Fourth Estate in the Mule Mountains.

CONSIDERING their raw, violent environment, the newspapers of Brewery Gulch did fairly well to get started at all. George Wilson, who had run the Daily Tombstone, came into the heart of the Mules in the very beginning, in the early 'eighties, and started a weekly newspaper whose name I have forgotten. It did not last long. The hardihood and optimism of the man who tried to get out a news sheet in an Apache-scared little camp that had not yet reached a population of four hundred souls, many of them Mexicans, deserve full amount of praise. I think I got out the first news sheet that could rightly be called such, in Bisbee. Billy Hattich, who then owned the Tombstone Epitaph, and had been identified with it from childhood, conceived the idea of making it a two-camp paper. So I started the Bisbee end of the Epitaph back in 1895. Later Allie Howe got out a newspaper known as the Orb. It was printed on a Vaughn press, a contraption that looks and acts like a carpet beater, and about ten times more clumsy than a Washing. ton handpress. Its plant was on O. K. street, in Chihuahua Town. About the same time Bill Nash started the Bisbee Miner. That sublimated dishrag had about the most varied and stormiest career of any of the public opinion molders of the Mule Mountains. After Bill Nash had thundered through its columns for a while the erratic but dynamic D. W. Semple got it. He was a stormy petrel if ever there was one in newspaperdom. Semple had a newspaper also in Tombstone. He called it the Tombstone American. He and I had a run in about that time, and for a while he had me scared up. Major George H. Kelly had sent me up to Grand Canyon in 1903 to interview President Roosevelt. I got my story on the wires at the head of Bright Angel Trail, four columns of it, and felt rather pleased with myself. But when I got back as far as Phoenix I ran into the Tombstone American and it had a Grand Canyon Roosevelt interview spread all over its front page. There I was, scooped to a frazzle! Semple would have made me look sick, too, if he hadn't made one mistake. He had interviewed President Roosevelt and publish ed the Grand Canyon spread one day before the national boss had got there. But you've got to hand it to Semple for enterprise. His last stand in Arizona was at Globe, where he flourished for a few months. He was last heard of in a mushroom camp in Nevada. "Cyclone Bill" was one of the most picturesque newspaper men of the Mules. Way back in 1880 Paymaster Major Wham of the United States army had

By the Late Joe Chisholm

Author of "GUN NOTCHES" and "TAKE THE WITNESS"

Tombstone Pictorial By Miss Esther Henderson been held up over near Fort Thomas by a bunch of wild hombres, and the payroll of about $20,000 lifted. Several Mormons of the Gila Valley were accused of the hold-up and wounding of several soldiers of the paymaster's guard. "Cyclone Bill" was made one of the defendants. Ben Goodrich and Mark Smith, however, got the boys off after a stormy trial. When "Cyclone Bill" nobody ever seemed to know his real name had broken into the newspaper ranks we used to jolly him a lot about his criminal record and try to get him to write a story of the paymaster's hold-up. But Bill couldn't be induced to give up that gem of a story. Frank Aley, however, was the one great humorist of Mule Mountain journalism.

Like Mark Twain, the whimsical style and droll yarns of that dry genius kept everyone in that country sniggering. Sometimes, too, he contrived to put his weird yarns across so cleverly he fooled his readers, made them think his wild chronicles were true narratives. Of course Bisbee's newspapers in time became the largest and most influential, but Tombstone had got the start on Bisbee in the late 'seventies and 'eighties. Bisbee, high up there among the peaks, was at a big disadvantage in the beginning. Tombstone's newspapers were as enterprising, as well edited, and naturally in that environment as fearless and daring as any newspaper in the world. There was a reason for their excellence. Tombstone, sat down there on the arroyo-creased greasewood flats against the foothills of the Mules, aloof from all its parent civilization, developed an elan, a spirit of self-dependence, that resulted in a culture wholly its own. It was a re-birth a generation after of the golden days of Forty-Nine on San Francisco Bay. Had its booming prosperity not been so brief undoubtedly it would have given birth to a literature of its own, as the brilliant city by the Golden Gate had done. A. E. Fay, Thomas Tully, John P. Clum, Charles D. Reppy, Thomas R. Sorin, Patrick Hamilton, Harry Ellington Brook, (Los Angeles Times) O'Brien Moore, William O'Neill, John O. Dunbar, Harry Wood, Dick Rule among those editors who recorded the wild events of that turbulent metropolis of the Southwest were men of scholarly expression, broad vision, Homeric humor. I have before me a scrapbook containing clippings from the Tombstone Epitaph of May 10, 1883. One of them tells of a fierce raid, murders in the copper camp in the depths of the mountain range against whose base Tombstone rests. Its opening paragraph reads: "The Bisbee robbery, with its attendant horrors, continues to be the all-absorbing theme among all classes of citizens. The boldness with which the outrage was planned, and the audacity and reckless disregard of human life in its execution, find no parallel in the history of this county, and probably not in that of the territory." That's not a quotation from a carefully written editorial, but the beginning of a two-column news article, mostly made up from scraps of information coming into the newspaper office as excited arrivals came in from Bisbee or its neighborhood. In the two columns there is not a single typographical error.

