Panamint City. Genial Crooks
The first search for gold in Death Valley country was in Panamint
Valley.
From the summit of the Slate Range on the road from Trona, one comes
suddenly upon an enchanting and unforgettable view of the Panamint. If
you are one who thrills at breath taking scenery you will not speak. You
will stand and look and think. Your thoughts will be of dead worlds; of
the silence spread like a shroud over all that you see.
Below, a yellow road twists in and out of hidden dry washes, around
jutting hills to end in the green mesquite that hides the ghost town of
Ballarat. There the Panamint lifts two miles—its gored sides a riot of
pastelled colors.
If you have coached yourself with trivia of history it will require
imagination’s aid to accept the fact that from this wasteland came
fortunes and industries of world-wide fame. From New York to San
Francisco on envied social thrones, sit the children and grandchildren
of those who with pick and shovel, here dug the family fortune in ragged
overalls.
Only recently a descendant of one of these, living in a city far
removed, informed me her mansion was for sale, “because the neighborhood
is being ruined....” A sheep herder newly rich on war profits, was
moving in.
Eleven miles north of Ballarat, Surprise Canyon, which leads to Panamint
City, opens on a broad, alluvial fan that tilts sharply to the valley
floor.
In April, 1873, W. T. Henderson, whose first trip into Death Valley
country was made to find the Lost Gunsight, came again with R. B.
Stewart and R. C. Jacobs. In Surprise Canyon they discovered silver
which ran as high as $4000 a ton and filed more than 80 location
notices.
Henderson was an adventurer of uncertain character who had roamed
western deserts like a nomad. During the Indian war that threatened
extermination of the white settlers in Inyo county, Thieving Charlie, a
Piute, was induced by outnumbered whites to approach his warring
tribesmen under a flag of truce and succeeded in getting eleven of them
to return with him to Camp Independence for a peace talk. Henderson,
with two companions waylaid and murdered them.
He had been a member of the posse organized by Harry Love to shoot on
sight California’s most famous bandit—Joaquin Murietta and boasted that
he fired the bullet which killed the glamorous Joaquin. It was he who
cut off and pickled the bandit’s head as evidence to get the reward. At
the same time he pickled the hand of Three Fingered Jack Garcia,
Joaquin’s chief lieutenant, and the bloodiest monster the West ever saw.
Garcia had an odd habit of cutting off the ears of his victims and
stringing them for a saddle ornament. The slaying of Joaquin was not a
pretty adventure and as the details came out, Henderson renounced the
honor.
The grewsome vouchers which obtained the reward became the attraction
for the morbid on a San Francisco street and there above the din of
traffic one heard a spieler chant the thrills it gave “for only two
measly bits....” The exhibit was destroyed in the San Francisco fire and
earthquake of 1906.
In his book, “On the Old West Coast” Major Horace Bell states that
Henderson confided to him there was never a day nor night that Joaquin
Murietta did not come to him and though headless, would demand the
return of his head; that Henderson was never frightened by the
apparition, which would vanish after Henderson explained why he couldn’t
return the head and his excuse for cutting it off.
Bell quotes Henderson: “I would never have cut Joaquin’s head off except
for the excitement of the chase and the orders of Harry Love.”
To give credence to the ghost story he says of Henderson, “He was for
several years my neighbor and a more genial and generous fellow I never
met....” Major Bell, it is known, was not always strictly factual.
Following the Surprise Canyon strike, Panamint City was quickly built
and quickly filled with thugs who lived by their guns; gamblers and
painted girls who lived by their wits.
An engaging sidewalk promoter known as E. P. Raines, who possessed a
good front and gall in abundance, but no money, assured the owners of
the Panamint claims that he could raise the capital necessary for
development. He set out for the city, registered at the leading hotel,
attached the title of Colonel to his name; exchanged a worthless check
for $25 and made for the barroom. It was no mere coincidence that Mr.
Raines before ordering his drink, parked himself alongside a group of
the town’s richest citizens and began to toy with an incredibly rich
sample of ore. It was natural that members of the group should notice
it. Particularly the multimillionaire, Senator John P. Jones, Nevada
silver king.
Soon the charming crook was the life of the party. His $25 spent, he
actually borrowed $1000 from Jones. Having drunk his guests under the
table, Mr. Raines went forth for further celebration and landed broke in
the hoosegow. Hearing of his misadventure, his new friends promptly went
to his rescue. “... Outrage ... biggest night this town ever had....”
