Carrying the Mail to Tubac

The train comes in from Tucson, bound for Nogales. Old Ramon and his burro are on the job for Uncle Sam's postal service.

Old Ramon Quintero is the postman at Tubac. He meets the train each day, loads the mail on his burro, and delivers it to the post office. He's been doing that for twenty years, rain or shine.

Tubac is a sleeply little town down on the Santa Cruz river in Santa Cruz county. Once upon a time it was the busiest and most important town in southern Arizona but that was long ago. Now it dreams in the sun of livelier days, and only blinks when the station wagons roll into town from the guest ranches scattered about the valley.

The Southern Pacific line between Nogales and Tucson passes through Tubac, carrying the mails back and forth between this country and the west coast of Mexico.

From wherever a letter comes and whether it has traveled by airplane or super-streamline train, when the letter gets to Tubac for delivery it is carried by Old Ramon Quintero and his faithful burro from the station to the postoffice.

Tubac is Old Ramon's pueblo. He has lived there all his life and the years are much with him. His children and his children's children live in Tubac, and Old Ramon is happy with life in his pueblo and with his family and his job and with his faithful burro. For twenty years now Old Ramon has been carrying the mail "Hello, viejol" The baggage clerk hands down the mail pouch. Some days the mail is light, some days it is heavy. "Asi es la vida," says Old Ramon. It's all in the day's work.in Tubac, going twice a day to carry the mail to and from the trains which go back and forth from Tucson to Nogales. Winter, summer, rain or shine, Old Ramon is on the job. Not so very long ago the train from Nogales, which met the trains from Hermosillo and Guadalajara, was always late, because the trains in Mexico were late also. But old Ramon was always there waiting for the mail for Tubac. It's all part of the job.

"Despacio!" Not too fast, burro! When the floods come to the Santa Cruz, El Viejo and his burro may wait for hours. But the mail must go through. It always does.

Trudging along, Old Ramon passes an adobe ruin, a reminder of lively Tubac long ago.

When the rains come and the Santa Cruz is up, Old Ramon and his burro may wait for hours to get across the river and sometimes he's even taken the mail sack and, holding it over his head, waded the river so the mail would not be too late.As he trudges his way back and forth from the post office to the station he crosses ground that felt the march of the conquistadores and the padres, of the mining men and the Apaches. Old adobe walls, gradually returning to the earth from whence they came.. relics of another age. Now all is quiet, peaceful. Old Ramon and his burro set the tempo of life in the ancient village.

In our modern age of grim efficiency and mechanical dispatch, in this age of swift transportation and rapid communication, it's exhilarating to meet old Ramon Quintero and his faithful burro who carry the mail from the railroad to the post office in old Tubac. R. C.

And so is your mail delivered to the post office when you write to Tubac. No letter ever inscribed had a nicer journey, no more faithful hands could carry it. It's grand to know that in our modern 20th Century America there is a whisper someplace of a more leisurely life, of less hurried times.

Speaking of the WEATHER

(Continued from Page 7) Mounted on a mechanism that the observer whirls by turning a crank. Since the mercury bulb of one of the thermometers is wrapped with a clean muslin cloth, which the observer wets with clean water just prior to the whirling process, and since some heat is consumed in evaporating this moisture in the muslin, the wet-bulb thermometer will usually show a lower reading after whirling than will the dry-bulb one. If it doesn't the air is practically at the saturation point, from a moisture-holding standpoint, and the relative humidity is said to be 100, expressed as percent. The psychrometer does not give the relative humidity directly, but must be computed after the observer has determined the number of degrees in difference of the two readings of the thermometers. The greater the difference, the less the relative humidity.

The hygrograph consists of a delicate mechanism holding human hairs from which all oil has been extracted. The relative humidity may be read directly on a special graph paper attached to a cylinder propelled by clock works, and varies in proportion to the length of the hairs under varying moisture conditions.

The rapidity of the disappearance of perspiration from the skin gives some indication of the moisture content in the atmosphere. When beads of perspiration gather on the skin, clogging the pores, we immedi-iately feel sticky and uncomfortable. Fortunately, in Arizona one seldom feels such discomfort. Old Shiner is on the job, and the relative humidity is low.

