TALES OF THE LITTLE COLORADO

The Little Coloraydo," the oldtimers used to say, "is bounded on the North by Babbitt Brothers Trading Company, and on the South by Phelps-Dodge Corporation." Those early day miners, cowpunchers, railroaders, farmers, wagoners, sheep-herders, outlaws, saloon keepers, lumberjacks and cavalry men knew the river. All of them who had ever crossed the arid grasslands of Northern Arizona by horse, wagon, or on foot knew her. They had forded her at the known crossings, bogged down in the treacherous quicksand, drunk and watered their stock from the thick red stream, and fled from her unpredictable flash floods. They all knew that she was the pulsing main artery of a country so vast and wide and unsettled that it would be remembered always as one of America's last frontiers. And the Little Colorado is a "she." The mighty Mississippi, rolling with slow-moving power, is America's "Old Man River." The Colorado cuts a grand swath through the Southwest with queenly authority. But the Little Colorado is a real harlot . . . young, tempestuous, reckless, rushing with abandon across the open country, and when the spree is over, lying low, spent and ugly, on the hot, red sand. With the next downpour, she is rejuvenated, roaring and raucous, surging and foaming in desperation over the barren land. Men have loved her in spite of her faults, because they have needed her.

Other men who knew her had other names for her. In "Legend of the Chiquito Colorado," the poet Milo Wiltbank of Eagar says: "The Little Colorado, or Colorado Chiquito, was called Tol-Chaco by the Navajo Indians, meaning red or bloody water. Coronado called it Rio de Lino, or Flax River because of the wild flax that grew along its banks. It was first called Colorado, also meaning red, in 1604 by Oñate. But to us who live in its arid basin, it is our life stream, without which we could not live in this, the country we love. So to each of us, it is not just another river, but THE river; a stream of moods and passions rising in the White Mountains from clear springs.

High on the eastern slopes of Mount Baldy, 11,470 feet above sea level, are the headwaters. Driving east from McNary, a lumbering town on Arizona 73, you turn off at the Big Lake sign and drive through rolling, grassy foothills at the base of forested mountains. This is Apache country, the finest cattle country in all of Arizona. In the fall, Apache cowboys and their dogs drive the sleek Herefords along the road and up to the sale ring at Sheep Springs. Cattle buyers and on-lookers eat a hearty meal cooked out in the open, of barbecued beef, beans, slaw and steaming coffee, while the hoarse auctioneer takes a break.

At Sheep Crossing, on the Big Lake road, the big sheep outfits make their camps in summer. Basque herders, with their Australian shepherd helpers, herd sheep all day to the sound of tinkling bells and wind-rustled pine branches. At night the smell of lamb stew cooked with vegetables and hot bread from dutch ovens wafts through the forest. There is Vino Tavola to drink and sometimes songs to be sung or stories to be retold. After breakfast, the burros are packed, the diamond hitches thrown and the cook moves on to the next camp, while the sheep graze slowly toward their summer ranges near Springerville.

The air at Sheep Crossing is thin and clean, fragrant with pine and the scent of fresh running water. A sign is posted on the fence which tells that the headwaters of the Little Colorado are seven miles upstream. Fishermen move silently up and down the stream, fly-casting for trout. The path crosses a stile and follows the river up stream.

In late summer, the river is full, swelled with recent rains. It meanders through a grassy valley where the sweet warm smell of cows lingers along the banks. Pussy wil-lows and poplars flash their leaves in the sun. After a mile or so, the gorge narrows and the river runs down a steeper grade. Another few miles and the path opens suddenly into a wide green meadow where the ruined cabin of a homestead stands alone. On the other side of a bog, the real ascent begins. The path narrows. Underbrush, boul-ders and fallen logs block the way. Wild berries grow along the banks. The river tumbles over a rocky bed and the sunlight scarcely filters through the tall ponderosas, blue spruce, white fir and aspen. Here and there on the soft sponge of the forest floor are deer prints. Higher and steeper and less distinct the path grows. Rivulets run from every side into the stream, now only three or four feet across.

Here in the damp, green, forest, where the lumbering bull elk bugles on frosty winter nights; where turkey, bear, skunk, squirrels, porcupines, cougars, bobcats, foxes, deer and even jaguars roam; where the brazen bluejay screams his warning through the tall pines; here in the White Mountains, the Little Colorado begins her journey of hundreds of miles across the face of Northeastern Arizona to her final destination . . . the big river.

Not far downstream from Sheep Crossing, just below the east and west forks of the Little Colorado, at an elevation of 8,560 feet, is the mountain village of Greer. According to the postmistress and long-time resident, Mrs. George Crosby, Greer was named after A. V. Greer, a Mormon settler from Texas. Greer was originally called Lee Valley, after a pioneer family who saw potential in the rich mountain dirt, native grass, abundant fish and game. Because of the Little Colorado's permanent water supply, small scale farming of oats, barley, and rye is car-ried on, as well as summer cutting of timothy, native hay and meadow grass for the livestock.

Although the population of Greer rarely climbs over one hundred and seventy-five, in summer there are often as many as 5,000 people in the area, fishing, hunting, camping and getting away from the heat. Greer has sev eral lodges, a Presbyterian conference camp, and the Wonderland Youth Camp managed by John Willard.

Roughly paralleling Arizona 73, the ebullient young river flows from Greer into Round Valley. This wide and lovely valley, 7,000 feet high, bordered on the south by timbered mountains, was considered "chinde," or a place of evil spirits, by the Navajo, who did not live there when the first white settlers arrived. Round Valley is dissected by the Little Colorado River, which may have marked a boundary line between hostile tribes who shared its water and who, perhaps, may have considered it a no-man's land.

In 1865 a Union Scout named Tony Long passed through Round Valley in his search for a wagon load of California gold bound for Confederate troops. After the Civil War, Long returned again, this time while freighting corn from Pueblo, Colorado, to the Cavalry outpost at Fort Apache, in the company of W. R. Milligan, Marian Clark, Johnny McCullough, Dionicio Elalio, Juan Baca and Gabriel Silva. Struck once more by the potential of the fertile valley, Long and his partners built a house known as Milligan's Fort and began small scale farming. At that time Round Valley was known by its Spanish name, Valle Redondo.

Not until 1877 did the permanent settlement of Round Valley begin with the first wagon train of determined and courageous Mormon families. A. V. Greer and Harris Phelps brought their wagons, cattle, household goods and families from Texas. A year later, the first Utah pioneers arrived, establishing the First Ward, Little Colorado Stake. With the coming of the Mormons, the wild and unruly river, like a bronc horse, slowly and painstakingly began to be broken. Hearty, resourceful and persevering, pioneers such as the Greers, Holdens, Eagars, Crosbys, Wiltbanks and Udalls built permanent homes, raised children, dug ditches and canals and built the dams so necessary for their farms, gardens and orchards.

