Category Archives: True Facts, Legends & Etc.

Goodies that may or may not be true facts, somewhat exaggerated, or even wild-eyed stories. You be the judge.

A Bottle Full of Teeth

John Searles

John Searles

John W Searles‘  bottle full of his own teeth was a reminder of one of the most remarkable encounters with the grizzly bear ever related in San Bernardino County.

While hunting deer in March, 1870, Searles, a miner  and hunter,  came to the brink of  a precipice, and saw in the valley that spread out before him two fully grown  bears  and a cub. Although he had only for good cartridges, he had contrived to make a few extra makeshift loads for his gun from a misfit box of ammunition which had  been sent  to him by mistake.

Searles  entered the valley and road for hours over rough, snow-covered country, looking for the bears, before he finally came upon one sleeping under a clump of brush.  He fired a shot  and the bear rolled over from the impact of the bullet.  two more shots finished them. Then, nearby, Searles heard the sound of another bear.

grizzly bear

NPS photo

Wet with snow, Searles worked his way cautiously through the brush,  only to be surprised when a second massive bear reared up before him, its nose scarcely 10 feet away.  the thick brush made it impossible to step back   and aim. Searles  jammed another bullet in his rifle and pulled the trigger, but there was no report. It was one of the off size cartridges.

Before he could try a third time, the grizzly charged, mouth agape. Searles  tried to jam his rifle down the bear’s  throat. The animal flung the weapon aside and threw Searles to the ground.  With one foot on the hunter’s breast, the grizzly bit off a large section of Searles’ lower jaw, then gashed his throat and laid bare his shoulder bone. Searles managed to roll over, his coat doubled up on his back in a  hump. The bear bit the coat once and left.

Despite his mangled condition, Searles recovered his horse and, with the freezing cold sealing his ruptured veins, road 4 miles to a camp, where he received first aid before proceeding on a three-day trip to a Los Angeles hospital.   Doctors  gave him no chance to live, but three weeks after they had patched, sewed and pieced him together, the hunter was up and able to get around.

For years afterward, Searles kept in his desk a 2 ounce bottle containing 21 pieces of broken bone and teeth, torn from his lower jaw  by the grizzly. And, in the corner of his office,  his old Spencer rifle stood, its lock  showing clearly the  dents of the grizzly’s vicious teeth.

from :
Pioneer tales of San Bernardino County
WPA Writers Program – 1940

More about John Searles

Death Valley Scotty Special

Death Valley Scotty Special

In 1905, in an attempt to break the speed record from Los Angeles to Chicago, Walter “Death Valley Scotty” Scott paid the Santa Fe Railroad a purported $5500 to rent a three car train pulled by 19 different steam locomotives. The trip began in Los Angeles on 9 July and arrived in Chicago 44 hours 54 minutes later, a record that stood until 1936  when it was broken by the Super Chief.  The  Barstow to Needles segment of the run took just three hours and 15 minutes. Also known as the Coyote Special.

from:
Mojave Desert Dictionary – Patricia A. Schoffstall
Mojave River Valley Museum
 Barstow, California

The Origin of People

One day, Coyote went out to hunt rabbits. While he was hunting, he saw a large naked woman in the distance. This excited him. He said to himself, “Whew, I have never seen a woman like that. I will follow her.” He followed her for a long time, but could not quite overtake her. He followed her over many mountains. When he came to White Mountain [Fish Lake Valley], he was very thirsty. He saw that the woman was carrying a tiny basketry water jug, and he asked her for a drink. She gave him the little jug, and he drank and drank, but still there was water left in it. Then she walked on, and he followed her.

photo of coyote
Finally, they came to a large lake of water. The woman said, “My home is over there.” She crossed the lake on top of the water. Coyote said, “I cannot do that. I will walk around.” The woman turned and gave Coyote the legs of a water bug [skate?] that runs on the top of the water. Coyote followed her over to her house.

The woman lived in a house with her mother, who was called tsutsipü, “ocean,” maa’puts, “old woman.” She was like Eva, the first Woman. Eva had never seen a man before. In the morning, Eva got up very early and began to weave a fine, big water jug. Coyote stayed with the women for several days.

One day Coyote went hunting for deer. He wondered what was the matter [with the women] . . . He asked his stomach, his ears, his nose, and his foot what was the matter. None of them could tell him. Then a white hair on the end of his tail said, “You are just like a little boy. Take a neck bone . . . and use that.”

Coyote did this . . .

Coyote went out to hunt. The old woman had nearly finished her big water jug. The two women told each other that they were pregnant. When the jug was finished, they gave birth to many tiny babies, all like little dolls, and put them in the jug.

When Coyote returned, they said to him, “Maybe your brother, Wolf, is lonesome for you. We want you to go back home.” Coyote said, “All right, I will go.” Eva then said to the children, “You have no home here. You must go with Coyote.” She put the basket of children on Coyote’s back, and told him to carry it with him. It was very heavy, but Coyote said that he had carried deer down from the mountains on his back, so that he was strong and did not object.

The women instructed Coyote about the jug. They said, “When you come to Saline Valley, open the stopper just a little way, then replace it quickly. When you come to Death Valley, open it a little more. At Tin Mountain (Charleston Peak) open it half way. When you are in Moapa, take the stopper out all the way.” Coyote said he would do this.

Coyote carried the jug along, but soon became very tired and could scarcely hold it. When he arrived in Saline Valley, he opened the stopper a little way. Tall, dark, handsome men and girls jumped out and ran away. These were the best looking people in the jug. This frightened Coyote, but he put the stopper back, and picked up the jug. In Death Valley, he opened it again. Here, more handsome people jumped out and ran away. The girls all had long, beautiful hair. When he came to Ash Meadows, he opened it. The Paiute and Shoshoni came out. These people were fine looking, too. At Tin Mountain, Coyote let some fairly good people out of the jug. When he opened it in Moapa, very poor, short, ugly people came out. The girls here had short hair with lice in it. All the people had sore eyes. That is the way they are now.

This is the way Eva had her first children. Coyote was the father.

from:
Western Shoshoni Myths
By Julian H. Steward

Bill Sanger was known to have ridden the rails all over the map. In his time he had seen all there was to see. One day he was talking with Jim Craig about  mirages. Mirages are common sites. You see a lot of them, millions of them, in the dry lake bed out there at Amboy.

Bristol Lake - Amboy, CA.

Bristol Lake – Amboy, CA.

“Bill,”  said Jim, “did you ever see the city that  gleams out there on  the lake in hot weather?”

“Yeah,”  Bill replied.

