82 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[July 29, 1905: 
On the Desert. — L 
Pete was a good partner, and would stay by you, no 
matter how far you went; but he was unfortunate, in 
that he was always finding things that would not amal- 
gamate. That Chink, his pet, was one; the next was a 
geological and ethnological professor from some uni- 
versity up San Francisco way. Now one would think 
that a professor of those things would know all about 
the common things of life that are within the knowledge 
of every man. But that professor didn’t — not he. I 
don’t know what all he did know, but I know a few 
things that he didn’t know. 
He could look at a formation and tell you, offhand, 
how .old .it was, but he did not know that tlie moss 
grew on the north side of the rocks. He could tell you 
about the formation of a contact and how a true fissure 
vein was filled^ but he did not know that gold was 
where you find it. He could look at a- queer-shaped 
butts and tell j^ou it was cut that way by erosion, but 
he didn’t know a prospector’s monument from an In- 
dian water sign. He could look at a piece of rock and 
give you its book name, but by the same look he 
couldn’t tell the sulphurets in it from free gold; he had 
to make a fire assay or acid test. If the sky was over- 
cast at night when he camped, he did not know enough 
to cut a notched stick and point it in the direction the 
sun went down, so he could get his bearings in the 
morning if it proved to be cloudy. He knew all about 
rattlesnakes, the book kind, but he didn’t know that 
the little sharp-toothed gray desert “sidewinder” can 
strike quick and hard without coiling. He did not 
know enough to coil a hair lariat about his blankets 
at night, nor take his shovel and scrape away a smooth 
place for his bed in a clump of turkey foot cactus to 
prevent a snake getting at him. He could lie on his 
back and call all the big stars by their first names, but 
;he couldn’t come within two hours of the time of night 
by the big' dipper. If water was scarce, he did not 
know enough to strain to-night’s dish water through 
a gunnysack and save it for morning, then strain it 
again for the burros; if there was no water to spare, he 
did not know enough to dry wash the dishes. He 
knew enough to fill a book about things that were 
of no use to- a man, but what he didn’t know about 
everyday things on the Colorado desert would fill two. 
Why, he did not even know that on leaving one water 
hole he must always carry enough to do him to the 
next one and back, in the event that he should find the 
second one dry. That is how Pete came to find him, 
and if he. hadn’t found him there would have been a 
vacant chair in geology and ethnology. 
We were chloriding out in the Chuckawalla Moun- 
tains in Southern California, and were camped at 
Chuckawalla Wells, about forty miles west of Ehren- 
berg, on the Colorado River; you can locate it on the 
map. By “we” I mean Paystreak Crawford, Chloride 
Sam, Pete and myself, same old crowd that was up on 
Barley Flats, where the Chinese cook saw his first 
grizzly. We had been partners for years, and hereafter 
when I say “we” I mean the four of us, unless other- 
wise specified. That five-inch seam of hematite ore, 
some of it going a dollar a pound,‘ proved to be wedge- 
shaped, but 'with the wrong end up, and we worked it 
out before the snow in the higher mountains shut us 
in. We didn’t do so bad, though, for the summer, 
cleaning up altogether about a hundred ounces of gold. 
When the snow fell to such a depth that the burros 
began to paw it away to get at the forage, we packed 
for home. Now, our “home” as we called it, was the 
Desert of the Colorado, a strip of country about 250 
miles long and 100 miles wide, lying just west of the 
Colorado River, and from Death Valley on the north 
to the Mexican line on the south, where it is joined by 
the Cocopah Desert, but the junction point is invisible, 
and the same desert extends on down through the 
Peninsula of Baja California, as far as one cares to 
go. Some time I will tell you about that unsurveyed 
country that “God made in His anger and forgot,” for 
I know it. Many is the night that I have held to a 
burro’s tail as I plodded across its broad mesas. Trust 
a burro every time to avoid cactus and rattlesnakes. 
