THE LAND WHERE IT NEVER RAINS
It was well on in the afternoon of the next day when Roger woke, to find
his friend the frontiersman bustling about the camp. He came sharply
when the boy hailed him.
"See here, lad," he said, "I figured that a rest wouldn't hurt you any,
so I told the thin fellow that if you stayed on here a while, I didn't
have much on hand, and I'd keep you company. Jest to watch that you
didn't get up in the middle of the night and try and find some other new
trail. So it's you and me for a few days, and I guess that teamster of
yours ought to show up soon, because, of course, he doesn't know
anythin' about what's been goin' on."
A couple of lazy weeks passed by rapidly, lazy because the Westerner
insisted on doing all the work that needed to be done, and before they
were over Roger found that he had nearly regained his full strength, his
wiry frame recuperating without loss of vitality. Masseth, on his
return, was much gratified to find how well the boy had got along, and
the following week he took him alone to one of the most prominent
stations on the northern side.
"Now, Roger," Masseth said to him, "I've just about finished what I want
to do on this side, so I'm going across to run a level on the other
side. But I'm very anxious to get a clear sight of this peak, where
we're standing, for an extensive triangulation, in order to correct or
rather verify some results. The only way in which this can be done is to
flash a heliograph message to me, at a certain time on a certain day, in
the way I showed you last week."
"Across seven miles?" asked the boy in amazement.
"More than that," said his chief, smiling. "Now here is the way you had
better get at it. In this box, which you see has been securely fastened
to the rock, are two pieces of tin, one with a quarter of an inch hole
in it, the other with a hole an inch square. They point, with
mathematical correctness, to a peak on the other side, which is an old
station, and easily seen. If you look through, you can see the place."
Roger bent down, and looking through the aperture was able to determine
a slight projection on the far distant bank, which he described and
which was in verity the point sought.
"Now," continued Masseth, "two months hence, or to be more exact, sixty
days from now, at eight o'clock in the morning, I will be waiting at
that point on the other side, and I shall expect you to be here. Over
the further piece of tin, as you see, I have hung a cloth, which you can
drop while you are testing the glass. In this movable frame, so devised
that it can be screwed up or down, or shifted slightly sideways, arrange
the glass so that the reflection of it, shining through the larger hole,
appears at an equal distance on all sides of the smaller opening. You
understand me?"
"Quite, Mr. Masseth," answered the boy, who had been listening with all
his ears.
"Very well," the older man continued. "At eight o'clock sharp, then, you
will raise quickly the curtain in front of the smaller hole, and drop it
again, doing this three times, allowing the hole to remain open for ten
seconds each time. Do that every five minutes for half an hour, or six
times in all, to allow for any possible variation of time in your watch.
By the way, you had better have two watches in the event of one of them
stopping or the hands catching, or something of that sort, because a
month's work will depend on getting that signal. But I think I can trust
you."
"You can, indeed, Mr. Masseth," said Roger. "But what shall I be doing
during those two months? Am I to remain alone in camp?"
"Hardly," said his chief, smiling. "The Survey does not waste men that
way. Mr. Mitchon has written me that Mr. Herold desires you should have
an insight into the varied work of the department, and I have arranged
for another topographic aid to meet me on the other side, so that,
except for this heliograph signal, which I must remind you is
excessively important, you will have finished with the work here."
"Then what?"
"Death Valley and the Mohave Desert," replied his chief. "It is perhaps
a little hard to send you into a hot section of the country at this time
of year, but, you see, you cannot go too far away because of your
engagement with the sun on a morning two months hence--by the way, if it
is cloudy, which is so rare a contingency as scarcely to be reckoned on,
signal the next morning at the same hour--so you must stay near by,
and the most interesting work at hand is that being done in the
waterless country."
[Illustration: TWENTY-SEVEN MILES FROM WATER.
Shelter camp in Great Dry Desert, life being sustained by constant
relays from distant wells.
_Photograph by U.S.G.S._]
"Death Valley," the boy repeated, his eyes sparkling with excitement, "I
have always wondered what Death Valley was really like."
"That will give you a chance to see it, and to find out for yourself."
"But how?" asked the boy surprisedly. "Isn't the air poisonous, or
something? I had an idea that nothing could live in Death Valley."
Masseth smiled.