“What you make of it?”  said Jim.

Nothing,”  Bill answered.  “I do not hold with those dude scientists, that try to explain goes by saying the light rays pick up the picture hundreds of miles away and then bend it back and drop that same picture out there on the lake.  It do not make sense. They’re ghosts, that is what they are. Just plain ghosts.

“One time,” Bill went on, “I nearly killed myself trying to hop a ghost train pulling out across Bristol Lake. I was walking out toward the salt works when  along came a freight, not going very fast. I forgot where I was, and made a run for it.  it started to pick up speed, so I gave a leap and grabbed on– nothing!

“I sprawled out flat on that dry lake bed. I looked up and saw the ghost train running in long as nice as you please– 42 cars and one caboose I counted.  they road right smack over me and never even mussed my shirt. They are ghosts I tell you. Ghosts!”

from :
Pioneer tales of San Bernardino County
WPA Writers Program – 1940

A Running Battle: Death at Soda Lake Station

Death and disaster  stalked  the trade routes to the Mojave Desert during the 1860s. Roving bands of plunder-bent Indians lay in wait among rocky canyon walls and in undergrowth near waterholes, eager to kill, rob or drive away any who dared to invade the desert home of the red man.

During this turbulent period, The United States Army afforded the sole means of protection to the lives and property of early settlers. That this protection was far from adequate is apparent from the following account.

Sam button, driver from the Cluggage Line, drove the stage coach along the old road between Caves Canyon and Soda Lake. The Army escort, one man on a mule, wrote alongside the leisurely traveling stage.  Dr. M. E. Shaw, Army post surgeon, stuck his head out the coach window and carried on an idle conversation with the escort.

Hancock’s Redoubt – Soda Lake

This peaceful scene was disturbed without warning when the brush at the side of the road parted in a dozen spots and screaming, brandishing Pah-Utes  burst forth. Shots crashed out. The Army escorts mule quivered with the Bali and dropped to the sand, dead. Lead splattered against the walls of the stage as the Army man jumped inside.

Sam Button  poured shots into the savages as fast as he could reload his weapon. The horses, maddened by the excitement, broke into a run, Dr. Shaw and the soldier, guns leveled through this stage window, picked off as many Indians as the lurching vehicle would permit.

In full pursuit, the Indians, about 15 in number, concentrated on shooting the huddled driver out of his box. They aim high, anxious to spare the horses if possible. Dr. Shaw lifted his face from the hot barrel of his gun and a half-turned to his army companion.

“We are in luck, those Indians are damned poor shots,”  he said, and slumped forward, a bullet through his chest.

Bighorn sheep at Soda Lake in Mojave Preserve

Bighorn sheep at Soda Lake in Mojave Preserve

“Dr. Shaw’s been hit!”  The soldier shouted at Button.
“Dead?”
“No, but he needs attention in a hurry.”

The frightened horses began to tire. The Indians maintained their hot pursuit. Button leaned back across the baggage that shielded him from the Pah-Utes fire.   With one quick stroke of his knife, he cut free the luggage that burdened the stage. For an hour the running battle continued before the stage outran the Indians.

Dr. Shaw died at Soda Lake Station.

from :
Pioneer tales of San Bernardino County
WPA Writers Program – 1940

$150,000 Summit Road Route Being Considered

Summit Valley Road

Summit Valley Road

State Highway Commissioner Darlington has under advisement the matter of which route to choose for the 15-mile state highway to be built from Summit to Victorville at a cost of $150,000.  A delegation headed by Louis Evans of Hesperia asked Darlington to choose the route that would include Hesperia on the highway.

Los Angeles Herald, Number 58, 8 January 1919

Mining Partners in a Deadly Quarrel

William Farley Kills Matt Price on the Desert Near Dale City, San Bernardino.

San Francisco Call - February 24, 1898

San Francisco Call – February 24, 1898

SANTA FE DEPOT, San Bernardino, Feb. 23. — The second murder on the desert within two weeks was committed yesterday morning about ten miles north of Dale City, this county, by William Farley. His victim was Matt Price, who is said to have been a partner of Farley in some mining property.

Only meager reports have been received and as the scene of the murder is in such a remote and almost inaccessible spot, being seventy miles from the railroad, it will be some time before the full particulars of the affair will be known. Parties who knew the men are inclined to believe that the murder was the result of a quarrel over a mining claim.

Farley has been placed under arrest and Coroner Keating, Deputy Sheriff McElvan. Assistant District Attorney Rolfe and I Benjamin, a stenographer, left for Dale City tin’s morning to hold an inquest. A. E. Reitz, who came in from Dale City yesterday, leaving there early in the morning, says that when he left the camp all was peaceable and that the principals in the affair seemed to be on good terms.

 

A Petticoat Mining Camp

Joe Joiner, the Calico dude, paid with his whiskers for the name he fastened on the town.

In 1881, when the miners of Calico petitioned Uncle Sam to establish a post office, a local committee was appointed to decide upon the name for the bustling camp. Joyner, the dude, wrangled an appointment and became a member of the christening committee. Attired in a swallowtail coat, he paraded at the meetings and preened his knee-length whiskers. On windy days he wore the whiskers in braids.

“Take a look at them hills,”  Joiner shouted to the committee. The hills surrounding the mining camp were streaked with many-hued clays and iron oxides, tinged with green and old rose, yellow and turquoise. “They look like a calico quilt,”  Joiner exclaimed. ” Why not call the camp ‘Calico’?”

Calico ghost town
Calico – Desert Magazine photo

” Sounds like a woman’s petticoat,”  the miners muttered.

Joiner  succeeded in shouting down the opposing factions, and the name of Calico prevailed. The committee disbanded, mumbling threats of reprisal.

Calico ghost town post office
Calico post office

Later, in the glow of success and liquor, Joiner fell fast asleep on the main street of Calico.  And while he slept the disgruntled  Silver Gulch and Buena Vista schools of miners huddled about him with a pair of shears.  When Joiner awoke he was no longer the dude of Calico. The miners had snipped off one tale of his coat– and all his whiskers.

from :
Pioneer tales of San Bernardino County
WPA Writers Program – 1940

Murder is Suicide

Amargosa Valley - Amargosa Desert

Amargosa Valley

Ted Hosung  was leaning against the counter of the Van Bresson Hotel in Daggett, one night, talking to the clerk, when Jack Duane, team superintendent of the borax company walked over to him.