The story is told that a certain pioneer Arizonan voiced this seeming paradox of high temperature attended with but little physical dejection, so characteristic of the atmosphere in Arizona. Some Easterner, wintering in Phoenix, asked the tanned resident how in the world he could stand to live where the temperature sometimes reaches 115 degrees F. in the shade, where there is relatively little shade. The Arizonan eyed his questioner a moment, then answered, "Brother, th' hotter it gets here, th' less I feel it!" Emphatically, the march of the mercurial column in Arizona thermometers always lags behind the sensible temperature for any station in the state.

Perhaps a few statistics on the relative humidity at some of the weather-reporting stations over the state will point the dis cussion. In the Climatic Summary for Arizona, a publication of the U. S. Weather Bureau, we learn that the relative humidity, expressed as percent, of Phoenix, altitude 1108 feet, for a period of nearly four decades, at 8 a. m., 12 N., and 8 p. m. was 57, 28 and 32 respectively. For Yuma, altitude 141 feet, over a comparable length of time, the average relative humidity at those same hours was 60, 26, and 27 respectively. At Clemenceau, altitude 3,560 feet the readings at the same hours over a ten-year period were 48, 36, and 34. At Flagstaff, altitude 6907 feet, from a record comprising 16 years, the average relative humidity at 8 a. m. was 75, and at 8 p. m. 44. A listing of the relative humidities without presenting the temperature picture of the state would be cheating both the stations themselves and the reader. Occasionally, you will find certain individuals who are prone to publicize a few excessive temperatures as applicable to the entire state at all times. As this has been done in the case of several stations over the state, we should perhaps examine the temperature records quite thoroughly.

At Phoenix, the record from 1876 to 1930, both inclusive, gives the monthly average temperature, expressed as degrees Fahrenheit as: January, 50.9; February, 55.1; March, 60.5; April, 67.1; May, 74.7; June, 84.4; July, 89.7; August, 88.4; September, 82.0; October, 70.3; November, 59.2, and December, 51.9.

Average monthly temperature, 54-year period at Tucson: January, 49.3; February, 52.8; March, 58.3; April, 64.3; May, 72.4; June, 82.4; July, 86.7; August, 84.7; September, 79.9; October, 69.0; November, 57.7, and December 50.4; annual, 67.3.

At Flagstaff the monthly highest temperatures, expressed as degrees Fahrenheit, from 1891 to 1930 both inclusive, were: January, 65; February, 66; March, 72; April, 83; May, 93; June 96; July, 99; August, 94; September, 86; October, 81; November, 74; December, 68.

During this same period the monthly lowest temperatures at Flagstaff were: January, 25; February, -22; March, -9; April, 4; May, 7; June, 23; July, 32; August, 33; September, 20; October, 5; November, -8; December, -18.

June, 76.1; July, 75.8; August, 73.8; September, 71.2; October, 68.8; November, 52.7; December, 45.9; annual, 61.90.

At Globe, altitude 3,440 feet, during a period of 29 years, the average monthly maximum temperatures were: January, 57.6; February, 62.4; March, 68.2; April, 75.9; May, 81.9; June, 95.4; July, 96.5; August, 94.4; September, 93.6; October, 80.2; November, 67.6; December, 56.8; annual, 77.5.

At Nogales, altitude 3,839 feet, "down on the border," the average monthly temperatures over a span of 23 years were: January, 46.4; February, 49.6; March, 53.1; April, 59.7; May, 66.5; June, 76.6; July, 79.1; August, 77.0; September, 73.2; October, 63.8; November, 54.3; December, 46.7; annual, 62.6. Thus, as in the case of Douglas, and Bisbee, the altitude is a blessing.

At Holbrook, altitude 5,069 feet, the average monthly maximum temperatures over a forty year period were: January, 48.0; February, 56.0; March, 63.2; April, 71.3; May, 80.3; June, 91.3; July, 92.9; August, 91.1; September, 85.0; October, 73.1; November, 61.1; December, 48.2; annual, 71.8.

