DRAGOON, ARIZONA

DRAGOON ARIZONA BY KAY GREGOR

Dragoon is a tiny, suntanned town in Cochise County of southeastern Arizona, which is significant in the pioneer history of Arizona. It is not a ghost town, however, but a frontier town that has been kept alive by the railroad and postoffice which serve the prosperous cattle ranches spread out in the adjoining valleys.

Dragoon is a likely place to get the feel of the West-away from the hustle and bustle of cities. Here you can watch the brash glare of sunlight in a turquoise-blue sky change to the rosy glory of an Arizona sunset. It tints the wispy clouds with coral and settles a soft gray light of peace on sky and earth and the souls of men.

To the north and south you can see two sections of the Dragoon Mountains with their towering views of light and shadow-an everchanging mystery.

Eastward, across the tawny, far-reaching valley, you can get a glimpse of the historic Apache Pass through which came the mountain men, the covered-wagon pioneers and the blue-coated cavalry troops who opened up this state a hundred years ago. Buzzards, circling in the sky still make a good living from this desert valley, although they now have the modern convenience of telephone and telegraph poles on which to rest.

West of town is Texas Canyon where huge granite boulders and dainty desert flowers decorate the landscape. Look for the rocks with such fanciful names as the Whale Rock, Sleeping Child, Chinese Idol and Sheep Rock. Among these boulders, which used to offer perfect ambush for the Indians, you can now find food and shelter at a modern guest ranch.

Highway travelers on U.S. 86, if you want to see a little bit of the West that's off the beaten path, you must slow down about halfway between Willcox and Benson and turn south. Four miles off the highway you will find the railroad station, the Golden Rule Store and the few houses that are Dragoon.

The new Golden Rule Store and the postoffice are housed in a quonset hut with a bright green front. Inside Mr. and Mrs. Matt Lee spend busy days selling a variety of groceries, hardware and notions, and handing out mail and good-natured banter to their patrons. Afternoon mailtime is the high point of the day. Ranch wagons, old trucks, fancy new cars and horse back riders all drive up dusty roads to the Golden Rule. The mail may have a swarm of bees or a box of baby chicks for the rancher's wife. It may bring a party dress or toys for his children. It brings letters from wandering sons and daughters. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson get reservations for their Triangle T Guest Ranch. Scientific information comes and goes from the Amerind Foundation in Texas Canyon where Mr. William Fulton presides over the fascinating Indian museum and archaeological workshops concerned with prehistoric Indians of this locality. A couple of prospectors are waiting for a government permit to ship silver which they are digging out of a vein they have discovered in the nearby hills. There are newspapers and magazines for everyone. According to Mr. Lee there are about two hundred fifty people who live thereabouts.

An ancient adobe hotel with red shingle front is still open for business, but visitors must furnish their own meals. Mrs. Bomelyn, who runs the hotel, owns one of the two wells in town. She supplies water to a half-dozen of the houses close by.

The other well is at the buff-colored railroad station. One passenger and mail train goes each way once a day. The Southern Pacific deluxe trains take the route that dips down to the Mexican border at Douglas, and so miss Dragoon, but the cross country freight trains haul their thundering loads through the middle of town all day and all night. Harry Morse, the station agent, and his wife live in pleasant, shaded quarters at the back of the station.

On the property is a bunkhouse made of upright railroad ties and roofed over with a bit of the desert. The heavy sand heaped on the top, instead of growing sod, has sprouted clumps of desert grass and several good sized cactus plants. It hasn't been used for living quarters for thirty years, but houses an automatic washing machine.

From the slope of a mountain to the south comes the town's most distinguished product. Beautiful marble in pink, yellow, and black and white is quarried and sold by the Ligier family. The new Student Union on the University of Arizona campus is one of many buildings in the southwest which are adorned with Dragoon marble. There is no place nearby for polishing it, however, so most of the present sales are chips for terrazzo floors.

Arizona is filled with strange place names and Dragoon is one of them. It was first called Dragoon Pass for a squadron of U.S. Dragoons which was stationed in that strategic spot a hundred years ago.

The rugged mountains on both sides of the pass were also called Dragoons. The U.S. Forest Service maintains a station and public camp grounds on the eastern side of these mountains in Cochise Stronghold. The Stronghold is a natural fortress which the Apache Cochise, used as his headquarters.

Dragoon Springs, just south of the present town, was a stop on the Overland Stage route. You can still find the adobe walls of the station. Highway travelers today can hardly imagine the hardships of those cross-country trips! Indians, wild animals and snakes, scarcity of food and water, treacherous roads and bandits. The fare for the nine day trip from San Francisco to El Paso was $240.