"You're mixing up some fairy story of the Upas Tree, or something of
that sort," he said. "There's nothing very dangerous in Death Valley,
except the lack of water. And even that is nothing like it used to be,
because, while they have not found any more water, the places where
pools do exist are carefully mapped out and made easy of access. But it
is a grim and fearful place unless every step of the journey is
carefully planned with relation to those few scanty wells."
"Then," said the boy, "if it is just lack of water, why was it called
Death Valley?"
"A party of emigrants gave it that name," said the chief quietly, "and
to them its sinister title bore a grim meaning. They had passed through
the desert, suffering incredible hardships and were greatly weakened
when they arrived at the valley. Still they pluckily journeyed on till
they reached those salt and borax flats, where the surface is rougher to
travel on than can be imagined, the salt having formed in sharp spikes
and jagged scales with their edges at every angle, and shallow pans
filled with dreadfully salt water. But it was water, and many of the
party sought thus to quench their thirst."
"Although it was salt!" cried Roger. "I should think it would have made
them crazy."
"It did," responded the older man. "The torture of an unquenchable
thirst with no means to allay it, led first to madness, then to death,
and the valley claimed a fearful toll. Some died outright, others became
maniacal, several indeed having to be shot by their comrades in an
effort to save the lives of those that remained. Few animals and fewer
men found their way to the scanty water of the Panamint, and the tale as
told by the survivors made the words Death Valley a name of fear to the
'Forty-Niners' and other early travelers in what was then known as the
'Great American Desert.' Death Valley it was called, and Death Valley it
will remain until all memory of America's pioneers is past."
"And is the Survey working in there, too?"
"I happen to know that there is a short reconnoissance trip to be made
to look into the question of the borax deposits of the Valley and the
Mohave Desert, and if you start right away, you ought to be able to get
to Daggett a week before the party reaches there, or at the slowest, in
plenty of time. The borax industry is large, and as it depends in a
great measure on the information furnished by the Survey, it might be a
good thing for you to know something about."
"And how shall I get there?"
"I will lend you Duke."
"Your own horse? And what will you do, Mr. Masseth?"
"Oh, I'll take Black's mare, and let him ride one of the mules over. I
am none too anxious to take Duke through the Canyon any more than I have
to."
"And the route?" queried the boy.
"You will not find any difficulty there, I think, because all you have
to do is to follow the edge of the Canyon. You go west and then south,
over the famous Hurricane Fault, and beside that mighty gate a mile
high through which the Colorado runs, passing from the grandeur of the
Canyon to the dismal torrid lower Sierra country. You will reach the
Santa Fe at Needles, where you can take the train for Ludlow, and
changing there go to Daggett, to await the arrival of the party. It is
not such a great distance, and there are trails all the way to Needles.
But remember, you are still under my direction, and all this is merely
incidental to the main piece of work I require of you, and that is, the
heliograph signal on October 21st."
"I'll be there, Mr. Masseth," said Roger quietly. "You can bank on me
for that."
The boy was so silent on his way back to camp that Masseth rallied him a
little on his unusual reserve.
"Don't you want to go into the Mohave country?" he said. "Because if you
feel that way, I will try to arrange some other plan. Only I thought you
might wish to see that sort of country and get an idea of what the work
is like out there."
"Indeed I do," said Roger hastily. "What made you think I didn't?"
"You were so quiet about it. And quietness is not your strong point."
"It isn't that," said Roger, hastily, "but I was just wondering whether
I would be able to remember all the scenes and incidents of the year."
"Not all of them, of course," said the older man, "but you will find
that their variety in experience is invaluable. You told me you were
going to Alaska with Rivers later on. Now, if you have seen the Death
Valley work as well as triangulation in the Grand Canyon and surveying
in the Minnesota swamps, you will have a fair idea of the immense range
of the work of the Survey."
"It is a contrast, all right," said Roger. "From the flat, boggy country
of Minnesota to the high dry peaks of the Canyon, and from the intense
heat of the desert to the ice-bound ranges of Alaska is certainly quite
a jump. But I'm very glad to have the chance, Mr. Masseth, though I
shall be sorry to leave you and the rest of the party."
That evening in camp, the chief announced his intention of returning to
the far side of the Canyon, and stated that Roger would be left to send
a heliograph message a couple of months later, and that in the meantime
he would visit the Mohave country for a few weeks.
