Shoshone Country. Resting Springs
The country about Shoshone is identified with the earliest migration of
Americans to California.
It is a curious fact that prior to the coming of Jedediah Smith who, in
1826 was actually the first American to enter the state from the east,
the contented Spanish believed that the Sierras were insurmountable
barriers to invasion by the hated American or any attacking enemy.
After Smith the first white American to look upon the Shoshone region so
far as known, was William Wolfskill, a Kentucky trapper who left Santa
Fe in 1830-31 on a trading expedition with stores of cloth, garments,
and gimcracks.
Having had poor luck in disposing of his cargo, when he reached the
Virgin River he decided to push westward across the Mojave Desert and
entered California by way of Cajon Pass. After resting at San Gabriel he
went north into the San Joaquin Valley. There he disposed of his stock
at fabulous prices, taking in trade mules, horses, silks, and other
items which he took to Taos and Santa Fe, receiving for this merchandise
equally huge profits.
Wolfskill later settled in Los Angeles, one of the earliest Americans in
the pueblo where he acquired large land holdings. There he established
the citrus industry, planting a grove in what is now the heart of Los
Angeles.
In 1832 Joseph B. Chiles organized a party at Independence, Missouri,
and started for California. It numbered 50 men, women, and children.
Upon reaching Fort Laramie, Wyoming (which was officially Fort John, but
for some reason was never so called) Chiles met Joseph Reddeford Walker
and employed him as guide.
Eighteen years before the Bennett-Arcane party came to grief, Walker had
discovered Walker River and Walker Lake in Nevada, afterward named for
him. After reaching the Sierras, his jaded teams were unable to cross
and had to be abandoned, the party narrowly escaping death. Having heard
of the southerly course over the old Spanish Trail, he turned back and
over it guided the Chiles party.
Early in 1843, John C. Fremont led a party of 39 men from Salt Lake City
northward to Fort Vancouver and in November of that year, started on the
return trip to the East. This trip was interrupted when he found his
party threatened by cold and starvation and he faced about; crossed the
Sierra Nevadas and went to Sutter’s Fort. After resting and outfitting,
he set out for the East by the southerly route over the old Spanish
trail, which leads through the Shoshone region.
At a spring somewhere north of the Mojave River he made camp. The water
nauseated some of his men and he moved to another. Identification of
these springs has been a matter of dispute and though historians have
honestly tried to identify them, the fact remains that none can say “I
was there.”
In the vicinity were several springs any of which may have been the one
referred to by Fremont in his account of the journey. Among these were
two water holes indicated on early maps as Agua de Tio Mesa, and another
as Agua de Tomaso.
There are several springs of nauseating water in the area and some of
the old timers academically inclined, insisted that Fremont probably
camped at Saratoga Springs, which afforded a sight of Telescope Peak or
at Salt Spring, nine miles east on the present Baker-Shoshone Highway at
Rocky Point.
Kit Carson was Fremont’s guide. Fremont records that two Mexicans rode
into his camp on April 27, 1844, and asked him to recover some horses
which they declared had been stolen from them by Indians at the
Archilette Spring, 13 miles east of Shoshone.
One of the Mexicans was Andreas Fuentes, the other a boy of 11
years—Pablo Hernandez. While the Indians were making the raid, the boy
and Fuentes had managed to get away with 30 of the horses and these they
had left for safety at a water hole known to them as Agua de Tomaso.
They reported that they had left Pablo’s father and mother and a man
named Santiago Giacome and his wife at Archilette Spring.
With Fremont, besides Kit Carson, was another famed scout, Alexander
Godey, a St. Louis Frenchman—a gay, good looking dare devil who later
married Maria Antonia Coronel, daughter of a rich Spanish don and became
prominent in California.
In answer to the Mexicans’ plea for help, Fremont turned to his men and
asked if any of them wished to aid the victims of the Piute raid. He
told them he would furnish horses for such a purpose if anyone cared to
volunteer. Of the incident Kit Carson, who learned to write after he was
grown, says in his dictated autobiography: “Godey and myself volunteered
with the expectation that some men of our party would join us. They did
not. We two and the Mexicans ... commenced the pursuit.”
Fuentes’ horse gave out and he returned to Fremont’s camp that night,
but Godey, Carson, and the boy went on. They had good moonlight at first
but upon entering a deep and narrow canyon, utter blackness came, even
shutting out starlight, and Carson says they had to “feel for the
trail.”
One may with reason surmise that Godey and Carson proceeded through the
gorge that leads to the China Ranch and now known as Rainbow Canyon.
