DUST OF OLD MCMILLENVILLE

BY: DAN ROSE

"THE DUST Of Old McMillenville"

HERE'S an ardor of romance clinging to the vista and history of ancient ruins such as the greatness of Babylon, the temple of Karnak in Egypt, the splendor of Greece with its temples of marble columns, inlaid with ivory and tinted with gold, on the immor-tal hill at Athens. The grandeur of the Colosseum and other ruins in Rome all have been a romantic theme for the muse to sing of their undying fame and glory. Even communities of lesser fame and his torical splendor have touched the tender chords of the poet's heart, as Goldsmith's "Deserted Village," and the life of these ancient halls of fame and pastoral scenes of glory and peace will linger in the soul of man till the end of time. But when we visualize from the dim and distant past, some city, village or town that has been swept away by flood, fire or powerful elements of the air, or dread pestilence, or abandoned because of poverty and distress, then the pathetic chord of pity wells within us and we bow our heads in sorrowful respect, in memory of the unfortunate people who resided there. To the writer, who has lived his life in the mining regions of the West, there is no more pathetic scene than to stand on the ground or roam among the dilapidated shacks of a deserted mining town, abandoned because the ore bodies in the mines "pinched out." All the ore that would pay to take out was mined, and when that ceased the mine closed down, and no matter how large the town, or camp, or how many improvements on streets, homes, business houses, and corrals, the community had to be abandoned or else the inhabitants would starve. This was the plight of the mining camp of McMillenville, Arizona, near Globe, in Gila county, over sixty years ago. On a summer's day in 1877, Charlie McMillen and Dorry Harris, two typical prospectors of the Old West, were snailing along a trail twenty miles east of Globe. The trail arrived at a grove of pinyon and cedar trees. The inviting shade looked good to McMillen, who had indulged in too much liquor the night before at Globe, and he was dog-tired and drowsy. They were equipped with what was considered a high-toned outfit in those days-two strong and wiry saddle horses and two pack mules. Halting under one of the trees McMillen said: "By the chariot of Diana, Dorry, I've got to take a nap or I'll fall off this cayuse.

Tie up the stick, will ya, like a good feller?" "One dadburn bit," said Dorry, as he told later on, "I was so all-fired mad I could've kicked him in his pants for wantin' to fritter our time away under a tree when we wus agoin' to camp at a spring some two miles further on. Yes, sir, I was mad."

Harris tied up the animals and Charlie was soon snoring away. Harris, in the meantime, took his prospecting pick and sauntered leisurely to the shade of the cedar, muttering mild imprecations on liquor and its unmanly effect, for Dorry never drank. Leaning his back against a moss-covered ledge, and never dreaming of the wealthy portent which lay at the point of his prospecting pick that summer's day, he idly swung the pick into the surrounding rocks. First the pick stuck, and in prying it loose he broke off a piece of rock which contained a metal that was foreign to Dorry's mind, as he was a tenderfoot prospector at the time.

"Lead, I guess," he soliloquized. He was about to throw it away, when he happened to glance toward McMillen, who was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. Striding to his partner's side, he asked: "Ready to go, Charlie?" "I guess so," was the reply. "What do you think of this?" and threw the piece of rock carelessly into the other's lap. McMillen took one glance and said, "There's nothing around here." Then, taking it up, looked more intently, and yelled, "It's native silver, Dorry!"That is how the famous Stonewall Jackson native silver mine was discovered. A pause on the trail to sleep off the effects of liquor and the tenderfoot prospector picking idly to pass the time away. But it was, and is, the inscrutable wiles of old Dame Fortune to lead the way to riches and fame without the individual's knowledge of when, why, and where she will favor him. Yes, it was native silver, and there they unpacked their animals and made camp.

The news of the rich strike soon reached the outside world; then the mad and exciting stampede, characteristic of those early-day strikes, took place. As was the custom of the times, the trail was soon swarming with pack animals loaded with outfits for primary camps, and men on foot staggering with the weight of their loads. The new camp was established about a mile below the mine, in a names, the Lady Franklin, Lady Washington, Robert E. Lee, Abraham Lincoln, Hannibal, and Little Mac, after General McClellan.