To make amends for the city’s inhospitable blunder, Raines was taken to
his hostelry, given a champagne bracer and made the honor guest at
breakfast. “Where’s the Senator?” he asked. Informed that Senator Jones
had taken a train for Washington, Raines quickened “Why, he was
expecting me to go with him....” He jumped up, fumbled through his
pockets in a pretended search for money. “Heavens—my purse is gone!”
Instantly a half dozen hands reached for the hip and Mr. Raines was on
his way.
It required but a few moments to get $15,000 from the Senator and his
partner, Senator William R. Stewart, for the Panamint claims. He also
sold Jones the idea of a railroad from a seaport at Los Angeles to his
mines and this was partially built. The project ended in Cajon Pass. The
scars of the tunnel started may still be seen.
Jones and Stewart organized the Panamint Mining Company with a capital
of $2,000,000. Other claims were bought but immediate development was
delayed by difficulties in obtaining title because many of the owners
were outlaws, difficult to find. A few were located in the penitentiary
and there received payment. For some of the claims the promoters paid
$350,000.
On June 29, 1875, the first mill began to crush ore from the Jacobs
Wonder mine. Panamint City became one of the toughest and most colorful
camps of the West. It was strung for a mile up and down narrow Surprise
Canyon. It was believed that here was a mass of silver greater than that
on the Comstock and shares were active on the markets.
The most pretentious saloon in the town was that of Dave Nagle, who
later as the bodyguard of U. S. Supreme Court Justice Stephen J. Field,
killed Judge David Terry, distinguished jurist, but stormy petrel of
California Vigilante days. Judge Terry had represented, then married his
client, the Rose of Sharon—Sarah Althea Hill—in her suit to determine
whether she was wife or mistress of Senator Sharon, Comstock
millionaire. Feuding had resulted with Field, the trial judge. Meeting
in a railroad dining room, Judge Terry slapped Justice Field’s face and
Nagle promptly killed Terry.
Poker at Panamint City was never a piker’s game. Bets of $10,000 on two
pair attracted but little comment. Gunning was regarded as a minor
nuisance, but funerals worried the town’s butcher. He had the only wagon
that had survived the steep canyon road into the camp. “I bought it,” he
complained, “to haul fresh meat, but since there’s no hearse I never
know when I’ll have to unload a quarter of beef to haul a stiff to
Sourdough Canyon.”
Panamint City attained an estimated population of 3,000. Harris and
Rhine, merchants, having the only safe in the town permitted patrons to
deposit money for safe keeping and often had large sums. On one occasion
they had the $10,000 payroll of the Hemlock mine.
A clerk arriving early at the store, suddenly faced two gentlemen who
directed him to open the safe and pass out the money. “Just as well
count it as you fork it over,” one ordered. The clerk had counted $4000
when he was told to stop. “This’ll do for the present,” the spokesman
said. “We’ll come back and get the rest.”
“Yeh,” added his partner. “Too damned many thugs in this town.”
They sallied forth on a spending spree. The down-and-out along the
mile-long street received generous portions of the loot and a widow
whose husband had been killed in a mine explosion, received $500.
These bandits, Small and McDonald, thereafter became incredibly popular
and the legend follows that what they stole from those who had, they
shared with those who hadn’t.
Wells-Fargo and Company offered a reward of $1000 for their capture, but
their arrest was never accomplished. Invariably they were apprised of
the approach of pursuers and simply retired to some convenient canyon.
The bandits further endeared themselves to the citizenry when Stewart
and Jones arranged for the importation of a hundred Chinese laborers.
This aroused the ire of the white miners and a meeting was called to
protest. “This is a white man’s town,” was the cry of labor.
Small and McDonald agreed. “Just leave it to us,” they told the leaders.
“No use in a lotta fellows getting hurt.” They stationed themselves at
the mouth of the canyon and when the coolies arrived, a sudden volley
from the bandits’ six-guns brought the caravan to a halt. The frightened
Chinamen leaped from the hacks and fled in panic across the desert and
Panamint remained a white man’s town.
Engaged at work around their hideout, Hungry Bill stopped to beg for
food. They told the Indian to wait until they finished their task. His
sullen impatience angered Small who booted him down the trail. Hungry
Bill left cursing and told a prospector whom he met that he would return
shortly with his tribesmen and assassinate the entire population.
Panamint City was warned but Small and McDonald declared that since they
had started the trouble, they alone should end it. Accordingly, they set
out for Hungry Bill’s ranch to stop the attack before it started. But
near Hungry Bill’s stone corral they were ambushed by the Indians. The
bandits shot their way into the corral and barricading themselves,
killed and wounded about half of the renegades, after which the
remainder fled.