While the peaceful village of Eagar, named after the three Eagar brothers who came in 1878, has remained predominantly Mormon, the neighboring town of Springerville has been one of the wildest and least disciplined towns the West has ever seen. Named after Harry Springer, an Albuquerque merchant who had a branch there in the early days, Springerville was, for a time, a favorite haunt of all the renegade horse thieves, cattle rustlers, and fugitives from justice from the whole Southwest. After the widely-publicized Earp-Clanton shoot-out at the O.K. Corral in Tombstone, what was left of the notorious Clanton gang came to Apache County, where law men were only conspicuous by their absence. Old man Ike Clanton and Phineas claimed a homestead on Coyote Creek east of Springerville. In the relative safety of their own ranch, they continued in the pursuits for which their previous experience had prepared them trading horses and cattle of questionable ownership and generally stirring up trouble wherever they went.

In addition to the Clantons, a group of gentlemen of similar occupation and reputation moved in, known as the Smith Gang. By the 1880's, some of the toughest outlaws ever seen in the West had drifted into this last frontier. After robbing banks and stages in Arizona's booming mining towns around Tombstone, they would ride by night to their hideouts in the Springerville area. Men of the Snider Gang started a gun-fight among themselves and before the day was over, nine of them were killed, conveniently enough, on the hill behind the Eagar cemetery. The Westbrooks of Utah and Colorado, unscrupulous land jumpers and outlaws, murdered James Hale in the streets of Springerville in 1887. When questioned, they stated that they "wanted to see if a bullet would go through a Mormon." Billy the Kid and members of his gang from New Mexico rode over until things cooled off. For a time, outlaws had virtual control of the whole area. A. F. Banta, who for unknown but doubt lessly necessary reasons used an assumed name, said in the Territorial Legislature: "I am no angel and have seen most of the tough towns of the West, but Springerville was the worst of them all."

In "Newsy Notes from St. Johns," under the dateline of Springerville, 1886, was the following item: "Ike Clanton shot a Mexican and a unknown person burned Johnson's Hotel and Saloon, also that Pete Slaughter discharged all his bad men at once as soon as he arrived home from Texas, and that there has been in that town such an unusual reign of peace for so long that the people are growing fidgety and unsettled."

The Tenth Territorial Legislature created Apache County in 1879, at which time it extended as far south as the Gila River and encompassed 20,940 rugged, inhospitable square miles. Law enforcement was in the hands of incompetent deputies and self-appointed vigilante committees. The county government was in debt, corrupt and inefficient. Oddly enough, the first indictments served in the new county were not against murderers or thieves, but against the Grahams and Tewksburys, rival cattle and sheep families whose blood feud continued until the last man was dead and went down in Arizona history as the Pleasant Valley War.

Law-abiding citizens, particularly the Mormon settlers, who had been prevented from holding public office by some of the corrupt county officials, rose up in protest and demanded the election of a man who inadvertently played a role which immortalized him in Western history. Commodore Perry Owens. An early day newspaper put it this way: "In 1886 the lawless element run riot in Apache County, precipitating a reign of terror. Mr. Owens was, as a last resort, elected sheriff." After Owens' election, Springerville was cleaned up. The outlaws disappeared almost overnight, having respect for Owens' farfamed ability with a six-shooter.

Members of the disreputable families who wished to live peacefully usually left the country. A long-time resident of Springerville told me of meeting one of the daughters of an infamous outlaw in another state where she had married and lived respectably. He said mischievously, "It's good to see you again, We'll have to get together one of these days and talk over old times," at which she bristled and quickly changed the subject.

together one of these days and talk over old times," at which she bristled and quickly changed the subject.

While Eagar has always been a Mormon town, Springerville was predominantly Spanish-American and Catholic. Side by side, the two communities have lived together in mutual respect and co-operation. Many descendants of the early Spanish-American settlers live in Springerville today, among them the Carillos, Bacas, and Silvas who came from Socorro, New Mexico.

Other families came and stayed...the Rudds, Colters, Murrays, Saffelis, Buches and Springers. The first post-master was C. F. Banta, who took office in 1879. Three generations of the Becker family live and carry on business in Springerville. Gustav and Julius Becker came to America from Hanover, Germany. After working on a farm in Illinois, the adventurous boys went to Kansas City where they caught a stage bound for Santa Fe. From the Spanish-Americans they heard of the "Sierra Blanca" the high country on which sheep and cattle grew fat in the summer. The Beckers came to Arizona and opened a small commissary on the river for the few families of Spanish-American farmers. Every year the irascible river washed away the small farms. In 1878, twenty families from Arkansas came in ox-drawn wagons to farm. Becker Brothers eventually set up a mercantile store in Springerville. The farmers raised their own vegetables and wheat for flour, but they sold their excess oats and barley. Three to five thousand pounds of grain were usually contracted to the cavalry at Fort Apache. The Beckers would send the government check to the First National Bank of Albuquerque, three hundred miles away. The cash came back from Albuquerque to Holbrook, then by two-wheel ox cart to Springerville. The shipments of money were staggered over many weeks, the wagons only carrying $500 a trip because of the number of robberies in the area.

Beckers went into the cattle business with Sherlock using the ELC brand. Gustav Becker had nine children who were sent away to be educated. Besides the mercantile and cattle business, they have been Ford dealers for fifty years, Standard Oil dealers and wholesale distributors.

Round Valley today is thriving, a gateway to the White Mountain recreation area, bustling with tourists in the summer and a year-round meeting place for cattle and sheep ranchers. It has good motels, restaurants and service stations, a high school, district elementary schools, municipal hospital, federal building and churches of five denominations.

Thirty miles north of Springerville on the Little Colorado and U. S. 666, is the quiet, agricultural town of St. Johns, rich in history. The first white man in the area had been John Walker, who carried express to troops at Fort Apache and had a cabin up the river. But the town really began with the coming of Solomon Barth, who had emiImmigrated from Poland at age thirteen and began his American career with a pack on his back from which he sold goods.

After pushing a cart on foot from the East to Utah with a band of Mormons, establishing a mercantile business in San Francisco, fighting with the Confederate guerillas known as Quantrellas in Tucson, hauling gold ore from Yarnell, contracting mail with the Pony Express, trading with the Apaches and once being robbed, stripped and left to walk over a hundred miles by a band of Chiricahuas under Cochise, he at last settled down to freighting grain between Dodge City, Kansas and Fort Apache. He and his brothers, Morris and Nathan, had thirty-eight Murphy wagons with four yoke of oxen each. The wagon train hauled grain and hay all the way from Kansas through Albuquerque, El Morro, Zuñi, and crossed the Little Colorado at St. Johns before going into the White Mountains. The government paid ten cents a pound for oats, barley and corn and fifty dollars a ton for unbaled hay.