A passable road was built from Globe and the hauling of building material for the camp and mining and milling machinery was begun in earnest, and the boom at the new native silver Eldorado was on. One and two-story adobe business houses and dwellings arose as if by magic. They lined out on each side of the road, which served as the Main street. At the head of the street, as you entered the camp, was Pat Shanel's two-story adobe hotel and corral, next, E. F. Kellner's merchandise store, managed by "Uncle Billy" Ransom; then, on each side of the street, were the Hannibal Saloon, owned by Charles Hoffman, the John Jones Corral, Billy Price Saloon, and across the road the Tom Boyd Meat Market, George Strong Store, Ah Moon's washee house, Fred Minchel's Notion and Tobacco Store, then J. R. ("Pretty Nick") Nichols'. Sandwiched between were adobe homes and shacks. On the outskirts of camp were numerous other shacks and tent houses, making the inhabitants who made up the population of the camp around fifteen hundred people, in 1879, the height of its boom.

The writer, a kid, lived in McMillenville at this time, and the happiest memories of his western career come from the care-free days in that wild mining camp. At the mine a steam hoist was small sloping vale, and named McMillenville. The rich strike attracted the attention of John Overton, J. K. Smith, and other mining men from Santa Rosa, California, who bought the mine. They were a patriotic bunch, those old-time prospectors, for on the same lode other claims were located which bore the historical

The Life and Times of Dick Wick Hall

One of their outstanding accomplishments was the dusting by hand the front page of one entire issue, the upper half gold, the lower half copper, to boost the mining industry of Wickenburg. After disposing of their newspaper they devoted their time to mining and contracting.

The name DeForest never appealed to Hall. In fact, he hadn't used it for some time. So a court order was obtained changing it to Dick Wick Hall-Wick being short for Wickenburg.

In company with an eastern promoter, an inspection was made of the territory west of Wickenburg. Just an expanse of barren country but it fascinated Hall. "The wonderful peace and quiet of it, which only the dweller of the desert can understand and appreciate. Here, at last, I thought, is one place where I can do as I please and no one to bother me, where I can get acquainted with myself and find the something that every man in his own soul is consciously or unconsciously searching for himself."

He had visions-prospects of artesian water an irrigation project, perhaps; and soon the Grace Valley Development Company was a reality and a site established, which he named Salome.

The railroad had just completed a survey for the Parker cut-off and Salome was in line. A store, restaurant, saloon, a few houses were erected, a postoffice established. Dick Hall was appointed postmaster. During the winter of 1904, the railroad started building from Wickenburg, and before it reached Salome, plans were changed, the railroad being re-routed a half mile to the south, which put a crimp in plans for all concerned. But the Halls were not to be dismayed. They erected a few house tents along the new right-of-way; built a sheet iron shack alongside of them and brought thepostoffice down to the new site. Efforts to have the postoffice returned to its original site were futile. Later, all of the buildings were moved down from the old site.

The Glory Hole mine was discovered near there in 1910, causing considerable excitement and speculation and Dick Wick became very active in its promotion. His activities branched out. He became general sales agent for the Chandler lands and Chandler townsite and was instrumental in selling most of the lots. He became active in other real estate ventures-started the Avondale Company, where the first land in that part of the country was put under cultivation. Soon he severed his real estate connections and went back to Salome, bought the Glory Hole property and spent a great deal of money in promoting it as well as other mining ventures. He even took a fling at the Texas oil fields, but always back to Salome, the place that held something for him.

the Glory Hole property and spent a great deal of money in promoting it as well as other mining ventures. He even took a fling at the Texas oil fields, but always back to Salome, the place that held something for him.

