Point of Van Dusen Road crossing Mojave River, Hesperia, CA. Looking toward Apple Valley and Marianas Mountains
The Van Dusen Road branched off from John Brown’s toll road heading east along the ridge after reaching the Cajon Summit. The road found its way down the Antelope Valley Wash to the Mojave River. At this point the trail crossed through the soft sand and ascended through a small canyon at the base of the mountains, finding its way east then southeast to Rock Springs. From the springs the road then branched to the left heading east to Holcomb Valley becoming what is now known as the Coxey Truck Trail.
Looking west up Antelope Valley Wash from the Mojave River toward Cajon Summit
I enjoy hearing the stories about places from people that have absolutely no idea about what the story of that place is. For example; West of Dead Man’s Point a mile or so, on Bear Valley Road, there is a quiet little place with the sign out front that says “Lone Wolf Health Colony.” years and years I would ask folks about the place and for years and years I was told it was a “nudist camp.” It is not. I am a little bit disappointed. …
Not a nudist camp!
Following his a brief history of the Lone Wolf Colony originally written in 1966 by Paul and Sylvia Hopping.
Many years ago, in June 1922, a Mr. Sam Caldwell and a few other employees of the old Home Telephone Company, including Eddy Schock and a Mr. Crowfoot, realizing the beneficial health factors of the desert, started a movement to help World War I male employee veterans who were suffering from poison gas and the veterans who were unable to obtain the hospitalization and other care they required. Mr. Caldwell at that time owned 160 acres of land at Dry Lake flats, in back of Mt. Baldy. He donated this land for a health resort on condition that he should be one of the patients. It was Mr. Caldwell who gave the health resort its name of Lone Wolf Colony. He passed away in 1934.
Original first cabin built in 1923
The first small building was begun in March, 1923. Carpenters donated their time to assemble the materials which are brought to the desert in April. The health resort operated only 30 days on Mr. Caldwell’s property when it was found that the water supply was inadequate. The colony then move to a spot 5 miles west of Victorville. The colony at that time had two cottages and five tent houses. A water shortage again developed and at the end of the third year the colony moved to a site on Bear Valley Road near the railroad. It was there only a short time when it moved to its present 20 acre site on February 22, 1926.
A well drilled on this property and abundant water was found. The telephone company provided trucks and equipment and 250 employees donated their time. And one day the buildings, cabins, fences, pump for reservoir, pole line for electricity and telephone were installed, which was considered a very fine undertaking.
Duplex buildings built in 1950
Funds to build the health ranch, which was incorporated February 7, 1924, were raised through various channels and company support. At the end of the 18th year the colony had in use and administration building and 10 small cabins. In 1950 there were five modern duplex concrete cabins. In 1958 a very large, fine, modern administration building, including a large lounge, dining room, stainless steel equipped kitchen and caretakers living quarters was completed in the colony had its first Thanksgiving dinner in the new building of that year.
Administration building built in 1958
Chickens and cattle are raised on the grounds that the Colony which provide meat for the guests. With abundant water, alfalfa is also raised which feeds the cattle and helps to hold down the dust and provide a green ground cover. The Ranch contains all types of farm equipment and tools. Water is piped to all corners of the property and there are restrooms and bathhouses at the camping area. Work parties are organized to help with the work around the Colony.
Boy Scout troops are welcome to use the south end of the property for camp outs but the colony superintendent must be contacted to set the date and time for such event. At least one scoutmaster of each troop must be a telephone man.
Telephone museum
The present colony is located on a 20 acre site about halfway between Central Road and Dead Man’s point on Bear Valley Road, in section 2 in Apple Valley. It is owned by the male employees of the Pacific Telephone and Telegraph Company.
The facility is open to male employees both presently employed and retired. There is no charge to employees of Pacific Telephone Company and Western Electric Company, Southern Area (West Coast Division), as the Colony is operated on contributions. All applicants, both active or retired, must make application and have a doctor’s recommendation before they can be admitted to the Colony. They are allowed to stay as long as the doctors think the desert climate is aiding their health. At this time there are average of six employees per day recuperating under the care of the genial host and hostess, Virgil and Goldie Long.
In 1963, air-conditioning and wall-to-wall carpeting were put in all the cabinets. At present plans are being worked on for a recreation hall, heated pool for therapy and an enclosed solarium.
Enjoying an evening of sitting in a chair.
