262 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April 4, 1903, 
Rastus' Boom. 
On the east bank of the Cohunbia River, twenty-eight 
miles north of Wenatchee, Washington, is a chister ot 
three buildings, two of which are occupied. This is the 
town of Orando. The stages which run between We- 
natchee, Bridgeport and Waterville, meet there at 
noon, and after dinner continue on their way. From 
the windows of these houses all one sees is a broad 
expanse of sand dunes, sage brush and cactus; the 
sage brush grows on mounds, the wind having eaten 
away the sand until the roots are exposed. 
After a long, hot ride from Waterville, the last two 
miles of which the horses were compelled to walk on 
account of the deep sand, the road house was reached 
and we prepared for dinner. A pile of sand several 
feet high was banked against one end of the building, 
end all that marked the wagon road was the track of 
the vehicle that had just passed. 
I had occasion to remain in this God-forsaken place 
nearly a week, during which sand storms were of 
almost daily occurrence, and when at their height one 
could not see a quarter of a mile in any direction. All 
doors and windows were closed and pieces of carpet 
were placed against the sills and jams to prevent sand 
from drifting into the building. After the storm had 
subsided, Rastus, the proprietor of the road house, 
swept off the porch and shoveled a path from the steps 
to the road. 
One day I ventured to ask my landlady — who was 
postmistress also, and a jolly little woman, who made 
her house and stage passengers as comfortable as cir- 
cumstances would permit — why she had left the East 
to live in a country so forlorn? 
She looked out of the window, and waving her hand 
over the waste of sand and sage brush with a sarcastic 
laugh, exclaimed, "Boom! boom! Real estate! Real 
. estate! You see, 'Ras — that's my husband — got it into 
his head that fortunes could be made out here in real 
estate, so he and another fellow scraped up enough 
money to come out. He had been gone several weeks, 
when one day I got a telegram by the way of We- 
natchee, saying, "Sell everything and come on at once." 
While I was getting things ready a letter arrived which 
related his prospects in the most glowing terms. He 
and his partner had taken up a couple of sections of 
land, which in a short time would realize a fortune for 
them both. The Orando Valley was one of the rnost 
fertile spots on the Columbia River; it could be irri- 
gated at little expense from a stream draining the high- 
lands from the east, and when water was once secured 
fertile crops could be raised. As soon as the boom was 
started, the railroad would be built from Wenatchee 
into the 'Okonogan country,' and then the line at 
Coulee City would be continued west to the Columbia 
River, making Orando the junction of the two roads. 
Our fortunes would then be made, and we would re- 
tura East and take life easy for the remainder of our 
days. 'Sell everything at once and leave on the next 
train,' the letter continued; 'as soon as you know what 
train you are coming on, wire me, and I will meet you 
at Wenatchee with my hack. Orando is only thirty 
miles from the station. It is a great country; it is a 
great country! I am sure you will like it as soon as 
you have become accustomed to it. Of course, it will 
seem a little strange at first, but you will soon get used 
to it. Fruits grow without any attention, and the 
largest crops I ever saw.' 
"My heart bounded with joy. There was no doubt 
that we would soon be rich. 'Ras always was a good 
business man, and I had no doubt of his putting this 
scheme through successfully. Why, j-ust think! He 
had only been out there a few weeks, and had saved 
enough money to buy a hack. I could not but wonder 
what he was going to do with a hack. Probably he 
intended to run it between the station and hotels when 
the boom began, and was trying to make it do for 
general use until then. 
"I had it put in the town paper that 'Ras had struck 
it rich in the Orando Valley, and that on a certain day 
his wife would sell the household belongings, including 
a cow, and then leave for the West, where they would 
make their home. The things were auctioned of?, and 
1 couldn't help crying when I saw pa's mahogany chair 
knocked down to Jane Ostrander for one dollar thirty- 
five, and then she kicked because one of the rockers 
was a little loose. 
"I sold everything but a few carpets and the bed- 
ding, which I sent West by freight. 
"The day before I left, Jane Ostrander came over. 
