Vol. LXXI. No. 4157. NEW YORK, JUNE 29, 1912. weekly, $i.oo per year 
SAVING WESTERN KANSAS 
AGAIN. 
Making Use of the Underflow. 
RUIN BY DROUGHT.—There is 
more sticktoitiveness in the western tier 
of counties in Kansas than in whole 
States in other parts of the continent 
more favored. First that section was 
rescued from the cattle kings by the far¬ 
mers. The ranges were given over to 
agriculture. Irrigation ditches were 
dug, and it seemed that the district 
once tramped and pastured by millions 
of long-horns would become an im¬ 
portant part of the great granary of the 
nation. The price of land went up like 
the electric elevators in some Chicago 
buildings. The old time “dugout” home 
was tilled in; frame houses were built; 
barns went up—good barns. Dairy stock 
was bought. Farmers’ institutes were 
organized by men from the agricultural 
college at Manhattan. It certainly 
looked bright for Western Kansas. That 
was many years ago, 25 of them. The 
story of how irrigation failed is, as the 
novelist used to say, indeed a sad one. 
There were the ditches, as excellent as 
any in the world. There was the river 
—the storied Arkansas—but where was 
the water? Ask the State of Colorado. 
The people of Kansas did ask Colorado, 
and they learned that that State needed 
all it could get. The river didn’t carry 
enough water for both States most of 
the time, and part of the time it carried 
too much for 10 or 12 States. So they 
set about building reservoirs; the United 
States Beet Sugar Company spent mil¬ 
lions, built a fine plant at Garden City, 
concrete ditches, pumping stations. It 
made Lake McKinney, near Lakin, in 
Kearney county, a lake—if filled—six 
miles around. • It put in the finest gates 
of concrete and steel to regulate the 
flow of the water that was to be 
stored for the farms. Many a weary 
heart was buoyed up while these im¬ 
provements were going forward. But 
Western Kansas was not yet out of 
the ruck. The big lake, which at best 
could water only the lowlands, was filled 
once, and then came the drought of 1911. 
When typhoid came along angry eyes 
were turned toward the big lake, per¬ 
haps unjustly; but, anyway, it wasn’t 
a pleasant spot. Crops failed. Feed 
for Winter died before it half matured. 
The real estate dealers and some news¬ 
papers will tell you this was all “rot,” 
but the people who live there know. It 
was a grim tragedy, a terrible blow 
from the Almighty that nearly wiped 
out that part of the State. Many an¬ 
other community has suffered such a 
time of trial. 
THE WONDERFUL UNDER¬ 
FLOW,—And all the time this suffering 
was being lived through the best water 
God ever gave his creatures was flow¬ 
ing twenty or thirty or forty feet below. 
LIVING STREAM THAT SAVED HUNDREDS OF ACRES. Fig. 286. 
DITCH SUPPLIED BY UNDERFLOW WELL. Fig. 287. 
It was the wonderful “underflow” that 
seems to be the final answer to “What’s 
the matter with Kansas?” The tragedy 
of it was that while men paled through 
mahogany skins and women stared, al¬ 
most gaunt-eyed, at the barren plains 
and the sun baked and baked and 
roasted everything; while mortgages 
were recorded and land was sold for a 
small part of its real value—based on 
later developments—there, only a few 
feet under the parched surface, was the 
“sweet, beautiful water,” as John B. 
Gough called it. Plenty of persons 
knew of this underflow. They had 
known it for years. The beet sugar 
company had utilized it in its wells at 
Garden City. The United States Re¬ 
clamation Service developed it, some¬ 
what—and withdrew. One or two far¬ 
mers, at least, on the south side of the 
Arkansas, at Lakin, had excellent wells 
and grew about anything they planted. 
What was needed in Western Kansas 
was some one to start something, the 
psychological moment, perhaps, a leader 
for the sheep. Just how it did, finally, 
break out, I am not going to try to tell 
here, because there are too many claim¬ 
ants to the honor; but it was like the 
gold strike of ’49 in California or the 
oil and gas days in Eastern Kansas 10 
or 12 years ago. Drilling outfits ap¬ 
peared as if by magic. Wells were sunk 
everywhere, as in the famous Pecos 
Valley of New Mexico, the water was 
found, as clear as any water in the 
world and as sweet and good to drink. 
It wasn't long until a view of the Val¬ 
ley of Content, from Garden City west¬ 
ward, suggested the oil derrick days. 
Land prices went up again, went up 
fast and far. Men and women smiled 
and shook hands. Credit was renewed. 
The merchants smiled, too. It may be 
that Western Kansas, without regard to 
the Arkansas River and its old quarrel 
with Colorado, or its reservoirs, may 
be permanently saved, this time. The 
underflow is a fine body of water which, 
geologists say, is not dependent upon 
the Arkansas. It comes, doubtless, 
from the melted snows of the North, as 
do the artesian waters that have saved 
a part of southern and southwestern 
Kansas and New Mexico. But, at any 
rate, the water is there now—after the 
long, sad days of 1911, with its drought 
—and farming, once more seems assured. 
GREAT DEVELOPMENT. — The 
activity is widespread. One of the fin¬ 
est pumping plants I visited while the 
drought was at its worst, was that of 
J. W. Lough, twelve miles from Scott 
City. This, and all the other wells 
that have been extraordinarily success¬ 
ful, are deep. Mr. Lough drilled 130 
feet, with 24-inch casing. The total 
equipment, including the pump, was not 
much less than $3,500. But a part of 
this cost was due to the fact that this 
man was a pioneer in well drilling and 
