TEAMING IN DEATH VALLEY
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

The
Mystic Mid-Region
The Deserts of the Southwest

By
Arthur J. Burdick
With 54 Illustrations
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1904

Copyright, 1904
BY
ARTHUR J. BURDICK
Published, April, 1904
The Knickerbocker Press, New York

Kingdom of solitude, thou desert vast,
The keeper thou of secrets of the past,
For what, O Desert, was thy land accurs'd?
Thy rivers dried, thy fields consumed by thirst?
Thy plains in mute appeal unfruitful lie
Beneath a burning, stern, relentless sky
That brings its showers of life-renewing rain
Unto the mount, but ne'er unto the plain.

What secret guardest thou, O Desert dread?
What mystery hidest of the ages dead?
Doth some strange treasure lie within thy breast
That thou wouldst guard from man's most eager quest?
Or doth there in thy solitude abide
Some mystery that Nature fain would hide?
Some secret of the great creative plan
Too deep, too awful for the mind of man?

O Desert, with thy hot, consuming breath,
Whose glance is torture and whose smile is death,
Realm of the dewless night and cloudless sun,
Burn on until thine awful watch be done.
Then may the shifting winds their off'rings bring—
The yielding clouds their life-fraught dews to fling
Upon thy yearning, panting, scorching breast,
That with abundance thou at last be bless'd.

So, where thy wasted sands now barren lie,
Green fields may some day meet a smiling sky.
Where now but lurks grim, ghastly, burning death,
The violet may shed its fragrant breath.
It hath been said—a sure, divine decree—
That in the solitude shall gladness be;
And, by that One from whom all goodness flows,
That thou shalt bloom, O Desert, as the rose.

A. J. B.

[CONTENTS]

[LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS]

* From photographs reproduced by permission of C. C. Pierce & Co.

THE MYSTIC MID-REGION
[CHAPTER I]
THE DESERT

Between the lofty ranges of mountains which mark the western boundary of the great Mississippi Valley and the chain of peaks known as the Coast Range, whose western sunny slopes look out over the waters of the placid Pacific, lies a vast stretch of country once known as the "Great American Desert."

A few years ago, before the railroad had pierced the fastness of the great West, explorers told of a vast waste of country devoid of water and useful vegetation, the depository of fields of alkali, beds of niter, mountains of borax, and plains of poison-impregnated sands. The bitter sage, the thorny cacti, and the gnarled mesquite were the tantalizing species of herbs said to abound in the region, and the centipede, the rattlesnake, tarantula, and Gila monster represented the life of this desolate territory.

More recently, as the railroads have spanned the continent at different points, we have knowledge of several deserts. There are the "Nevada Desert," the "Black Rock Desert," the "Smoke Creek Desert," the "Painted Desert," the "Mojave Desert," the "Colorado Desert," etc.; the "Great American Desert" being the name now applied to that alkali waste west of Salt Lake in Utah. As a matter of fact, however, these are but local names for a great section of arid country in the United States from two hundred to five hundred miles wide, and seven hundred to eight hundred miles long, and extending far down into Mexico, unbroken save for an occasional oasis furnished by nature, or small areas made habitable by irrigation.

Where the old Union Pacific drew its sinuous line across the northern section of the desert, a trail of green spots was left to mark the various watering-stations for the engines. The Southern Pacific railroad left a similar line of oases down through the Colorado Desert, and the Santa Fé, in like manner, dotted with green spots the Great Mojave Desert. The water at these stations is obtained in some instances by drilling wells, and where it can not be obtained in this manner it is hauled in tank cars from other points.

THE DESERT
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

A portion of the desert lies below the level of the sea. Death Valley, in the Great Mojave Desert, has a depression of one hundred and ten feet below sea-level, while portions of the Colorado Desert lie from a few feet to four hundred feet below ocean-level. In the latter desert there are 3900 square miles below sea-level, and there are several villages in this desert which would be many feet submerged were the mountain wall between sea and desert rent asunder.

There is a mystery about the desert which is both fascinating and repellent. Its heat, its dearth of water and lack of vegetation, its seemingly endless waste of shifting sands, the air of desolation and death which hovers over it,—all these tend to warn one away, while the very mystery of the region, the uncertainty of what lies beyond the border of fertility, tempts one to risk its terrors for the sake of exploring its weird mysteries.

Strange tales come out of the desert. Every one who has ventured into its vastness, and who has lived to return, has brought reports of experiences and observations fraught with the deepest interest, which tend to awaken the spirit of adventure in the listener. The most famous of the American deserts are the Great Mojave and the Colorado, the latter lying partly in the United States and partly in Mexico. As trackless as the Sahara, as hot and sandy as the Great Arabian, they contain mysteries which those deserts cannot boast. Within their borders are the great salt fields of Salton and of Death Valley, which have no counterpart in the world; the "Volcanoes," a region abounding in cone-shaped mounds which vomit forth poisonous gases, hot mud, and volcanic matter, and over which region ever hang dense clouds of steam; the great niter fields and borax plains of the Mojave, and other equally strange exhibitions of nature.

There are other mysteries in the desert. Amid its sands are gold and gems for the fortunate finder, and many are they who have lost their lives in search of these treasures. Hovering over the desert, too, is that phantom, that desert apparition, the mirage, a never-ceasing wonder to the fortunate traveler who wants not for water and who is in no doubt as to his way across the dreary waste, and a never-ceasing torment and menace to the thirst-tortured wayfarer lost in the dread solitude. Imagine the mockery to the thirsty traveler of a rippling sheet of water, its blue waves rolling ever in view but receding as he advances, leaving only the burning sands to the perishing one! Is it any wonder that men go mad in the desert? And yet, locked in the breast of this waste is more fertility than is necessary to supply the continent with sustenance.

MOUNT SAN JACINTO FROM THE DESERT
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

The Colorado Desert is thus called because the great river of that name carved it out of the sea. It is also destined to lose the name of desert because of that same river.