She had been West, and said she had come to bid me 
good-by and tell me what kind of a country I was 
going to. The remarks she made about the chair still 
rang in my ears, and I told her she needn't have both- 
ered herself, for I would soon find out for myself; then 
I shut the door in her face just as she laughed and 
said, 'That's no josh, neither.' And I have found that 
she was right. . , 
"Well, finally I got started, and wired Ras that I was 
on the way. I made the acquaintance of several women 
who were going West too. I read 'Ras' letter to them 
daily, and told them of our plans. They were very 
much interested, and congratulated me on our great 
luck. They were anxious to see 'Ras; so I promised 
to bring him up and introduce him as soon as we 
reached Wenatchee. At last the long looked-for hour 
arrived, and as we neared the station, I gathered up 
my duds and gazed out of the window. Our coach 
passed a lean, lank form, with a broad-brimmed hat 
lopped over his eyes, faded blue overalls, no coat and 
a brown flannel shirt, with sleeves so long they had to 
be turned up several inches. It was 'Ras! I knew him 
at once, though he hadn't shaved in weeks. After all 
I had told my friends, I hadn't the face to bring him up 
and introduce him in those duds. So I jumped off the 
car, and dodging behind the station, peeped around the 
corner. I saw my traveling companions standing on 
the car steps waiting for me to appear with my bet- 
ter half; he in the meantime was walking up and down 
the platform looking into the car windows. I looked 
for the hack to put my things in, but did not see it. 
'Gracious!' thought I, 'is the hack broken, or was there 
so much business that 'Ras could not spare it?' 
"When the train moved out, I did likewise, and to 
say that 'Ras was surprised would not express it. As 
we walked around the station, I asked him why he 
had come to meet me in such old clothes? He said 
he was working on the building up to the time he 
hitched up and didn't have time to change them. He 
took my things and began loading them in a platform 
spring wagon, when I ventured to ask him what had 
become of the hack. 
" 'Hack! Hack! Why, this is what they call a hack 
out here!' 
'"What! that old thing with rattling spokes, lop- 
sided and wired together! Is that what you call a hack? 
Is that the thing you intend to drive me thirty miles in? 
Why, 'Ras» it will fall apart before we get started if 
you don't hurry up.' 
"And the horses! I wish you could have seen them; 
they were not much larger than jack-rabbits, and when 
we got out of town the sand was so deep they could 
not go off a walk. 
"It was well along in the afternoon, and "Ras said 
we would come to a nice camping place about eight 
miles out, and there pass the night. He wanted to 
know if I had anything eatable; said he had been too 
busy to put up any lunch. Fortunately, I had the re- 
mains of a large basket of lunch I had put up nearly a 
week before. 'Ras pitched into it as though he hadn't 
had a thing to eat in a month. The sun was scorching 
hot, and the soot and dirt of my long journey, and 
dust the horses kicked up, made me long to reach the 
'good camping' place, where I could lie in the shade 
and drink a cool draught of Washington spring water. 
"We chatted for about four hours; 'Ras was wrapped 
up in the real estate scheme, and could talk of nothing 
but the boom and the time we would be rich. At last 
he halted the horses at a dirty old mud hole and be- 
gan to unhitch. There was not a tree as large as a 
broom stick in sight, and the sand was so hot you 
could scarcely hold your hand on it. I asked him 
what he was going to do? 'Camp for the night,' he 
replied. A lump rose in my throat, and I thought of 
the dear old home I had almost given away. 
"So far I had seen nothing but sand, cactus and 
sage brush, and once in a while a lizard or jack rabbit 
which scampered away as we came along. I sat down 
on the blanket and thought. 'Ras unhitched the horses 
and turned them loose. I asked him if they would not 
run away, but he said no, they were used to hunting 
their living, and he could find them any time. When 
night came he spread the blankets on the sand and we 
turned in. I tried to sleep, but only thrashed about 
till morning. As soon as it was daylight 'Ras got up 
and started after the horses. He told me to put 
the things into the wagon, and by that time he would 
be back. After I had finished I lay on a blanket and 
fell asleep, when suddenly I was awakened, and there 
on the blanket was a nasty old lizard. I screamed and 
climbed into the wagon. About 10 o'clock a freighter 
came along and said he had passed my husband, who 
wanted him to say to me that the horses had started 
for home. That was encouraging. Surely there must 
be something better in store for me, or the horses 
would never be so anxious to reach there. He advised 
me to spread a blanket under 'the hack' out of the sun 
and make myself as comfortable as I could until 'Ras 
returned. 