He acquired a gasoline station. "I started it on nothing, so I knew I couldn't lose nothing," he said. Later he named it the Laughing Gas Service Station. This was the beginning of a career that made Dick Wick Hall and Salome known the world over. He schemed, he planned. He sat around thinking up ideas. He painted numerous signs and tacked them up on the front of his station "The Softest, Sweetest Air on Earth" - "Free Hot Air"-"Hell Can't Be Very Far Away, Mickey Said Today"-"Howdy Do. Crawl Out And Walk In And See What's Here""Smile, Smile, Smile. You Don't Have To Stay Here, But We Do"-"Tickle Lizzie's Carburetor With Our Laughing Gas""Arizona Roads Are Like Arizona People, Good, Bad And Worse," and many other catchy signs to cheer people along. "I knew the big bumps and chuck holes made folks cross and sore so I went down the road twentyfive or thirty miles each way from the town (Salome, I mean) and put up a lot of silly signs at some of the biggest bumps... just anything to make travelers laugh and forget the bumps and their troubles; something to make them forget their grouch and remember Salome. . . .

About three miles down the road I put up a sign, 'CITY LIMITS,' just to make sure they didn't get through here without knowing it." He thought of the mimeographed sheet to be given away and his customers and those who stopped went away with a smile. He called it the Salome Sun-Made With A Laugh On The Mim-eograph, in Salome-Where She Danced -a journal of humor and desert philosophy. He created his mythical Salome, the alluring sensuous miss with the shapely curves, whose forerunner caused John the Baptist to lose his head over her terpsichorean wiggles, of whom Hall said, "All the curves are not on the road to Phoenix-Some folks seem to think I'm the man that made Salome dance-but

they would copyright them and pick out the ones they wanted to use.

With each succeeding installment his recognition as a humorist and philosopher became more eminent. An incident that crept into his daily life as it has that of his many thousands of readers was told by him in this manner: "I'd like to find out who told my WIFE that SPINACH was good for children. My kids are like all other children-they don't like anything that is GOOD for them and they think their DAD is all right. They also have an idea that if SPINACH is good for CHILDREN, BIGGER doses of it ought to be good for their DAD, so my WIFE, in order to get the KIDS to eat SPINACH, feeds ME SPINACH three times a day-and makes ME say I LIKE it, until I feel like a HOLSTEIN COW or the INSIDE of a GREENHOUSE."

His continued successes led to a series of feature articles and stories in the Saturday Evening Post and the Red Book. His Salome Sun was syndicated through several prominent newspapers. The Post then contracted for his entire literary output and just when fame was beckoning and fortune seemed assured, his untimely passing robbed the nation of a great humorist who would no doubt have achieved a more enviable niche in the literary Hall of Fame along with other masters of basic American humor. Once, while he was passing out his little free sheet, he was compared to Will Rogers by a passerby. Will Rogers, at the time, was being paid highly for his clever articles. In reply, Dick Wick Hall said, "The great difference between Will Rogers and me is that he peddles the Bull while I just smoke it."

Dick Wick Hall was laid to rest in a plot of green beside his humble office where he had conceived many of his humorous ideas. He wanted to be buried there. Old prospector friends brought choice ore samples and nuggets, mostly from mines in which Dick had had an interest, and constructed an eight-foot monument. A white cross in the center of the tomb is made of crystal white quartz, flecked with gold. A bronze tablet in the center of the monument is a replica of his photograph, executed by "Put" Putnam, who did most of the illustrations for Hall's works. His dreams of a greater Salome with a fine paved highway and the many things he had visioned did not pass with his demise. His efforts have not been in vain.

In 1927, Addie Lee Van Orsdel came to Salome with her husband, seeking sunshine and health for him. They had been living a rugged life seeking gold in the far reaches of Alaska. They tried mining at Salome but hard rock mining proved too expensive so they started a service station and small lunch room.

JULY, 1938 They learned of Dick Wick Hall, his Laughing Gas Station, his famous Blue Rocke Inne and Greasewood Golf Lynx. Business prospered. In 1933 Mr. Van Orsdel passed away. Mrs. Van, as she is popularly known, carried on. She added to her humble shack of a place, as she called it. Business grew until one day in June, 1936, a fire completely wiped out her establishment. In just nine days this energetic woman had the debris cleared away and a temporary service station and lunch room erected and was serving the public.