The earliest big cattle ranchers in the county were

two Englishmen, Smith and Tea. In about 1880 the

He had first seen the Little Colorado Valley in 1867 when he acted as a guide for the survey party of the Atlantic & Pacific Railroad. The route followed the Little Colorado instead of a more direct line because of the necessity of a constant water supply for the steam engines of those days. Convinced that it would be more profitable to raise grain in the good soil along the river and cut the abundant natural grasses, he left his home in Cubero, New Mexico, in 1871 with a group of Mexican families, most of whom had been his ox-drovers, and settled at a rocky crossing on the Little Colorado known as El Puente. By 1875 another colony had been established by more settlers from the Rio Grande Valley under the leadership of Don Antonio Gonzales and Don José Garcia, but the Barth colony retained squatter's rights to the land and the water. This settlement was called El Vadito, the little-crossing.

In 1874 Sol Barth married Refugia Landazo of Cubero and built an adobe home for her which later became the famous old Barth Hotel, still standing on the main street of St. Johns, filled with antique furniture, china, old photographs, paintings and an exceptional collection of Indian baskets, pottery and artifacts.

El Vadito was re-named San Juan in honor of Señora Maria San Juan Baca de Padilla, the first white woman to live there, and was dedicated to San Juan Bautista. However, the Postmaster General took a dim view of the un-American name and anglicized it to St. Johns in 1880.

Upstream from St. Johns, about seventeen miles north of Springerville, off U. S. 666, in the open grazing country studded with black malapai rock, is Lyman Lake, a reclamation project of 15,000 acres stocked with trout. The history of Lyman Reservoir goes back to 1877 when Joseph Smith called Ammon Tenney of Kanab to accompany Mormon scout Jacob Hamblin on an expedition to locate sites along the Little Colorado suitable for colonization. During the arduous journey, those farsighted men chose St. Johns, Concho, the Meadows and Woodruff. Under the leadership of David K. Udall, the Mormons bought their land from Sol Barth for 770 cows and $2000 in goods. The first payment was made with their tithing stock. After some deliberation, the water rights were settled at 3/5 for the Mormons and 2/5 for the Mexican people. By March of 1880, 190 Mormons lived in the St. Johns Ward. A log schoolhouse was builtin 1881 and Anna Romney was the first schoolteacher. Many of the men found work with the railroad then being built across Northern Arizona. Soon a co-operative mercantile store, flour mill and cattle herd were established.

Still the river was unbridled, flooding her banks in spring and dwindling to a small trickle in early summer. By 1905 a dam at Salado Springs south of St. Johns was laboriously completed. A heavy run-off caused by melting snows leaked through the beds of quicksand at the bottom of the dam and the structure washed out. With renewed faith, the Mormons once again began construction of a dam which was badly needed for irrigation. This time a dam was built twelve miles upstream at a more favorable location, but the force and fury of the Little Colorado was once more underestimated.

1915 had been an exceptionally rainy year. Gradually the river swelled and filled and overflowed her banks. The pressure was too great. Lyman Dam broke, drowning eight people in the deluge. The surrounding farms were washed out. Miles downstream, the dam at Woodruff finally broke, relieving some of the pressure. That summer the fields dried up and crops shrivelled. Water from a spring six miles east sold for five cents a bucket.

In 1923 the new dam was completed. Now Lyman Reservoir is a popular state park with fishing, boating and camping facilities. St. Johns is still a peaceful rural town 5,725 feet high, surrounded by green patchwork farms, orchards, gardens and grazing cattle.

Those first determined and energetic leaders are gone, but the stable, close-knit community and the L. D. S. Church continue to produce men of their calibre. Stewart Udall was born in St. Johns January 31, 1920. He was the third child of Justice Levi S. Udall and Louise Udall.

He grew up loving the outdoors, knowing the country of the Little Colorado and its people. During the summer he worked on farms. In winter he was a high school athlete. He served two years on a mission for his church and during World War II was a gunner on a bomber flying out of Italy. After marrying Ermalee Webb and graduating from Law School at the University of Arizona, he opened his own law practice in Tucson. In 1954 he ran for Representative from Arizona's Second District and was re-elected three times. In Congress, he became a close friend of another ambitious young man... John F. Ken nedy, during whose administration he was made Secretary of the Interior. He is a literate speaker and a capable writer, having published a very popular book on the history of reclamation and conservation in the United States entitled "The Quict Crisis."

Fifteen miles west of St. Johns on U. S. 180 lies the old Mexican town of Concho, cradled in the hills, now almost deserted except for a few small farms with bright chiles hanging from the adobe walls, a cantina with gera niums in the window and a gas station-post office-library general store combined. When Sol Barth won about eight thousand head of sheep in a poker game in Las Lunas, he put them near Concho under the management of Manuel Candalaria and his family. The sheep industry grew as did the family of Candalaria, until Concho was a bustling, prosperous trading center which supported three banks. Now Concho is a sleepy but picturesque village of ruined adobes.

North of Concho, near the Mormon settlement of Hunt, the Zuñi River empties into the Little Colorado, carrying with its load of silt, memories of the pride, romance, horsemanship, bravery and flashing steel that accompanied the Conquistadores.

In 1539, Fray Marcos de Niza, after an expedition into the unexplored North, reported to Spanish authorities in Mexico that the seven cities of Cibola were rich in gold, silver and turquoise. For years, the Spaniards had listened to Indian myths concerning the seven fabled cities. They had found untold wealth in Mexico and Peru... why not in the North as well? In 1540 an exploring party of 300 soldiers, several hundred Indians, a remuda of excellent horses, a herd of sheep and cattle, left Mexico. under the leadership of Francisco Vasquez de Coronado. Instead of riches, they found the pueblo of Zuñi, its rock houses three stories high built on hills. The windows, cut from thin sheets of mica, shimmered like pure gold in the New Mexico sun.

At the time Coronado discovered Zuñi, the people lived in six villages: Hawikuh, Halone, Kechipan, Kwa kiha, Kiakima and Matsaki. They were peaceful, sedentary, speaking a language unrelated to other local tribes, believing that they occupied the middle of the earth. Near Zuñi stands a great mesa, Toaiyalane, with two rock spires near the edge which resemble a man and a woman. Here, Zuñi legend says, the people fled during the great flood which subsided only when a young man and a maiden were sacrificed to the water gods.

Zuñi legend says, the people fled during the great flood which subsided only when a young man and a maiden were sacrificed to the water gods.