A country, where the bighorn sheep is making his last 
stand. 
Pete had gone to Salton, eighty miles, for a supply 
of grub. Why Pete went instead of one of the rest of 
us was only a little detail of camp life. The night be- 
fore we had played cut-throat seven-up, winner drop 
out and the last, loser, to go. Paystreak and I had 
dropped out, and the finale was up to Sam and Pete; 
Sam had five to go, and turning a jack and holding the 
ace of trumps, Pete was due to make a 160-mile trip 
across, the desert. 
On his way to Salton, Pete found the Professor at 
Dos Palmas, the first water hole six miles out from 
the railroad. The little oasis gets its name from two 
big date palms. How they came there no one knows.. 
Chemihueva Joe, an Indian ninety years old, says they, 
have always been there, and he was there before the 
white man came.. Dos Palmas is on the old Taos trail 
that was traveled before Madoc, the Welshman, dis- 
covered America, and that was 350 years before Colum-. 
bus sailed. Fifty years . ago, the . old Butterfield s.tage 
route followed the Taos trail, then the railroad crossed- 
io the south, and the trail was abandoned save for a 
few prospectors and Indians. 
The Professor was camp-ed at the .spring, and Pete 
saw him as soon as he turned the last clump of bean 
mesquite. He wore blue goggles, was dressed in buff 
khaki, had laced leather boots to match, a tan-colored 
hat and “neglijay” shirt with buff tie. He was clean 
and neat, and had two little forked sticks in the ground 
puid a third across the top, on which was swung a 
dinky nickle-plated teapot about six inches above the 
tiny smoky blaze of some green twigs. 
“A stranger and a pilgrim,” said Pete, as he swung 
from the back of old Nig, our big, black burro. Now 
a prospector is the most generous person on earth; 
he will split his blanket with you and divide his last 
half pint of water; but when he meets one of those 
fellows - that carries a scatter load of knowledge of 
everything under, on and above the earth, he is a bit 
gun shy. Pete camped about fifty yards away, but 
before he unsaddled he took his six-shooter off the 
horn and buckled it -about his waist. In the moun- 
tains or desert, you know, you can’t afford to let 
trouble get the drop; you must always see it first. But 
a little while afterward, Pete got ashamed of himself, 
dropped his gun on his pack and hummed ‘,‘Oh, where 
is my wandering boy.?’’ .as he kicked up some dead 
sage roots for his fire. The Professor saw him at it 
and came over. 
“Good evening,” says he. - 
“Howdy,” replied Pete, who said the Professor looked 
him over until he saw the tooth brush in his jumper 
pocket, then he introduced himself and held out his 
liand. He was young, big and husky, stood straight up 
and down, and used only his feet and legs when he 
walked. 
“Is that the way you do?” he asked, as Pete jammed 
his old coffeepot down on the blazing roots and turned 
to drop some slices of bacon in a frying-pan. “I have 
been trying for an hour to boil tea water, but the 
green twigs do not burn.” 
“Yes, I see your fire,” said Pete; “it’s an awful 
purty scene in a picture, but it won’t do for a hungry 
man. Tour supper is likely to run into breakfast time. 
The sand around here is full of dead sage roots, that 
make a quick, hot fire.” 
Pete learned that the Professor intended spending a 
couple of months on the comparatively unknown desert 
studying the formations and paying particular attention 
to the Indian hieroglyphics. 
“What’s that?” asked Pete. “Indians are mighty apt 
to catch anything a white man has the minute they are 
exposed, and they have diseases of their own; but I 
never heard of ’em havin’ that.” Pete had a good 
poker face, and one could never tell when he was 
“joshing” or in earnest. The Professor went on at 
length to cast -a light on -Pete’s ignorance: 
“Oh, you mean picture writin’. WI133 there’s a lot of 
it up at Corn Springs, and some around Chuckawalla. 
