194103-DesertMagazin.. - Desert Magazine of the Southwest

Los Angeles, California
Dear Sirs:
Enclosed find check for $6.50 for new subscriptions
to the Desert Magazine. Your article
of the Oatman massacre was very authentic.
As we are descendants of that family, we appreciated
the story very much.
We are all "Desert Rats" and enjoy your
magazine from "cover to cover."
E. L. OATMAN.
San Bernardino, California
Dear Mr. Henderson:
The article on Lost Arch Placer Diggings
appearing in Desert Magazine for February
creates in me an urge to comment. If John D.
Mitchell presents his article as fiction, well and
good, although even so it is far from convincing.
If as fact, then correction, nay, refutation,
seems to be in order.
The tale of the Lost Arch Placer Diggings
is an old one. Goodness only knows how it
started. In the first decade of this century an
article appeared in Adventure magazine concerning
these mythical placers. At that time I
was living in the eastern part of the desert
and knew the Arch and the fable concerning
it quite well. I wrote to the editor, giving him
the plain facts. He thanked me and published
my letter in a subsequent issue.
These plain facts are that there never were
any such placers at all. There is a natural rock
arch in that country and it was no secret to
those few of us who then roamed the desert. It
is not easily discernible or easily found, however,
and most certainly there is no placer gold
anywhere in the vicinity. I have "dry panned"
dirt all around there and never got a color of
gold.
That country is by no means unknown. As
far back as 1892 William Hutt, Gus Yeager and
I together with a Pah-Ute Indian named Johnny
Moss (who was killed some years later by
Mexicans at Bagdad) covered all the country
mentioned. After hunting sheep in the Turtle
range we traveled from Coffin spring around the
north end of the Turtles, then across the open
desert to Sunflower spring in the Old Woman
mountains. Thence we made our way back to
the west side of the Turtles and followed that
range northward, prospecting for both quartz
and placer, with no luck. All that west side of
the Turtles has been run over by prospectors
ever since then and probably not an ounce of
placer gold has ever been taken out. And there
never was a waterhole in that country big
enough to furnish water for the making of adobe
bricks.
As for sluicing, the very idea is preposterous.
Yet Mr. Mitchell blithely has his Mexicans
make enough adobes to build a two room
house, complete with "arch," then sluice out
$30,000 in placer gold! All this in as dry a
country as can be found anywhere. Then he has
the camp equipment carried off by Mojave Indians.
Now that was strictly Chemehuevi territory
and you couldn't then have hired a Mojave
to go in there for love or money.
Apart from the trifling exceptions herein
noted Mr. Mitchell's article is eminently correct.
My companions of those days are just about
all gone now, but my old desert friend R. A
(Bob) Martin, now of Oatman will bear me
out in all I have written here.
CHARLES BATTYE.
Thanks, Mr. Baltye. Lost Mine stories
written by Mr. Mitchell for the Desert
Magazine are offered for what they are
worth—never as fact, hike the Lost Mines
themselves, many of the legends current in
the desert are pure myth. Others have an
element of truth back of them. In any case
we are always glad to publish authentic information
from the old-timers, such as you
have given us. —R. H.
Los Angeles, California
Dear Sir:
More people than I believe you realize will
be missing Marshal South's articles. It seems
that we all ought to get together and do something
to get him back.
You see Marshal South is the "escape" of a
lot of people running on tread mills, racing in
squirrel cages, slaves to businesses, jobs, possessions
and conventions. Lots of us know full
well that our striving is futile and the more we
get the heavier the load, but convention and
modern life has so cast its spell upon us that
we can't pull away from it.
So we escape through Marshal South. He
does the things we would like to do ... he lives
our dream life for us ... and boy we are going
to miss him terribly. Do try to get him back.
Of course I sometimes wonder if Marshal
South really is a person, and if he actually does
live up there on his unpronounceable mountain.
He might be just the figment of the editorial
imagination. And if he does exist I wonder what
he looks like in pants and coat, and what was
his previous life and how did he ever get the
guts to do what he is doing. Or has he given
up the life and moved back into town.
But whether fictional or real, for heaven's
sake keep 1 him going. We are going to be plumb
lost without him. Incidentally his gag would
go well in book form.
WALLACE M. BY AM.
Marshal South will have more stories
in Desert Magazine. In fact he is working
on some manuscripts now that probably
will appear in the DM during the next
few months. —R. H.
Las Vegas, Nevada
Dear Mr. Henderson:
I am coming to you for help. I believe that
any man who can put out a magazine like Desert,
will understand how I feel. You and your
readers can do something to correct a foolish
idea that has become current.
I read in your February issue about the burros
crowding out the bighorn sheep in the Lake
Mead area.
Those wild burros are among the most attractive
things along the shores of the lake
and there is so little wildlife on the desert
they should be protected. As for the burro
eating the feed and driving the sheep away
from the lake, it is too ridiculous to think
about.
I've been the length of the lake many times,
have climbed back into the canyons and tramped
for miles on the slopes that run back from
the caves. There is feed for many times the number
of animals that live there, and as for the
burro keeping the sheep away from drinking
water—well, anyone who has been there knows
how impossible that is.
I hope you can stop that crazy idea of killing
the burro that has played so important a part
in developing the west. I know you can help
for the people who read such articles as you
publish are the kind of people with big enough
souls to remedy such wrongs.
Please don't throw this in the waste-basket
until you have given some thought to this
question.
D. TUCKER.
San Francisco, California
Dear Mr. Henderson:
Thanks to the faithful reporting of John
Hilton we learn that the historic Bradshaw
Trail is in a sad state of disrepair and that the
Canyon Springs station is crumbling rapidly.
I know it will not fall on deaf ears, Mr.
Henderson, to ask for your support in the way
of editorial comment to have the Bradshaw trail
improved and the Canyon Springs station repaired.
HENRY J. BLOOM.
Commencement
Exercises
Once upon a time, or there
abouts, starting an automobile was
a hand-made job.
Commencement exercises were
celebrated with a crank and a
strong right arm.
Trying to get a motor going
was the turning point in many a
car-owner's career — and he kept
on turning till his wind and his
patience were exhausted.
Even after the self-starter was
invented, any motorist who showered
his battery with neglect often
had to exhume the old handle and
do some emergency cranking.
He would suddenly find out that
not only his starter wouldn't start
but also his lights wouldn't light
and his ignition wouldn't ignish.
But now days cars are coming
without any cranks at all. So it
is more important than ever that
the little black box always be
filled with currents.
It's downright necessary to have
the car's volt vender irrigated regularly
and its pulse taken.
Keeping a battery up is no more
complicated than ordering a ham
sandwich. All a body need do
is drive into the nearest Shell
Dealer's Service Station.
Any Shell man will test and fill
those cranking cells for free —and
glad to do it, too.
And any Shell man knows how
to keep ample amperes in storage
so there will be no chance for a
battery to up and expire like a
notary's commission.
—BY BUD LANDIS
MARCH, 1941 33