” What you doing these days, Ted?”  he asked.
” Nothing,”  replied Hosung. ” Quit my job yesterday.”
” Looking for work?”
” Sure, what you got?”
” A 12 mule team starts for the Amargosa Valley in the morning, and I want a driver,”  Duane told him. ” Seventy a month and grub. Board and room in town.”
” Took!”  Ted put out his hand and  shook. ” but I haven’t got a swamper.”
” I’ll take care of that.  See you over at the corrals at five in the morning, ready to go.”

20 mule team

A 20 mule team — Much like a 12 mule team but with more mules.

Next morning a wagon and trailer, pulled by 12 mules, set out for the Amargosa Valley to get a load of borax.  Ted Hosung  was holding the lines  and his  swamper,  and old fellow named Bill, was sitting alongside him, rolling a cigarette. How they ever got into an argument, nobody knows, but when they got back to Daggett, they were not even on speaking terms. The hall was a hot pole and hard on the best man’s nerves, so it is not hard to understand how a pair could fall out with each other on the trip.  But these two must of had more than a friendly argument, because they quit their jobs, glaring at each other all the time.

Ted Hosung  went to the Van Bresson Hotel,  got himself a bottle of whiskey and proceeded to get roaring drunk. The guests listen to his shouting and cussing patiently; he would have done the same for any of them. Towards morning, Ted quieted down, and folks went to bed.

Stone Hotel – Daggett, CA.

Next day, about noon, old man Van Bresson went up to Ted’s room to take him an eye-opener. He found a gory mass that had once been a mule driver. Ted’s head had been bashed in with an iron wagon hub and his body beaten to a pulp by the heavy iron implement. Van Bresson would not have known him except for his clothes. Talk traveled fast in Daggett those days. By nightfall, swamper Bill was dangling at the end of a rope from a telegraph  cross arm.

A stranger writing into town stopped at the site of the hanged swamper,  and his eyes bulged out like door knobs.

” What did he do?”  he wanted to know.
”  Murder is suicide in this man’s town,”  he was told.

from :
Pioneer tales of San Bernardino County
WPA Writers Program – 1940

The Snake and the Frog

It was a dry year, and nothing was growing around Jim Craig’s diggings. Nor was there anything to eat anywhere in sight. Jim struck out for the Colorado River to get a mess of fish.

Sunrise Colorado River
Sunrise at Jim’s favorite fishing spot on the Colorado River

He got there and started digging for bait, but he could not find any worms. First thing he saw was snake with a frog in its mouth. Jim grabbed a forked stick and pried the frog away before the snake swallowed it. He was going to kill the snake, right then and there, but he changed his mind. He gave the snake a drink of whiskey and let it go.

Jim stuck the frog on his hook, made a cast, and yanked a big catfish from the river.  Then, just as he began to look around for more bait, the same old snake came along with another frog. Right behind him, wriggling and twitching, were nine more snakes. And they all carried frogs. They dropped the products at Jim’s feet and then they held up their heads with their mouths wide open.

from Pioneer tales of San Bernardino County
 WPA Writers’ Program –  1940

The Massacre at Agua de Hernandez: Resting Springs

Kit Carson

Christopher “Kit” Carson

from the Autobiography of Kit Carson

About the first of April, 1844,   we were ready to start for home. We went up the valley of the San Joaquin, and crossed the Sierra Nevada and Coast Range by a beautiful low pass. We continued under Coast Range until we struck the Spanish trail, which we followed to the Mohave River, a small stream that rises in the Coast Range and is lost in the Great Basin. We continued down the Mohave and made an early camp at the point where the trail leaves the river. In the evening a Mexican man and a boy came to our camp. They informed us that they belong to a party of Mexicans from New Mexico. They were encamped with two other  men and two women at some distance from the main party,  herding horses.  The man and boy  were mounted, and the two men and women were in their camp, when he party of Indians charged on them for the purpose of running off their stock. They told the men and women to make their escape,  and that they would guard the horses. They ran  the animals off from the Indians and led them  to a spring in the desert, about 30 miles from camp.

We started for the place they described, and found that the animals had been taken away by the Indians  who had followed them. The Mexican asked Fremont to  aid  him to recover his animals. Fremont told his men that they might volunteer for the service if they wished, and that he would furnish horses for them to  ride. Godey and myself volunteered, supposing that some of the other men would join us, but none did, and Godey and I and the Mexican  took the trail of the missing animals.  When we had gone 20 miles the Mexican’s horse gave out, and we sent him back. The night wasvery dark, and at times we had to dismount to feel for the trail. We  perceived by the signs that the Indians had passed after sunset. We became much  fatigued, and unsaddling our horses, we wrapped herself in the wet saddle blankets and laid down. The night was miserably cold and we could not make a fire for fear of its being seen. We arose very early and went down into a deep ravine where we made a small fire to warm ourselves.

Explorer John C. Fremont

John C. Fremont

As soon as it was light, we again took the trail, and at sunrise perceived the Indians encamped two miles ahead of us. They had killed five of the animals and were having a feast on them. Our horses could travel no farther, and we had them among the rocks and continued on afoot. We reach the camp unperceived, and crawled in among the horses. A young colt became frightened, and this alarmed the rest. The Indians at length noticed the commotion and sprang for their arms. Although they were about 30 in number, we decided to charge them.  I fired, and shot one.  Godey fired and missed, but reloaded and fired again, killing another. Only three shots at been fired into Indians were slain. The remainder now fled, and taking the two rifles I ascended ill to keep guard while Godey scalped the dead Indians. He scalped the one yet shot was proceeding towards the other one, who was behind some rocks. He was not dead yet, and as Godey approached he raised up and let fly a narrow, which passed through Godey’s shirt collar. Again he fell back and Godey finished him.

We rounded up the animals and drove them to the place where we had concealed our own. Here we changed horses and rode back to our camp with all of the animals, save the ones the Indians had killed for the feast. We then marched onto where the Mexicans had left the two men and women. We discovered  the bodies of the men, horribly mutilated. The women, we suppose, were carried into captivity.  But such was not the case,  for a party traveling in our rear found their bodies very much mutilated and staked to the ground.

Resting Springs, Agua de Hernandez

Resting Springs – where the massacre took place.