Tou can find it around the water holes, where there is 
a smooth face_ of granite. They cut ’em with jasper or 
chalcedony chisels; you can find bits of their tools lying 
around. ■ Indians nowadays can’t read the writin’, 
f hough old Jose, a Chemihueva Apache, will set down 
in front of it for an hour at a time and then tell you 
that one b.unch of pictures says where the next water 
is; another tells of a battle, and another bunch of criss- 
crosses, stands for a lot of men on horseback wearin’ 
steel clothes and carryin’ speaias, bows and swords,” 
The Professor was certainly interested, and asked a 
lot of questions, as he pulled a little bottle from his 
pocket and began bathing red blotches on his hands 
and face, 
“What’s the matter?” asked Pete, 
“Mosquitoes, Millions of them around my camp, 
but they do not seem to bother here.” 
“No, only ’round the water; that’s why I carriped 
here.” 
The Professor moved his things to Pete’s camp and 
boiled the tea water on the sage root fire. Pete said 
that when he got through unpacking and. looking for 
things it looked like he had come put to start a 
trader’s store — canned goods all around, and dried beef. 
“Who told you to &ing dried beef on the desert; 
somebody with a grudge?” asked Pete. 
■ “Dried beef is very nourishing, and takes up very 
little space,” replied the Professor. 
“Yes, but to eat it, you’ve got to have a four-horse 
team to pull a big water tank along. ’Ceptin’ whisky 
or brandy, it is the worst thing. you could carry. Take 
my advice, and chuck it to the coyotes.” But the Pro- 
fessor only laughed, and then Pete kept still and let him 
do the talking. 
“This is Monday,” said Pete the next morning. “I 
am going in to Salton to send my order. I will leave 
my burros here and come back. My grub will be out 
Tuesday evening on the freight. I will go . in after it, 
pack and come back here to camp and pull out on 
Wednesday for the long hike. You’d better stay here 
and wait for me,”- ■ . 
“No, I will go on to camp and , tell them you are 
coming.” 
“I’ve come across sundry shapes of things that 
were once men -and thought .the same. You’d better 
wait.’’ But again the- Professor, laughed. 
“I have a good map of the country and the water- 
holes.” 
“You laugh because you do not know — just as you 
laughed last night at my ignorance of those square 
meals pressed into the little tablets and the wo'men’s 
and Irabies’ food that you’ve brcfught aliMVg, Now, | 
know, but will not laugh. Your map is so much worth 
less paper. The desert has never been explored o 
measured thoroughly by men who knew how to draw a 
map. I know what your map is. It shows a little do' 
on a wavy line that stands, far a canon and the do 
stands for water. You will find dozens of canons, al 
looking alike, and your tongue will be hanging off 
before you find the one with the water. The next wate: 
is at Canon Springs, twelve miles; if you leave then: 
you' had better leave your address and the names O; 
your next of kin in a can at the water, where I can fine 
it._ It is sixty miles from there to Chuckawalla Wells 
with one water between, and I’ve known tenderfeet tc 
go stripped, stark crazy in eight hours without water.’ 
But the Professor packed and went on, and it wa: 
Thursday night before Pete saw him again. 
__ Pete had left Canon Springs, and was nearing Drt 
Camp, about three miles above Big Clay Butte, when i 
file of burros came stringing out of the brush of < 
greasewood-covered mesa into the big wash. Pet( 
recognized them at once as the Professor’s. They werf 
thirsty, there was no denying that; so Pete tapped hi; 
water kegs and gave each a gallon, but did not camj 
for noon. He roped the bell burro, and leading him 
passed on up the trail. The .sun had just dropped- be! 
hind the I2,ooo-foot peak of old San Jacinto, ninet} 
miles to the west, when he neared Coyote Holes. .Hi; 
jaded burrors stopped, threw up their heads, and witi 
their long ears forward, gazed across the flat dry wast^ 
covered with greasewood and cacti. Pete’s eyes fol- 
' lowed theirs, and saw a man, bareheaded, stripped tc 
the waist, his limbs covered with shreds of khak; 
trousers, his bare feet and body blistered-in the sur. 