The newspaper was shot off the press daily in one of the wildest towns, if not the wildest town, in the world; seething with hourly rumors of new strikes in the big mines of the camp, reports of sensational ore discoveries at Silver King, Harqua Hala, the Quijotoas, Total Wreck, and all the other sizzling boom camps of that frontier; excited by daily news of Apache massacre in the hills, bloody battles between gunmen in the towns, of stages being held up between them. And there were three other dailies just as live, just as well written, each of the four every day striving to scoop the others and beat their editions to the throbbing Tombstone streets. I leave it to the reader to compare that newspaper efficiency of 1883 out there beyond civilization's edge with some of the illy-written, typographical horrors that give us our news today.

And don't let anybody get the impression that those raring editors of the country with the hair on were any pink tea hombres. They were regular curly (Turn to Page 32)

Lumbering in Arizona

(Continued from Page 7) Fiscal Agency, United States Forest service, of which 25 per cent goes to the counties in which the timber is located, for general county purposes. The product of this firm is marketed in about twenty-five different states. The states which are the principal users of these products in order and importance are: Arizona, Illinois, Michigan, Missouri, Ohio, Wisconsin, Texas, Kansas, New York, Iowa, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Massachusetts.

A log conveyed up the log slip to the log deck is ready for the rigs. Often logs will be too long for lengths desired. The scaler with his measuring stick holds the log and drops a huge master saw that buzzes through the thickest log with the ease of a table knife going through butter. The whole process is mechanical and timed to exactness.

The log reaching the log deck from the log slip is treated unceremoniously from there on. A powerful "kicker" propels the log down the sloping deck to one of the three big head rigs. A steam "nigger" propels the log on the carriage, where a block setter fastens it in position. The sawyer, right, signals to the setter (on the carriage) and the log is projected against the big band saw, which travels about a mile and a half a minute and slices the logs into boards or timbers of various thickness. The sawyer is the expert, and he must have an uncanny knowledge of timber to utilize each log to its full value. The carriage is a whirlwind in motion and travels at a speed of about fifty miles an hour. When a slab is sliced off the log, the slab is carried by live roller conveyor to an edger. Loading and fastening a log to the carriage is a slap-bang process, fascinating to behold.

It is recognized as one of the leading producers of finished mouldings in the United States. It also produces, in large quantities, various products which go into the manufacture of Venetian blinds. The sawmill and manufacturing plant is entirely operated by electricity, every machine being driven by its own individual motor. All electric power is generated by steam driven turbines directly connected to 440 volt generators. The total connected capacity at McNary is 5750 kilowatts, or approximately 7500 H. P., including stand-by units. The electrical plant not only provides power for the operation of the sawmill and manufacturing plant, but also supplies electricity to a town of approximately three thousand people. Waste material, consisting of slabs, saw dust and wood scraps, are used for fuel to generate all the steam used for power and dry kiln operations.

From the rigs slabs are carried by roller conveyor to an edger, which removes the bark from the edges and then transports it to the trimmer, which trims the board to standard lengths from six to twenty-six feet. In case of the more common, or knotty, types of logs, timbers or "cants" are cut on the head ring and conveyed to the gang saw, which in one operation cuts the entire "cant" into boards or dimension of standard sizes. (Left above.) From there the lumber is conveyed to green chain for sorting and grading. The lower grade lumber goes to the yard for air seasoning, and the higher grade lumber goes from the green chain to live rolls, which carry it to the edge sorters. High grade lumber ends up in dry kilns.

chairman of the executive committee; C. J. Warren, vice president in charge of manufacturing; R. F. Lilley, treasurer; B. E. Snoddy, secretary; A. F. McKinley, sales manager, G. R. McNary, manager of the Flagstaff plant; Dr. K. A. Herbst, physician and surgeon; D. T. Benchoff, manager of mercantile department, and J. K. Barnes, traffic manager. The directors are F. W. Clifford, Minneapolis; T. W. D. Duke, New York; J. H. Keefe, Chicago; James G. McNary, McNary; Edmond S. Seymour, New York; Louis E. Stoddard, New York, and E. McLain Watters, Philadelphia.

This is a general view of the lumber yard of the Southwest Lumber Mills at McNary. Here lower grades of lumber are stacked for air seasoning. Stacking is carefully done to prevent unnecessary loss in warping or undue exposure. Small trolley cars, battery driven, pull loads of lumber over several miles of track.

The operations of both the logging department and the manufacturing department of the McNary plant exemplify the very high degree of conservation and utilization of our state's forest resources which is being practiced.

The government agencies which are charged with the responsibility of maintaining and protecting the forest resources have, in collaboration with private industries, developed a so-called "sustained yield" policy, which briefly means that the company and the government co-operate in harvesting the timber crop so as to assure a perpetual operation of the industry.