When they could go no farther they slept an hour, resumed the hunt and
shortly after sunrise, saw the Indians feasting on the carcass of one of
the stolen horses. They had slain five others and these were being
boiled. Carson’s and Godey’s horses were too tired to go farther and
were hitched out of sight among the rocks. The hunters took the trail
afoot and made their way into the herd of stolen horses.
Says Carson: “A young one got frightened. That frightened the rest. The
Indians noticed the commotion ... sprang to their arms. We now
considered it time to charge on the Indians. They were about 30 in
number. We charged. I fired, killing one. Godey fired, missed but
reloaded and fired, killing another. There were only three shots fired
and two were killed. The remainder ran. I ... ascended a hill to keep
guard while Godey scalped the dead Indians. He scalped the one he shot
and was proceeding toward the one I shot. He was not yet dead and was
behind some rocks. As Godey approached he raised, let fly an arrow. It
passed through Godey’s shirt collar. He again fell and Godey finished
him.”
Subsequently it was discovered that Godey hadn’t missed, but that both
men had fired at the same Indian as proven by two bullets found in one
of the dead Indians. Godey called these Indians “Diggars.” The one with
the two bullets was the one who sent the arrow through Godey’s collar
and when Godey was scalping him, “he sprang to his feet, the blood
streaming from his skinned head and uttered a hideous yowl.” Godey
promptly put him out of his pain.
They returned to camp. Writes Fremont: “A war whoop was heard such as
Indians make when returning from a victorious enterprise and soon Carson
and Godey appeared, driving before them a band of horses recognized by
Fuentes to be part of those they had lost. Two bloody scalps dangling
from the end of Godey’s gun....”
Fremont wrote of it later: “The place, object and numbers considered,
this expedition of Carson and Godey may be considered among the boldest
and most disinterested which the annals of Western adventure so full of
daring deeds can present.” It was indeed a gallant response to the plea
of unfortunates whom they’d never seen before and would never see again.
When Fremont and his party reached the camp of the Mexicans they found
the horribly butchered bodies of Hernandez, Pablo’s father, and Giacome.
The naked bodies of the wives were found somewhat removed and shackled
to stakes.
Fremont changed the name of the spring from Archilette to Agua de
Hernandez and as such it was known for several years. He took the
Mexican boy, Pablo Hernandez, with him to Missouri where he was placed
with the family of Fremont’s father-in-law, U. S. Senator Thomas H.
Benton. The young Mexican didn’t care for civilization and the American
way of life and in the spring of 1847 begged to be returned to Mexico.
Senator Benton secured transportation for him on the schooner Flirt, by
order of the Navy, and he was landed at Vera Cruz—a record of which is
preserved in the archives of the 30th Congress, 1848.
Three years later a rumor was circulated that the famed bandit, Joaquin
Murietta was no other than Pablo Hernandez.
Lieutenant, afterwards Colonel, Brewerton was at Resting Springs in 1848
with Kit Carson who then was carrying important messages for the
government to New Mexico. He found the ground white with the bleached
bones of other victims of the desert Indians. Brewerton calls them Pau
Eutaws.
The Mormons began early to look upon this region as a logical part of
the State of Deseret, for the creation of which, Brigham Young
petitioned Congress, setting forth among reasons for the recognition of
such a state that: “... We are so far removed from all civilized society
and organized government and also natural barriers of trackless deserts,
including mountains of snow and savages more bloody than either, so that
we can never be united with any other portion of the country.”
As early as 1851, the far-seeing Young decided to found a colony of
Saints in San Bernardino, California, to extend Mormon influence. Sam
Brannan, brilliant adherent of that faith, had already come to
California with the nucleus of a Mormon colony in 1846, two years before
Marshall discovered gold.
Brannan became an outstanding figure among the Argonauts. None exceeded
him in leadership or popularity in the building of San Francisco and the
state. He grew rich and unfortunately began drinking; finally abandoned
Mormonism and died poor.
The colonizers sent out by Brigham Young were in three divisions. One
under the leadership of Amasa Lyman, who brought his five wives. Another
was headed by Charles C. Rich, who was accompanied by three of his
wives. It is interesting to note that Rich became the father of 51
children by five wives.
The third division was under the command of Captain Jefferson Hunt,
guide for the entire party. These leaders were all able men who were
highly regarded by gentiles. They also camped at Agua de Hernandez and
it was the Mormons who junked the previous name and gave one with
significance. They called it “Resting Springs” and this more fitting
name has lasted.