The fire left her heavily in debt. She thought of the many things Dick Wick Hall had planned. She sought financial aid to carry out Dick Wick Hall's dream and her dream-Salome, a famed resort --and succeeded. Today, there is a $50,000 modern air-cooled structure, with a unique cactus bar, a thing of art, entirely veneered with Saguaro cactus ribs, with all the natural arms and roots, left just as they were picked up on the desert. The main dining room is 50x68feet, the walls are of primitive adobe. Old wagon wheels are used for chandeliers, and the hangings are principally Indian rugs, charm strings, peppers and colored corn and many other interesting curios.

The first unit of 38 metropolitan tourist cabins has been built. Dick Wick Hall's Salome townsite has been replatted. Revival of the Greasewood golf course has been planned, as well as a swimming pool, an air field, tennis courts and riding stables. A luxurious resort establishment is not merely a dream. It will be the carrying out of an ideal, the dream and desires of the man who made Salome famous by his clever witticisms of life, his Blue Rock Inne, now crumbling in ruin and soon to be removed, his Laughing Gas Station, partly demolished and soon to go, his Red Bird Saloon already a memory. But better for all these to be a memory than a ghost, better to remember him by his literary works, that will live forever, then by crumbled ruins that live for but a day.

preparing to go to Washington to call in person on President Lincoln. He wished to make an impression on Mrs. Lin-coln, and Kit was asked to secure a neck-lace of elk teeth, worn, of course, by some distinguished Indian Princess, for the gentleman to present to the Presi-dent's wife. Kit readily agreed, and a little later this politician departed for Washington carrying with him for the admiring gaze of unsophisticated citizens of that city a magnificent necklace. The only catch in the matter was that the teeth were those from defunct burros instead of elk!

That weighty matter attended to, Kit was ready to go Navajo hunting. “TO ARMS!! LATEST FROM NAVAJO! CARSON MEETS THE INDIANS!” Flaming headlines told that Kit met a band of Navajos far in their own country. He killed thirteen men, captured twenty women and children, and destroyed the crops. The prisoners were sent to Fort Defiance for safe keeping.

Two weeks later fifty-one Navajos had been killed, over two hundred cap-tured, and two thousand sheep bayoneted.

Kit Carson still could not write, but by constant practice he had learned how to shape the letters needed as his signa-ture to official papers. Many a time his soldiers presented him with official leave slips, raise in pay orders or demands on the quartermaster for immense amounts of grub, and the unsuspecting Colonel laboriously printed “Col. C. Carson, Comm.,” just as he carved his name on a big rock at Keam's Canyon, near the be-ginning of the campaign. Navajos, rid-ing by that rock, today, see the bold sig-nature and doubtless remember the stor-ies their fathers told of Red Shirt, who didn't know when to stop hunting them.

Under the direction of the beloved Commander and Comrade a message was sent back to Headquarters on the back of an envelope telling of the murder of Kit's close friend, Major Joe Cummings. This is how he broke the news to General Carleton not exactly in War Department style, perhaps, but nothing was left to the imagination of his General: "Friend Carleton: Joe Cummings is dead. He was killed by a Navajo Indian eight miles from Pueblo Colorado. He was nearly alone at the time. Betts and a Mexican boy was near, they saved the gun and the body and the $4,000 on Joe. Sad, sad news! The ball hit his waist belt plate and glanced into his belly. He died in two minutes. Buried with honors of war at Fort Defiance. No one else hurt. We send from here today 51 pris-oners. They will be in your place Sun-day.

"C. CARSON, Comm."

From then on Carson was relentless. In the dead of winter he made his supreme play to squelch once and foreverthe Navajo Nation. With one of the mountain howitzers he marched four hundred picked men to the supposedly impregnable Canyon de Chelly, stronghold and heart of the Navajo Tribe. News of this march had been forecast in Santa Fe and the usual number of “War Songs” sprang up overnight. A quotation from one will be sufficient to show the sentiment as well as poetical caliber of their writers: "JOHNNY NAVAJO"

Published in Rio Abajo Weekly Press, December 8, 1863. Come dress your ranks, my gallant souls, a standing in a row, Kit Carson he is waiting to march against the foe. At night we march to Moqui, o'er lofty hills of snow, To meet and crush the savage foe, bold Johnny Navajo. Johnny Navajo! O Johnny Navajo!