Although the Spaniards introduced livestock and metal working and attempted to Catholicize the Zuni, they had little effect on the centuries-old religious and social beliefs of the people. In 1680 all the New Mexican pueblos revolted against Spanish domination and killed the priests. Although the old adobe mission in the center of the village is in ruins, the Zuñi did save two relics from these times.

Handed down through generations of the same family, the Santo Niño remains at Zuñi and is said to perform miracles for those with true faith. The Spanish santo, about fifteen inches tall, is kept dressed in pure white garments and draped with silver and turquoise beads. Around its neck hangs an Indian buckskin medicine pouch. Once a year, on Santo Niño day, it is brought out into the plaza and dances and fiestas are held in its honor. Many of the older Spanish-American people of the Southwest have walked hundreds of miles to Zuñi as a penance and to pray to the Santo Niño to intercede for them.

Although I have not seen them, I understand the Zuñi people have saved the Spanish bells from the mission. Their tone is said to be exquisite because of the quantity of silver they contain. The Zuñi are also in possession of a "vara" or cane, symbol of authority handed down to the elected officials from the King of Spain.

In 1692 Don Diego Vargas reconquered the pueblos without bloodshed, because they had been weakened by European diseases, disruption of their government and attacks by Navajos, Apaches and Utes, who by that time had learned to use the Spaniard's greatest weapon of conquest, the horse. Between 1821 and 1848 Mexican rule replaced Spanish, When the United States won the territory from Mexico a fort was established nearby at Wingate. From Wingate, Lt. Beale's famed and highly unsuccessful Camel Corps passed through the Zuñi area in 1857, leaving unhappy descendants to roam aimlessly along the Zuñi and Little Colorado for years afterward.

Strengthened by the Carrizo and Zuñi washes, the Little Colorado winds westward through cattle country south of the Petrified Forest. Milo Wiltbank wrote: "It has been said that God placed the Petrified Forest beside the Little Colorado because it is the only river in the world muddy enough to float a petrified log.

160 million years ago, Northeastern Arizona was a low-lying basin. Shifting streams carried great logs from surrounding highlands along with gravel, sand and volcanic ash. During this period, the Triassic, huge trees, similar to pines now found in Australia and South America, grew along swamps and warm seas. Among the reeds, rushes, palms and mosses roamed giant reptiles such as the Phytosaurus and amphibians such as Stegocephalians. Eventually the logs were buried under silt deposits on the bottom of shallow seas. This silt, under pressure, became layers of rock hundreds of feet thick. Mineral-laden water filtered into the logs replacing the wood with mineral and turning them to stone. Over the past sixty million years, the area has risen thousands of feet and running water has eroded layer after layer of rock, finally exposing the petrified wood of Triassic origin.

The general uplift of the Colorado Plateau to a height of six to eight thousand feet above sea level which caused the cutting of the mighty Grand Canyon started about seven million years ago. This, perhaps, was the origin of the Little Colorado. Extensive volcanic activity of the Pleistocene era during the last million years altered the old drainage patterns. Beginning in the Pleistocene basalt of the White Mountains, the Little Colorado cuts into the red Chinle formation 180 million years old, then through the Moenkopi, 200 million years old, and the pale Coconino sandstone of Permian origin.

Below Holbrook the river is dammed once more, held gently by an old rock dam at the Mormon town of Woodruff. During my vacations from college in the 1950's, I spent many peaceful afternoons retreating from the pains of the Twentieth Century, perched on a sandstone slab above Woodruff dam painting watercolors, watching the water run lazily over the spillway while cows stood on the grassy banks of the reservoir, drinking the reddish water.

Tenney's Camp was first surveyed by four men from Allen's Camp downriver. Then came Nathan Tenney, his wife and sons. Soon other pioneers arrived, built canals, houses and dams which washed out time and time again. In 1879 the town was named Woodruff in honor of the president of the L. D. S. church. The land was purchased from the railroad for eight dollars an acre in 1882 and thetown laid out in four-acre blocks with wide streets between.

North of town lie the green, yellow and brown checkerboards of farm land extending to Blue Butte, a volcanic cone rising from the surrounding plains. Woodruff Butte was once sacred to the Navajo who came there to cut jimsonweed for their ceremonies. Today Woodruff is still a small, serene oasis in the desert. Her men commute to jobs in nearby towns, but return at night to the sanctuary of their old-fashioned red brick houses amidst towering elms and cottonwoods.

Silver Creek, a tributary beginning in the White Mountains, flows gently down through the junipers and piñons of the Bourdon Ranch, past the valley of Shumway and through the Mormon towns of Snowflake and Taylor, to irrigate more farms and gardens. In the neat village of Snowflake was born one of Broadway's most talented dancers. Vernal "Buzz" Miller, son of Mr. and Mrs. Al Miller, developed much of his grace, control, co-ordination, strength and sense of rhythm by riding horseback almost every day as a boy. After being discharged from the Army, he studied ballet in Hollywood with Mia Slavenska, after which he appeared in several musicals. In New York, he became a protégé of Gwen Verdon's husband, dancer choreographer-director Bob Fosse. He has toured Europe with Ronald Petite and his male dancers and appeared in a production of Eugene O'Neill's "A Moon for the Misbegotten" in Spoleto, Italy. He has worked hard to perfect his singing and acting techniques as well as dance routines. Over the past ten years "Buzz" Miller has appeared in the Broadway productions of "Pajama Game," "Hot Spot," "Redhead," and is now dancing in the smash hit "Funny Girl."

From Woodruff the Little Colorado continues northward until it meets the erratic, sidewinding Puerco. At the confluence of these two rivers lies a town once known as Horsehead Crossing. It is here, where the river is ugly and muddy and treacherous, that I know the Little Colorado best. Driving into Holbrook from the south, you are greeted by an auto junkyard, a root-beer stand, a feed store, a garage and a truck terminal. On the right is Mr. Dyer's store and gas station with its clientele of small, grinning, untidy kids... Mexican, Negro, Apache, Navajo, Hopi and Anglo. clutching sticky candy bars and dripping popsicles, yelling to each other in three or four languages, riding bikes followed by dogs of improbable species. You pass the petrified wood saloon and then, just before you come to the bridge, you wave to Rosie who sits in the sunshine on the porch in front of her house. Staring from across the bridge is a vacuous blonde in a cowboy hat on a huge billboard which says: "Schuster's the friendly store since 1884."

A narrow bridge crosses the Little Colorado. Traffic is sometimes held up for hours by bands of sheep which must cross the river to reach the railroad, or pastures north of town. Basque and Spanish herders yell, toss rocks and wave their arms. Australian shepherd dogs yap at the heels of the sheep until, at last, some brave goat leads the way and the band follows.