Many of the old-timers are no longer here today the sum of the early founders were Eddy Schock, who helped Mr. Caldwell with the building of the original colony, Charles Rogers, who helped move the buildings and cottages from the first place and Mr. Crowfoot, now in his 90s, who is now living in Lancaster with his daughter. Mr. Schock is an active member of the Board of Directors of Lone Wolf Colony. Truly the desert is helpful and beneficial as is quoted from the Lone Wolf Colony bylaws as follows: “Where the curative power of the sun’s rays and the climatic condition are unsurpassed for the improvement of general health.”
The end.
The Mojave Historical Society expresses appreciation to Mr. Eddy Schock, the Board of Directors of Lone Wolf Colony and to Mr. and Mrs. Virgil Long further help in obtaining this history of Lone Wolf Colony.
from: The History of Lone Wolf Colony – by Paul and Sylvia Hopping Mohahve III – Scrapbooks of History (c)1966, 2016 Mohahve Historical Society
As you whiz down the freeway in a well protected automobile, have you ever wondered what life was like in the good old days as the hardy pioneer planned the trip 50 miles into the desert with wagon and a team of horses?
Excerpts from ‘Water Supply Paper Number 224’ published in 1909 by the US Department of Interior states, “A party leaving a supply station to go 100 miles or more into an uninhabited part of the desert must take along everything needed, even to the most minute detail.”
Cowpokes eating a hearty breakfast on the trail.
” This means if the trip is to last for two weeks enough hay and grain for each animal and enough provisions to last each man that length of time must be taken.
” For four horses, drawing a wagon that carries for persons and their bedding, provisions, and tools, another team of four horses must also be taken to all sufficient hay and grain to feed the eight horses for two weeks.
” There are but few places in the desert, away from the railroads, where grain or hay of any kind can be procured. As the teams are rarely able to travel faster than a walk, heavy horses that are good walkers should be selected. The tires should be as wide as can be procured. Desirable widths of tires for freight wagons are 6 to 9 inches; for light wagons 3 inches.”
The average Victor Valley pioneer took a week every six months to travel by horse and wagon to San Bernardino, to do his shopping and come back home. Leaving the desert and spending the first night in Cajon Pass at one of the campsites close to the junction of State Highway 138 or Interstate Highway 15 further on down at Cozy Dell Campgrounds. it was another day’s journey to San Bernardino, and after doing shopping and visiting for a couple of days, it was a two-day journey back to the desert Homestead. Now with our sleek automobiles, we whisk down to San Bernardino and 45 minutes, sometimes grumbling because it takes so long.
Cozy Dell, Cajon Pass – 1938
Drinking java from an old tin can was a way of life and not a song in the past century. Living in the open and eating cowboy beans were part of traveling through the desert before the advent of the auto. The trails of yesterday became our freeways of today. Our present freeway route from Victorville to Barstow parallels the one the freighters to quit their mule trains to sell supplies to the minors and Calico in the 1880s. Instead of having a well-built bridge to span the Mojave as we do today, they forded the river even when it was high.
from: Mohahve IV – Scrapbooks of History (c)1984, 2016
The day was hot. There were only five of us who showed up for the trip. We met at Carl Cambridge’s Museum on Bear Valley Road in Apple Valley in about 9:30 AM and left via Deep Creek Road to Rock Springs Road and across the river to Lake Arrowhead Road and then via Summit Valley Road to Miller Canyon and Lake Gregory Road to Cedar Springs.
Because of the heat, this was to be more of the picnic been a field trip. We had chosen Cedar Springs because of its location in the big binds and the stream which ran nearby the campground. The site is located on the East Fork of the West Fork of the Mojave River in T2N, R3W, Sec. 6, San Bernardino County.
Cedar Springs Campground
When we arrived, we found the stream bed entirely dry, and the picnic table which we chose was sitting in the middle of the dry wash. while we enjoyed our picnic lunch, the Martins talk to the early days when they brought their children and grandchildren and camp by this dream which was at that time a swift moving and cool, sparkling little creek. We then tried to imagine what it would be like in a few years when the entire area will be underwater. Already, many of the homes had been removed in preparation for the time when the dam will be billed at the forks of the river, to hold back the waters of the Feather River when they are delivered to the Southland to water the thirsty reservoirs at the Mojave River Valley and the great metropolitan area.
The tree that grew into a rock. 1964.
As we sat and talked, we began to look around, and we realize that the well-known landmarks would soon disappear. Nearby, was a huge old pine tree with roots in twined around a very large boulder which had once been at the stream’s edge. Close by was a beautiful old sycamore with a satellite branch, just right for small and not so small boys to climb. downstream was a grand old tree that guarded the dry stream bed and looked as if it had been watching over the course of the stream for many years. We took some pictures and left.