From the field of toil and danger, from Pueblo's dreary shore, Goes up the voice of manly grief: Brave Cummings is no more! In the valley near Fort Camby, his head lies buried low, He nobly fell, charging too well, the savage Navajo! Johnny Navajo! O Johnny Navajo!

Here's a health to Colonel Carson! whose rough and ready blow Brought terror to the savage and haughty Navajo. May promotion raise him to the Stars, and may his country show, She holds him as the conqueror of Johnny Navajo! Johnny Navajo! O Johnny Navajo!

Imagine a picked army of four hundred men, carrying with them provisions for twenty days, wading through fifteen inches of snow direct into the face of a blinding snow storm, and you'll know what type of fighters Kit Carson took with him for the final blow. One by one the pack mules fell exhausted, and most of the food had to be cached. Sixty-two miles were covered by the men with only two hours' halt for rest.

January 22nd, 1864. FROM NAVAJO: Colonel Carson's command has cleaned out Canyon de Chelly; 22 Indians killed and over a hundred captured. The Navajo war is drawing to a close. The Indians see themselves they are nearly done for."

Carson sometimes spoke regretfully of the hardships imposed on the Navajo women and children by that mid-winter campaign. He well knew the deep, quiet love of Indian women for their homes and children. Perhaps, as he entered the different hogans and spoke soothingly to the terrified women, he remembered the gentle Arapahoe girl he married in his youth and who died a few years later leaving him their little girl to raise.

The work of capturing horses, killing sheep, burning of hogans and corrals and destroying stored crops went steadily forward, but Carson's orders to his men were to be kind to the women and children. To them, and to the feeble old men, Carson said over and over: “Take what sheep you can, take your children and the food you can carry and go to the Place of Many Reeds. From there you will be taken in wagons to a home in the South where you can build new hogans and raise your crops. If your men surrender they can go with you. Send word to your clansmen that they must come there to meet me within ten days or I will not stop until every man is killed. Washington has said so!” It is one of the greatest evidences of Kit Carson's character that the Indians looked into the blue eyes of the little warrior and believed him. They came from far and near until it was almost impossible to feed and care for them. General Carleton believed there were only seven thousand Navajos. Carson had

Fishing for Silt . . .

(Continued from Page 7) reply and sometimes I had difficulty in establishing communication.

One night Stuart flashed a message and received an answer. Then he started for the rim. On his way out he stopped at Indian Gardens, 3600 feet below the crest, where the local judge was installing a pump and arranged for the judge to accompany him and perform a marriage ceremony. Just around a bend in the trail, they met the head guide who agreed to act as best man on his return from the river with his string of dudes. That morning on a point overlooking the mighty gorge, Florence and Wilbur were married and departed down the trail for their home by the roaring Colorado a mile below the rim.

"The Canyon plays strange tricks on you," Mrs. Stuart said. "At times I'm positive I hear music. I hesitate to say anything about it because they might think I was nutty. One day I asked the hostess at Phantom Ranch if she heard queer sounds, and she said she did. She, too, heard music."

"I've never heard music," Stuart related, "but I was working on my reports one day when I heard voices so distinctly that I got up and walked all around the outside of the house to see who was about. Not a soul was in sight.

"When I have my headphones on while making measurements sometimes I have difficulty hearing the meter impulses due to telephone conversations on the transCanyon line, although my equipment has no connection with the telephone system."

The Stuarts guard against too much concentrated thinking. They mix fun with their duties. "We wear the same size Levis," Stuart said, "and it's a game to see who can capture the best pair of pants when we get up in the morning." Then there's a great amount of work to do, but they have no labor problem down there. If the work gets done, the Stuarts do it. There's no telephoning to the grocer or the milkman to leave supplies on their doorstep. Everything is brought down on the backs of pack mules, 150 pounds to a load. They keep at least a thirty-day supply ahead, and with a river filled with fish, they're all set for a month or more.

