Kelso, California
The drive into Kelso the afternoon of May twenty-fifth was especially
fascinating. We were on a good hard trail and had only a few miles to
go, and cares seemed to have rolled away. We could look at the scenery
and talk intelligently about it; we became wildly enthusiastic over
the Granite Mountains to the south of us, and the big sand hills to
the southwest,--called “The Devil’s Playground,”--under which we had
camped a few nights before, and where we had seen the total eclipse of
the moon. Just beyond the Granite Peak was Old Dad Mountain. Our trail
lay down the middle of this wide valley, flanked by the Providence
Mountains on the south, and desert hills on the north. The colors were
changing all the time and the air was so clear that we could see as
far as--well, you could see as far as you could see. That is a safe
statement and saves mileage, which every traveling man will
appreciate. We had seen some wonderful views during the past few days,
but perspiration and scenery did not create enthusiasm; besides, we
were worried then. But I think as we rode quietly down upon this
little desert town, the spirit of the desert must have taken
possession of us, and things looked different to us from that time on.
I think we were all somewhat surprised not to see a delegation coming
out to meet us, but, after we got acquainted with the town, we found
the reason easy enough to explain. The little town had grown smaller
from the time we saw it, five miles away, until we got into it. If it
had been any farther away when we first saw it, I doubt if we could
have discovered it when we got there. This phenomenon may be of some
use in determining the causes of mirages.
There were apparently only two men in town; the hotel keeper and
saloon man, who greeted us from the shady end of the porch, advised us
that the storekeeper, who had a bale of alfalfa hay in the freight
house of the railroad, might be persuaded to let us have it if
properly interviewed. We interviewed him properly and procured it. He
was the second man. He was also the postmaster and sheriff and game
warden. He had married a Los Angeles girl and they had a bungalow next
to the store, some flowers and some fruit trees, and a shed and a
corral behind, making four buildings on the north side of the railroad
track. This was the town proper. The balance of the town on the other
side of the railroad track did not count for much in a desert scene.
There was, in addition to the railroad station, an eating house, a
repair shop, water tank, and a few railroad houses for the employees
to live in.
This was Kelso as we saw it, a desert water station at the foot of the
grade on the Salt Lake Railroad. There were eighty miles of sand and
desert west of it that we knew, and we concluded there could be
nothing worse east of it, so we were prepared to take things easy for
a day or two and rest up our horses before going on.
We patronized the railroad lunch counter and visited with Fred
Rickett, the postmaster, who gave us a great deal of interesting
information about the country. He told us about a spring of water he
had about six miles from town, up in the mountains, and how the
mountain sheep came there to drink, as it was the only water for
miles. He expects some time to pipe it down to town and irrigate a
tract of land. At present he raises his vegetables up there. He took
quite a fancy to Tuck, who never left the wagon all the time we were
in town. I find the following memo in my diary for the day spent in
Kelso, which shows how exciting the day really was:
[Illustration: THE BUSINESS SECTION OF KELSO, CALIFORNIA]
“Thursday, the twenty-sixth. Put in day here in Kelso talking to
Rickett, making a few repairs to wagon, tightening screws, etc. Have
no grain, but put all alfalfa we could inside the horses. Doctored
Kate’s shoulder, neck, and foot. Wrote a few letters and postals.
Rickett, who has prospected all over this part of the country, says
the best way to get here from Daggett is _via_ the Santa Fe Railroad
to Amboy and then up over the mountains between Granite and Old Dad,
on horseback. A light wagon could make it. It is not so very much
better than the way we came. A prospector came in with two burros from
twelve miles up in the mountains for mail and supplies. Rickett says
he has the only store for eighty miles west, forty miles south, thirty
miles north, and twenty miles east.
“He told us he had two brothers in the war and how one of them came
very near shooting the other; one was on the North and the other on
the South. The one under Lee was a sharpshooter and one night killed
four sentries at a single post, but got so hungry he could not wait
for the fifth to show himself so called out to him for something to
eat. The reply came back: ‘Can of lard and some corn meal,’ in a voice
he recognized as his brother’s. So he went back and got Lee to
transfer him. (You may have heard this story before, but you
appreciate the significance of it more when you hear it told by one of
the brothers.)
“Got all of our meals at the restaurant here at thirty-five cents per.
Turned in early, all ready for an early start. So far, since leaving
San Bernardino, we have met no one on the road. One auto passed us
going into Hesperia and we met one auto going out of Victorville. Not
a snake sighted, a very few small jacks, and a few very large land
tortoises. During the early spring or winter one can get through here
better, although, of course, the weather is not so good. Rickett said
last winter a young lad came through driving a buggy and a
two-year-old colt, with only a dog for company. He assumed he got
through, but he never had heard.”
This extract from my diary would seem to show that the only item of
news which a newspaper correspondent could have wired his home paper
as happening that day (supposing there had been any newspaper
correspondent), would have been about as follows:
“Kelso, May 26. We were interrupted to-day by Bill Baxter who came
down from his mine over in the Providence Mountains for mail and
supplies. Bill says it is mighty dry this year in the mountains.
Providence, Bill said, didn’t do as much this year as usual. ‘Come
again, Bill, we don’t mind being interrupted.’”