At Holbrook the average monthly readings for the same period there were: January, 32.8; February, 40.0; March 46.0; April 53.3; May, 61.1; June, 70.3; July, 76.0; August 74.8; September, 67.6; October, 55.0; November, 43.3; December, 33.8; annual, 54.5.

At Prescott, altitude 5,389 feet, the average monthly temperatures over a period of 42 years were: January, 34.9; February, 38.2; March, 43.5; April, 50.2; May, 58.4; June, 67.4; July, 72.8; August, 70.6; September, 64.4; October, 53.8; November, 43.7; December, 36.3; annual, 52.8.

Let us look at the temperature picture at Kingman, altitude 3,326 feet. The average monthly readings over a stretch of 27 years were: January, 43.8; February, 47.6; March, 51.7; April, 58.4; May, 65.0; June, 75.6; July, 82.0; August, 80.3; September, 73.4; October, 62.5; November, 52.3; December, 43.7; annual, 61.4.

While such temperature readings probably do indicate that Old Sol has a warm spot in his heart for Arizona, they present only a partial picture of her climate. The question naturally arises as to what extent cloudiness and precipitation prevail over the state. It must be remembered that cloudiness is not always the complement of sunshine, however. At times Arizona has considerable high clouds, thin wisps of fleece veiled over the sky. Meteorologists say that this cloud-film is too high to exert any appreciable adverse effect on the surface relative humidity, yet has the desirable effect of lessening the amount of insolation reaching the ground. Sunshine and cloudiness may prevail simultaneously, thus mitigating thermal excesses.

Residents of the Salt River Valley, while basking in this mellowed sunshine, may often observe the lower, denser clouds hovering over the heights. Not infrequently, these clouds are of the cumulus and cumulo-nimbus type. Through the latter light-ning may be seen lacing. Perhaps there is copious precipitation. Why rain in the mountains and sunshine in the lower country? Haven't the desert dwellers been paying the preacher? Do the better medicine men live in the mountains?

We mentioned the scientific explanation for the situation when we nibbled at the factor of convection. There is a piling-up of air aloft, and further cooling and condensation take place as the air masses meet the Mogollon and other mountain chains.

Obviously, the windward slopes of these mountains are in position to receive more moisture than are those to the leeward. The weather records at various stations confirm this. For example, the average annual precipitation at Payson, altitude 4,900 feet, and situated on the windward side of the Mogollons, just under the rim, from 1889 to 1930 both inclusive was 22.10 inches, whereas Holbrook, at a comparable altitude on the leeward slope, had, during the same period an average annual precipitation of but 9.25 inches.

The economic importance of this mountain precipitation in Arizona can hardly be over-estimated. It makes possible the largest yellow pine forest in the United States, with a grazing area that yields annually millions of dollars. Again, think what would become of the farming industry in the lower levels of the state were it not for myriads of mountain rivulets which, after champing at the bit in their restlessness to return to their ocean mother, eventually repose in reservoirs behind lofty barriers of concrete! And again, think of the outdoor recreation this wide-spread mountain moisture makes possible. Trout fishing, hunting, skiing!

The desert areas likewise benefit from this cooler air of the higher-altitude section. Excellent highways winding up into this pine-clad country enable the inhabitants of the vast valleys in the southwestern part of the state to make frequent motor trips from the palms to the pines. The change is good for shallow breathers: up there you inhale both to acquire the supply of oxygen you need and to imbibe as much of the pine-scented balm as your lungs can hold. Your lungs take on renewed vigor; your life new horizons.

As previously touched upon, the correlation between altitude and precipitation, due to the more favorable position of the windward slopes, is not so regular and striking as that between altitude and temperature. As will be noted by the following statistics, however, there is considerable correlation.

Doubtless all of us have heard the climate of Arizona lauded hundreds of timesso often perhaps that we fail to give it thethought it deserves. Obviously, when we attempt to define a good climate, we ask ourselves, "Good for what?" Generally speaking, however, we may agree that a good climate is one that favors development of a sturdy race of men and women. On this point there is at least agreement among most physicians, physiologists, and climatologists. Huntington, who has long been considered an authority on climate as it affects human beings, observes that the best climate for most people for most of the time is one which has some moderate weather changes, fairly marked diurnal and annual variations in temperature, little to moderate wind, and one which encourages people to spend the maximum possible amount of their time outdoors.

