, saddlemate.
You'll pick yourself up a fine new batch of friends that way, huh, Tarzan?
Well, it's along about that time.
So guess we'll be mowing along the next time when I tell you a story about the seven cities
of Cibola.
This is Ken Maynard and Tarzan saying so long.
Come along, Tarzan.
You've been listening to Tales from the Diamond K, stories of adventure told by Ken Maynard,
internationally famous cowboy and Hollywood's champion of western stars.
Tales from the Diamond K was produced and transcribed in Hollywood.