At one time the Gulf of California extended nearly up to Banning, where rise those two sentinels of the plain, Mt. San Jacinto and Mt. Grayback, each towering nearly two miles above the surrounding country. This was before the Colorado River had cut its way through the mountains to the sea, forming that magnificent chasm known as the Grand Cañon. For endless centuries the great river has been eating out the heart of the continent, pulverizing the rock and earth, and bearing it in its turbid tide down from the mountains and tablelands to the lower plains and to the sea.

A part of its burden of silt was laid down over the northern portion of the gulf, and a part of it was carried by the force of the current far down into the great body of water and was piled up ninety miles below the present boundary line between Mexico and the United States. This bank was about sixty miles long, extending in an easterly and westerly direction. Along the right side of the current was formed a lateral embankment, which eventually shut off the river from its former inlet into the gulf and directed it to its present mouth, some two hundred miles lower. This, joining with the sixty-mile embankment, severed one portion of the gulf from the main body and left an inland sea where now is the desert. Then the thirsty sun drank up the waters of this sea and left the land of desolation. How long ago all this happened is a matter of conjecture.

There are many places on the boundaries of the desert where the ancient beach-line may be traced long distances. Here are found numerous shells and corals. Many of the shells are unbroken, and one might almost believe, to look upon them, that they were tossed there by the restless waves no longer ago than yesterday. The varieties of shells and of sea relics correspond very closely with those now abounding in the sea.

ANCIENT SEA BEACH, COLORADO DESERT, NEAR COACHELLA
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

There are evidences that the desert has been dry land many centuries. Upon its breast are found Indian pottery and implements of a style and pattern antedating those in use at the time the white man reached this country. Then, too, as far back as the sixteenth century, when the earliest exploration of that region was made, the desert-dwelling tribes seem to have been thoroughly established in the territory once occupied by the gulf. It doubtless required centuries, after the waters were cut off from the region, to dry up the inland sea and make it possible for man to enter in and occupy the territory.

It is the belief of some scholars that the land was submerged when the first Spanish explorers reached the coast. In support of this theory they point to certain maps which show the gulf as covering that region.

A map of the early navigators recently in the possession of General Stoneman of the United States Army, which was obtained by him in the City of Mexico, shows the Gila River as entering the gulf, whereas the Gila River now enters the Colorado River ninety miles north of the present mouth of the Colorado.

A map of California, published in 1626 by N. Sanson d'Abbeville, geographer to the King of France, pictures the Gulf of California as extending along the entire eastern boundary of the State, and connecting with the Pacific Ocean on the north. This map was made from sundry drawings and accounts furnished by the early navigators, and is glaringly incorrect. It is certain that the gulf did not then, or at any time, extend to the Pacific. The early explorers and map-makers conveniently guessed at matters upon which they could get no information.

[CHAPTER II]
THE LAND OF THIRST

When the "tenderfoot" first strikes the desert country he is surprised to learn that he is expected to pay for the water he uses for himself and for his beast. A little later he becomes indignant upon finding himself unable to purchase even a small quantity of the necessary fluid because of the extreme caution of the proprietor of some desert well where he has expected to replenish his stock of water.

It is not an unusual happening for the desert traveler, who has toiled hours over the burning sands after his supply of water has been used up, to find the desert-dweller unwilling to spare a drop of his scanty supply. Not all desert wells are dependable, and sometimes the solitary dweller of the oasis finds his supply exhausted; he then has to haul all the water he uses forty or fifty miles until such time as the winter rains come to replenish the vein which feeds his well.

One who has never experienced it can gain no idea of the torture of thirst upon the desert. The scorching sun from a cloudless sky, with never so much as a hint of haze to temper its rays, seems fairly to drink the blood of the traveler exposed to its fierceness. From the sands rises a cloud of fine alkali dust which penetrates the nostrils and enters the mouth, stinging and inflaming the glands, and adding to the torture of thirst. A few hours of this suffering without water to alleviate the pain is sufficient to drive most men mad.

It is this desert madness which travelers most fear. If one can keep a clear head he may possibly live and suffer and toil on to a place of safety, even though bereft of water many hours, but once the desert madness seizes him all hope is lost, for he no longer pursues his way methodically, but rushes off in pursuit of the alluring mirages, or chases some dream of his disordered brain which pictures to him green fields and running brooks, ever just at hand.

Men tortured by thirst become desperate. A thirsty man knows no law save that of might. Men who would, under ordinary circumstances, scorn to do even a questionable act, will, when under the pressure of extreme thirst, fight to the death for a few drops of water.

AN INDIAN WELL IN THE DESERT
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

Not long ago a respectable citizen of a little California town had occasion to cross the desert at a point where water-holes were few and far apart. He depended upon obtaining water at a certain ranch, established at one of the oases on his route, and when he arrived there he and his guide and burros were in sad condition, having been several hours without water. He gave his guide a five-dollar gold-piece and told him to see the rancher and purchase the water necessary to carry them to the next watering-place. It happened that the rancher's well was in danger of going dry, and he declined the money, refusing to part with any water. Pleadings were unavailing, and the guide returned to his employer and reported his inability to make a deal. Then the staid citizen arose in his wrath and, with a ten-dollar gold-piece in one hand and a revolver in the other, he sought the rancher.

"There is ten dollars for the water, if you will sell it," he said; "and if not, I will send you to Hades and take it, anyway! Now which will it be?"

There was but one reply to an argument of that kind; the rancher sulkily accepted the money, the brackish water was drawn from the well, and the journey was soon resumed. As a result of this transaction, however, the rancher was obliged to take a forty-mile journey over the desert and back, to replenish his water-supply from another well.

John F. McPherson, of Los Angeles, manager of the Nevada Land Office, left Los Angeles, in August, 1900, to traverse the Great Mojave Desert, on his way to look over the lands in the Parumph Valley, in Nevada. His experience, which was by no means uncommon, is best related by himself.