We have already seen that Arizona measures up to these qualifications fully. A few statistics on the wind element might possibly lend weight to this angle of our discussion. At Ft. Apache, altitude exactly one mile, and situated on the windward of the White Mountains, the average hourly wind movement over a nine-year period was 7.3 miles. At Phoenix, over a 35-year period, the wind movement averaged but 5.7 miles. At Yuma, over a span of 61 years, the average hourly velocity was 6.8 miles.

At almost all points in Arizona the diurnal range in temperature is pronounced. This is true of all continental climates since land areas both gain and lose insolation readily.

Dr. S. A. Knopf, writing in the Journal of the American Medical Association, says, "The ideal climate for the average patient with pulmonary tuberculosis in the earlier and more hopeful stages is one in which there is the purest possible atmosphere, with relatively little humidity, much sunshine, and with all the conditions that permit the patient to live comfortably out-of-doors the greatest number of hours out of the twenty-four." The records indicate that Arizona comes largely within this category.

If we may believe the experts then Arizona's climate is both seductive and salubrious. Ward, in his "Climates of the United States" cites reasons for its being a desirable, health-promoting climate. He emphasizes the solar influence plus the far southwestern location of the state being thus removed from cyclone and anticyclone control.

In conclusion, then, certainly we may say that Old Sol rules right royally in Arizona. During both summer and winter he gently strokes the skin of Arizonans with his invigorating violet rays. He says no to those cold waves that come blaring out of the north looking for a warm nook in his far southwestern domain. To those stray winds that promise Arizona a drink he says yes, but. Old Sol, says the meteorologists, is the governor of the weather forces in Arizona, while the health experts declare it is the sumptuous sunshine he sheds there that makes the Arizona climate so seductive and salubrious. According to authentic records neither could be far wrong.

The Road To Monument Valley

The road to Monument Valley is not for the exacting traveler who demands a hard-surfaced boulevard with super-hotel accommodations every few miles. But if the traveler has a touch of adventure in his being and he yearns for those places aptly described as "off the beaten path," the road to Monument Valley will recompense him for the minor inconveniences of a journey through the most isolated part of these more or less populated United States. Beauty for the bumps! Who could ask for more? Monument Valley lies wholly within the Navajo Indian Reservation of Northern Arizona and Southern Utah and may be reached from U. S. Highway 89, northbound route between Flagstaff and Utah. Leaving this route ten miles north of Cameron the traveler reaches Tuba City, fourteen miles to the northeast. From Tuba City the next trading post to the north is at Red Lake 24.4 miles away. Six miles above Red Lake the road, constructed of fine gravel and of high quality, forks right to Kayenta. From Tuba City to Kayenta the distance is seventy-eight miles. Incidentally, accommodations are available at Tuba City. Very fine lodging is to be found by Monument Valley visitors at Goulding's Lodge and Trading Post two miles west of the highway and a half mile north of the Arizona-Utah border. Not only are comfortable beds available but the food is superb. Rates average $2 for lodging and $1 for meals. Harry Goulding, operator of the lodge and trading post, conducts a touring service for valley visitors. He has a fleet of cars equipped with oversized tires and extra low gears which take the sandhills and unmarked trails with complete ease. When making a trip into the Indian Country it is advisable to carry an extra amount of water, oil, and gasoline, if possible. Inquire as to road conditions along the U. S. or State routes before venturing into the Indian Country, and inquire at the Trading Post, or Government Agencies at the various reservation headquarters on the Indian Reservations as you travel.

