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194103-DesertMagazin.. - Desert Magazine of the Southwest

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Los Angeles, California<br />

Dear Sirs:<br />

Enclosed find check for $6.50 for new subscriptions<br />

to <strong>the</strong> <strong>Desert</strong> <strong>Magazine</strong>. Your article<br />

<strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> Oatman massacre was very au<strong>the</strong>ntic.<br />

As we are descendants <strong>of</strong> that family, we appreciated<br />

<strong>the</strong> story very much.<br />

We are all "<strong>Desert</strong> Rats" and enjoy your<br />

magazine from "cover to cover."<br />

E. L. OATMAN.<br />

San Bernardino, California<br />

Dear Mr. Henderson:<br />

The article on Lost Arch Placer Diggings<br />

appearing in <strong>Desert</strong> <strong>Magazine</strong> for February<br />

creates in me an urge to comment. If John D.<br />

Mitchell presents his article as fiction, well and<br />

good, although even so it is far from convincing.<br />

If as fact, <strong>the</strong>n correction, nay, refutation,<br />

seems to be in order.<br />

The tale <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> Lost Arch Placer Diggings<br />

is an old one. Goodness only knows how it<br />

started. In <strong>the</strong> first decade <strong>of</strong> this century an<br />

article appeared in Adventure magazine concerning<br />

<strong>the</strong>se mythical placers. At that time I<br />

was living in <strong>the</strong> eastern part <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> desert<br />

and knew <strong>the</strong> Arch and <strong>the</strong> fable concerning<br />

it quite well. I wrote to <strong>the</strong> editor, giving him<br />

<strong>the</strong> plain facts. He thanked me and published<br />

my letter in a subsequent issue.<br />

These plain facts are that <strong>the</strong>re never were<br />

any such placers at all. There is a natural rock<br />

arch in that country and it was no secret to<br />

those few <strong>of</strong> us who <strong>the</strong>n roamed <strong>the</strong> desert. It<br />

is not easily discernible or easily found, however,<br />

and most certainly <strong>the</strong>re is no placer gold<br />

anywhere in <strong>the</strong> vicinity. I have "dry panned"<br />

dirt all around <strong>the</strong>re and never got a color <strong>of</strong><br />

gold.<br />

That country is by no means unknown. As<br />

far back as 1892 William Hutt, Gus Yeager and<br />

I toge<strong>the</strong>r with a Pah-Ute Indian named Johnny<br />

Moss (who was killed some years later by<br />

Mexicans at Bagdad) covered all <strong>the</strong> country<br />

mentioned. After hunting sheep in <strong>the</strong> Turtle<br />

range we traveled from C<strong>of</strong>fin spring around <strong>the</strong><br />

north end <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> Turtles, <strong>the</strong>n across <strong>the</strong> open<br />

desert to Sunflower spring in <strong>the</strong> Old Woman<br />

mountains. Thence we made our way back to<br />

<strong>the</strong> west side <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> Turtles and followed that<br />

range northward, prospecting for both quartz<br />

and placer, with no luck. All that west side <strong>of</strong><br />

<strong>the</strong> Turtles has been run over by prospectors<br />

ever since <strong>the</strong>n and probably not an ounce <strong>of</strong><br />

placer gold has ever been taken out. And <strong>the</strong>re<br />

never was a waterhole in that country big<br />

enough to furnish water for <strong>the</strong> making <strong>of</strong> adobe<br />

bricks.<br />

As for sluicing, <strong>the</strong> very idea is preposterous.<br />

Yet Mr. Mitchell bli<strong>the</strong>ly has his Mexicans<br />

make enough adobes to build a two room<br />

house, complete with "arch," <strong>the</strong>n sluice out<br />

$30,000 in placer gold! All this in as dry a<br />

country as can be found anywhere. Then he has<br />

<strong>the</strong> camp equipment carried <strong>of</strong>f by Mojave Indians.<br />

Now that was strictly Chemehuevi territory<br />

and you couldn't <strong>the</strong>n have hired a Mojave<br />

to go in <strong>the</strong>re for love or money.<br />

Apart from <strong>the</strong> trifling exceptions herein<br />

noted Mr. Mitchell's article is eminently correct.<br />

My companions <strong>of</strong> those days are just about<br />

all gone now, but my old desert friend R. A<br />

(Bob) Martin, now <strong>of</strong> Oatman will bear me<br />

out in all I have written here.<br />

CHARLES BATTYE.<br />

Thanks, Mr. Baltye. Lost Mine stories<br />

written by Mr. Mitchell for <strong>the</strong> <strong>Desert</strong><br />

<strong>Magazine</strong> are <strong>of</strong>fered for what <strong>the</strong>y are<br />

worth—never as fact, hike <strong>the</strong> Lost Mines<br />

<strong>the</strong>mselves, many <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> legends current in<br />