On May 21, 1851, the Mormon elder, Parley P. Pratt, heading a party of
missionaries en route to the South Sea Islands writes in his diary: “We
encamped at a place called Resting Springs.... This is a fine place for
rest.... Since leaving the Vegas (Las Vegas) we have traveled 75 miles
through the most horrible desert.... Twenty miles from the Vegas we were
assailed ... by a shower of arrows from the savage mountain robbers....
Leaving Resting Springs the party arrived at Salt Spring gold mines
toward evening....”
In 1850, Phineas Banning, pioneer resident of Los Angeles and later
owner of Catalina Island, hauled freight from Los Angeles to the gold
mine at Salt Spring opposite Rocky Point just south of the Amargosa
River on the Baker road and in 1854 Mormons discovered gold 25 miles
south of Resting Springs, long before Dr. French searched for the
Gunsight in Death Valley.
The Amargosa River is one of the world’s most remarkable water courses.
Originating at Springdale, north of Beatty, Nevada, it twists southward
in zigzag pattern until it reaches a point about 34 miles south of
Shoshone. There it turns west, crosses Highway 127, enters Death Valley
at its most southerly point and then turns north to disappear 60 miles
from the place of its origin.
You may cross and re-cross it many times totally unaware of its
existence, but in the cloudburst season it can and does become a
terrible agent of destruction.
In 1853 Major George Chorpenning obtained a contract to carry mail
between the Mormon colony of San Bernardino, California, and Salt Lake.
To reach Resting Springs, a station on the route, required five days.
Today it is a journey of four hours.
Resting Springs was also a relay station for white outlaws and Indian
raiders from Utah, Wyoming, and the Dakotas. Even before Fremont,
Carson, or the Mormons old Bill Williams, for whom Bill Williams River,
Bill Williams Mountain, and the town of Williams, Arizona, are named was
at Resting Springs.
[Illustration: Map of Death Valley]
[Illustration: John W. Searles, looking for gold, made a fortune in
borax.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Like Weepah which “Boomed
and Busted” after one day, Gilbert died after a few weeks.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD G. WEIGHT Saratoga Springs]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. The Bottom
of America]
BAD WATER
279.6 FEET BELOW SEA LEVEL
LOWEST POINT IN THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE
⇐ SHOSHONE 57
⇐ BAKER 93
FURNACE CREEK 17 ⇒
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. Grave of
Jas. Dayton.
Bones are those of his horses.]
[Illustration: Dugouts in Dublin Gulch at Shoshone.]
[Illustration: Mesquite Club, Shoshone. Known throughout the West.]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. Golden
Canyon]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. One of the
famous Twenty Mule Teams.]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. Here boomed
and busted the C. C. Julian swindle. Great names and great banks
were shamefully involved.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Yellow Aster Mine
(foreground) made owners rich. Randsburg in the background.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Belle Springs (Agua Tomaso)
on old Salt Lake trail. Camp site of John C. Fremont.]
[Illustration: Ralph Jacobus Fairbanks, outstanding pioneer, every
man’s friend.]
[Illustration: Dobe Charlie Nels.
He saw Bodie boom and die.]
[Illustration: Bodie, hellroarer from cemetery. Now another ghost
town.]
[Illustration: Seldom-seen Slim, colorful desert character.]
[Illustration: Senator Charles Brown, benevolent overlord of Death
Valley.]
[Illustration: Panamint Tom, noted Piute, brother of Hungry Bill,
Indian Chief]
[Illustration: Where these wickiups were, now stands luxurious
Furnace Creek Inn.]
[Illustration: Courtesy Frasher’s Photo. Pomona, Calif. Darwin
Falls]
[Illustration: First House in Shoshone, built by Cub Lee.]
[Illustration: Shorty Harris and his cabin at Ballarat, Panamint
Valley.]
[Illustration: Jim Butler, the discoverer of Tonopah Silver.]
[Illustration: Sir Harry Oakes, booted off a train one day,
discovered one of the world’s richest mines the next.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Beatty, Nevada. Bare
Mountain in distance.]
[Illustration: “Ma” and “Dad” Fairbanks.
He was known to the Indians as Long Man.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Old Road Sign in Emigrant
Wash.]
Townsend Pass →
← Skidoo 7 M.
[Illustration: Rock resting on gravel, gravel on sand. Here Quon
Sing, heathen, created an oasis, was chased off by Christian’s
guns.]
[Illustration: Death Valley Scotty on his native heath.]
[Illustration: Charles and Stella Brown, Shoshone.]