Valley of the Monuments

Officers who died at their bases, Merritt, and Mitchell. The Navajos say that it was Piutes that did the killing. The Piutes say nothing. It is mostly Navajos who live in the valley now. We visited one of their encampments and watched one of the women at her sewing. The family was seated in the shade of a cottonwood tree. Household goods were suspended from the branches. Pans, blankets, horse gear, ropes, an empty shortening can, a flour sack, a pair of handmade moccasins, a tanned goat skin could be seen. On the ground were more things strewn about in careless profusion. A skin was pegged to the ground and almost completely covered with dirt. The young woman at the loom was unusually handsome. Her fine long fingers worked with the ease of long practice and she had time to spare for frequent timid looks in our direction. Her mother sat nearby, carding wool for the rug, and her daughter, a child of about seven years, was helping. The father of the family was working a hide. He braced himself against the tree and was using his foot to stretch it out. With the help of the Indian Trader we carried on a conversation with the family. A bag of candy did much to create a friendly atmosphere, for the Indians of all ages are very fond of candy. The Navajo was amused at the short hiking trousers that my husband wore. "See," he said, pulling up his trouser leg and revealing a bare leg, "I am poor too. I wear no socks." Living a life almost of destitution, there was still room for a joke, for friendly talk, as they worked for a sack of flour and some coffee to add to their diet of mutton and corn. Monument Valley might well have been erected as a memorial to this brave race which struggles on against conditions which we would deem impossible, and yet can laugh. Beautiful Monument Valley, terrible Mon ument Valley. But for us there need be only the beauty since we can go there and breathe in the atmosphere of ageless serenity and then go back to our own smaller domains where labor yields us the nourishment of body and soul that we require. The narrow sand road will widen and its capricious sand will be tamed by modern road builders. Then there will pour into its uneven terrain the flood of people who travel in search of the new and exciting. Go now and see it while you can still run the risk of spending an extra half hour in pulling out of a sandy spot in the road. Go while there is still time to spend the day there without a sign of human life other than the Indian, who is part and parcel of the scenery.

Yavapai Inferno

The spirit and the board of supervisors of the town granted to each fire sufferer, space on the court house plaza equal to that occupied by him previous to the fire where temporary business could be conducted pending rebuilding of the town. Dozens of tents and pine shacks were hurriedly erected and stocks of goods, salvaged from the fire, were immediately offered for sale and new stocks ordered rushed from distant markets. Four saloons were in operation next day and it is said there was no five-cent beer in town as was customary, the prices having gone up and most of the beer had gone down. Newspaper accounts of the time state that "all the small restaurants hastily put up on the street between the plaza and old Whiskey Row seemed to be doing a rushing business." Some signs were displayed "Meals-35 cents" "Extra 50 cents". It further states that "these are all run by Chinamen who were burned out and are taking advantage of the scarcity of accommodations to get in the pesos they could not claim or command in other days." It was said that the Palace Barber Shop had quite the highest toned place in the plaza, in point of elevation at least, having occupied nothing less than the bandstand. In McClintock's history of Arizona it states: The disaster was taken in almost a joyous spirit and in the night arose what occupants called "Dawson City" in the plaza, with a dozen big gambling halls and drinking places, wherein pianos were hammered noisily and where the women singers warbled as cheerily as of yore. Faro layouts and roulette tables had been saved and had no lack of players, and the sheriff served as treasurer of all the saloons and business houses on the plaza. The printers of the town (whose places of business had been wiped out) even issued a daily paper, "The Howler", sold at two-bits a copy, proclaiming "All the world was a josh, but to us it is everything but a joke-at present". In the heading also was announced that the publication was "Sacred to the memory of Little Willie, gone but not forgotten." Willie was a printing office "growler". (Continued from Page 35) "Gay Ninetys" got under way with its vital statistics in proper order. The rich silver camps of the preceding 20 years had declined; copper mining was in the ascendancy; and agriculture was beginning to push the great cattle outfits into the pages of history. Travelers no longer went from the Yuma wharf down to the sea in ships; and stage coaches were merely used by towns not linked by rails; but bandits continued to center their interests on Wells Fargo & Co. strong boxes in the railroad baggage cars and on the hapless passengers; and rustlers continued their depredations, on the diminishing ranges of the larger cattle ranches of Arizona's fertile valleys and mesas. So the prison population continued to increase, and hempen rope was commanding a good price.