The officials of the Southwest Lumber Mills are James G. McNary, president; Louis E. Stoddard, vice president, and Green high grade lumber sent to the steam heated dry kilns is prepared for immediate use by a careful and scientific drying process. The Southwest Lumber Mills operate a battery of 20 dry kilns, each of which is 20 feet wide and 120 feet long. After an average period of about 72 hours in the dry kilns, it goes to the automatic unstacker, and travels by conveyors to the dry sorting chain. This sorting chain is about 300 feet long. Here the lumber is carefully graded, packaged, sent to the rough dry shed for storage and for use when needed.

The Southwest Lumber Mills is recognized as one of the leading producers of finished mouldings in the United States. The mill also produces, in large quantities, various products which go into the manufacture of Venetian blinds. For this largescale manufacturing program, the mill maintains an extensive manufacturing plant, with expensive equipment, from which come tons of exquisite moulding and other products used in finishing work and home building. Above are two views of the equipment used in this manufacturing process. So delicate is the work and so exact the specifications maintained by the company for its output, that every single piece of finished product has been carefully inspected and handled so as to insure a flawless product.

Fourth Estate in the Mule Mountains

Wolves themselves, ready to back up their editorial announcements with anything from fists to six-shooters.

The Nugget got out its first issue in fall of 1879, with A. E. Fay and Thomas Tully as its publishers. It was such a success from the jump that in May of the following year John P. Clum, Charles D. Reppy, and Thomas R. Sorin had the Epitaph on Tombstone's roaring streets.

Antiquarians, historians, and just plain romancers have given many versions of how the historic Tombstone Epitaph got its name. The two most popular versions are that John Hays Hammond, the celebrated mining engineer, while being banqueted at the famous old Can-Can restaurant of Tombstone, suggested that name for the newspaper that was soon to be issued; and that Ed Schiefflin, Tombstone's discoverer, proposed the name.

The real fact is that John P. Clum, one of the paper's founders, christened it. Ed Schiefflin had given the name Tombstone to his first mining location in the district, and Clum, being not only a man of education but one of good taste, naturally thought of Epitaph as the most appropriate title for a Tombstone newspaper. I once asked him about it. He said he did not recall that anyone suggested the name to him.In those virile days there was never any neutral ground for a newspaper. If the editor wasn't lambasting the living daylight out of something all the time he was considered a mollycoddle. The Nugget was for Sheriff Johnny Behan and the cowboys. Therefore the Epitaph was against them first rattle out of the box and for the Earps, Holiday and that bunch.

In the beginning the Epitaph was publishede in a tent. Everything started in tents in those border towns. It censured the practice then in vogue of shooting up the town. Curly Bill, Buckskin Sam, Jack Mitchell, and some more of those proud men of the open spaces considered themselves deeply affronted by that unkind comment, and from then on the Epitaph boys were plumb out of luck in that tent when the rustlers would ride up Fremont street letting daylight through the newspaper plant.As soon as the blasting began the entire plant, editorial and printorial, would dive for the floor, get behind the presses, and otherwise protect themselves from the bombardment. But as soon as the fireworks were over the gang would roll another smoke and get back on the jobgrinding out news and molding public opinion.

When that stormy bunch of pioneers in Tombstone, Bisbee, Charleston, and thereabouts cut loose from Pima county and called the new shire Cochise the newspaper started a war over the first county election that was worse than a reunion of bob-cats.

In those bold days discussion of such colorless themes as general issues was unknown. The editors discussed the candidates, and from that proceeded to discussing each other, their all-round meanness, their lurid pasts if any, moral turpitude, ancestries. By that time John Dunbar had horned in on the free-for-all with the Daily Republican, fiery Pat Hamilton with the Daily Independence, and what those rip-snorting quill-drivers didn't have to say about each other couldn't be found lying around loose.

Finally, stung to fury, Pat Hamilton challenged Sam Purdy of the Epitaph and Dunbar of the Republican to mortal combat, no weapons barred. Dunbar said he had trouble enough dodging the camp's regular cutthroats, let alone shooting it out with other fool editors, but Purdy said that gun-fighting couldn't be any worse than what he had been going through in that holy terror of a county campaign and told Pat Hamilton that he was his huckleberry.

So with seconds, doctors, shooting-irons, and a bunch of ardent partisans who were betting their heads off on the event, they racked down the road towards Charleston to settle the vital issues before the county.

When they arrived at the duelling grounds the seconds, Ned MacGowan for Purdy and Billy Morgan for Pat Hamilton, got into a red-hot argument all of their own. The ferocious Ned wanted the matter to be settled completely, with shotguns, but Billy said he'd never heard of such a fool proposition. He pointed out that any bum could wing a fellow with a splatter-gun. He wanted the element of good shooting as well as luck to get a play, especially so as he had a hefty bet down on Pat, and how could you expect to decide the bets if the principals were both all blowed to hell at the first volley?