Fuel is plentiful but has to be gathered on the sandbars and packed to the house by hand. Some of the wood comes from far-off Wyoming, more than a thousand miles up the river. "One day we made a haul of some freshly treated railroad ties, as several carloads floated down the river on the crest of a big rise," Stuart related. Coal is too expensive to use. To deliver a ton to the station would cost a minimum of $75.00, and gasoline at 60c per gallon is too high for use other than lighting. Neither does the wood arrive in stove lengths. It gets that way by Stuart and his wife playing push and pull with a crosscut saw stretched over a drift log.

Strange objects float down the river. Glancing up one day, Stuart saw three boat loads of men come paddling around a bend in the river. It was the Carnegie Institution-California Institute of Technology expedition. Then a few days later, a solitary boatman rowed up to a sandbar and tied up his craft. That was "Buzz" Holstrum, the only man who ever single-handed, negotiated the 300 dangerous rapids that infest the Colorado River. But Stuart said his greatest surprise was one morning when he found a sign sticking up on a sandbar like it had been planted by a road crew, reading "Fresh Oil-Road closed."

Along with his other duties, Stuart is weather observer. The temperature during the winter months in the Canyon is remarkably uniform, but during the summer it gets very hot up to 115 degrees at times. Their home is shaded by a pro-fusion of cottonwood trees, so even on the hottest days, the Stuarts are comfortable. Then, too they devised an airconditioner for their home. The building is encircled by a pipe line in which hundreds of small holes are drilled. The pipe is connected to a water system that takes cold water from Bright Angel Creek and sprays the water into the air as a fine mist, materially reducing the temperature.

Fresh meat is no problem. When Mrs. Stuart includes it in her menu, she merely picks up her fishing pole and walks a few steps down the Colorado where she soon catches a mess of channel cat. If the menu calls for mountain trout, she has only to step out to the other side of her yard to the crystalclear Bright Angel Creek to get them. Refrigeration is provided in a deserttype cooler, consisting of a wooden frame over which burlap is stretched. By keeping the burlap wet, evaporation does the cooling.

In their yard are fascinating and valuable museum pieces of fossil rock. This rock, of course, came down from higher levels as there is no sign of life in the Archean formation of the inner-gorge. Fortunate or unfortunate, as the case may be, the rocks are too large to be moved to the rim.

"We live at the base of almost perpendicular cliffs," Stuart remarked, "and the greatest distance we can see other than the sky above is the walls of the inner-gorge. During the month of December, we have sunshine but an hour and a half throughout the day. This would be depressing if we let down our guard." But they add interest to their life by hiking eleven miles up the trails to attend a picture show in the village on the rim, and think little of the feat. With her myriad of other duties, Mrs. Stuart still finds time to do bird banding for Park Naturalist McKee and to make nature observations for the Park Service. This work, Mrs. Stuart says, is fascinating for she makes many friends among her birds and animal neighbors.

"It's not lonesome at the gaging station -far from it," the Stuarts say. "On the contrary, we'd like to move farther away so we could have more privacy-on top of Shiva Temple, perhaps. Not long ago," Stuart continued, "my wife answered a knock at the door and was greeted by a building and loan salesman. Most any time now we're looking for a vacuum cleaner salesman or a brush peddler to put in his appearance."

VACATION In Wonderland ARIZONA

(Continued from Page 9) erosion and ruled over by the old gods of ancient Navajo land. Its spectacular canyons and primitive ruined shrines of men of long ago are astonishing and fascinating sights.

One of the most delightful scenic gems is Oak Creek Canyon with its picturesque ruddy-hued, gray-white, brown, and dark rock layers attractively embroidered with yellow pine and juniper. A clear lovely trout brook winds its musical way along the canyon floor besides the highway. The shores of the bounding stream are trimmed with the coolest and richest verdure, dotted with comfortable cabins and camps, a paradise for anyone to enjoy. Oak Creek is a half hour's drive south from Flagstaff on good roads.