Yuma's Territorial Prison

"Gay Ninetys" got under way with its vital statistics in proper order. The rich silver camps of the preceding 20 years had declined; copper mining was in the ascendancy; and agriculture was beginning to push the great cattle outfits into the pages of history. Travelers no longer went from the Yuma wharf down to the sea in ships; and stage coaches were merely used by towns not linked by rails; but bandits continued to center their interests on Wells Fargo & Co. strong boxes in the railroad baggage cars and on the hapless passengers; and rustlers continued their depredations, on the diminishing ranges of the larger cattle ranches of Arizona's fertile valleys and mesas. So the prison population continued to increase, and hempen rope was commanding a good price.

Grover Cleveland, early in the decade polled Benjamin Harrison out of the White House and returned to the Presidency, which meant another shakeup in the management of the Yuma Prison; and this procedure was repeated four years later, when William McKinley became the nation's leader.

Horse thefts, cattle rustling, train robberies and killings continued with slight dimunition throughout the Territory, and murderers sentenced to pay the extreme penalty were still being hanged in the courthouse yard, such as in the case of Cowboy Jim Parker at Prescott and the two cowhand Halderman brothers at Tombstone. And although the Spanish-American War came along and distracted the people's attention for a time, the unabated crime problem in Arizona caused the current governor to effect the creation of a mounted constabulary, called the Arizona Rangers: a small company of hard-riding, fast-shooting peace officers, which came into being on March 21, 1901.

Capt. Burton C. Mossman galloped his lean and leather Rangers hither and yon over er the Territory to stamp out crime and augment the population of Yuma Prison. Concurrently, a similar service was being performed for the Mexican state of Sonora by Lt. Col. Emelio Kosterlitsky, a one-time deserter from the U. S. Army, at Fort Huachuca, and his terrifying cordada of Mounted Rurales.

During this first year of the Arizona Rangers, the nation was stunned, on Sep tember 14, by the assassination of President McKinley, four months after he had visited in Arizona. He was succeeded by Theodore Roosevelt; and, a few months later, in 1902, Mossman of the Arizona Rangers was succeeded by Capt. Thomas Rynning.

The early 20th Century saw the brewing of agitation for the removal of the prison from Yuma to some point inland; in 1903, the legislature considered Benson as the site; bickering between lawmakers continued as time strode onward; and in the 1907

Memories Of Territorial Prison

After the removal of the Territorial prison to Florence in the fall of 1909 the Yuma Union High School Board decided to make use of the empty buildings for high school pupils as the old Main street building had burned. The first graduating class received their diplomas in the old prison building.

The second, third and fourth classes graduated within the old prison walls under the leadership of two principals, the first of whom was H. N. Greenwood and the next one was Professor Van Hoose, whose teachers were Miss Helen Kelly, Miss Prue Rowan, Miss Anita Post (later to become a famous teacher of the University of Arizona), Miss Edith Moore, G. H. Madden, Miss E. H. Price and Mrs. Grant Van Hoose.

Many well known men and women graduated from Yuma high school within the old prison walls, among whom were William H. Westover, now Yuma city attorney and a regent of the University of Arizona, his twin brother, Harry, now Judge of the Orange County, California, Superior Court, Dr. Hilary Ketcherside of Phoenix, the late Allison Ketcherside, for many years Yuma County Recorder, Ruby Livingston (wife of Norman Adair, nephew of E. F. Sanguinetti), Deane Haughtelin, son of the famous club woman, Kathryn Haughtelin, Olive Alexander Ammons of the Yuma Valley, and others.

The Yuma Union High School was moved to its present quarters in the fall of 1914.

Part of the walls of the old prison still stand as well as the mess hall, iron cells, dungeon and other buildings. And one of the buildings was turned into the Veterans of Foreign Wars club room. In January 1940, the cornerstone of the Yuma museum was laid. A long, adobe wall was constructed by the Yuma NYA group and Mrs. Clara Windsor put in charge of exhibits. Among the interesting exhibits is the first piano brought to Arizona, a Steinway ordered from Germany in 1875, at a cost of $3,000.00.