"Why," commented the frontiersman, when this plan was unfolded, "I was
figurin' myself how it mightn't be so worse an idea to prospect some in
that Silverbow country, now that I'm 'way over here. My two boys are
working a small claim of mine near Oak Springs Butte, an' I've a notion
that there's a heap of gold in that Kawich country. Guess I'll go with
you part of the way to Daggett, pard; that is, if you're agreeable."
Nothing could have suited the boy better, and his exuberant delight in
the prospect of his friend's presence throughout the long ride was
obviously pleasing to the old man.
"That's a go then, bub," he said; "if you want to stick to the old trail
I'll help you keep it, and if you want to find a new one, why, I'll just
follow right along."
"But when are you going to break camp, Mr. Masseth?" asked the boy, who
was growing a little tired of the continual reference to his crossing of
the Canyon.
"The day after to-morrow, I think," the chief of the party replied, "as
the work should be done by that time; so you can start the same day,
only in the opposite direction."
In spite of Roger's interest in going to a new field, however, and
though he had beside him his grizzled friend, one of the keenest twinges
of loneliness the boy had felt while on the Survey came over him a
couple of days later, as he saw the party which he had so long
considered as his own, ride away from the site of the camp, leaving the
frontiersman and himself looking after them. He would much have
preferred being the first to start, but as the main party had to cross
the Canyon, movement at the earliest dawn was necessary. One consolation
he had in the possession of Duke, the chief's horse and a great favorite
with the boy.
As Roger and his friend started on their journey westward, the boy said:
"You were speaking of some mines out this way. Do you own gold mines?"
"No, bub, not gold. Wouldn't have 'em as a gift."
"Why not?" asked the lad, surprised.
"Cost too much to work, and there's no money in it. You know the old
saying about gold mines, don't you?"
"No, what is it?"
"That 'A copper mine will bring you gold; silver, silver; but a gold
mine will only bring you a few coppers!'"
"I never heard that before," replied the lad, "and it sounds queer,
too."
"Well, it's true. I wouldn't mind betting," said the old pioneer, "that
there's more gold been put into gold mines than ever was taken out of
them."
"How's that?"
"Well, you take it all through. There's the time and money spent by the
thousands of prospectors that spend all their lives wandering up and
down the mountains trying to locate the gold. Then, when a vein is
found, some fellow's got to put in a lot of capital to start to work it,
and thousands have to be spent for machinery to crush it, before it is
at all certain that the mine will pay. Then, in order to raise this
money, brokers all over the United States are selling shares of these
mines, and they make a good living out of it. And when you think how
many tens of thousands of dollars are spent on each mine, and how many
thousands of mines there are which have proved dead failures, and over
and beyond this, how narrow the margin of profit is even on a successful
strike, it doesn't look like much of a paying business, eh?"
The trail becoming too rough at this point for riding side by side, the
boy dropped behind, thinking over the difference between the finding of
gold as it really is, and as his adventurous ideas had supposed it to
be. When the trail widened again the boy cantered up, and continued the
former subject with the remark:
"Are your mines copper, then?"
"No, azurite."
"What's that?" asked the boy, who had never heard of it before.
"It's a sort of stone that they make up into all sorts of jewels that
women wear. Of course it's not precious like sapphire and emerald and
all that sort of thing, but that's perhaps because it is not as well
known, nor as rare. It's just as pretty, I think. I'd rather have it
than a gold mine or a copper mine, either, for that matter."
"Why?" asked Roger.
"Because it can be worked so easily. You see a small box of that stuff
can be packed on a mule any distance and then shipped, and if a
different point is used each time no one knows where it comes from and
there is no competition. Now copper, you see, is only valuable in large
quantities, and it needs a big industry to run it. And of this rarer
sort of stuff, there's lots of it around for any one that wants to look
for it."
"What sort of stuff?"
"All these rare mineral earths. The clay that's used in making gas
mantles, for instance; or there's tungsten, which is worth a lot now for
making the wires of incandescent light. I've a friend who's rich because
he got hold of a deposit of tungsten from reading the Geological Survey
bulletins. There's a lot more of it in the Snake Range of Nevada, just
waiting for somebody who's got energy enough to go ahead and develop
it."