With six-shooters or Winchesters it would be a high-class sporting event. With shotguns it would be just a lowdown uninteresting massacre, not even worth the trip down the Charleston road, let alone all this high-toned ranneykaboo of doctors and seconds and admiring spectators.

MacGowan and Morgan after a spell got so heated up with their argument that they challenged each other, and there they were with two duels on the program. Pretty soon most of the spectators got in the argument and for a while it looked as if a general battle was the only out possible.

But Doc Goodfellow and some of the cooler heads said they'd all better pull back to Tombstone and have a drink and look up the authorities on duelling, as they should have done in the very beginning. Then with everything laid out according to Hoyle they could come back and shoot it out without all this darn fool misunderstanding.

It was a warm morning by then and the boys were all sweating pretty freely from the heavy arguing, so they decided to take Doc's advice about going back after another drink before finishing up the two duels. Then when they got back to town and got a few more drinks hoisted the doctors balked. Said they were out too much valuable time already for one day, and if the bloodthirsty editors and seconds still wanted to fix each other up the way the Good Lord probably intended, why they'd simply have to wait until the next morning.

Before the evening was over, and they had hoisted several more life savers, the two warlike editors got better acquainted, found out that they were the victims of mutual misunderstanding after all, and that probably that old rascal of a John Dunbar was the hombre who should be shown up. So by the time they had doped out the double-barreled attack they would slam at him in their next issues, that duel was completely ruined.

Tombstone was for a time the marvel of the financial world because of its tremendous output of bullion. Vast sums from outside sources seeking investment there maintained its reputation as the greatest mining community in the West. And not only could the click of faro chips and jingling of gold coins be heard there during every hour of the day and night, the presses could be heard whirring just as steadily.

At one time Tombstone had seven or eight publications, dailies and weeklies. And that in a camp that never had a population much over 10,000, and which in the beginning was three hundred miles from a railroad.

The boiling metropolis of the Southwest at one time was rated one of the greatest newspaper fields in the Union, had more dailies than San Francisco From every standpoint of the compass the intrepid trio of printer-editors swarmed into the outpost in the heart of Apacheland. They were real newspaper men, that unsung band of old-time printers, conquerors of new worlds. Deep thinkers and gifted writers. No country journalism marked the seething 'eighties in that wonderful town.

Painting Superstition THE STORY

Old Leatherneck claimed to be a prospector in search of the lost gold mine somewhere in Superstition mountain. He claimed to have found engraved arrows that pointed the way to gold. They believed him.

They grub-staked him for a quarter of a century and it was finally discovered that Old Leatherneck was so lazy that he had been just eating and sleeping with his patient burro near the wrong end of the mountain all the time

All the time 000

Good stuff for the foreground of a painting of the wrong end of Superstition mountain, because it must have been right here that the old fake had done his sleeping.

Harry was a realist artist and when the last strokes of the sleeper and his burro were placed, his head was swimming from the effort. So perfect was the picture that Harry forgot that he had grown faint in the heat as he painted. He forgot that the burro and sleeping Leatherneck were only painted.

Ghosts do walk they say "Why don't you wake up my master? Wake him up. Why don't you?"

Harry looked around for the voice when it first sounded but just then the burro turned and looked at him and he knew The voice was gutteral and a bit hard to understand.

"The old fool. He has been dragging me out here so long that I am just about finished. He says he is looking for the lost gold mine and all the time it is right in front of his eyes! It is right in front of your eyes too. See over there behind the crouching cat? Don't you see that square formation?"

"Don't talk to me," Harry said, "I'm not looking for gold and as for old Leather Neck there, he can't wake up because I painted him sound asleep. Wish I had painted you asleep too. Paintings never talk!"

The burro shifted a bit and said, "Ah who cares! Paint some ants on his face and he'll wake up."

Harry got busy and soon had a whole string of ants painted on the sleeper's face but Old Leatherneck just grunted slightly.

"Put some spiders on him."

And up over the bridge of his long nose crept a couple of big black spiders. The burro laughed and his master only grunted again but never moved. (Turn to Page 36) "From your pellets." Snick-Wee lowers his air-rifle and laughs indulgently as Gobble-Gobble pleads.

SNICK-WEE

"Then I shall eat another sandwich," which he proceeds to do.

GOBBLE-GOBBLE (in a tortuous voice)

"No no! not that! I suffer so from hunger that I can't bear to see you eat again. Please Snick-Wee, gimme a sandwich and I promise to be good!"

The midget still close to his gun, coldly regards his huge companion and then deliberately nibbles on a large juicy ham sandwich. And like the bullets of a machine gun the nibbles beat a rat-a-tat-tat on the soft head of the giant.

"Stop! stop it! You are killing me! Oh mercy! mercy!" he yelped. Snick-Wee laughed and choked on a bun but kept up the fun.