Panamint City harbored a hoard of unsung assassins who merely lay in
wait, shot the unwary victim down, took his poke, rolled the body into a
ravine, went up town to spend the money.
One killer who came decided to dominate the field and with that in view
he set forth to establish himself quickly as a gunman not to be trifled
with. He chose to display his prowess upon an inoffensive, quiet faro
dealer known as Jimmy Bruce, who, it was easy to see, “was just a
chicken-livered punk.” The publicity of a well-done murder in such a
setting would give prestige.
Armed with two guns, the bully contrived to start an argument with
Bruce. The indoor white of the gambler seemed to grow whiter as the rage
of his towering tormenter reached the climax. The players moved out of
range. The bartenders ducked under the counter. Patrons helpless to
intervene, fled from the kill.
A shot rang out. Cautiously, the bartenders lifted their heads. On the
floor lay the bad man. Mr. Bruce was calmly lighting a cigar.
There was consternation among the killers. They swore vengeance. After
five of them had fallen before Bruce’s gun, he was let alone.
The silent faro dealer, it was learned too late, was surpassingly quick
on the trigger.
A spot somewhat distant from the regular cemetery was chosen for the
burial place and it became known as Jim Bruce’s private graveyard.
Remi Nadeau, a French Canadian, was the first to haul freight into
Panamint City. Nadeau was a genius of transportation. There was no
country too rough, too remote, too wild for him. He came to Los Angeles
in 1861 from Utah and teamed as far east as Montana.
The Cerro Gordo mine, on the eastern side of Owens Lake in Inyo County
began to ship ore in 1869 and Nadeau obtained a contract to haul the ore
to Wilmington where it was shipped by boat to San Francisco. He soon had
to increase his equipment to 32 teams, using more than 500 animals. For
his return trip he bought such commodities as he could peddle or leave
for sale at stations he built along the route.
In 1872, the contract having expired, Judson and Belshaw, owners of the
mine, received a lower bid and Nadeau was left with 500 horses on his
hands and heavily in debt. He wanted to dispose of his outfit for the
benefit of his creditors but they had confidence in him and persuaded
him to “carry on.” Borax discovered in Nevada saved him. Meanwhile the
lower bidder on the Cerro Gordo job proved unsatisfactory and Judson and
Belshaw asked Nadeau to take the old job back. But now Nadeau informed
them they would have to buy a half interest in his outfit and advance
$150,000 to construct relay stations at Mud Springs, Mojave, Lang’s
Springs, Red Rock, Little Lake, Cartago, and other points. They gladly
agreed.
Shortly after Nadeau began hauling across the desert, he picked up a man
suffering from gunshot and crazed from thirst. Taking the victim to his
nearest station, he left instructions that he be cared for.
Sometime afterward, one of Nadeau’s competitors whose trains had been
held up several times by outlaws, wondered why none of Nadeau’s teams or
stations had been molested. At the time, Nadeau himself didn’t know that
the fellow whom he’d picked up on the desert was Tiburcio Vasquez, the
bandit terror.
Vasquez naively condoned his banditry. It disgusted him at dances he
said, to see the senoritas of his race favor the interloping Americans.
He had a singular power over women. When Sheriff William Rowland
effected his capture, women of Los Angeles filled his cell with flowers.
He was hanged at San Jose.
Nadeau was now hauling ore from the Minnietta and the Modoc mines in the
Argus Range on the west side of Panamint Valley. The Modoc was the
property of George Hearst, the father of the publisher, William Randolph
Hearst. These mines were directly across the valley from Panamint City
and because of Nadeau’s record for building roads in places no other
dared to go, Jones and Stewart engaged him to haul out of Surprise
Canyon, which was barely wide enough in places for a burro with a pack.
On a hill, locally known as “Seventeen”—that being the per cent of
grade, located on the old highway between Ballarat and Trona, one may
see the dim outline of a road pitching down precipitously to the valley
floor. This road was built by Nadeau and one marvels that anything short
of steam power could move a load from bottom to top.
Acquiring a fortune, Nadeau built the first three-story building in Los
Angeles and the Nadeau Hotel, long the city’s finest, retained favor
among many wealthy pioneer patrons long after the more glamorous Angelus
and Alexandria were built in the early 1900’s.
The first ore from the Panamint mines was shipped to England and because
of its richness showed a profit, but difficulties arose in recovery
processes which they did not know how to overcome. The mines would have
paid fabulously under present day processes.
Finis was written to the story of Panamint after two hectic years and in
1877 Jones and Stewart had lost $2,000,000 and quit. It would be more
factual to state that since they had received from the public $2,000,000
to put into it, who lost what is a guess.