Thus, throughout the entire trip, Roger found his interest in the work
greatly whetted by this new view-point, looking at the Survey from the
side of the shrewd Western man, seeking practical results, rather than
the more professional and scientific aspect of the field worker himself.
Indeed, it opened the boy's eyes immensely to the vastness of the
importance of the department when he realized that there was scarcely a
branch of manufacture that did not depend on some rare element, in some
of its processes, and that these rare elements were brought to light in
the very work that he had been doing. So it chanced that when Roger and
his friend reached Daggett, he was as enthusiastic concerning the
economic side of the work as he had been regarding its opportunities for
adventure.
Masseth had estimated the time of the party which Roger was to join with
close accuracy, for the boy had not been in the little settlement more
than three days when the party rode up, all on mules. Roger introduced
himself and presented Masseth's letter.
"Oh!" said his new leader in surprise. "So you're the boy who crossed
the Grand Canyon alone! I heard of that in San Bernardino, some tourists
were telling the story."
"Yes, Mr. Pedlar," said Roger with a flush. "But there wasn't so much to
it, I just had to get across."
"Well, I'm glad to have you. Now what is your idea in joining us,
because I see Mr. Masseth says that you are still on duty with him."
Roger explained the two months' signal that had been agreed upon, and
Pedlar, tall and light of hue, as though the desert had bleached him,
whistled softly.
"He's always taking long chances," he said, "but to do him justice they
generally come out all right. As I understand it, then, you want to come
along for a few weeks and then get back to Bright Angel Point in plenty
of time."
"Yes, sir," the boy answered.
"Well, that will be about right, only it's not going to take as long as
you think. It will be just a hurried reconnoissance. I suppose you know
why we're going in?"
"Mr. Masseth said something about borax," the lad replied, "but he
didn't say just what you were going to do."
"It's this way, Doughty," was the reply. "Borax, you know, was first
obtained by evaporating the water of some lakes in California. Later, in
the beds of some old dry lakes, the borax was found already evaporated
by the sun, and for years these marsh crusts formed the whole supply of
the country. Then the Geological Survey pointed out that before these
lakes were dried up the borax must have flowed into them by means of
some small streams or just the regular drainage of the rainfall."
"You mean," said Roger, interrupting, "that there must have been a lot
of it near by somewhere, and that each rain just soaked away a little
and brought it along."
"Exactly. Therefore it was up to the Survey to locate these large
deposits, and this was done. A large bed was found at Borate, about
twelve miles northeast of here, and this proved so valuable that more
surveying was done, especially in the region about Death Valley, where
one of the old salt marshes was located."
"Then it was the Survey that gave to the country all the borax it is now
using."
"It was," replied Pedlar. "Now, you see, I am making a hasty trip to the
known deposits, so that other related beds can be pointed out, as each
new find adds to the resources of the country, or, in other words, makes
the United States just that much richer."
"How is that?" asked the boy. "The government doesn't run the mines."
"No. But don't you see, the United States means the people of the United
States, and if the money spent on borax goes to American producers in
American fields instead of to Italy, where so much of it went before,
the country is richer to that amount."
Then, putting the matter as simply as he could, Pedlar explained to the
boy how greatly the commercial prosperity of the country is due to some
of the lesser known government bureaus, and pointed out the wisdom of
the fostering of American industries. Even so, it was not until the
tangible discovery of a hitherto unknown bed of rock salt, fifty feet in
thickness, that Roger realized how, every day in the year, the
prosperity of the country was being advanced by this patient scientific
investigation. The new salt deposit was found at the extreme south end
of Death Valley, a few miles before the trail went through a gap in the
Funeral Mountains. Skirting the Amargosa Desert, a furnace of cactus and
alkali, the party reached Grapevine Peak, from which may be seen perhaps
the most desolate and forbidding view in the Western Hemisphere.
"Behind you," broke in the voice of the chief, "beginning at that peak
you see fifty miles away in the distance, and which is known as Oak
Springs Butte, is a section of the country containing over 3,000 square
miles, equal in size to the states of Delaware and Rhode Island
together, which is absolutely waterless. In that appalling land of
thirst there is not a river, stream, or brook; a spring is a thing
unknown; no well has ever been sunk, and even the Indian waterhole
exists only in imagination. At rare, very rare intervals, a cloudburst
may come upon the parched land, but five minutes later there is no sign
of moisture save for a cup in a ravine or a crevice in a rock, where
water may lie for twenty-four hours. It is dryer and hotter than the
Great Sahara Desert of Africa, and wild and rough beyond belief."