[Illustration: Station at Rhyolite, Nevada, long a ghost town.]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. Monument in
Death Valley honors Shorty Harris.]
BURY ME BESIDE JIM DAYTON IN THE VALLEY WE LOVED. ABOVE ME WRITE:
“HERE LIES SHORTY HARRIS, A SINGLE BLANKET JACKASS
PROSPECTOR.”—EPITAPH REQUESTED BY SHORTY (FRANK) HARRIS BELOVED GOLD
HUNTER. 1856-1834. HERE JAS. DAYTON, PIONEER, PERISHED 1898.
TO THESE TRAILMAKERS WHOSE COURAGE MATCHES THE FOUNDERS OF THE LAND
THIS BIT OF EARTH IS DEDICATED FOREVER.
[Illustration: Pete Harmon, prospector. He walked more than 400
miles in July to visit Shorty Harris when he heard that he was ill.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD. O. WEIGHT Calico, Ghost Town]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. Wild Burro
Colt]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Death Valley’s fantastic
rock formations seen from Auguerreberry’s Point.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Old Harmony Borax Works,
opposite Furnace Creek.]
[Illustration: January 2, 1926. We camped our second night out at
the Phantom City of Rhyolite.]
[Illustration: Dublin Gulch, Shoshone. In these dugouts lived Joe
Volmer, Dobe Charley and Jack Crowley, prospectors.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Golden Street, Rhyolite]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Bad Water, here the thirsty
drank and died.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Ballarat, once an important
freight station, now sand and sage.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Stables of Tufa Works used
by Twenty Mule Teams, where borax was mined.]
[Illustration: COURTESY HAROLD O. WEIGHT Zabriskie Ruins. Opals may
be found in the canyon at right.]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. Charcoal
Pits]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. Typical
Death Valley Canyon]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. Death Valley
sand dunes]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. Effect of
prehistoric convulsions]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. Furnace
Creek wash]
[Illustration: COURTESY FRASHER’S PHOTO. POMONA, CALIF. Ryan, and an
abandoned borax mine.]
Williams was a Baptist preacher, turned Mountain Man. He had guided
Fremont through the terrors of the San Juan country and was accused of
cannibalism when hunger threatened one detachment. Of Williams Kit
Carson said: “In starving times, don’t walk ahead of Bill Williams.”
Williams brought a band of Chaguanosos Indians to Resting Springs and
made it an outpost for a horse stealing raid. With him were Pegleg Smith
and Jim Beckwith, the mulatto who after having been a blacksmith with
Ashley’s Fur Traders in 1821, became a famous guide, Indian Chief,
trader, and scout. (Also called Beckwourth and Beckworth.)
Leaving Resting Springs, they proceeded through Cajon Pass for their
loot and on May 14, 1840, Juan Perez, administrator at San Gabriel
Mission excited Southern California when he announced that every ranch
between San Gabriel and San Bernardino had been stripped of horses. Two
days later posses from every settlement in the valley started in
pursuit. The raiders made it a running battle, defeated several
detachments, adding the latter’s stock and grub to their plunder.
Five days later, reinforcements were sent from Los Angeles, Chino, and
other settlements, all under command of Jose Antonio Carrillo—ancestor
of the movie celebrity, Leo Carrillo. He had “225 horses, 75 men, 49
guns with braces of pistols, 19 spears, 22 swords and sabers, and 400
cartridges.”
The posse threw fear into the raiders, but didn’t catch them, though the
latter lost half of the stolen horses. At Resting Springs, Carrillo
found some abandoned clothing, saddles, and cooking utensils. Fifteen
hundred horses that had died from thirst or lack of food were counted
during the chase.
Later, when Pegleg Smith was chided about the high price he demanded of
an emigrant for a horse, he remarked: “Well, the horses cost me plenty.
I lost half of them getting out of the country and three of my best
squaws....”
The earliest American settler at Resting Springs remembered by old
timers was Philander Lee, a rough and somewhat eccentric squaw man. He
was big, straight as a ramrod, afraid of nothing, and of an undetermined
past. He was there in the early Eighties. He cleared 200 acres, raised
alfalfa, stock, and some fruit. He had a way of adding the last part of
his first name to his offspring, Leander and Meander are samples. Some
of his descendants still live in the country.
It was near Resting Springs Ranch while Phi Lee owned it that Jacob
Breyfogle, of lost mine fame, was scalped by Hungry Bill’s tribesmen.
The story is told in another chapter.