Then came the Southern Pacific Railroad from the direction of California building eastward. The town of Dragoon was put on the map in 1880. It was neighbor to Tombstone in Cochise County in the old Arizona territory. Many of the Indian fights, train robberies, payroll holdups, and stage-coach battles, which entertain the TV audiences every week, actually took place in or near Dragoon. The ghosts of Geronimo, Wyatt Earp, the Apache Kid and Johnny Ringo still ride the trails.

SEQUEL TO BISBEE

Now Bisbee's peculiar, I agree, It's houses high are not for me! But isn't it a welcome change, From wide expanse of open range?

THREE MEMORIES

Three small dear memories I shall not lose: The grape-blue shadows on a mountainside; The timeless quiet of the desert places; The sharp, sweet scent of greasewood in the rain; And if I should not have these things again, When Dark takes all I've loved and all I know, I think these three will be the last to go.

ROADS

I grow tired of straight roads Cutting like a knife Through the lovely bend of hills, Through the curves of life.

Let mine be a winding road, Courteous to trees, And through life a friendly route, Kind to vagrancies.

PERCEPTION

"What can you see in this dreary land?" A stranger asked. "Surely you agree There is nothing here but cactus and sand, And circling hills of rock debris."

He did not see the horny toad In his path, or the shy cactus wren; Or hear pods of devilsclaw explode, Or find a hidden kit-fox den. He did not smell wet greasewood, Or see the tissue-paper bloom Of cholla, or the sapphire hood Of larkspur, or a fluffy beargrass plume.

A man needs time to grasp the mood Of desert life and quietude.

LIKE LAUGHTER

I have sought Beauty everywhereI've seen her ride with flaming hair Through meadows bright with butterflies; I've seen her shine in children's eyes.

I've heard her in a singing stream Like muted music in a dream.

I have sought her long and well, But how to capture, who can tell?

Beauty pauses, as does Spring, Departs, like laughter, vanishing.

FLORA AND FAUNA

I'll no longer try To identify Each insect, flower or bird. A befuddled I Henceforth will rely On some old-timer's word.

NEW FILLING STATION

White rays Across the sky Keep fingering the clouds To find an unlatched window-pane To burgle.

YOURS SINCERELY THE TUCSON STORY:

The Tucson story presented in the February issue of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS is, without doubt, the best, and the finest presentation of Tucson community ever made. To say that we are pleased and delighted would be putting it mildly.

Members of my staff examined the preview copy with me this morning. Whatever was your main aim or idea, it has been exceeded. I'm sure that this issue will mean much to Tucson and we are most grateful for the fine articles and the exceptionally good pictures.

I am sure that business organizations, clubs, groups of all kinds, as well as thousands of individuals will take this opportunity to send the story of Tucson in the February issue of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS across the nation and around the world.

Tucson's response to our Tucson issue far exceeded our expectations. The issue was a sellout and we are deeply grateful to the newspapers, radio stations, television stations and civic leaders for giving us such enthusiastic support. Especial thanks to our good friend, Mayor Don Hummel of Tucson, for declaring ARIZONA HIGHWAYS WEEK when the issue was released. We are glad Tucsonians liked our story. One could just not say enough about such a fine community and such nice people.

MR. PEATTIE:

When you have writers of the calibre of Donald Culross Peattie in your pages (March issue) you have the best. I think he is one of the finest Nature writers in the business today.

WILD FLOWERS:

BACK COVER

"Rucker Lake IN THE CHIRICAHUA MOUNTAINS" BY JOSEF MUENCH. 4x5 Linhof camera; daylight Ektachrome; f.20 at 1/5 sec.; 5" Schneider lens; early April, sunny day. Photograph shows Rucker Lake in the Chiricahua Mountains. It is reached on an unnumbered road into Coronado National Forest, east of U.S. 666 or north from U.S. 8o to Rucker Canyon. The state road map doesn't show the lake, which though small, is a delightful spot, stocked by the forest service with from 8 to 15 inch trout, with no closed season. The lake is set high in the pines with sheer cliffs rising above it.

OPPOSITE PAGE

"WATERS OF THE SAN BERNARDINO RANCH" BY JOSEF MUENCH. 4x5 Linhof camera; daylight Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/10 sec.; Xenar 6" lens; April, sunny day. East of Douglas, off U.S. 80, a private road leads to the old San Bernardino Ranch where the famous Sheriff of Tombstone, John Slaughter, retired, after "cleaning up" the famous town. Set in a hidden valley, fed by many springs is this small "lake"-really the mellowed outgrowth of an earthen tank. Some wild ducks had settled on it but were disturbed by the photographer's coming-circling several times before they decided the photographer meant to stay -inadvertently crowding them out. Cottonwoods stand at the edge framing an old adobe house that weathers away in the warm sunshine.