"Verde Mix"

The Santa Fe's "Verde Mix" is a little train, but it goes through big scenery from Verde to Drake and back again. oil cars. At Drake, in the afternoon it would exchange them for a number full of fuel for the return.

It wasn't long before the rails swung over to the Verde River coming from the hills in the north. Where we first saw it, it wasn't particularly spectacular, but just a little farther on, the gorge through which it flowed became deeper. The rails threaded their way carefully along the brink. The engineer seemed to use special care in snaking the train through the gorge, around curve after curve, and finally came to a sharp one with a trestle in the middle of it. The bridge spanned a deep, narrow, rock canyon coming in from the west.

Conductor Turner chuckled and I knew an anecdote was coming by the way he turned and by the twinkle in his eye. "This is called S. O. B. Canyon. You'll find it that way on the government maps."

Naturally my curiosity was piqued, and I asked for a fuller explanation. It was forthcoming, quickly.

"When they were laying the track for this road they came to this canyon." Turner waved his hand to indicate the scope of the break in the rim of the Verde River Gorge over which the train was creeping. "It presented quite an engineering problem. It was big enough so that everybody came to look at it, including the Old Man. He took one look and said, 'It's a s. o. b., all right!'" The rocks on our left continued to pile up in red, yellow, white and grey masses. Dark green mesquite trees in the canyons and breaks stood out in sharp contrast. Below, on our right. the gorge was suddenly deeper. The Verde tumbled toward us in white froth over the rocks to slide into deep, dark pools. Cottonwood trees, old and twisted of trunk but bright with green new leaves, shaded them. Turning in the light wind, they glistened as they caught the sun. Fluffy cotton-white clouds were piled up loosely in the blue sky. It was Walt who saw it first-Sycamore Creek coming in from the north as the Verde swung to the west. This was where we were to drop off. Almost at that moment one of the brakemen "pulled the air," which brought the train to a stop. The crew swung our duffel out of the car, boarded again and we waved "so long" to Walt and Jim who had dropped off to probe the "fishy" waters. I was going on to Drake and would stop off to rejoin them at Sycamore on the way back. About that time we came to the tunnel. The sun was suddenly blotted out and we slid into solid black, to come out again on the other side in the gorge. Turner pointed up to where a huge palisade of rock rose over our heads. "Anywhere else in one of our national parks-that would have a name: 'Thor's Throne'-some Egyptian Temple-or something else like that."

I agreed. Red sandstone was piled and topped with thick white frosting of limestone. The cliffs rose sheer above us. They towered over the train. Momentarily you had the sensation of being shrunken in size and riding along in a tiny. toy train-one that had just come out from under a tunnel made by piled up cushions, to slide along under a piano. Any place else except in Arizona, this would have been a State or National Park, to be visited by thousands of people instead of a train crew and one lone passenger who had $2.01 to spend.We rounded a turn, and here was Perkinsville. Towering. old, old cottonwoods stood at attention in silent, respectful lines over the fields that had been the home ranch of an early pioneer family.

A. M. Perkins had driven five-hundred head of cattle from Texas into this country long before 1900. This, too, had been the home of a group of Indians, for a cliff-dwelling was perched in a recess of a red standstone bluff at the bend of the river.

An old, post-corral still stands by the low ranch house. Field workers were irrigating and their women folk were hanging out a wash. These yards, too, were swept clean. The track walker dropped off here, and the train climbed out of the canyon and was soon in the cedars.

We crossed Hell Canyon, and Bear and Government Canyons.

"The whistlestop of Drake was named after W. A. Drake, General Manager of the railroad," explained Conductor Turner as we pulled into the junction. Turner smiled knowingly as he pointed out some old stone buildings.

"They belonged to Swanbeck. He used to be at Humboldt and Mayer years ago, but some way or another he got wind that Drake was to be the junction for this railroad and came up and took out a section of land. When the railroad started to build they had to dicker with him for a right-of-way!"

It was while we laid over at Drake for lunch-that I got better acquainted with the conductor of the Verde Valley Mix. Pearl Turner had railroaded throughout Arizona for more than thirty years. Twenty-two of them had been on the Mix.

The bus came to Drake while we waited. It brought bakery goods, boxes of hats, hardware and other items for the people in the Verde Valley served by the Mix.