"And has that awful place been covered by the Survey, too?" asked the
boy.
"I did one quadrangle," answered Pedlar, "and there's a party in there
this season."
"But how do they manage for water?"
"They tote every drop. And," with a grim meaning, "they are not taking
baths twice a day at that!"
"On this other side," continued the chief of the party after a pause,
turning round, "is a place you know well by reputation."
"That is the famous Death Valley?" queried Roger.
"That," said the chief, putting his heels to the mule's side and
starting down the slope, "is the infamous Death Valley."
Half-way down the slope Pedlar halted and pointed to a sign on a box
lid, stuck into a pile of stone.
"Gruesome advertising, that!" he commented.
Roger read it. It was the signboard of a local undertaking company, and
the implication of such a need for every one descending into the valley
was to the boy more sinister than any of the stories he had heard about
it. As they reached the valley, dunes twenty to thirty feet high
surrounded them on every side, with a salt sand between, sometimes soft,
sometimes with a treacherous crust through which the hoofs of the mules
sank, often cutting their legs, into the wounds of which the alkaline
dust penetrated, causing great pain. The boy tore his coat into strips
to bind around the pasterns of Duke, but even so some slight scratches
were unavoidable.
They journeyed on over this fearful traveling for many weary miles,
till, suddenly, Roger's quick eyes, eagerly looking for new things,
discerned at the entrance to a small rock-bound canyon a sliver of wood
broken off and sticking upright in the sand. As wood in that country is
as unusual as it would be to see a shaft of burnished silver protruding
from the arid ground, Roger rode up to it. There, penciled apparently
recently on the wood, were the following words:
"Have gone down canyon looking for the spring; have
been waiting for you.--Titus."
The boy called to the chief. Pedlar came over and read the message, then
quietly and with reverence removed his hat.
"Poor chap!" he said very softly. "There is no spring in that canyon."
He summoned the other members of the party and silently they rode up the
narrow cleft. Roger and the chief were riding in advance, and after a
few minutes' ride the latter pulled his mule in sharply, and pointed to
the figure of a man lying near a rock in the full glare of the sun.
"Perhaps he isn't dead?" said the boy, his heart in his mouth.
"No use to hope that, my boy," was the grave reply. "See, he must have
lain down in the afternoon, when that spot was shaded, and died before
the next sun rose. No living man would lie exposed to such a sun as
this."
They rode up. It was as the chief had said, and Titus's friend, whoever
he might have been, would never see him more.
"Shall we make a grave?" asked Roger in an awed tone.
"Better in the little cemetery at Rhyolite," answered the other. "I will
send word."
"But ought we not to make a pile of stones over him, or something?"
suggested Roger, his mind full of thoughts running on the possibility of
interference by wild beasts.
"Nothing can hurt him here," was the reply. "Not even a buzzard will
haunt so desolate a spot as this. But still----" he paused. Then
thinking that it might ease the boy's mind, as well as show respect for
the dead, he gave orders to raise a cairn of stones over the body of
"Titus."
The discovery cast a gloom over the party, and the penciled piece of
wood, which was to be sent back to Rhyolite to be used instead of a
headstone, seemed an uncanny thing to bear. The tragedy had given the
boy a violent distaste for the bleak country, for he seemed to see a
body lying under the lee of every cliff. He was glad when they reached
civilization again, and he could turn his face away from the land of
sage brush and alkali.
[Illustration: IN THE DEATH VALLEY.
Opposite the opening to Titus Canyon where the fatal guide-post was
found.
_Photograph by U.S.G.S._]
When he came to bid farewell to Mr. Pedlar, however, the latter looked
at him a little keenly.
"I could see," the older man said, "that the Titus Canyon matter worked
a little on your nerves. Now, I don't want you to feel that you must get
hard, for you will find that the finest and most daring men in the world
are often as tender as a woman, but it contains a most important lesson
for you."
"And that is?" queried Roger.
"That it is only the fool who over-estimates his own strength."