" 'Be you the woman that sold out in the East to 
come here to live?' he inquired. 
" 'I am the woman,' I replied. 
"He looked at me a minute, grinned and shook his 
head, then backed his horses that they might get a 
better start, and as he cracked his whip and went'' on 
he turned his head and shouted back, 'If I had a sum- 
mer resort in hell I wouldn't trade for the whole 
Orando Valley!' Up jumped lump number two into 
my throat. 
"About noon 'Ras came back, and after harnessing 
up we started on. All afternoon we plodded along, 
and about 9 in the evening drove up to a small frame 
building. 
" 'Here we are,' says 'Ras. 
" 'But where is Orando?'^ says I. 
" 'You'll see in the morning.' 
"He shouted a couple of times, a light appeared in 
the house and his partner came out. I knew Fred 
Billings well, and right glad I was to see some one 
from home again. The horses turned loose, 'Ras came 
• hi and began on the railroaU, irrigation and other 
boom schemes; but I noticed that Fred didn't have 
much to say. I believe he had begun to see that the 
thing was a fizzle. Spreading our blankets on the 
floor up stairs we went to sleep. 
"The next morning I was up bright and early and 
looking out of the window saw nothing but sand and 
sage brush. There wasn't a spear of grass in sight, 
not even a green weed. Down the valley a couple of 
miles I saw two more ranches, but no other buildings. 
" "Ras, get up,' says I. 'We must be off. I am 
anxious to see our new home.' 
" 'See your new home?' says he. 'Why, this is it!' 
'"But where is the town? Where is Orando?' 
" 'Why, darn it, I tell you this is it! You're right 
in it!" 
"'What! these three buildings and those sand banks 
are what we are going to get rich off?' 
" 'Yes.' 
"That was the 'straw that broke the camel's back.' 
I broke down and cried. 
'"Now, look here,' says 'Ras, 'there ain't no use in 
blubbering and making a fool of yourself; you're here 
now, and you've got to stay here. You'll be all right 
in a few days. You're new in the country and don't 
understand it. Why, you just wait till the railroad 
comes through, and we get water on the land and you'll 
see a different place than this' 
"We have been here six years, and the place_ hasn't 
changed a bit. The stream, which was_ to furnish the 
water to irrigate, dries up at the time it is most wanted, 
and there is never more than enough for the two 
ranches below, that came in first and hold the water 
right. We have to carry our drinking Water from the 
river. The railroad company lias the nightmare oc- 
casionally and talks of extending the road west of 
Coulee City. Fruit does grow in abundance — where 
water is had in sufficient quantities to irrigate — but we 
are so far from the railroad that it wouldn't pay to haul 
it to Wenatchee and then freight it to the coast, which 
is' the nearest market. 
"So here we sit waiting for the boom, and living on 
\yhat few vegetables we are able to raise, and what 
little money the post ofhce, stage drivers and pass- 
engers leave us. This is all we have, and if we wanted 
to leave to-morrow we haven't enough money to pay 
car fare to Spokane Falls. The only thing we are rich 
in is land and experience," and she chuckled. 
'Ras appeared just then. "I say we are rich in land 
and experiences, isn't that so, 'Ras?" and she chuckled 
again. 'Ras glared at her a second, then grabbed the 
broom and started out to wrestle with the sand again. 
"'Ras doesn't like to have me mention our wealth," 
she said. J. Alden Loring. 