Such fun Machine gun bullets riddling soft round heads that howl in pain OOO bullets, hot bullets from cool laughing triggers 000 Swinging high in the sky they drop big bullets on helpless heads and laughing, fly away.

Such fun.

Such fun is war.

Such fun is war for the mighty ones, who though midgets, laugh at the soft round heads, that though mounted on shoulders of giants, splatter.

WAR!

What a story to tell while on the same page in the opposite column an artist is pictured painting with super-realism the contours of a crouching cat a-top the wrong end of Superstition mountain. And he paints with a mixture of green and gold Should his brush be dipping in blood red?

Gobble-Gobble lugs slugs uncomplainingly.

Snick-Wee pulls plugs while Uggs mug from the suction оо

(Turn to Page 36)

Trees for the Scientist

(Continued from Page 11) This is due to a tree's peculiar method of growing its habit of increasing its size each season by adding a layer of wood all around its structure just under the bark. In a cross-section of the trunk or in the cylindrical "borings" which Dr. Douglass takes in order not to kill a living treethese layers appear as a series of rings one inside the other. In tropical climates, where trees grow all the year round, it is not easy to tell one ring from the next. But in the temperate regions of the earth, where the normal growing season is from spring to fall, the succession of seasons during the year produces different characters in sequence in each ring a large-celled growth in the spring, turning commonly to a hard reddish growth in the later season "which, like fur coats for us, enables the tree to endure the rigors of winter and be ready to grow again the coming spring."

A tree ring is consequently an annual affair: count the rings of a tree and you know how old it is; establish the date of the outside or last ring (in a living tree, this last ring would naturally be the date of the last growing season), and you can mark on every other ring in that tree the date of the year when each was made. That is, you can if you understand cross-identification, explained presently.

But while all trees make annual rings,they do not all make them alike. One tree will make its rings of a regular or smoothly-graduated width, showing that it grew the same amount every year; while another tree of the same species will vary the width of its rings, with a wide ring here for one year and a narrow ring next to it for the preceding year, showing that the amount that tree grew varied from year to year. These latter-type rings-Dr. Douglass calls them the "sensitive" or "talkative" tree rings are the important ones; their variations in size are a record of the wet and dry years in their vicinity.

they do not all make them alike. One tree will make its rings of a regular or smoothly-graduated width, showing that it grew the same amount every year; while another tree of the same species will vary the width of its rings, with a wide ring here for one year and a narrow ring next to it for the preceding year, showing that the amount that tree grew varied from year to year. These latter-type rings-Dr. Douglass calls them the "sensitive" or "talkative" tree rings are the important ones; their variations in size are a record of the wet and dry years in their vicinity.

Like all plants, the amount and way a tree grows depends not only upon climatic factors temperature, sunlight, and the amount of water it receives but also on its heredity, the amount and quality of its soil, and its exposure to winds, fires, pests, and disease. But a tree shares its heredity with others of its kind; its soil is relatively constant; and the effects of winds, fires, pests and disease are localized and are revealed by study of groups. The principal causes of the variations in ring growth within a tree are therefore seen to be climatic factors; and in semi-arid regions like Arizona, where favorable temperature and sunshine are relatively constant, the preponderant controlling cause has been found to be moisture supply.

Andrew Ellicott Douglass was born in Windsor, Vermont, in 1867, the son of an Episcopal minister and college president, and the great-grandson and namesake of the distinguished astronomer and geographer who determined most of the boundaries of the original thirteen colonies. As a boy he naturally became interested in the astronomical instruments of his great-grand-father, and he made up his mind to be an astronomer. He graduated from Trinity College in Connecticut in 1889, became an assistant in the Harvard College Observatory, spent two years in South America with the famous astronomer, W. H. Pickering; and returned to the U. S. with an astronomer's purposeful curiosity regarding the effect of sun-spot cycles on the earth's weather. (Cycles are naturally the meat and bone of the weather-prediction problem, because cycles repeat themselves.) In 1894, Percival Lowell sent Douglass to Arizona to find a location for the Lowell Observatory. He made the tests resulting in the Observatory's establishment at Flag-staff, saw the telescopes installed, and then he revolted against the lonely life spent in an observatory. He wanted new friends and excitement, and he knew how to get them: he read law books by night, and by day he went out and ran for County Probate Judge of Coconino County, Arizona. He was elected, and held the judgeship from 1903 until 1906, when he joined the University of Arizona faculty.

Dr. Douglass says he liked his job as judge, but unfortunately for his peace of mind, the astronomer in him refused to recognize his change of occupation. Nothing could have been less convenient or so it seemed to him at the time for he had no telescope. So it happened that this astronomer, stranded in one of the most heavily wooded sections of Arizona, was forced to ponder the problems of climatology without benefit of astronomical instruments. And one day, when he was jogging along in a buckboard through the forests of the Kai-bab, he looked at the big pine and juniper trees that he knew must be many hundreds of years old, and he noticed that they were forcing themselves into his climatological cogitations. He thought about how water, or the lack of it, shaped the lives of every living thing in Arizona, and he asked him-self, "I wonder what those old trees could be made to tell about the weather they have seen."