Our road led us through Summit Valley to a road which took us up to Cleghorn Canyon in search of a way to reach a monument which was said to be located at a point where Fr. Francisco Garces (1776) and Jedediah Smith (1826) had crossed over from the desert to the San Bernardino Valley.
We failed to locate a way to reach the monument, but we did find a vast area that had been almost denuded by a destructive forest fire which had swept the area only a few weeks earlier. in the midst of this, we also observed a “guzzler” which still contained water, and the ground around was covered with thousands of little tracks which was evidence of the birds and small animals that had somehow survived the ravages of the flames. Joel Martin mentioned that he had, at one time, worked on a project to help install these guzzlers which were designed to help preserve the wildlife of the county and state.
As we return down the canyon to the Summit Valley Rd., Carl Cambridge suddenly called a stop, and there beside the road, where the road had crossed a dry wash, lay a large metate. There was also the ruins of an old cabin and signs of placer mining, which told a silent story of a culture and a generation earlier than ours.
Bridge at fork to Cedar Springs
We retraced our road to where the Summit Valley Road and the road to Cedar Springs meet, to make a survey of his site of an old Indian camp which Carl had told us had been discovered there several years ago, but all that we found were a few fire stones and the dark and soil, evidence that the Indians had once been there.
Although no great historical facts were uncovered, the day proved to be very interesting, and in time it may be looked back upon as being of historic interest because of what was but is no longer.
As we thought about the things that were taking place in the area, we realize that, just as the last remnants of other eras were disappearing, the day would soon come when the landmarks that are so familiar in the area today will soon be gone. So we took more pictures for remembrance.
from: A Field Trip Report by Gladys Steorts Mohahve III – Scrapbooks of History (c)1966 Mohahve Historical Society
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ” ‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door; Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,. For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, Nameless here forevermore.
“Nevermore”
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, ” ‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door. This it is, and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you.” Here I opened wide the door;— Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, Lenore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before, “Surely,” said I, “surely, that is something at my window lattice. Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore. Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore. ” ‘Tis the wind, and nothing more.”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door. Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door, Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore. Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore.” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door, Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered; Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before; On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.” Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,— Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of “Never—nevermore.”
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath Sent thee respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore!”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!–prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted– On this home by horror haunted–tell me truly, I implore: Is there–is there balm in Gilead?–tell me–tell me I implore!” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil–prophet still, if bird or devil! By that heaven that bends above us–by that God we both adore– Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore? Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting– “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming. And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!
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.
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.
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.
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.
“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
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
“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.
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.
William Farley Kills Matt Price on the Desert Near Dale City, San Bernardino.
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.
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 – 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 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
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.”
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
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 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
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.
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 – 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 . . .
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.
Leaving the headwaters of the Verde River in Arizona the party traveled to the Colorado River to the Mohave villages scattered along the east bank between what is now Topock and Bullhead City in Arizona. From there they traveled toward the middle of the desert, possibly on the route of either Fr. Garces in 1776, or further north on the trail taken by Jedediah Smith in 1826 and 1827, these converging at the mouth of the Mojave River east of Afton Canyon. It was two days before they found water after reaching the Mojave River. This may have placed them just east of today’s Barstow, California at a place that was known years later as Fish Ponds.
After four days travel we found water. Before we reached it, the pack mules were strung along the road for several miles. They smelled the water long before we had any hopes of finding any, it made all the best use of the strength left them after their severe sufferings to reach it as soon as they could. We remained here two days. It would have been impracticable to continue the march without giving the men and animals the rest which they so much required.
Colorado River at Moab across from Topock, Az.
After remaining in camp two days we resumed our expedition and for four days traveled over a country similar to that which we had traversed before our arrival at the last water. There was no water to be found during this time, and we suffered extremely on the account of it. On the fourth day we arrived on the Colorado of the West, below the great Canyon.
Mojave River fan
Our joy when we discovered the stream can better be imagined than described. We also had suffered greatly for want of food. We met a party of the Mojave Indians and purchase from them a mare, heavy with foal. The mare was killed and eaten by the party with great gusto; even the foal was devoured. We encamped on the banks of the Colorado three days, recruiting our animals and trading for provisions with the Indians, from home we procured a few beans and some corn. Then we took a southwestern course and in three days march struck the bed of the stream running northeast, which rises in the Coast Range and its lost in the sands of the great basin. We proceeded up the stream for six days, and two days after our arrival on it we found water. We then left the stream and traveled in a westerly direction, and in four days arrived at the of Mission San Gabriel.