We continued our march without molestation till we reach the point where the trail leaves the Virgin River. There we intended to remain a day,  our animals being much fatigued, the discovering a better situation, we moved our camp 80 miles farther on. Here one of our Canadians missed one of his mules, and knowing that it must have been left at the first camp,  started back after it, without informing Fremont or any other party of his project. A few hours later he was missed. The members of the horse guard said he had gone to our last camp to look for his mule, and I was sent with three men to seek him. On reaching the camp we saw a pool of blood where he had fallen from his horse and knew that he was killed. We followed the trail of his animals to the point where it crossed the river that we could not find his body we can return to camp and informed Fremont of his death. In the morning he went with the party to seek the body, but it could not be found. He was a brave, noble-souled  fellow, and I was saddened by his death. I had been in many an Indian fight with the Canadian, and I am confident that he if not was  taken unawares, he killed one or two Indians before he fell. We now left the Virgin River, keeping to the Spanish trail, till we passed the Vega of Santa Clara, when we left the trail and struck out towards . . .

Lost Arch Mine

In days gone by, in the Turtle Mountains, a party of Mexican miners found a rich placer area and they reportedly sluiced off $30,000 before the summer heat dried up their water sources. for a clue back to the gold, they built a two room house with an arch in it. In 1883 two men (so the story goes, but we found records of three names for these (supposedly) two men: Jim Fish, Crocker, and Amsden)  left Needles to explore the Turtle Mountains. A few weeks later only Amsden made his way to Goffs, more dead than alive, with his pockets full of gold. as soon as he recovered from his ordeal he returned to the east. A few years later Dick Colton of Goffs received a letter from him with a map and this message: “The mine is in the Turtle Mountains. The location is not far from a natural arch”.  Since then many people have searched the area, but so far none have found the mine.

Courtesy Pat Schoffstall: Mojave Desert Dictionary – Mojave River Valley Museum

Ice–Five Cents a Rub

Calico,  like most of the Mojave Desert, is hot summer.  An incident  of the summer in the 1880s, while Calico was booming, indicates it was hot enough to send the devil scampering home to cool off.

Calico ghost town

Calico ghost town

The driver of the daily ice wagon was doing a grand business unloading his wares at three dollars a block, and no hagglers.  That is, not until a newcomer, a man who had that day come to work in the mines, rushed out of the boarding house and gasped: “Give me a nickel’s worth of ice.”

The Iceman extended his hand, took the nickel, then stepped back to wait.

” Well?”  the hot, tired, dust covered tenderfoot asked.
” Well?”  the Iceman answered.

The new miner made no move. He stood there and looked blankly from the load of ice to its owner and back again. the Iceman opened his mouth once or twice as if to speak, then snapped his lips together.

” Well?”  the newcomer repeated.
” Well yourself,”  was  the reply.  “Maybe you don’t know it but ice is five cents a rub.   If you don’t hurry, your rub is goin’ to be melted away!”

The tenderfoot hastily took his rub.

 from: Pioneer Tales of San Bernardino County — WPA Writers Program

Charles Brown at Greenwater

From “Loafing Along Death Valley Trails” by William Caruthers

Charles Brown General Store - Shoshone, Ca.

Charles Brown General Store – Shoshone, Ca.

The story of Charles Brown and the Shoshone store begins in Greenwater. In the transient hordes of people that poured into that town, there was one who had not come for quick, easy money. On his own since he was 11 when he had gone to work in  a Georgia mine, he only wanted a job. And he got it. In the excited, loose-talking mob, he was conspicuous because he was silent, calm, and unhurried.

There were no law enforcement officers in Greenwater.  The jail was 150 miles away. Every day was a field day for the toughs in the town. Better citizens decided to do something about it. They petitioned George Naylor, Inyo County Sheriff at Independence to appoint or send a deputy to keep some semblance of order.

Naylor sent over a badge and a note that said, “Pin it on some husky youngster, who is unmarried and unafraid and tell him to shoot first.”

The Citizens’ Committee met. ” I know a fellow who answers that description,”  one of them said. ” Steady sort. Built like a panther. Comes from Georgia. Kind slow motion in till he is ready to spring. Name is Brown.”

The badge was pinned on Charles Brown.

Charles & Stella Brown

Greenwater was a port of call for Death Valley Slim, a character of the Western deserts, who normally was a happy-go-lucky likable fellow. Periodically Slim would fill himself with desert “likker”,  his belt with six guns and terrorized the town.

Shortly after Brown assumed the duties of his office, Slim sent word to the deputy that he was on his way to that place for a little frolic. ” Tell him, ”  he coached the messenger, “Sheriffs rile me and he better take a vacation.”

After notifying the merchants and residents who promptly barricaded themselves indoors, the officer found shelter for himself  in Beatty, Nevada.

So Slim only seen empty streets and barge shutters upon arrival.  Since there was nothing to shoot at, he  headed through Dead Mead Canyon for Greenwater.  their he found the main street crowded to his liking and the saloons jammed. He made for the nearest, ordered a drink and, whipping out his gun, began to pop the bottles on the shelves. At first blast, patrons made a break for the exits. At the second, the doors and windows were smashed and when Slim holstered his gun, the place was a wreck.

Messengers were sent for Brown, who was at his cabin a mile away. Brown’s stuck a pistol in his pocket and went down. He found Slim in Waddell’s saloon, the town’s smartest.  their Slim had refused to let the patrons leave with the bartenders cowed, the patrons cornered, Slim was amusing himself by shooting alternately at chandeliers, the feet of customers, and the plump breasts of the nude lady featured in the painting behind the bar.  following Brown at a safe distance, was half of the population, keyed for the massacre.

Brown walked in and said “Hello Slim”. ” Fellows tell me you  are hogging all the fun. Better let me have that  gun, hadn’t you?” “Like hell,” Slim sneered, ” I’ll let you have it right through the guts.”

As he raised his gun for the kill, the panther sprung  and the battle was on.  they fought one over the bar room –  standing up, laying down, rolling over –  first one, then the other on top. Tables toppled, chairs crashed. For half an hour they battled savagely, finally rolling against the bar –  both  mauled and bloody. There, with his strong vice-like  legs  wrapped around Slim’s  and in arm of steel gripping net and shoulder, Brown slipped irons over the bad man’s wrist. ” Get up,”  Brown ordered as he stood aside, breathing hard.

Greenwater, Ca. ghost town site, Death Valley National Park

Slim rose, leaned against the bar. There was fight still in him and seeing a bottle in front of him, he had seized it with manacled hands, started to lift it.

” Slim,”  Brown said calmly , ” if you lift that bottle, you’ll never lift another.”

The bad boy instinctively knew the look that foretells death and Slim’s fingers fell from the  bottle.

Greenwater had no jail. Brown took him to his own cabin. Leaving the manacles on the prisoner, he took off his shoes and locked  him in a closet.  no man, drunk or sober, he reflected, would tackle barefoot the gravel street littered with thousands of broken liquor bottles.  He went to bed.