Down along the river bank the Navajo men gather to gossip and sleep off their hangovers and start new ones. In the summer, when the river is full, laborers fish for cat off the sides of the bridge. In the days before trucking, ranchers drove their cattle across the river to the railhead, riding hard and fast to keep them from bogging down in the patches of quicksand.

Holbrook consisted of a small trading post down on the crossing, run by Berardo and Padilla until the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad arrived to change the face of the whole country. In 1881 the first train arrived on its way from Albuquerque to San Bernardino, turning Holbrook into a hell-raising cattle town.

The same group of eastern lawyers, bankers and brokers who had financed the railroad decided in 1884 to form the Aztec Land and Cattle Company, Ltd., and engage in the romantic pursuit of ranching. As Ross White and Carl Muir put it in their recently published history of J. & W. Seligman and Co.: "a business the firm was probably least qualified to conduct." Quoting from their book: "The Aztec bought 1,000,000 acres of land from the railroad at fifty cents an acre and stocked it with 33,000 Texas longhorns purchased from the Continental Cattle Company in West Texas. The company also acquired 2,200 horses. From that time on it is likely that neither the Seligmans, nor any of the other absentee owners in the East knew quite what was going on in Arizona Territory." This was the well-known Hashknife Outfit, so called because the brand resembled the cooking utensil used by cowboy cooks called a hashknife.

With the Hashknife came some of the toughest men in the Southwest and some of the best. Tom Pickett, Billy Wilson and Dave Rudabaugh were said to have ridden with Billy the Kid's gang. Others were local boys, one being Johnny McLaws who rode "rough string" and had been the first white child born in Joseph City. Some of the best cowpunchers came from Texas and stayed, among them Johnny Paulsell, Frank Wallace and Barney Stiles.

In the 1880's, Holbrook was no place for the faint of heart. It consisted of a dozen or so frame shacks, most of them along Main Street, which ran between the river and the railroad tracks. There were about 250 residents, a Chinese restaurant operated by Louey Ghuey, a livery stable, the Adamson-Burbage store, Nathan Barth's store, and five or six saloons including the euphoric Bucket of Blood, rendezvous of cowboys, sheep-herders, railroaders, Indian traders, fancy ladies, professional gamblers and other social elite of the area.

According to John Divelbess, the Bucket of Blood was so named after a man from the Indian Nation (Oklahoma) known as "Crawford" killed two Mexicans in the saloon. Local authorities, while holding him, learned that the last of the Dalton boys had headed for Arizona and was going by the name of "Mr. Crawford."

Among the best-known early day Hereford breeders was Henry Boice, who often bought Northern Arizona cattle for his 777 outfit in Montana. In "Hereford Tradition of Arizona's Boice's," Richard Schaus says: "The Bucket of Blood acted as a sort of combination clearing house, market news agency and general hangout as well as thirst-quenching emporium."

Holbrook won national acclaim twice. Once, in 1887, when Sheriff Commodore Perry Owens, during an arrest, shot and killed four men in a single minute, unwillingly but firmly establishing his reputation as a Hero of the Old West. Once again, in 1899, when Sheriff Wattron was reprimanded by President McKinley for sending out beautifully engraved formal invitations to the hanging of one George Smiley, murderer, whose soul, according to the invitation, was "to be swung into eternity on December 8, 1899, at 2 o'clock P.M., sharp."

By 1897 the Hashknife Outfit was in dire financial trouble, due to a range war between cattle and sheep interests, cattle rustling and horse stealing and virtually unmanageable cowhands. Burton C. Mossman, later captain

Between 1276 and 1299 the Southwest had suffered a prolonged drought. The water table lowered and the stress dried up. The sedentary pueblo people suffered raids by nomadic tribes now seeking into the area from the north... Navajos, Apache and Utes. The last stronghold in the whole region was the Little Colorado Kiva where there was a constant water supply. The Little Colorado culture showed signs of continued development, but the Spaniards began arriving in 1540, and started settling the people. All along the Little Colorado, at funerals, are the rock symbols called petroglyphs, the tumbled rocks and pottery fragments, which remind us of the thousands of human beings whose cultures are passing forever.

Ten miles downstream from Holbrook is Jompia City, one of the four sites chosen by Mormon explorers in the area. This, the oldest town in Navajo County, was first called Allen's Camp. Adele Westover and J. Morris Richards' book "Unfishing Courage" states: "The Indians were not their worst enemy, they found, but Northeastern Arizona's ski climates, the sand-storms, the flood that came in rainy seasons to wash out their crude dams on the Little Colorado River, and the vast diseases from all sources of supply of the necessities of life." Before the present dam was built, the opposing Lazio Colorado had washed out fourteen other. But the people still stayed, as did the other Mormon settlers along the river, so sure on their livestock grazing, dairying, farming and small businesses.

The silver cross U.S. 66 meets Winslow, a prosperous town of about 10,000 people. In 1891 Capt. Lemme Sieber led a party of twenty men down the Little Colorado to the location of Winslow, trying to establish a wagon route for military transport, but Winslow did no permanent settlers until the coming of the railroad in 1881, and no mail grown until it became a Santa Fe division terminal with a roundhouse from which the engines could be switched. Named after Gen. Edward Winslow, a president of the Atlantic and Pacific Rail road, early Winslow was a dry raw-knuckle town of several shops, about a hundred frame cottage, a Colossal Pleasurect, Browns saloons and bawdy houses, most of which were located along Front Street, hosting the tracks. A friend has told me of growing up in the frontier town, and being cautioned by her Eskimo mother never to look up and hurry past the red light districts on their way home from town. Of course," she said, "we looked for all we were worth."

"Doc" Demrest, who run a hotel, was the first white settler. Later J. H. Ase arrived and built a rock trading post. Mrs. Downs, proprietor of the Downs House, was the midwife and woodensker for the community. By the turn of the century, Winslow was a sprawley, booming, rough-home railroad and cattle-shipping center.

With the opening of the Harvey Homes, where passengers on the Santa Fe could stop, stretch, and have dinner on white linen, using the best silver plate, Winslow added to its residents that hearty and virtuous creature, the Harvey Girl. The million hired single girls in the East and Midwest who eagerly came West looking for adventure, a husband, an escape from the drudgery of farm chores or the stifling boredom of a small town. Their wage was $1.00 a day plus room, board and laundry, about the same as a cowboy's. They were required to be in by 10 P.M. and their behavior was scrupulously watched, because the local fancy ladies complained hardly to the Santa Fe if any girl was suspected of walking kotasa From Winslow, thousands of sheep and cattis wars shipped to Kamene City and Omska. In thoes days a wa

had to accompany cattle to market. He rode in the caboose, walking along the top of the Palace Stock Cars and frequently going down into the “manboles” to help up any cattle that had fallen. Every thirty-six hours the cattle were let out for water and hay, then driven back with the help of prod poles supplied by the railroad.