This idea impelled the Judge, in the winter of 1904, to trudge through the snow to a logging camp near Flagstaff and practically freeze to death while he examined the rings on the stumps of recently-cut trees. The freezing was justified-though being an eminently sensible man, Judge Douglass never repeated it: he henceforth obtained portable specimens and studied them at home-but at that time and for many years afterward, Dr. Douglass was the only scientist in the world who thought so. The others still insisted that this tree-ring business couldn't be proved: there were too many theoretical possibilities, too many factors involved, too many difficulties.

Dr. Douglass first observed these ring patterns in 1904 on five of those stumps he examined in the logging camp, but in 1911 he obtained cross-cut specimens from sixty different pines grown in the Prescott area. He sat down to measure and record the size of the rings on each specimen in turn, plotting on graph paper the sequence of wide and narrow and average-sized rings as they appeared on each tree in chronological order. And he soon saw that the same pat terns were appearing in every specimen with such amazing regularity that he had memorized them. Dr. Douglass realized clearly then for the first time the importance of the fact that these sixty trees grown in the same area told exactly the same story of the weather.

Ring patterns-as Dr. Douglass and his students have since established through the examination of millions of tree specimensare duplicated with marvelous exactness in thousands of different trees living in the same area at the same time, but have not been duplicated as a group in the past twelve centuries. Consequently they not only demonstrate that all the trees in the same area have reacted to a common clima tic cause, but they make it possible to es tablish beyond question the date and iden tity of any one ring in the series. Cross identification or cross-dating, then, is the process of matching the ring patterns of a given tree with the same patterns in oth er trees. This eliminates all guess work and errors growing out of the individual peculiarities of particular trees. The den drochronologists accept no story told by the talkative tree rings until they have es tablished it as true through cross-identifi cation or in other words, until they have checked it, not by one unique ring found on many trees, but by unique series of rings repeated on many trees.

a given tree with the same patterns in oth er trees. This eliminates all guess work and errors growing out of the individual peculiarities of particular trees. The den drochronologists accept no story told by the talkative tree rings until they have es tablished it as true through cross-identifi cation or in other words, until they have checked it, not by one unique ring found on many trees, but by unique series of rings repeated on many trees.

Once the principle of cross-dating was es tablished, Dr. Douglass very quickly built a calendar, or chronology, extending back five hundred years through the lives of Ariz ona pines and firs. In this he had a wea ther record which checked exactly with that kept by the military authorities at Whipple Barracks as far back as 1867, but which was far more valuable than the Barracks records because it went so much farther into the past. In recent years, Dr. Douglass has extended this chronology back to 11 A. D., far beyond the age limit of any Arizona pine trees now living. This has been ac complished by what he terms the "Bridge Method," which "consists in obtaining groups of timbers of different ages so that one group will overlap another, and after combining them (by crossdating) we may bridge over a great many hundred years in the past."

Far beyond the age limit of any Arizona pine trees now living. This has been accomplished by what he terms the "Bridge Method," which "consists in obtaining groups of timbers of different ages so that one group will overlap another, and after combining them (by crossdating) we may bridge over a great many hundred years in the past."

This "bridging" process was worked out by Dr. Douglass in connection with the dating of prehistoric ruins (probably the most generally-known accomplishment of dend rochronology). When Dr. Douglass published his first papers and delivered his early lectures on tree ring chronologies, part of the scientific world took a well-maybe-its so-but-show-us-some-more attitude, but not the archeologists. Some of the best of them were excavating the ruins of the cities built by prehistoric peoples in the Pueblo area of southwestern United States, and Dr. Douglass's work in that region sounded like big news to them. They helped him in every possible way from the beginning, and finally they said to him in effect: "See here. We don't have any way to determine the exact age of prehistoric ruins all we can do is guess. But we find well-preserved logs in nearly every ruin in the Southwest. Why can't you take these logs, and match their ring patterns with still younger logs, and match those with the rings of living trees, and tell us exactly when these prehistoric cities were built?"

ly they said to him in effect: "See here. We don't have any way to determine the exact age of prehistoric ruins all we can do is guess. But we find well-preserved logs in nearly every ruin in the Southwest. Why can't you take these logs, and match their ring patterns with still younger logs, and match those with the rings of living trees, and tell us exactly when these prehistoric cities were built?"