Each convict was given $5.00, a suit of civilian clothes and a ticket good for 300 miles in either direction when he was discharged from the prison. But very few wanted to leave during the reign of Captain F. S. Ingalls. Several returned and begged to be allowed to remain in prison. There was little use for the dark dungeon during Captain Ingalls' stay on Prison Hill.

During legislative session, Florence was awarded the new penitentiary and a $120,000 appropriation was made to finance its construction, with the help of convict labor.

During the construction program Arizona was sowing seeds for Statehood; and while these were flowering into fruition, the Rangers were disbanded on February 15, 1909, as no longer necessary. On March 14, Yuma celebrated the first harnessing of the Colorado River, at the opening of the Laguna diversion dam for irrigation; and William Howard Taft, who was to sign the ticket for Arizona's entry into the commonwealth of States, entered the White House. Taft's regime soon saw Arizona firmly and vigorously turn thumbs down on a proposed joint Statehood with New Mexico; and the year 1910 also saw the last of the Federal and Territorial convicts transferred to the new penitentiary at Florence and the complete abandonment of the old prison. Title to the property reverted to the city of Yuma.

"Arizona, the Baby State," was born February 12, 1912; and for the first time the people elected their own governor, in the person of George W. P. Hunt, who appointed Robert B. Sims as the first superintendent of the State Penitentiary at Florence. To Mr. Sims, Thomas Rynning surrendered his badge of authority as the last warden of the Territorial Prison, which had its beginning in "the sea port of Yuma" 37 years before.

Montezuma Castle

(Continued from Page 13) While the cliffdwellers and their personal properties were safe from attack in their homes, the harvests in their fields were as vulnerable to depredations as ever. There is no question that frequent enemy raids would have created food shortages at times, especially during drought periods, and the resulting imbalance of diet would have caused the farmers to suffer from malnutrition. This condition made them especially ripe for the onslaught of an enemy that is far worse than human.

The dark and crowded rooms of the poorly ventilated cliff dwellings were perfect breeding places for disease, especially since we find no evidence that the people had any sanitary facilities whatever. Disease would have spread far more rapidly under such conditions than in the early ancestral homes which were scattered about on the sunshiny Valley floor. Population studies prove that all over the Southwest the Pueblo Indians dropped rapidly in numbers as soon as they began living in large villages, the death rate being especially noticeable among infants and the weaker adults. Indication of the former is seen in the very high proportion of baby burials found in the ruins, principally under floors of houses. Most adult burials were made outside the homes, under ledges nearby, or under the dirt slope in front of the buildings.

In excavating the large cliff ruin one hundred yards west of Montezuma Castle in 1933-34 we learned two very interesting things. First was proof of population decline, as shown by several of the large lower rooms which had been vacated long before the final abandonment of the building. Second was evidence that a great fire had burned out all the ceilings, with the result the walls buckled and the whole mighty structure tumbled to the foot of the cliff in ruins, leaving only the cave rooms in back.

We can easily see how the people of the Castle vicinity, as well as in other pueblos of the region, would have become discouraged with a continual course of persecution by enemies and gradual annihilation by disease; the destruction by fire of one of their largest dwellings could well have been an additional augury of pending doom from inhospitable fate. It is not surprising that the dawn of the 15th Century found the farmers leaving their rich ancestral lands in the hands of the Yavapais and Apaches.

Meager evidence indicates that an army lieutenant named Scott, who was stationed at Camp Verde, caused the first white man's ladders to be erected into the Castle, in 1884. No archaeological attention was paid the site until 1886, when Dr. Edgar A. Mearns, an army surgeon at the fort, visited the ruins. He carefully explored the building and troweled through the debris on the Floors. His work resulted in an excellent ground plan of the structure, and an article in the Popular Science Monthly, which later attracted quite a bit of attention to the ruins. Between 1896 and 1900 the Arizona Antiquarian Association became concerned over the ruinous condition of parts of the Castle, and restored weak portions of some of the walls. Little more attention, except for casual visits of sightseers, was paid to it until on December 8, 1906, President Theodore Roosevelt proclaimed Montezuma Cas tle National Monument. One hundred sixty acres of land were set aside, to protect adjacent ruins and nearby land as well, which area was increased to 520 acres on February 23, 1937.