The beautiful Harvey House “La Posada” is closed now, but the Santa Fe still uses it for offices. Winslow's main industries are cattle ranching and the tourist business, the town being a gateway to the Mogollon Rim recreation area, near Meteor Crater and the Hopi and Navajo Reservations. Frontier Airlines provides daily service from Winslow throughout the Southwest.

Northward from Winslow, the banks of the Little Colorado broaden. In dry seasons the river is a thread of red winding along the cracked bed. After late summer rains, she rushes and roars across the open country, foaming white above the dark water. North she flows, into Navajo country, the wide, empty land of immense sky, red earth and dark blue mesas along the horizon. Here and there along the banks, Navajo children herd sheep. A woman in turquoise jewelry, velvet blouse and satin skirt hauls water to her hogan in a horse-drawn wagon. Navajo boys ride their best horses, singing parts of chants. Extending for over three hundred miles along the north bank of the Little Colorado is a vast stretch of delicately colored burtes, mesas and canyons which change from the gold of morning to rose to reddish brown, magenta and deep violet as the sun's rays slant and the shadows shift. This subtly sculptured landscape, part of the Chinle formation, is one of America's best known physical features of the Painted Desert.

Near Leupp, dozens of washes from the far northeastern reaches of the Navajo Reservation converge and flow into the Little Colorado as Oraibi Wash. From far beyond the three Hopi mesas they come. Out of the dim and fading past they come, bringing the sacred water upon which the Hopi have based their religion and their lives for so many centuries. The village of Oraibi itself is the oldest continuously inhabited town in the United States. Strange sounding names on the map such as Mishongnovi, Shipaulovi, Shimopavi, designate the Hopi villages built of native sandstone high atop the three great fingers of Black Mesa.

For about 800 years the Hopis have maintained their ancient and complex culture in spite of drouth, disease, starvation, attacks by enemies, attempts at conversion by Spanish priests and Protestant missionaries, and early misunderstandings with government agents. Except for a rebellion against Spanish priests in 1680, they have lived peacefully with their neighbors.

In this, their homeland, the Hopis practice alluvial farming of their traditional foods: corn, melon, beans, squash and sunflower seeds. Every year they hold ancient and meaningful ceremonies as supplications for rain and subsequent good crops.

Here in these vast and endless stretches of blue sky and red earth, the Little Colorado takes on some of the serenity, stoicism and timelessness of Indian culture. “To walk in beauty is the Navajo life way. “Hopi” means “peace.” So many people, so many centuries, have mingled here, along the lonely river in the lonely land.

In “Sun Chief,” the autobiography of a Hopi, Don Talayesva tells of those early frustrations when the government agents tried to make white men out of the Indians. But even in the bitterness and confusion of those turn-ofthe-century days, were there and touching moments of understanding between men. FHe tells of a Mormon crossing the Indian Reservation who hired four Hopi boys to dig a grave for his son. “The Mormon and his wife came to the cemetery in a wagon loaded with a coffin, which was covered with expensive velvet. They cried and cried because this seventeen year old boy was their only child and had come with them from Salt Lake City. Some of the government employees sang Nearer My God to Thee’ and 'Shall We Gather at the River?' I was sorry for the parents and joined in the singing. We filled the grave with earth and put stones at the head and feet. I did not care to be buried in a coffin, even a fancy velvet-covered one, because it was sealed tightly with no way of escape.” Northwest of Leupp, the river, when full, provides one of the most spectacular sights in Arizona. Thirty miles northeast of Flagstaff are the Grand Falls, a series of sandstone steps about three hundred feet across, which create a foaming waterfall. The stream flow of the Little Colorado at Grand Falls has been recorded since 1914 to determine the river's hydrological importance. The maximum recorded flow during that time was 586,000.9 acre feet in 1941 and the lowest was 71,000 acre feet in 1934.

Of greater concern is the heavy load of silt this narrow, swift-moving and ungovernable stream carries with her. The estimated average annual silt flow is 27,500 acre feet. Quoting P. E. Coe, area engineer for the B. of R.: "The Bureau of Reclamation tion as part of the potential Central Arizona Project, contemplates the construction of a dam on the Little Colorado River at the Coconino site, approximately eight miles northwest of Cameron, Arizona. Purposes served by the structure would be lood control, silt control, recreation, and fish and wildlife conservation. No power facilities would be installed. The silt control function would be particularly important since the reservoir would retain sediment which would otherwise be deposited behind Bridge Canyon Dam, which would be the major power producer of the Central Arizona Project."

It is a big country, the country of the Little Colorado. Navajo, Apache and Coconino Counties have a population of 117,000 who live in a land area of 35.381,120 acres. There are 425 farms with an average size of 29.571.9 acres. Only thirty-nine of these farms have sales of over $40,000 a year. Roaming the ranges are 117,200 head of cattle and 282,765 head of sheep.

One of the families whose history parallels that of the big country is the Babbitts. David and William Babbitt sold their small grocery store in Cincinnati to build a dream in the West, got off the Santa Fe in Flagstaff in 1886 and saw a discouraging row of frame shacks along a mudrutted road. Timber, cattle, sheep, railroading and saloons were the town's main industries. Before long, Babbitt Brothers had acquired a Navajo trading post as well as their small store. A man named Dittenhoffer who owned the trading post at Red Lake near Oraibi Wash was shot in a fight over a game of cards. The Babbits, whom he owed, acquired the post.

Their mercantile store was prospering in 1889. Ads in "The Coconino Sun" read: "D. Babbitt, dealer in Hardware, Stoves, Paints, Oils, Cement, Plaster of Paris and Hair. Guns and Ammunition," In 1889 they bought the remnant of the huge A-r-Bar owned by the Arizona Cattle Company and run by a man with the singular name of Captain Bullwinkle. The combination mercantile and cattle business kept the firm going through several depressions. Today Babbitt Brothers Trading Company does a fifteen million dollar a year business and has a 12 million dollar annual payroll, important to the economy of Northern Arizona. Ted Babbitt manages the trading company with branches in Winslow, Holbrook, Williams, Kingman, Grand Canyon and Page. John Babbitt manages the cattle ranches in Arizona and Montana.

North of Flagstaff the river skirts the edge of Wupatki National Monument, a series of prehistoric apartmenthouse villages of the Great Pueblo Period. Wupatki is not far from Sunset Crater, a volcanic cone which has erupted within the tenure of man.