<strong>the</strong> desert are pure myth. O<strong>the</strong>rs have an<br />

element <strong>of</strong> truth back <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong>m. In any case<br />

we are always glad to publish au<strong>the</strong>ntic information<br />

from <strong>the</strong> old-timers, such as you<br />

have given us. —R. H.<br />

Los Angeles, California<br />

Dear Sir:<br />

More people than I believe you realize will<br />

be missing Marshal South's articles. It seems<br />

that we all ought to get toge<strong>the</strong>r and do something<br />

to get him back.<br />

You see Marshal South is <strong>the</strong> "escape" <strong>of</strong> a<br />

lot <strong>of</strong> people running on tread mills, racing in<br />

squirrel cages, slaves to businesses, jobs, possessions<br />

and conventions. Lots <strong>of</strong> us know full<br />

well that our striving is futile and <strong>the</strong> more we<br />

get <strong>the</strong> heavier <strong>the</strong> load, but convention and<br />

modern life has so cast its spell upon us that<br />

we can't pull away from it.<br />

So we escape through Marshal South. He<br />

does <strong>the</strong> things we would like to do ... he lives<br />

our dream life for us ... and boy we are going<br />

to miss him terribly. Do try to get him back.<br />

Of course I sometimes wonder if Marshal<br />

South really is a person, and if he actually does<br />

live up <strong>the</strong>re on his unpronounceable mountain.<br />

He might be just <strong>the</strong> figment <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> editorial<br />

imagination. And if he does exist I wonder what<br />

he looks like in pants and coat, and what was<br />

his previous life and how did he ever get <strong>the</strong><br />

guts to do what he is doing. Or has he given<br />

up <strong>the</strong> life and moved back into town.<br />

But whe<strong>the</strong>r fictional or real, for heaven's<br />

sake keep 1 him going. We are going to be plumb<br />

lost without him. Incidentally his gag would<br />

go well in book form.<br />

WALLACE M. BY AM.<br />

Marshal South will have more stories<br />

in <strong>Desert</strong> <strong>Magazine</strong>. In fact he is working<br />

on some manuscripts now that probably<br />

will appear in <strong>the</strong> DM during <strong>the</strong> next<br />

few months. —R. H.<br />

Las Vegas, Nevada<br />

Dear Mr. Henderson:<br />

I am coming to you for help. I believe that<br />

any man who can put out a magazine like <strong>Desert</strong>,<br />

will understand how I feel. You and your<br />

readers can do something to correct a foolish<br />

idea that has become current.<br />

I read in your February issue about <strong>the</strong> burros<br />

crowding out <strong>the</strong> bighorn sheep in <strong>the</strong> Lake<br />

Mead area.<br />

Those wild burros are among <strong>the</strong> most attractive<br />

things along <strong>the</strong> shores <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> lake<br />

and <strong>the</strong>re is so little wildlife on <strong>the</strong> desert<br />

<strong>the</strong>y should be protected. As for <strong>the</strong> burro<br />

eating <strong>the</strong> feed and driving <strong>the</strong> sheep away<br />

from <strong>the</strong> lake, it is too ridiculous to think<br />

about.<br />

I've been <strong>the</strong> length <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> lake many times,<br />

have climbed back into <strong>the</strong> canyons and tramped<br />

for miles on <strong>the</strong> slopes that run back from<br />

<strong>the</strong> caves. There is feed for many times <strong>the</strong> number<br />

<strong>of</strong> animals that live <strong>the</strong>re, and as for <strong>the</strong><br />

burro keeping <strong>the</strong> sheep away from drinking<br />

water—well, anyone who has been <strong>the</strong>re knows<br />

how impossible that is.<br />

I hope you can stop that crazy idea <strong>of</strong> killing<br />

<strong>the</strong> burro that has played so important a part<br />

in developing <strong>the</strong> west. I know you can help<br />

for <strong>the</strong> people who read such articles as you<br />

publish are <strong>the</strong> kind <strong>of</strong> people with big enough<br />

souls to remedy such wrongs.<br />

Please don't throw this in <strong>the</strong> waste-basket<br />

until you have given some thought to this<br />

question.<br />

D. TUCKER.<br />

San Francisco, California<br />

Dear Mr. Henderson:<br />

Thanks to <strong>the</strong> faithful reporting <strong>of</strong> John<br />

Hilton we learn that <strong>the</strong> historic Bradshaw<br />

Trail is in a sad state <strong>of</strong> disrepair and that <strong>the</strong><br />

Canyon Springs station is crumbling rapidly.<br />

I know it will not fall on deaf ears, Mr.<br />

Henderson, to ask for your support in <strong>the</strong> way<br />

<strong>of</strong> editorial comment to have <strong>the</strong> Bradshaw trail<br />

improved and <strong>the</strong> Canyon Springs station repaired.<br />

HENRY J. BLOOM.<br />

Commencement<br />

Exercises<br />

Once upon a time, or <strong>the</strong>re<br />

abouts, starting an automobile was<br />

a hand-made job.<br />

Commencement exercises were<br />

celebrated with a crank and a<br />

strong right arm.<br />

Trying to get a motor going<br />

was <strong>the</strong> turning point in many a<br />

car-owner's career — and he kept<br />

on turning till his wind and his<br />

patience were exhausted.<br />

Even after <strong>the</strong> self-starter was<br />

invented, any motorist who showered<br />

his battery with neglect <strong>of</strong>ten<br />

had to exhume <strong>the</strong> old handle and<br />

do some emergency cranking.<br />

He would suddenly find out that<br />

not only his starter wouldn't start<br />

but also his lights wouldn't light<br />

and his ignition wouldn't ignish.<br />

But now days cars are coming<br />

without any cranks at all. So it<br />

is more important than ever that<br />

<strong>the</strong> little black box always be<br />

filled with currents.<br />

It's downright necessary to have<br />

<strong>the</strong> car's volt vender irrigated regularly<br />

and its pulse taken.<br />

Keeping a battery up is no more<br />

complicated than ordering a ham<br />

sandwich. All a body need do<br />

is drive into <strong>the</strong> nearest Shell<br />

Dealer's Service Station.<br />

Any Shell man will test and fill<br />

those cranking cells for free —and<br />

glad to do it, too.<br />

And any Shell man knows how<br />

to keep ample amperes in storage<br />

so <strong>the</strong>re will be no chance for a<br />

battery to up and expire like a<br />

notary's commission.<br />

—BY BUD LANDIS<br />

MARCH, 1941 33

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