There was even a cocker spaniel which was shipped from N. H. Donald, Staten Island, New York, to a Douglas D. Donald in Jerome. A penciled sign hung on the cage, "I am Blizzard, be kind to me. I am four months old and would like some milk and one can of dog food every day.' We pulled out then for the return trip to Clarkdale. I would drop off at Sycamore Creek and join my fishermen friends.

I dropped off at Sycamore Canyon on the return trip that afternoon. The next day we fished up the creek.

One of the places renowned through that part of Arizona is Sycamore Spring. We found it, isolated, bubbling out of the side of the canyon under a canopy of sycamores and cot-tonwoods. The shade was dense and cool like late afternoon. An empty coffee can hung from a stick over the spring. The water was cold and good.

Around the next bend we found the Blue Hole. It is an enormous pool in Sycamore Canyon. It too had history, for once the Burns Detective Agency, with headquarters in New York City, had sent one of their men into the country to break up a ring of cattle rustlers. They had been using the Blue Hole as a watering place and the steeply walled canyon bottom as a holding corral for stolen stock.

Above the Blue Hole we found Indian ruins. There were many traces of the cliff dwellings in various stages of preservation.

The Mix carries all sorts of freight in rendering daily service to Verde people.

Erosion on both walls of the canyon.

And, it was there we met Dick and Jerry, a team of prospectors who were working an old turquoise claim. We sat under a tree and talked. The claim was across the creek and we could see it from where we sat, a tunnel drilled directly into solid rock!

Dick was talking: "... we got pretty well acquainted with this fellow and he began to worry about us spending all our time diggin' in that hole.

"He said, 'Dick, why don't you get a geologist to look it over? He can tell you in a minute if it's worthwhile working'."

The prospector's eyes twinkled brightly as he worded his retort to the suggestion of his well-meaning friend.

"Know what I told him? I said, listen, if a geologist as much as shows up around this canyon, I'll run him off! Why, if we found out this claim was worthless we wouldn't have any reason to keep on digging there wouldn't be any fun in it if you couldn't expect to find something."

We found something in Sycamore Canyon and the Verde River Gorge on that trip. Walt caught his smallmouth bass. Jim had his fun. I had my stories. We had adventure.

Junction of the Gila and Colorado Rivers.. "The Gila comes into at nearly right angles.. it's sea-green waters are lost.."

Frequently on the water holes. Turkey and mountain goat were killed. Tracks were seen but a deer was not killed until the lower region of the Salt River was reached. Perfectly intoxicated with his unexpected success, the lucky soldier lugged the hind quarters of the deer twelve miles into camp. The thousands of barrel cacti, saguaro and cholla on the hillsides were vegetable curiosities to Lieutenant Emory. Strolling over the hills alone in pursuit of seed and geological specimens his thoughts went back to the States. Turning from his momentary aberrations he was struck most forcibly with the fact that not one object in the whole view, animal, vegetable, or mineral, had anything in common with the products of any State in the Union. In connection with his astronomical observations there are many items on the weather in Lieutenant Emory's notes, and he was the first writer to advertise widely the remarkable climate of Arizona. He observed nothing was more rare in Arizona than to see the heavens overcast. Only once did he find the lens of his instruments clouded with moisture which was a normal occurrence in the East.

On his second day in Arizona Lieutenant Emory discovered his first Indian pueblo ruin, and hardly a day went by while he was in the country that he did not find some ruin or picture writing on the rocks. At a ruin near the present site of Coolidge Dam he found so much broken pottery he concluded it must have been used as a water pipe.

About noon on November 10 the men halted at the ruins of the Casa Grande National Monument. A long and careful search was made for specimens of household furniture but nothing was found except the corn grinder, found in every ruin, and marine shells cut into various ornaments. The whole interior of the house had been burnt out and the walls were much defaced.

On the afternoon of the Lieutenant's exploration of the Casa Grande Ruins a Maricopa Indian came into camp looking for his strayed cattle. Among other things, the Lieutenant asked the origin of the ruins of which he had seen so many.

The Maricopa answered it was a tradition among the Indians that, "In bygone days a woman of surpassing beauty resided in a green spot in the mountains near the place where they were camped. All the men admired and paid court to her. She received the tributes of their devotion, grain and skins, but gave no love or other favor in return. Her virtue and determination to remain unmarried were equally firm.