Phi Lee’s brother, Cub Lee, who added spicy pages to the annals of Death
Valley country, built the first home erected at Shoshone—an adobe which
still stands. It was long the home of the squaw, Ann Cowboy. Another
brother of Phi Lee was known as “Shoemaker” because he roamed the desert
as a cobbler. All were squaw men.
Cub Lee established a reputation for keeping his word and it was said no
one ever disputed it and lived. Indians over in Nevada were giving a
“heap big” party. His squaw wanted to go. Cub didn’t. “You stay home,”
he ordered. “If you go, I’ll kill you.” He rode away and upon returning,
discovered she was absent. He leaped on his cayuse, went to the party
and found her. Whipping out his gun he killed both wife and son, blew
the smoke out of his pistol and leisurely rode away.
But the Nevada officials thought Cub Lee was too meticulous about
keeping his word and Cub had a brief cooling off period in the pen.
Pegleg Smith made Resting Springs his headquarters for the greatest haul
in the history of California horse stealing and reached Cajon Pass
before the theft was discovered. These horses were driven into Utah and
there sold to emigrants, traders, and ranchers. Smith may be said to be
the inventor of the Lost Mine, as a means of getting quick money. The
credulous are still looking for mines that existed only in Pegleg’s fine
imagination.
Thomas L. Smith was born at Crab Orchard, Kentucky, October 10, 1801.
With little schooling, he ran away from home to become a trapper and
hunter, and following the western streams eventually settled in Wyoming.
He married several squaws, choosing these from different tribes, thus
insuring friendly alliance with all.
He had been a member of Le Grand’s first trapping expedition to Santa Fe
and was an associate of such outstanding men as St. Vrain, Sublette,
Platte, Jim Bridger, Kit Carson, the merchant Antoine Rubideaux
(properly Robedoux) of St. Louis. He spoke several Indian languages and
earned the gratitude of the Indians in his area by leading them to
victory in a battle with the Utes. Able and likable, he also had iron
nerves and courage. His morals, he justified on the ground that his were
the morals of the day.
J. G. Bruff, historian, whose “Gold Rush-Journal and Drawings” is good
material for research, met Smith on Bear River August 6, 1849, and wrote
in his diary: “Pegleg Smith came into camp. He trades whiskey.” Actually
he traded anything he could lay his hands on.
While trapping for beaver with St. Vrain on the Platte, Smith was shot
by an Indian, the bullet shattering the bones in his leg just above the
ankle. He was talking with St. Vrain at the moment and after a look at
the injury, begged those about to amputate his leg. Having no experience
his companions refused. He then asked the camp cook to bring him a
butcher knife and amputated it himself with minor assistance by the
noted Milton Sublette.
Smith was then carried on a stretcher to his winter quarters on the
Green River. While the wound was healing he discovered some bones
protruding. Sublette pulled them out with a pair of bullet molds. Indian
remedies procured by his squaws healed the stump and in the following
spring of 1828 he made a rough wooden leg. Thereafter he was called
Pegleg by the whites and We-he-to-ca by all Indians.
A wooden socket was fitted into the stirrup of his saddle and with this
he could ride as skillfully as before. In the lean, last years of his
life, he could be seen hopping along under an old beaver hat in San
Francisco to and from Biggs and Kibbe’s corner to Martin Horton’s.
Something in his appearance stamped him as a remarkable man.
Major Horace Bell, noted western ranger, lawyer, author, and editor of
early Los Angeles, relates that he saw Pegleg near a Mother Lode town,
lying drunk on the roadside, straddled by his half-breed son who was
pounding him in an effort to arouse him from his stupor.
Smith had little success as a prospector, but saw in man’s lust for
gold, ways to get it easier than the pick and shovel method.
In the pueblo days of Los Angeles, Smith was a frequent visitor at the
Bella Union, the leading hotel. Always surrounded by a spellbound group,
he lived largely. When his money ran out he always had a piece of
high-grade gold quartz to lure investment in his phantom mine.
And so we have the Lost Pegleg, located anywhere from Shoshone to
Tucson. Nevertheless, no adequate story of the movement of civilization
westward can ignore South Pass and Pegleg Smith.
About 25 miles east of Shoshone and set back from the road under willows
and cottonwoods, an old house identifies a landmark of Pahrump
Valley—the Manse Ranch, once owned by the Yundt family.
The original Yundt was among the first settlers, contemporary with
Philander and Cub Lee and Aaron Winters. Yundt was a squaw man and his
children, Sam, Lee, and John followed the father in taking squaws for
their wives.