We spoke of forests to visit in this land. A visit to the Kaibab forest on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon is like a visit to the forests of Canada. Kaibab has the animal life, the trees, and plants as well as the climate comparable to the Canadian wilds. Furthermore, the climate, plant, and tree zones through which one must travel from central Arizona to the Kaibab is like traveling across America from Mexico to Canada.

is like a visit to the forests of Canada. Kaibab has the animal life, the trees, and plants as well as the climate com-parable to the Canadian wilds. Further-more, the climate, plant, and tree zones through which one must travel from central Arizona to the Kaibab is like traveling across America from Mexico to Canada.

There is likewise the grandest mountainous region with a vast area of virgin pine, crystal trout streams, beautiful quaking aspen easily reached from Springerville. These forest regions over the state with their tall peaks set in a singular desert land with its frightful canyon gorges, volcanic areas, dry rocky sections and lakes, are a sublime reality in this diversified wonderland.

If one desires gigantic caverns with a strange world of underground scenic architecture and beauty one need not miss going to distant caves, for Arizona has a marvelous sight in its Colossal Cave near Tucson where a trip will satisfy the most exacting visitor.

If one desires historic lands, what of the exciting district of the cruel Apache which was once ruled over by Cochise and Geronimo? The Chiricahua National Monument in southeastern Arizona with its wonderland of rocks, carved into grotesque formations by the master hand of erosion, is crowded with attractions for those who visit its pine clad areas.

Should anyone yearn to see the old West, remember Tombstone, once a boom silver town that had no rival for color and romance in all the west. In 1878 it was a desolate desert region. By 1881 it had a population larger than Los Angeles. Today it is a quiet, interesting village of eight hundred, with many friendly citizens willing to show the traveler about the old historical places replete with memories of the last of the wild West.

In case one plans to go to Europe to see ancient cathedrals, remember that Arizona has ancient mellowed missions, Tumacacori near Nogales and San Xavier near Tucson, shrines built in the desert land of Arizona before the coming of the Pilgrims.

To those may be added other attractions, and whether one travels north, south, east, or west in Arizona there will be amazing things to see and interesting places to visit.

"The Dust of Old McMillenville"

Erected, a fifteen-stamp mill was installed, and the Stonewall Jackson Mining Company had settled down to a steady producer. The life of the camp was a repetition of the wild life of hundreds of other mining booms in the West, but since it is in the cards to deal with every event that took place-lawful business, social life, lawlessness, and killings, here is a picture of those events: Freight outfits from Globe, loaded with merchandise and machinery, blocked the narrow street, at times, and the merfaith in it, later on, and he was right. Their places of business were opposite each other, and as Tom stepped from his door Billy could see him plainly, as he was standing facing the door, with his back to a billiard table, twenty feet back in the saloon. Then the alert Price raised him gun, and Bam! The shot missed Bowe, who jumped behind a red oak tree for shelter. Then crack, boom, crack, his old repeating rifle blazed away, with Tom yelling to Price "Come outside, you yaller coyote, and fight like a man!"

Price went down with a bullet in his leg, and crawled behind the bar. The pirate butcher, not knowing the reason for the other's disappearance, kept blazing away through a window at the end of the bar, the bullets shattering glasses and bottles on the back bar. The whole town, men, women, and children, were standing on the sidelines watching the gun play, when some of the men, not hearing the saloonman's gun barking, went boldly up to the door and called. A curse and a groan greeted them. Billy was out, with a bone-shattering wound in his leg. He told the men to help themselves the drinks were on the house.

Three pals of Billy the Kid came to camp one day to round up and steal some horses, but one of them got cold feet, and gave the scheme away. The others were corralled and escorted out of camp.