"There came a drought which threatened the world with famine. In their distress the people applied to her, and she gave corn from her stock, and the supply seemed endless. Her goodness was unbounded. One day as she was lying asleep with her body exposed a drop of rain fell on her stomach which produced conception. A son was the issue who was the founder of a new race which built the houses."

Questioning further Lieutenant Emory asked the Mari"We have been traversing, with incredible labor and great expenditure of mule power, stronghold of mountain robbers."

EMORY'S "MILITARY RECONNOISSANCE"

Continued from page two.

Maricopa if he believed the fable. The Indian's answer showed primitive skepticism and a distinction between the folklore of the tribes. "No," said the Maricopa, "But most of the Pimas do. We know in truth nothing of their origin. It is all enveloped in mystery."

The Apaches had fought the Mexicans for centuries and when the Americans occupied New Mexico the tribe looked upon the soldiers as their allies. It was not until the time of the Civil War, when both Mangas Coloradas and Cochise were mistreated, that the Apaches became the scourge of the Arizona trails.

Near the Arizona line Mangas Coloradas himself rode into the camp to trade. The Apaches swore eternal friendship and Mangas Coloradas orated, "You have taken New Mexico and will soon take California. Go, then, and take Chihuahua, Durango, and Sonora. We will help you."

The Apaches said that one, two, or three Americans might pass safely through their country. If they were hungry the Apaches would feed them, or if on foot mount them. Kit Carson knew the Apaches for their "treachery," and with a twinkle of his hazel eyes observed to the Lieutenant, "I wouldn't trust one of them."

Expecting to trade their broken down mules for good ones along the trail the men were disappointed. The Apaches watched every movement of General Kearny's men from a safe distance but it was difficult to make contact with them: Only two mules were obtained one day and seven another.

A few miles up the Gila River from the present town of Winkelman the men had their most successful day of trading with the Apaches. On the morning of November 2 two Mexican herdsmen came running into camp much alarmed and exclaiming, "Indians are driving off the mules."

"To arms," was shouted and before Lieutenant Emory could loosen his pistol from his holster his little party was in full run to the scene of the alarm. On turning the hill they found the horses tranquilly grazing, but the hill overlooking them was lined with horsemen.

As they advanced one of the Apaches hailed in Spanish, "One of you put down your rifle and come with us." They wanted to have a "talk."

Lieutenant Emory followed but before reaching halfway up the steep hill the Indian spied in his jacket the handle of a large horse pistol. The Apache told the Lieutenant he must put down his pistol before he would meet him. Throwing the pistol aside Emory proceeded up the hill where he had a "talk" with the Apaches.

As a result of the "talk" the next day a motley group of Apaches came into camp to trade. Amongst them was a middle-aged woman whose garrulity and interference with every trade annoyed the quartermaster who had charge of the trading but amused the bystanders.

She had on a gauze-like dress trimmed with the richest and most costly Brussels lace, pillage no doubt from some fandango-going belle of Sonora. She straddled a fine grey horse and whenever her blanket dropped from her shoulder her tawny form could be seen through the transparent guaze.

Anxious to sell her horse she "careered" about to show his qualities. At one time she charged at full speed up a steep hill. In this the fastings of her dress broke and her bare back was exposed to the crowd who ungallantly raised, a shout of laughter. Nothing daunted, she wheeled short around with surprising dexterity and, seeing the mischief done, cooly slipped the dress from her arms and tucked it between the seat and the saddle. In this state of nudity she rode through the camp from fire to fire until at last attaining the objective of her ambition, a soldier's red flannel shirt, she made her adieu in that new costume.

Contact with the Pima and Maricopa Indians along the Gila River through the territory of the present Sacaton Indian Reservation was enlightening. When the troops camped in a corn field from which the corn had been harvested Lieutenant Emory was impressed with the arrangements for irrigating the land. The fields were subdivided by ridges of earth into rectangles of about two hundred by one hundred feet and fences were sticks wattled with willow and mesquite.