San Gabriel Mission
At the mission there was one priest, 15 soldiers, and about 1000 Indians. They had about 80,000 head of stock, fine fields and vineyards, in fact, it was a paradise on earth. We remained one day at the mission, receiving good treatment from the inhabitants, and purchasing from them what deep we required. We had nothing but butcher knives to trade, and for four of these they would give us a beef.
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
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!”
From “Loafing Along Death Valley Trails” by William Caruthers
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.
During the Spanish Colonial Period (1542-1821) in the American Southwest, the Spanish empire was competing for control over resources with the British, French, and Russian monarchies. They attempted to link colonies in the Spanish territories, later known as the New Mexico and California, by establishing trade routes to form a passageway across the entire Southwest desert region. The Old Spanish Trail was used commercially to link the towns that would later become Los Angeles, California, and Santa Fe, New Mexico, from 1829 until 1848. The abundant spring water available in the Las Vegas (meaning “the meadows” in Spanish) Valley made it an ideal resting point on the trail.
Old Mormon Fort – Las Vegas, Nevada
The presence of the valley springs also drew the Southern Paiute Indians, a nomadic people moving frequently during the year, who made the valley their winter homeland. They raised small crops near the springs in the valley, which provided water and food for the Indians inhabiting the area and later for travelers making their way across the desert.
The Las Vegas Valley would become an attractive place for other European-American settlers as well. One group of settlers looking for a new home was the Mormons–also known as the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints–a religious sect organized by Joseph Smith in New York in 1830. Based on the Book of Mormon, which Smith said was revealed to him by heavenly messengers, this religious body felt called to restore the authentic church established by Jesus and his Apostles. The history of the Mormons is dramatic–filled with persecution, an exodus from the eastern part of the United States, and ultimately successful establishment of a thriving religious society in a desert. The Mormons formed in upstate New York, an area where the Second Great Awakening was most popular as the United States underwent a widespread flowering of religious sentiment and unprecedented expansion of church membership. The group was forced to move several times because of conflicts with residents in various places where they settled, including Ohio, Missouri, and Illinois. They were accused of blasphemy and inciting slave insurrections. After Smith was killed by an angry mob in Illinois in 1844, it became necessary for the Mormons to find a new home once again.
A new leader emerged to guide the Mormons to a new Zion at the Great Salt Lake. Under the direction of Brigham Young, they began an arduous journey West to what would become Utah, where they arrived in July of 1847. In 1848, after the war with Mexico, the United States acquired the majority of what now constitutes the American Southwest. The Mormons petitioned Congress to become the State of Deseret, a word from the Book of Mormon signifying honeybee which was considered an industrious creature, but they were only allowed territorial status. Congress established the Territory of Utah, named for a local Indian tribe, and President Fillmore appointed Brigham Young governor in 1851. Young also became superintendent of Indian affairs. He oversaw the building of Salt Lake City and hundreds of other southwestern communities.
In the middle of the 19th century, the idea of “Manifest Destiny”–a phrase used to explain continental expansion by the U.S.–was embraced by many American people, including the Mormons. They began an industrious campaign to colonize Utah and beyond, establishing hundreds of settlements throughout the West and Southwest. As part of this process, Brigham Young called on volunteers to create a Las Vegas Mission, which would be strategically located alongside the Mormon Road (a portion of the Old Spanish Trail between New Mexico and California), halfway between the Mormon settlements of southern Utah and the San Bernardino Mission in southern California. There were eventually 96 settlements that included Lehi, Provo, Payson, Nephi, Fillmore, Beaver, Parowan and Cedar City. Meanwhile, the discovery of gold in California in 1848 made southern Nevada a corridor for westward emigrants and gold seekers. A gold seeker wrote in his diary on November 21, 1849 about stopping at the Las Vegas creek. Offering the only reliable supply of water for a 55-mile stretch along the Mormon Road, the Las Vegas Valley’s springs were important for watering the mules, horses and oxen of travelers crossing the region’s harsh desert environment. With the opening of the San Bernardino settlement in 1851, there was an additional need for a way station at the Las Vegas springs to provide supplies and rest. The mission the Mormons established as part of the Church’s westward expansion out of Utah became the first non-native settlement in the area, and the Mormons hoped to bring the American Indians into their flock. Although the Mormons occupied the site only from 1855 to 1858, it affected the development of what was to become southern Nevada.
from — The Old Mormon Fort: Birthplace of Las Vegas, Nevada — National Park Service
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.
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
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.
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
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.
