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Away out in California, near the Nevada line, lies a lonely valley. No
one lives in this valley very long; it is a very lonesome place. In the
winter the thermometer goes down below freezing point at night and rises
to eighty degrees during the day. This is the pleasant time of year. In
the spring and fall violent wind storms sweep over the desert, for it is
a desert—the Mohave Desert—and in the summer the hot wind blows, drying
up every drop of moisture and baking the country as if it had been
placed in a baker’s oven. The few who must stay there get a leather-like
skin from the heated wind and the glaring sun, with never a cloud to
hide its pitiless rays. Sagebrush and greasewood are found here and
there, and in the infrequent river bottoms a few willows are seen.
Fissure springs, from deep faults in the earth’s crust let out small
streams of water from sources far remote; sometimes fit to drink;
sometimes loaded with salts in solution and sometimes hot. Such a spring
is that which gives rise to Willow Creek which rises among the niter
hills of the Great Basin and empties into the Amargosa River a short
distance below its source. Alas for the name! The Amargosa “River” turns
out on examination to be a stream scarce large enough to turn a mill.
After a run of less than 25 miles it sinks into the sands to rise no
more. Shortly below this place we find Saratoga Springs and “Lakes.”
These “Lakes” are perhaps 10 feet in diameter. All along the banks of
the Amargosa the water as it evaporates rapidly in this thirsty land
leaves a white crust of salt, soda and borax. In many places, scattered
over the desert, deposits of mixed salts have been left by evaporated
water which glisten in the sun from a distance. As the weary traveler
walks through them the alkali rises in fine white clouds burning throat
and nostril and biting the skin into sores.
Over this desert roams the dismal coyote—always hungry, an Ishmaelite.
Kangaroo rats swarm in rocky spots; the side-winder threads his snaky
way; and lizards and tarantulas scuttle to their holes to escape the
traveler.
In 1849 the Bennett family wandered into this valley and perished,
giving to the valley its name. All along the wagon tracks—for there are
no roads—bottles, tin cans and the skeletons of abandoned animals mark
the progress of civilization and the survival of the fittest. It is a
weary land; over 400 feet below sea level; bounded by the black rocks of
the Funeral Range on the northeast, the Kingston Range on the north, the
Shadow Mountains on the southeast, the Avawatz Mountains on the south
and the Telescope Range on the west. These mountains rise in some places
to a height of 10,000 feet. The springs are far apart, from 30 to 90
miles, often with a very small flow and hard to find. At Cave Wells, for
example, the traveler in search of water goes into a hole in the side of
a cliff and descends a few steps to the margin of a shallow pool with no
apparent overflow.
* * * * *
“When does your uncle come for you, Jack?” said her friend.
“To-morrow morning,” Jack replied.
Next morning her friend was getting breakfast when a knock sounded on
the door. When the door was opened, a wiry, pale-faced man stood in
front of her.
“Where is Jack’s kid?” he enquired.
“Upstairs in bed,” was the reply.
Without a word he brushed by her, mounted the stairs, opened the door,
bent over the half-awakened girl, put his arms around her and kissed
her.
“Is your name Jack, too?” he enquired. “You are a mighty nice-looking
boy and I will love you and look after you for his sake. Now I must go.
We will leave for the west at 10 to-morrow morning. I am ordered to the
desert to spend the winter there in the out of doors for the sake of my
health. Get yourself a corduroy suit with high-laced boots. Here is some
money. I will be here for you at nine-thirty. Good bye till then!” So
saying, he turned, rushed down the stairs and out of the house.
“Did you ever see such a whirlwind?” said Jacqueline. “He thinks I am a
boy, and he will be disappointed and not let me go. What shall I do?”
“Go as a boy,” said her friend. “You are slim and can easily pass as a
boy. I will help you get ready. Come along!”
Next morning when Uncle appeared Jack was ready, dressed in corduroy
knickers, stout, high-laced shoes, short, thick corduroy coat and felt
hat.
“Well, come along!” said Uncle, “We have just time to make the train.”
At Salt Lake City they outfitted for the desert. Five burros were
bought, two for riding and three for packing. Jack’s burro was called
Jenny. Jenny was a canny animal. She grunted at every step. Her progress
might in some measure be likened to that of a drove of pigs, except that
her grunts lacked the solidity and conviction which characterize the
grunt of the real porker. Mexico is the real land of the burro. Here
they are used to such an extent as freighters as to threaten the
existence of the railroads. The Mexican will load his burros to their
full capacity and at the stopping places let them graze. No food is
provided except what they can pick up. If there should be no food and
the animal starves he buys another since this is the cheapest plan.
They carried a light rifle and two Colt’s revolvers, or “Guns” as they
are called in the west. There was a tent, two blankets, a bucket, a
frying pan, two large canteens, a spade, pick, axe, plenty of coffee and
tea, canned baked beans, hard bread, bacon, butter and lard, some flour
and feed for the burros.