"I left Los Angeles by team," he says, "for the purpose of retracing the Government surveys and making field notes. I had with me two companions, one Samuel Baker and a young man from the East. We proceeded over the foothills to Cajon Pass, thence to Victor, out on the desert. It was in the burning days of a fierce, dry summer. The earth was fervid and the air quivered with the intense heat of the sun which poured its burning rays from a cloudless sky. Bad luck accompanied us from the very start. At Pomona, thirty miles from Los Angeles, we lost a horse and had to purchase another. At Daggett, out in the desert, which place we reached the second day of our desert travel, we found the thermometer registering 128 degrees in the shade. We passed through Daggett and made camp, ten miles farther on, at dark.

AN OASIS IN THE COLORADO DESERT
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

"Eighteen miles beyond Daggett is Coyote Holes, where we expected to find water to replenish the supply with which we left Daggett at seven o'clock in the morning. We found the well dry when we reached there, and the place red with alkali. Near the well, two pieces of two by four scantling marked the grave of some traveler who had preceded us and who had run short of water before reaching the Holes. He had arrived too far gone to go farther, and his companions had remained with him till the end and had given him a burial in the sand and set the scantlings to mark the spot. Those scantlings proved our salvation a little later.

"By noon we had consumed all but about three gallons of our water and we determined to save this till the last extremity, for we had yet eighteen miles to go to the next watering-place, Garlic Springs. Our horses were already in bad shape and nearly crazed for want of water. In their eagerness to reach it they plunged forward at a pace that threatened soon to exhaust them. Our efforts to restrain them by means of the reins were unavailing, and we were obliged to take off our coats and throw them over the heads of the animals and then lead them by the bits in this blinded condition.

"Just beyond Coyote Holes, on the road to Garlic Springs, is a fearful sink known as Dry Lake. Here the ground is shifty and treacherous and the wheels of the wagon sank deep into the sand. Just as we had reached the farther side of the lake the forward axle of the wagon broke, letting the front part of the wagon fall to the ground. This frightened the horses so that they became almost unmanageable. They seemed to realize that this delay meant possible death, and their cries were almost human-like and were indeed pitiable to hear.

"By this time the condition of my companions and myself was dire, and we realized that time was of the greatest importance. The thermometer registered 130 in the shade—and no available shade. To add to our misery and increase our danger a terrible sand storm arose, blinding, stinging, and almost smothering us.

"It was like standing in front of a blast furnace, opening the door, and catching at the blast. There were 1600 pounds of provisions in the wagon at the time, and if we abandoned that we were sure to perish of starvation. It could not be thought of.

"We unhitched the horses and tied them to the rear of the wagon and stretched the heavy canvas which had covered the wagon over them to protect them from the sand storm. Our salvation lay with the horses. If they became exhausted or broke loose, we knew that our bones would be left to bleach upon the desert sands as have the bones of so many desert travelers.

"The young Easterner lost his courage and cried like a baby. The three gallons of water were divided among man and beast, and then Baker started back to Coyote Holes to get the two pieces of scantling with which to mend our broken wagon. While he was gone the young Easterner and myself threw the freight from the wagon to make ready for the work of trussing up the rig when Baker returned with the scantlings.

"The storm continued to increase and it soon became as dark as midnight. When it came time for Baker's return the storm was at such a height that we feared he would have perished in it or that he had lost his way. Hour after hour passed and still he did not return, and we lost hope. At about 9 o'clock in the evening, however, he came into camp with the scantlings. His mouth was bleeding from thirst and he was nearly blinded with the sand, but he had the material with which to repair the wagon, and hope returned to all our hearts.

SENTINEL PALM
A welcome sight to the desert traveler, for it marks an oasis hidden in the cañon
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

"With stout wires and the timbers we soon had our wagon in shape, and the freight was speedily loaded upon it and we prepared to resume our journey. Our ill-luck, however, was not at an end, for when we attempted to attach the tongue of the wagon the king-bolt was not to be found. It was midnight when we had our wagon repaired and loaded, and it was two o'clock before we succeeded in pawing the king-bolt out of the sand where it had fallen. Then we had twelve weary miles to travel before we could reach water. We were all in a terrible state when we started, and the wagon sank so deeply in the sand that our progress was fearfully slow.

"Twenty-four hours without water in the desert is a terrible thing. Before we had covered half the distance to Garlic Springs Baker went mad. He was for abandoning the party, and that meant, to one in his condition, certain death. There was but one thing I could think of to prevent him, and that I did. I pulled my revolver and told him if he attempted to leave the party I would shoot him. He had enough sense or sanity to heed the admonition, and he stayed with us. I had to carry my revolver in my hand, however, and constantly keep an eye on him. It was ten o'clock when we reached the springs, and we were all on the verge of delirium. It was several hours before our swollen and parched throats would admit more than a very few drops of water at a time. We bathed in the water, soaked towels in it and sucked at the ends, and by degrees fought away the demon of thirst. Baker spent five weeks in a hospital after reaching civilization, and we all were unfitted for hard work for a long time."

It is easy to gather tales of this sort from the towns bordering upon the deserts. There are still more disastrous tales which remain untold because none survive to relate them. Items similar to the one herewith given are by no means rare. The subjoined one is an associated press dispatch dated Imperial, April 28, 1903. It says:

"Five human skeletons were found to-day at the east side of the Salton River, making eighteen found to date on the part of the desert being brought under irrigation. The presumption is that the persons may have perished from thirst as many have done in this region, which a few months ago was utter barrenness. Nothing has been found to give any clew to the identity of these persons whose bones may have lain on the desert for many years."

Down in the Colorado Desert is a well which is bringing its owner a fortune. Within a radius of fifty or sixty miles are a score or more of mining camps where no water is to be found. Prospectors and other travelers, also, frequently pass that way, and there is no other water for many miles about. These travelers and the residents of the mining camps are glad to pay handsomely for water from this well.