Sam Yundt was operating a small store at Good Springs and making a
precarious living when a sleek and talented promoter secured a mining
claim nearby and induced Sam to enlarge his stock in order to care for
the increased business promised by supplying provisions for the mine’s
employees. Sam, with visions of quick, profitable turnovers, stocked the
empty shelves. For a few months the bills were paid promptly, then
lagged. Sam yielded to plausible excuses and carried the account.
Finally his own credit was jeopardized and wholesalers began to threaten
suits. Then he heard the sheriff had an attachment ready to serve. In
his desperation Sam went to the debtor. “I’m ruined,” he pleaded. “You
fellows will have to raise some money or we’ll all quit eating.”
The fellow said, “All I can give you is stock in the Yellow Pine. It’s
that or nothing.”
Sam Yundt had done with next to nothing all his life, took the stock and
waited for the sheriff. Then the miracle—pay dirt and Sam Yundt was
rich, and now he did the natural thing. He decided he would live at a
pace that matched his means.
George Rose, an old friend, had a mine in the Avawatz and he needed
money. He went to Sam. “Now that you’re rich,” he told Sam, “you’ll be
taking life easy. I’ve got some swamp land on the coast near Long Beach.
Best duck shooting I know of and I’ll sell it cheap.”
Sam didn’t want it but he bought it just to accommodate his friend. In a
little while the swamp land was an oil field and oil added another
fortune to Yellow Pine’s gold. Sam put his squaw Nancy, away, moved to
the city and married a white woman. Nancy was provided for and for years
she could be seen driving all over the desert in her buggy.
A later owner of the Manse was one of whom the writer has a revealing
memory. A battered Ford stopped at Shoshone and an unshaven individual
stepped out, went into the store and came out with a loaf of bread and a
chunk of bologna. Dirty underwear showed through a flapping rent in his
patched overalls as he tore off a piece of bread and a chunk of the
bologna and had his meal. The uneaten portions he tossed into the tool
box, wiped his hands on his thighs and his mouth on his hand.
“Jean Cazaurang,” Brown chuckled, “won’t pay six bits for lunch in the
dining room. Worth $2,000,000.”
When the dinner gong sounded Cazaurang went to his tool box, retrieved
the rest of the bologna, twisted a hunk from the bread loaf, tossed the
rest back into the tool box. This time he saved a dollar. He curled
himself up in the Ford that night and saved $2.00. Besides the Manse
Ranch he had a 10,000 acre ranch in Mexico, stocked with sheep, cattle,
and horses, and had several mines.
Jean’s end was not a happy one. One payday at his ranch, the good
looking and likable young Mexican who worked for him, came for his
money. Jean counted out the money from a poke and poured it into the
palm of the Mexican. The Mexican counted it and with a smile looked at
Jean. “Pardon me, Señor ... it’s two bits short.”
“Be gone,” ordered Jean.
“But Señor, I have worked hard. My wife is hungry and I am hungry. My
children are hungry.”
“Be gone,” again shouted Jean and whipped out his gun.
But the Mexican was young, lean, and lithe and he seized Jean’s wrist
and when he turned the wrist loose Jean Cazaurang was dead. And then the
Mexican made one mistake. Instead of going to the sheriff he became
panic stricken and taking the body to a nearby ravine, he heaved it into
the brush where it was found later, feet up.
But Jean Cazaurang had saved two bits.
A big luxuriously appointed hearse came for Jean and people said it was
the first decent ride he’d ever had in his life.
Sentiment was with the Mexican, but he drew a short term for bungling.
Because in one will Jean left his property to his wife and in another to
his housekeeper, the estate was tied up in court, where it remained for
11 years—fat pickings for lawyers. Finally the widow was awarded one
half the estate under community property law, but the widow was dead.
The housekeeper got the other half, and so ends the story of Jean
Cazaurang and two bits.
Rarely did desert ranches show other profits than those which one finds
in doing the thing one likes to do, as in the case of a recent owner of
the Manse—the wealthy Mrs. Lois Kellogg—the soft-voiced eastern lady who
fell in love with the desert, drilled an artesian well, the flow of
which is among the world’s largest. Small, cultured, she yet found
thrills in driving a 20-ton truck and trailer from the Manse to Los
Angeles or to the famed Oasis Ranch 200 miles away in Fish Lake
Valley—another desert landmark which she bought to further gratify her
passion for the Big Wide Open.
And there you have a slice of life as it is on the desert—one miserably
dying in his lust for money, one fleeing its solitude; another seeking
its solace.