The thatched huts of the Pimas consisted of a domed shaped wicker work about six feet high and from twenty to fifty feet in diameter. In the houses were stored watermelons, pumpkins, beans, corn and wheat. Horses, mules, and oxen were their domestic animals and their implements of husbandry were steel axes, obtained in trade, and wooden hoes, shovels, and harrows.

The dress of the men consisted of a cotton serape of domestic manufacture and a breech cloth. Their hair was very long and clubbed up in the back. The women wore nothing but the serape pinned about the loins.

Soon the camp was filled with men, women, and children each with a basket of corn, frijoles, or meal for traffic. Many had jars of molasses pressed from the fruit of the giant cactus. Beads, red cloth, white domestic, and blankets were the articles demanded in exchange.

A temporary awning was pitched by the quartermaster to shelter the conduct of business, and trading was scarcely commenced before the place formed a perfect menagerie into which crowded many eager-eyed Pimas, Maricopas, French, Dutch, English, and Americans. As the Lieutenant passed to take a peep at the scene, naked arms, hands and legs protruded from the awning. Inside there was no room for bodies, but many heads clustered into the very small space. Trading went merrily on and the conclusion of each bargain was announced by a grunt and a joke.

Mr. Bestor's spectacles were a great source of merriment. Some of the Indians formed the idea that with their aid he could see through their cotton blankets. They would shrinkand hide behind each other at his approach. At length Lieutenant Emory placed the spectacles on the nose of an old woman who became acquainted with their use and explained it to others.

The troops left the Pimas and Maricopas at the confluence of the Gila and Salt Rivers southwest of Phoenix and plunged into the desert. By leaving the river and going overland they cut off a wide bend in the Gila River and saved forty-five miles.

The entire region of the lower Gila was uninviting. The table land was strewn with fragments of black basalt and a chain of broken hills continued along the north side of the river. It was there that Lieutenant Emory saw a mirage.

One sharp morning when the Lieutenant was cold and hungry he was describing to others how much more pleasant it would be if they were riding into Washington with the prospects of a hot breakfast. Up arose to his astonished view on the north side of the river a perfect representation of the capitol with dome, wings, and portico all complete. The mirage remained for full twenty minutes with its proportions and outline complete and then dwindled down into a distant butte.

Coming upon the tracks of several hundred horses near the Colorado River the troops received a scare. The first speculation was that the hoofprints were those of the horses of cavalry recruited in Sonora by General Castro, the commander of the Mexicans in California.

General Kearny ordered Lieutenant Emory to take his party and fifteen dragoons for the purpose of reconnoitering. A dragoon was boosted up a tree to see if he could observe any campfires and he came down very quickly.

"Yes, sir," exclaimed the soldier, "there are enough for us all."

"Did you see the fires?" the Lieutenant asked.

The sight of fresh mounts to ride excited the soldier so much he could not talk coherently. "No, but they are all horses. I heard them neighing and they covered much ground."

The Mexican cavalry proved not to be General Castro as expected but five hundred horses from California on their way to the general. The commander of the Mexicans was Colonel Jose Marie Leguna and from letters it was learned the Californians had thrown off the "detestable AngloYankee yoke." Instead of walking into a California already under the American flag the men would have to fight.

To make matters more disheartening for the soldiers the captured horses were all wild and little adapted for immediate service. The men had to go on without fresh mounts.

Lieutenant Warner, Mr. Stanley, and Lieutenant Emory saddled up on the morning of November 23 and went to observe the junction of the Gila and Colorado Rivers which they found north of their camp. Mounting a butte the course of the Colorado was tracked by clouds of flying sand. The Gila River entered the Colorado nearly at right angles and the sea green waters of the Gila were soon lost in the chrome colored hue of the Colorado.

Plunging into the Colorado River on November 25 General Kearny, Lieutenant Emory, and the soldiers of the "little" army passed into California. On December 5 they were met by Naval Lieutenant Edward Beale, who was later to bring camels to Arizona, and a party of thirty-seven men. The following two days they fought the battle of San Pasqual and a month later participated in engagements at the San Gabriel River and the Pueblo of Los Angeles.

GOD'S CREATIONS:

To express in mere words any form of appreciation for ARIZONA HIGHWAYS February, 1949 and the great honour you have so kindly bestowed upon The National Cactus and Succulent Society in dedicat ing that lovely issue to us, creates one of the greatest problems I have personally had to solve but here it is, a tangible expression on your part of a kindred spirit of true friendship, cutting short thousands of miles distance and making us actually feel that handshake by which much that can not be put into words is made known from one heart to another.