Hundreds of other events took place, such as the first political gathering; the fights and speeches between the Democrats and Republicans, when Gila county was created by the Territorial legisla ture, and the first election was held to elect county officials; of the numerous Apache Indian scares; the war between claim jumpers over disputed locations; the Christmas night when the pine tree was laden with gifts to men only-dynamite, fuse, and caps, grub, bottles of whiskey, cigars, and tobacco, and when the whole he-man horseplay turned into a roaring medley of songs, curses, and stag dancing; of Ah Moon, the genial Celestial laundryman, when the boys gathered around his shack and fired a volley of shots and yelled, "Apaches, Ah Moon; hurry out and run!" He did, and nearly lost ten years of life and his pigtail with it, muttering, "Hellee damm, 'pache no catchee me!"Thousands of dollars in silver ore had been taken out of the Stonewall Jackson mine by the company and many thousands of dollars more was high-graded (stolen) by the miners and others. But with all the prosperity the boom had brought to the inhabitants of McMillenville, all the plans for a bigger and better camp, and all the dreams that lured them into the bright light of a rosy future, they were not prepared for the blow the Cantile firms did a land-office business. The saloons never closed, especially the Hannibal, for Hoffman, the owner, had thrown the key away. Into this emporium of fiery tarantula juice, one of the largest in Arizona, at the time, the people the men, I should say-gathered night and day, and, as was the custom of the day, brawls, fist fights, knife and gun fights, took place. Among the most noted of the gun plays were the Ryan, Murphy, and McCarty feud, wherein McCarty was killed, and the duel between Billy Price, the saloon man, and Tom Bowe.

The dispute started in Billy's place, but he allowed Tom, who was unarmed, to go and heel himself, which he proceeded to do. Notwithstanding Price's honorable permission, Tom did not place much Save time and get your answer now-by telephone. Whether it's 10 or 1,000 miles away, you can discuss and decide the matter with no delay. Saving time saves money.

"Long distance" will be glad to tell you the rates to any points which bears the traffic of hundreds of automobiles where once the horse and oxen outfits reign supreme. Through the underbrush cattle and rabbit trails course in a zig-zag line over the adobe dust of the once prosperous mining camp of McMillenville.

Aside from drunken automobile driving about the worst pest on the highway is the motorist who fails to dim his lights when approaching another car going in the opposite direction. Blinding lights are responsible for many serious accidents and a surprising proportion of fatilities.

Mesa, second largest city in Maricopa County, was settled in 1878. It was first called Zenos.

Inexorable hand of Fate was to deal them. By 1882 the rich silver streak in the mine was played out, men were laid off, and from then on the knell of doom was sounding over the once busy and roaring camp. There was no hope in the future, as the other mines were not producing. Then the exodus began. By 1883 the camp was almost deserted, only a few loyal souls remained. Then, like a bolt from the sky, a murdering band of Apaches swooped down on them and a bitter fight took place. Women and children were rushed to the security of the main tunnel at the Stonewall Jackson mine. and others, down in camp, placed behind the safety of the stout adobe walls of Shanel's Hotel. The battle raged for some time. Frank Ross, an overdaring youth, was severely wounded with a bullet in his shoulder, the only casualty Among the whites. By evening the Indians withdrew and as they rode away, their subdued war cries dying to a murmur, chagrined by their defeat, were joyful sound to the brave pioneers. By the end of 1884 the old camp was, with the exception of a few, deserted. Today the site of the famous Stonewall Jackson mine is destitute of all its buildings. The hoist is gone; an old rusty boiler is all that remains of the stamp mill; the dumps of numerous shafts and tunnels are overgrown with brush and scrub trees, and down over the hill, where the wild western life was lived to its fullness, is a barren, primitive site. Barren, because every foot of the camp's once busy scene is covered with a verdant growth of brush and trees. The only thing modern, or created by human hands, is the excellent, smooth, State Highway 60,

Stop! Look! Listen! Explosives

Standard Dynamite, Gelatin Dynamite, Quarry Powder, R. R. Grading Powder, Stumping Powder, Coal Powder, Timberite, Blasting Caps, Electric Detonators.

Write for Quotations on

CAR LOTS OR ΤΟΝ LOTS

F.O.B. Your Railroad Station

Apache Powder Co.

SALES DEPARTMENT

Drawer 218-Benson, Arizona