The proprietor has built tanks and loading apparatus for the convenience of his patrons, and he has established the following schedule of prices:

AN OASIS DWELLING THATCHED WITH PALM LEAVES IN COLORADO DESERT
This might pass for a cannibal's hut in the South Sea Islands
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

The well is a very deep one and the water was obtained by drilling. It requires a power-pump to raise the water to the surface, and the fuel to run the boiler and engine has to be hauled many miles across the desert sands, so, after all, the rates for water are not so exorbitant as they may seem at first glance.

Every year the great deserts of the West claim scores of victims, the most of whom die of thirst. Men go out into the arid plains, are not again heard from, and their fate remains, in many cases, a mystery to the end of time. Again, beside a bleaching skeleton is found a trinket or belonging which serves to identify the remains. Sometimes the identification comes long after death, as in the case of a Los Angeles prospector who years ago left that city with a companion to cross the desert.

The two men lost their way, and the prospector, leaving his companion with the burros at the foot of an eminence, climbed to the top to take a survey of the country and try to get his bearings. After waiting an hour or more for him to return, his comrade began searching for him, and after several hours of vain seeking he resumed the journey alone and eventually reached his destination in safety. Twenty years later some prospectors found human bones upon the desert and beside them a hunting-knife and a watch which had belonged to the long-lost prospector. He had died within two miles of good water.

Here and there in the solitudes of these great Saharas may be seen rude crosses, or stones heaped into mounds, to mark the spot where, in horrible torture, some human life went out. And, strange as it may seem, these graves are more plentiful in the vicinity of the oases than elsewhere. To drink heavily after several hours of abstinence is almost certain death. Many a poor fellow has struggled on through hours of extreme torture, buoyed up by the thoughts of the refreshing draught awaiting him, only to die in agony from drinking too deeply of the precious potion.

A DESERT BEDROOM
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

Sometimes death comes from a very different cause. Not long ago a veteran prospector was taking a party across the desert, and saw in the distance a green spot on the plain. They were headed for Timber Mountain, where good water is plentiful, but they had run short of water some hours before, and were nearly choked with thirst. They turned from their course to visit the green spot, believing that water would be found there. They were not mistaken, for a bubbling spring greeted their eyes, a sight more welcome than would have been a mine of gold, but about the spring were strewn a number of human skeletons, indicating that a goodly sized caravan had met death there.

They were too thirsty to pause to make inquiry as to the cause of this wholesale fatality, and hurried on to the spring to cool their parched tongues. The leader of the party, however, was suspicious and insisted that no one should take more than a few drops of the water at that time. His caution proved their salvation, for within a few minutes after drinking of the water all were taken violently ill. The spring was a natural arsenic fountain.

As soon as the party was able to travel the journey was resumed and Timber Mountain was reached in safety. The guide carried away some of the water for analysis and thus learned of the properties of the spring. Later, he returned and set up a sign to inform travelers of the dangerous character of the water.

[CHAPTER III]
CURIOUS PLANTS WHICH LIVE IN THE DESERT

In the mystic mid-region grows vegetation as weird and wonderful as the region which it inhabits. The Mojave yucca (clistoyucca arborescens) is a strange freak of vegetation found nowhere else in the world. The palo-verde stands grim and sentinel-like, along the banks of the Colorado River which skirts the deserts, an evergreen but leafless tree with curious branches which cross and recross each other, forming a perfect network of green vegetation. Cacti in innumerable variety abound in certain portions of the deserts, from the tiny prickly balls covered with long gray hairs to the giant sahuaro which attains a height of fifty feet. In some places the deer-bush thrives: this plant is so named because of the resemblance borne by its branches to the horns of a deer. There are also sage, mesquite, chaparral, and greasewood, and numbers of other peculiar species of plants.

SAHUARO, OR GIANT CACTUS
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

Cacti are the most numerous of the species of vegetable life. The several varieties all have their uses to those versed in the lore of the desert. In them the Indians, who make the desert their home, find food, drink, raiment, and shelter. This is particularly true of the cereus giganteus, which is abundant in the arid regions of Southern Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and Mexico. This plant grows, in many cases, to a height of fifty feet. In some sections it grows so thickly that several hundred plants are found on a single acre. The plant consists of a main trunk which rises to a height of from ten to twenty feet, and then branches into two, three, or several columns, which grow upright several feet. The main trunk and branches are ribbed, and these ribs are thickly studded with clusters of heavy spines, which if lighted will burn readily, the flame running up the ribbed columns, seeking and burning all the spines thereon. This fact has given rise to the name of "Arizona candle" which is often applied to the giant cactus.

Alternating with the spiny ribs, and just beneath the epidermis, are ligneous fascicles—one for each rib—which serve as a support for the soft tissues which constitute the bulk of the plant. These fascicles are from twenty to forty feet long, according to the height of the plant, and are from one to three inches in diameter. They constitute the framework or skeleton of the plant, and are left standing when the plant itself dies from age or other cause. This frame is of great value to the desert Indians or to desert travelers who know its properties. The fascicles make excellent firewood, and when cut into required lengths they are used as pickets with which to build corrals, and for the roofs to the adobe huts. The spines of the plant are also used by the Indians as combs. The plant lives to be more than one hundred and fifty years old, as has been determined by counting the layers of growth.

The first flowers appear when the plant has attained a height of eight or ten feet, and they come into bloom early in May and continue in blossom till near the middle of June. The blossoms are large, white, and waxy. The flowers are borne in the axils of the bunches of spines, often fifty or more blossoms in the summit of a single branch. It comes to fruit in August, and then it is that the Indians ride from plant to plant and with long poles detach the fruit, which is gathered and preserved as food or is made into an intoxicating drink of which they are very fond.

SPANISH BAYONET
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

Another plant, a species of yucca, abundant in the southern deserts, is the Spanish bayonet. These plants have a thick, palm-like stem or trunk with long, thick, spine-pointed leaves. The flowering stem shoots up many feet in height and bears myriads of white, showy, panicled flowers, lily-like in appearance. As many as six thousand blossoms have been observed upon a single plant.