The Little Colorado flows under the suspension bridge at Cameron on U.S. 89, rushing toward one final spree before she reaches her rendezvous with the big Colorado. About fifteen miles off U.S. 89, on the Grand Canyon road, is a good viewpoint of the Little Colorado Gorge. She has begun the same violent erosion and cutting which formed the mighty Grand Canyon.

At a point about seven miles below Cameron, this wild and undisciplined river begins its last tortuous fortyone miles. Although a handful of prospectors, Indians, scientists, and photographers have seen the gorge, perhaps only one man in the world has first-hand knowledge of this inaccessible and formidable canyon. Dr. J. H. Butchart, a mathematics professor at Arizona State College. He has made several expeditions into the gorge and walked nearly all of the bed from the mouth to Cameron.

Two main trails lead into the Little Colorado Gorge, the Blue Spring Trail and the Salt Trail, which is closer to the mouth. From the barren, rocky and windy plateau the trail begins a descent of 3400 feet to the bottom. From the Kaibab limestone of the plateau, the scarcely perceptible trail, marked at intervals with rock cairns, winds down the loose talus past the pale Coconino sandstone, Hermit Shale, the 800-foot-thick red Supai, the 550-foot-thick Redwall dyed by iron oxides from above, down past the Cambrian Tonto formation, the Tapeats sandstone, finally to reach the Algonkian at the bottom, the earliest form of sedimentary rock. Until 1912 the Hopis made an annual pilgrimage, using this trail, to sacred salt deposits near the mouth. The

NOTES FOR PHOTOGRAPHERS OPPOSITE PAGE

"ON A HIGH MOUNTAIN A RIVER IS BORN" Photo was taken in the Mount Baldy Primitive Area on the Little Colorado River. High up on the headwaters of the river, it is almost no more than a trickle of cold, clear water. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.16 at 1/25th sec.; 270mm Tel-Arton-Pola Screen lens; July; mid-morning; Meter reading 300; ASA rating 64.

FOLLOWING PAGES

"LAZY DAY ON THE LITTLE COLORADO" Little Colorado River, five miles south of St. Johns. Here it expresses one of its many moods. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/5th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens; June; back light near sunrise; Meter reading 50; ÁSA rating 64.

"IN THE UPPER VALLEY OF THE LITTLE COLORADO" Photo taken in Mount Baldy Primitive Area in the upper Little Colorado River Valley. Mount Baldy in the background receives a snowcap of sometimes twenty feet deep during severe winters and wears a "bald patch" of snow as late as August. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f. 11 at 1/25th sec.; 150mm Symmar-Pola-Screen lens; July; early morning, ASA rating 64.

"LITTLE COLORADO AT SHEEP CROSSING" Here is another view of the Little Colorado below Sheep Crossing in the White Mountains. Trout fishing, incidentally, is good here. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/25th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens with a Pola-Screen; August; Meter reading 400; ASA rating 64.

"LITTLE COLORADO BELOW GREER LAKE" Photo shows the Little Colorado just below Greer Lake in the White Mountains. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.16 at 1/25th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens with Pola-Screen; July; early morning, side light; Meter reading 200; ASA rating 64.

"GREER LAKE IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS" Greer Lake on the Little Colorado is a big attraction for the many vacationers who find the small community of Greer a delightful summer resort and fishing center. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.16 at 1/25th sec.; 270mm Tele-Arton lens; July; early morning; Meter reading 150; ASA rating 64.

"LITTLE COLORADO ABOVE EAGAR" Photo taken on the Little Colorado about two miles above Eagar from the Big Lake Road Bridge. Having left the high mountains, the river becomes wider and more sluggish and becomes a source of irrigation water for farms around Eagar. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.32 at 1/25th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens; June; mid-morning; Meter reading 400; ASA rating 64.

"RIVER SCENE NEAR ST. JOHNS" Photo taken in the Little Colorado River Valley just below St. Johns. Blue Hills in background. In this area water from the river is used for irrigation of small farms in the St. Johns area. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/25th sec.; August, 1964; near sunrise; Meter reading 100; ASA rating 64.

"AT SOUTH FORK BRIDGE LITTLE COLORADO" Here is a view of the Little River at the South Fork Road Bridge. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/50th sec.; 90mm Angulon lens; August; near mid-day; Meter reading 600; ASA rating 64. "MUDDY MIST OF GRAND FALLS" Photo shows last year's Grand Falls on the Little Colorado, forty miles northeast of Flagstaff. Water from rain had reached an almost-all-time high when this picture was made. The falls have a drop of 185 feet and when the river flows full the plunging milk-chocolate water over the precipitous terraces forms a grand sight. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/25th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens with Pola-Screen; August; side light, early afternoon.

CENTER PANEL

"AUGUST AFTERNOON LYMAN LAKE" This is a view of Lyman Lake on the Little Colorado, the river's largest empoundment of water. The dam forming this lake was built primarily to store water to irrigate farm lands around St. Johns. 4x5 Graphic View II camera; Ektachrome; f.16 at 1/25th sec.; Ilex-61/2" lens with Pola-Screen; August; mid-afternoon; Meter reading 400; ASA rating 64. "IN LYMAN LAKE STATE PARK" Lyman Lake is becoming increasingly popular as a recreational area for residents of Apache County. It has been taken into the State Park system. 4x5 Graphic View II camera; Ektachrome; f.11 at 1/100th sec.; Ilex-61/2" lens; August; early afternoon; Meter reading 400; ASA rating 50.

"EARLY EVENING LYMAN LAKE" An evening view of Lyman Lake is a pleasant and colorful sight. The dam, and the lake it forms, was named after Francis I. Lyman, a Mormon Bishop. 4x5 Graphic View camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/sec.; 135mm Ektar lens; September; sunset; Meter reading 25; ASA rating 50.

"LITTLE COLORADO NEAR CAMERON" View of the Little Colorado at the old bridge near Cameron. When this photo was taken the river was very low. It is in this area where the Bureau of Reclamation proposes to build the Coconino Dam, primarily for silt-control. When the river is in flood stage it is more soil than water. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.16 at 1/25th sec.; 90mm Angulon lens with Pola-Screen; May; late afternoon, back lighting; Meter reading 200; ASA rating 64.

"LITTLE COLORADO BELOW LYMAN DAM" View of the Little Colorado River a few miles downstream from Lyman Dam. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.16 at 1/25th sec.; 90mm Angulon lens; July; early afternoon, side light; Meter reading 400; ASA rating 64.

"RIVER AT LYMAN DAM OUTLET" View of the Little Colorado at the Lyman Dam outlet. By the time the river has reached this point the terrain has changed considerably from the high forested mountain reaches where the river was born. 4x5 Graphic View II camera; Ektachrome; f.16 at 1/25th sec.; Ilex-61/2" lens; May; late evening; ASA rating 50.