When the National Park Service came into existence in 1916 it was given charge of the monument, but was able to afford only part-time protection for it until the final establishment in 1927 of a position of full-time custodian. The Castle was suffering so greatly from the ravages of the elements and indiscriminate destruction of parts of the walls and floors by treasure seekers that in 1923 the Park Service started a program of repair, which resulted in the recent complete stabilization of the dwelling. This repair included restoration of most of the ceiling portion of the lower front group of rooms, and refacing of some of the outermost walls, which had lost some mud from the beating rains of centuries. With all this work, the building is still over ninety per cent intact and original. Today you climb into the Castle on four sturdy wooden ladders which are securely bolted into almost invisible concrete set in the cliff face. Inside the building you find the walls, ceilings, and floors so nearly in their original condition that you feel the dwellers have just left, and you might almost see an Indian disappearing through one of the low doorways into a darkened room beyond.

The walls are massively made, of rough chunks of limestone set in a limey mud, to a thickness of about twelve inches, then faced on both sides with an additional inch of mud, which conceals the stones. The wall surfaces show countless finger prints which the Indians left as they plastered on the mud, although in some cases they carefully obliterated these marks to leave a smooth surface, which was repeatedly coated with a thin layer of mud as each succeeding surface became grimy and black from smoke. Thousands of visitor feet have worn the clay floors into dusty surfaces, but in most cases the floors are original. Many of the original ceilings are completely intact. They consist typically of two massive sycamore beams running transversely to the length of the room. Above these are closely spaced rafters which in turn support crosswise layers first of desert willow stems placed together, then a compact layer of Sacaton reeds (Reed Grass.) On top of this is six to eight inches of clay, which usually formed the floor to the room above.

The low doors are typical of most southwestern ruins, and are thought to have been planned partly for protection. If your enemy attempted to enter, he was crouched over so low he was in no position to defend himself, and your waiting club would fit nicely to the back of his skull. Some visitor said the low door was at least a sure way of insuring the entering guest's courtly bow in answer to that of his host!

A series of small round holes, about six inches in diameter, peer through the walls at different points, effectively to cover every possible point of approach or attack. The immense shelving cliff overhang would prevent enemies getting in from above, but would not prevent them standing on the shelf to shoot arrows, rocks or fire brands into the building, and all such spots are guarded by the peep holes.

While the Castle is a five story building, at no place does it contain more than three vertical stories. This is because rooms were built on shelving ledges which occur at different heights, so that there is a step effect from the first floor, occupying the outermost portion of the lower part of the cavern, to the fifth floor, the rooms of which fit into the deepest part of the hollow, thirtythree feet back from the overhang. In front of the fifth floor rooms is the long roof space of the fourth floor, which the Indians made into a balcony by building a parapet at the front edge. From this parapet, seventy-six feet above the cliff base, you have one of the finest views in central Arizona.

Below this parapet, in front of it, were other balconies on the lower roof levels.

Several roads lead to Montezuma Castle. Oiled road leads from Prescott, 65 miles away, over State Route 79 (Alternate Route 89) through Jerome, Clarkdale, Cottonwood, and Cornville to within five miles of the Castle. The rest of the route is good gravelled road. Another oiled road leads from Flagstaff over State Route 79 down Oak Creek Canyon through Cornville. Or you can leave 79 at Sedona and take the gravelled route down Beaver Creek past Montezuma Well and thence to the Castle. A gravel road, open in summer, leads from Flagstaff via Mary Lake, Mormon Lake, and Stoneman Lake, for eighty miles to the Castle.From the south one may take the gravelled State Route 69 from Phoenix via Mayer, Humbolt, Dewey, and Camp Verde, 130 miles from Phoenix to the monument. Or you can take State Route 88 from Apache Junction or Miami by good gravel road to Roosevelt Dam, then north through Payson, Pine, and Camp Verde.