An interesting peculiarity of this plant is that it cannot pollenize itself, but is obliged to depend for its perpetuity upon a little moth whose sole aim in life seems to be to perform the work of pollenizing this plant. This moth does not eat the honey or pollen of the plant, but lays her eggs upon the stigma of the flower and then gathers the pollen of the blossom and deposits it over the eggs, thus protecting the eggs and pollenizing the plant at the same time. The larvæ hatch at the time that the flower goes into seed, and the grubs feast upon the seeds, destroying a part of them, but leaving enough to keep up the supply of plants.

The Indians eat the undeveloped flower-shoots of this plant raw, the stalks are roasted over hot stones and make a very palatable dish; the fruit, which is cylindrical and yellow, ripening in August and September, is eaten raw, and is also dried for future use. It is pulpy, sweet, and nourishing.

The Mojave yucca is a remarkable plant, which resembles in its nature both the cactus and the palm. It is found nowhere save in the Mojave Desert. It attains a height of thirty or forty feet, and the trunk, often two or three feet in diameter, supports half a dozen irregular branches, each tipped with a cluster of spine-like leaves. The flowers, which are of a dingy white color, come out in March and last till May, giving off a disagreeable odor. The fruit, however, which is two or three inches long, is pulpy and agreeable, resembling a date in flavor.

From the base of the plant radiate countless roots. These lie near the surface and extend a long distance, absorbing such moisture as they find with avidity. One of the peculiarities of the yucca wood is its ability to store moisture. The fiber of the wood is cellular, and it is almost equal to a sponge in its capacity for storing and retaining water. Fully sixty per cent. of its weight is sap.

A DESERT CACTUS IN BLOSSOM—ONE OF MANY VARIETIES
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

The trunk and branches of the tree are covered, a portion of the time, with bristling reflex leaves, which finally fall, showing that bark has been added to the tree. A sectional view of this bark shows concentric rings such as characterize exogenous stems. As the yucca is an endogen, this peculiarity is a remarkable one.

Like its cousin, the sahuaro, the Mojave yucca is a friend to the Indians, who eat of the fruit when fresh, and dry it to be used when it is out of season. They also utilize the flower-buds and blossoms in preparing a stew, which, if not tempting to the appetite, is at least nourishing, and with them that is the main object of food. The seeds, when dried, are ground in rude mortars and used for mush and in making a sort of bread.

In the middle and northern desert, where the cacti are not so plentiful, there grows the Allenrolpea occidentalis, or greasewood. This shrub grows to the height of four or five feet, and is a leafless, jointed-branched plant, which appears to be too succulent to burn unless plucked and left for days to dry. The reverse is the case, however, for, if lighted, the plant will make an excellent fire when green, but if cut for a few hours it becomes so watery that nothing can induce it to burn. Though the days on the desert are terrifically hot, the nights are apt to be chilly, and the greasewood often proves a most welcome friend to the traveler.

Another friend to the desert wanderer is the chlorogalum pomeridianum, or soap plant. This grows from two to five feet high and has a bulbous root two or more inches in thickness which is an excellent substitute for soap—hence its name. The leaves are from one to two and one half feet in length, and from an inch to an inch and a half in thickness. The plant flowers in July and August, the blossoms opening in the afternoon only. The bulb of the plant lies deep in the earth and has the power of storing moisture, in time of rain, for the long, dry months which follow.

As previously stated, the numbers of the cactus family to be found in various portions of the desert are almost innumerable. In a three-days' journey through the southern desert, taken early in May, the writer noted forty-two different varieties of cacti in blossom. These ranged from the delicate bloom of tiny plants to the gorgeous blossoms of the giant species, thirty, forty, and even fifty feet in height.

"THE WELL OF THE DESERT"
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

It was a most memorable trip. At no other season of the year does the desert present so gay an appearance as in May and early June. Blossoms, white, pink, yellow, purple, and scarlet, are to be seen on all sides, till one loses the idea that he is in the desert and almost dreams that he is in some wonderful garden. But there are no sparkling fountains and grassy lawns to complete the illusion; only the thorny shrubs with their vivid blossoms and the scorching sands, the dust, the thirst, and the cloudless sky above.

A very common species of cactus is the nopal or prickly-pear, the fruit of which is known as the tuna, and which is much prized both by Indians and by Mexicans.

A welcome plant to the desert traveler is the bisnaga, or "well of the desert." This is a cylindrical-shaped green plant thickly covered with sharp spines. By cutting out the center of the plant, a bowl is formed which quickly fills with water of an excellent quality, affording a palatable drink to the thirsty traveler. Many a life has been saved by these plants, and there have been a number of instances recorded where travelers, ignorant of the properties of the plant, have died of thirst in the midst of them.

Another cactus found in the southern desert is the grape cactus, which bears in clusters fruit resembling the tuna. The fruit is green without and purple within, is juicy, melting, and luscious.

A very common and ungainly plant is the ocotilla, growing clusters of straight poles from ten to fifteen feet in height, which are covered with spines. The poles terminate in long spikes of beautiful scarlet blossoms.

The maguey or mescal, sometimes misnamed the century plant, is common along the foothills bordering the desert. It is from this plant that the Mexicans and Indians distil the fiercely intoxicating drink known as mescal, which contains a large percentage of alcohol of a villainous quality.

From the cluster of spiked leaves, which attain a height of four or five feet, springs a pole ten to twelve feet tall, which bears large clusters of small yellow flowers filled with a sickishly sweet syrup. The maguey furnishes the native Indian with both food and clothing. From the fibers of the leaves he weaves coarse cloth, and the inner leaves, when stripped and cooked in the earth ovens by surrounding them with stones heated on coals, are considered a delicacy.