Neither one could bake or shoot but Uncle remarked that there would be
time enough to learn and plenty of teachers. Notwithstanding his quick
and sometimes almost rough manner, Jack soon discovered that Uncle was
growing fond of her and was really very kind. At first she was very
tired as night drew near after a hard day’s riding over the rough
trails. They went slowly of necessity, for the burro is not a fast goer
and dislikes hurry to an extreme. As the days went by she found her
strength growing. He, too, appeared to benefit. They ate plain food,
drank nothing but water, and coffee or tea, and retired early and slept
soundly. Occasionally they stopped at a settlement, ate a square meal,
renewed supplies, had a bath and made ready for another trip.
In this way the winter passed rapidly. Jack learned to shoot, and,
profiting from the directions of a good-natured miner, after several
failures, they learned to make fair bread.
Jack’s greatest trouble was her cowardice, because she felt sure her
Uncle would detest in a boy what he might condone knowing her to be a
girl. She made desperate efforts and finally succeeded in controlling
her fears moderately well. The dislike she had for shooting was never
overcome.
Most of all she enjoyed the evenings by the camp fire when the exertions
of the day had not been so great as to compel early hours. Here she
looked into his heart and found it clean and good.
There were plenty of indications that all the men one might meet were
not of his kind. Bottles innumerable left along the way testified to the
fact that though the desert might be dry the travelers were not.
They traveled down the post road from Milford to Delmar and from there
struck across country, intending to cross the Hiko, Paranaga and Belted
Ranges and strike the Amargosa Desert to the south. These ranges cover a
very rough and broken country, and progress was slow and difficult.
Several times they were lost, and only the compass finally enabled them
to escape from the mountain tangle. The greatest difficulty was in the
supply of water for the burros. Their own supply could easily be
carried. Several times the burros were saved from death by the finding
of one or two barrel cactus which were cut up and fed to them as both
food and drink.
With all his good nature Uncle made her toe the mark. He did not believe
in spoiling boys. They were generally lazy and he was determined Jack
should do her full share of the work, but he did not always remember
this. Being naturally lazy she resented being driven. She much preferred
to lie around and read, or to lie abed and see him get breakfast, but he
usually routed her out. He was anxious that she should grow strong and
made her work in order that she might do so but uncomplainingly and as a
matter of course he shouldered the heaviest part of the load. It may be
imagined, therefore, that her regard for Uncle grew greater day by day.
There was bread to make and he made it; the water grew short and he went
without; the burros strayed and he went after them,—not grudgingly but
without complaint. She had heard of him through her father’s talks many
and many a time. She had learned of his goodness to her father; and here
he was, unselfishly giving to her all he could give, freely and as a
matter of course. Such conduct makes a friend of any generous-minded
soul. It slowly converted her regard into devotion. She began to look
for opportunities to serve him. To do anything for him became a joy.
They were nearing the Amargosa and were sitting at the camp fire one
evening when he said: “Jack, you are the very nicest boy I ever knew. I
thought your father was the finest man on earth but I have lost him
forever. I have found you instead. I am selfish and I would like to have
you both; but, oh, my dear boy! I am so glad to have found you.” Jack
said nothing but she turned her face to conceal the tears.
They had been many days on the road. That afternoon they crossed the
Funeral Range into Death Valley. The rocks of this range are black,
rough, crumbly and forbidding. It is a bad climbing ground for the rocks
are rotten and afford very insecure support. As they were slowly and
painfully groping their way down into the valley a rock upon which he
was standing gave way and he came sliding down in an avalanche of stones
and dirt. She saw at a glance that he was headed for a precipice and
without hesitating a second threw herself in the way. He was stopped but
she slid many feet, turning over and over and landed against another
rock, just on the edge of the precipice, covered with stones and dirt.
Hastily he tore the spade from the pack, rushed down and uncovered her.
Her coat was torn and her shirt in rags. She was unconscious as he laid
her on the ground and cleaned the dirt from hands and face and gave her
water to drink. Slowly she came out of the daze to find him anxiously
bending over her.
“Were you hurt?” said she.
“No,” he replied, “see whether any of your bones are broken.”
They camped at Saratoga Springs and from there traveled by easy stages
to Daggett and thence to Los Angeles. All the way he was quiet, and she
viewed him with apprehension. On the way east he sat beside her in the
Pullman.
“Why did you not tell me you were a woman?” said he.
“I was afraid you would not take me, and I wanted to go.”
“Well, it’s too bad. I suppose now I must send you off to live with some
one else.”
“Please don’t do that Uncle, I couldn’t bear it.”
“What can I do then? Get my sister to live with us?”
“Why yes, I suppose so. There are evil tongues. We must have some one.”
His sister saw at once that she must play the rôle of huckleberry, and
felt no great eagerness, but good-naturedly consented at last, firmly
resolved to aid fate as much as possible so that she might go back to
her own work.
The play began with taking them to the theatre twice a week when sister
was careful that Jack should sit next to brother. It continued by taking
them to the country for the summer. Then they came back to the city
again and missed the long walks and the pleasant companionship of the
afternoons with nothing to do but exchange ideas. Then Uncle was called
to Chicago on business for a week. This lengthened to two weeks. On
returning he was so glad to see her that he kissed her and she
impulsively returned the kiss and fled. How could a lonesome bachelor
long resist such a combination of youth, beauty and love. There was a
quiet wedding soon in which two hearts as well as two hands were united.
They are not lovers, they are chums. He knows her thoughts and she
his—they like each other.
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