"DIVERSION DAM ABOVE ST. JOHNS" View of the Little Colorado at the Diversion Dam, three miles above St. Johns. Here water from the river is diverted into irrigation canals. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.16 at 1/50th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens; August; late afternoon, strong side light; Meter reading 400; ASA rating 64.

"VIEW OF LOWER GORGE BETWEEN CAMERON AND GRAND CANYON" This view of the Lower Gorge of the Little Colorado was taken from the viewpoint on Arizona 64 between Cameron and Grand Canyon. This magnificent and mighty slash through the high plateau is eloquent evidence of the mighty strength of a "little" river. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/25th sec.; 90mm Angulon lens; May; side light, mid-morning; Meter reading 600; ASA rating 64.

"LITTLE COLORADO NEAR HOLBROOK" View of the Little Colorado at the Old Bridge near Holbrook on Arizona 260. When this photo was taken the river was running full during a record summer rainy season. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.16 at 1/50th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens with PolaScreen; August; side light, early morning; Meter reading 600; ASA rating 64."

LAST PAGE OF COLOR PORTFOLIO

"MELTING SNOW GIVES LIFE TO A RIVER" High up in the White Mountains winter snow piles up as deep as twenty feet. Comes the thaw in spring, water from melting snow banks gives strength and momentum to the Little Colorado. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/50th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens; April; mid-afternoon."

In 1945 I moved with my family to Flagstaff, where I was to teach mathematics at Arizona State College. Soon after our arrival we spent a day at the Grand Canyon and came away saturated with its grandeur. On the way home we noticed the little sign, "Viewpoint 1/4 Mile." We had seen enough for one day and assumed that the view would be an anticlimax, but we parked the car and walked out to the point overlooking the Little Colorado River.

The sight below was anything but an anticlimax. This gorge is different from anything we had seen. At first you may wonder whether there is a bottom below those walls and towers. Of course there is, but down there it seems like a different world. Could a walker follow that sandy riverbed? Would he meet some impassable waterfall or go crazy hemmed in by prison walls for so many miles? This view became a must for our out-of-state visitors.

Our first vacations in the west were family affairs. We hit the showplaces Bryce, Zion, the Grand Canyon's North Rim, Oak Creek. We went on ambitious hikes to Supai, Phantom Ranch, and Rainbow Bridge. But as my wife and two children developed other interests, I began to go exploring by myself or with a few college boys. Anything I heard about from other hikers became a lure for me. My firsthand knowledge of the Grand Canyon National Park grew.

I did not hear very much about the Little Colorado River. I found the U. S. Geological Survey map of the lower portion, and the eight indicated trails to the bottom of the gorge intrigued me. I soon learned, however, that most of these are not "trails" in the usual meaning of the word. For instance, a party of geologists carried a ladder for use on the Blue Spring Trail. Bighorn sheep may still use the trails, but burros could manage only two of the eight.

In 1954 I became acquainted with Otis Marston, the intrepid boatman from Berkeley who chronicles all things pertaining to the Colorado River. His letters contained a wealth of information about the entire area. He told me that there had long been a rumor of gold at the mouth of the Little Colorado. Melvin McCormick of Flagstaff said that a man named Jim Coleman had actually found a little gold seven miles up the river from its mouth.

In conversation, correspondence, and books I learned a few more items concerning the area. Major Powell reported an Indian ruin near the mouth of the Little Colorado. In Arizona Days and Ways I saw pictures of a river party swimming in the blue lagoon at the mouth of the river, and Life showed this water contrasting sharply with the muddy Colorado where the two rivers meet. Gradually the Little Colorado rose to the top of my list of hiking ambitions.

In April, 1956, I visited the river for the first of eleven treks deep into the gorge. I had inferred that one could reach the Little Colorado by using the Tanner Trail, the head of which is on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon just east of Lipan Point. I knew from previous experience that this trail is long, rough, and without water. Still, with food for only two days I was able to set a fast pace. What a difference summer heat makes! Then the canyons become death traps. Thirst and resultant madness have killed four persons near this trail during the last decade. A thorough apprenticeship on the well-maintained trails shows you the necessity of carrying plenty of water, but even when you observe this precaution you are weakened by the heat.

In early April, however, conditions were perfect and I could enjoy the views, the pinnacles near the North Rim and the great buttes near the river. The Little Colorado, in its lower course, goes west from Cameron, then turns north and finally goes west again for the last seven miles before it joins the Colorado. The morning sun directly through this 3400-foot gash in the plateau illuminated Chuar Butte directly opposite the river's mouth. When I reached the foot of the Tanner Trail I paused to note, on the other side of tumultuous Tanner Rapid, the contrast of black lava and red shale in the same cliff.

It is only seven miles from here to the mouth of the Little Colorado, but it must be about twelve rough miles on foot. My eyes were my guide, and I followed the best route I could, up over the knolls to the east and then down through the willows, mesquite, and open dunes along the east side of the river. Progress is comparatively easy until you reach an old camp below a copper mine. Looking north you see an abrupt change. There is a 300-foot cliff quite close to the river, with rough slopes both above and below it. Fearing that the upper talus might lead me higher and finally prevent me from getting down to the river, I chose the lower route. There was no sign of a trail, and I began to have misgivings. The cliff came progressively closer to the water, and finally the bank gave out. The great bulk of Chuar Butte loomed directly ahead, and I knew that I had come three-fourths of the distance from the copper mine to the Little Colorado. The salt-draped wall came down into deep water, and nearby a crude ladder made of driftwood poles leaned against the cliff. Only three rungs were left, and two of them were loose at one end. The rusted nails showed that a white man had intended to use this route

The LOWER GORGE of the LITTLE COLORADO By J. H. BUTCHART

to the notch in the cliff above, but even if the ladder had been sound, I could not have scaled the remaining ten feet to safety. I had to retrace my path along the river and camp at the beginning of the cliff near the copper mine. The next morning I took the route above the cliff which I had decided against the day before. In places the trail is still clear, but there are gaps where one is only a few feet from the 300-foot cliff, and the footing is on shale sloping right to the brink. Carrying only a canteen and a light camera, I moved fast enough to reach the river and get a few pictures, then returned to my pack with time left to follow the river to the Tanner Trail and climb back to my car the same day. After I returned from this reconnaissance, "Dock" Marston introduced me to the story of the Hopi salt expedition. Up until 1912, a few Hopi Indians performed the annual ritual of going from their reservation home to get salt at the mouth of the Little Colorado. Although the Hopis obtained most of their salt by trade with the