. and bleeding from many lacerations by thorns. He was 
waving his arms and uttering hoarse, inarticulate 
sounds as well as his cracked, swollen and protruding 
tongue would permit. 
“Poor devil; I told him so, and now I reckon he 
knows,” said Pete, as he hurriedly undid a cineb 
rope, made a running noose, coiled it and started 
toward the Professor. It is a peculiar fact that men 
unused to the hardships of the desert become tem- 
, porarily insane from thirst, strip themselves and go 
racing across the country. Some will run from res-- 
cuers and fight like tigers before they will submit tc 
succor, while others will be as inert as a sick animal. 
Pete saw the type of madness with which he had tc 
deal and took no chances'. He gave chase to the run- 
ning, staggering man, and as he neared him, the Pra- 
fessor turned, his bloodshot eyes blazing. Pete made 
a quick cast, the noose settled, was drawn taut, and 
the arms pinioned. He was-’ then half led and half 
dragged back to the burros, lifted into the saddle and 
taken on a half mile to a broad sandy wash. There 
Pete laid him in the shade of an ironwood tree and 
scooped a shallow hole in the sand with his shovel,: 
'Phis hole was soon half filled with cool, sweet water,: 
'Pliere was the Professor’s camp, not over 200y^ds. away. 
-He had run all over that very spot, dying from thirst 
and water within eighteen inches of him. Even coyotes 
had been there, scratched a hole, watered and gone on ; 
yet he did not know. That was how it was discovered, 
and is now known as Coyote Holes. An underground 
flow or seepage from a mountain range ten miles away, 
and the times when one cannot obtain water there are 
rare. ^ 
Pete poured a few spoonfuls of water down the: 
cracked and swollen throat, and then thoroughly soaked 
a rag and laid it across the parched lips and tongue: 
This he repeated every minute, owing to the fever,^ 
and it was not long until the swelling subsided. Then 
Pete scooped a long, narrow hole in the sand and laid 
the Professor’s body in the water, but holding his' 
head so he could not drink. Gradually the fever left: 
the body as the thirsty pores drank up the water, and 
reason slowly returned; but as yet the Professor could, 
not speak intelligently. Before night he was sufficiently^ 
recovered to realize that he must drink a little at a 
time, and when made to understand that, he was lefts 
with a canteen of water while Pete attended to the 
burros and himself. All the Professor was allowed that 
night was a pan of thin, rolled oats gruel. Luckily 
among his “women’s fixin’s” he had a jar of cold cream, 
and with the aid of Pete, he rubbed it all over his body. 
The next morning he-was able to wear clothes and eat? 
“I dug holes here for hours, but could find no water,’! 
said he. ' 
“You missed the channel,” said Pete. “Instead ofj 
digging up and down the wash you should have cross- 
cut, and even then, if you did not know, you w6uld= 
miss it. The bedrock is uneven, and the water settles 
in long, narrow pools. I don’t know why the water is 
right here; fifty yards above and you won’t find water, 
for miles, and a hundred yards below, it is the same way. : 
“I had ten gallons of water when I started fromj 
Canon Springs, two five-gallon cans in canvas bags;: 
but the straps of one bag broke or pulled off, and. the 
can burst on the rocks; then the pack saddle turned, 
throwing off the other, and it had a hole knocked in 
it. The burro was behind, and I did not know it until 
he came racing up with the pack saddle under him, 
‘.‘Do you mean to sav that you did not have those 
water aparaj os cinched, on? Professor, I’ll have to lasso 
you again and tie you on the saddle.” | 
“The last thing I remember was scooping a hole 
that I thought was my own grave, but all the time I 
was praying for life at the hottorn,” 
J 