Mrs. Kemper Campbell, with her husband and their law partner, Mr. Sorenson, acquired the Verde Ranch in 1924. Mrs. Campbell, now 76 years of age, recalls that the original Verde ranch was approximately 4000 acres. The Campbells retained the north portion of 1900 acres, while Mr. Sorenson retained the south portion. Part of the Kalin ranch, from the south portion along Bear Valley Road, is now being developed for the new Victor Valley College.
Verde/Kemper Campbell Ranch
Mrs. Campbell describes the red House is consisting of nine rooms and in good repair. The “red house” was built in 1870 by John Brown Sr. and was used by the Mormons as a hotel and stopover. It was a meeting place of the pioneers on their journeys south to the San Bernardino Valley. In 1867, John Brown homesteaded the Verde Rancho, which became the first major ranch of the Mojave River Valley. Horse and cattle raising and production of alfalfa have been the major uses of the ranch by a succession of owners: the Coles, Sterlings and Greers before the Campbells and Mr. Sorenson became owners. The Campbells operated their portion as a working ranch. In the 1930s they added attractions for guests, and for many years it was well known as the “North Verde.” after the death of their oldest son during World War II the name was changed to “Kemper Campbell Jr. Ranch” in his memory.
Adapted from Mohahve I – Scrapbooks of History, page 93 – Mohahve Historical Society
Map showing Smith’s routes across the Victor Valley in 1826 and 1827
The next day W S W 8 or 10 miles across a plain and entered the dry Bed of a River on each side high hills. Pursuing my course along the valley of this river 8 or 9 miles I encamped. In the channel of the river I occasionally found water. It runs from west to east alternately running on the surface and disappearing entirely in the sands of its bed leaving them for miles entirely dry. Near the place where I entered its Bed it seemed to finally lose itself in the plain.* (* It is perhaps reasonable to suppose that the Salt Plain has been formed by the waters of this river overflowing the level country in its freshets and in the dry season sinking in the sand and Leaving a deposit of salt on the surface. The waters of the River at this place are sufficiently salt to justify this conclusion.) At this time my provision was nearly exhausted although I thought I had provided enough to last me 10 or 12 days. But men accustomed to living on meat and at the same time traveling hard will eat a surprising quantity of corn and beans which at this time constituted our principal subsistence. One of my guides said he knew where his people had a cache of some provision and the next day as I traveled on he went with one of the men to procure some at night they returned bringing something that resembled in appearance loaves of bread weighing each 8 or 10 pounds. It was so hard that an ax was required to break it and in taste resembled sugar candy. It was no doubt sugar but in that imperfect form in which it is found among nations to which the art of granulation is unknown. On inquiry I found it was made from the cane grass which I have before spoken of on Adams River and the same of which the Amuchabas make their arrows. For three days nothing material occurred Our course was up the river which sometimes run in sight and then for miles disappeared in the sands. In places I found grass and the sugar cane and in some places small cottonwood. I also saw the tracks of horses that had been here during the summer. My guides Belonged to a tribe of Indians residing in the vicinity called the Wanyumas. Not numerous for this barren country could not support them. At this place was some sign of antelope and mountain sheep Mr. Rogers killed an antelope which tasted quite strong of wormwood. On the 4th night from the salt plain an Amuchaba Indian that had come this far with me disappeared. I suppose he had become tired of the journey and returned. My guides had expected to find their families here but were disappointed. The next day still following the course of the River which had a strong current in places 20 yds in width and in others entirely disappeared in the sands. After a long days travel I arrived late at a Wanyuma lodge. Close by were 2 or three families of the same tribe. Here I remained the following day and in the mean time was well treated by these Indians. They gave us such food as they had consisting of a kind of mush made of acorns and pine nut bread made of a small berry. This bread in appearance was like corn bread but in taste much sweeter. As there were in the neighborhood a plenty of hares the Indians said they must give us a feast. Several went out for this purpose with a net 80 or 100 yards long. Arriving at a place where they knew them to be plenty the net was extended among the wormwood. then divided on each wing they moved in such direction as to force the frightened game to the net where they were taken while entangled in its meshes. Being out but a short time they brought in 2 or three dozen a part of which they gave me. Seeing some tracks of antelope Mr. Rogers and myself went out and killed two. In this vicinity there are some groves of cottonwood and in places sugar cane and grass. On the following day after making the Indians some presents I moved on keeping a right hand fork my course nearly S W passing out at the head of this creek and over a ridge I entered a ravine running S W I proceeded down it nearly to where it entered some high hills which were apparently covered with pine. At this place I encamped. In the course of the days I passed hills covered with a scattering growth of bastard cedar and bushy oak. Some antelopes were seen in the course of the day and the tracks of bear and black-tailed deer.
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
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.
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
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.