^'The Law West of the Pecos/' 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Capt. Flynn, in the current number, March 28, thinks 
that I may have met Judge Bean in my time. I knew 
him well, having first met him years before we had any 
Southern Pacific Railroad. The only ^mode of travel 
then in all that country was by stage or ox-team over 
the California Overland, or Eagle Pass road, as that 
part of it between San Antonio and El Paso was gen- 
erally called. 
This part of Texas then had not been divided into 
counties yet; it was all young territory, a territory 
large enough in extent to form a State; we have States 
that are no larger. 
The Judge at the time of his death must have been 
all of eighty years of age. When I last saw him, nine- 
teen years ago this spring, he looked to be over sixty. 
The Captain's estimate of the Judge's legal knowl- 
edge comes pretty near being correct. What His 
Honor did not know about the law would fill quite a 
large book; but he did know the class of men he had 
to deal with, administered the law as he understood 
it, and kept some kind of order there, when another 
man who might have forgotten more law in a day than 
the Judge ever knew would have made a failure of it 
and sooner or later would have lost his life. I have at- 
tended more than one of his trials, but always as a 
spectator. I took good care not to offer him any 
advice. Had another justice been trying these cases I 
would have wanted to appear as the prisoner's counsel, 
but not before Judge Bean; if I had he would have 
fined me for contempt in less than ten minutes, or 
about the time I would object to one of his peculiar 
rulings. 
The Judge's knowledge of old Mexico was about on 
a par with his knowledge of the law. I don't believe 
he was ever further south in it than across the tree 
zone, a strip of fifty miles just south of the line. I 
questioned him at one time about Sonora. I had not 
seen it then, but got a full description of it from him. 
Afterward, when I did get a chance to travel through 
a part of it I found out that he knew about as much 
about it as I know about the moon. 
The United States and Mexico came near going to 
war, in 1867, I think it was. The trouble was about 
a salt deposit that citizens of both countries claimed, 
though the salt was on our side of the line. He settled 
that affair, or at least clairned to have done it. 
Our troop was in camp for a few days one summer 
on the Pecos River, near Vanderbeer's Springs, and l 
was sent down to the railroad with the mail. A train 
stood in front of the station as I came in sight of it, 
but the train was going west, and I did not try to get 
down in time to meet it; I did not want that train. It 
started to pull out just as I rode down to the track, 
and as it did so a young man rushed out of the store 
and climbed into a chair car. Going into the store, 1 
found the Judge all alone for a wonder, and he was 
mad clear through. Had I seen that fellow that ran 
out of this just now? Yes, I had, and asked who he 
was. He was a drummer from New York or some- 
where up there, and had put in the ten minutes that the 
train had been held here in trying to sell the Judge a 
bill of goods and had failed. 
"What do you suppose that fellow told me?" the 
Judge asked. 
"He probably told you that this country here was 
not fit for a white man to die in, much less live in; but 
you must remember that those people from the States 
only see this country from a car window, and don't 
know that we have plenty of a better country north of 
this." 
"No, that was not what he told me. He said that I 
knew no more about the law than a dog knows about 
his father." 
He never came nearer to the truth in his life, if he is 
a drummer, I thought, but took good' care not to tell 
the judge what I thought. 
"A plain case of contempt, your Honor. You fined 
him, of course?" I thought I saw some free beer now. 
"No, he did not give me time; he was out of that 
door and into the car before I had time to turn 
around." 
"He knew enough of the law to get out of your 
jurisdiction in a hurry, did he not? I wish I had got 
here a few minutes sooner, then that remark would 
have cost him half a dozen beers. Watch for him 
when he returns." 
"He won't come this way; he will go home from 
'Frisco." 
"He had better if he knows your Honor as well as 
we do." The beer came out now, and it was on the 
Judge. 
I have heard any number of stories about the Judge. 
One of them that is as likely to be true as not was his 
trial of a cowboy for murder. Two cowboys had 
fought a duel on horseback, and one had been shot, 
but not killed. The Judge got hold of the shooter and 
proceeded to try him, then sentenced him to be hung, 
"But the man is not dead yet," the cowboy told him. 
"Well, he will be by the time we get ready to hang you," 
the Judge returned. 
Someone called the Judge's attention to the fact that 