Waking later, he discovered that Slim had vanished and with him, Brown’s size 12 shoes.  Brown tried Slim’s shoes but couldn’t get his feet into them. There was nothing to do but follow barefoot.

He left a bloodstained trail, but at 2 AM he found Slim in a blacksmith shop, having the handcuffs removed. Brown retrieved his shoes and on the return trip, Slim went barefoot. After hog tying the prisoner, Brown chained  him to the bed and went to sleep.

Thereafter, the bad boys scratched Greenwater off their calling list.

Slim attained fame with  Pancho Villa down in Mexico,  became a good citizen and later went east.

 

Victorville “V”

Victorville V

Victorville “V”

Directions

From the parking lot of the Victor Valley Jr. High School Gym you will have an unobstructed view of the Victorville “V”.
 
Notes
In 1930 the Victor Valley High School site was where Victor Valley Jr. High is currently located. The Victorville “V” was placed on the side of the hill as a landmark for the high school. Keith Gunn, then high school football coach and shop teacher, later to become principal, spearheaded the project of the “V”. Southwestern Portland Cement Co. donated the cement and the students of the high school football team were responsible for the actual installation.
William E. Mutschler –

Nothing but Jackrabbits

Much the same as for anywhere and anyone else, times were both good and not so good. Once, after a forty day stretch of having nothing but jackrabbit to eat, their pet badger found its way to the dinner plate. The Mitchell’s felt terrible about it, but what has to be done has to be done. From the experience, Jack came up with the following technique for preparing badger:

First remove the head and hide and probably the insides. Mix a generous amount of dish soap, a gallon bottle of PineSol, and a goodly quantity of Alka Seltzer together in a large wash tub. Don’t forget the Alka Seltzer because if you happen to taste the meat, or get some in you, the seltzer will fizz and the animal will think a rattlesnake crawled into its hole and it’ll come right out of you possibly leaving you alive. Soak the badger in it for six weeks. This will give the meat a shiny, silky texture when you take it out of the oven and gives the chemicals a chance to thoroughly penetrate the meat and saturate it with its subtle and aromatic chemicals.

Jack and Ida Mitchell of Mitchell Caverns

Jack and Ida Mitchell

Your badger is now ready for the oven. Next, find an old piece of concrete that will fit in the oven. Strap the badger to the concrete, surround with overly-ripe limburger cheese, then salt and pepper liberally. Be sure to tie the badger down tight to the concrete as you don’t want it to escape-it may still be able to. Place the whole thing in the oven that has been preheated to 500 degrees. Next, set the temperature to 2800 degrees and call in a fire alarm. After the fire is put out, open all the doors and windows to get some fresh air in the room, pry open the molten oven door, scrape the badger and cheese off the slab, throw them in the garbage and eat the concrete. I recommend serving with a sledge hammer and suggest a boiling pot of very strong coffee to wash it down. You’ll need it.

More about Jack Mitchell

 

Pioneer Trail

Pioneer Trail – by Mintor Jackson Steorts

Wagon wheel furrows cut deep in the sand,
winding through desolate desert land,
on through arroyos, climbing a rise
to snow-covered mountains that reach to the skies;
ruts that the elements tried to erase
from the deserts redoubtable face,
but fate has preserved, through all of these years,
the trail of the wagon train pioneers.

We follow their route in a multi-wheel drive
and marvel that anyone could survive.
Through famines, and droughts, and blizzards and rain
on a rumbling ox-drawn wagon train,
and eke out a living from off of a land
of solitude, emptiness, cactus and sand;
Did they vision rainbows way over there
where we find a cauldron and the smog laden air?

What will the future historians find
when they search for the trails we leave behind?
Will our many-lane highway be plain to see,
that leads toward that “Great Society?”
Or maybe they’ll excavate someday,
through atomic ashes to our freeway,
and wonder how anyone could survive,
on a careening, rumbling, four-wheel-drive.

Mohave III – Scrapbooks of History, Mohahve Historical Society, 1966

Victorville Jail

16830 “E” Street

Victorville Jail

Victorville Jail

Directions
Proceed north on 6th Street (cross “D” street) to “E” Street and turn left. A “point of interest” sign marks the site of the jail which is currently being restored.
 
Notes
In 1907 the first jail “opened for business”. Constable Ed Dolch was instrumental in getting the structure built. Lack of running water or heat, plus the the type of punishment (helping to drain the nearby swamp), were deterrents to criminal activities. Originally erected on “E” Street.

~ William E. Mutschler

Bear Lake, Baldwin Lake and Big Bear Lake

in the summer of 1845, Benjamin D Wilson, own part of the interest in the Jurupa Rancho, site of the present city of Riverside, led a troop of Calvary in search of cattle rustlers.

Setting out from San Bernardino Valley, he divided his command. Most of the men he sent through Cajon Pass, keeping only 22 Mexican troopers with him to follow a trail across the mountains. Two days later, Wilson and his men reached the lake where they  sighted scores of grizzly bears.

Big Bear Lake

Big Bear Lake

Most of the soldiers had been vaqueros. They formed in pairs and drew reatas, each pair attacking a bear. One looped a rope around bear’s  neck;  his companion  roped same bear by a hind foot. Then the men drew apart to stretch  the rope taut and hold the bear  a prisoner. They bagged and  skinned eleven bears, stretched  their  hides and continued across the mountains to join the rest of the command on the desert at Rancho Las Flores, on the Mojave River.

Here the reunited party engaged Indians in a fight, after which Wilson and his 22 vaquero-troopers returned home by the way of the lake. They again found the place overrun with bears, and the same 22 soldiers brought in eleven more bears– enough to give them a bear rug apiece as a trophy. It was then that Wilson gave the name of Bear Lake to the little body of water.

Years later the name was changed to Baldwin Lake. The name survives, however, in Big Bear Lake which was created in the site of the Talmadge Ranch in 1884 when a dam was built to provide a constant water supply for the Redlands District.

–
adapted from ~ Pioneer Tales of San Bernardino County – WPA – 1940.

Horse Thieves & Gold in Lost Horse Valley

Johnny Lang - Lost Horse Mine Joshua Tree

Johnny Lang

Johnny Lang set out one day in 1894 to search for a lost  horse.  He ran smack into a band of rustlers and found a fortune in gold.

Johnny was plodding over the little San Bernardino Mountains, in that area known today as Joshua Tree National Monument,  Where masses of rock form fort-like walls  around hidden valleys and grass meadows. Here it was that the rustlers pastured their stolen stock. They ran choice cattle and horses ranches in Arizona, into the little San Bernardino’s  ( by easy stages), and from there they spread through Southern California, selling their contraband herds.