Dr. Douglass said he could, if he had enough logs of different ages to bridge that immense gap in time. However, the assembling of such a great number of tim bers looked hopeless to him. But the archeo logists said no, it wasn't hopeless at all they would get the timbers. And they did get them, though it took about ten years, a lot of the National Geographic Society's money, and three Beam Expeditions into the Indian country. Slowly, with good luck here and bad breaks there, they assembled Dr. Douglass said he could, if he had enough logs of different ages to bridge that immense gap in time. However, the assembling of such a great number of timbers looked hopeless to him. But the archeologists said no, it wasn't hopeless at all they would get the timbers. And they did get them, though it took about ten years, a lot of the National Geographic Society's money, and three Beam Expeditions into the Indian country. Slowly, with good luck here and bad breaks there, they assembled pieces of wood from trees whose ring pat terns overlapped. Some they took from museums, some they dug out of the ground as charred hunks, some they took from the sacred kivas of Indians who were persuad ed only after long negotiations that it was good to let the white men bore holes in the beams of their places of worship. They fol lowed false clues and were stopped by gaps that they could not seem to fill and by tree-rings that ought to cross-date and wouldn't and altogether their experiences were a combination of the Quest for the Holy Grail and Poe's Gold Bug. (A com plete account may be found in Dating Pueblo Bonito and Other Ruins of the South west by A. E. Douglass, published by the National Geographic Society.

The Pueblo Bonito ruin in northwest ern New Mexico was finally dated in 1929, along with many others in the Southwest,ly they said to him in effect: "See here. We don't have any way to determine the exact age of prehistoric ruins all we can do is guess. But we find well-preserved logs in nearly every ruin in the Southwest. Why can't you take these logs, and match their ring patterns with still younger logs, and match those with the rings of living trees, and tell us exactly when these prehistoric cities were built?"

Dr. Douglass said he could, if he had enough logs of different ages to bridge that immense gap in time. However, the assembling of such a great number of timbers looked hopeless to him. But the archeo logists said no, it wasn't hopeless at all they would get the timbers. And they did get them, though it took about ten years, a lot of the National Geographic Society's money, and three Beam Expeditions into the Indian country. Slowly, with good luck here and bad breaks there, they assembledand Dr. Douglass's technique was by then so carefully worked out that the archeolo gists could easily apply it themselves. At that time Neil M. Judd, leader of the Na tional Geographic Society's Pueblo Bonito Expeditions, said: "It is somewhat embar rassing to an archeologist to admit that the most important contribution to Ameri can archeology in the past quarter century has been made by an astronomer." But he was much too pleased to be embarrassed, And he was really expressing the admira tion and gratitude of his entire profession. But engrossing and successful as Dr. Douglass's contact with archeology has been, his major interest has continued to be cli mate. The moment the Arizona pines yielded a 500-year sequence of reliable rain fall records, Dr. Douglass began to analyze them for clues as to the causes of unusual weather conditions, and he made what seem ed to be a fundamental discovery. This wasthe fact that a definite relationsip exists between the eleven-year sun spot cycle which reflects the rise and fall of activity on the sun and the amount of rain falling on the earth. Many of us will remember when "sun spots" first became a popular word in newspaper parlance-as "black out" and "war of nerves" are today. But perhaps we have forgotten, or never knew, that the significance of sun spots was due to a theory held by many careful scientists that when sun spots were few, high tempera tures and drouths resulted on the earth; and that as the sun spots increased, rain fall also increased, with a consequent bene ficial effect on temperature, plant life, ani mal life, and so even on man's prosperity.

Dr. Douglass's findings provided one of the soundest proofs of this theory of the direct effect of solar changes on the weath er. Or rather, they did until Dr. Douglass discovered that the 11-year cycle in the wet and dry years recorded by the tree rings suddenly broke down and failed to appear between 1670 A. D. and 1720 A. D. Dr.

Douglass rechecked his tree-ring chrono logies, found no errors, and was so discourag ed that he admitted he "very nearly gave up the work." Then years later he received a letter from Professor E. Walter Maunder of the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, England, calling Dr. Douglass's attention to a prolonged dearth of sun spots between 1645 and 1715! Professor Maunder had known nothing of Dr. Douglass's difficulty with that period, but he had learned through some old records of this unusual lack of spots and he wanted to know whether it showed up in the tree-ring studies. The validity of Dr. Douglass's working hypo thesis was thus demonstrated in a most un expected way. It was in connection with this work on climatic cycles that Dr. Douglass invented the cyclograph, a unique machine which only experts understand but which inter ests almost everybody because it is the only one of its kind in the world. Dr. Douglass needed it because, as he searched for and compared the cycles or trends in climatic variations and other natural phenomena,

(Continued from Page 33) “You see!” Harry said, “you can’t wake up a painted sleeper.” Then he laid down his brushes and studied the geological formation of Superstition. Sure enough. There it was. An old, old dump; perhaps hundreds of years ago it had been formed by the muckers. Then to make sure, he cast his glance all along the mountain side, and amazed, discovered no other formation like it. “But gosh” he spoke aloud, “how could it have been a mine? There is no possible approach to it, up so high.” “Oh go ahead and wake up this old guy. You people are stupid! Us animals know all such stuff. They climbed up a ridge on the other side. But you wouldn’t understand anyway. Stick to your painting. You’re good at that. Look! You painted me so real that I’m talking to you, but I want you to tell this old phony prospector what I have tried to tell him all these years. But people never listen when we talk. Go ahead, artist, paint a centipede climbing up on his nose.” The old man’s face was pretty well covered with crawling things, but, swish, swish, and the expert brush found a place to put a centipede, which promptly started creeping up a nostril. Both the burro and artist watched intently. And were disgusted. For Old Leather Neck slowly raised his hand and brushing his face, sleepily muttered, “that’s the limit. Now you all got to get off” and went back to sleep.