I write this in my home where in August, 1945, Mr. Roan, Mr. Baynes and myself held the first conversations from which the National Cactus & Succulent Society originated and which a membership is now roaring on to the 2,000 mark throughout all English speaking countries of the world. I attribute much of this extra ordinary progress to the spirit which exists in that wonderful family of God's creations, quietly and majestically enduring the hardness of nature and out of it, bringing forth unexcelled beauty in bloom and fruit, food and medicine and usefulness for man and beast. So, too, the folk who established Arizona, they had the right spirit and understanding from our Creator, that the desert would blossom as the rose.

That touch of nature which "Makes the whole world Kin" permeates every page of your splendid journal. Many of us here in England just feel that were it possible for one wish to be granted, it would be to come right over and tell you how much we esteem your great kindness, to meet your folk and see your wonderful country and Giants of the Desert. That would in very truth be the only way in which I personally could express my sincere thanks for such a charming Bouquet of Orchids.

Victor W. Kane Bingley, Yorkshire

WORK ADMIRED:

We received this morning the Feb ruary 1949 issue of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS. We write to congratulate you, and your associates, on a really excellent piece of work, which is a joy to handle and to peruse.

In this country, American standards in colour reproductions for magazine work are always justly admired, and we think you need fear no comparison with the best that comes out of the United States in this field.

M. Shaw Connolly Shaw Limited London, England

"BIG WHISKERS":

The cover picture "Big Whiskers" March ARIZONA HIGHWAYS is the best ever published of a lion; only once in a life time could this particular expression be caught with a camera. My compliments to Tommy Lark and every one connected in making ARIZONA HIGHWAYS a splendid magazine.

Mrs. Theodore B. Jones Cave Creek, Arizona

2-GUN SHOOTER FROM TEXAS:

May I submit the following lines written a number of years ago by my husband, Comdr. Tom R. Johnson, USN, who at that time was a resident of Tucson.

"A two-gun shooter from Tucson Vowed he'd die with his boots on One day he got in a stew With a sheriff or two So died with boots and noose on."

We enjoy our copies of ARIZONA HIGH WAYS and always pass them on to other Naval personnel.

Mrs. T. R. Johnson

BACK COVER-"THE SUN IS TIRED" BY RAY J. MANLEY.

The spectacular cliff formation shown here is located in the Big Park area, six miles south of Sedona, looking north. The scene was photographed about 4:30 in the afternoon, with an 8½ inch Commercial Ektar lens, 4x5 Graphic View Camera, Daylight Ektachrome, f18 at 12 second, pola screen. The pola screen eliminated some haze, increased the brilliance in the sky and made the clouds stand out a little better. The light average was Weston 200 although the scene was quite contrasty and too extreme to hold detail in shadows and the highlights as well. Throughout Oak Creek canyon country, of which Big Park could be considered a part, the magnificent cliffs with their majestic shadows of late afternoon are challenge of the photographer, seeking the different photographs.

A small stream quilts the canyon With lines of silver thread, Where walls stand up like soldiers To guard its shining bed, Pink, amethyst and scarlet Their gorgeous uniforms, With sycamores and cedars To warn of nearing storms.

Oak Creek has silver mirrors Set deep in lacy ferns, Reflecting amber aspens And flames the maple burns. Soft music, gently rippling. Is joined with melodies Of birds and winds as minstrels, Broadcasting from the trees.

Laura Janet Larson Let me look while I may at trees, And feel their restful shade, And hear the cooling, healing sound of leaves. But I would rather live, And rather die On the wide mesas Under desert sky.

Catherine Culnan A desert whirlwind is a sand ghost stalking the dry seas . . . Fitfully, it hovers as though seeking a lost dream, then rushes in anger away from the memory . . . . . .

Lorraine Babbitt I am weary for the mountains, And a winding trail that climbs To a lake that mirrors heaven. In the shadows of the pines.

Oma Carlyle Anderson Shooting stars, streaking through the sky's black forest, leave behind them golden burning trails of light.

Adelaide Coker