The first thing Johnny knew one of the rustlers lookouts who drew a gun and threatened him. ” You ain’t lost no horse,”  the gunman said. “Git  going!”

Johnny made his way back down the mountain and return to the camp. There he met another prospector, a stranger, who pointed out a nearby hill as a likely spot to dig for gold. Johnny took his advice. He found a rich outcropping of ore and staked out a claim which he called the Lost Horse Mine.

Bill & Willis Keys burying Johnny Lang

Bill & Willis Keys burying Johnny Lang

News of the strike brought on a gold rush– and that was the end of the last great band of organized rustlers entrenched in California. The minor sworn to the hills and valleys and drove the rustlers from their hideouts. Johnny Lang made fortunes during his lifetime and never saved up any. One day in 1928 he was found dead. He died with his boots on, still searching for gold in the wilderness of rock.

adapted from ~ Pioneer Tales of San Bernardino County – WPA – 1940.

More about Johnny Lang & the Lost Horse Mine:
http://mojavedesert.net/people/lang.html

Scouts & Scalps

The characteristic account of the hazards of traveling through the Mojave during pioneer days appears in the journal of General John Charles Fremont. Leading a party of topographical engineers, with the famous Kit Carson and Alex Godey as scouts, Fremont was on the last leg of an exploration trip through  Oregon and California,  and was headed for Salt Lake City when he called camp at the lagoons 8 miles below Yermo for the purpose of killing and jerking enough beef for the long  “jornada” to the next waterhole.

Here, on the afternoon of April 24, 1844, Fremont was surprised by the sudden appearance of two Mexicans, one a man, Andreas Fuentes, the other an 11-year-old boy named Pablo Hernandez. They were members of an advance party of six men and women who had left Los Angeles well ahead of a large caravan, in order that they might travel leisurely with their head of 30 horses. They had reached Agua Archilette (now Resting Springs) , where they decided to remain until the caravan overtook them. While camped here, they were visited by several seemingly friendly Indians. A few days after this they were surprised to see approaching them a large number of Indians, estimated to be about 100.

Resting Springs, Tecopa Ca.

Agua de Archilette (Resting Springs)

The commander of the Mexican party shouted to Fuentes and Pablo, who were on guard duty, to drive the horses to their former water hole. The guards were mounted according to custom and managed to  stampede the horses through the Indian lines despite a volley  of arrows. Knowing they would be pursued, the man and boy drove the horses about 60 miles, halting only to change mounts. When they reached Agua de Tomaso (now Bitter Springs)  they left the horses there and pressed on, hoping to meet the oncoming caravan. Exhausted, the two were overjoyed to find the Fremont party.

Bitter Springs, Agua de Tomosa

Agua de Tomosa (Bitter Springs)

The Fremont cavalcade broke camp immediately, left the river  and,  turning north, followed the old Spanish trail 25 miles to Agua de Tomaso. Here they found traces of recent origin that showed the Indians had captured the horses and run off with them. Carson and Godey, accompanied by Fuentes, decided to follow the marauders. That evening, Fuentes returned alone, his horse having given out.

The scouts had been taken  about 30 hours. They estimated their trip had taken them about 100 miles. At nightfall of the first day they had entered the mountains. Bright moonlight made the pursuit easy for a time, but when they entered a defile, it became necessary to dismount and feel for the trail with their hands. At midnight they lay down to sleep.

Cold as it was, they dared not to make a fire and till morning when in a little ravine, they kindled a tiny  blaze to  warm themselves  before starting on.

Kit Carson

Christopher “Kit” Carson

At daylight they continued their pursuit and about sunrise ran across a few of the missing horses. Concealing their exhausted mounts behind a pile of rocks, they crept toward the crest of a nearby hill, from which they could look down on four lodges and about 30 Indians were gorging themselves on horse meat.

The cautious movements of the scouts disturbed a horse grazing nearby, which snorted, giving  warning of their presence to the feasting Indians. The scouts charged, shouting as they went. Carson downed in the Indian with his first shot. Godey shot twice and hit another. Godey received an arrow through his shirt collar. The rest of the Indians fled, no doubt believing the two men were the advance of a large party.

Carson stood guard while Godey dashed down to scalp the two prostrate figures. As he stripped the scalp from one of them, the Indian regained consciousness and screamed. An old squaw, ascending a nearby hill, turned, hurled a handful of gravel down on Godey, and screeched maledictions.  Godey  mercifully killed the man. Then the scouts returned to the herd and drove it off without interference.

John C. Fremont

John C. Fremont

The scouts’ story told, Fremont ordered camp broken. The party proceeded north across the open plain. Two days later, Fremont came across the bodies of two men, Hernandez, father of Pablo, and another member of the Mexican advance party. Both had been mutilated. Later the bodies of the two women who completed the advance party were discovered, also murdered and mutilated.

adapted from ~ Pioneer Tales of San Bernardino County – WPA – 1940.

Panamint Fever

by Cliff Walker

Panamint City

Panamint City

Blond-haired, whiskered veteran prospector Richard C. Jacobs and partner Bob Stewart were grubstaked by W. L. Kennedy, a Kernville merchant. Most grubstakes failed, but these two men wandered over to Panamint Valley, then up the steep 6,000-foot climb of Surprise Canyon and found several types of silver ore exposed by erosion. They made four claims, formed Panamint Mining District, and elected Bob Stewart as recorder. Samples shown to Kennedy assayed from $125 to $3,000 per ton. By April 1873, there were 80 to 90 claims. The Panamint mining started fairly normally until the search for investors brought in wealthy and influential men: two Nevada U. S. Senators, John P. Jones and William M. Stewart, and ex-49er Trenor W. Park, a New York Wall Street investor, formerly a San Francisco lawyer and current director of Pacific Mail Steamship Company and president of the Panama Railroad that linked the two oceans. Experienced in mining and investing, these successful men encouraged others to rush for quick potential riches.

Panamint Fever had started.

Miners from 29 Palms, Ivanpah, Arizona, Nevada, and  northern California came to Panamint Valley and made the horrid trip up Surprise Canyon to the Panamint Mountains on a road that is still more of a dry waterfall than a road. Miners found a small booming city with sounds of hammering, dragging, and building all over, and sounds on higher hills of dynamite exploding. Anybody who wanted to work had a job at $4 per day, board $7 per week—not bad wages for those days. In March 1874 there were over 700 men who already staked about 150 claims and were still prospecting to find that great silver lode like at Virginia City. Men rented a room or a space on the ground at “Hotel de Bum,” a huge tent. Most slept outside in blankets looking at the stars.