Harry Fauth The Artist was pretending to be just a person viewing the pictures in the art gallery. Catalogue in hand, he stood apparently facing his painting that hung in a corner, but actually he was watch-ing shrewdly, tragically, patiently, for a compliment. A dressed up dog and a dressed up cat, came close, “It is certainly a beautiful cre-ation.”

“Yes, indeed it is such color harmony.”

Both creatures were looking straight at his picture as they talked. Harry’s blood or something tingled. He backed up to them was about to announce himself, when the cat said, “But with her bow-legs, the thing will soon bulge like a barrel.” People passed. For hours people passed. Harry grew bold. “Don’t you think it’s a remarkable painting?” But they passed until there came an old bespeckled man with a cracked face. Closer and closer he came, until Harry, now pale and trembling was being pierced by a pair of red-edged, faded eyes. Harry spoke out of a dry throat. “Isn’t it a remarkable painting? You see the artist painted a crouching cat that is guarding the old mine dump at the wrong end of Superstition at sunrise.” There followed much silence, as the faded eyes stared, then the cracked face spoke in a cracked voice, “I am the attendant here.”.

“You see!” Harry said, “you can’t wake up a painted sleeper.” All agencies are cooperating in northern Arizona for the successful development of the snow area as a great winter sports country. Roads are built to carry skiers to the mountain sides.

Skiing in Arizona

(Continued from Page 9) Operated in extensive developments, nearing completion this fall. Four fast runs, of varying degrees of difficulty and pitch supply thrills aplenty for the novice and the Olympian. A generous open slope, smooth as a carpet, is the nursery where the neophyte learns the intricacies of the "Snowplow," the "Stem Turn," and the "Christie turns." For, contrary to the belief of the uninitiated, skiing is a sport of "control." The steepest twisting trail is easy for the person that can master coordination of skis and legs and body.

The toll of skiing accidents in America where five million persons are schussing all over the landscape is far less than those arising from the gridiron, the diamond, the swimming pool and the saddle. There was not a single serious skiing accident in Arizona last season. The teaching of "control technic" is paying dividends.

The Senator District, rugged mining country deep in the Bradshaws, holds untold winter sports possibilities. A second class road, which is obliterated by drifts of snow for weeks at a time, keeps all but the most adventurous out. A ten mile trek on skis into the heart of this region last season confirmed to us the feasibility of road development here, and the resultant tourist attraction. Members of the Prescott Ski Club have a movie of their "spring skiing" on the slopes of Mt. Union, April 30th 1939!

Flagstaff discovered that right at her backdoor she had a superb five month winter playground, the huge area of national forest land on and about the San Francisco Peaks. The forest service, the 20-30 Club, the Chamber of Commerce, in In fact very nearly every public spirited group and individual in the 7000 feet high city can be credited with the amazing boom given snow sports there.

Last season the Hart Prairie area on the northwest slope of Aggasiz peak, a natural snow basin at 7500 feet altitude, served ski hungry enthusiasts. Each week-end saw an increasing number streaming out of Flagstaff over the fifteen mile road to the area, each intent on trying out these newfound "wings-of-wood." The older hands at the sport looked longingly at the snowy summits towering above, and proceeded to slither further each week up toward the heights. The great snow depth, precluded any attempt to cut trails then and there. Notwithstanding, however, many natural runs were discovered, and breath-taking descents were the reward of snorting twohour climbs. The great, sloping open parks were dotted with schussers and boomers. Tangling novices mingled professionally with hardened trail-runners. A great spirit of camaraderie sprang up. No "big shot" was ever too busy to untangle the unwary neophyte; nor was the latter ever too awed by glittering equipment to ask its owner some pertinent query concerning technique, waxes, or the easiest way to eliminate the unlovely "middle track."

As soon as the heavy snow receded, the forest service and the old ski-bugs went into a series of huddles. When they lined up again it was with a definite plan of attack, news of which appears currently in Arizona newspapers. A newer and shorter road was cut into the area; a grand ski lodge was started; ample parking space provided; a ski rental service was inaugurated together with a lunch counter; a system of trails laid out by experts; an unbelievably large "nursery slope" developed; and the super-deluxe of all ski centers, a ski tow, to take the curse off uphill work. In short, Flagstaff "shot the works," and it is predicted that these northern towns, will bid fair to make the sunny snow valleys of Northern Arizona the mecca of winter sports enthusiasts throughout the west.

Skiing has come to Arizona; and has come to STAY!