Snake-weed is the name given a low-growing plant with a pulpy leaf, because when the leaves are crushed and applied to the wound, in case of snake-bite, they serve as an antidote to the poison.

ONE OF THE DESERT BLOOMERS
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

Pectis, or creosote bush, is another desert plant, with odor not unlike the essence of lemon. It is prized by the Indians for its medicinal properties.

There are a number of other varieties of plants—mostly of the cactus family—which contribute to the sustenance of the Indians of the desert, but it is in the fibrous tissues of the giant cactus and the yuccas that they find their material for the weaving of garments, plaiting ropes, and making baskets and other articles of use and ornament. Of late years the squaws of the several desert tribes have found the making of baskets and other trinkets for sale to curio hunters a very profitable undertaking. One squaw of the Mojave Indians received more than three thousand dollars in a single year for work of that sort.

And the desert, which flaunts the banner of death in the face of the stranger, hands out its treasures to its children, and they live and thrive and love it.

There is a little flower found growing in certain portions of California's deserts, which fulfills the poet's statement embodied in the couplet:

"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

The little yellow blossom has, so far as the writer knows, no name in the text-books on botany. It is a tiny blossom, growing very close to the ground, and it opens only at night. Then, whoso chances to pass through a patch of these flowers is treated to incense such as never exhaled from the most redolent orange orchard.

A YELLOW DIAMOND-BACK RATTLER
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

The perfume is given off in vast quantities, and is sweet beyond the power of language to describe, yet it is not the sickening, overpowering perfume of some plants.

One does not need to lift the flower to the face to get the fragrance,—the air is fairly saturated with the sweet odor. The daylight, however, puts an end to both blossom and perfume. There is not a sign of the blossom to be found when the morning sun lights up the desert plain. It is only the night traveler who is favored with the sweet experience arising from an acquaintance with this strange plant.

[CHAPTER IV]
STRANGE DWELLERS OF THE DESERT

The representatives of the animal kingdom in the desert are fully as strange and curious as are the specimens of vegetable life. It may seem strange that animal life should exist at all in this region of death and desolation, but several forms of creatures seem to find this dread region congenial.

In keeping with its surroundings is the crotalus cerastes, one of the most deadly of the rattlesnake family. It is known to the frequenters of the desert region as the "sidewinder," because of its alleged propensity for springing sidewise at the object of its wrath, and because it travels with a sidelong motion. The bite of this creature is considered to be certain death, and it is a saying in the West, when some unusually frightful catastrophe overtakes one: "It was a regular sidewinder."

The sidewinder is of a grayish color, mottled with dark blotches. It is found in the very heart of the desert, miles and miles from any known supply of water, and it is believed by many to be able to exist without that fluid.

Near the borders of the desert the great yellow diamond-back rattler, crotalus horridus, is found, as well as a species of constrictor known as the "bull snake." The latter grows to a length of ten or twelve feet and, while formidable to look upon, is perfectly harmless.

DESERT LIZARD, CHUCAWALLA, CLOSELY AKIN TO THE GILA MONSTER

Such innocence is not claimed for the Gila monster, heloderina horridum, which is found in the southern portion of the Colorado Desert. This huge lizard is like the chameleon in one respect: it changes its color to conform to its surroundings. It is in the main of a yellow hue, with dark markings which change to a gray or to a reddish tint according to the character of the soil about its abiding-place. When it lies quietly upon the earth it is very difficult to detect it because of this resemblance to the soil.

The Gila monster attains a length of nearly two feet. It is covered with horny protuberances and scales similar to the horned toad, so called. When angry it makes a hissing noise not unlike that made by a serpent.

HORNED TOAD

The horned toad—which is not a toad, but the lizard phrynosoma—is an innocent little fellow, attaining a length of six or eight inches at the most. There was a time when his reputation for evil was second only to that of the Gila monster. Now that he is better known he has become a plaything of children and a pet in many a household.

A common creature in the portions of the desert in which cacti abound is the cactus rat, a small rodent about midway in size between the mouse and the ordinary rat. He is provided with a bushy tail which he carries over his back, squirrel fashion. He lives upon the barrel cactus, a plant so protected by spines as to seem unapproachable by man or animal. The cunning rat, however, has found a way of attacking this formidable vegetable. He burrows in the earth at the foot of the plant and comes at it from beneath. One specimen of the matured plant will keep a colony of the rats several months. They gnaw at its vitals till nothing but the empty shell remains, then they emigrate to some other plant and there set up housekeeping for another six or eight months.

Living so far from a habitable country, the rat finds few enemies to molest it. The rattler is about the only creature which preys upon it, therefore it thrives and multiplies in the midst of the fearful region it has chosen for its home.

It is astonishing to the desert traveler, after he has crossed half a hundred miles of parched and barren territory, to find about the spring of an oasis tortoises basking in the sun or swimming in the waters of the desert well.

TARANTULA

The desert tortoise differs from the ordinary tortoise in several respects. It never exceeds in length over fifteen or sixteen inches, but in form and other characteristics it more nearly resembles the sea turtle than it does the tortoise. This leads to the belief that the desert specimen is the descendant of a sea turtle that throve in the waters of the gulf when it extended over the now desert country. Change of conditions from sea to land—and most forbidding land at that—is supposed to have dwarfed the original species till a new one is the outcome of the change.

CENTIPEDE

If one familiarizes himself with the desert, he will find that the rattler and the Gila monster are not the only representatives of the "poison people" in that region. The scorpion, the tarantula, and the centipede make their home there and add to the dangers and terrors of desert travel. There are also animals found here and there in the desert and along its borders, which cannot be classed as typical desert animals. Bands of wild horses and wild burros are known to roam the formidable region, migrating from oasis to oasis, cropping the grasses at one place till they are exhausted, then moving across the burning sands, guided by unerring instinct, to the next green spot in the desert, twenty, forty, or perhaps fifty miles away. The coyote, too, finds his way to nearly all portions of the desert, and even in the midst of the great desolate waste his uncanny cry goes up in the night-time, making the darkness still more lonely for the chance traveler who pitches his tent in the land of terror.