Wagons unloaded supplies at the bottom of Surprise Canyon and pack mules made it up the waterfall road, unloading their gear to tent stores, potential wooden and rock buildings,  or to mines further up the hill. Jacobs hired Chinese laborers to cut down the steep grade over the Slate Range so his 10-stamp mill could be brought easily to Surprise Canyon. Owens Valley businessman Bart McGee sculptured a road up Surprise Canyon, thereby enabling wagons to use the waterfall road (where the grade was 500 feet to the mile). Seven stages a week arrived at the new city by the end of 1874.

Panamint City developed almost a mile of businesses for city amenities. According to mining historian Remi Nadeau, the city had a dozen saloons, a water company, six general stores, three bakeries and restaurants, a livery stable, boot shop, meat market, three barbershops, a newspaper called Panamint News, the Bank of Panamint, and another important town amenity: a log cabin brewery. When Martha Camp, a buxom lady from Nevada, brought her ladies to town, the night life in Panamint became livelier—it became a real city!

As usual, gamblers, criminals, gun fighters, and assuredly con-artists, climbed the hill to Panamint. The town soon needed a jail. As a result of a gambling dispute, a shootout in a saloon in which Kirby, a man from Pioche, shot Bill Norton in the leg and ran away when Norton fired back. The only official in town was town recorder W. C. Smith  who discovered Kirby planned to waylay Norton. Smith got the drop on Kirby and suggested he leave town right away. The town later elected Smith Justice of the Peace. Jim Bruce and Edward Barstow, a night watchman of the town, had an argument in Camp’s house. Barstow, drinking too much, left the business but returned later after he sobered a bit and found Bruce in Martha’s bed and shot it out with Bruce. Barstow died. The town needed a cemetery.

A few years later the boom and fever ended. But the effects on the Mojave Desert was great. San Bernardino County appointed Oro Grande’s Aaron Lane as Superintendent of desert roads, namely the Road to Panamint from the Mojave River to the Inyo County line. Desert “Stations”—ranches like gas stations and motels today—were built and profited, especially with freight from San Bernardino over the Cajon Pass. For example, lumber mills in the San Bernardino Mountains supplied much of Panamint’s lumber. Berdoo merchants out- hustled L.A. businessmen. Despite Panamint’s decline in the late ’70s, mining increased in the Mojave Desert, especially with Barstow’s Waterman Mine and the wonderful Calico Hills discoveries. The Mojave Desert became settled by the end of the 1880s.

Mojave River Valley Museum Newsletter –  October 2012

 

The Father of San Bernardino County

Captain Jefferson Hunt
b. January 20, 1803
d. May 11, 1879

picture of Jefferson Hunt

Jefferson Hunt – LDS photo.

… Jefferson Hunt had rejoined his family at Salt Lake Valley after the close of his military service, and he was called by President Young in November of 1847 to return to California to purchase seed, livestock and supplies for the people of the Church. There were eighteen in the company, including his sons, Gilbert, John and Peter Nease. On this trip they suffered greatly for food, having to subsist for some days upon the flesh of their work mules, but through all such ordeals, Great Grandfather rose to the occasion and manifested the great strength of body and mind necessary for a wise father and leader of men to possess. The little boys, John and Peter, suffered greatly on this trip, being only 14 years old and not accustomed to starving. They returned to Salt Lake in May, 1848, bringing horses, mules, cattle, seed and provisions. During the following two or three years he acted as pilot and guide to companies of gold seekers going to California.

In 1851, Jefferson Hunt was called by the leaders of the Church to go with Apostle Amasa Lyman and Charles C. Rich to establish a Mormon colony in San Bernardino, California.

In the years that followed, he served his church as a member of the High Council of San Bernardino. He served his church and the State of California as a member of the legislature for six years, and he was appointed with a delegation of California lawmakers to go on a special mission to Washington D.C. Their trip from California to Independence Missouri was all accomplished on horseback.

With the coming of Johnston’s Army to Utah in 1857, Jefferson Hunt responded to the call of Brigham Young, and with the other loyal members of the church they left their homes in San Bernardino and came to Utah.

His service to the State of California was recognized in tribute paid to him by the California historian Ingersol: “Captain Hunt was a man of strong character, deeply religious by nature, he believed with his heart in the divine revelations of the Mormon Doctrines. Energetic, clear sighted and indomitable in will, he was especially fitted for the leadership, which he always acquired in whatever position he was placed. Generous to a fault, his home was open to his less fortunate brethren, and he gave a helping hand to many a needy man, saint and gentile alike for he was above petty distinction. He deserves a large place in the memory of the citizens of San Bernardino for he filled a large place in the early and vital events in the history of the town and country. While he served as legislator he introduced the bill to divide Los Angeles County from San Bernardino County, and has been known since as the Father of San Bernardino County.”
~

Adapted from a copy of an address given at the dedication of a monument erected at the grave of Captain Jefferson Hunt in 1950. The speaker was his great grandson, Jesse A Udall.

http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=22927878

The Evolution of the Old Trail

The Indians had their trails which existed from before there was time and these trails went their natural way–from fire hydrant to fire hydrant. Explorers, typically in a hurry escaping from an attack, had to climb the fence. Pioneers had to cut a hole in the chain link and disassemble their wagons and carry them through the gap.Sunset on the Old Spanish Trail

Then the bicyclists came and largely suffered flat tires and getting stuck in soft sand. Then we thought, “Why not use cars and trucks?” Then we built freeways that went around this unnecessary fence and stuff.

The End.

The Division of Trails

Old Spanish Trail in Victorville, Ca. Mojave Desert

The Division of Trails

There is a book titled “Trails across the Mojave” that describes a fork in the Old Spanish Trail that splits off to John Brown’s toll road on the left and the Mormon Hogback and Sanford’s Pass to the southwest. Now the photo showing the fork located according to the directions provided most likely has no resemblance to what the original trail looked like if it were indeed at this particular point. I would say this fork is basically the same alignment in the same location as the trail was 150 years ago. The left goes to Cajon Summit while the right leads to Phelan to descend into the West Cajon Valley.

There is another important location to be remembered, it is the “Division of Trails”  that goes over Cajon Pass. The word “Cajon” is Spanish and means “box”. The steep sides of the formidable mountain pass made the name appropriate.  The rigors of El Cajon must be faced to arrive in San Bernardino Valley. The high Sierra Mountains were the last barrier to the weary travelers.

Here the trails divided. The left fork was the way used by the pack-trains of the Spanish traders and was called the Old Spanish Road. The other road was chosen by the Mormons for they had wagons which could not be pulled up or down the narrow canyon which the Spanish had followed. So, the Mormons made a bend westward to the right to avoid the higher portion of the mountains.  This division of trails is today a a few hundred yards to the east of Highway 395 at the crossroad of Duncan Road.

The Spanish trail turned back to the left and slowly climbed the summit, entering the edge of Horse Thief Canyon. From there they traveled down grade about 6 miles until reaching Crowder Canyon (earlier called Coyote Canyon), then from Cajon junction the road went south which is located today on the present Highway 66. This section in the 1860s and 1870s was known as John Brown’s toll road.

Trails across the Mojave – Grace Jackson, Lucille Matson – 1970

In Regard to the Wind

Ma100_3266ny greenhorns, tenderfeet, other such neophytes and newbies believe the desert to only have two seasons- the blazing summer and the barren winter.  This is not entirely true. We have four seasons, but the differences between them are subtle.

These seasons are not marked between themselves by wildflowers blossoming, green summers, colorful fall foliage, or snowy winters, but by another power of nature—the wind. And no matter what the season, there is always the wind–the ever-present wind.

There is the Spring.  The air goes from warmish to hot and the days are windy, of course.  The Summer follows and its hot air dries and burns as the wind whirls and convects under the blazing sun. After the long summer there is an entire season we call simply, “Wind,” known to outsiders as autumn or fall.  Then there is the fourth season, the one we rarely speak of for fear of cursing ourselves. We call this season, “More Wind.”

It is in this 4th season in which the events that I wish to tell of occurred.

One windy day I followed a dirt road I had not traveled before. I drove by a ranch and on this ranch, I saw a scrawny chicken laying an egg.  It was so windy in fact, that the egg rolled right back up into this poor bird and it laid the same egg again as I passed.

I drove further up the road.  It became even windier with every mile and darker. I decided to start my way home. I turned on the headlights. The wind was so strong that it bent the beams right under the truck.  I could not see a thing.  After a minute or so of considering my options, I figured the only way to see where I was going would be to turn the truck around and back up all the way home.

So, as I am backing my way home I go by the ranch with the chicken I had seen earlier, and there the flustered fowl laid that very same egg two more times.  I felt bad for the chicken and the egg so I stopped and rescued them both from the relentless and brutal wind.

I was so hungry from my day of challenges in the desert that when I got home I cooked the chicken for my dinner and in the morning I had a scrambled egg for breakfast.

The end.

A Story about Gold

Gold in the hills of the Mojave DesertMy friend’s mother used to tell me these stories about the desert. I loved them–nothing like sitting there listening to her–so interesting.

One story she told me was about a gentleman who found some gold. The gold was just laying there in this high, dry meadow at the top of a canyon which was at the top of a canyon at the top of yet another canyon. There was so much gold lying about free for the taking–right there in the open. The man took some home and sold it.

The man was of modest tastes and the money he had from the gold lasted quite awhile, but got spent as money tends to be. Of course he remembered the gold high up in the bare mountains, and there went and loaded up again. Over the years he went again and again. He didn’t need much so he didn’t take much, and when he died there was so much more left on the mountain. Just laying there.

My friend’s mom claimed this man told her where the place was. She said it was easy to get to yet required a little trickery to keep from being followed. “Nearly in plain sight,” she would tell me. A nugget or two or three here and there. Even now days no one gets suspicious. It doesn’t take much to live if you live a certain way.

Little Ellen Baley – Lost in the Desert Night

During this phase of the journey the wagon train was doing much of its traveling at night, owing to the great daytime heat of the desert and the long distances between water holes. At regular intervals during the night they would stop for a short rest. At one of these rest stops, eleven-year-old Ellen Baley, a daughter of Gillum and Permelia Baley, fell asleep and failed to awaken when the wagon train moved on. Somehow, she was not missed until the train traveled some distance. The poor girl awoke to find herself alone in the middle of a vast hostile desert. Filled with fright, she began running to catch up with the wagon train, but in her confusion she took off in the opposite direction. When she was discovered missing, her father and older brother, George, immediately rode back to where they had stopped. To their horror, she was not there! Captured by the Indians must have been their conclusion! Nevertheless, they continued their search by calling out the little girl’s name at the top of their voices as they rode back.Their efforts were soon rewarded when, far off in the distance, came a faint cry, “Papa, Papa.” Her father immediately answered and kept calling her name until he caught up with her.When reunited with her family and the other members of the wagon train, Ellen had a tale which would be told and retold by family members until the present day.

from –
Disaster at the Colorado
Beale’s Wagon Road and the First Emigrant Party

~ Charles W. Baley

Keeler to Mojave by Stage

Book Review: 101 moments in Eastern Sierra History
by Dave Babb

“In the 1890s, Mr. W.K. Miller established a six horse stage line between Keeler, on the northeast shore of Owens Lake, and Mojave.

The stage left Keeler and Mojave every other day at noon. In those days the trip took nearly 24 hours of continuous dusty travel through cactus and sand, and around hummocks.

The coach was that typical Concorde carriage of the day, square and rather high. It had a door on each side, and multiple layers of leather straps served as springs.

Inside,  two seats face each other and eight people could be seated. A ninth could ride on top with the driver and kids could sit on their parents laps. The fare was $10 per person.

The first leg of the trap, from Keeler to Olancha, was the roughest part of all — taking up to six hours. After a change of horses, which took about five minutes,  Haiwee could be reached in another three hours.

They changed horses eight times during the trip, and had to average about 5 mph to make a few Mojave by noon.  Some 60 horses were kept in reserve to keep the stage rolling in on time.

Passengers carried their own food and water, and comfort stops were made upon request — behind the nearest bush at the back of the stage.”

Dave Babb first came to the eastern Sierra in 1952, at the age of 13 for a two-week camping and hiking trip along the John Muir Trail.   after completing his education receiving BS and MS degrees in wildlife biology he returned to Bishop with his wife and their three children.

He has authored or co-authored nearly two dozen publications on the history and natural resources of the Inyo-Mono region and written more than 170 articles on Eastern Sierra wildlife.

This is a great little book to own, entertaining and informative.
You may be able to find it here.

101 moments in Eastern Sierra History
by Dave Babb
Published by Community Printing
ISBN 10: 0912494395 ISBN 13: 9780912494395