SCORPION

Few birds are seen in the desert after one has left the border-lands behind, but there is one inhabitant of the air which is never absent. Hovering ever over the region of death is the vulture, ready to settle down to his grewsome feast the moment thirst and heat shall have robbed his victim of life. One may scan the heavens with never a sight of one of these birds while all goes well with himself and his beast, but let one of his horses or burros fall by the way, and lo! from the heavens descend numbers of the birds, and, should a traveler pass that way a few hours later, he would find but the whitening bones of the animal and a few fragments of the hide. And were he to look aloft, he, too, would discern not a speck against the blue canopy above him.

[CHAPTER V]
HUMANITY IN THE DESERT

Why human beings should have chosen such a place as the desert for their habitation is a mystery without a solution. Possibly the forefathers of the present dwellers of the region fled thither to escape the oppression of tribes more powerful and war-like than their own. Be that as it may, there dwell in the Great Mojave and in the Colorado deserts several tribes of men who, according to their traditions, have made their home there many centuries.

Up in the Death Valley region is a tribe known as the Panamint Indians. They live in rude huts built of sticks and mud, and they subsist upon the most disgusting of foods. At a certain season of the year Owen's Lake and several smaller saline lakes in that region abound with a white grub—the larva of a two-winged fly, ephydra Californica—called by the Indians "Koochabee." The Indians visit the lakes at the season of the year when the grub is most plentiful, and from the shores of the lakes they gather them where the waves throw them up in windrows several inches deep. The grubs are dried and are then pulverized in rude stone mortars. The powder is used in making a sort of bread which is highly prized as an article of food.

A CHEMEHUEVI INDIAN AND COYOTE
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

Snakes and lizards are also cooked and eaten by the Panamints, and their vegetable diet consists chiefly of leaves and buds of cactus plants and other wild herbs. They are not agriculturists and are but indifferent hunters. They seem contented with their lot and evince no desire to leave the desert for a more habitable region.

The Seri Indians are found at the extreme southern portion of the desert. At one time there were considerable numbers of them in the Colorado Desert, but in 1779 the Mexican Government, then in possession of the territory, removed them to the island of Tiburon, where the greater number now live. A few families are to be found, however, in the vicinity of the "Volcanoes" in the Colorado Desert.

The Seri Indians are unreasoning, treacherous, and indolent. The women of the tribe command great respect from the men, and the family relationship is always traced through the mother. In the language or dialect of the tribe there is no equivalent to the word "father," although there is for "mother." Little attention is paid to the death of a male member of the tribe, but when a woman dies the funeral ceremonies are elaborate.

The Cocopahs are another banished tribe, now occupying the desert region south of the boundary line between the United States and Mexico.

Not many years ago their chief village was a few miles from Yuma, which town was their trading-post. Smallpox broke out in the Indian village, but the Indians continued to visit Yuma and soon carried the disease thither. When the authorities learned the source of the infection they forbade the Indians to come to the town, and to insure obedience to the command, a mounted guard was placed about the Indian village. Two Indians one day eluded the guards and walked into Yuma. Then the edict of banishment went forth. The Indians were driven from their homes and across the border into Mexico, and the village and all effects left behind became food for the flames.

A CHEMEHUEVI DWELLING
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

The Cocopahs, as a rule, are of fine physique, hardy, and nimble, but like all desert tribes they are unprogressive.

A peculiar burial custom prevails among these Indians. As a rule they wear their hair long—a custom with all of the Western tribes—but upon the death of a relative it is cut. If the deceased was a distant relative the hair is but slightly shortened. If a very near relative it is cut close to the head. The nearness of kinship is easily determined by the length of hair of the mourners.

A still more curious custom prevails in connection with the marriage ceremony. Before a Cocopah girl may become a bride she must be buried over night in the earth.

A hole is first dug in the sand deep enough to admit her in a sitting posture. Then a fire is built in the pit and is made to burn till the earth is thoroughly warmed. It is then extinguished, and the bride enters the grave and is buried to the neck in the earth. Here she remains till the morning, when she is ready for the marriage ceremony.

Occupying the region between these dwellers of the extreme southern portion of the desert and the tribe first described are the Mojave Indians and the Yumas. The Indians of these tribes are of good stature, but they are dull, coarse, and unprogressive. They live in rude huts, curiously constructed of twigs, stones, and mud. The occupation of the men consists in an occasional visit to the fertile country in search of game, or to the mountains in search of turquoise, a gem much prized by nearly all the Indian tribes. The women make baskets and toys, blankets, and beaded ornaments to sell to curio dealers, whose agents make frequent visits among them to gather up these articles.

They live upon fish taken from the Colorado River, game taken in their occasional hunting excursions, and upon dishes prepared from cacti. A sort of government is maintained. They have their chiefs and medicine men, the latter being second in power and importance. The medicine men practice the healing art, depending more upon mysterious rites and incantations than upon herbs and medicines for their cures. Among the Indians of the northern desert it is the custom, as it is with some other Western tribes, to execute the medicine man when he shall have lost his third patient.

A CHEMEHUEVI SQUAW AND CHILD
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

The Chemehuevi Indians are also desert-dwellers. They depend chiefly upon nature to supply them with food and other necessities. The desert cactus furnishes a large proportion of their food. The fibers of the plants are woven into a coarse cloth, which gives them clothing, and mud and sticks form the material for their houses. Like the other desert tribes, they know of no more desirable spot for an abiding-place; and no greater sorrow could come to them than to be told that they were to be transported to a land of "green fields and running brooks." The desert is their home. They know its peculiarities and its mysteries; it keeps them and lets them live, and they love it. Why should they long for that which is strange, and for which their natures are not adapted?

[CHAPTER VI]
A FUNERAL IN THE REGION OF DEATH

In the great weird wastes which make up the Mojave Desert, Death is king. He sits enthroned in the terrible region known as Death Valley, and from that fiery pit he stretches forth his fleshless fingers over all the desert region, and exacts a fearful toll from the desert-dwellers and from those who travel through his domain.

To the Mojave Indians, a visit from the Great Destroyer comes as an event. In their lives few incidents occur to relieve the monotony of existence in that barren, isolated, and uneventful region, and the circumstances attending the taking off of a member of the tribe are made the most of. Even in the case of the death of the most humble member of the community the rites are elaborate and prolonged.

The traditions of the tribe do not record any funeral so memorable as was that of the recently deceased chief, Sutuma, who had ruled his people for more than half a century.

A DESERT DWELLING ON THE COLORADO RIVER
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

Sutuma was of a royal line. His father, his fathers father, and his father's father's father had ruled the tribe before him, even as his son is now presiding over the affairs of his people. Sutuma's father was chief of the Mojaves when Padre Junipero Serra, the founder of the California missions, came into the desert from the San Gabriel Mission in search of a fabled city supposed to be located in the midst of the great desert.

This city was reported to be a mighty pile of stately stone buildings, with walls and towers and domes and spires in profusion. Indians told the good father of having viewed the city from a distance and, believing that he was about to discover a civilized race of beings, Padre Junipero set out for the desert on an expedition of discovery.

When he had passed the barrier of mountains at what is now known as Cajon Pass, he looked out upon the great desert spread before him and lo! miles away, plainly outlined against the azure sky, was the wonderful city. It was, as had been described, a city of walls, and spires, and lofty buildings. With exultant cries the padre and his followers made haste toward it.

When they had traveled several hours the city seemed no nearer. When darkness compelled them to pitch their tents for the night it appeared to be as far away as when they had started toward it in the morning. When they arose on the following day and turned their eyes toward the point whither they had been traveling, the city had disappeared.

Disappointed and filled with alarm, the padre and his men prepared to return to San Gabriel. Before they had completed their arrangements for the return journey the city reappeared. When they had journeyed city-ward half a day, and it seemed still as far away as ever, they met a party of Indians. These Indians were Mojaves, and at their head was their chief, the father of Sutuma.

By means of the sign language the Indians made the padre understand that the city was a phantom and did not really exist, and the disappointed party turned back. It was the padre's first experience with the mirage, that phenomenon of refraction and reflection which has lured so many men to their death in this same desert.

THE DESERT "WHITE HOUSE"
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

The Mojaves cremate their dead. When Sutuma passed away, his body was arrayed in all the splendor which his regal wardrobe afforded and he was laid in state under the thatched roof of an open approach to the "White House" of the Mojave Desert. During the three days in which the silent form lay awaiting the final rites, it was surrounded by a band of mourners who uttered cries and lamentations unceasingly.

Old Morabico, the aged prophetess of the tribe, with eyes raised heavenward, recounted, in a chanting monotone, the joys of the Spirit Land whither the departed chief would go when the fires of the funeral pile had freed the captive spirit. Braves of the tribe hid their faces against the supporting posts of the structure and uttered doleful cries till exhaustion compelled them to give way to other braves who in like manner wailed their grief. Women and children, seated about the form of their late chief, added their voices to the mournful chorus.

On the evening of the third day, the body of the old chieftain was borne on the shoulders of six strong young braves to a huge pyre out on the plain some distance from the village. Here were found waiting the men, women, and children of the tribe and the official chanters, or poets-laureate who officiate on such occasions.

The body was laid upon the pile of fagots, and it was then securely bound to an upright stake and the torch applied. Two of the chanters took their places at the head and foot of the body, and the third began running about the pyre, chanting in a loud voice the virtues of the departed.

The Indians are natural poets. The simpleness of diction, the imagery of thought and directness of statement, render their improvised measures exceedingly attractive. Much of the charm of their poetry is lost in the translation and the writer cannot give, with any degree of accuracy a rendition of the poems thus weirdly chanted about the blazing pile. The following will give an idea of the words of the chanters:

"He is dead, he is dead!
It is Sutuma our chief, our beloved.
He lived an hundred years and did no evil.
He was the son of an hundred chiefs and he was wise.
His words were like drops of water on thirsty ground.
His deeds were good and they will live forever."

This poet continued to chant his improvised epic as he ran about the pyre, till he became exhausted, when he exchanged places with one of his companions who took up the strain and went on:

THE FUNERAL PYRE
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.

"The sun is darkened because our chief is gone.
The stars weep dewdrops because he is dead.
The wind sings sorrowfully because he lies low.
When he was alive the earth was very glad.
His household rejoiced because of his good sayings.
His braves were fearless because he was strong.
He was great, he was good, he was full of wisdom.
He is dead and the earth groans with its sorrow."

From time to time the chanters changed places, and the poem of praise and sorrow continued till the fire burned low and died out. Then the old prophetess, Morabico, lifted from the embers a handful of ashes, which she cast upon the winds saying:

"To the Glad Land waft thy spirit. Be there happy ever as thou art entitled to be because of thy goodness and wisdom."

Then, in the blackness of the night, lighted only by the stars above, the picturesque band journeyed back into the lonely desert village, and the funeral was at an end.

[CHAPTER VII]
DESERT BASKET-MAKERS

In the midst of a region so repellent that a large part of it remains comparatively unknown and unexplored, one art has reached a state of perfection unattained in civilized communities. This is the art of basket-making.

When, in 1539, Marcos de Niza, in his explorations northward from Mexico, entered the great desert region, he found peoples equipped with baskets of wonderful make and of marvelous fineness, such as the enlightened nations of Europe could not produce.

The basket-makers of that time had all the skill that is known to their descendants to-day. More than three and one-half centuries have passed since then, but it has marked no improvement in the art. It was perfect then; it was perfect as far back as the traditions of that early day could trace it. It is an art to which civilization can add nothing; on the contrary, civilization threatens it with retrogression.